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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10371-0.txt b/10371-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f80d99a --- /dev/null +++ b/10371-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8925 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10371 *** + +THE CINEMA MURDER + +BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM + +1917 + + + + +BOOK I + + + +CHAPTER I + +With a somewhat prolonged grinding of the brakes and an unnecessary +amount of fuss in the way of letting off steam, the afternoon train from +London came to a standstill in the station at Detton Magna. An elderly +porter, putting on his coat as he came, issued, with the dogged aid of +one bound by custom to perform a hopeless mission, from the small, +redbrick lamp room. The station master, occupying a position of vantage +in front of the shed which enclosed the booking office, looked up and +down the lifeless row of closed and streaming windows, with an expectancy +dulled by daily disappointment, for the passengers who seldom alighted. +On this occasion no records were broken. A solitary young man stepped out +on to the wet and flinty platform, handed over the half of a third-class +return ticket from London, passed through the two open doors and +commenced to climb the long ascent which led into the town. + +He wore no overcoat, and for protection against the inclement weather +he was able only to turn up the collar of his well-worn blue serge coat. +The damp of a ceaselessly wet day seemed to have laid its cheerless +pall upon the whole exceedingly ugly landscape. The hedges, blackened +with smuts from the colliery on the other side of the slope, were +dripping also with raindrops. The road, flinty and light grey in colour, +was greasy with repellent-looking mud--there were puddles even in the +asphalt-covered pathway which he trod. On either side of him stretched +the shrunken, unpastoral-looking fields of an industrial neighbourhood. +The town-village which stretched up the hillside before him presented +scarcely a single redeeming feature. The small, grey stone houses, hard +and unadorned, were interrupted at intervals by rows of brand-new, +red-brick cottages. In the background were the tall chimneys of several +factories; on the left, a colliery shaft raised its smoke-blackened +finger to the lowering clouds. + +After his first glance around at these familiar and unlovely objects, +Philip Romilly walked with his head a little thrown back, his eyes lifted +as though with intent to the melancholy and watery skies. He was a young +man well above medium height, slim, almost inclined to be angular, yet +with a good carriage notwithstanding a stoop which seemed more the +result of an habitual depression than occasioned by any physical +weakness. His features were large, his mouth querulous, a little +discontented, his eyes filled with the light of a silent and rebellious +bitterness which seemed, somehow, to have found a more or less permanent +abode in his face. His clothes, although they were neat, had seen better +days. He was ungloved, and he carried under his arm a small parcel, +which appeared to contain a book, carefully done up in brown paper. + +As he reached the outskirts of the village he slackened his pace. +Standing a little way back from the road, from which they were separated +by an ugly, gravelled playground, were the familiar school buildings, +with the usual inscription carved in stone above the door. He laid his +hand upon the wooden gate and paused. From inside he could catch the +drone of children's voices. He glanced at his watch. It was barely twenty +minutes past four. For a moment he hesitated. Then he strolled on, and, +turning at the gate of an adjoining cottage, the nearest to the schools +of a little unlovely row, he tried the latch, found it yield to his +touch, and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and turned, with +a little weary sigh of content, towards a large easy-chair drawn up in +front of the fire. For a single moment he seemed about to throw himself +into its depths--his long fingers, indeed, a little blue with the cold, +seemed already on their way towards the genial warmth of the flames. Then +he stopped short. He stood perfectly still in an attitude of arrested +motion, his eyes, wonderingly at first, and then with a strange, +unanalysable expression, seeming to embark upon a lengthened, a +scrupulous, an almost horrified estimate of his surroundings. + +To the ordinary observer there would have been nothing remarkable in the +appearance of the little room, save its entirely unexpected air of luxury +and refinement. There was a small Chippendale sideboard against the wall, +a round, gate-legged table on which stood a blue china bowl filled with +pink roses, a couple of luxurious easy-chairs, some old prints upon the +wall. On the sideboard was a basket, as yet unpacked, filled with +hothouse fruit, and on a low settee by the side of one of the easy-chairs +were a little pile of reviews, several volumes of poetry, and a couple of +library books. In the centre of the mantelpiece was a photograph, the +photograph of a man a little older, perhaps, than this newly-arrived +visitor, with rounder face, dressed in country tweeds, a flower in his +buttonhole, the picture of a prosperous man, yet with a curious, almost +disturbing likeness to the pale, over-nervous, loose-framed youth whose +eye had been attracted by its presence, and who was gazing at it, +spellbound. + +"Douglas!" he muttered. "Douglas!" + +He flung his hat upon the table and for a moment his hand rested upon his +forehead. He was confronted with a mystery which baffled him, a mystery +whose sinister possibilities were slowly framing themselves in his mind. +While he stood there he was suddenly conscious of the sound of the +opening gate, brisk footsteps up the tiled way, the soft swirl of a +woman's skirt. The latch was raised, the door opened and closed. The +newcomer stood upon the threshold, gazing at him. + +"Philip!" she exclaimed. "Why, Philip!" + +There was a curious change in the girl's tone, from almost glad welcome +to a note of abrupt fear in that last pronouncement of his name. She +stood looking at him, the victim, apparently, of so many emotions that +there was nothing definite to be drawn either from her tone or +expression. She was a young woman of medium height and slim, delicate +figure, attractive, with large, discontented mouth, full, clear eyes and +a wealth of dark brown hair. She was very simply dressed and yet in a +manner which scarcely suggested the school-teacher. To the man who +confronted her, his left hand gripping the mantelpiece, his eyes filled +with a flaming jealousy, there was something entirely new in the hang of +her well-cut skirt, the soft colouring of her low-necked blouse, the +greater animation of her piquant face with its somewhat dazzling +complexion. His hand flashed out towards her as he asked his question. + +"What does it mean, Beatrice?" + +She showed signs of recovering herself. With a little shrug of the +shoulders she turned towards the door which led into an inner room. + +"Let me get you some tea, Philip," she begged. "You look so cold and +wet." + +"Stay here, please," he insisted. + +She paused reluctantly. There was a curious lack of anything peremptory +in his manner, yet somehow, although she would have given the world +to have passed for a few moments into the shelter of the little kitchen +beyond, she was impelled to do as he bade her. + +"Don't be silly, Philip," she said petulantly. "You know you want some +tea, and so do I. Sit down, please, and make yourself comfortable. Why +didn't you let me know you were coming?" + +"Perhaps it would have been better," he agreed quietly. "However, since I +am here, answer my question." + +She drew a little breath. After all, although she was lacking in any real +strength of character, she was filled with a certain compensatory +doggedness. His challenge was there to be faced. There was no way out of +it. She would have lied willingly enough but for the sheer futility of +falsehood. She commenced the task of bracing herself for the struggle. + +"You had better," she said, "frame your question a little more exactly. I +will then try to answer it." + +He was stung by her altered demeanour, embarrassed by an avalanche of +words. A hundred questions were burning upon his lips. It was by a great +effort of self-control that he remained coherent. + +"The last time I visited you," he began, "was three months ago. Your +cottage then was furnished as one would expect it to be furnished. You +had a deal dresser, a deal table, one rather hard easy-chair and a very +old wicker one. You had, if I remember rightly, a strip of linoleum upon +the floor, and a single rug. Your flowers were from the hedges and your +fruit from the one apple tree in the garden behind. Your clothes--am I +mistaken about your clothes or are you dressed more expensively?" + +"I am dressed more expensively," she admitted. + +"You and I both know the value of these things," he went on, with a +little sweep of the hand. "We know the value of them because we were once +accustomed to them, because we have both since experienced the passionate +craving for them or the things they represent. Chippendale furniture, a +Turkey carpet, roses in January, hothouse fruit, Bartolozzi prints, do +not march with an income of fifty pounds a year." + +"They do not," she assented equably. "All the things which you see here +and which you have mentioned, are presents." + +His forefinger shot out with a sudden vigour towards the photograph. + +"From him?" + +"From Douglas," she admitted, "from your cousin." + +He took the photograph into his hand, looked at it for a moment, and +dashed it into the grate. The glass of the frame was shivered into a +hundred pieces. The girl only shrugged her shoulders. She was holding +herself in reserve. As for him, his eyes were hot, there was a dry +choking in his throat. He had passed through many weary and depressed +days, struggling always against the grinding monotony of life and his +surroundings. Now for the first time he felt that there was something +worse. + +"What does it mean?" he asked once more. + +She seemed almost to dilate as she answered him. Her feet were firmly +planted upon the ground. There was a new look in her face, a look of +decision. She was more or less a coward but she felt no fear. She even +leaned a little towards him and looked him in the face. + +"It means," she pronounced slowly, "exactly what it seems to mean." + +The words conveyed horrible things to him, but he was speechless. He +could only wait. + +"You and I, Philip," she continued, "have been--well, I suppose we should +call it engaged--for three years. During those three years I have earned, +by disgusting and wearisome labour, just enough to keep me alive in a +world which has had nothing to offer me but ugliness and discomfort and +misery. You, as you admitted last time we met, have done no better. You +have lived in a garret and gone often hungry to bed. For three years this +has been going on. All that time I have waited for you to bring something +human, something reasonable, something warm into my life, and you have +failed. I have passed, in those three years, from twenty-three to +twenty-six. In three more I shall be in my thirtieth year--that is to +say, the best time of my life will have passed. You see, I have been +thinking, and I have had enough." + +He stood quite dumb. The girl's newly-revealed personality seemed to fill +the room. He felt crowded out. She was, at that stage, absolutely +mistress of the situation.... She passed him carelessly by, flung herself +into the easy-chair and crossed her legs. As though he were looking at +some person in another world, he realized that she was wearing shoes of +shapely cut, and silk stockings. + +"Our engagement," she went on, "was at first the dearest thing in life to +me. It could have been the most wonderful thing in life. I am only an +ordinary person with an ordinary character, but I have the capacity to +love unselfishly, and I am at heart as faithful and as good as any other +woman. But there is my birthright. I have had three years of sordid and +utterly miserable life, teaching squalid, dirty, unlovable children +things they had much better not know. I have lived here, here in Detton +Magna, among the smuts and the mists, where the flowers seem withered and +even the meadows are stony, where the people are hard and coarse as their +ugly houses, where virtue is ugly, and vice is ugly, and living is ugly, +and death is fearsome. And now you see what I have chosen--not in a +moment's folly, mind, because I am not foolish; not in a moment's +passion, either, because until now the only real feeling I have had in +life was for you. But I have chosen, and I hold to my choice." + +"They won't let you stay here," he muttered. + +"They needn't," she answered calmly. "There are other ways in which I can +at least earn as much as the miserable pittance doled out to me here. I +have avoided even considering them before. Shall I tell you why? Because +I didn't want to face the temptation they might bring with them. I always +knew what would happen if escape became hopeless. It's the ugliness I +can't stand--the ugliness of cheap food, cheap clothes, uncomfortable +furniture, coarse voices, coarse friends if I would have them. How do you +suppose I have lived here these last three years, a teacher in the +national schools? Look up and down this long, dreary street, at the names +above the shops, at the villas in which the tradespeople live, and ask +yourself where my friends were to come from? The clergyman, perhaps? He +is over seventy, a widower, and he never comes near the place. Why, I'd +have been content to have been patronized if there had been anyone here +to do it, who wore the right sort of clothes and said the right sort of +thing in the right tone. But the others--well, that's done with." + +He remained curiously dumb. His eyes were fixed upon the fragments of the +photograph in the grate. In a corner of the room an old-fashioned clock +ticked wheezily. A lump of coal fell out on the hearth, which she +replaced mechanically with her foot. His silence seemed to irritate and +perplex her. She looked away from him, drew her chair a little closer +to the fire, and sat with her head resting upon her hands. Her tone had +become almost meditative. + +"I knew that this would come one day," she went on. "Why don't you speak +and get it over? Are you waiting to clothe your phrases? Are you afraid +of the naked words? I'm not. Let me hear them. Don't be more melodramatic +than you can help because, as you know, I am cursed with a sense of +humour, but don't stand there saying nothing." + +He raised his eyes and looked at her in silence, an alternative which she +found it hard to endure. Then, after a moment's shivering recoil into her +chair, she sprang to her feet. + +"Listen," she cried passionately, "I don't care what you think! I tell +you that if you were really a man, if you had a man's heart in your body, +you'd have sinned yourself before now--robbed some one, murdered them, +torn the things that make life from the fate that refuses to give them. +What is it they pay you," she went on contemptuously, "at that miserable +art school of yours? Sixty pounds a year! How much do you get to eat and +drink out of that? What sort of clothes have you to wear? Are you +content? Yet even you have been better off than I. You have always your +chance. Your play may be accepted or your stories published. I haven't +even had that forlorn hope. But even you, Philip, may wait too long. +There are too many laws, nowadays, for life to be lived naturally. If I +were a man, a man like you, I'd break them." + +Her taunts apparently moved him no more than the inner tragedy which her +words had revealed. He did not for one moment give any sign of abandoning +the unnatural calm which seemed to have descended upon him. He took up +his hat from the table, and thrust the little brown paper parcel which he +had been carrying, into his pocket. His eyes for a single moment met the +challenge of hers, and again she was conscious of some nameless, +inexplicable fear. + +"Perhaps," he said, as he turned away, "I may do that." + +His hand was upon the latch before she realized that he was actually +going. She sprang to her feet. Abuse, scorn, upbraidings, even +violence--she had been prepared for all of these. There was something +about this self-restraint, however, this strange, brooding silence, which +terrified her more than anything she could have imagined. + +"Philip!" she shrieked. "You're not going? You're not going like this? +You haven't said anything!" + +He closed the door with firm fingers. Her knees trembled, she was +conscious of an unexpected weakness. She abandoned her first intention of +following him, and stood before the window, holding tightly to the sash. +He had reached the gate now and paused for a moment, looking up the long, +windy street. Then he crossed to the other side of the road, stepped over +a stile and disappeared, walking without haste, with firm footsteps, +along a cindered path which bordered the sluggish-looking canal. He had +come and gone, and she knew what fear was! + + + +CHAPTER II + +The railway station at Detton Magna presented, if possible, an even +more dreary appearance than earlier in the day, as the time drew near +that night for the departure of the last train northwards. Its long strip +of flinty platform was utterly deserted. Around the three flickering +gas-lamps the drizzling rain fell continuously. The weary porter came +yawning out of his lamp room into the booking office, where the station +master sat alone, his chair turned away from the open wicket window to +the smouldering embers of the smoky fire. + +"No passengers to-night, seemingly," the latter remarked to his +subordinate. + +"Not a sign of one," was the reply. "That young chap who came down from +London on a one-day return excursion, hasn't gone back, either. That'll +do his ticket in." + +The outside door was suddenly opened and closed. The sound of footsteps +approaching the ticket window was heard. A long, white hand was thrust +through the aperture, a voice was heard from the invisible outside. + +"Third to Detton Junction, please." + +The station-master took the ticket from a little rack, received the exact +sum he demanded, swept it into the till, and resumed his place before the +fire. The porter, with the lamp in his hand, lounged out into the +booking-hall. The prospective passenger, however, was nowhere in sight. +He looked back into the office. + +"Was that Jim Spender going up to see his barmaid again?" he asked his +superior. + +The station master yawned drowsily. + +"Didn't notice," he answered. "What an old woman you're getting, George! +Want to know everybody's business, don't you?" + +The porter withdrew, a little huffed. When, a few minutes later, the +train drew in, he even avoided ostentatiously a journey to the far end of +the platform to open the door for the solitary passenger who was standing +there. He passed up the train and slammed the door without even glancing +in at the window. Then he stood and watched the red lights disappear. + +"Was it Jim?" the station master asked him, on their way out. + +"Didn't notice," his subordinate replied, a little curtly. "Maybe it was +and maybe it wasn't. Good night!" + + * * * * * + +Philip Romilly sat back in the corner of his empty third-class carriage, +peering out of the window, in which he could see only the reflection of +the feeble gas-lamp. There was no doubt about it, however--they were +moving. The first stage of his journey had commenced. The blessed sense +of motion, after so long waiting, at first soothed and then exhilarated +him. In a few moments he became restless. He let down the rain-blurred +window and leaned out. The cool dampness of the night was immensely +refreshing, the rain softened his hot cheeks. He sat there, peering away +into the shadows, struggling for the sight of definite objects--a tree, a +house, the outline of a field--anything to keep the other thoughts away, +the thoughts that came sometimes like the aftermath of a grisly, +unrealisable nightmare. Then he felt chilly, drew up the window, thrust +his hands into his pockets from which he drew out a handsome cigarette +case, struck a match, and smoked with vivid appreciation of the quality +of the tobacco, examined the crest on the case as he put it away, and +finally patted with surreptitious eagerness the flat morocco letter case +in his inside pocket. + +At the Junction, he made his way into the refreshment room and ordered +a long whisky and soda, which he drank in a couple of gulps. Then he +hastened to the booking office and took a first-class ticket to +Liverpool, and a few minutes later secured a seat in the long, +north-bound express which came gliding up to the side of the platform. He +spent some time in the lavatory, washing, arranging his hair, +straightening his tie, after which he made his way into the elaborate +dining-car and found a comfortable corner seat. The luxury of his +surroundings soothed his jagged nerves. The car was comfortably warmed, +the electric light upon his table was softly shaded. The steward who +waited upon him was swift-footed and obsequious, and seemed entirely +oblivious of Philip's shabby, half-soaked clothes. He ordered champagne a +little vaguely, and the wine ran through his veins with a curious +potency. He ate and drank now and then mechanically, now and then with +the keenest appetite. Afterwards he smoked a cigar, drank coffee, and +sipped a liqueur with the appreciation of a connoisseur. A fellow +passenger passed him an evening paper, which he glanced through with +apparent interest. Before he reached his journey's end he had ordered and +drunk another liqueur. He tipped the steward handsomely. It was the first +well-cooked meal which he had eaten for many months. + +Arrived at Liverpool, he entered a cab and drove to the Adelphi Hotel. He +made his way at once to the office. His clothes were dry now and the rest +and warmth had given him more confidence. + +"You have a room engaged for me, I think," he said, "Mr. Douglas Romilly. +I sent some luggage on." + +The man merely glanced at him and handed him a ticket. + +"Number sixty-seven, sir, on the second floor," he announced. + +A porter conducted him up-stairs into a large, well-furnished bedroom. A +fire was blazing in the grate; a dressing-case, a steamer trunk and a +hatbox were set out at the foot of the bedstead. + +"The heavier luggage, labelled for the hold, sir," the man told him, "is +down-stairs, and will go direct to the steamer to-morrow morning. That +was according to your instructions, I believe." + +"Quite right," Philip assented. "What time does the boat sail?" + +"Three o'clock, sir." + +Philip frowned. This was his first disappointment. He had fancied himself +on board early in the day. The prospect of a long morning's inaction +seemed already to terrify him. + +"Not till the afternoon," he muttered. + +"Matter of tide, sir," the man explained. "You can go on board any time +after eleven o'clock in the morning, though. Very much obliged to you, +sir." + +The porter withdrew, entirely satisfied with his tip. Philip Romilly +locked the door after him carefully. Then he drew a bunch of keys from +his pocket and, after several attempts, opened both the steamer trunk and +the dressing-case. He surveyed their carefully packed contents with a +certain grim and fantastic amusement, handled the silver brushes, shook +out a purple brocaded dressing-gown, laid out a suit of clothes for the +morrow, even selected a shirt and put the links in it. Finally he +wandered into the adjoining bathroom, took a hot bath, packed away at the +bottom of the steamer trunk the clothes which he had been wearing, went +to bed--and slept. + + + +CHAPTER III + +The sun was shining into his bedroom when Philip Romilly was awakened the +next morning by a discreet tapping at the door. He sat up in bed and +shouted "Come in." He had no occasion to hesitate for a moment. He knew +perfectly well where he was, he remembered exactly everything that had +happened. The knocking at the door was disquieting but he faced it +without a tremor. The floor waiter appeared and bowed deferentially. + +"There is a gentleman on the telephone wishes to speak to you, sir," he +announced. "I have connected him with the instrument by your side." + +"To speak with me?" Philip repeated. "Are you quite sure?" + +"Yes, sir. Mr. Douglas Romilly he asked for. He said that his name was +Mr. Gayes, I believe." + +The man left the room and Philip took up the receiver. For a moment he +sat and thought. The situation was perplexing, in a sense ominous, yet +it had to be faced. He held the instrument to his ear. + +"Hullo? Who's that?" he enquired. + +"That Mr. Romilly?" was the reply, in a man's pleasant voice. "Mr. +Douglas Romilly?" + +"Yes!" + +"Good! I'm Gayes--Mr. Gayes of Gayes Brothers. My people wrote me last +night from Leicester that you would be here this morning. You are +crossing, aren't you, on the _Elletania_?" + +Philip remained monosyllabic. + +"Yes," he admitted cautiously. + +"Can't you come round and see us this morning?" Mr. Gayes invited. "And +look here, Mr. Romilly, in any case I want you to lunch with me at the +club. My car shall come round and fetch you at any time you say." + +"Sorry," Philip replied. "I am very busy this morning, and I am engaged +for lunch." + +"Oh, come, that's too bad," the other protested, "I really want to have a +chat with you on business matters, Mr. Romilly. Will you spare me half an +hour if I come round?" + +"Tell me exactly what it is you want?" Philip insisted. + +"Oh! just the usual thing," was the cheerful answer. "We hear you are off +to America on a buying tour. Our last advices don't indicate a very easy +market over there. I am not at all sure that we couldn't do better for +you here, and give you better terms." + +Philip began to feel more sure of himself. The situation, after all, he +realized, was not exactly alarming. + +"Very kind of you," he said. "My arrangements are all made now, though, +and I can't interfere with them." + +"Well, I'm going to bother you with a few quotations, anyway. See here, +I'll just run round to see you. My car is waiting at the door now. I +won't keep you more than a few minutes." + +"Don't come before twelve," Philip begged. "I shall be busy until then." + +"At twelve o'clock precisely, then," was the reply. "I shall hope to +induce you to change your mind about luncheon. It's quite a long time +since we had you at the club. Good-by!" + +Philip set down the telephone. He was still in his pajamas and the +morning was cold, but he suddenly felt a great drop of perspiration on +his forehead. It was the sort of thing, this, which he had expected--had +been prepared for, in fact--but it was none the less, in its way, +gruesome. There was a further knock at the door, and the waiter +reappeared. + +"Can I bring you any breakfast, sir?" he enquired. + +"What time is it?" + +"Half-past nine, sir." + +"Bring me some coffee and rolls and butter," Philip ordered. + +He sprang out of bed, bathed, dressed, and ate his breakfast. Then he lit +a cigarette, repacked his dressing-case, and descended into the hall. He +made his way to the hall porter's enquiry office. + +"I am going to pay some calls in the city," he announced--"Mr. Romilly is +my name--and I may not be able to get back here before my boat sails. +I am going on the _Elletania_. Can I have my luggage sent there direct?" + +"By all means, sir." + +"Every article is properly labelled," Philip continued. "Those in my +bedroom--number sixty-seven--are for the cabin, and those you have in +your charge are for the hold." + +"That will be quite all right, sir," the man assured him pocketing his +liberal tip. "I will see to the matter myself." + +Philip paid his bill at the office and breathed a little more freely as +he left the hotel. Passing a large, plate-glass window he stopped +suddenly and stared at his own reflection. There was something unfamiliar +in the hang of his well-cut clothes and fashionable Homburg hat. It was +like the shadow of some one else passing--some one to whom those clothes +belonged. Then he remembered, remembered with a cold shiver which +blanched his cheeks and brought a little agonised murmur to his lips. The +moment passed, however, crushed down, stifled as he had sworn that he +would stifle all such memories. He turned in at a barber's shop, had his +hair cut, and yielded to the solicitations of a fluffy-haired young lady +who was dying to go to America if only somebody would take her, and who +was sure that he ought to have a manicure before his voyage. Afterwards +he entered a call office and rang up the hotel on the telephone. + +"Mr. Romilly speaking," he announced. "Will you kindly tell Mr. Gayes, if +he calls to see me, that I have been detained in the city, and shall not +be back." + +The man took down the message. Philip strolled out once more into the +streets, wandering aimlessly about for an hour or more. By this time it +was nearly one o'clock, and, selecting a restaurant, he entered and +ordered luncheon. Once more it came over him, as he looked around the +place, that he had, after all, only a very imperfect hold upon his own +identity. It seemed impossible that he, Philip Romilly, should be there, +ordering precisely what appealed to him most, without thought or care of +the cost. He ate and drank slowly and with discrimination, and when he +left the place he felt stronger. He sought out a first-class +tobacconist's, bought some cigarettes, and enquired his way to the dock. +At a few minutes after two, he passed up the gangway and boarded the +great steamer. One of the little army of linen-coated stewards enquired +the number of his room and conducted him below. + +"Anything I can do for you, sir, before your luggage comes on?" the man +asked civilly. + +Philip shook his head and wandered up on deck again, where there were +already a fair number of passengers in evidence. He leaned over the side, +watching the constant stream of porters bearing supplies, and the +steerage passengers passing into the forepart of the ship. With every +moment his impatience grew. He looked at his watch sometimes half a dozen +times in ten minutes, changed his position continually, started violently +whenever he heard an unexpected footstep behind him. Finally he broke a +promise he had made to himself. He bought newspapers, took them into a +sheltered corner, and tore them open. Column by column he searched them +through feverishly, running his finger down one side and up the next. It +seemed impossible to find nowhere the heading he dreaded to see, to +realize that they were entirely empty of any exciting incident. He +satisfied himself at last, however. The disappearance of a half-starved +art teacher had not yet blazoned out to a sympathetic world. It was so +much to the good.... There was a touch upon his shoulder, and he felt a +chill of horror. When he turned around, it was the steward who had +conducted him below, holding out a telegram. + +"I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "Telegram just arrived for you." + +He passed on almost at once, in search of some one else. Philip stood for +several moments perfectly still. He looked at the inscription--_Douglas +Romilly_--set his teeth and tore open the envelope: + +Understood you were returning to factory before leaving. Am posting a few +final particulars to Waldorf Hotel, New York. Staff joins me in wishing +you bon voyage. + +Philip felt his heart cease its pounding, felt an immense sense of +relief. It was a wonderful thing, this message. It cleared up one point +on which he had been anxious and unsettled. It was taken for granted at +the Works, then, that he had come straight to Liverpool. He walked up and +down the deck on the side remote from the dock, driving this into his +mind. + +Everything was wonderfully simplified. If only he could get across, once +reach New York! Meanwhile, he looked at his watch again and discovered +that it wanted but ten minutes to three. He made his way back down to his +stateroom, which was already filled with his luggage. He shook out an +ulster from a bundle of wraps, and selected a tweed cap. Already there +was a faint touch of the sea in the river breeze, and he was impatient +for the immeasurable open spaces, the salt wind, the rise and fall of the +great ship. Then, as he stood on the threshold of his cabin, he heard +voices. + +"Down in number 110, eh?" + +"Yes, sir," he heard his steward's voice reply. "Mr. Romilly has just +gone down. You've only a minute, sir, before the last call for +passengers." + +"That's all right," the voice which had spoken to him over the telephone +that morning replied. "I'd just like to shake hands with him and wish him +bon voyage." + +Philip's teeth came together in a little fury of anger. It was maddening, +this, to be trapped when only a few minutes remained between him and +safety! His brain worked swiftly. He took his chance of finding the next +stateroom empty, as it happened to be, and stepped quickly inside. He +kept his back to the door until the footsteps had passed. He heard the +knock at his stateroom, stepped back into the corridor, and passed along +a little gangway to the other side of the ship. He hurried up the stairs +and into the smoking-room. The bugle was sounding now, and hoarse voices +were shouting: + +"Every one for the shore! Last call for the shore!" + +"Give me a brandy and soda," he begged the steward, who was just opening +the bar. + +The man glanced at the clock and obeyed. Philip swallowed half of it at a +gulp, then sat down with the tumbler in his hand. All of a sudden +something disappeared from in front of one of the portholes. His heart +gave a little jump. They were moving! He sprang up and hurried to the +doorway. Slowly but unmistakably they were gliding away from the dock. +Already a lengthening line of people were waving their handkerchiefs and +shouting farewells. Around them in the river little tugs were screaming, +and the ropes from the dock had been thrown loose. Philip stepped to the +rail, his heart growing lighter at every moment. His ubiquitous steward, +laden with hand luggage, paused for a moment. + +"I sent a gentleman down to your stateroom just before the steamer +started, sir," he announced, "gentleman of the name of Gayes, who wanted +to say good-by to you." + +"Bad luck!" Philip answered. "I must have just missed him." + +The steward turned around and pointed to the quay. + +"There he is, sir--elderly gentleman in a grey suit, and a bunch of +violets in his buttonhole. He's looking straight at you." + +Philip raised his cap and waved it with enthusiasm. After a moment's +hesitation, the other man did the same. The steward collected his +belongings and shuffled off. + +"He picked you out, sir, all right," he remarked as he disappeared in the +companionway. + +Philip turned away with a little final wave of the hand. + +"Glad I didn't miss him altogether," he observed cheerfully. +"Good-afternoon, Mr. Gayes! Good-by, England!" + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Mr. Raymond Greene, very soon after the bugle had sounded for dinner that +evening, took his place at the head of one of the small tables in the +saloon and wished every one good evening. It was perfectly apparent that +he meant to enjoy the trip, that he was prepared to like his fellow +passengers and that he wished them to know it. Even the somewhat +melancholy-looking steward, who had been waiting for his arrival, cheered +up at the sight of his beaming face, and the other four occupants of the +table returned his salutation according to their lights. + +"Two vacant places, I am sorry to see," Mr. Greene observed. "One of them +I can answer for, though. The young lady who is to sit on my right will +be down directly--Miss Elizabeth Dalstan, the great actress, you know. +She is by way of being under my charge. Very charming and talented +young lady she is. Let us see who our other absentee is." + +He stretched across and glanced at the name upon the card. + +"Mr. Douglas Romilly," he read out. "Quite a good name--English, without +a doubt. I have crossed with you before, haven't I, sir?" he went on +affably, turning to his nearest neighbour on the left. + +A burly, many-chinned American signified his assent. + +"Why, I should say so," he admitted, "and I'd like a five-dollar bill, +Mr. Greene, for every film I've seen of yours in the United States." + +Mr. Greene beamed with satisfaction. + +"Well, I am glad to hear you've come across my stuff," he declared. "I've +made some name for myself on the films and I am proud of it. Raymond +Greene it is, at your service." + +"Joseph P. Hyam's mine," the large American announced, watching the +disappearance of his soup plate with an air of regret. "I'm in the +clothing business. If my wife were here, she'd say you wouldn't think it +to look at me. Never was faddy about myself, though," he added, with a +glance at Mr. Greene's very correct dinner attire. + +"You ought to remember me, Mr. Greene," one of the two men remarked from +the right-hand side of the table. "I've played golf with you at Baltusrol +more than once." + +Mr. Greene glanced surreptitiously at the card and smiled. + +"Why, it's James P. Busby, of course!" he exclaimed. "Your father's the +Busby Iron Works, isn't he?" + +The young man nodded. + +"And this is Mr. Caroll, one of our engineers," he said, indicating a +rather rough-looking personage by his side. + +"Delighted to meet you both," Mr. Greene assured them. "Say, I remember +your golf, Mr. Busby! You're some driver, eh? And those long putts of +yours--you never took three on any green that I can remember!" + +"Been playing in England?" the young man asked. + +Mr. Raymond Greene shook his head. + +"When I am on business," he explained, "I don't carry my sticks about +with me, and I tell you this last fortnight has been a giddy whirl for +me. I was in Berlin Wednesday night, and I did business in Vienna last +Monday. Ah! here comes Miss Dalstan." + +He rose ceremoniously to his feet. A young lady who was still wearing her +travelling clothes smiled at him delightfully and sank into the chair by +his side. During the little stir caused by her arrival, no one paid any +attention to the man who had slipped into the other vacant place +opposite. Mr. Greene, however, when he had finished making known his +companion's wants to the steward, welcomed Philip Romilly genially. + +"Now we're a full table," he declared. "That's what I like. I only hope +we'll keep it up all the voyage. Mind, there'll be a forfeit for the +first one that misses a meal. Mr. Romilly, isn't it?" he went on, +glancing at his left-hand neighbour's card once more. "My name's Raymond +Greene. I am an old traveller and there's nothing I enjoy more, outside +my business, than these little ocean trips, especially when they come +after a pretty strenuous time on shore. Crossed many times, sir?" + +"Never before," Philip answered. + +"First trip, eh?" Mr. Greene remarked, mildly interested. "Well, well, +you've some surprises in store for you, then. Let me make you acquainted +with your opposite neighbour, Miss Elizabeth Dalstan. I dare say, even if +you haven't been in the States, you know some of our principal actresses +by name." + +Philip raised his head and caught a glimpse of a rather pale face, a mass +of deep brown hair, a pleasant smile from a very shapely mouth, and the +rather intense regard of a pair of wonderfully soft eyes, whose colour at +that moment he was not able to determine. + +"I have had the pleasure of seeing Miss Dalstan on the stage," he +observed. + +"Capital!" Mr. Raymond Greene exclaimed. "We haven't met before, have we, +Mr. Romilly? Something kind of familiar in your face. You are not by way +of being in the Profession, are you?" + +Romilly shook his head. + +"I am a manufacturer," he acknowledged. + +"That so?" his neighbour remarked, a trifle surprised. "Queer! I had a +fancy that we'd met, and quite lately, too. I am in the cinema business. +You may have heard of me--Raymond Greene?" + +"I have seen some of your films," Philip told him. "Very excellent +productions, if you will allow me to say so." + +"That's pleasant hearing at any time," Mr. Greene admitted, with a +gratified smile. "Well, I can see that we are going to be quite a +friendly party. That's Mr. Busby on your right, Mr. Romilly--some +golfer, I can tell you!--and his friend Mr. Caroll alongside. The lady +next you--" + +"My name is Miss Pinsent," the elderly lady indicated declared +pleasantly, replying to Mr. Greene's interrogative glance. "It is my +first trip to America, too. I am going out to see a nephew who has +settled in Chicago." + +"Capital!" Mr. Raymond Greene repeated. "Now we are all more or less a +family party. What did you say your line of business was, Mr. Romilly?" + +"I don't remember mentioning it," Philip observed, "but I am a +manufacturer of boots and shoes." + +Elizabeth Dalstan looked across at him a little curiously. One might have +surmised that she was in some way disappointed. + +"Coming over to learn a thing or two from us, eh?" Mr. Greene went on. +"You use all our machinery, don't you? Well, there's Paul Lawton on +board, from Brockton. I should think he has one of the biggest plants in +Massachusetts. I must make you acquainted with him." + +Philip frowned slightly. + +"That is very kind of you, Mr. Greene," he acknowledged, "but do you know +I would very much rather not talk business with any one while I am on +the steamer? I am a little overworked and I need the rest." + +Elizabeth Dalstan looked at her vis-à -vis with some renewal of her former +interest. She saw a young man who was, without doubt, good-looking, +although he certainly had an over-tired and somewhat depressed +appearance. His cheeks were colourless, and there were little dark +lines under his eyes as though he suffered from sleeplessness. He was +clean-shaven and he had the sensitive mouth of an artist. His forehead +was high and exceptionally good. His air of breeding was unmistakable. + +"You do look a little fagged," Mr. Raymond Greene observed +sympathetically. "Well, these are strenuous days in business. We all have +to stretch out as far as we can go, and keep stretched out, or else some +one else will get ahead of us. Business been good with you this fall, Mr. +Romilly?" + +"Very fair, thank you," Philip answered a little vaguely. "Tell me, Miss +Dalstan," he went on, leaning slightly towards her, and with a note of +curiosity in his tone, "I want to know your candid opinion of the last +act of the play I saw you in--'Henderson's Second Wife'? I made up my +mind that if ever I had the privilege of meeting you, I would ask you +that question." + +"I know exactly why," she declared, with a quick little nod of +appreciation. "Listen." + +They talked together for some time, earnestly. Mr. Greene addressed his +conversation to his neighbours lower down the table. It was not until the +arrival of dessert that Philip and his vis-à -vis abandoned their +discussion. + +"Tell me, have you written yourself, Mr. Romilly?" Elizabeth Dalstan +asked him with interest. + +"I have made an attempt at it," he confessed. + +"Most difficult thing in the whole world to write a play," Mr. Raymond +Greene intervened, seeing an opportunity to join once more in the +conversation. "Most difficult thing in the world, I should say. Now with +pictures it's entirely different. The slightest little happening in +everyday life may give you the start, and then, there you are--the whole +thing unravels itself. Now let me give you an example," he went on, +helping himself to a little more whisky and soda. "Only yesterday +afternoon, on our way up to Liverpool, the train got pulled up somewhere +in Derbyshire, and I sat looking out of the window. It was a dreary +neighbourhood, a miserable afternoon, and we happened to be crossing a +rather high viaduct. Down below were some meadows and a canal, and by +the side of the canal, a path. At a certain point--I should think about +half a mile from where the train was standing--this path went underneath +a rude bridge, built of bricks and covered over with turf. Well, as I sat +there I could see two men, both approaching the bridge along the path +from opposite directions. One was tall, dressed in light tweeds, a +good-looking fellow--looked like one of your country squires except that +he was a little on the thin side. The other was a sombre-looking person, +dressed in dark clothes, about your height and build, I should say, Mr. +Romilly. Well, they both disappeared under that bridge at the same +moment, and I don't know why, but I leaned forward to see them come out. +The train was there for quite another two minutes, perhaps more. There +wasn't another soul anywhere in sight, and it was raining as it only can +rain in England." + +Mr. Raymond Greene paused. Every one at the table had been listening +intently. He glanced around at their rapt faces with satisfaction. He was +conscious of the artist's dramatic touch. Once more it had not failed +him. He had excited interest. In Philip Romilly's eyes there was +something even more than interest. It seemed almost as though he were +trying to project his thoughts back and conjure up for himself the very +scene which was being described to him. The young man was certainly in a +very delicate state of health, Mr. Greene decided. + +"You are keeping us in suspense, sir," the elderly lady complained, +leaning forward in her place. "Please go on. What happened when they came +out?" + +"That," Mr. Raymond Greene said impressively, "is the point of the +story. The train remained standing there, as I have said, for several +minutes--as many minutes, in fact, as it would have taken them seconds to +have traversed that tunnel. Notwithstanding that, they neither of them +appeared again. I sat there, believe me, with my eyes fastened upon that +path, and when the train started I leaned out of the window until we had +rounded the curve and we were out of sight, but I never saw either of +those two men again. Now there's the beginning of a film story for you! +What do you want more than that? There's dramatic interest, surprise, an +original situation." + +"After all, I suppose the explanation was quite a simple one," Mr. Busby +remarked. "They were probably acquaintances, and they stayed to have a +chat." + +Mr. Raymond Greene shook his head doubtfully. + +"All I can say to that is that it was a queer place to choose for a +little friendly conversation," he pronounced. "They were both tall +men--about the same height, I should say--and it would have been +impossible for them to have even stood upright." + +"You mentioned the fact, did you not," the lady who called herself Miss +Pinsent observed, "that it was raining heavily at the time? Perhaps they +stayed under the bridge to shelter." + +"That's something I never thought of," Mr. Greene admitted, "perhaps for +the reason that they both of them seemed quite indifferent to the rain. +The young man in the dark clothes hadn't even an umbrella. I must admit +that I allowed my thoughts to travel in another direction. Professional +instinct, you see. It was a fairly broad canal, and the water was nearly +up to the towing-path. I'd lay a wager it was twelve or fifteen feet +deep. Supposing those two men had met on that narrow path and quarrelled! +Supposing--" + +"Don't!" + +Mr. Raymond Greene stopped short. He gazed in amazement at Elizabeth +Dalstan, who had suddenly clutched his hand. There was something in her +face which puzzled as well as startled him. She had been looking at her +opposite neighbour but she turned back towards the narrator of this +thrilling story as the monosyllable broke from her lips. + +"Please stop," she begged. "You are too dramatic, Mr. Greene. You really +frighten me." + +"Frighten you?" he repeated. "My dear Miss Dalstan!" + +"I suppose it is very absurd of me," she went on, smiling appealingly at +him, "but your words were altogether too graphic. I can't bear to think +of what might have taken place underneath that tunnel! You must remember +that I saw it, too. Don't go on. Don't talk about it any more. I am going +upstairs for my cigarette. Are you coming to get my chair for me, Mr. +Greene, or must I rely upon the deck steward?" + +Mr. Raymond Greene was a very gallant man, and he did not hesitate for a +moment. He sprang to his feet and escorted the young lady from the +saloon. He glanced back, as he left the table, to nod his adieux to the +little company whom he had taken under his charge. Philip Romilly was +gazing steadfastly out of the porthole. + +"Kind of delicate young fellow, that," he remarked. "Nice face, too. +Can't help thinking that I've met or seen some one like him lately." + + + +CHAPTER V + +Philip Romilly found himself alone at last with the things which he had +craved--darkness, solitude, the rushing of the salt wind, the sense of +open spaces. On the other, the sheltered side of the steamer, long lines +of passengers were stretched in wicker chairs, smoking and drinking their +coffee, but where he was no one came save an occasional promenader. Yet +even here was a disappointment. He had come for peace, for a brief escape +from the thrall of memories which during the last few hours had become +charged with undreamed-of horrors--and there was to be no peace. In the +shadowy darkness which rested upon the white-churned sea flying past him, +he saw again, with horrible distinctness, the face, the figure of the man +who for those few brief minutes he had hated with a desperate and +passionate hatred. He saw the broken photograph, the glass splintered +into a thousand pieces. He saw the man himself, choking, sinking down +beneath the black waters; heard the stifled cry from his palsied lips, +saw the slow dawning agony of death in his distorted features. Some one +was playing a mandolin down in the second class. He heard the feet of a +dancer upon the deck, the little murmur of applause. Well, after all, +this was life. It was a rebuke of fate to his own illogical and useless +vapourings. Men died every second whilst women danced, and no one who +knew life had any care save for the measure of their own days. Some +freakish thought pleaded stridently his own justification. His mind +travelled back down the gloomy avenues of his past, along those last +aching years of grinding and undeserved poverty. He remembered his +upbringing, his widowed mother, a woman used to every luxury, struggling +to make both ends meet in a suburban street, in a hired cottage filled +with hired furniture. He remembered his schooldays, devoid of pocket +money, unable to join in the sports of others, slaving with melancholy +perseverance for a scholarship to lighten his mother's burden. Always +there was the same ghastly, crushing penuriousness, the struggle to make +a living before his schooldays were well over, the unbought books he had +fingered at the bookstalls and let drop again, the coarse clothes he had +been compelled to wear, the scanty food he had eaten, the narrow, driving +ways of poverty, culminating in his mother's death and his own fear--he, +at the age of nineteen years--lest the money for her funeral should not +be forthcoming. If there were any hell, surely he had lived in it! This +other, whose flames mocked him now, could be no worse. Sin! Crime! He +remembered the words of the girl who during these latter years had +represented to him what there might have been of light in life. He +remembered, and it seemed to him that he could meet that ghostly image +which had risen from the black waters, without shrinking, almost +contemptuously. Fate had mocked him long enough. It was time, indeed, +that he helped himself. + +He swung away from the solitude to the other side of the steamer, paused +in a sheltered spot while he lit a cigarette, and paced up and down the +more frequented ways. A soft voice from an invisible mass of furs and +rugs, called to him. + +"Mr. Romilly, please come and talk to me. My rug has slipped--thank you +so much. Take this chair next mine for a few minutes, won't you? Mr. +Greene has rushed off to the smoking room. I think he has just been told +that there is a rival cinema producer on board, and he is trying to run +him to ground." + +Philip settled himself without hesitation in the vacant place. + +"One is forced to envy Mr. Raymond Greene," he sighed. "To have work in +life which one loves as he does his is the rarest form of happiness." + +"What about your own?" she asked him. "But you are a manufacturer, are +you not? Somehow or other, that surprises me." + +"And me," he acknowledged frankly. "I mean that I wonder I have +persevered at it so long." + +"But you are a very young man!" + +"Young or old," he answered, "I am one of those who have made a false +start in life. I am on my way to new things. Do you think, Miss Dalstan, +that your country is a good place for one to visit who seeks new things?" + +She turned in her chair a little more towards him. Against the background +of empty spaces, the pale softness of her face seemed to gain a new +attractiveness. + +"Well, that depends," she said reflectively, "upon what these new things +might be which you desire. For an ambitious business man America is a +great country." + +"But supposing one had finished with business?" he persisted. "Supposing +one wanted to develop tastes and a gift for another method of life?" + +"Then I should say that New York is the one place in the world," she told +him. "You are speaking of yourself?" + +"Yes!" + +"You have ambitions, I am sure," she continued. "Tell me, are they +literary?" + +"I would like to call them so," he admitted. "I have written a play and +three stories, so bad that no one would produce the play or publish the +stories." + +"You have brought them with you?" + +He shook his head. + +"No! They are where I shall never see them again." + +"Never see them again?" she repeated, puzzled. + +"I mean that I have left them at home. I have left them there, perhaps, +to a certain extent deliberately," he went on. "You see, the idea is +still with me. I think that I shall rewrite them when I have settled down +in America. I fancy that I shall find myself in an atmosphere more +conducive to the sort of work I want to do. I would rather not be +handicapped by the ghosts of my old failures." + +"One's ghosts are hard sometimes to escape from," she whispered. + +He clutched nervously at the end of his rug. She looked up and down along +the row of chairs. There were one or two slumbering forms, but most were +empty. There were no promenaders in sight. + +"You know," she asked, her voice still very low, "why I left the saloon a +little abruptly this evening?" + +"Why?" he demanded. + +"Because," she went on, "I could see the effect which Mr. Raymond +Greene's story had upon you; because I, also, was in that train, and I +have better eyesight than Mr. Greene. You were one of the two men who +were walking along the towpath." + +"Well?" he muttered. + +"You have nothing to tell me?" + +"Nothing!" + +She waited for a moment. + +"At least you have not attempted to persuade me that you lingered +underneath that bridge to escape from the rain," she remarked. + +"If I cannot tell you the truth," he promised, "I am not going to tell +you a lie, but apart from that I admit nothing. I do not even admit that +it was I whom you saw." + +She laid her hand upon his. The touch of her fingers was wonderful, cool +and soft and somehow reassuring. He felt a sense of relaxation, felt the +strain of living suddenly grow less. + +"You know," she said, "all my friends tell me that I am a restful person. +You are living at high pressure, are you not? Try and forget it. Fate +makes queer uses of all of us sometimes. She sends her noblest sons down +into the shadows and pitchforks her outcasts into the high places of +life. Those do best who learn to control themselves, to live and think +for the best." + +"Go on talking to me," he begged. "Is it your voice, I wonder, that is so +soothing, or just what you say?" + +She smiled reassuringly. + +"You are glad because you have found a friend," she told him, "and a +friend who, even if she does not understand, does not wish to understand. +Do you see?" + +"I wish I felt that I deserved it," he groaned. + +She laughed almost gaily. + +"What a sorting up there would be of our places in life," she declared, +"if we all had just what we deserved!... Now give me your arm. I want to +walk a little. While we walk, if you like, I will try to tell you what I +can about New York. It may interest you." + +They walked up and down the deck, and by degrees their conversation +drifted into a discussion of such recent plays as were familiar to both +of them. At the far end of the ship she clung to him once or twice as the +wind came booming over the freshening waves. She weighed and measured his +criticisms of the plays they spoke of, and in the main approved of them. +When at last she stopped outside the companionway and bade him good +night, the deck was almost deserted. They were near one of the electric +lights, and he saw her face more distinctly than he had seen it at all, +realised more adequately its wonderful charm. The large, firm mouth, +womanly and tender though it was, was almost the mouth of a protector. +She smiled at him as one might smile at a boy. + +"You are to sleep well," she said firmly. "Those are my orders. Good +night!" + +She gave him her hand--a woman's soft and delicate fingers, yet clasping +his with an almost virile strength and friendliness. She left him with +just that feeling about her--that she was expansive, in her heart, her +sympathies, even her brain and peculiar gifts of apprehension. She left +him, too, with a curious sense of restfulness, as though suddenly he +had become metamorphosed into the woman and had found a sorely-needed +guardian. He abandoned without a second thought his intention of going to +the smoking-room and sitting up late. The thought of his empty stateroom, +a horror to him a few hours ago, seemed suddenly almost alluring, and he +made his way there cheerfully. He felt the sleep already upon his eyes. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +All the physical exhilaration of his unlived youth seemed to be dancing +in Philip Romilly's veins when he awoke the next morning to find an open +porthole, the blue sea tossing away to infinity, and his steward's +cheerful face at his bedside. + +"Bathroom steward says if you are ready, sir, he can arrange for your +bath now," the man announced. + +Philip sprang out of bed and reached for his Bond Street dressing-gown. + +"I'll bring you a cup of tea when you get back, sir," the steward +continued. "The bathrooms are exactly opposite." + +The sting of the salt water seemed to complete his new-found +light-heartedness. Philip dressed and shaved, whistling softly all the +time to himself. He even found a queer sort of interest in examining his +stock of ties and other garments. The memory of Elizabeth Dalstan's words +was still in his brain. They had become the text of his life. This, he +told himself, was his birthday. He even accepted without a tremor a +letter and telegram which the steward brought him. + +"These were in the rack for you, sir," he said. "I meant to bring them +down last night but we had a busy start off." + +Philip took them up on deck to read. He tore open the telegram first and +permitted himself a little start when he saw the signature. It was sent +off from Detton Magna,-- + +"Why did you not come as promised? What am I to do? BEATRICE." + +The envelope of the letter he opened with a little more compunction. It +was written on the printed notepaper of the Douglas Romilly Shoe Company, +and was of no great length,-- + +"Dear Mr. Romilly, + +"I understood that you would return to the factory this evening for a few +minutes, before taking the train to Liverpool. There were one or two +matters upon which I should like some further information, but as time is +short I am writing to you at the Waldorf Hotel at New York. + +"I see that the acceptances due next 4th are unusually heavy, but I think +I understood you to say that you had spoken to Mr. Henshaw at the bank +concerning these, and in any case I presume there would be no difficulty. + +"Wishing you every success on the other side, and a safe return, + +"I am, + +"Your obedient servant, + +"J.L. POTTS." + +"There is not the slightest doubt," Philip said to himself, as he tore +both communications into pieces and watched them flutter away downwards, +"that I am on my way to New York. If only one knew what had become of +that poor, half-starved art master!" + +He went down to breakfast and afterwards strolled aimlessly about the +deck. His sense of enjoyment was so extraordinarily keen that he found it +hard to settle down to any of the usual light occupations of idle +travellers. He was content to stand by the rail and gaze across the sea, +a new wonder to him; or to lie about in his steamer chair and listen, +with half-closed eyes, to the hissing of the spray and the faint music of +the wind. His mind turned by chance to one of those stories of which he +had spoken. A sudden new vigour of thought seemed to rend it inside out +almost in those first few seconds. He thought of the garret in which it +had been written, the wretched surroundings, the odoriferous food, the +thick crockery, the smoke-palled vista of roofs and chimneys. The genius +of a Stevenson would have become dwarfed in such surroundings. A phrase, +a happy idea, suddenly caught his fancy. He itched for a pencil and +paper. Then he looked up to find the one thing wanting. Elizabeth +Dalstan, followed by a maid carrying rugs and cushions, had paused, +smiling, by his side. + +"You have slept and you are better," she said pleasantly. "Now for the +next few minutes you must please devote yourself to making me +comfortable. Put everything down, Phoebe. Mr. Romilly will look after +me." + +For a moment he paused before proceeding to his task. + +"I want to look at you," he confessed. "Remember I have only seen you +under the electric lights of the saloon, or in that queer, violet gloom +of last night. Why, you have quite light hair, and I thought it was +dark!" + +She laughed good-humouredly and turned slowly around. + +"Here I am," she announced, "a much bephotographed person. Almost plain, +some journalists have dared to call me, but for my expression. On flowing +lines, as you see, because I always wear such loose clothes, and yet, +believe me, slim. As a matter of fact," she went on pensively, "I am +rather proud of my figure. A little journalist who had annoyed me, and to +whom I was rude, once called it ample. No one has ever ventured to say +more. The critics who love me, and they most of them love me because I am +so exceptionally polite to them, and tell them exactly what to say about +every new play, allude to my physique as Grecian." + +"But your eyes!" he exclaimed. "Last night I thought they were grey. This +morning--why, surely they are brown?" + +"You see, that is all according to the light," she confided. "If any one +does try to write a description of me, they generally evade the point by +calling them browny-grey. A young man who was in love with me," she +sighed, "but that was long ago, used to say that they reminded him of +fallen leaves in a place where the sunlight sometimes is and sometimes +isn't. And now, if you please, I want to be made exceedingly comfortable. +I want you to find the deck steward and see that I have some beef tea as +quickly as possible. I want my box of cigarettes on one side and my +vanity case on the other, and I should like to listen to the plot of your +play." + +He obeyed her behests with scrupulous care, leaned back in his chair and +brought into the foreground of his mind the figures of those men and +women who had told his story, finding them, to his dismay, unexpectedly +crude and unlifelike. And the story itself. Was unhappiness so necessary, +after all? They suddenly seemed to crumble away into insignificance, +these men and women of his creation. In their place he could almost fancy +a race of larger beings, a more extensive canvas, a more splendid, a +riper and richer vocabulary. + +"Nothing that I have ever done," he sighed, "is worth talking to you +about. But if you are going to be my friend--" + +"Well?" + +"If you are going to be my friend," he went on, with almost inspired +conviction, "I shall write something different." + +"One can rebuild," she murmured. "One can sometimes use the old pieces. +Life and chess are both like that." + +"Would you help me, I wonder?" he asked impulsively. + +She looked away from him, out across the steamer rail. She seemed to be +measuring with her eyes the roll of the ship as it rose and fell in the +trough of the sea. + +"You are a strange person," she said. "Tell me, are you in the habit of +becoming suddenly dependent upon people?" + +"Not I," he assured her. "If I were to tell you how my last ten years +have been spent, you would not believe me. You couldn't. If I were to +speak of a tearing, unutterable loneliness, if I were to speak of +poverty--not the poverty you know anything about, but the poverty of bare +walls, of coarse food and little enough of it, of everything cheap and +miserable and soiled and second-hand--nothing fresh, nothing +real--" + +He stopped abruptly. + +"But I forgot," he muttered. "I can't explain." + +"Is one to understand," she asked, a little puzzled, "that you have had +difficulties in your business?" + +"I have never been in business," he answered quickly. "My name is +Romilly, but I am not Romilly the manufacturer. For the last eight years +I have lived in a garret in London, teaching false art in a third-rate +school some of the time, doing penny-a-line journalistic work when I got +the chance; clerk for a month or two in a brewer's office and sacked for +incapacity--those are a few of the real threads in my life." + +"At the present moment, then," she observed, "you are an impostor." + +"Exactly," he admitted, "and I should probably have been repenting it by +now but for your words last night." + +She smiled at him and the sun shone once more. It wasn't an ordinary +smile at all. It was just as though she were letting him into the light +of her understanding, as though some one from the world, entrance into +which he had craved, had stooped down to understand and was telling him +that all was well. He drew his chair a little closer to hers. + +"We are all more or less impostors," she said. "Does any one, I wonder, +go about the world telling everybody what they really are, how they +really live? Dear me, how unpleasant and uncomfortable it would be! You +are so wise, my new friend. You know the value of impulses. You tell me +the truth, and I am your friend. I do not need facts, because facts count +for little. I judge by what lies behind, and I understand. Do not weary +me with explanations. I like what you have told me. Only, of course, your +work must have suffered from surroundings like that. Will it be better +for you now?" + +"I shall land in New York," he told her, "with at least a thousand +pounds. That is about as much as I have spent in ten years. There is the +possibility of other money. Concerning that--well, I can't make up my +mind. The thousand pounds, of course, is stolen." + +"So I gathered," she remarked. "Do you continue, may I ask, to be Douglas +Romilly, the manufacturer?" + +He shook his head a little vaguely. + +"I haven't thought," he confessed. "But of course I don't. I have risked +everything for the chance of a new life. I shall start it in a new way +and under a new name." + +He was suddenly conscious of her pity, of a moistness in her eyes as she +looked at him. + +"I think," she said, "that you must have been very miserable. Above all +things, now, whatever you may have done for your liberty, don't be +fainthearted. If you are in trouble or danger you must come to me. You +promise?" + +"If I may," he assented fervently. + +"Now I must hear the play as it stood in your thoughts when you wrote +it," she insisted. "I have a fancy that it will sound a little gloomy. Am +I right?" + +He laughed. + +"Of course you are! How could I write in any other way except through the +darkened spectacles? However, there's a way out--of altering it, I mean. +I feel flashes of it already. Listen." + +The story expanded with relation. He no longer felt confined to its +established lines. Every now and then he paused to tell her that this or +that was new, and she nodded appreciatively. They walked for a time, +watched the seagulls, and bade their farewell to the Irish coast. + +"You will have to re-write that play for me," she said, a little +abruptly, as she paused before the companionway. "I am going down to my +room for a few minutes before lunch now. Afterwards I shall bring up a +pencil and paper. We will make some notes together." + +Philip walked on to the smoking room. He could scarcely believe that the +planks he trod were of solid wood. Raymond Greene met him at the entrance +and slapped him on the back: + +"Just in time for a cocktail before lunch!" he exclaimed. "I was looking +everywhere for a pal. Two Martinis, dry as you like, Jim," he added, +turning round to the smoking room steward. "Sure you won't join us, +Lawton?" + +"Daren't!" was the laconic answer from the man whom he had addressed. + +"By-the-bye," Mr. Raymond Greene went on, "let me make you two +acquainted. This is Mr. Douglas Romilly, an English boot +manufacturer--Mr. Paul Lawton of Brockton. Mr. Lawton owns one of the +largest boot and shoe plants in the States," the introducer went on. "You +two ought to find something to talk about." + +Philip held out his hand without a single moment's hesitation. He was +filled with a new confidence. + +"I should be delighted to talk with Mr. Lawton on any subject in the +world," he declared, "except our respective businesses." + +"I am very glad to meet you, sir," the other replied, shaking hands +heartily. "I don't follow that last stipulation of yours, though." + +"It simply means that I am taking seven days' holiday," Philip explained +gaily, "seven days during which I have passed my word to myself to +neither talk business nor think business. Your very good health, Mr. +Raymond Greene," he went on, drinking his cocktail with relish. "If we +meet on the other side, Mr. Lawton, we'll compare notes as much as you +like." + +"That's all right, sir," the other agreed. "I don't know as you're not +right. We Americans do hang round our businesses, and that's a fact. +Still, there's a little matter of lasts I should like to have a word or +two with you about some time." + +"A little matter of what?" Philip asked vaguely. + +"Lasts," the other repeated. "That's where your people and ours look +different ways chiefly, that and a little matter of manipulation of our +machinery." + +"Just so," Philip assented, swallowing the rest of his cocktail. "What +about luncheon? There's nothing in the world to give you an appetite like +this sea air." + +"I'm with you," Mr. Raymond Greene chimed in. "You two can have your +trade talk later on." + +He took his young friend's arm, and they descended the stairs together. + +"What the mischief is a last?" he inquired. + +"I haven't the least idea," Philip replied carelessly. "Something to do +with boots and shoes, isn't it?" + +His questioner stared at him for a moment and then laughed. + +"Say, you're a young man of your word!" he remarked appreciatively. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Philip Romilly was accosted, late that afternoon, by two young women +whose presence on board he had noticed with a certain amount of +disapproval. They were obviously of the chorus-girl type, a fact which +they seemed to lack the ambition to conceal. After several would-be +ingratiating giggles, they finally pulled up in front of him whilst he +was promenading the deck. + +"You are Mr. Romilly, aren't you?" one of them asked. "Bob Millet told us +you were going to be on this steamer. You know Bob, don't you?" + +Philip for a moment was taken aback. + +"Bob Millet," he repeated thoughtfully. + +"Of course! Good old Bob! I don't mind confessing," the young woman went +on, "that though we were all out one night together--Trocadero, Empire, +and Murray's afterwards--I should never have recognised you. Seems to me +you've got thinner and more serious-looking." + +"I am afraid my own memory is also at fault," Philip remarked, a little +stiffly. + +"I am Violet Fox," the young woman who had accosted him continued. "This +my friend, Hilda Mason. She's a dear girl but a little shy, aren't you, +Hilda?" + +"That's just because I told her that we ought to wait until you +remembered us," the slighter young woman, with the very obvious +peroxidised hair, protested. + +"Didn't seem to be any use waiting for that," her friend retorted +briskly. "Hilda and I are dying for a cocktail, Mr. Romilly." + +He led them with an unwillingness of which they seemed frankly unaware, +towards the lounge. They drank two cocktails and found themselves +unfortunately devoid of cigarettes, a misfortune which it became his +privilege to remedy. They were very friendly young ladies, if a little +slangy, invited him around to their staterooms, and offered to show him +the runs around New York. Philip escaped after about an hour and made his +way to where Elizabeth was reclining in her deck chair. + +"That fellow Romilly," he declared irritably, "the other one, I mean, +seems to have had the vilest tastes. If I am to be landed with any more +of his ridiculous indiscretions, I think I shall have to go overboard. +There was an enterprising gentleman named Gayes in Liverpool, who nearly +drove me crazy, then there's this Mr. Lawton who wants to talk about +lasts, and finally it seems that I dined at the Trocadero and spent the +evening at the Empire and Murray's with the two very obvious-looking +young ladies who accosted me just now. I am beginning to believe that +Douglas' life was not above suspicion." + +She smiled at him tolerantly. An unopened book lay by her side. She +seemed to have been spending the last quarter of an hour in thought. + +"I am rather relieved to hear," she confessed, "that those two young +people are a heritage from the other Mr. Romilly. No, don't sit down," +she went on. "I want you to do something for me. Go into the library, and +on the left-hand side as you enter you will see all the wireless news. +Read the bottom item and then come back to me." + +He turned slowly away. All his new-found buoyancy of spirits had +suddenly left him. He cursed the imagination which lifted his feet from +the white decks and dragged his eyes from the sparkling blue sea to the +rain-soaked, smut-blackened fields riven by that long thread of bleak, +turgid water. The horrors of a murderous passion beat upon his brain. +He saw himself hastening, grim and blind, on his devil-sped mission. Then +the haze faded from before his eyes. Somehow or other he accomplished his +errand. He was in the library, standing in front of those many sheets of +typewritten messages, passing them all over, heedless of what their +message might be, until he came to the last and most insignificant. +Four lines, almost overlapped by another sheet-- + + STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE OF A LONDON ART TEACHER + + SUICIDE FEARED + + Acting upon instructions received, the police + are investigating a somewhat curious case of + disappearance. Philip Romilly, a teacher of art in + a London school, visited Detton Magna on Friday + afternoon and apparently started for a walk along + the canal bank, towards dusk. Nothing has since + been heard of him or his movements, and + arrangements have been made to drag the canal + at a certain point. + +The letters seemed to grow larger to him as he stood and read. He +remained in front of the message for an inordinately long time. Again his +imagination was at work. He saw the whole ghastly business, the police on +the canal banks, watching the slow progress of the men with their drags +bringing to the surface all the miserable refuse of the turgid waters, +the dripping black mud, perhaps at last.... + +He was back again on the deck, walking quite steadily yet seeing little. +He made his way to the smoking room, asked almost indifferently for a +brandy and soda, and drained it to the last drop. Then he walked up the +deck to where Elizabeth was seated, and dropped into a chair by her side. + +"So I am missing," he remarked, almost in his ordinary tone. "I really +had no idea that I was a person of such importance. Fancy reading of my +own disappearance within a few days of its taking place, in the middle of +the Atlantic!" + +"There was probably some one there who gave information," she suggested. + +"There was the young lady whom I went to visit," he assented. "She +probably watched me cross the road and turn in at that gate and take the +path by the canal side. Yes, she may even have gone to the station to see +whether I took the only other train back to London, and found that I did +not. She knew, too, that I could only have had a few shillings in my +pocket, and that my living depended upon being in London for my school +the next morning. Yes, the whole thing was reasonable." + +"And they are going to drag the canal," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. + +"A difficult business," he assured her. "It is one of the most ghastly, +ill-constructed, filthiest strips of water you ever looked upon. It has +been the garbage depository of the villages through which it makes its +beastly way, for generations. I don't envy the men who have to handle the +drags." + +"You do not believe, then, that they will find anything--interesting?" + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +"That type of man," he continued, "must have a morbid mind. There will be +dead animals without a doubt, worn-out boots, filthy and decomposed +articles of clothing--" + +"Don't!" she interrupted. "You know what I mean. Do leave off painting +your ghastly pictures. You know quite well what I mean. Philip Romilly is +here by my side. What can they hope to find there in his place?" + +His evil moments for that afternoon were over. He answered her almost +carelessly. + +"Not what they are looking for. Have you brought the paper and pencil you +spoke of? I have an idea--I am getting fresh ideas every moment now +that I picture you as my heroine. It is queer, isn't it, how naturally +you fall into the role?" + +She drew a little nearer to him. He was conscious of a mysterious and +unfamiliar perfume, perhaps from the violets half hidden in her furs, or +was it something in her hair? It reminded him a little of the world the +keys into which he had gripped--the world of joyousness, of light-hearted +pleasures, the sunlit world into which he had only looked through other +men's eyes. + +"Perhaps you knew that I was somewhere across the threshold," she +suggested. "Did you drag your Mona wholly from your brain, or has she her +prototype somewhere in your world?" + +He shook his head. + +"Therein lies the weakness of all that I have ever written," he declared. +"There have been so few in my world from whom I could garner even the +gleanings of a personality. They are all, my men and women, artificially +made, not born. Twenty-three shillings a week has kept me well outside +the locked doors." + +"Yet, you know, in many ways," she reflected, "Mona is like me." + +"Like you because she was a helper of men," he assented swiftly, "a woman +of large sympathies, appealing to me, I suppose, because in my solitude, +thoughts of my own weakness taunted me, weakness because I couldn't break +out, I mean. Perhaps for that reason the thought of a strong woman +fascinated me, a woman large in thoughts and ways, a woman to whom +purposes and tendencies counted most. I dreamed of a woman sweetly +omnipotent, strong without a shadow of masculinity. That is where my Mona +was to be different from all other created figures." + +"Chance," she declared, "is a wonderful thing. Chance has pitchforked you +here, absolutely to my side, I, the one woman who could understand what +you mean, who could give your Mona life. Don't think I am vain," she went +on. "I can assure you that my head isn't the least turned because I have +been successful. I simply know. Listen. I have few engagements in New +York. I should not be going back at all but to see my mother, who is too +delicate to travel, and who is miserable when I am away for long. Take +this pencil and paper. Let us leave off dreaming for a little time and +give ourselves up to technicalities. I want to draft a new first act and +a new last one, not so very different from your version and yet with +changes which I want to explain as we go on. Bring your chair a little +nearer--so. Now take down these notes." + +They worked until the first gong for dinner rang. She sat up in her chair +with a happy little laugh. + +"Isn't it wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I never knew time to pass so +quickly. There isn't any pleasure in the world like this," she added, a +little impulsively, "the pleasure of letting your thoughts run out to +meet some one else's, some one who understands. Take care of every line +we have written, my friend." + +"We might go on after dinner," he suggested eagerly. + +She shook her head. + +"I'd rather not," she admitted. "My brain is too full. I have a hundred +fancies dancing about. I even find myself, as we sit here, rehearsing +my gestures, tuning myself to a new outlook. Oh! You most disturbing +person--intellectually of course, I mean," she added, laughing into his +face. "Take off my rugs and help me up. No, we'll leave them there. +Perhaps, after dinner, we might walk for a little time." + +"But the whole thing is tingling in my brain," he protested. "Couldn't we +go into the library? We could find a corner by ourselves." + +She turned and looked at him, standing up now, the wind blowing her +skirts, her eyes glowing, her lips a little parted. Then for the first +time he understood her beauty, understood the peculiar qualities of it, +the dissensions of the Press as to her appearance, the supreme charm of a +woman possessed of a sweet and passionate temperament, turning her face +towards the long-wished-for sun. Even the greater things caught hold of +him in that moment, and he felt dimly what was coming. + +"Do you really wish to work?" she asked. + +He looked away from her. + +"No!" he answered, a little thickly. "We will talk, if you will." + +They neither of them moved. The atmosphere had suddenly become charged +with a force indescribable, almost numbing. In the far distance they saw +the level line of lights from a passing steamer. Mr. Raymond Greene, with +his hands in his ulster pockets, suddenly spotted them and did for them +what they seemed to have lost the power to do. + +"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "I've been looking for you two everywhere. I don't +want to hurt that smoking room steward's feelings. He's not bad at +his job. But," he added confidentially, dropping his voice and taking +them both by the arm, "I have made a cocktail down in my stateroom--it's +there in the shaker waiting for us, something I can't talk about. I've +given Lawton one, and he's following me about like a dog. Come right this +way, both of you. Steady across the gangway--she's pitching a little. +Why, you look kind of scared, Mr. Romilly. Been to sleep, either of you?" + +Philip's laugh was almost too long to be natural. Elizabeth, as though by +accident, had dropped her veil. Mr. Raymond Greene, bubbling over with +good nature and anticipation, led them towards the stairs. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Mr. Raymond Greene could scarcely wait until Philip had taken his place +at the dinner table that evening, to make known his latest discovery. + +"Say, Mr. Romilly," he exclaimed, leaning a little forward, "do you +happen to have seen the wireless messages to-day?--those tissue sheets +that are stuck up in the library?" + +Philip set down the menu, in which he had been taking an unusual +interest. + +"Yes, I looked through them this afternoon," he acknowledged. + +"There's a little one at the bottom, looks as though it had been shoved +in at the last moment. I don't know whether you noticed it. It announced +the mysterious disappearance of a young man of the same name as your +own--an art teacher from London, I think he was. I wondered whether it +might have been any relation?" + +"I read the message," Philip admitted. "It certainly looks as though it +might have referred to my cousin." + +Mr. Raymond Greene became almost impressive in his interested +earnestness. + +"Talk about coincidences!" he continued. "Do you remember last night +talking about subjects for cinema plays? I told you of a little incident +I happened to have noticed on the way from London to Liverpool, about the +two men somewhere in Derbyshire whom I had seen approaching a tunnel over +a canal--they neither of them came out, you know, all the time that the +train was standing there." + +Philip helped himself a little absently to whisky and soda from the +bottle in front of him. + +"I remember your professional interest in the situation," he confessed. + +"I felt at the time," Mr. Raymond Greene went on eagerly, "that there was +something queer about the affair. Listen! I have been putting two and two +together, and it seems to me that one of those men might very well have +been this missing Mr. Romilly." + +Philip shook his head pensively. + +"I don't think so," he ventured. + +"What's that? You don't think so?" the cinema magnate exclaimed. "Why +not, Mr. Romilly? It's exactly the district--at Detton Magna, the message +said, in Derbyshire--and it was a canal, too, one of the filthiest I ever +saw. Can't you realise the dramatic interest of the situation now that +you are confronted with this case of disappearance? I have been asking +myself ever since I strolled up into the library before dinner and read +this notice--'_What about the other man_?'" + +Philip had commenced a leisurely consumption of his first course, and +answered without undue haste. + +"Well," he said, "if this young man Romilly is my cousin, it would be +the second or third time already that he has disappeared. He is an +ill-balanced, neurotic sort of creature. At times he accepts help--even +solicits it--from his more prosperous relations, and at times he won't +speak to us. But of one thing I am perfectly convinced, and that is that +there is no man in the world who would be less likely to make away with +himself. He has a nervous horror of death or pain of any sort, and in +his peculiar way he is much too fond of life ever to dream of voluntarily +shortening it. On the other hand, he is always doing eccentric things. He +probably set out to walk to London--I have known him do it before--and +will turn up there in a fortnight's time." + +Mr. Raymond Greene seemed rather to resent having cold water poured upon +his melodramatic imaginings. He turned to Elizabeth, who had remained +silent during the brief colloquy. + +"What do you think, Miss Dalstan?" he asked. "Don't you think that, under +the circumstances, I ought to give information to the British police?" + +She laughed at him quite good-naturedly, and yet in such a way that a +less sensitive man than Mr. Raymond Greene might well have been conscious +of the note of ridicule. + +"No wonder you are such a great success in your profession!" she +observed. "You carry the melodramatic instinct with you, day by day. You +see everything through the dramatist's spectacles." + +"That's all very well," Mr. Greene protested, "but you saw the two men +yourself, and you've probably read about the case of mysterious +disappearance. Surely you must admit that the coincidence is +interesting?" + +"Alas!" she went on, shaking her head, "I am afraid I must throw cold +water upon your vivid imaginings. You see, my eyesight is better than +yours and I could see the two men distinctly, whilst you could only see +their figures. One of them, the better-dressed, was fair and obviously +affluent, and the other was a labourer. Neither of them could in any way +have answered the description of the missing man." + +Mr. Raymond Greene was a little dashed. + +"You didn't say so at the time," he complained. + +"I really wasn't sufficiently interested," she told him. "Besides, +without knowing anything of Mr. Romilly's cousin, I don't think any +person in the world could have had the courage to seek an exit from his +troubles by means of that canal." + +"But my point," Mr. Raymond Greene persisted, "is that it wasn't suicide +at all. I maintain that the situation as I saw it presented all the +possibilities of a different sort of crime." + +"My cousin hadn't an enemy in the world except himself," Philip +intervened. + +"And I would give you the filming of my next play for nothing," Elizabeth +ventured, "if either of those two men could possibly have been an art +teacher.... Can I have a little more oil with my salad, please, steward, +and I should like some French white wine." + +Mr. Raymond Greene took what appeared to be a positive disappointment +very good-naturedly. + +"Well," he said, "I dare say you are both right, and in any case I +shouldn't like to persist in a point of view which might naturally enough +become distressing to our young friend here. Tell you what I'll do to +show my penitence. I shall order a bottle of wine, and we'll drink to the +welfare of the missing Mr. Philip Romilly, wherever he may be. Pommery, +steward, and bring some ice along." + +Philip pushed away his whisky and soda. + +"Just in time," he remarked. "I'll drink to poor Philip's welfare, with +pleasure, although he hasn't been an unmixed blessing to his family." + +The subject passed away with the drinking of the toast, and with the +necessity for a guard upon himself gone, Philip found himself eating and +drinking mechanically, watching all the time the woman who sat opposite +to him, who had now engaged Mr. Raymond Greene in an animated +conversation on the subject of the suitability for filming of certain +recent plays. He was trying with a curious intentness to study her +dispassionately, to understand the nature of the charm on which dramatic +critics had wasted a wealth of adjectives, and of which he himself was +humanly and personally conscious. She wore a high-necked gown of some +soft, black material, with a little lace at her throat fastened by her +only article of jewellery, a pearl pin. Her hair was arranged in coils, +with a simplicity and a precision which to a more experienced observer +would have indicated the possession of a maid of no ordinary qualities. +Her mouth became more and more delightful every time he studied it; her +voice, even her method of speech, were entirely natural and with a +peculiarly fascinating inflexion. At times she looked and spoke with the +light-hearted gaiety of a child; then again there was the grave and +cultured woman apparent in her well-balanced and thoughtful criticisms. +When, at the end of the meal, she rose to leave the table, he found +himself surprised at her height and the slim perfection of her figure. +His first remark, when he joined her upon the stairs, was an almost +abrupt expression of his thoughts. + +"Tell me," he exclaimed, "why were all my first impressions of you wrong? +To-night you are a revelation to me. You are amazingly different." + +She laughed at him. + +"I really can't do more than show you myself as I am," she expostulated. + +"Ah! but you are so many women," he murmured. + +"Of course, if you are going to flatter me! Give me a cigarette from my +case, please, and strike a match, and if you don't mind struggling with +this wind and the darkness, we will have our walk. There!" she added, as +they stood in the companionway. "Now don't you feel as though we were +facing an adventure? We shan't be able to see a yard ahead of us, and the +wind is singing." + +They passed through up the companionway. She took his arm and he suddenly +felt the touch of her warm fingers feeling for his other hand. He gripped +them tightly, and his last impression of her face, before they plunged +into the darkness, was of a queer softness, as though she were giving +herself up to some unexpected but welcome emotion. Her eyes were half +closed. She had the air of one wrapped in silence. So they walked almost +the whole length of the deck. Philip, indeed, had no impulse or desire +for speech. All his aching nerves were soothed into repose. The last +remnants of his ghostly fears had been swept away. They were on the +windward side of the ship, untenanted save now and then by the shadowy +forms of other promenaders. The whole experience, even the regular +throbbing of the engines, the swish of the sea, the rising and falling of +a lantern bound to the top of a fishing smack by which they were passing, +the distant chant of the changing watch, all the night sights and sounds +of the seaborne hostel, were unfamiliar and exhilarating. And inside his +hand, even though given him of her great pity, a woman's fingers lay in +his. + +She spoke at last a little abruptly. + +"There is something I must know about," she said. + +"You have only to ask," he assured her. + +"Don't be afraid," she continued. "I wish to ask you nothing which might +give you pain, but I must know--you see, I am really such a ordinary +woman--I must know about some one whom you went to visit that day, didn't +you, at Detton Magna?" + +He answered her almost eagerly. + +"I want to talk about Beatrice," he declared. "I want to tell you +everything about her. I know that you will understand. We were brought up +together in the same country place. We were both thrown upon the world +about the same time. That was one thing, I suppose, which made us kindly +disposed towards one another. We corresponded always. I commenced my +unsuccessful fight in London. I lived--I can't tell you how--week by +week, month by month. I ate coarse food, I was a hanger-on to the fringe +of everything in life which appealed to me, fed intellectually on the +crumbs of free libraries and picture galleries. I met no one of my own +station--I was at a public school and my people were gentlefolk--or +tastes. I had no friends in London before whom I dared present myself, no +money to join a club where I might have mixed with my fellows, no one to +talk to or exchange a single idea with--and I wasn't always the gloomy +sort of person I have become; in my younger days I loved companionship. +And the women--my landlady's daughter, with dyed hair, a loud voice, +slatternly in the morning, a flagrant imitation of her less honest +sisters at night! Who else? Where was I to meet women when I didn't even +know men? I spent my poor holidays at Detton Magna. Our very loneliness +brought Beatrice and me closer together. We used to walk in those ugly +fields around Detton Magna and exchanged the story of our woes. She was a +teacher at the national school. The children weren't pleasant, their +parents were worse. The drudgery was horrible, and there wasn't any +escape for her. Sometimes she would sob as we sat side by side. She, too, +wanted something out of life, as I did, and there seemed nothing but that +black wall always before us. I think that we clung together because we +shared a common misery. We talked endlessly of a way out. For me what was +there? There was no one to rob--I wasn't clever enough. There was no way +I could earn money, honestly or dishonestly. And for her, buried in that +Derbyshire village amongst the collieries, where there was scarcely a +person who hadn't the taint of the place upon them--what chance was there +for her? There was nothing she could do, either. I knew in my heart that +we were both ready for evil things, if by evil things we could make our +escape. And we couldn't. So we tried to lose ourselves in the only fields +left for such as we. We read poetry. We tried to live in that unnatural +world where the brains only are nourished and the body languishes. It was +a morbid, unhealthy existence, but I plodded along and so did she. Then +her weekly letters became different. For the first time she wrote me with +reserves. I took a day's vacation and I went down to Detton Magna to see +what had happened." + +"That was the day," she interrupted softly, "when--" + +"That was the day," he assented. "I remember so well getting out of +the train and walking up that long, miserable street. School wasn't +over, and I went straight to her cottage, as I have often done before. +There was a change. Her cheap furniture had gone. It was like one of +those little rooms we had dreamed of. There was a soft carpet upon the +floor, Chippendale furniture, flowers, hothouse fruit, and on the +mantelpiece--the photograph of a man." + +He paused, and they took the whole one long turn along the wind-swept, +shadowy deck in silence. + +"Presently she came," he continued. "The change was there, too. She was +dressed simply enough, but even I, in my inexperience, knew the +difference. She came in--she, who had spoken of suicide a short time +ago--singing softly to herself. She saw me, our eyes met, and the story +was told. I knew, and she knew that I knew." + +It seemed as though something in his tone might have grated upon her. +Gently, but with a certain firmness, she drew her hand away from his. + +"You were very angry, I suppose?" she murmured. + +Some instinct told him exactly what was passing in her thoughts. In a +moment he was on the defensive. + +"I think," he said, "that if it had been any other man--but listen. The +photograph which I took from the mantelpiece and threw into the fire was +the photograph of my own cousin. His father and my father were brought up +together. My father chose the Church, his founded the factory in which +most of the people in Detton Magna were employed. When my grandfather +died, it was found that he was penniless. The whole of his money had gone +towards founding the Douglas Romilly Shoe Company. I won't weary with the +details. The business prospered, but we remained in poverty. When my +mother died I was left with nothing. My uncle made promises and never +kept them. He, too, died. My cousin and I quarrelled. He and his father +both held that the money advanced by my grandfather had been a gift and +not a loan. They offered me a pittance. Well, I refused anything. I spoke +plain words, and that was an end of it. And then I came back and I saw +his picture, my cousin's picture, upon the mantelpiece. I can see it now +and it looks hateful to me. All the old fires burned up in me. I +remembered my father's death--a pauper he was. I remembered how near I +had been to starvation. I remembered the years I had spent in a garret +whilst Douglas had idled time away at Oxford, had left there to trifle +with the business his father had founded, had his West End club, hunters, +and shooting. It was a vicious, mad, jealous hatred, perhaps, but I claim +that it was human. I went out of that little house and it seemed to me +that there was a new lust in my heart, a new, craving desire. If I had +thrown myself into that canal, they might well have called it temporary +insanity. I didn't, but I was mad all the same. Anything else I did--was +temporary insanity!" + +Her hand suddenly came back again and she leaned towards him through the +darkness. + +"You poor child," she whispered. "Stop there, please. Don't be afraid to +think you've told me this. You see, I am of the world, and I know that we +are all only human. Now, twice up and down the deck, and not a word. Then +I shall ask you something." + +So they passed on, side by side, the touch of her fingers keeping this +new courage alive in his heart, his head uplifted even to the stars +towards which their rolling mast pointed. It was wonderful, this--to tell +the truth, to open the door of his heart! + +"Now I am going to ask you something," she said, when they turned for the +third time. "You may think it a strange question, but you must please +answer it. To me it is rather important. Just what were your feelings for +Beatrice?" + +"I think I was fond of her," he answered thoughtfully. "I know that I +hated her when she came in from the schoolhouse--when I understood. Both +of us, in the days of our joint poverty, had scoffed at principles, had +spoken boldly enough of sin, but I can only say that when she came, when +I looked into her eyes, I seemed to have discovered a new horror in life. +I can't analyse it. I am not sure, even now, that I was not more of a +beast that I had thought myself. I am not sure that part of my rage was +not because she had escaped and I couldn't." + +"But your personal feelings--that is what I want to know about?" she +persisted. + +He dug down into his consciousness to satisfy her. + +"Think of what my life in London had been," he reminded her. "There +wasn't a single woman I knew, with whom I could exchange a word. All the +time I loved beautiful things, and beautiful women, and the thought of +them. I have gone out into the streets at nights sometimes and hung +around the entrances to theatres and restaurants just for the pleasure of +looking at them with other men. It didn't do me any good, you know, but +the desire was there. I wanted a companion like those other men had. +Beatrice was the only woman I knew. I didn't choose her. It wasn't the +selective instinct that made her attractive to me. It was because she was +the only one. I never felt anything great when I was with her," he went +on hoarsely. "I knew very well that ours were ordinary feelings. She was +in the same position that I was. There was no one else for her, either. +Do you want me to go on?" + +She hesitated. + +"Don't be afraid--I am not quite mad," he continued, "only I'll answer +for you the part of your question you don't put into words. Beatrice was +nothing to me but an interpretress of her sex. I never loved her. If I +had, we might in our misery have done the wildest, the most foolish +things. I will tell you why I know so clearly that I never loved her. I +have known it since you have been kind to me, since I have realised what +a wonderful thing a woman can be, what a world she can make for the man +who cares, whom she cares for." + +Her fingers gripped his tightly. + +"And now," she said, "I know all that I want to know and all that it is +well for us to speak of just now. Dear friend, will you remember that you +are sharing your burden with me, and that I, who am accounted something +in the world and who know life pretty thoroughly, believe in you and hope +for you." + +They paused for a moment by the side of the steamer rail. She understood +so well his speechlessness. She drew her hand away from his and held it +to his lips. + +"Please kiss my fingers," she begged. "That is just the seal of our +friendship in these days. See how quickly we seem to plough our way +through the water. Listen to the throbbing of that engine, always towards +a new world for you, my friend. It is to be an undiscovered country. Be +brave, keep on being brave, and remember--" + +The words seemed to die away upon her lips. A shower of spray came +glittering into the dim light, like flakes of snow falling with +unexpected violence close to them. He drew her cloak around her and +moved back. + +"Now," she said, "I think we will smoke, and perhaps, if you made +yourself very agreeable to the steward in the smoking room, you could get +some coffee." + +"One moment," he pleaded. "Remember what? Don't you realise that there is +just one word I still need, one little word to crown all that you have +said?" + +She turned her head towards him. The trouble and brooding melancholy +seemed to have fallen from his face. She realised more fully its +sensitive lines, its poetic, almost passionate charm. She was carried +suddenly away upon a wave of the emotion which she herself had created. + +"Oh, but you know!" she faltered. "You see, I trust you even to know +when ... Now your arm, please, until we reach the smoking room, and +mind--I must have coffee." + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Philip Romilly, on the last day of the voyage, experienced to the full +that peculiar sensation of unrest which seems inevitably to prevail when +an oceangoing steamer is being slowly towed into port. The winds of the +ocean had been left behind. There was a new but pleasant chill in the +frosty, sunlit air. The great buildings of New York, at which he had +been gazing for hours, were standing, heterogeneous but magnificent, +clear-cut against an azure sky. The ferry boats, with their amazing human +cargo, seemed to be screeching a welcome as they churned their way across +the busy river. Wherever he looked, there was something novel and +interesting, yet nothing sufficiently arresting to enable him to forget +that he was face to face now with the first crisis of his new life. Since +that brief wireless message on the first day out, there had been nothing +disquieting in the daily bulletins of news, and he had been able to +appreciate to the full the soothing sense of detachment, the friendliness +of his fellow voyagers, immeasurably above all the daily association with +Elizabeth. He felt like one awaking from a dream as he realised that +these things were over. At the first sight of land, it was as though a +magician's wand had been waved, a charm broken. His fellow passengers, in +unfamiliar costumes, were standing about with their eyes glued upon the +distant docks. A queer sense of ostracism possessed him. Perhaps, after +all, it had been a dream from which he was now slowly awaking. + +He wandered into the lounge to find Elizabeth surrounded by a little +group of journalists. She nodded to him pleasantly and waved a great +bunch of long-stemmed pink roses which one of them had brought to her. +Her greeting saved him from despair. She, at least, was unchanged. + +"See how my friends are beginning to spoil me!" she cried out. "Really, I +can't tell any of you a thing more," she went on, turning back to them, +"only this, and I am sure it ought to be interesting. I have discovered a +new dramatist, and I am going to produce a play of his within three +months, I hope. I shan't tell you his name and I shan't tell you anything +about the play, except that I find more promise in it than anything I +have seen or read for months. Mr. Romilly, please wait for me," she +called after him. "I want to point out some of the buildings to you." + +A dark young man, wearing eyeglasses, with a notebook and pencil in his +hand, swung around. + +"Is this Mr. Douglas Romilly," he enquired, "of the Romilly Shoe Company? +I am from the _New York Star_. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Romilly. You are +over here on business, we understand?" + +Philip was taken aback and for the moment remained speechless. + +"We'd like to know your reason, Mr. Romilly, for paying us a visit," the +young man continued, "in your own words. How long a trip do you intend to +make, anyway? What might your output be in England per week? Women's +shoes and misses', isn't it?" + +Elizabeth intervened swiftly, shaking her finger at the journalist. + +"Mr. Harris," she said, "Mr. Romilly is my friend, and I am not going to +have him spend these few impressive moments, when he ought to be looking +about him at the harbour, telling you silly details about his business. +You can call upon him at his hotel, if you like--the Waldorf he is going +to, I believe--and I am sure he will tell you anything you want to know." + +"That's all right, Miss Dalstan," the young man declared soothingly. "See +you later, Mr. Romilly," he added. "Maybe you'll let us have a few of +your impressions to work in with the other stuff." + +Romilly made light of the matter, but there was a slight frown upon his +forehead as they passed along the curiously stationary deck. + +"I am afraid," he observed, "that this is going to be a terribly hard +country to disappear in." + +"Don't you believe it," she replied cheerfully. "You arrive here to-day +and you are in request everywhere. To-morrow you are forgotten--some +one else arrives. That newspaper man scarcely remembers your existence at +the present moment. He has discovered Mr. Raymond Greene.... Tell me, why +do you look so white and unhappy?" + +"I am sorry the voyage is over," he confessed. + +"So am I, for that matter," she assented. "I have loved every minute of +the last few days, but then we knew all the time, didn't we, that it was +just an interlude? The things which lie before us are so full of +interest." + +"It is the next few hours which I fear," he muttered gloomily. + +She laughed at him. + +"Foolish! If there had been any one on this side who wanted to ask you +disagreeable questions, they wouldn't have waited to meet you on the +quay. They'd have come down the harbour and held us up. Don't think about +that for a moment. Think instead of all the wonderful things we are going +to do. You will be occupied every minute of the time until I come back to +New York, and I shall be so anxious to see the result. You won't +disappoint me, will you?" + +"I will not," he promised. "It was only for just a moment that I felt an +idiot. It's exciting, you know, this new atmosphere, and the voyage was +so wonderful, such a perfect rest. It's like waking up, and the daylight +seems a little crude." + +She held out her hand. + +"You see, the gangways are going down," she pointed out. "I can see many +of my friends waiting. Remember, with your new life begins our new +alliance. Good luck to you, dear friend!" + +Their fingers were locked for a moment together. He looked earnestly into +her eyes. + +"Whatever the new life may mean for me," he said fervently, "I shall owe +to you." + +A little rush of people came up the gangway, and Elizabeth was speedily +surrounded and carried off. They came across one another several times in +the Custom House, and she waved her hand to him gaily. Philip went +through the usual formalities, superintended the hoisting of his trunks +upon a clumsy motor truck, and was himself driven without question from +the covered shed adjoining the quay. He looked back at the huge side of +the steamer, the floor of the Custom House, about which were still dotted +little crowds of his fellow passengers. It was the disintegration of a +wonderful memory--his farewell.... + + * * * * * + +At the Waldorf he found himself greeted with unexpected cordiality. The +young gentleman to whom he applied, after some hesitation, for a room, +stretched out his hand and welcomed him to America. + +"So you are Mr. Romilly!" he exclaimed. "Well, that's good. We've got +your room--Number 602, on the ninth floor." + +"Ninth floor!" Philip gasped. + +"If you'd like to be higher up we can change you," the young man +continued amiably. "Been several people here enquiring for you. A young +man from the 'Boot and Shoe Trades Reporter' was here only half an hour +ago, and here's a cable. No mail yet." + +He handed the key to a small boy and waved Philip away. The small boy +proved fully equal to his mission. + +"You just step this way, sir," he invited encouragingly. "Those packages +of yours will be all right. You don't need to worry about them." + +He led the way down a corridor streaming with human beings, into a lift +from which it appeared to Philip that he was shot on to the ninth floor, +along a thickly-carpeted way into a good-sized and comfortable bedroom, +with bathroom attached. + +"Your things will be up directly, sir," the small boy promised, holding +out his hand. "I'll see after them myself." + +Philip expressed his gratitude in a satisfactory manner and stood for a +few moments at the window. Although it was practically his first glimpse +of New York, the wonders of the panorama over which he looked failed even +to excite his curiosity. The clanging of the surface cars, the roar and +clatter of the overhead railway, the hooting of streams of automobiles, +all apparently being driven at breakneck speed, alien sounds though they +were, fell upon deaf ears. He could neither listen nor observe. Every +second's delay fretted him. His plans were all made. Everything depended +upon their being carried out now without the slightest hitch. He +walked a dozen times to the door, waiting for his luggage, and when at +last it arrived he was on the point of using the telephone. He feed the +linen-coated porters and dismissed them as rapidly as possible. Then he +ransacked the trunks until he found, amidst a pile of fashionable +clothing, a quiet and inconspicuous suit of dark grey. In the bathroom +he hastily changed his clothes, selected an ordinary Homburg hat, and +filled a small leather case with various papers. He was on the point of +leaving the room when his eyes fell upon the cable. He hesitated for a +moment, gazed at the superscription, shrugged his shoulders, and tore it +open. He moved to the window and read it slowly, word for word: + +"Just seen Henshaw. Most disturbing interview. Tells me you have had +notice to reduce overdraft by February 1st. Absolutely declines any +further advances. Payments coming in insufficient meet wages and current +liabilities. No provision for 4th bills, amounting sixteen thousand +pounds. Have wired London for accountant. Await your instructions +urgently. Suggest you cable back the twenty thousand pounds lying our +credit New York. Please reply. Very worried. Potts." + +Word by word, Philip read the cable twice over. Then it fluttered from +his fingers on to the table. It told its own story beyond any shadow of a +mistake. His cousin's great wealth was a fiction. The business to which +his own fortune and the whole of his grandfather's money had been +devoted, was even now tottering. He remembered the rumours he had heard +of Douglas' extravagance, his establishment in London, the burden of his +college debts. And then a further light flashed in upon him. Twenty +thousand pounds in America!--lying there, too, for Douglas under a false +name! He drew out one of the documents which he had packed and glanced at +it more carefully. Then he replaced it, a little dazed. Douglas had +planned to leave England, then, with this crisis looming over him. Why? +Philip for a moment sat down on the arm of an easy-chair. A grim sense of +humour suddenly parted his lips. He threw back his head and laughed. +Douglas Romilly had actually been coming to America to disappear! It was +incredible but it was true. + +He left the cable carefully open upon the dressing-table, and, picking up +the small leather case, left the room. He reached the lift, happily +escaping the observation of the young lady seated at her desk, and +descended into the hall. Once amongst the crowd of people who thronged +the corridors, he found it perfectly simple to leave the hotel by one of +the side entrances. He walked to the corner of the street and drew a +little breath. Then he lit a cigarette and strolled along Broadway, +curiously light-hearted, his spirits rising at every step. He was free +for ever from that other hateful personality. Mr. Douglas Romilly, of the +Douglas Romilly Shoe Company, had paid his brief visit to America and +passed on. + + + + +BOOK II + + + + +CHAPTER I + +After a fortnight of his new life, Philip took stock of himself and his +belongings. In the first place, then, he owned a new name, taken bodily +from certain documents which he had brought with him from England. +Further, as Mr. Merton Ware, he was the monthly tenant of a small but not +uncomfortable suite of rooms on the top story of a residential hotel in +the purlieus of Broadway. He had also, apparently, been a collector of +newspapers of certain dates, all of which contained some such paragraph +as this: + + DOUGLAS ROMILLY, WEALTHY ENGLISH BOOT + MANUFACTURER, DISAPPEARS FROM THE WALDORF ASTORIA + HOTEL. WALKS OUT OF HIS ROOM WITHIN AN HOUR OF + LANDING AND HAS NOT BEEN HEARD OF SINCE. DOWN TOWN + HAUNTS SEARCHED. FOUL PLAY FEARED. + + SUPERINTENDENT SHIPMAN DECLARES HIMSELF BAFFLED. + + Early on Monday morning, the police of the city + were invited to investigate a case of curious + disappearance. Mr. Douglas Romilly, an English + shoe manufacturer, who travelled out from England + on board the _Elletania_, arrived at the Waldorf + Hotel at four o'clock on Saturday afternoon and + was shown to the reservation made for him. Within + an hour he was enquired for by several callers, + who were shown to his room without result. The + apartment was found to be empty and nothing has + since been seen or heard of Mr. Romilly. The room + assigned to him, which could only have been + occupied for a few minutes, has been locked up and + the keys handed to the police. A considerable + amount of luggage is in their possession, and + certain documents of a somewhat curious character. + From cables received early this afternoon, it + would appear that the Douglas Romilly Shoe + Company, one of the oldest established firms in + England, is in financial difficulties. + +Then there was a paragraph in a paper of later date: + + NO NEWS OF DOUGLAS ROMILLY. + + The police have been unable to discover any trace + of the missing Englishman. From further cables to + hand, it appears that he was in possession of a + considerable sum of money, which must have been on + his person at the time of disappearance, and it is + alleged that there was also a large amount, with + which he had intended to make purchases for his + business, standing to his credit at a New York + bank. Nothing has since been discovered, however, + amongst his belongings, of the slightest financial + value, nor does any bank in New York admit holding + a credit on behalf of the missing man. + +"Perhaps it is time," Philip murmured, "that these were destroyed." + +He tore the newspapers into pieces and threw them into his waste-basket. +On his writing-table were forty or fifty closely written pages of +manuscript. In his pocketbook were sixteen hundred dollars, and a +document indicating a credit for a very much larger amount at the United +Bank of New York, in favor of Merton Ware and another. The remainder +of his belongings were negligible. He stood at the window and looked out +across the city, the city into whose labyrinths he was so eager to +penetrate--the undiscovered country. By day and night its voices were in +his ears, the rattle and roar of the overhead railway, the clanging of +the street cars, the heavy traffic, the fainter but never ceasing +foot-fall of the multitudes. He had sat there before dawn and watched the +queer, pinky-white light steal with ever widening fingers through the +darkness, heard the yawn of the city as it seemed to shiver and tremble +before the battle of the day. At twilight he had watched the lights +spring up one by one, at first like pin pricks in the distance, growing +and widening until the grotesque shapes of the buildings from which they +sprung had faded into nothingness, and there was left only a velvet +curtain of strangely-lit stars. At a giddy distance below he could trace +the blaze of Broadway, the blue lights flashing from the electric wires +as the cable cars rushed back and forth, the red and violet glimmer of +the sky signs. He knew it all so well, by morning, by noon and night; +in rainstorm, storms which he had watched come up from oceanwards in +drifting clouds of vapour; and in sunshine, clear, brilliant sunshine, a +little hard and austere, to his way of thinking, and unseasonable. + +"A week," he muttered. "She said a week. Tonight I will go out." + +He looked at himself in the glass. He wore no longer the well-cut clothes +of Mr. Douglas Romilly's Saville Row tailor, but a ready-made suit of +Schmitt & Mayer's business reach-me-downs, an American felt hat and +square-toed shoes. + +"She said a week," he repeated. "It's a fortnight to-day. I'll go to the +restaurant at the corner. I must find out for myself what all this noise +means, what the city has to say." + +He turned towards the door and then stopped short. For almost the first +time since he had taken up his quarters here, the lift had stopped +outside. There was a brief pause, then his bell rang. For a moment Philip +hesitated. Then he stepped forward and opened the door, looking out +enquiringly at his caller. + +"You Mr. Merton Ware?" + +He admitted the fact briefly. His visitor was a young woman dressed in a +rather shabby black indoor dress, over which she wore an apron. She was +without either hat or gloves. Her fingers were stained with purple +copying ink, and her dark hair was untidily arranged. + +"I live two stories down below," she announced, handing him a little +card. "Miss Martha Grimes--that's my name--typewriter and stenographer, +you see. The waiter who brings our meals told me he thought you were some +way literary, so I just stepped up to show you my prospectus. If you've +any typewriting you want doing, I'm on the spot, and I don't know as +you'd get it done much cheaper anywhere else--or better." + +There was nothing particularly ingratiating about Miss Martha Grimes, +but, with the exception of a coloured waiter, she happened to be the +first human being with whom Philip had exchanged a word for several days. +He felt disinclined to hurry her away. + +"Come in," he invited, holding the door open. "So you do typing, eh? What +sort of a machine do you use?" + +"Remington," she answered. "It's a bit knocked about--a few of the +letters, I mean--but I've got some violet ink and I can make a manuscript +look all right. Half a dollar a thousand words, and a quarter for carbon +copies. Of course, if you'd got a lot of stuff," she went on, her eyes +lighting hopefully upon the little collection of manuscript upon his +table, "I might quote you a trifle less." + +He picked up some of his sheets and glanced at them. + +"Sooner or later," he admitted, "I shall have to have this typed. It +isn't quite ready yet, though." + +He was struck by the curious little light of anticipation which somehow +changed her face, and which passed away at his last words. Under pretence +of gathering together some of those loose pages, he examined her more +closely and realised that he had done her at first scant justice. She was +very thin, and the expression of her face was spoilt by the discontented +curve of her lips. The shape of her head, however, was good. Her dark +hair, notwithstanding its temporary disarrangement, was of beautiful +quality, and her eyes, though dull and spiritless-looking, were large and +full of subtle promise. He replaced the sheets of manuscript. + +"Sit down for a moment," he begged. + +"I'd rather stand," she replied. + +"Just as you please," he assented, smiling. "I was just wondering what to +do about this stuff." + +She hesitated for a moment, then a little sulkily she seated herself. + +"I suppose you think I'm a pretty forward young person to come up here +and beg for work. I don't care if you do," she went on, swinging her foot +back and forth. "One has to live." + +"I am very pleased that you came," he assured her. "It will be a great +convenience to me to have my typing done on the premises, and although I +am afraid there won't be much of it, you shall certainly do what there +is." + +"Story writer?" she enquired. + +"I am only a beginner," he told her. "This work I am going to give you is +a play." + +She looked at him with a shade of commiseration in her face. + +"Sickening job, ain't it, writing for the stage unless you've got some +sort of pull?" + +"This is my first effort," he explained. + +"Well, it's none of my business," she said gloomily. "All I want is the +typing of it, only you should see some of the truck I've had! I've hated +to send in the bill. Waste of good time and paper! I don't suppose yours +is like that, but there ain't much written that's any good, anyway." + +"You're a hopeful young person, aren't you?" he remarked, taking a +cigarette from the mantelpiece and lighting it. "Have one?" + +"No, thank _you_!" she replied, rising briskly to her feet. "I'm not that +sort that sits about and smokes cigarettes with strange young men. If +you'll let me know when that work's going to be ready, I'll send the +janitor up for it." + +He smiled deprecatingly. + +"You're not afraid of me, by any chance, are you?" he asked. + +Her eyes glowed with contempt as she looked him up and down. + +"Afraid of you, sir!" she repeated. "I should say not! I've met all sorts +of men and I know something about them." + +"Then sit down again, please," he begged. + +She hesitated for a moment, then subsided once more unwillingly into the +chair. + +"Don't know as I want to stay up here gossiping," she remarked. "You'd +much better be getting on with your work. Give me one of those +cigarettes, anyway," she added abruptly. + +"Do you live in the building?" he enquired, as he obeyed her behest. + +"Two flats below with pop," she replied. "He's a bad actor, very seldom +in work, and he drinks. There are just the two of us. Now you know as +much as is good for you. You're English, ain't you?" + +"I am," Philip admitted. + +"Just out, too, by the way you talk." + +"I have been living in Jamaica," he told her, "for many years--clerk in +an office there." + +"Better have stayed where you were, I should think, if you've come here +hoping to make a living by that sort of stuff." + +"Perhaps you're right," he agreed, "but you see I am here--been here a +week or two, in fact." + +"Done much visiting around?" she enquired. + +"I've scarcely been out," he confessed. "You see, I don't know the city +except from my windows. It's wonderful from here after twilight." + +"Think so," she replied dully. "It's a hard, hammering, brazen sort of +place when you're living in it from hand to mouth. Not but what we don't +get along all right," she added, a little defiantly. "I'm not grumbling." + +"I am sure you're not," he assented soothingly. "Tell me--to-night I am a +little tired of work. I thought of going out. Be a Good Samaritan and +tell me where to find a restaurant in Broadway, somewhere where crowds +of people go but not what they call a fashionable place. I want to get +some dinner--I haven't had anything decent to eat for I don't know how +long--and I want to breathe the same atmosphere as other people." + +She looked at him a little enviously. + +"How much do you want to spend?" she asked bluntly. + +"I don't know that that really matters very much. I have some money. +Things are more expensive over here, aren't they?" + +"I should go to the New Martin House," she advised him, "right at the +corner of this block. It's real swell, and they say the food's +wonderful." + +"I could go as I am, I suppose?" he asked, glancing down at his clothes. + +She stared at him wonderingly. + +"Say, where did you come from?" she exclaimed. "You ain't supposed to +dress yourself out in glad clothes for a Broadway restaurant, not even +the best of them." + +"Have you been to this place yourself?" he enquired. + +"Nope!" + +"Come with me," he invited suddenly. + +She arose at once to her feet and threw the remains of her cigarette into +the grate. + +"Say, Mr. Ware," she pronounced, "I ain't that sort, and the sooner you +know it the better, especially if I'm going to do your work. I'll be +going." + +"Look here," he remonstrated earnestly, "you don't seem to understand me +altogether. What do you mean by saying you're not that sort?" + +"You know well enough," she answered defiantly. "I guess you're not +proposing to give me a supper out of charity, are you?" + +"I am asking you to accompany me," he declared, "because I haven't spoken +to a human being for a week, because I don't know a soul in New York, +because I've got enough money to pay for two dinners, and because I am +fiendishly lonely." + +She looked at him and it was obvious that she was more than half +convinced. Her brightening expression transformed her face. She was still +hesitating, but her inclinations were apparent. + +"Say, you mean that straight?" she asked. "You won't turn around +afterwards and expect a lot of soft sawder because you've bought me a +meal?" + +"Don't be a silly little fool," he answered good-humouredly. "All I want +from you is to sit by my side and talk, and tell me what to order." + +Her face suddenly fell. + +"No good," she sighed. "Haven't got any clothes." + +"If I am going like this," he expostulated, "why can't you go as you are? +Take your apron off. You'll be all right." + +"There's my black hat with the ribbon," she reminded herself. "It's no +style, and Stella said yesterday she wouldn't be seen in a dime show in +it." + +"Never you mind about Stella," he insisted confidently. "You clap it on +your head and come along." + +She swung towards the door. + +"Meet you in the hall in ten minutes," she promised. "Can't be any +quicker. This is your trouble, you know. I didn't invite myself." + +Philip opened the door, a civility which seemed to somewhat embarrass +her. + +"I shall be waiting for you," he declared cheerfully. + + + +CHAPTER II + +Philip stepped into his own little bedroom and made scanty preparations +for this, his first excursion. Then he made his way down into the shabby +hall and was seated there on the worn settee when his guest descended. +She was wearing a hat which, so far as he could judge, was almost +becoming. Her gloves, notwithstanding their many signs of mending, were +neat, her shoes carefully polished, and although her dress was undeniably +shabby, there was something in her carriage which pleased him. Her +eyes were fixed upon his from the moment she stepped from the lift. She +was watching for his expression half defiantly, half anxiously. + +"Well, you see what I look like," she remarked brusquely. "You can back +out of it, if you want to." + +"Don't be silly," he replied. "You look quite all right. I'm not much of +a beau myself, you know. I bought this suit over the counter the other +day, without being measured for it or anything." + +"Guess you ain't used to ready-made clothes," she observed, as they +stepped outside. + +"You see, in England--and the Colonies," he added hastily, "things aren't +so expensive as here. What a wonderful city this is of yours, Martha!" + +"Miss Grimes, please," she corrected him. + +"I beg your pardon," he apologised. + +"That's just what I was afraid of," she went on querulously. "You're +beginning already. You think because you're giving me a meal, you can +take all sorts of liberties. Calling me by my Christian name, indeed!" + +"It was entirely a slip," he assured her. "Tell me what theatre that is +across the way?" + +She answered his question and volunteered other pieces of information. +Philip gazed about him, as they walked along Broadway, with the eager +curiosity of a provincial sightseer. She laughed at him a little +scornfully. + +"You'll get used to all the life and bustle presently," she told him. "It +won't seem so wonderful to you when you walk along here without a dollar +to bless yourself with, and your silly plays come tumbling back. Now this +is the Martin House. My! Looks good inside, don't it?" + +They crossed the threshold, Philip handed his hat to the attendant and +they stood, a little undecided, at the top of the brilliantly-lit room. A +condescending maître d'hotel showed them to a retired table in a distant +corner, and another waiter handed them a menu. + +"You know, half of this is unintelligible to me," Philip confessed. +"You'll have to do the ordering--that was our bargain, you know." + +"You must tell me how much you want to spend, then?" she insisted. + +"I will not," he answered firmly. "What I want is a good dinner, and for +this once in my life I don't care what it costs. I've a few hundred +dollars in my pocket, so you needn't be afraid I shan't be able to pay +the bill. You just order the things you like, and a bottle of claret or +anything else you prefer." + +She turned to the waiter, and, carefully studying the prices, she gave +him an order. + +"One portion for two, remember, of the fish and the salad," she enjoined. +"Two portions of the chicken, if you think one won't be enough." + +She leaned back in her place. + +"It's going to cost you, when you've paid for the claret, a matter of +four dollars and fifty cents, this dinner," she said, "and I guess you'll +have to give the waiter a quarter. Are you scared?" + +He laughed at her once more. + +"Not a bit!" + +She looked at his long, delicate fingers--studied him for a moment. +Notwithstanding his clothes, there was an air of breeding about him, +unconcealable, a thing apart, even, from his good looks. + +"Clerk, were you?" she remarked. "Seems to me you're used to spending two +dollars on a meal all right. I'm not!" + +"Neither am I," he assured her. "One doesn't have much opportunity of +spending money in--Jamaica." + +"You seem kind of used to it, somehow," she persisted. "Have you come +into money, then?" + +"I've saved a little," he explained, with a rather grim smile, "and +I've--well, shall we say come into some?" + +"Stolen it, maybe," she observed indifferently. + +"Should you be horrified if I told that I had?" + +"I don't know," she answered. "I'm one of those who's lived honest, and I +sometimes wonder whether it pays." + +"It's a great problem," he sighed. + +"It is that," she admitted gloomily. "I've got a friend--she used to live +in our place, just below me--Stella Kimbell, her name is. She and I +learnt our typewriting together and started in the same office. We stood +it, somehow, for three years, sometimes office work, sometimes at home. +We didn't have much luck. It was always better for me than for Stella, +because she was good-looking, and I'm not." + +"I shouldn't say that," he remonstrated. "You've got beautiful eyes, you +know." + +"You stop it!" she warned him firmly. "My eyes are my own, and I'll +trouble you not to make remarks about them." + +"Sorry," Philip murmured, duly crushed. + +"The men were after her all the time," the girl continued, reminiscently. +"Last place we were at, a dry goods store not far from here, the heads of +the departments used to make her life fairly miserable. She held out, +though, but what with fines, and one thing or another, they forced her to +leave. So I did the same. We drifted apart then for a while. She got a +job at an automobile place, and I was working at home. I remember the +night she came to me--I was all alone. Pop had got a three-line part +somewhere and was bragging about it at all the bars in Broadway. Stella +came in quite suddenly and almost out of breath. + +"'Kid,' she said, 'I'm through with it.' + +"'What do you mean?' I asked her. + +"Then she threw herself down on the sofa and she sobbed--I never heard a +girl cry like that in all my life. She shrieked, she was pretty nearly in +hysterics, and I couldn't get a word out of her. When she was through at +last, she was all limp and white. She wouldn't tell me anything. She +simply sat and looked at the stove. Presently she got up to go. I put my +hands on her shoulders and I forced her back in the chair. + +"'You've got to tell me all about it, Stella,' I insisted. + +"And then of course I heard the whole story. She'd got fired again. These +men are devils!" + +"Don't tell me more about it unless you like," he begged sympathetically. +"Where is she now?" + +"In the chorus of 'Three Frivolous Maids.' She comes in here regularly." + +"Sorry for herself?" + +"Not she! Last time I saw her she told me she wouldn't go back into an +office, or take on typewriting again, for anything in the world. She was +looking prettier than ever, too. There's a swell chap almost crazy about +her. Shouldn't wonder if she hasn't got an automobile." + +"Well, she answers our question one way, then," he remarked thoughtfully. +"Tell me, Miss Grimes, is everything to eat in America as good as this +fish?" + +"Some cooking here," she observed, looking rather regretfully at her +empty plate. "I told you things were all right. There's grilled +chicken--Maryland chicken--coming, and green corn." + +"Have I got to eat the corn like that man opposite?" he asked anxiously. + +"You can eat it how you like," she answered. + +"Watch me, if you want to. I don't care. I ain't tasted green corn since +I can remember, and I'm going to enjoy it." + +"You don't like your claret, I'm afraid," he remarked. + +She sipped it and set down the glass a little disparagingly. + +"If you want to know what I would like," she said, "it's just a Martini +cocktail. We don't drink wines over here as much as you folk, I guess." + +He ordered the cocktails at once. Every now and then he watched her. She +ate delicately but with a healthy and unashamed appetite. A little colour +came into her cheeks as the room grew warmer, her lower lip became less +uncompromising. Suddenly she laid down her knife and fork. Her eyes were +agleam with interest. She pulled at his sleeve. + +"Say, that's Stella!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Look, she's coming this +way! Don't she look stunning!" + +A girl, undeniably pretty, with dark, red-gold hair, wearing a long +ermine coat and followed by a fashionably dressed young man, was making +her way up the room. She suddenly recognised Philip's companion and came +towards her with outstretched hand. + +"If it isn't Martha!" she cried. "Isn't this great! Felix, this is Miss +Grimes--Martha Grimes, you know," she added, calling to the young man who +was accompanying her. "You must remember--why, what's the matter with +you, Felix?" + +She broke off in her speech. Her companion was staring at Philip, who was +returning his scrutiny with an air of mild interrogation. + +"Say," the young man enquired, "didn't I meet you on the _Elletania_? +Aren't you Mr. Douglas Romilly?" + +Philip shook his head. + +"My name is Ware," he pronounced, "Merton Ware. I have certainly never +been on the _Elletania_ and I don't remember having met you before." + +The young man whose name was Felix appeared almost stupefied. + +"Gee whiz!" he muttered. "Excuse me, sir, but I never saw such a likeness +before--never!" + +"Well, shake hands with Miss Grimes quickly and come along," Stella +enjoined. "Remember I only have half an hour for dinner now. You coming +to see the show, Martha?" + +"Not to-night," that young woman declared firmly. + +The two passed on after a few more moments of amiable but, on the part of +the young man, somewhat dazed conversation. Philip had resumed the +consumption of his chicken. He raised an over-filled glass to his lips +steadily and drank it without spilling a drop. + +"Mistook me for some one," he remarked coolly. + +She nodded. + +"Man who disappeared from the Waldorf Astoria. They made quite a fuss +about him in the newspapers. I shouldn't have said you were the least +like him--to judge by his pictures, anyway." + +Philip shrugged his shoulders. He seemed very little interested. + +"I don't often read the newspapers.... So that is Stella." + +"That is Stella," she assented, a little defiantly. "And if I were she--I +mean if I were as good-looking as she is--I'd be in her place." + +"I wonder whether you would?" he observed thoughtfully. + +"Oh! don't bother me with your problems," she replied. "Does it run to +coffee?" + +"Of course it does," he agreed, "and a liqueur, if you like." + +"If you mean a cordial, I'll have some of that green stuff," she decided. +"Don't know when I shall get another dinner like this again." + +"Well, that rests with you," he assured her. "I am very lonely just now. +Later on it will be different. We'll come again next week, if you like." + +"Better see how you feel about it when the time comes," she answered +practically. "Besides, I'm not sure they'd let me in here again. Did you +see Stella's coat? Fancy feeling fur like that up against your chin! +Fancy--" + +She broke off and sipped her coffee broodingly. + +"Those things are immaterial in themselves," he reminded her. "It's just +a question how much happiness they have brought her, whether the thing +pays or not." + +"Of course it pays!" she declared, almost passionately. "You've never +seen my rooms or my drunken father. I can tell you what they're like, +though. They're ugly, they're tawdry, they're untidy, when I've any work +to do, they're scarcely clean. Our meals are thrown at us--we're always +behind with the rent. There isn't anything to look at or listen to that +isn't ugly. You haven't known what it is to feel the grim pang of a +constant hideousness crawling into your senses, stupefying you almost +with a sort of misery--oh, I can't describe it!" + +"I have felt all those things," he said quietly. + +"What did you do?" she demanded. "No, perhaps you had luck. Perhaps it's +not fair to ask you that. It wouldn't apply. What should you do if you +were me, if you had the chance to get out of it all the way that she +has?" + +"I am not a woman," he reminded her simply. "If I answer you as an +outsider, a passer-by--mind, though, one who thinks about men and +women--I should say try one of her lesser sins, one of the sins that +leaves you clean. Steal, for instance." + +"And go to prison!" she protested angrily. "How much better off would you +be there, I wonder, and what about when you came out? Pooh! Pay your bill +and let's get out of this." + +He obeyed, and they made their way into the crowded street. He paused for +a moment on the pavement. The pleasure swirl was creeping a little into +his veins. + +"Would you like to go to a theatre?" he asked. + +She shook her head. + +"You do as you like. I'm going home. You needn't bother about coming with +me, either." + +"Don't be foolish," he protested. "I only mentioned a theatre for your +sake. Come along." + +They walked down Broadway and turned into their own street. They entered +the tenement building together and stepped into the lift. She held out +her hand a little abruptly. + +"Good night!" + +"Good night!" he answered. "You get out first, don't you? I'll polish +that stuff up to-night, the first part of it, so that you can get on with +the typing." + +Some half-developed fear which had been troubling her during the walk +home, seemed to have passed. Her face cleared. + +"Don't think I am ungrateful," she begged, as the lift stopped. "I +haven't had a good time like this for many months. Thank you, Mr. Ware, +and good night!" + +She stepped through the iron gates on to her own floor, and Philip swung +up to his rooms. Somehow, he entered almost light-heartedly. The roar of +the city below was no longer provocative. He felt as though he had +stretched out a hand towards it, as though he were in the way of becoming +one of its children. + + + +CHAPTER III + +A few nights later Philip awoke suddenly to find himself in a cold sweat, +face to face with all the horrors of an excited imagination. Once more he +felt his hand greedy for the soft flesh of the man he hated, tearing its +way through the stiff collar, felt the demoniacal strength shooting down +his arm, the fever at his finger tips. He saw the terrified face of his +victim, a strong man but impotent in his grasp; heard the splash of the +turgid waters; saw himself, his lust for vengeance unsatisfied, peering +downwards through the dim and murky gloom. It was not only a physical +nightmare which seized him. His brain, too, was his accuser. He saw with +a hideous clarity that even the excuse of motive was denied him. It was a +sense of personal loss which had driven him out on to that canal path, a +murderer at heart. It was something of which he had been robbed, an acute +and burning desire for vengeance, personal, entirely egotistical. It was +not the wrong to the woman which he resented, had there been any wrong. +It was the agony of his own personal misery. He rose from his bed and +stamped up and down his little chamber in a fear which was almost +hysterical. He threw wide open the windows, heedless of a driving +snowstorm. The subdued murmur of the city, with its paling lights, +brought him no relief. He longed frantically for some one who knew the +truth, for Elizabeth before any one, with her soft, cool touch, her +gentle, protective sympathy. He was a fool to think he could live alone +like this, with such a burden to bear! Perhaps it would not be for long. +The risks were many. At any moment he might hear the lift stop, steps +across the corridor, the ring at his bell, the plainly-clad, businesslike +man outside, with his formal questions, his grim civility. He fumbled +about in his little dressing-case until he came to a small box containing +several white pills. He gripped them in his hand and looked around, +listening. No, it was fancy! There was still no sound in the building. +When at last he went back to bed, however, the little box was tightly +clenched in his hands. + +In the morning he went through his usual programme. He arose soon after +eight, lighted his little spirit lamp, made his coffee, cut some bread +and butter, and breakfasted. Then he lit a cigarette and sat down at his +desk. His imagination, however, seemed to have burnt itself out in the +night. Ideas and phrases were denied to him. He was thankful, about +eleven o'clock, to hear a ring at the bell and find Martha Grimes outside +with a little parcel under her arm. She was wearing the same shabby black +dress and her fingers were stained with copying ink. Her almost too +luxuriant hair was ill-arranged and untidy. Even her eyes seemed to have +lost their lustre. + +"I've finished," she announced, handing him the parcel. "Better look and +see whether it's all right. I can't do it up properly till I've had the +whole." + +He cut the string and looked at a few of the sheets. The typing was +perfect. He began to express his approval but she interrupted him. + +"It's better stuff than I expected," she declared grudgingly. "I thought +you were only one of these miserable amateurs. Where did you learn to +write like that?" + +Somehow, her praise was like a tonic. + +"Do you like it?" he asked eagerly. + +"Oh! my likes or dislikes don't matter," she replied. "It's good stuff. +You'll find the account in there. If you'd like to pay me, I'd like to +have the money." + +He glanced at the neat little bill and took out his pocketbook. + +"Sit down for a minute," he begged. "I'm stuck this morning--can't write +a line. Take my easy-chair and smoke a cigarette--I have nothing else +to offer you." + +For a moment she seemed about to refuse. Then she flung herself into his +easy-chair, took a cigarette, and, holding it between her lips, almost +scarlet against the pallor of her cheeks, stretched upwards towards the +match which he was holding. + +"Stella and her boy were over to see me last night," she announced, a +little abruptly. + +"The young lady with the ermines," he murmured. + +"And her boy, Felix Martin. It was through him they came--I could see +that all right. He was trying all the time to pump me about you." + +"About me?" + +"Oh! you needn't trouble to look surprised," she remarked. "I guess you +remember the bee he had in his bonnet that night." + +"Mistook me for some one, didn't he?" Philip murmured. + +She nodded. + +"Kind of queer you don't read our newspapers! It was a guy named +Romilly--Douglas Romilly--who disappeared from the Waldorf Hotel. Strange +thing about it," she went on, "is that I saw photographs of him in the +newspapers, and I can't recognise even a likeness." + +"This Mr. Felix Martin doesn't agree with you, apparently," Philip +observed. + +"He don't go by the photographs," Martha Grimes explained. "He believes +that he crossed from Liverpool with this Mr. Douglas Romilly, and that +you," she continued, crossing her legs and smoothing down her skirt to +hide her shabby shoes, "are so much like him that he came down last night +to see if there was anything else he could find out from me before he +paid a visit to police headquarters." + +There was a moment's silence. Philip was apparently groping for a match, +and the girl was keeping her head studiously turned away from him. + +"What business is it of his?" + +"There was a reward offered. Don't know as that would make much +difference to Felix Martin, though. According to Stella's account, he is +pretty well a millionaire already." + +"It would be more useful to you, wouldn't it?" Philip remarked. + +"Five hundred dollars!" Martha sighed. "Don't seem to me just now that +there's much in the world you couldn't buy with five hundred dollars." + +"Well, what did you tell Mr. Felix Martin?" + +"Oh, I lied, sure! He'd found out the date you came into your rooms +here--the day this man Romilly disappeared--but I told him that I'd known +you and done work for you before then--long enough before the _Elletania_ +ever reached New York. That kind of stumped him." + +"Why did you do that?" Philip demanded. + +"Dunno," the girl replied, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Just a fancy. +I guessed you wouldn't want him poking around." + +"But supposing I had been Douglas Romilly, you might at least have +divided the reward," he reminded her. + +"There's money and money," Martha declared. "We spoke of that the other +day. Stella's got money--now. Well, she's welcome. My time will come, I +suppose, but if I can't have clean money, I haven't made up my mind yet +whether I wouldn't rather try the Hudson on a foggy morning." + +"Well, I am not Douglas Romilly, anyway," Philip announced. + +She looked up at him almost for the first time since her entrance. + +"I kind of thought you were," she admitted. "I might have saved my lies, +then." + +He shook his head. + +"You have probably saved me from more than you know of," he replied. "I +am not Douglas Romilly, but--" + +"You're not Merton Ware, either," she interrupted. + +"Quite right," he agreed. "I started life as Philip Merton Ware the day I +took these rooms, and if the time should come," he went on, "that any one +seriously set about the task of finding out exactly who I was before I +was Merton Ware, you and I might as well take that little journey--was it +to the Hudson, you said, on a foggy morning?--together." + +They sat in complete silence for several moments, Then she threw the end +of her cigarette into the fire. + +"Well, I'm glad I didn't lie for nothing," she declared. "I didn't quite +tumble to the Douglas Romilly stunt, though. They say he has left his +business bankrupt in England and brought a fortune out here. You don't +look as though you were overdone with it." + +"I certainly haven't the fortune that Douglas Romilly is supposed to have +got away with," he said quietly. "I have enough money for my present +needs, though--enough, by-the-by, to pay you for this typing," he added, +counting out the money upon the table. + +"Any more stuff ready?" + +"With luck there'll be some this afternoon," he promised her. "I had a +bad night last night, but I think I'll be able to work later in the day." + +She looked at him curiously, at his face, absolutely devoid of colour, +his eyes, restless and overbright, his long, twitching fingers. + +"Bad conscience or drugs?" she asked. + +"Bad conscience," he acknowledged. "I've been where you have been--Miss +Grimes. I looked over the edge and I jumped. I'd stay where you are, if +I were you." + +"Maybe I shall, maybe I shan't," she replied doggedly. "Stella wants to +bring a boy around to see me. 'You bring him,' I said. 'I'll talk to +him.' Then she got a little confused. Stella's kind, in her way. She came +back after Mr. Martin had gone down the passage. 'See here, kid,' she +said, 'you know as well as I do I can't bring any one round to see you +while you are sitting around in those rags. Let me lend you--' Well, I +stopped her short at that. 'My own plumes or none at all,' I told +her, 'and I'd just as soon he didn't come, anyway.'" + +"You're a queer girl," Philip exclaimed. "Where's your father to-day?" + +"Usual place," she answered,--"in bed. He never gets up till five." + +"Let me order lunch up here for both of us, from the restaurant," he +suggested. + +She shook her head. + +"No, thanks!" + +"Why not?" he persisted. + +"I'm going round to the office to see if I can get any extra work." + +"But you've got to lunch some time," he persisted. + +She laughed a little hardly. + +"Have I? We girls haven't got to eat like you men. I'll call up towards +the evening and see if you've anything ready for me." + +She was gone before he could stop her. He turned back to his desk and +seated himself. The sight of his last finished sentence presented itself +suddenly in a new light. There was a suggestiveness about it which was +almost poignant. He took up his pen and began to write rapidly. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +It was a few minutes after six that evening when Philip was conscious of +a knock at his door. He swung around in his chair, blinking a little. + +"Come in!" + +Martha Grimes entered. She was in outdoor apparel, that is to say she +wore her hat and a long mackintosh. She remained standing upon the +threshold. + +"Just looked up to see if you've got any more work ready," she explained. + +He sprang to his feet and stood there, for a moment, unsteadily. + +"Come in and shut the door," he ordered. "Look! Look!" he added, pointing +to his table. "Thirty-three sheets! I've been working all the time. I've +been living, I tell you, living God knows where!--not in this accursed +little world. Here, let's pick up the sheets. There's enough work for +you." + +She looked at him curiously. + +"Have you been in that chair ever since?" she asked. + +"Ever since," he assented enthusiastically. + +"Any lunch?" + +"Not a scrap. Never thought about it." + +"You'll make yourself sick, that's what you'll do," she declared. "Go out +and get something at once." + +"Never even thought about lunch," he repeated, half to himself. "Where +have you been?" + +"Some luck," she replied. "First place I dropped in at. Found there was a +girl gone home for the day, fainted. Lots of work to do, so they just +stuck me down in her chair. Three dollars they gave me. The girl's coming +back to-morrow, though, worse luck." + +"When did you have your lunch?" + +"Haven't had any. I'm going to make myself a cup of tea now." + +He reached for his hat. + +"Not on your life" he exclaimed. "Come along, Miss Martha Grimes. I +have written lines--you just wait till you type them! I tell you it's +what I have had at the back of my head for months. It's there now on +paper--living, flaring words. Come along." + +"Where to?" + +"We are going to eat," he insisted. "I am faint, and so are you. We are +going to that same place, and we'll have lunch and dinner in one." + +"Nothing doing," she snapped. "You'll see some more people who recognise +you." + +He waved his hand contemptuously. + +"Who cares! If you don't come along with me, I'll go up town to the +Waldorf or the Ritz Carlton. I'll waste my money and advertise myself. +Come along--that same little quiet corner. I don't suppose your friends +will be there again." + +"Stella won't," she admitted doubtfully. "She's going to Sherry's. I'd +just as soon be out," she went on ruminatingly. "Shouldn't be surprised +if she didn't bring that guy in, after all." + +He had already rung the bell of the lift. + +"Look at me!" she exclaimed ironically. "Nice sort of an object I am to +take out! Got a raincoat on--though it's dry enough--because my coat's +gone at the seams." + +"If you don't stop talking like that," he declared, "I'll march into one +of those great stores and order everything a woman wants to wear. Look at +me. Did you ever see such clothes!" + +"A man's different," she protested. "Besides, you've got a way with you +of looking as though you could wear better clothes if you wanted +to--something superior. I don't like it. I should like you better if you +were common." + +"You're going to like me better," he assured her, "because we are going +to have a cocktail together within the next three minutes. Look at +you--pale as you can stick. I bet you haven't had a mouthful of food all +day. Neither have I, except a slice of bread and butter with my tea this +morning. We're a nice sort of couple to talk about clothes. What we want +is food." + +She swayed for a moment and pretended that she tripped. He caught her arm +and steadied her. She jerked it from him. + +"Have your own way," she yielded. + +They reached the corner of the street, plunged into the surging crowds of +Broadway, passed into the huge restaurant, were once more pounced upon +by a businesslike but slightly patronizing maître d'hôtel, and escorted +to a remote table in a sort of annex of the room. Philip pushed the menu +away. + +"Two cocktails--the quickest you ever mixed in your life," he ordered. +"Quicker than that, mind." + +The man was back again almost at once with two frosted glasses upon a +tray. They laughed together almost like children as they set them down +empty. + +"I know what I want, and you, too, by the look of you," he continued--"a +beefsteak, with some more of that green corn you gave me the other day, +and fried potatoes, and Burgundy. We'll have some oysters first while we +wait." + +She sighed. + +"I don't mean to come here with you again," she said, a little +impatiently. "I don't know why I give in to you. You're not strong, you +know. You are a weak man. Women will always look after you; they'll +always help you in trouble--I suppose they'll always care for you. Can't +think why I do what you want me to. Guess I was near starving." + +He laughed. + +"You don't know much about me yet," he reminded her. + +"You don't know much about yourself," she retorted glibly. "Why, +according to your own confession, you only started life a few weeks ago. +I fancy what went before didn't count for much. You've been fretted and +tied up somewhere. You haven't had the chance of getting big like so many +of our American men. What are you going to do with this play of yours?" + +"Miss Elizabeth Dalstan has promised to produce it," he told her. + +She looked at him in some surprise. + +"Elizabeth Dalstan?" she repeated. "Why, she's one of our best +actresses." + +"I understood so," he replied. "She has heard the story--in fact I wrote +out one of the scenes with her. She is going to produce it as soon as +it's finished." + +"Well, all you poor idiots who write things have some fine tale to tell +their typewriter," she remarked. "You seem as though you mean it, though. +Where did you meet Elizabeth Dalstan?" + +"I came over with her on the _Elletania_," he answered thoughtlessly. + +She gave a little start. Then she turned upon him almost in anger. + +"Well, of all the simpletons!" she exclaimed. "So that's the way you give +yourself away, is it? Just here from Jamaica, eh! Nothing to do with +Douglas Romilly! Never heard of the _Elletania_, did you! I'd like to see +you on the grid at police headquarters for five minutes, with one of our +men asking you a few friendly questions! You'd look well, you would! You +ought to go about with a nurse!" + +Philip had all the appearance of a guilty child. + +"You see," he explained penitently, "I am new to this sort of thing. +However, you know now." + +"Still ready to swear that you're not Douglas Romilly, I suppose?" + +"On my honour I am not," he replied. + +"Kind of funny that you should have been on the steamer, after all," she +jeered. + +"Perhaps so, but I am not Douglas Romilly," he persisted. + +She was silent for a moment, then she shrugged her shoulders. + +"What do I care who your are?" she said. "Here, help me off with this +raincoat, please. It's warm in here, thank goodness!" + +He looked at her as she sat by his side in her plain black dress, and was +impressed for the first time with a certain unsuspected grace of outline, +which made him for the moment oblivious of the shabbiness of her gown. + +"You have rather a nice figure," he told her with a sudden impulse of +ingenuousness. + +She turned upon him almost furiously. Something in his expression, +however, seemed to disarm her. She closed her lips again. + +"You are nothing but a child!" she declared. "You don't mean anything. +I'd be a fool to be angry with you." + +The waiter brought their steak. Philip was conscious of something in his +companion's eyes which almost horrified him. It was just that gleam of +hungry desire which has starvation for its background. + +"Don't let's talk," he pleaded. "There isn't any conversation in the +world as good as this." + +The waiter served them and withdrew, casting a curious glance behind. +They were, from his point of view, a strange couple, for, cosmopolitan +though the restaurant was, money was plentiful in the neighbourhood, and +clients as shabby as these two seldom presented themselves. He pointed +them out to a maître d'hôtel, who in his turn whispered a few words +concerning them to a dark, lantern-jawed man, with keen eyes and a hard +mouth, who was dining by himself. The latter glanced at them and +nodded. + +"Thank you, Charles," he said, "I've had my eye on them. The girl's a +pauper, daughter of that old fool Grimes, the actor. Does a little +typewriting--precious little, I should think, from the look of her. The +man's interesting. Don't talk about them. Understand?" + +The maître d'hôtel bowed. + +"I understand, Inspector. Not much any one can tell you, sir." + +"Pays his bill in American money, I suppose?" the diner asked. + +"I'll ascertain for you, Mr. Dane," Charles replied. "I believe he is an +Englishman." + +"Name of Merton Ware," the inspector agreed, nodding, "just arrived from +Jamaica. Writes some sort of stuff which the girl with him typewrites. +That's his story. He's probably as harmless as a baby." + +Charles bowed and moved away. His smile was inscrutable. + + + +CHAPTER V + +New York became a changed city to Philip. Its roar and its turmoil, its +babel of tongues speaking to him always in some alien language, were +suddenly hushed! He was no longer conscious of the hard unconcern of a +million faces, of the crude buildings in the streets, the cutting winds, +the curious, depressing sense of being on a desert island, the hermit +clutching at the sleeves of imaginary multitudes. A few minutes' journey +in a cable car which seemed to crawl, a few minutes' swift walking along +the broad thoroughfare of Fifth Avenue, where his feet seemed to fall +upon the air and the passersby seemed to smile upon him like real human +beings, and he was in her room. It was only an hotel sitting room, after +all, but eloquent of her, a sitting room filled with great bowls of +roses, with comfortable easy-chairs, furniture of rose-coloured satin, +white walls, and an English fire upon the grate. Elizabeth was in New +York, and the world moved differently. + +She came out to him from an inner room almost at once. His eyes swept +over her feverishly. He almost held his breath. Then he gave a great sigh +of satisfaction. She came with her hands outstretched, a welcoming smile +upon her lips. She was just as he had expected to find her. There was +nothing in her manner to indicate that they had not parted yesterday. + +"Welcome to New York, my dramatist!" she exclaimed. "I am here, you see, +to the day, almost to the hour." + +He stood there, holding her hands. His eyes seemed to be devouring her. + +"Go on talking to me," he begged. "Let me hear you speak. You can't +think--you can't imagine how often in the middle of the night, I have +waked up and thought of you, and the cold shivers have come because, +after all, I fancied that you must be a dream, that you didn't really +exist, that that voyage had never existed. Go on talking." + +"You foolish person!" she laughed, patting his hands affectionately. "But +then, of course, you are a little overwrought. I am very real, I can +assure you. I have been in Chicago, playing, but there hasn't been a +night when I haven't thought of the times when we used to talk together +in the darkness, when you let me into your life, and I made up my mind to +try and help you. Foolish person! Sit down in that great easy-chair and +draw it up to the fire." + +He sank into it with a little sigh of content. She threw herself on to +the couch opposite to him. Her hands drooped down a little wearily on +either side, her head was thrown back. Against the background of +rose-silk cushions, her cheeks seemed unexpectedly pale. + +"I am tired with travelling," she murmured, "and I hate Chicago, and I +have worried about you. Day by day I have read the papers. Everything has +gone well?" + +"So far as I know," he answered. "I did exactly as we planned--or rather +as you planned. The papers have been full of the disappearance of +Douglas Romilly. You read how wonderfully it has all turned out? Fate has +provided him with a real reason for disappearing. It seems that the +business was bankrupt." + +"You mustn't forget, though," she reminded him, "that that also supplies +a considerable motive for tracking him down. He is supposed to have at +least twenty thousand pounds with him." + +"I have all the papers," he went on. "They prove that he knew the state +the business was in. They prove that he really intended to disappear in +New York. The money stands to the credit of Merton Ware--and another at a +bank with which his firm apparently had had no connections, a small bank +in Wall Street." + +"So that," she remarked, "is where you get your pseudonym from?" + +"It makes the identification so easy," he pointed out, "and no one knew +of it except he. I could easily get a witness presently to prove that I +am Merton Ware." + +"You haven't drawn the money yet, then?" + +"I haven't been near the bank," he replied. "I still have over a thousand +dollars--money he had with him. Sometimes I think that if I could I'd +like to leave that twenty thousand pounds where it is. I should like some +day, if I could do so without suspicion, to let the creditors of the firm +have it back again. What do you think?" + +She nodded. + +"I would rather you didn't touch it yourself," she agreed. "I think +you'll find, too, that you'll be able to earn quite enough without +wanting it. Nothing disturbing has happened to you at all, then?" + +"Once I had a fright," he told her. "I was in a restaurant close to my +hotel. I was there with a young woman who is typing the play for me." + +She looked towards him incredulously. + +"You were there with a typewriter?" she exclaimed. + +"I suppose it seems queer," he admitted. "It didn't to me. She is a +plain, shabby, half starved little thing, fighting her own battle +bravely. She came to me for work--she lives in the flat below--and +it seemed to me that she was just as hungry for a kind word as I was +lonely, and I took her out with me. Twice I have taken her. Her name is +Miss Grimes." + +"I am not in the least sure that I approve," she said, "but go on." + +"A friend of hers came into the restaurant, a girl in the chorus of a +musical comedy here, and she had with her a young man. I recognised him +at once. We didn't come across one another much, but he was on the +steamer." + +Elizabeth's face was full of concern. + +"Go on." + +"He asked me twice if I wasn't Mr. Romilly. I assured him that he was +mistaken. I don't think I gave myself away. The next day he went to see +the girl I was with, Martha Grimes." + +"Well, what did she tell him?" + +"She told him that she had been typing my work for over a month, that I +had come from Jamaica, and that my name was Merton Ware." + +Elizabeth gazed into the fire for several moments, and Philip watched +her. It was a woman's face, grave and thoughtful, a little perturbed just +then, as though by some unwelcome thought. Presently she looked back at +him, looked into his eyes long and earnestly. + +"My friend," she said, "you are like no one else on earth. Perhaps you +are one of those horrible people who have what they call an unholy +influence over my sex. You have known this girl for a matter of a few +days, and she lies for you. And there's five hundred dollars reward. I +suppose she knew about that?" + +"Yes, she knew," he admitted. "She simply isn't that sort. I suppose I +realised that, or I shouldn't have been kind to her." + +"It's a puzzle," she went on. "I think there must be something in you of +the weakling, you know, something that appeals to the mothering instinct +in women. I know that my first feeling for you was that I wanted to help +you. Tell me what you think of yourself, Mr. Philip Merton Ware? Are you +a faithful person? Are you conscientious? Have you a heart, I wonder? How +much of the man is there underneath that strong frame of yours? Are you +going to take just the things that are given you in life, and make no +return? For the moment, you see, I am forgetting that you are my friend +and that I like you. I am thinking of you from the point of view of an +actress--as a psychical problem. Philip, you idiot!" she broke off, +suddenly stamping her foot, "don't sit there looking at me with your +great eyes. Tell me you are glad I've come back. Tell me you feel +something, for goodness' sake!" + +He was on his knees before she could check him, his arms, his lips +praying for her. She thrust him back. + +"It was my fault," she declared, "but don't, please. Yes, of course you +have feelings. I don't know why you tempted me to that little outburst." + +"You'll tempt me to more than that," he cried passionately. "Do you think +it's for your help that I've thought of you? Do you think it's because +you're an angel to me, because you've comforted me in my darkest, most +miserable hours that I've dreamed of you and craved for you? There's more +than that in my thoughts, dear. It's because you are you, yourself, that +I've longed for you through the aching hours of the night, that I've sat +and written like a man beside himself just for the joy of thinking that +the words I wrote would be spoken by you. Oh! if you want me to tell you +what I feel--" + +She suddenly leaned forward, took his head between her hands and kissed +his forehead. + +"Now get back, please, to your chair," she begged. "You've stilled the +horrible, miserable little doubt that was tearing at my heartstrings. I +just had it before, once or twice, and then--isn't it foolish!--your +telling me about this little typewriter girl! I must go and see her. We +must be kind to her." + +He resumed his seat with a little sigh. + +"She thought a great deal more of me and my work when I told her that you +were probably going to act in my play." + +Her expression changed. She was more serious, at the same time more +eager. + +"Ah! The play!" she exclaimed. "I can see that you have brought some of +it." + +He drew the roll of manuscript from his pocket. + +"Shall I read it?" he suggested. + +She almost snatched it away. "No! I can't wait for that. Give it to me, +quickly." + +She leaned forward so that the firelight fell upon the pages. Little +strands of soft brown hair drooped over her face. In studying her, Philip +almost forgot his own anxiety. He had known so few women, yet he had +watched so many from afar off, endowed them with their natural qualities, +built up their lives and tastes for them, and found them all so sadly +wanting. To him, Elizabeth represented everything that was desirable in +her sex, from the flowing lines of her beautiful body to the sympathy +which seemed to be always shining out of her eyes. Notwithstanding her +strength, she was so exquisitely and entirely feminine, a creature of +silk and laces, free from any effort of provocativeness, yet subtly, +almost clamorously human. He forgot, in those few moments, that she had +become the arbitress of his material fate--that he was a humble author, +watching the effect of his first attempts upon a mistress in her +profession. He remembered only that she was the woman who was filling his +life, stealing into every corner of it, permeating him with love, +pointing him onwards towards a life indescribable, unrealisable.... + +She swung suddenly towards him. There was a certain amount of enthusiasm +in her face but even more marked was her relief. + +"Oh! I am so glad," she cried. "You know, I have had qualms. When you +told me the story in your own words, picking your language so carefully, +and building it all up before me, well, you know what I said. I gave you +more than hope--I promised you success. And then, when I got away into +the hard, stagey world of Chicago, and my manager talked business to me, +and my last playwright preached of technique, I began to wonder whether, +after all, you could bring your ideas together like this, whether you +would have a sense of perspective--you know what I mean, don't you? And +you have it, and the play is going to be wonderful, and I shall produce +it. Why don't you look pleased, Mr. Author? You are going to be famous." + +He smiled. + +"I don't care about fame," he said. "And for the rest, I think I knew." + +"Conceited!" she exclaimed. + +"It wasn't that," he protested. "It was simply when I sat down in that +little room, high up over the roofs and buildings of a strange city, shut +myself in and told myself that it was for you--well, the thoughts came +too easily. They tumbled over one another. And when I looked away from my +work, I saw the people moving around me, and I knew that I had made my +dreams real, and that's the great thing, isn't it?... Elizabeth!" + +"Well?" + +"I am lonely in that little room." + +"You lonely, taking out typewriters to dine!" she mocked tenderly. + +"It is lonely," he repeated, "and I am afraid of you here in all this +luxury. I am so far away. I come from my attic to this, and I am afraid. +Do you know why?" + +She sat quite still for a moment. Dimly she felt the presage of a coming +change in their relations. Up to now she had been the mistress, she had +held him so easily in check with her practised skill, with an unfinished +sentence, a look, a touch. And now the man was rising up in him, and she +felt her powers weaken. + +"Shall I change my abode?" she murmured. + +"Ah! but you would be just as wonderful and as far away even if we +changed places--if you sat in my attic and I took your place here. That +isn't why I torture myself, why I am always asking myself if you are +real, if the things we talk about are real, if the things we feel belong +to ourselves, well up from our own hearts for one another or are just the +secondary emotions of other people we catch up without knowing why. This +is foolish, but you understand--you do understand. It is because you +keep me so far away from yourself, when my fingers are burning for yours, +when even to touch your face, to feel your cheek against mine, would +banish every fear I have ever had. Elizabeth, you do understand! I have +never kissed you, I have never held you for one moment in my arms--and I +love you!" + +He was leaning over her chair and she held him tightly by the shoulders. +There was nothing left of that hidden fear in his dark eyes. They shone +now with another light, and she began to tremble. + +"I wanted to wait a little, Philip, but if you feel like that--well, I +can't." + +He took her silently into his arms. With the half closing of her eyes, +the first touch of her responsive lips, himself dimly conscious of the +change, he passed into the world where stronger men live. + + + + +BOOK III + + + +CHAPTER I + +Three months later, a very different Philip stood in the smaller of a +handsome suite of reception rooms in a fashionable Fifth Avenue hotel. He +was wearing evening clothes of the most approved cut and carried himself +with a dignity and assurance entirely transforming. The distinction of +birth and breeding, little apparent in those half-starved, passionate +days of his misery, had come easily to the surface. His shoulders, too, +seemed to have broadened, and his face had lost its cadaverous pallor. + +The apartment in which he stood was plainly but handsomely furnished as a +small withdrawing room. On the oak chiffonier stood a silver tray on +which were half a dozen frosted cocktails. Through the curtains was +apparent a room beyond, in which a round table, smothered with flowers, +was arranged for supper; in the distance, from the public restaurant, +came the sound of softly played music. Philip glanced at the clock. The +whole of the anxieties of this momentous evening had passed. Telephone +messages had reached him every quarter of an hour. The play was a great +success. Elizabeth was coming to him with her producer and a few +theatrical friends, flushed with triumph. They were all to meet for the +first time that night the man who for the last three months had lived as +a hermit--Merton Ware, the author of "The House of Shams," the new-found +dramatist. + +A maître d'hôtel appeared in the space between the two rooms, and bowed. + +"Everything is quite ready, Mr. Ware," he said, in the friendly yet +deferential manner of an American head-waiter. "Won't you take a +cocktail, sir, while you are waiting?" + +"Very thoughtful of you, Louis. I think I will," Philip assented, taking +a little case from his pocket and lighting a cigarette. + +The man passed him a glass upon a small salver. + +"You'll pardon the liberty, I am sure, sir," he continued, dropping his +voice a little. "I've just heard that 'The House of Shams' seems to be a +huge success, sir. If I might take the liberty of offering my +congratulations!" + +Philip smiled genially. + +"You are the first, Louis," he said. "Thank you very much indeed." + +"I think you will find the supper everything that could be desired, Mr. +Ware," the man went on. "Our head chef, Monsieur Raconnot, has given it +his personal attention. The wine will be slightly iced, as you desired. I +shall be outside in the corridor to announce the guests." + +"Capital, Louis!" Ware replied, sipping his cocktail. "It will be another +quarter of an hour yet before we see anything of them, I am afraid." + +The man disappeared and left Philip once more alone. He looked through +the walls of the room as though, indeed, he could see into the packed +theatre and could hear the cries for "Author!" which even then were +echoing through the house. From the moment when Elizabeth, abandoning her +reserve, had given him the love he craved, a new strength seemed to have +shone out of the man. Step by step he had thought out subtly and with +infinite care every small detail of his life. It was he who had elected +to live those three months in absolute seclusion. It was he, indirectly, +who had arranged that many more photographs of Douglas Romilly, the +English shoe manufacturer, should appear in the newspapers. One moment's +horror he had certainly had. He could see the little paragraph now, +almost lost in the shoals of more important news: + + GHASTLY DISCOVERY IN A DERBYSHIRE CANAL + + Yesterday the police recovered the body of a man + who had apparently been dead for some weeks, from + a canal close to Detton Magna. The body was + unrecognisable but it is believed that the remains + are those of Mr. Philip Romilly, the missing art + teacher from London, who is alleged to have + committed suicide in January last. + +The thought of that gruesome find scarcely blanched his cheeks. His +nerves now were stronger and tenser things. He crushed back those +memories with all the strength of his will. Whatever might lie behind, he +had struck for the future which he meant to live and enjoy. They were +only weaklings who brooded over an unalterable past. It was for the +present and the near future that he lived, and both, in that moment, were +more alluring than ever before. Even his intellectual powers seemed to +have developed in his new-found happiness. The play which he had written, +every line of which appeared to gain in vital and literary force towards +its conclusion, was only the first of his children. Already other images +and ideas were flowing into his brain. The power of creation was +triumphantly throwing out its tendrils. He was filled with an amazing and +almost inspired confidence. He was ready to start upon fresh work that +hour, to-morrow, or when he chose. And before him now was the prospect of +stimulating companionship. Elizabeth and he had decided that the time had +come for him to take his fate into his hands. He was to be introduced to +the magnates of the dramatic profession, to become a clubman in the +world's most hospitable city, to mix freely in the circles where he would +find himself in constant association with the keenest brains and most +brilliant men of letters in the world. He was safe. They had both decided +it. + +He walked to the mirror and looked at himself. The nervous, +highly-strung, half-starved, neurotic stripling had become the perfectly +assured, well-mannered, and well-dressed man of the world. He had studied +various details with a peculiar care, suffered a barber to take summary +measures with his overlong black hair, had accustomed himself to the use +of an eyeglass, which hung around his neck by a thin, black ribbon. Men +might talk of likenesses, men who were close students of their fellows, +yet there was no living person who could point to him and say--"You are, +beyond a shadow of doubt, a man with whom I travelled on the +_Elletania_." The thing was impossible. + +Louis once more made a noiseless appearance. There was the slightest of +frowns upon his face. + +"A gentleman wishes a word with you before the arrival of your guests, +Mr. Ware," he announced. + +"A journalist?" Philip enquired carelessly. + +"I do not think so, sir." + +Even as he spoke the door was opened and closed again. The man who +had entered bowed slightly to Philip. He was tall and clean-shaven, +self-assured, and with manner almost significantly reserved. He held a +bowler hat in his hand and glanced towards Louis. He had the air of +being somewhat out of place in so fashionable a rendezvous. + +"Good evening, Mr. Ware!" he began. "Could I have just a word with you?" + +Philip nodded to Louis, who at once left the room. The newcomer drew a +little nearer. + +"My name, sir," he said, "is Dane--Edward Dane." + +Philip bowed politely. He was just a little annoyed at the intrusion, an +annoyance which he failed altogether to conceal. + +"What do you want with me?" he asked. "I am expecting some friends to +supper in about ten minutes." + +"Ten minutes will perhaps be sufficient for what I have to say," the +other promised. "You don't know me, then, Mr. Ware?" + +"Never saw you before, to the best of my knowledge," Philip replied +nonchalantly. "Are you a journalist?" + +The man laid his hat upon a corner of the table. + +"I am a detective," he said, "attached to the Cherry Street headquarters. +Your last rooms, Mr. Ware, were in my beat." + +Philip nodded with some slight indication of interest. He faced his +ordeal with the courage of a man of steel. + +"That so?" he remarked indifferently. "Well, Mr. Dane, I have heard a +good deal about you American detectives. Pleased to meet you. What can I +do for you?" + +The detective eyed Philip steadfastly. There was just the shadow of +something that looked like admiration in his hard, grey eyes. + +"Well, Mr. Ware," he said, "nothing that need disturb your supper party, +I am sure. Over in this country we sometimes do things in an unusual +way. That's why I am paying you this visit. I have been watching you for +exactly three months and fourteen days." + +"Watching me?" Philip repeated. + +"Precisely! No idea why, I suppose?" + +"Not the slightest." + +The detective glanced towards the clock. Barely two minutes had passed. + +"Well," he explained, "I got on your tracks quick enough when you skipped +from the Waldorf and blossomed out in a second-rate tenement house as +Merton Ware." + +"So I was at the Waldorf, was I?" Philip murmured. + +"You crossed from Liverpool on the _Elletania_," the man continued, +"registered at the Waldorf as Mr. Douglas Romilly of the Douglas Romilly +Shoe Company, went to your room, changed your clothes, and disappeared. +Of course, a disappearance of that sort," he went on tolerantly, "might +be possible in London. In New York, to even attempt it is farcical." + +"Dear me," remarked Philip, "this is very interesting. Let me ask you +this question, though. If you were so sure of your facts, why didn't you +arrest me at once instead of just watching me?" + +The man's eyes were like gimlets. He seemed as though he were trying, +with curious and professional intensity, to read the thoughts in Philip's +brain. + +"There is no criminal charge against Douglas Romilly that I know of," he +said. + +"There's a considerable reward offered for his discovery," Philip +reminded him. + +"I can claim that at any moment," the man replied. "I have had my reasons +for waiting. It's partly those reasons that have brought me here. For one +thing, Mr. Douglas Romilly was supposed to be able to put his hand on a +matter of a hundred thousand dollars somewhere in New York. You haven't +shown many signs up till now, Mr. Ware, of having any such sum in your +possession." + +"I see," Philip assented. "You wanted the money as well." + +"The creditors of the Douglas Romilly Shoe Company are wanting it pretty +badly," the man proceeded, "but that wasn't all. I wanted to find out +what your game was. That I don't know, even now. That is why I have come +to you. Have I the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Douglas Romilly?" + +"I really don't see," Philip protested thoughtfully, "why I should go +into partnership with you in this affair. You see, in the long run, our +interests might not be altogether identical." + +Mr. Dane smiled grimly. + +"That's a fairly shrewd calculation, Mr. Ware," he admitted. "You ain't +bound to answer any question you don't want to. This is just a friendly +chat and no more." + +"Besides," Philip continued, lighting another cigarette, "I think I +understood you to say that you had already arrived at the conclusion that +I was Douglas Romilly?" + +"Not precisely that," the detective replied. "All that I discovered was +that you were the man who registered at the Waldorf Hotel as Mr. Douglas +Romilly." + +"Well, the only name I choose to acknowledge at present is the name of +Merton Ware," Philip declared. "If you think there is any mystery about +me, any connection with the gentleman whom I believe you call Mr. Douglas +Romilly, well, the matter is one for your investigation. You will forgive +me if I remind you that my guests will be here in a matter of a few +minutes, and permit me to ask you one more question. Why do you come here +to me in this very unofficial manner? If I am really an impostor, you are +giving me every opportunity of clearing out." + +Mr. Edward Dane shook his head. He was fingering the brim of his hat. + +"Oh, no, Mr. Ware!" he declared smoothly. "Our detective system may have +some faults, but when a man's name is put on the list where yours +figures, he has not one chance in a million of leaving the country or of +gaining any place of hiding. I shall know where you lunch to-morrow and +with whom you dine, and with whom you spend your time. The law, sir, will +keep its eye upon you." + +"Really, that seems very friendly," Philip said coolly. "Shall I have the +privilege of your personal surveillance?" + +"I think not, Mr. Ware. To tell you the truth, this is rather a p.p.c. +visit. I've booked my passage on the _Elletania_, sailing to-morrow from +New York. I am taking a trip over to England to make a few enquiries +round about the spot where this Mr. Douglas Romilly hails from--Detton +Magna, isn't it?" + +Philip made no reply, yet even his silence might well have been the +silence of indifference. + +"At the last moment," the detective concluded, "it flashed in upon me +that there might be some ridiculous explanation of the few little points +about your case which, I must confess, have puzzled me. For that reason, +I decided to seek an interview with you before I left. You have, however, +I gather, nothing to say to me?" + +"Nothing at all, Mr. Dane, except to wish you a pleasant voyage," Philip +declared. "I won't detain you a moment longer. I hear my guests in the +corridor. Good night, sir!" he added, opening the door. "I appreciate +your call very much. Come and see me again when you return from England." + +Mr. Dane lingered for a moment upon the threshold, hat in hand, a +somewhat ominous figure. There was no attempt at a handshake between the +two men. The detective was imperturbable. Philip, listening to +Elizabeth's voice, had shown his first sign of impatience. + +"I shall surely do that, Mr. Ware!" the other promised, as he passed out. + +The door closed. Philip stood for a moment in the empty room, listening +to the man's retreating footsteps. Then he turned slowly around. His +cheeks were blanched, his eyes were glazed with reminiscent horror. He +looked through the wall of the room--a long way back. + +"We shall find Mr. Ware in here, I expect." He could hear the voices of +his approaching guests. + +He ground his heel into the carpet and swung around. He anticipated +Louis, threw open the curtain, and stood there waiting to welcome his +guests, a smile upon his lips, his hands outstretched towards Elizabeth. + + + +CHAPTER II + +Elizabeth's face was glowing with joy. For the first time Philip realised +that she, too, had had her anxieties. + +"You dear, dear man!" she exclaimed. "To think what you have missed! It +would have been the evening of your life. It's a success, do you hear?--a +great success! It was wonderful!" + +He seemed, almost to himself, to be playing a part, he was so calm yet so +gracefully happy. + +"I am glad for both our sakes," he said. + +She indicated the others with a little wave of the hand. + +"I don't think you know a soul, do you?" she asked. "They none of them +quite believe in your existence down at the theatre. This is my leading +man, Noel Bridges. You should have seen how splendid he was as +Carriston." + +Mr. Noel Bridges, with a deprecating smile towards Elizabeth, held out +his hand. He was tall and of rather a rugged type for the New York stage. +Like the rest of the little party, his eyes were full of curiosity as he +shook hands with Philip. + +"So you are something human, after all," he remarked. "We began to think +you lived underground and only put your head up every now and then for a +little air. I am glad to meet you, Mr. Ware. I enjoy acting in your play +very much indeed, and I hope it's only the first of many." + +"You are very kind," Philip murmured cordially. + +Elizabeth glanced around the little group. + +"Dear me, I am forgetting my manners," she declared. "I ought to have +presented you to Sara Denison first. Sara is really the star of your +play, Mr. Ware, although I have the most work to do. She loves her part +and has asked about you nearly every day." + +Miss Denison, a young lady of the smaller Gibson type, with large eyes +and a very constant smile, greeted Philip warmly. + +"Do you know," she told him, "that this is the first time I have ever +been in a play in which the author hasn't been round setting us to rights +most of the time? I can't imagine how you kept away, Mr. Ware." + +"Perhaps," observed Philip, "my absence has contributed to your success. +I am sure I shouldn't have known what to tell you. You see, I am so +absolutely ignorant of the technique." + +"I've got to shake hands with you, Mr. Ware," a stout, middle-aged, +clean-shaven man, with narrow black eyes and pale cheeks, declared, +stepping forward. "These other folk don't count for much by the side of +me. I am the manager of the theatre, and I'm thundering glad that your +first play has been produced at the 'New York,' sir. There's good stuff +in it, and if I am any judge, and I'm supposed to be, there's plenty of +better stuff behind. Shake hands, if you please, sir. You know me by +name--Paul Fink. I hope you'll see my signature at the bottom of a good +many fat cheques before you've finished writing plays." + +"That's very nice of you, Mr. Fink," Philip declared. "Now I am sure you +all want your supper." + +At a sign from Philip, the maître d'hôtel handed round the tray of +cocktails. Mr. Fink raised his glass. + +"Here's success to the play," he exclaimed, "and good luck to all of us!" + +He tossed off the contents of the glass and they all followed his +example. Then they took their places at the little round table and the +service of supper began. The conversation somewhat naturally centered +around Philip. The three strangers were all interested in his personality +and the fact that he had no previous work to his credit. It was unusual, +almost dramatic, and for a time both Elizabeth and he himself found +themselves hard put to it to escape the constant wave of good-natured but +very pertinent questions. + +"You'll have a dose of our newspapermen to-morrow, sir," Mr. Fink +promised him. "They'll be buzzing around you all day long. They'll want +to know everything, from where you get your clothes and what cigarettes +you smoke, to how you like best to do your work and what complexioned +typist you prefer. They're some boys, I can tell you." + +Philip's eyes met Elizabeth's across the table. The same instinct of +disquietude kept them both, for a moment, silent. + +"I am afraid," Elizabeth sighed, "that Mr. Ware will find it rather hard +to appreciate some of our journalistic friends." + +"They're good fellows," Mr. Fink declared heartily, "white men, all of +them. So long as you don't try to put 'em off on a false stunt, or +anything of that sort, they'll sling the ink about some. Ed Harris was in +my room just after the second act, and he showed me some of his stuff. I +tell you he means to boost us." + +Elizabeth laid her hand upon her manager's arm. + +"They're delightful, every one of them," she agreed, "but, Mr. Fink, you +have such influence with them, I wonder if I dare give you just a hint? +Mr. Ware has passed through some very painful times lately. He is so +anxious to forget, and I really don't wonder at it myself. I am sure he +will be delighted to talk with all of them as to the future and his +future plans, but do you think you could just drop them a hint to go +quietly as regards the past?" + +Mr. Fink was a little perplexed but inclined to be sympathetic. He +glanced towards Philip, who was deep in conversation with Sara Denison. + +"Why, I'll do my best, Miss Dalstan," he promised. "You know what the +boys are, though. They do love a story." + +"I am not going to have Mr. Ware's story published in every newspaper in +New York," Elizabeth said firmly, "and the newspaper man who worms the +history of Mr. Ware's misfortunes out of him, and then makes use of it, +will be no friend of mine. Ask them to be sports, Mr. Fink, there's a +dear." + +"I'll do what I can," he promised. "Mr. Ware isn't the first man in the +world who has funked the limelight, and from what I can see of him it +probably wasn't his fault if things did go a little crooked in the past. +I'll do my best, Miss Dalstan, I promise you that. I'll look in at the +club to-night and drop a few hints around." + +Elizabeth patted his hand and smiled at him very sweetly. The +conversation flowed back once more into its former channels, became a +medley of confused chaff, disjointed streams of congratulation, of +toast-drinking and pleasant speeches. Then Mr. Fink suddenly rose to his +feet. + +"Say," he exclaimed, "we've all drunk one another's healths. There's just +one other friend I think we ought to take a glass of wine with. Gee, +he'd give something to be with us to-night! You'll agree with me, Miss +Dalstan, I know. Let's empty a full glass to Sylvanus Power!" + +There was a curious silence for a second or two, then a clamour of +assenting voices. For a single moment Philip felt a sharp pang at his +heart. Elizabeth was gazing steadily out of the room, a queer tremble at +her lips, a look in her eyes which puzzled him, a look almost of fear, of +some sort of apprehension. The moment passed, but her enthusiasm, as +she raised her glass, was a little overdone, her gaiety too easily +assumed. + +"Why, of course!" she declared. "Fancy not thinking of Sylvanus!" + +They drank his health noisily. Philip set down his glass empty. A curious +instinct kept his lips sealed. He crushed down and stifled the memory of +that sudden stab. He did not even ask the one natural question. + +"Say, where is Sylvanus Power these days?" Mr. Fink enquired. + +"In Honolulu, when last I heard," Elizabeth replied lightly, "but then +one never knows really where he is." + +Philip became naturally the central figure of the little gathering. Mr. +Fink was anxious to arrange a little dinner, to introduce him to some +fellow workers. Noel Bridges insisted upon a card for the Lambs Club and +a luncheon there. Philip accepted gratefully everything that was offered +to him. It was no good doing things by halves, he told himself. The days +of his solitude were over. Even when, after the departure of his guests, +he glanced for a moment into the anteroom beyond and remembered those few +throbbing moments of suspense, they came back to him with a curious sense +of unreality--they belonged, surety, to some other man, living in some +other world! + +"You are happy?" Elizabeth murmured, as she took his arm and they waited +in the portico below for her automobile. + +He had no longer any idea of telling her of that disquieting visit. The +touch of her hair blown against his cheek, as he had helped her on with +her cloak, something in her voice, some slight diffidence, a queer, half +expostulating look in the eyes that fell with a curious uneasiness before +his, drove every thought of future danger out of his mind. He had at +least the present! He answered without a moment's hesitation. + +"For the first time in my life!" + +She gave the chauffeur a whispered order as she stepped into the car. + +"I have told him to go home by Riverside Drive," she said, as they glided +off. "It is a little farther, and I love the air at this time of night." + +He clasped her fingers--suddenly felt, with the leaning of her body, her +heart beating against his. With that wave of passion there was an instant +and portentous change in their attitudes. The soft protectiveness which +had sometimes seemed to shine out of her face, to envelop him in its +warmth, had disappeared. She was no longer the stronger. She looked at +him almost with fear, and he was electrically conscious of all the vigour +and strength of his stunted manhood, was master at last of his fate, +accepting battle, willing to fight whatever might come for the sake of +the joy of these moments. She crept into his arms almost humbly. + + + +CHAPTER III + +The success of "The House of Shams" was as immediate and complete as was +the social success of its author. After a few faint-hearted attempts, +Philip and Elizabeth both agreed that the wisest course was to play the +bold game--to submit himself to the photographer, the interviewer, and, +to some judicious extent, to the wave of hospitality which flowed in upon +him from all sides. He threw aside, completely and utterly, every idea of +leading a more or less sheltered life. His photograph was in the Sunday +newspapers and the magazines. It was quite easy, in satisfying the +appetite of journalists for copious personal details, especially after +the hints dropped by Mr. Fink, to keep them carefully off the subject of +his immediate past. There had been many others in the world who, on +attaining fame, had preferred to gloss over their earlier history. It +seemed to be tacitly understood amongst this wonderful freemasonry of +newspaper men that Mr. Merton Ware was to be humoured in this way. He was +a man of the present. Character sketches of him were to be all +foreground. But, nevertheless, Philip had his trials. + +"Want to introduce you to one of our chief 'movie' men," Noel Bridges +said to him one day in the smoking room of "The Lambs." "He is much +interested in the play, too. Mr. Raymond Greene, shake hands with Mr. +Merton Ware." + +Mr. Raymond Greene, smiling and urbane, turned around with outstretched +hand, which Philip, courteous, and with all that charm of manner which +was making him speedily one of the most popular young men in New York, +grasped cordially. + +"I am very happy to meet you, Mr. Greene," he said. "You represent an +amazing development. I am told that we shall all have to work for you +presently or find our occupation gone." + +With a cool calculation which had come to Philip in these days of his +greater strength, he had purposely extended his sentence, conscious, +although apparently he ignored the fact, that all the time Mr. Raymond +Greene was staring in his face with a bewilderment which was not without +its humorous side. He was too much a man of the world, this great picture +producer, to be at a loss for words, to receive an introduction with any +degree of clumsiness. + +"But surely," he almost stammered, "we have met before?" + +Philip shook his head doubtfully. + +"I don't think so," he said, "As a matter of fact, I am sure we haven't, +because you are one of the men whom I hoped some day to come across over +here. I couldn't possibly have forgotten a meeting with you." + +Mr. Raymond Greene's blue eyes looked as though they saw visions. + +"But surely," he expostulated, "the _Elletania_--my table on the +_Elletania_, when Miss Dalstan crossed--" + +Philip laughed easily. + +"Why," he exclaimed, "are you going to be like the others and take me +for--wasn't it Mr. Romilly?--the man who disappeared from the Waldorf? +Why, I've been tracked all round New York because of my likeness to that +man." + +"Likeness!" Mr. Raymond Greene muttered. "Likeness!" + +There was a moment's silence. Then Mr. Greene knew that the time had +arrived for him to pull himself together. He had carried his bewilderment +to the very limits of good breeding. + +"Well, well!" he continued. "Fortunately, it's six o'clock, and I can +offer you gentlemen a cocktail, for upon my word I need it! Come to look +at you, Mr. Ware, there's a trifle more what I might term _savoir faire_, +about you. That chap on the boat was a little crude in places, but +believe me, sir," he went on, thrusting his arm through Ware's and +leading him towards the bar, "you don't want to be annoyed at those +people who have mistaken you for Romilly, for in the whole course of my +life, and I've travelled round the world a pretty good deal, I never came +across a likeness so entirely extraordinary." + +"I have heard other people mention it," Noel Bridges intervened, +"although not quite with the same conviction as you, Mr. Greene. +Curiously enough, however, the photograph of Romilly which they sent out +from England, and which was in all the Sunday papers, didn't strike me as +being particularly like Mr. Ware." + +"It was a damned bad photograph, that," Mr. Raymond Greene pronounced. "I +saw it--couldn't make head nor tail of it, myself. Well, the world is +full of queer surprises, but this is the queerest I ever ran up against. +Believe me, Mr. Ware, if this man Romilly who disappeared had been a +millionaire, you could have walked into his family circle and been made +welcome at the present moment. Why, I don't believe his own wife or +sister, if he had such appendages, would have been able to tell that you +weren't the man." + +"Unfortunately," Bridges remarked, as he sipped the cocktail which the +cinema man had ordered, "this chap Romilly was broke, wasn't he?--did a +scoot to avoid the smash-up? They say that he had a few hundred thousand +dollars over here, ostensibly for buying material, and that he has taken +the lot out West." + +"Well, I must say he didn't seem that sort on the steamer," Mr. Raymond +Greene declared, "but you never can tell. Looked to me more like a +schoolteacher. Some day, Mr. Ware, I want you to come along to my +office--it's just round the corner in Broadway there--and have a chat +about the play." + +"You don't want to film us before we've finished its first run, surely?" +Philip protested, laughing. "Give us a chance!" + +"Well, we'll talk about that," the cinema magnate promised. + +They were joined by other acquaintances, and Philip presently made his +escape. One of the moments which he had dreaded more than any other had +come and passed. Even if Mr. Raymond Greene had still some slight +misgivings, he was, to all effects and purposes, convinced. Philip walked +down the street, feeling that one more obstacle in the path of his +absolute freedom had been torn away. He glanced at his watch and boarded +a down-town car, descended in the heart of the city region of Broadway, +and threaded his way through several streets until he came to the back +entrance of a dry goods store. Here he glanced once more at his watch and +commenced slowly to walk up and down. The timekeeper, who was standing in +the doorway with his hands in his pockets, watched him with interest. +When Philip approached for the third time, he addressed him in friendly +fashion. + +"Waiting for one of our gals, eh?" + +Philip stifled his quick annoyance and answered in as matter-of-fact a +tone as possible. + +"Yes! How long will it be before they are out from the typewriting +department?" + +"Typewriting department?" the man repeated. "Well, that depends some upon +the work. They'll be out, most likely, in ten minutes or so. I guessed +you were after one of our showroom young ladies. We get some real swells +down here sometimes--motor cars of their own. The typists ain't much, as +a rule. It's a skinny job, theirs." + +"The young ladies from here appear to be prosperous," Ware remarked. "I +watched them last night coming out. My friend happened to be late, +and I had to leave without seeing her." + +"That's nothing to go by, their clothes ain't," the man replied. "They +spend all their money on their backs instead of putting it inside. If +it's Miss Grimes you're waiting for, you're in luck, for here she is, +first out." + +Philip drew a little into the background. The girl came down the stone +passage, passed the timekeeper without appearing to notice his familiar +"Good-evening!" and stepped out into the murky street. Philip, who saw +her face as she emerged from the gloom, gave a little start. She seemed +paler than ever, and she walked with her eyes fixed upon vacancy, as +though almost unconscious of her whereabouts. She crossed the sidewalk +without noticing the curbstone, and stumbled at the unexpected depth of +it. Philip stepped hastily forward. + +"Miss Grimes!" he exclaimed. "Martha!... Why do you look at me as though +I were a ghost?" + +She started violently. It was certain that she saw him then for the first +time. + +"You! Mr. Ware! Sorry, I didn't see you." + +He insisted upon shaking hands. There was a little streak of colour in +her cheeks now. + +"I came to meet you," he explained. "I came yesterday and missed you. I +have been to your rooms four times and only found out with difficulty +where you were working. The last time I called, I rang the bell six +times, but the door was locked." + +"I was in bed," she said shortly. "I can't have gentlemen callers there +at all now. Father's gone off on tour. Thank you for coming to meet me, +but I don't think you'd better stop." + +"Why not?" he asked gently. + +"Because I don't want to be seen about with you," she declared, "because +I don't want you to look at me, because I want you to leave me alone," +she added, with a little passionate choke in her voice. + +He turned and walked by her side. + +"Martha," he said, "you were very kind to me when I needed it, you were a +companion to me when I was more miserable than I ever thought any human +being could be. I was in a quandary then--in a very difficult position. I +took a plunge. In a way I have been successful." + +"Oh, we all know that!" she replied bitterly. "Pictures everywhere, +notices in the paper all the time--you and your fine play! I've seen it. +Didn't think much of it myself, but I suppose I'm not a judge." + +"Tell me why you came out there looking as though you'd seen a ghost?" he +asked. + +"Discharged," she answered promptly. + +"Why?" + +"Fainted yesterday," she went on, "and was a bit wobbly to-day. The head +clerk said he wanted some one stronger." + +"Brute!" Philip muttered. "Well, that's all right, Martha. I have some +work for you." + +"Don't want to do your work." + +"Little fool!" he exclaimed. "Martha, do you know you're the most +obstinate, pig-headed, prejudiced, ill-tempered little beast I ever +knew?" + +"Then go along and leave me," she insisted, stopping short, "if I'm all +that." + +"You're also a dear!" + +She drew a little breath and looked at him fiercely. + +"Now don't be silly," he begged. "I'm starving. I had no lunch so that I +could dine early. Here we are at Durrad's." + +"I'm not going inside there with you," she declared. + +"Look here," he expostulated, "are we going to do a wrestling act on the +sidewalk? It will be in all the papers, you know." + +"Spoil your clothes some, wouldn't it?" she remarked, looking at them +disparagingly. + +"It would indeed, also my temper," he assured her. "We are going to have +a cocktail, you and I, within two minutes, young lady, and a steak +afterwards. If you want to go in there with my hand on your neck, you +can, but I think it would look better--" + +She set her feet squarely upon the ground and faced him. + +"Mr. Ware," she said, "I am in rags--any one can see that. Listen. I will +not go into a restaurant and sit by your side to have people wonder what +woman from the streets you have brought in to give a meal to out of +charity. Do you hear that? I can live or I can die, just by myself. If I +can't keep myself, I'll die, but I won't. Nothing doing. You hear?" + +She had been so strong and then something in his eyes, that pitying, half +anxious expression with which he listened, suddenly seemed to sap her +determination. She swayed a little upon her feet--she was indeed very +tired and very weak. Philip took instant advantage of her condition. +Without a moment's hesitation he passed his arm firmly through hers, and +before she could protest she was inside the place, being led to a table, +seated there with her back to the wall, with a confused tangle of words +still in her throat, unuttered. Then two great tears found their way into +her eyes. She said nothing because she could not. Philip was busy talking +to the waiter. Soon there was a cocktail by her side, and he was +drinking, smiling at her, perfectly good-natured, obviously accepting her +momentary weakness and his triumph as a joke. + +"Got you in, didn't I?" he observed pleasantly. "Now, remember you told +me the way to drink American cocktails--one look, one swallow, and down +they go." + +She obeyed him instinctively. Then she took out a miserable little piece +of a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. + +"What's gone wrong?" he asked briskly. "Tell me all about it." + +"Father went off on tour," she explained. "He left the rent owing for a +month, and he's been writing for money all the time. The agent who comes +round doesn't listen to excuses. You pay, or out you go into the street. +I've paid somehow and nearly starved over it. Then I got this job after +worrying about it Lord knows how long, and this evening I'm discharged." + +"How much a week was it?" he enquired, with sympathy. + +"Ten dollars," she replied. "Little enough, but I can't live without it." + +He changed his attitude, suddenly realising the volcanic sensitiveness of +her attitude towards him and life in general. Instinctively he felt that +at a single ill-considered word she would even then, in her moment of +weakness, have left him, have pushed him on one side, and walked out to +whatever she might have to face. + +"What a fool you are!" he exclaimed, a little brusquely. + +"Am I!" she replied belligerently. + +"Of course you are! You call yourself a daughter of New York, a city +whose motto seems to be pretty well every one for himself. You know you +did my typing all right, you know my play was a success, you know that I +shall have to write another. What made you take it for granted that I +shouldn't want to employ you, and go and hide yourself? Lock the door +when I came to see you, because it was past eight o'clock, and not answer +my letters?" + +"Can't have men callers now dad's away," she told him, a little +brusquely. "It's not allowed." + +"Oh, rubbish!" he answered irritably. "That isn't the point. You've kept +away from me. You've deliberately avoided me. You knew that I was just +as lonely as you were." + +Then she blazed out. The sallowness of her cheeks, the little dip under +her cheekbones--she had grown thinner during the last week or so--made +her eyes seem larger and more brilliant than ever. + +"You lonely! Rubbish! Why, they're all running after you everywhere. +Quite a social success, according to the papers! I say, ain't you +afraid?" + +"Horribly," he admitted, "and about the one person I could have talked to +about it chucks me." + +"I don't know anything about you, or what you've done," she said. "I only +know that the tecs--" + +He laid his hand upon her fingers. She snatched them away but accepted +his warning. They were served then with their meal, and their +conversation drifted into other channels. + +"Well," he continued presently, in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone, "I've +found you now, and you've got to be sensible. It's true I've had a stroke +of luck, but that might fall away at any moment. I've typing waiting for +you, or I can get you a post at the New York Theatre. You'd better first +do my typing. I'll have it in your rooms to-morrow morning by nine +o'clock. And would you like something in advance?" + +"No!" she replied grudgingly. "I'll have what I've earned, when I've +earned it." + +He sipped his claret and studied her meditatively. + +"You're not much of a pal, are you?" + +She scoffed at him, looked him up and down, at his well-fitting clothes, +his general air of prosperity. + +"Pal!" she jeered. "Look at you--Merton Ware, the great dramatist, and +me--a shabby, ugly, bad-tempered, indifferent typewriter. Bad-tempered," +she repeated. "Yes, I am that. I didn't start out to be. I just haven't +had any luck." + +"It will all come some day," he assured her cheerfully. + +"I think if you'd stayed different," she went on thoughtfully, "if you +hadn't slipped away into the clouds ... shows what a selfish little beast +I am! Can't imagine why you bother about me." + +"Shall I tell you why, really?" he asked. "Because you saved me--I don't +know what from. The night we went out I was suffering from a loneliness +which was the worst torture I have ever felt. It was there in my throat +and dragging down my heart, and I just felt as though any way of ending +it all would be a joy. All these millions of hard-faced people, intent on +their own prosperity or their own petty troubles, goaded me, I think, +into a sort of silent fury. Just that one night I craved like a madman +for a single human being to talk to--well, I shall never forget it, +Martha--" + +"Miss Grimes!" she interrupted under her breath. + +He laughed. + +"That doesn't really matter, does it?" he asked. "You've never been +afraid that I should want to make love to you, have you?" + +She glanced round into the mirror by their side, looked at her wan face, +the shabby little hat, the none too tidily arranged hair which drooped +over her ears; down at her shapeless jacket, her patched skirt, the shoes +which were in open rebellion. Then she laughed, curiously enough without +any note of bitterness. + +"Seems queer, doesn't it, even to think of such a thing! I've been up +against it pretty hard, though. A man who gives a meal to a girl, even if +she is as plain as I am, generally seems to think he's bought her, in +this city. Even the men who are earning money don't give much for +nothing. But you are different," she admitted. "I'll be fair about +it--you're different." + +"You'll be waiting for the work at nine o'clock to-morrow morning?" he +asked, as indifferently as possible. + +"I will," she promised. + +He leaned back and told her little anecdotes about the play, things that +had happened to him during the last few weeks, speaking often of +Elizabeth Dalstan. By degrees the nervous unrest seemed to pass away from +her. When they had finished their meal and drunk their coffee, she was +almost normal. She smoked a cigarette and even accepted the box which he +thrust into her hand. When he had paid the bill, she rose a little +abruptly. + +"Well," she said, "you've had your way, and a kind, nice way it was. Now +I'll have mine. I don't want any politeness. When we leave this place I +am going to walk home, and I am going to walk home alone." + +"That's lucky," he replied, "because I have to be at the theatre in ten +minutes to meet a cinema man. Button up your coat and have a good night's +sleep." + +They left the place together. She turned away with a farewell nod and +walked rapidly eastwards. He watched her cross the road. A poor little +waif, she seemed, except that something had gone from her face which had +almost terrified him. She carried herself, he fancied, with more +buoyancy, with infinitely more confidence, and he drew a sigh of relief +as he called for a taxi. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Elizabeth paused for breath at the top of the third flight of stairs. She +leaned against the iron balustrade. + +"You poor dear!" she exclaimed. "How many times a day did you have to do +this?" + +"I didn't go out very often," he reminded her, "and it wasn't every day +that the lift was out of order. It's only one more flight." + +She looked up the stairs, sighed, and raised her smart, grey, tailor-made +skirt a little higher over her shoes. + +"Well," she announced heroically, "lead on. If they would sometimes dust +these steps--but, after all, it doesn't matter to you now, does it? Fancy +that poor girl, though." + +He smiled a little grimly. + +"A few flights of stairs aren't the worst things she has had to face, I'm +afraid," he said. + +"I am rather terrified of her," Elizabeth confided, supporting herself by +her companion's shoulder. "I think I know that ultra-independent type. +Kick me if I put my foot in it. Is this the door?" + +Philip nodded and knocked softly. There was a sharp "Come in!" + +"Put the key down, please," the figure at the typewriter said, as they +entered. + +The words had scarcely left Martha's lips before she turned around, +conscious of some other influence in the room. Philip stepped forward. + +"Miss Grimes," he said, "I have brought Miss Dalstan in to see you. She +wants--" + +He paused. Something in the stony expression of the girl who had risen to +her feet and stood now facing them, her ashen paleness unrelieved by any +note of colour, her hands hanging in front of her patched and shabby +frock, seemed to check the words upon his lips. Her voice was low but not +soft. It seemed to create at once an atmosphere of anger and resentment. + +"What do you want?" she demanded. + +"I hope you don't mind--I am so anxious that you should do some work for +me," Elizabeth explained. "When Mr. Ware first brought me in his play, I +noticed how nicely it was typewritten. You must have been glad to find it +turn out such a success." + +"I take no interest in my work when once it is typed," Martha Grimes +declared, "and I am very sorry but I do not like to receive visitors. I +am very busy. Mr. Ware knows quite well that I like to be left alone." + +Elizabeth smiled at her delightfully. + +"But it isn't always good for us, is it," she reminded her, "to live +exactly as we would like, or to have our own way in all things?" + +There was a moment's rather queer silence. Martha Grimes seemed to be +intent upon studying the appearance of her visitor, the very beautiful +woman familiar to nearly every one in New York, perhaps at that moment +America's most popular actress. Her eyes seemed to dwell upon the little +strands of fair hair that escaped from beneath her smart but simple hat, +to take in the slightly deprecating lift of the eyebrows, the very +attractive, half appealing smile, the smart grey tailor-made gown with +the bunch of violets in her waistband. Elizabeth was as quietly dressed +as it was possible for her to be, but her appearance nevertheless brought +a note of some other world into the shabby little apartment. + +"It's the only thing I ask of life," Martha said, "the only thing I get. +I want to be left alone, and I will be left alone. If there is any more +work, I will do it. If there isn't, I can find some somewhere else. But +visitors I don't want and won't have." + +Elizabeth was adorably patient. She surreptitiously drew towards her a +cane chair, a doubtful-looking article of furniture upon which she seated +herself slowly and with great care. + +"Well," she continued, with unabated pleasantness, "that is reasonable as +far as it goes, only we didn't quite understand, and it is such a climb +up here, isn't it? I came to talk about some work, but I must get my +breath first." + +"Miss Dalstan thought, perhaps," Philip intervened diffidently, "that you +might consider accepting a post at the theatre. They always keep two +stenographers there, and one of them fills up her time by private work, +generally work for some one connected with the theatre. In your case you +could, of course, go on with mine, only when I hadn't enough for you, and +of course I can't compose as fast as you can type, there would be +something else, and the salary would be regular." + +"I should like a regular post," the girl admitted sullenly. "So would any +one who's out of work, of course." + +"The salary," Elizabeth explained, "is twenty-five dollars a week. The +hours are nine to six. You have quite a comfortable room there, but when +you have private work connected with the theatre you can bring it home if +you wish. Mr. Ware tells me that you work very quickly. You will finish +all that you have for him to-day, won't you?" + +"I shall have it finished in half an hour." + +"Then will you be at the New York Theatre to-morrow morning at nine +o'clock," Elizabeth suggested. "There are some parts to be copied. It +will be very nice indeed if you like the work, and I think you will." + +The girl stood there, irresolute. It was obvious that she was trying to +bring herself to utter some form of thanks. Then there was a loud knock +at the door, which was opened without waiting for any reply. The janitor +stood there with a small key in his hand, which he threw down upon a +table. + +"Key of number two hundred, miss," he said. "Let me have it back again +to-night." + +He closed the door and departed. + +"Two hundred?" Philip exclaimed. "Why, that's my old room, the one up +above." + +"I must see it," Elizabeth insisted. "Do please let us go up there. I +meant to ask you to show it me." + +"You are not thinking of moving, are you, Miss Grimes?" Philip enquired. + +She snatched at the key, but he had just possessed himself of it and was +swinging it from his forefinger. + +"I don't know," she snapped. "I was going up there, anyway. You can't +have the key to-day." + +"Why not?" Philip asked in surprise. + +"Never mind. There are some things of mine up there. I--" + +She broke off. They both looked at her, perplexed. Philip shook his head +good-naturedly. + +"Miss Grimes," he said, "you forget that the rooms are mine till next +quarter day. I promise you we will respect any of your belongings we may +find there. Come along, Elizabeth." + +"We'll see you as we come down," the latter promised, nodding pleasantly, + +"I don't know as you will," the girl retorted fiercely. "I may not be +here." + +They climbed the last two flights of stairs together. + +"What an extraordinary young woman!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Is there any +reason for her being quite so rude to me?" + +"None that I can conceive," he answered. "She is always like that." + +"And yet you took an interest in her!" + +"Why not? She is human, soured by misfortune, if you like, with an +immense stock of bravery and honesty underneath it all. She has had a +drunken father practically upon her hands, and life's been pretty sordid +for her. Here we are." + +He fitted the key into the lock and swung the door open. The clear +afternoon light shone in upon the little shabby room and its worn +furniture. There were one or two insignificant belongings of Philip's +still lying about the place, and on the writing-table, exactly opposite +the spot where he used to sit, a little blue vase, in which was a bunch +of violets. Somehow or other it was the one arresting object in the room. +They both of them looked at it in equal amazement. + +"Is any one living here?" Elizabeth enquired. + +"Not to my knowledge," he replied. "No one could take it on without my +signing a release." + +They moved over to the desk. Elizabeth stooped down and smelt the +violets, lifted them up and looked at the cut stalks. + +"Is this where you used to sit and write?" she asked. + +He nodded. + +"But I never had any flowers here," he observed, gazing at them in a +puzzled manner. + +Elizabeth looked at the vase and set it down. Then she turned towards her +companion and shook her head. + +"Oh, my dear Philip," she sighed, "you really don't know what makes that +girl so uncouth?" + +"You mean Martha? Of course I don't. You think that she ... Rubbish!" + +He stopped short in sudden confusion. Elizabeth passed her arm through +his. She replaced the vase very carefully, looked once more around the +room, and led him to the door. + +"Never mind," she said. "It isn't anything serious, of course, but it's +wonderful, Philip, what memories a really lonely woman will live on, what +she will do to keep that little natural vein of sentiment alive in her, +and how fiercely she will fight to conceal it. You can go on down and +wait for me in the hall. I am going in to say good-by to Miss Martha +Grimes. I think that this time I shall get on better with her." + + + +CHAPTER V + +Philip waited nearly a quarter of an hour for Elizabeth. When at last she +returned, she was unusually silent. They drove off together in her +automobile. She held his fingers under the rug. + +"Philip dear," she said, "I think it is time that you and I were +married." + +He turned and looked at her in amazement. There was a smile upon her +lips, but rather a plaintive one. He had a fancy, somehow, that there had +been tears in her eyes lately. + +"Elizabeth!" + +"If we are ever going to be," she went on softly, "why shouldn't we be +married quietly, as people are sometimes, and then tell every one +afterwards?" + +He held the joy away from him, struggling hard for composure. + +"But a little time ago," he reminded her, "you wanted to wait." + +"Yes," she confessed, "I, too, had my--my what shall I call it--fear?--my +ghost in the background?" + +"Ah! but not like mine," he faltered, his voice unsteady with a surging +flood of passion. "Elizabeth, if you really mean it, if you are going to +take the risk of finding yourself the wife of the villain in a _cause +célèbre_, why--why--you know very well that even the thought of it can +draw me up into heaven. But, dear--my sweetheart--remember! We've played +a bold game, or rather I have with your encouragement, but we're not safe +yet." + +"Do you know anything that I don't?" she asked feverishly. + +"Well, I suppose I do," he admitted. "It isn't necessarily serious," he +went on quickly, as he saw the colour fade from her cheeks, "but on the +very night that our play was produced, whilst I was waiting about for you +all at the restaurant, a man came to see me. He is one of the keenest +detectives in New York--Edward Dane his name is. He knew perfectly well +that I was the man who had disappeared from the Waldorf. He told me so to +my face." + +"Then why didn't he--why didn't he do something?" + +"Because he was clever enough to suspect that there was something else +behind it all," Philip said grimly. "You see, he'd discovered that I +hadn't used any of the money. He couldn't fit in any of my doings with +the reports they'd had about Douglas. Somehow or other--I can't tell +how--another suspicion seems to have crept into the man's brain. All the +time he talked to me I could see him trying to read in my face whether +there wasn't something else! He'd stumbled across a puzzle of which the +pieces didn't fit. He has gone to England--gone to Detton Magna--gone to +see whether there are any missing pieces to be found. He may be back any +day now." + +"But what could he discover?" she faltered. + +"God knows!" Philip groaned. "There's the whole ghastly truth there, if +fortune helped him, and he were clever enough, if by any devilish chance +the threads came into his hand. I don't think--I don't think there was +ever any fear from the other side. I had all the luck. But, Elizabeth, +sometimes I am terrified of this man Dane. I didn't mean to tell you +this, but it's too late now. Do you know that I am watched, day by day? I +pretend not to notice it--I am even able, now and then, to shut it out +from my own thoughts--but wherever I go there's some one shadowing me, +some one walking in my footsteps. I'm perfectly certain that if you were +to go to police headquarters here, you could find out where I have spent +almost every hour since I took that room in Monmouth House." + +She gripped his fingers fiercely. + +"Philip! Philip!" + +He leaned forward, gazing with peculiar, almost passionate intentness, +into the faces of the people as they swept along Broadway. + +"Look at them, Elizabeth!" he muttered. "Look at that mob of men and +women sweeping along the pavements there, every kind and shape of man, +every nationality, every age! They are like the little flecks on the top +of a wave. I watched them when I first came and I felt almost reckless. +You'd think a man could plunge in there and be lost, wouldn't you? He +can't! I tried it. Is there anywhere else in the world, I wonder? Is +there anywhere in the living world where one can throw off everything of +the past, where one can take up a new life, and memory doesn't come?" + +She shook her head. She was more composed now. The moment of feverish +excitement had passed. Her shrewd and level common sense had begun to +reassert itself. + +"There isn't any such place, Philip," she told him, "and if there were it +wouldn't be worth while your trying to find it. We are both a little +hysterical this evening. We've lost our sense of proportion. You've +played for your stake. You mustn't quail; if the worst should come, you +must brave it out. I believe, even then, you would be safe. But it won't +come--it shan't!" + +He gripped her hands. They were slowing up now, caught in a maze of heavy +traffic a few blocks from the theatre. His voice was firm. He had +regained his self-control. + +"What an idiot I have been!" he exclaimed scornfully. "Never mind, that's +past. There is just one more serious word, though, dear." + +She responded immediately to the change in his manner, and smiled into +his face. + +"Well?" + +"My only real problem," he went on earnestly, "is this. Dare I hold you +to your word, Elizabeth? Dare I, for instance, say 'yes' to the wonderful +suggestion of yours?--make you my wife and risk having people look at you +in years to come, point at you with pity and say that you married a +murderer who died a shameful death! Fancy how the tragedy of that would +lie across your life--you who are so wonderful and so courted and so +clever!" + +"Isn't that my affair, Philip?" she asked calmly. + +"No," he answered, "it's mine!" + +She turned and laughed at him. For a moment she was her old self again. + +"You refuse me?" + +His eyes glowed. + +"We'll wait," he said hoarsely, "till Dane comes back from England!" + +The car had stopped outside the theatre. Hat in hand, and with his face +wreathed in smiles, the commissionaire had thrown open the door. The +people on the pavement were nudging one another--a famous woman was about +to descend. She turned back to Philip. + +"Come in with me," she begged. "Somehow, I feel cold and lonely to-night. +It hasn't anything to do with what we were talking about, but I feel as +though something were going to happen, that something were coming out of +the shadows, something that threatens either you or me. I'm silly, but +come." + +She clung to him as they crossed the pavement. For once she forgot to +smile at the little curious crowd. She was absorbed in herself and her +feelings. + +"Life is so hard sometimes!" she exclaimed, as they lingered for a moment +near the box office. "There's that poor girl, Philip, friendless and +lonely. What she must suffer! God help her--God help us all! I am sick +with loneliness myself, Philip. Don't leave me alone. Come with me to my +room. I only want to see if there are any letters. We'll go somewhere +near and dine first, before I change. Philip, what is the matter with me? +I don't want to go a step alone. I don't want to be alone for a moment." + +He laughed reassuringly and drew her closer to him. She led the way down +the passage towards her own suite of apartments. They passed one or two +of the officials of the theatre, whom she greeted with something less +than her usual charm of manner. As they reached the manager's office +there was the sound of loud voices, and the door was thrown open. Mr. +Fink appeared, and with him a somewhat remarkable figure--a tall, +immensely broad, ill-dressed man, with a strong, rugged face and a mass +of grey hair; a huge man, who seemed, somehow or other, to proclaim +himself of a bigger and stronger type than those others amongst whom +he moved. He had black eyes, and the heavy jaw of an Irishman. His face +was curiously unwrinkled. He stood there, blocking the way, his great +hands suddenly thrust forward. + +"Betty, by the Lord that loves us!" he exclaimed. "Here's luck! I was on +my way out to search for you. Got here on the Chicago Limited at four +o'clock. Give me your hands and say that you are glad to see me." + +If Elizabeth were glad, she showed no sign of it. She seemed to have +become rooted to the spot, suddenly dumb. Philip, by her side, heard the +quick indrawing of her breath. + +"Sylvanus!" she murmured. "You! Why, I thought you were in China." + +"There's no place on God's earth can hold me for long," was the +boisterous reply. "I did my business there in three days and caught a +Japanese boat back. Such a voyage and such food! But New York will make +up for that. You've got a great play, they tell me. I must hear all about +it. Shake my hands first, though, girl, as though you were glad to see +me. You seem to have shrunken since I saw you last--to have grown +smaller. Didn't London agree with you?" + +The moment of shock had passed. Elizabeth had recovered herself. She gave +the newcomer her hands quite frankly. She even seemed, in a measure, glad +to see him. + +"These unannounced comings and goings of yours from the ends of the earth +are so upsetting to your friends," she declared. + +"And this gentleman? Who is he?" + +Elizabeth laughed softly. + +"I needn't tell you, Mr. Ware," she said, turning to Philip, "that this +dear man here is an eccentric. I dare say you've heard of him. It is Mr. +Sylvanus Power, and Sylvanus, this is Mr. Merton Ware, the author of our +play--'The House of Shams.'" + +Philip felt his hand held in a grasp which, firm though it was, seemed to +owe its vigour rather to the long, powerful fingers than to any real +cordiality. Mr. Sylvanus Power was studying him from behind his bushy +eyebrows. + +"So you're Merton Ware," he observed. "I haven't seen your play yet--hope +to to-night. An Englishman, eh?" + +"Yes, I am English," Philip assented coolly. "You come from the West, +don't you?" + +There was a moment's silence. Elizabeth laughed softly. + +"Oh, there's no mistake about Mr. Power!" she declared. "He brings the +breezy West with him, to Wall Street or Broadway, Paris or London. You +can't shake it off or blow it away." + +"And I don't know as I am particularly anxious to, either," Mr. Power +pronounced. "Are you going to your rooms here, Betty? If so, I'll come +along. I guess Mr. Ware will excuse you." + +Philip was instantly conscious of the antagonism in the other's manner. +As yet, however, he felt little more than amusement. He glanced towards +Elizabeth, and the look in her face startled him. The colour had once +more left her cheeks and her eyes were full of appeal. + +"If you wouldn't mind?" she begged. "Mr. Power is a very old friend and +we haven't met for so long." + +"You needn't expect to see anything more of Miss Dalstan to-night, either +of you," the newcomer declared, drawing her hand through his arm, "except +on the stage, that is. I am going to take her out and give her a little +dinner directly. Au revoir, Fink! I'll see you to-night here. Good-day to +you, Mr. Ware." + +Philip stood for a moment motionless. The voice of Mr. Sylvanus Power was +no small thing, and he was conscious that several of the officials of the +place, and the man in the box office, had heard every word that had +passed. He felt, somehow, curiously ignored. He watched the huge figure +of the Westerner, with Elizabeth by his side, disappear down the +corridor. Mr. Fink, who had also been looking after them, turned towards +him. + +"Say, that's some man, Sylvanus Power!" he exclaimed admiringly. "He is +one of our multimillionaires, Mr. Ware. What do you think of him?" + +"So far as one can judge from a few seconds' conversation," Philip +remarked, "he seems to possess all the qualities essential to the +production of a multimillionaire in this country." + +Mr. Fink grinned. + +"Sounds a trifle sarcastic, but I guess he's a new type to you," he +observed tolerantly. + +"Absolutely," Philip acknowledged, as he turned and made his way slowly +out of the theatre. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Philip's disposition had been so curiously affected by the emotions of +the last few months that he was not in the least surprised to find +himself, that evening, torn by a very curious and unfamiliar spasm of +jealousy. After an hour or so of indecision he made his way, as usual, to +the theatre, but instead of going at once to Elizabeth's room, he slipped +in at the back of the stalls. The house was crowded, and, seated in the +stage box, alone and gloomy, his somewhat austere demeanour intensified +by the severity of his evening clothes, sat Sylvanus Power with the air +of a conqueror. Philip, unaccountably restless, left his seat in a very +few minutes, and, making his way to the box office, scribbled a line to +Elizabeth. The official to whom he handed it looked at him in surprise. + +"Won't you go round yourself, Mr. Ware?" he suggested. "Miss Dalstan has +another ten minutes before she is on." + +Philip shook his head. + +"I'm looking for a man I know," he replied evasively. "I'll be somewhere +about here in five minutes." + +The answer came in less than that time. It was just a scrawled line in +pencil: + +"Forgive me, dear. I will explain everything in the morning, if you will +come to my rooms at eleven o'clock. This evening I have a hateful duty to +perform and I cannot see you." + +Philip, impatient of the atmosphere of the theatre, wandered out into the +streets with the note in his pocket. Broadway was thronged with people, a +heterogeneous, slowly-moving throng, the hardest crowd to apprehend, to +understand, of any in the world. He looked absently into the varying +stream of faces, stared at the whirling sky-signs, the lights flashing +from the tall buildings, heard snatches of the music from the open doors +of the cafes and restaurants. Men, and even women, elbowed him, +unresenting, out of the way, without the semblance of an apology. It +seemed to him that his presence there, part of the drifting pandemonium +of the pavement, was in a sense typical of his own existence in New York. +He had given so much of his life into another's hands and now the anchor +was dragging. He was suddenly confronted with the possibility of a rift +in his relations with Elizabeth; with a sudden surging doubt, not of +Elizabeth herself but simply a feeling of insecurity with regard to their +future. He only realised in those moments how much he had leaned upon +her, how completely she seemed to have extended over him and his troubled +life some sort of sheltering influence, to which he had succumbed with an +effortless, an almost fatalistic impulse, finding there, at any rate, a +refuge from the horrors of his empty days. It was all abstract and +impersonal at first, this jealousy which had come so suddenly to disturb +the serenity of an almost too perfect day, but as the hours passed it +seemed to him that his thoughts dwelt more often upon the direct cause of +his brief separation from Elizabeth. He turned in at one of the clubs of +which he had been made a member, and threw himself gloomily into an +easy-chair. His thoughts had turned towards the grim, masterful +personality of the man who seemed to have obtruded himself upon their +lives. What did it mean when Elizabeth told him she was engaged for +to-night? She was supping with him somewhere--probably at that moment +seated opposite to him at a small, rose-shaded table in one of the many +restaurants of the city which they had visited together. He, Sylvanus +Power, his supplanter, was occupying the place that belonged to him, +ordering her supper, humouring her little preferences, perhaps sharing +with her that little glow of relief which comes with the hour of rest, +after the strain of the day's work. The suggestion was intolerable. +To-morrow he would have an explanation! Elizabeth belonged to him. +The sooner the world knew it, the better, and this man first of all. He +read her few lines again, hastily pencilled, and evidently written +standing up. There was a certain ignominy in being sent about his +business, just because this colossus from the West had appeared and +claimed--what? Not his right!--he could have no right! What then?... + +Philip ordered a drink, tore open an evening paper, and tried to read. +The letters danced before his eyes, the whisky and soda stood neglected +at his elbow. Afterwards he found himself looking into space. There was +something cynical, challenging almost, in the manner in which that man +had taken Elizabeth away from him, had acknowledged his introduction, +even had treated the author of a play, a writer, as some sort of a +mountebank, making his living by catering for the amusements of the +world. How did that man regard such gifts as his, he wondered?--Sylvanus +Power, of whom he had seen it written that he was one of the conquerors +of nature, a hard but splendid utilitarian, the builder of railways in +China and bridges for the transit of his metals amid the clouds of the +mountain tops. In the man's absence, his harshness, almost uncouthness, +seemed modified. He was a rival, without a doubt, and to-night a favoured +one. How well had he known Elizabeth? For how long? Was it true, that +rumour he had once heard--that the first step in her fortunes had been +due to the caprice of a millionaire? He found the room stifling, but the +thought of the streets outside unnerved him. He looked about for some +distraction. + +The room was beginning to fill--actors, musicians, a few journalists, a +great many men of note in the world of Bohemia kept streaming in. One +or two of them nodded to him, several paused to speak. + +"Hullo, Ware!" Noel Bridges exclaimed. "Not often you give us a look in. +What are you doing with yourself here all alone?" + +Philip turned to answer him, and suddenly felt the fire blaze up again. +He saw his questioner's frown, saw him even bite his lip as though +conscious of having said a tactless thing. The actor probably understood +the whole situation well enough. + +"I generally go into the Lotus," Philip lied. "To-night I had a fancy to +come here." + +"The Lotus is too far up town for us fellows," Bridges remarked. "We need +a drink, a little supper, and to see our pals quickly when the night's +work is over. I hear great things of the new play, Mr. Ware, but I don't +know when you'll get a chance to produce it. Were you in the house +tonight?" + +"Only for a moment." + +"Going stronger than ever," Bridges continued impressively. "Yes, thanks, +I'll take a Scotch highball," he added, in response to Philip's mute +invitation, "plenty of ice, Mick. There wasn't a seat to be had in the +house, and I wouldn't like to say what old Fink had to go through before +he could get his box for the great Sylvanus." + +"His box?" Philip queried. + +"The theatre belongs to Sylvanus Power, you know," Bridges explained. "He +built it five years ago." + +"For a speculation?" + +The actor fidgeted for a moment with his tumbler. + +"No, for Miss Dalstan," he replied. + +Philip set his teeth hard. The temptation to pursue the conversation was +almost overpowering. The young man himself, though a trifle embarrassed, +seemed perfectly willing to talk. At least it was better to know the +truth! Then another impulse suddenly asserted itself. Whatever he was to +know he must learn from her lips and from hers only. + +"Well, I should think it's turned out all right," he remarked. + +Noel Bridges shrugged his shoulders. + +"The rent, if it were figured out at a fair interest on the capital, +would be something fabulous," he declared. "You see, the place was +extravagantly built--without any regard to cost. The dressing rooms, as +you may have noticed, are wonderful, and all the appointments are unique. +I don't fancy the old man's ever had a quarter's rent yet that's paid him +one per cent, on the money. See you later, perhaps, Mr. Ware," the young +man concluded, setting down his tumbler. "I'm going in to have a grill. +Why don't you come along?" + +Philip hesitated for a second and then, somewhat to the other's surprise, +assented. He was conscious that he had been, perhaps, just a little +unresponsive to the many courtesies which had been offered him here and +at the other kindred clubs. They had been ready to receive him with open +arms, this little fraternity of brain-workers, and his response had been, +perhaps, a little doubtful, not from any lack of appreciation but partly +from that curious diffidence, so hard to understand but so fundamentally +English, and partly because of that queer sense of being an impostor +which sometimes swept over him, a sense that he was, after all, only +the ghost of another man, living a subjective life; that, reason it out +however he might, there was something of the fraud in any personality +he might adopt. And yet, deep down in his heart he was conscious of so +earnest a desire to be really one of them, this good-natured, +good-hearted, gay-spirited little throng, with their delightful +intimacies, their keen interest in each other's welfare, their potent, +almost mysterious geniality, which seemed to draw the stranger of kindred +tastes so closely under its influence. Philip, as he sat at the long +table with a dozen or so other men, did his best that night to break +through the fetters, tried hard to remember that his place amongst them, +after all, was honest enough. They were writers and actors and +journalists. Well, he too was a writer. He had written a play which they +had welcomed with open arms, as they had done him. In this world of +Bohemia, if anywhere, he surely had a right to lift up his head and +breathe--and he would do it. He sat with them, smoking and talking, until +the little company began to thin out, establishing all the time a new +reputation, doing a great deal to dissipate that little sense of +disappointment which his former non-responsiveness had created. + +"He's a damned good fellow, after all," one of them declared, as at last +he left the room. "He is losing his Britishness every day he stays here." + +"Been through rough times, they say," another remarked. + +"He is one of those," an elder member pronounced, taking his pipe for a +moment from his mouth, "who was never made for happiness. You can always +read those men. You can see it behind their eyes." + +Nevertheless, Philip walked home a saner and a better man. He felt +somehow warmed by those few hours of companionship. The senseless part of +his jealousy was gone, his trust in Elizabeth reestablished. He looked at +the note once more as he undressed. At eleven o'clock on the following +morning in her rooms! + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Something of his overnight's optimism remained with Philip when at eleven +o'clock on the following morning he was ushered into Elizabeth's rooms. +It was a frame of mind, however, which did not long survive his +reception. From the moment of his arrival, he seemed to detect a +different atmosphere in his surroundings,--the demeanour of Phoebe, his +staunch ally, who admitted him without her usual welcoming smile; the +unanalysable sense of something wanting in the dainty little room, +overfilled with strong-smelling, hothouse flowers in the entrance and +welcome of Elizabeth herself. His eyes had ached for the sight of her. +He was so sure that he would know everything the moment she spoke. +Yet her coming brought only confusion to his senses. She was +different--unexpectedly, bewilderingly different. She had lost that +delicate serenity of manner, that almost protective affection which he +had grown to lean upon and expect. She entered dressed for the street, +smoking a cigarette, which was in itself unusual, with dark rings under +her eyes, which seemed to be looking all around the room on some +pretext or other, but never at him. + +"Am I late?" she asked, a little breathlessly. "I am so sorry. Tell me, +have you anything particular to do?" + +"Nothing," he answered. + +"I want to go out of the city--into the country, at once," she told him +feverishly. "The car is waiting. I ordered it for a quarter to eleven. +Let us start." + +"Of course, if you wish it," he assented. + +He opened the door but before she passed through he leaned towards her. +She shook her head. His heart sank. What could there be more ominous +than this! + +"I am not well," she muttered. "Don't take any notice of anything I say +or do for a little time. I am like this sometimes--temperamental, I +suppose. All great actresses are temperamental. I suppose I am a great +actress. Do you think I am, Philip?" + +He was following her down-stairs now. He found it hard, however, to +imitate the flippancy of her tone. + +"The critics insist upon it," he observed drily. "Evidently your audience +last night shared their opinion." + +She nodded. + +"I love them to applaud like that, and yet--audiences don't really know, +do they? Perhaps--" + +She relapsed into silence, and they took their places in the car. She +settled herself down with a little sigh of content and drew the rug over +her. + +"As far as you can go, John," she told the man, "but you must get back at +six o'clock. The country, mind--not the shore." + +They started off. + +"So you were there last night?" she murmured, leaning back amongst the +cushions with an air of relief. + +"I was there for a few moments. I wrote my note to you in the box +office." + +She shook the memory away. + +"And afterwards?" + +"I went to one of the clubs down-town." + +"What did you do there?" she enquired. "Gossip?" + +"Some of the men were very kind to me," he said. "I had supper with Noel +Bridges, amongst others." + +"Well?" she asked, almost defiantly. + +"I don't understand." + +She looked intently at him for a moment. + +"I forgot," she went on. "You are very chivalrous, aren't you? You +wouldn't ask questions.... See, I am going to close my eyes. It is too +horrible here, and all through Brooklyn. When we are in the lanes I can +talk. This is just one of those days I wish that we were in England. All +our country is either suburban or too wild and restless. Can you be +content with silence for a little time?" + +"Of course," he assured her. "Besides, you forget that I am in a strange +country. Everything is worth watching." + +They passed over Brooklyn Bridge, and for an hour or more they made slow +progress through the wide-flung environs of the city. At last, however, +the endless succession of factories and small tenement dwellings lay +behind them. They passed houses with real gardens, through stretches of +wood whose leaves were opening, whose branches were filled with the +sweet-smelling sap of springtime. Elizabeth seemed to wake almost +automatically from a kind of stupor. She pushed back her veil, and +Philip, stealing eager glances towards her, was almost startled by some +indefinable change. Her face seemed more delicate, almost the face of an +invalid, and she lay back there with half-closed eyes. The strength of +her mouth seemed to have dissolved, and its sweetness had become almost +pathetic. There were signs of a great weariness about her. The fingers +which reached out for the little speaking-tube seemed to have become +thinner. + +"Take the turn to the left, John," she instructed, "the one to Bay Shore. +Go slowly by the lake and stop where I tell you." + +They left the main road and travelled for some distance along a lane +which, with its bramble-grown fences and meadows beyond, was curiously +reminiscent of England. They passed a country house, built of the wood +which was still a little unfamiliar to Philip, but wonderfully homelike +with its cluster of outbuildings, its trim lawns, and the turret clock +over the stable entrance. Then, through the leaves of an avenue of elms, +they caught occasional glimpses of the blue waters of the lake, which +they presently skirted. Elizabeth's eyes travelled over its placid +surface idly, yet with a sense of passive satisfaction. In a few minutes +they passed into the heart of a little wood, and she leaned forward. + +"Stop here, close to the side of the road, John. Stop your engine, +please, and go and sit by the lake." + +The man obeyed at once with the unquestioning readiness of one used to +his mistress' whims. For several minutes she remained silent. She had the +air of one drinking in with almost passionate eagerness the sedative +effect of the stillness, the soft spring air, the musical country sounds, +the ripple of the breeze in the trees, the humming of insects, the soft +splash of the lake against the stony shore. Philip himself was awakened +into a peculiar sense of pleasure by this, almost his first glimpse of +the country since his arrival in New York. A host of half forgotten +sensations warmed his heart. He felt suddenly intensely sympathetic, +perhaps more genuinely tender than he had ever felt before towards the +woman by his side, whose hour of suffering it was. His hand slipped under +the rug and held her fingers, which clutched his in instantaneous +response. Her lips seemed unlocked by his slight action. + +"I came here alone two years ago," she told him, "and since then often, +sometimes to study a difficult part, sometimes only to think. One +moment." + +She released her fingers from his, drew out the hatpins from her hat, +unwound the veil and threw them both on to the opposite seat. Then she +laid her hands upon her forehead as though to cool it. The little breeze +from the lake rippled through her hair, bringing them every now and then +faint whiffs of perfume from the bordering gardens. + +"There!" she exclaimed, with a little murmur of content. "That's a man's +action, isn't it? Now I think I am getting brave. I have something to +say to you, Philip." + +He felt her fingers seeking his again and held them tightly. It was +curious how in that moment of crisis his thoughts seemed to wander away. +He was watching the little flecks of gold in her hair, wondering if he +had ever properly appreciated the beautiful curve of her neck. Even her +voice seemed somehow attuned to the melody of their surroundings, the +confused song of the birds, the sighing of the lake, the passing of the +west wind through the trees and shrubs around. + +"Philip," she began, clinging closely to him, "I have brought you here to +tell you a story which perhaps you will think, when you have heard it, +might better have been told in my dressing-room. Well, I couldn't. +Besides, I wanted to get away. It is about Sylvanus Power." + +He sat a little more upright. His nerves were tingling now with +eagerness. + +"Yes?" + +"I met him," she continued, "eight years ago out West, when I was in a +travelling show. I accepted his attentions at first carelessly enough. I +did not realise the sort of man he was. He was a great personage even in +those days, and I suppose my head was a little turned. Then he began to +follow us everywhere. There was a scandal, of course. In the end I left +the company and came to New York. He went to China, where he has always +had large interests. When I heard that he had sailed--I remember reading +it in the paper--I could have sobbed with joy." + +Philip moved a little uneasily in his place. Some instinct told him, +however, how greatly she desired his silence--that she wanted to tell her +story her own way. + +"Then followed three miserable years, during which I saw little of him. I +knew that I had talent, I was always sure of making a living, but I got +no further. It didn't seem possible to get any further. Nothing that I +could do or say seemed able to procure for me an engagement in New York. +Think of me for a moment now, Philip, as a woman absolutely and entirely +devoted to her work. I loved it. It absorbed all my thoughts. It was just +the one thing in life I cared anything about. I simply ached to get at +New York, and I couldn't. All the time I had to play on tour, and you +won't quite understand this, dear, but there is nothing so wearing in +life as for any one with my cravings for recognition there to be always +playing on the road." + +She paused for a few minutes. There was a loud twittering of birds. A +rabbit who had stolen carefully through the undergrowth scurried away. A +car had come through the wood and swept past them, bringing with it some +vague sense of disturbance. It was some little time before she settled +down again to her story. + +"At the end of those three years," she went on, "Sylvanus Power had +become richer, stronger, more masterful than ever. I was beginning to +lose heart. He was clever. He studied my every weakness. He knew quite +well that with me there was only one way, and he laid his schemes with +regard to me just in the same fashion as he schemed to be a conqueror +of men, to build up those millions. We were playing near New York and one +day he asked me to motor in there and lunch with him. I accepted. It was +in the springtime, almost on such a day as this. We motored up in one of +his wonderful cars. We lunched--I remember how shabby I felt--at the best +restaurant in New York, where I was waited upon like a queen. Somehow or +other, the man had always the knack of making himself felt wherever he +went. He strode the very streets of New York like one of its masters and +the people seemed to recognise it. Afterwards he took me into Broadway, +and he ordered the car to stop outside the theatre where I am now +playing. I looked at it, and I remember I gave a little cry of interest. + +"'This is the new theatre that every one is talking about, isn't it?' I +asked him eagerly. + +"'It is,' he answered. 'Would you like to see inside?' + +"Of course, I was half crazy with curiosity. The doors flew open before +him, and he took me everywhere. You know yourself what a magnificent +place it is--that marvellous stage, the auditorium all in dark green +satin, the seats like armchairs, the dressing rooms like boudoirs--the +wonderful spaciousness of it! It took my breath away. I had never +imagined such splendour. When we had finished looking over the whole +building, I clutched his arm. + +"'I can't believe that it isn't some sort of fairy palace!' I exclaimed. +And to think that no one knows who owns the place or when it is going to +be opened!' + +"'I'll tell you all about that' he answered. 'I built it, I own it, and +it will be opened just when you accept my offer and play in it.' + +"It all seemed too amazing. For a time I couldn't speak coherently. Then +I remember thinking that whatever happened, whatever price I had to pay, +I must stand upon the stage of that theatre and win. My lips were quite +dry. His great voice seemed to have faded into a whisper. + +"'Your offer?' I repeated. + +"'Yourself,' he answered gruffly." + +There was a silence which seemed to Philip interminable. All the magic of +the place had passed away, its music seemed no longer to be singing +happiness into his heart. Then at last he realised that she was waiting +for him to speak. + +"He wanted--to marry you?" he faltered. + +"He had a wife already." + +Splash! John was throwing stones into the lake, a pastime of which he was +getting a little tired. A huge thrush was thinking about commencing to +build his nest, and in the meantime sat upon a fallen log across the way +and sang about it. A little tree-climbing bird ran round and round the +trunk of the nearest elm, staring at them, every time he appeared, with +his tiny black eyes. A squirrel, almost overhead, who had long since come +to the conclusion that they were harmless, decided now that they had the +queerest manners of any two young people he had ever watched from his +leafy throne, and finally abandoned his position. Elizabeth had been +staring down the road ever since the last words had passed her lips. She +turned at last and looked at her companion. He was once more the refugee, +the half-starved man flying from horrors greater even than he had known. +She began to tremble. + +"Philip!" she cried. "Say anything, but speak to me!" + +Like a flash he seemed to pass from his own, almost the hermit's way of +looking out upon life from the old-fashioned standpoint of his inherent +puritanism, into a closer sympathy with those others, the men and women +of the world into which he had so lately entered, the men and women who +had welcomed him so warm-heartedly, human beings all of them, who lived +and loved with glad hearts and much kindliness. The contrast was absurd, +the story itself suddenly so reasonable. No other woman on tour would +have kept Sylvanus Power waiting for three years. Only Elizabeth could +have done that. It was such a human little problem. People didn't live in +the clouds. He wasn't fit for the clouds himself. Nevertheless, when he +tried to speak his throat was hard and dry, and at the second attempt he +began instead to laugh. She gripped his arm. + +"Philip!" she exclaimed. "Be reasonable! Say what you like, but look and +behave like a human being. Don't make that noise!" she almost shrieked. + +He stopped at once. + +"Forgive me," he begged humbly. "I can't help it. I seem to be playing +hide and seek with myself. You haven't finished the story yet--if there +is anything more to tell me." + +She drew herself up. She spoke absolutely without faltering. + +"I accepted Sylvanus Power's terms," she went on. "He placed large sums +of money in Fink's hands to run the theatre. There was a wonderful +opening. You were not interested then or you might have heard of it. I +produced a new play of Clyde Fitch's. It was a great triumph. The house +was packed. Sylvanus Power sat in his box. It was to be his night. +Through it all I fought like a woman in a nightmare. I didn't know what +it meant. I knew hundreds of women who had done in a small way what I was +prepared to do magnificently. In all my acquaintance I think that I +scarcely knew one who would have refused to do what I was doing. And all +the time I was in a state of fierce revolt. I had moments when my life's +ambitions, when New York itself, the Mecca of my dreams, and that +marvellous theatre, with its marble and silk, seemed suddenly to dwindle +to a miserable, contemptible little doll's house. And then again I +played, and I felt my soul as I played, and the old dreams swept over +me, and I said that it wasn't anything to do with personal vanity that +made me crave for the big gifts of success; that it was my art, and that +I must find myself in my art or die." + +The blood was flowing in his veins again. She was coming back to him. He +was ashamed--he with his giant load of sin! His voice trembled with +tenderness. + +"Go on," he begged. + +"I think that the reason I played that night as though I were inspired +was because of the great passionate craving at my heart for +forgetfulness, to shut out the memory of that man who sat almost +gloomily alone in his box, waiting. And then, after it was all over, the +wonder and the glory of it, he appeared suddenly in my dressing-room, +elbowing his way through excited journalists, kicking bouquets of flowers +from his path. We stood for a moment face to face. He came nearer. I +shrank away. I was terrified! He looked at me in cold surprise. + +"'Three minutes,' he exclaimed, 'to say good-by. I'm off to China. Stick +at it. You've done well for a start, but remember a New York audience +wants holding. Choose your plays carefully. Trust Fink.' + +"'You're going away?' I almost shrieked. + +"He glanced at his watch, leaned over, and kissed me on the forehead. + +"'I'll barely make that boat,' he muttered, and rushed out."... + +Philip was breathless. The strange, untold passion of the whole thing was +coming to him in waves of wonderful suggestion. + +"Finish!" he cried impatiently. "Finish!" + +"That is the end," she said. "I played for two years and a half, with +scarcely a pause. Then I came to Europe for a rest and travelled back +with you on the _Elletania_. Last night I saw Sylvanus Power again for +the first time. Don't speak. My story is in two halves. That is the +first. The second is just one question. That will come before we reach +home...John!" she called. + +The man approached promptly--he was quite weary of throwing stones. + +"Take us somewhere to lunch," his mistress directed, "and get back to New +York at six o'clock." + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +It was not until they were crossing Brooklyn Bridge, on their way into +the city, that she asked him that question. They crawled along, one of an +interminable, tangled line of vehicles of all sorts and conditions, the +trains rattling overhead, and endless streams of earnest people passing +along the footway. Below them, the evening sunlight flashed upon the +murky waters, glittered from the windows of the tall buildings, and shone +a little mercilessly upon the unlovely purlieus of the great human hive. +The wind had turned cool, and Elizabeth, with a little shiver, had drawn +her furs around her neck. All through the day, during the luncheon in an +unpretentious little inn, and the leisurely homeward drive, she had been +once more entirely herself, pleasant and sympathetic, ignoring absolutely +the intangible barrier which had grown up between them, soon to be thrown +down for ever or to remain for all time. + +"We left our heroine," she said, "at an interesting crisis in her career. +I am waiting to hear from you--what would you have done in her place?" + +He answered her at once, and he spoke from the lesser heights. He was +fiercely jealous. + +"It is not a reasonable question," he declared. "I am not a woman. I am +just a man who has led an unusually narrow and cramped life until these +last few months." + +"That is scarcely fair," she objected. "You profess to have loved--to +love still, I hope. That in itself makes a man of any one. Then you, too, +have sinned. You, too, are one of those who have yielded to passion of a +sort. Therefore, your judgment ought to be the better worth having." + +He winced as though he had been struck, and looked at her with eyes +momentarily wild. He felt that the deliberate cruelty of her words was of +intent, an instinct of her brain, defying for the moment her heart. + +"I don't know," he faltered. "I won't answer your question. I can't. You +see, the love you speak of is my love for you. You ask me to ignore +that--I, who am clinging on to life by one rope." + +"You are like all men," she sighed. "We do not blame you for it--perhaps +we love you the more--but when a great crisis comes you think only of +yourselves. You disappoint me a little, Philip. I fancied that you might +have thought a little of me, something of Sylvanus Power." + +"I haven't your sympathy for other people," he declared hoarsely. + +"No," she assented, "sympathy is the one thing a man lacks. It isn't your +fault, Philip. You are to be pitied for it. And, after all, it is a +woman's gift, isn't it?" + +There followed then a silence which seemed interminable. It was not until +they were nearing the theatre that he suddenly spoke with a passion which +startled her. + +"Tell me," he insisted, "last night? I can't help asking. I was in hell!" + +He told himself afterwards that there couldn't be any possible way of +reconciling cruelty so cold-blooded with all that he knew of Elizabeth. +She behaved as though his question had fallen upon deaf ears. The car had +stopped before the entrance to the theatre. She stepped out even before +he could assist her, hurried across the pavement and looked back at him +for one moment only before she plunged into the dark passage. She nodded, +and there was an utterly meaningless smile upon her lips. + +"Good-by!" she said. "Do you mind telling John he needn't wait for me?" + +Then she disappeared. He stood motionless upon the pavement, a little +dazed. Two or three people jostled against him. A policeman glanced at +him curiously. A lady with very yellow hair winked in his face. Philip +pulled himself together and simultaneously felt a touch upon his elbow. +He glanced into the face of the girl who had accosted him, and for a +moment he scarcely recognised her. + +"Wish you'd remember you're in New York and not one of your own sleepy +old towns," Miss Grimes remarked brusquely. "You'll have a policeman say +you're drunk, in a minute, if you stand there letting people shove you +around." + +He fell into step by her side, and they walked slowly along. Martha was +plainly dressed, but she was wearing new clothes, new shoes, and a new +hat. + +"Don't stare at me as though you never saw me out of a garret before," +she went on, a little sharply. "Your friend Miss Dalstan is a lady who +understands things. When I arrived at the theatre this morning I found +that it was to be a permanent job all right, and there was a little +advance for me waiting in an envelope. That fat old Mr. Fink began to +cough and look at my clothes, so I got one in first. 'This is for me to +make myself look smart enough for your theatre, I suppose?' I said. +'Give me an hour off, and I'll do it.' So he grinned, and here I am. Done +a good day's work, too, copying the parts of your play for a road +company, and answering letters. What's wrong with you?" + +The very sound of her voice was a tonic. He almost smiled as he answered +her. + +"Just a sort of hankering for the moon and a sudden fear lest I mightn't +get it." + +"You're spoilt, that's what's the matter with you," she declared +brusquely. + +"It never occurred to me," he said gloomily, "that life had been +over-kind." + +"Oh, cut it out!" she answered. "Here you are not only set on your feet +but absolutely held up there; all the papers full of Merton Ware's +brilliant play, and Merton Ware, the new dramatist, with his social +gifts--such an acquisition to New York Society! Why, it isn't so very +long ago, after all, that you hadn't a soul in New York to speak to. +I saw something in your face that night. I thought you were hungry. So +you were, only it wasn't for food. It cheered you up even to talk with +me. And look at you to-day! Clubs and parties and fine friends, and there +you were, half dazed in Broadway! Be careful, man. You don't know what it +is to be down and out. You haven't been as near it as I have, anyway, or +you'd lift your head up and be thankful." + +"Martha," he began earnestly-- + +"Miss Grimes!" she interrupted firmly. "Don't let there be any mistake +about that. I hate familiarity." + +"Miss Grimes, then," he went on. "You talk about my friends. Quite right. +I should think I have been introduced to nearly a thousand people since +the night my play was produced. I have dined at a score of houses and +many scores of restaurants. The people are pleasant enough, too, but all +the time it's Merton Ware the dramatist they are patting on the back. +They don't know anything about Merton Ware the man. Perhaps there are +some of them would be glad to, but you see it's too soon, and they seem +to live too quickly here to make friends. I am almost as lonely as I was, +so far as regards ordinary companionship. Last night I felt the first +little glow of real friendliness--just the men down at the club." + +"You've put all your eggs into one basket, that's what you've done," she +declared. + +"That's true enough," he groaned. + +"And like all men--selfish brutes!" she proceeded deliberately--"you +expect everything. Fancy expecting everything from a woman like Miss +Dalstan! Why, you aren't worthy of it, you know." + +"Perhaps not," he admitted, "but you see, Miss Grimes, there is something +in life which seems to have passed you by up till now." + +"Has it indeed!" she objected. "You think I've never had a young man, eh? +Perhaps you're right. Haven't found much time for that sort of rubbish. +Anyway, this is where I hop on a trolley car." + +"Wait a moment," he begged. "Don't leave me yet. You've nothing to do, +have you?" + +"Nothing particular," she confessed, "except go home and cook my dinner." + +"Look here," he went on eagerly, "I feel like work. I've got the second +act of my new play in my mind. Come round with me and let me try +dictating it. I'll give you something to eat in my rooms. It's for the +theatre, mind. I never tried dictating. I believe I could do it to you." + +"In your rooms," she repeated, a little doubtfully. + +"They won't talk scandal about us, Miss Grimes," he assured her. "To tell +you the truth, I want to be near the telephone." + +"In case she rings you up, eh?" + +"That's so. I said something I ought not to have done. I ought to have +waited for her, but it was something that had been tearing at me ever +since last night, and I couldn't bear it." + +"Some blunderers, you men," Miss Grimes sighed. "Well, I'm with you." + +He led her almost apologetically to the lift of the handsome building in +which his new rooms were situated. They were very pleasant bachelor +rooms, with black oak walls and green hangings, prints upon the wall, a +serviceable writing-table, and a deep green carpet. She looked around her +and at the servant who had come forward at their entrance, with a little +sniff. + +"Shall you be changing to-night, sir?" he asked. + +"Not to-night," Philip answered quickly. "Tell the waiter to send up a +simple dinner for two--I can't bother to order. And two cocktails," he +added, as an afterthought. + +Martha stared after the disappearing manservant disparagingly. + +"Some style," she muttered. "A manservant, eh? Don't know as I ever saw +one before off the stage." + +"Don't be silly," he remonstrated. "He has four other flats to look after +besides mine. It's the way one lives, nowadays, cheaper than ordinary +hotels or rooms. Take off your coat." + +She obeyed him, depositing it carefully in a safe place. Then she +strolled around the room, finding pictures little to her taste, and +finally threw herself into an easy-chair. + +"Are we going to work before we eat?" she asked. + +"No, afterwards," he told her. "Have a cigarette?" + +She held it between her fingers but declined a match. + +"I'll wait for the cocktails," she decided. "Now listen here, Mr. Ware, +there's a word or two I'd like to say to you." + +"Go ahead," he invited listlessly. + +"You men," she continued, looking him squarely in the face, "think a lot +too much of yourselves. You think so much of yourselves that as often as +not you've no time to think of other folk. A month or so ago who were +you? You were hiding in a cheap tenement house, scared out of your wits, +dressed pretty near as shabbily as I was, with a detective on your track, +and with no idea of what you were going to do for a living. And now look +at you. Who's done it all?" + +"Of course, my play being successful," he began-- + +She broke in at once. + +"You and your play! Who took your play? Who produced it at the New York +Theatre and acted in it so that people couldn't listen without a sob in +their throats and a tingling all over? Yours isn't the only play in the +world! I bet Miss Dalstan has a box full of them. She probably chose +yours because she knew that you were feeling pretty miserable, because +she'd got sorry for you coming over on the steamer, because she has a +great big heart, and is always trying to do something for others. She's +made a man of you. Oh! I know a bit about plays. I know that with the +royalties you're drawing you can well afford rooms like these and +anything else you want. But that isn't all she's done. She's introduced +you to her friends, she's taken more notice of you than any man around. +She takes you out automobile driving, she lets you spend all your spare +time in her rooms. She don't mind what people say. You dine with her and +take her home after the play. You have more of her than any other person +alive. Say, what I want to ask is--do you think you're properly +grateful?" + +"I couldn't ever repay Miss Dalstan," he acknowledged, a little sadly, +"but--" + +"Look here, no 'buts'!" she interrupted. "You think I don't know +anything. Perhaps I don't, and perhaps I do. I was standing in the door +of the office when you two came in from your automobile drive this +afternoon. I saw her come away without wishing you good-by, then I saw +her turn and nod, looking just as usual, and I saw her face afterwards. +If I had had you, my man, as close to me then as you are now, I'd have +boxed your ears." + +He moved uneasily in his chair. There was no doubt about the girl's +earnestness. She was leaning a little forward, and her brown eyes were +filled with a hard, accusing light. There was a little spot of colour, +even, in her sallow cheeks. She was unmistakably angry. + +"I'd like to know who you are and what you think yourself to make a woman +look like that?" she wound up. + +The waiter entered with the cocktails and began to lay the cloth for +dinner. Philip paced the room uneasily until he had gone. + +"Look here, my little friend," he said, when at last the door was closed, +"there's a great deal of sound common sense in what you say. I may be +an egoist--I dare say I am. I've been through the proper training for +it, and I've started life again on a pretty one-sided basis, perhaps. +But--have you ever been jealous?" + +"Me jealous!" she repeated scornfully. "What of, I wonder?" + +There was a suspicious glitter in her eyes, a queer little tremble in her +tone. His question, however, was merely perfunctory. She represented +little more to him, at that moment, than the incarnation of his own +conscience. + +"Very likely you haven't," he went on. "You are too independent ever to +care much for any one. Well, I've been half mad with jealousy since last +night. That is the truth of it. There's another man wants her, the man +who built the theatre for her. She told me about him yesterday while we +were out together." + +"Don't you want her to be happy?" the girl asked bluntly. + +"Of course I do." + +"Then leave her alone to choose. Don't go about looking as though you had +a knife in your heart, if you find her turn for a moment to some one +else. You don't want her to choose you, do you, just because you are a +weakling, because her great kind heart can't bear the thought of making +you miserable? Stand on your feet like a man and take your luck.... Can I +take off my hat? I can't eat in this." + +The waiter had entered with the dinner. Merton opened the door of his +room and paced up and down, for a few moments, thoughtfully. When she +reappeared she took the seat opposite Philip and suddenly smiled at him, +an exceedingly rare but most becoming performance. Her mouth seemed at +once to soften, and even her eyes laughed at him. + +"Here you ask me to dine," she said, "because you are lonely, and I do +nothing but scold you! Never mind. I was typewriting something of yours +this morning--I've forgotten the words, but it was something about the +discipline of affection. You can take my scolding that way. If I didn't +adore Miss Dalstan, and if you hadn't been kind to me, I should never +take the trouble to make myself disagreeable." + +He smiled back at her, readily falling in with her altered mood. She +seemed to have talked the ill-humour out of her blood, and during the +service of the meal she told him of the comfort of her work, the charm of +the other girl in the room, with whom she was already discussing a plan +to share an apartment. When she came to speak, however remotely, of Miss +Dalstan, her voice seemed instinctively to soften. Philip found himself +wondering what had passed between the two women in those few moments when +Elizabeth had left him and gone back to Martha's room. By some strange +miracle, the strong, sweet, understanding woman had simply taken +possession of the friendless child. The thought of her sat now in +Martha's heart, an obsession, almost a worship. Perhaps that was why the +sense of companionship between the two, notwithstanding certain obvious +disparities, seemed to grow stronger every moment. + +They drank their coffee and smoked cigarettes afterwards in lazy fashion. +Suddenly Martha sprang up. + +"Say, I came here to work!" she exclaimed. + +"And I brought you under false pretences," he confessed. "My brain's not +working. I can't dictate. We'll try another evening. You don't mind?" + +"Of course not," she answered, glancing at the clock. "I'll be going." + +"Wait a little time longer," he begged. + +She resumed her seat. There was only one heavily shaded lamp burning on +the table, and through the little cloud of tobacco smoke she watched him. +His eyes were sometimes upon the timepiece, sometimes on the telephone. +He seemed always, although his attitude was one of repose, to be +listening, waiting. It was half-past nine--the middle of the second +act. They knew quite well that for a quarter of an hour Elizabeth would +be in her dressing room. She could ring up if she wished. The seconds +ticked monotonously away. Martha found herself, too, sharing that +curiously intense desire to hear the ring of the telephone. Nothing +happened. A quarter to ten came and passed. She rose to her feet. + +"I am going home right now," she announced. + +He reached for his hat. + +"I'll come with you," he suggested, a little halfheartedly. + +"You'll do nothing of the sort," she objected, "or if you do, I'll never +come inside your rooms again. Understand that. I don't want any of these +Society tricks. See me home, indeed! I'd have you know that I'm better +able to take care of myself in the streets of New York than you are. So +thank you for your dinner, and just you sit down and listen for that +telephone. It will ring right presently, and if it doesn't, go to bed and +say to yourself that whatever she decides is best. She knows which way +her happiness lies. You don't. And it's she who counts much more than +you. Leave off thinking of yourself quite so much and shake hands with +me, please, Mr. Ware." + +He gripped her hand, opened the door, and watched her sail down towards +the lift, whistling to herself, her hands in her coat pockets. Then he +turned back into the room and locked himself in. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +The slow fever of inaction, fretting in Philip's veins, culminated soon +after Martha's departure in a passionate desire for a movement of some +sort. The very silence of the room maddened him, the unresponsive-looking +telephone, the fire which had burned itself out, the dropping even of the +wind, which at intervals during the evening had flung a rainstorm +against the windowpane. At midnight he could bear it no longer and +sallied out into the streets. Again that curious desire for companionship +was upon him, a strange heritage for one who throughout the earlier +stages of his life had been content with and had even sought a grim and +unending solitude. He boarded a surface car for the sake of sitting +wedged in amongst a little crowd of people, and he entered his club, +noting the number of hats and coats in the cloakroom with a queer sense +of satisfaction. He no sooner made his appearance in the main room than +he was greeted vociferously from half a dozen quarters. He accepted every +hospitality that was offered to him, drinking cheerfully with new as well +as old acquaintances. Presently Noel Bridges came up and gripped his +shoulder. + +"Come and have a grill with us, Ware," he begged. "There's Seymour and +Richmond here, from the Savage Club, and a whole crowd of us. Hullo, +Freddy!" he went on, greeting the man with whom Philip had been talking. +"Why don't you come and join us, too? We'll have a rubber of bridge +afterwards." + +"That's great," the other declared. "Come on, Ware. We'll rag old +Honeybrook into telling us some of his stories." + +The little party gathered together at the end of the common table. Philip +had already drunk much more than he was accustomed to, but the only +result appeared to be some slight slackening of the tension in which he +had been living. His eyes flashed, and his tongue became more nimble. He +insisted upon ordering wine. He had had no opportunity yet of repaying +many courtesies. They drank his health, forced him into the place of +honour by the side of Honeybrook, veteran of the club, and ate their meal +to the accompaniment of ceaseless bursts of laughter, chaff, the popping +of corks, mock speeches, badinage of every sort. Philip felt, somehow, +that his brain had never been clearer. He not only held his own, but he +earned a reputation for a sense of humour previously denied to him. And +in the midst of it all the door opened and closed, and a huge man, +dressed in plain dinner clothes, still wearing his theatre hat, with a +coat upon his arm and a stick in his hand, passed through the door and +stood for a moment gazing around him. + +"Say, that's Sylvanus Power!" one of the young men at the table +exclaimed. "Looks a trifle grim, doesn't he?" + +"It's the old man, right enough," Noel Bridges murmured. "Wonder what he +wants down here? It isn't in his beat?" + +Honeybrook, the great New York raconteur, father of the club, touched +Philip upon the shoulder. + +"Hey, presto!" he whispered. "We who think so much of ourselves have +become pigmies upon the face of the earth. There towers the +representative of modern omnipotence. Those are the hands--grim, +strong-looking hands, aren't they?--that grip the levers of modern +American life. Rodin ought to do a statue of him as he stands there--art +and letters growing smaller as he grows larger. We exist for him. He +builds theatres for our plays, museums for our pictures, libraries for +our books." + +"Seems to me he is looking for one of us," Noel Bridges remarked. + +"Some pose, isn't it!" a younger member of the party exclaimed +reverently, as he lifted his tankard. + +All these things were a matter of seconds, during which Sylvanus Power +did indeed stand without moving, looking closely about the room. Then his +eye at last lit upon the end of the table where Philip and his friends +were seated. He approached them without a word. Noel Bridges ventured +upon a greeting. + +"Coming to join us, Mr. Power?" he asked. + +Sylvanus Power, if he heard the question, ignored it. His eyes had rested +upon Philip. He stood over the table now, looming before them, massive, +in his way awe-inspiring. + +"Ware," he said, "I've been looking for you." + +Instinctively Philip rose to his feet. Tall though he was, he had to look +up at the other man, and his slender body seemed in comparison like a +willow wand. Nevertheless, the light in his eyes was illuminative. There +was no shrinking away. He stood there with the air of one prepared to +welcome, to incite and provoke storm whatever might be brewing. + +"I have been to your rooms," Sylvanus Power went on. "They knew nothing +about you there." + +"They wouldn't," Philip replied. "I go where I choose and when I choose. +What do you want with me?" + +Conversation in the room was almost suspended. Those in the immediate +locality, well acquainted with the gossip of the city, held the key to +the situation. Every one for a moment, however, was spellbound. They felt +the coming storm, but they were powerless. + +"I sought you out, Ware," Sylvanus Power continued, his harsh voice +ringing through the room, "to tell you what probably every other man here +knows except you. If you know it you're a fool, and I'm here to tell you +so." + +"Have you been drinking?" Philip asked calmly. + +"Maybe I have," Sylvanus Power answered, "but whisky can't cloud my brain +or stop my tongue. You're looking at my little toy here," he went on, +twirling in his right hand a heavy malacca cane with a leaden top. "I +killed a man with that once." + +"The weapon seems sufficient for the purpose," Philip answered +indifferently. + +"Any other man," Sylvanus Power went on, "would have sat in the chair for +that. Not I! You don't know as much of me as you need to, Merton Ware. +I'm no whippersnapper of a pen-slinger, earning a few paltry dollars by +writing doggerel for women and mountebanks to act. I've hewn my way with +my right arm and my brain, from the streets to the palace. They say that +money talks. By God! if it does I ought to shout, for I've more million +dollars than there are men in this room." + +"Nevertheless," Philip said, growing calmer as he recognised the man's +condition, "you are a very insufferable fellow." + +There had been a little murmur throughout the room at the end of Sylvanus +Power's last blatant speech, but at Philip's retort there was a hushed, +almost an awed silence. Mr. Honeybrook rose to his feet. + +"Sir," he said, turning to Power, "to the best of my belief you are not a +member of this club." + +"I am a member of any club in America I choose to enter," the intruder +declared. "As for you writing and acting popinjays, I could break the lot +of you if I chose. I came to see you, Ware. Come out from your friends +and talk to me." + +Philip pushed back his chair, made his way deliberately round the head of +the table, brushing aside several arms outstretched to prevent his going. +Sylvanus Power stood in an open space between the tables, swinging his +cane, with its ugly top, in the middle of his hand. He watched Philip's +approach and lowered his head a little, like a bull about to charge. + +"If you have anything to say to me," Philip observed coolly, "I am here, +but I warn you that there is one subject which is never discussed within +these walls. If you transgress our unwritten rule, I shall neither listen +to what you have to say nor will you be allowed to remain here." + +"And what is that subject?" Sylvanus Power thundered. + +"No woman's name is mentioned here," Philip told him calmly. + +Several of the men had sprung to their feet. It seemed from Power's +attitude as though murder might be done. Philip, however, stood his +ground almost contemptuously, his frame tense and poised, his fists +clenched. Suddenly the strain passed. The man whose face for a moment had +been almost black with passion, lowered his cane, swayed a little upon +his feet, and recovered himself. + +"So you know what I've come here to talk about, young man?" he demanded. + +"One can surmise," Philip replied. "If you think it worth while, I will +accompany you to my rooms or to yours." + +Philip in those few seconds made a reputation for himself which he never +lost. The little company of men looked at one another in mute +acknowledgment of a courage which not one of them failed to appreciate. + +"I'll take you at your word," Sylvanus Power decided grimly. "Here, +boys," he went on, moving towards the table where Philip had been seated, +"give me a drink--some rye whisky. I'm dry." + +Not a soul stirred. Even Noel Bridges remained motionless. Heselton, the +junior manager of the theatre, met the millionaire's eye and never +flinched. Mr. Honeybrook knocked the ash from his cigar and accepted the +role of spokesman. + +"Mr. Power," he said, "we are a hospitable company here, and we are at +all times glad to entertain our friends. At the same time, the privileges +of the club are retained so far as possible for those who conform to a +reasonable standard of good manners." + +There was a sudden thumping of hands upon the table until the glasses +rattled. Power's face showed not a single sign of anger. He was simply +puzzled. He had come into touch with something which he could not +understand. There was Bridges, earning a salary at his theatre, to be +thrown out into the streets or made a star of, according to his whim; +Heselton, a family man, drawing his salary, and a good one, too, also +from the theatre; men whose faces were familiar to him--some of them, he +knew, on newspapers in which he owned a controlling interest. The power +of which he had bragged was a real enough thing. What had come to these +men that they failed to recognise it?--to this slim young boy of an +Englishman that he dared to defy him? + +"Pretty queer crowd, you boys," he muttered. + +Philip, who had been waiting by the door, came a few steps back again. + +"Mr. Power," he said, "I don't know much about you, and you don't seem to +know anything at all about us. I am only at present a member by courtesy +of this club, but it isn't often that any one has reason to complain of +lack of hospitality here. If you take my advice, you'll apologise to +these gentlemen for your shockingly bad behaviour when you came in. Tell +them that you weren't quite yourself, and I'll stand you a drink myself." + +"That goes," Honeybrook assented gravely. "It's up to you, sir." + +Mr. Sylvanus Power felt that he had wandered into a cul-de-sac. He had +found his way into one of those branch avenues leading from the great +road of his imperial success. He was man enough to know when to turn +back. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "I offer you my apologies. I came here in a furious +temper and a little drunk. I retract all that I said. I'll drink to your +club, if you'll allow me the privilege." + +Willing hands filled his tumbler, and grateful ones forced a glass +between Philip's fingers. None of them really wanted Sylvanus Power for +an enemy. + +"Here's looking at you all," the latter said. "Luck!" he muttered, +glancing towards Philip. + +They all drank as though it were a rite. Philip and Sylvanus Power set +their glasses down almost at the same moment. Philip turned towards the +door. + +"I am at your service now, Mr. Power," he announced. "Good night, you +fellows!" + +There was a new ring of friendliness in the hearty response which came +from every corner of the room. + +"Goodnight, Ware!" + +"So long, old fellow!" + +"Good night, old chap!" + +There was a little delay in the cloakroom while the attendant searched +for Philip's hat, which had been temporarily misplaced. Honeybrook, who +had followed the two men out of the room, fumbling for a moment in his +locker and, coming over to Philip, dropped something into the latter's +overcoat pocket. + +"Rather like a scene in a melodrama, isn't it, Ware," he whispered, "but +I know a little about Sylvanus Power. It's only a last resource, mind." + + + +CHAPTER X + +Philip fetched his hat, and the two men stepped out on to the pavement. A +servant in quiet grey livery held open the door of an enormous motor car. +Sylvanus Power beckoned his companion to precede him. + +"Home," he told the man, "unless," he added, turning to Philip, "you'd +rather go to your rooms?" + +"I am quite indifferent," Philip replied. + +They drove off in absolute silence, a silence which remained unbroken +until they passed through some elaborate iron gates and drew up before a +mansion in Fifth Avenue. + +"You'll wait," Sylvanus Power ordered, "and take this gentleman home. +This way, sir." + +The doors rolled open before them. Philip caught a vista of a wonderful +hall, with a domed roof and stained glass windows, and a fountain playing +from some marble statuary at the further end. A personage in black took +his coat and hat. The door of a dining room stood open. A table, covered +with a profusion of flowers, was laid, and places set for two. Mr. +Sylvanus Power turned abruptly to a footman. + +"You can have that cleared away," he directed harshly. "No supper will be +required." + +He swung around and led the way into a room at the rear of the hall, a +room which, in comparison with Philip's confused impressions of the rest +of the place, was almost plainly furnished. There was a small oak +sideboard, upon which was set out whisky and soda and cigars; a great +desk, covered with papers, before which a young man was seated; two +telephone instruments and a phonograph. The walls were lined with books. +The room itself was long and narrow. Power turned to the young man. + +"You can go to bed, George," he ordered. "Disconnect the telephones." + +The young man gathered up some papers, locked the desk in silence, bowed +to his employer, and left the room without a word. Power waited until the +door was closed. Then he stood up with his back to the fireplace and +pointed to a chair. + +"You can sit, if you like," he invited. "Drink or smoke if you want to. +You're welcome." + +"Thank you," Philip replied. "I'd rather stand." + +"You don't want even to take a chair in my house, I suppose," +Mr. Sylvanus Power went on mockingly, "or drink my whisky or +smoke my cigars, eh?" + +"From the little I have seen of you," Philip confessed, "my inclinations +are certainly against accepting any hospitality at your hands." + +"That's a play-writing trick, I suppose," Sylvanus Power sneered, +"stringing out your sentences as pat as butter. It's not my way. There's +the truth always at the back of my head, and the words ready to fit it, +but they come as they please." + +"I seem to have noticed that," Philip observed. + +"What sort of a man are you, anyway?" the other demanded, his heavy +eyebrows suddenly lowering, his wonderful, keen eyes riveted upon Philip. +"Can I buy you, I wonder, or threaten you?" + +"That rather depends upon what it is you want from me?" + +"I want you to leave this country and never set foot in it again. That's +what I want of you. I want you to get back to your London slums and +write your stuff there and have it played in your own poky little +theatres. I want you out of New York, and I want you out quick." + +"Then I am afraid," Philip regretted, "that we are wasting time. I +haven't the least intention of leaving New York." + +"Well, we'll go through the rigmarole," Power continued gruffly. "We've +got to understand one another. There's my cheque book in that safe. A +million dollars if you leave this country--alone--within twenty-four +hours, and stay away for the rest of your life." + +Philip raised his eyebrows. He was lounging slightly against the desk. + +"I should have no use for a million dollars, Mr. Power," he said. "If I +had, I should not take it from you, and further, the conditions you +suggest are absurd." + +"Bribery no good, eh?" Mr. Power observed. "What about threats? There was +a man once who wrote a letter to a certain woman, which I found. I killed +him a few days afterwards. There was a sort of a scuffle, but it was +murder, right enough. I am nearer the door than you are, and I should say +about three times as strong. How would a fight suit you?" + +Ware's hand was in his overcoat pocket. + +"Not particularly," he answered. "Besides, it wouldn't be fair. You see, +I am armed, and you're not." + +As though for curiosity, he drew from his pocket the little revolver +which Honeybrook had slipped into it. Power looked at it and shrugged his +shoulders. + +"We'll leave that out, then, for the moment," he said. "Now listen to me. +I'm off on another tack now. Eight years ago I met Elizabeth Dalstan. I +was thirty-eight years old then--I am forty-six now. You young men +nowadays go through your life, they tell me, with a woman on your hands +most of the time, waste yourself out in a score of passions, go through +the same old rigmarole once a year or something like it. I was married +when I was twenty-four. I got married to lay my hands on the first ten +thousand dollars I needed. My wife left me fifteen years ago. You may +have read of her. She was a storekeeper's daughter then. She has a flat +in Paris now, a country house in England, a villa at Monte Carlo and +another at Florence. She lives her life, I live mine. She's the only +woman I'd ever spoken a civil word to until I met Elizabeth Dalstan, +or since." + +Philip was interested despite his violent antipathy to the man. + +"A singular record of fidelity," he remarked suavely. + +"If you'd drop that play-acting talk and speak like a man, I'd like you +better," Sylvanus Power continued. "There it is in plain words. I lived +with my wife until we quarrelled and she left me, and while she lived +with me I thought no more of women than cats. When she went, I thought +I'd done with the sex. Elizabeth Dalstan happened along, and I found I +hadn't even begun. Eight years ago we met. I offered her at once +everything I could offer. Nothing doing. We don't need to tell one +another that she isn't that sort. I went off and left her, spent a +winter in Siberia, and came home by China. I suppose there were women +there and in Paris. I was there for a month. I didn't see them. Then +America. Elizabeth Dalstan was still touring, not doing much good for +herself. I hung around for a time, tried my luck once more--no go. Then I +went back to Europe, offered my wife ten million and an income for a +divorce. It didn't suit her, so I came back again. The third time I found +Elizabeth discouraged. If ever a man found a woman at the right time, I +did. She is ambitious--Lord knows why! I hate acting and the theatres and +everything to do with them. However, I tried a new move. I built that +theatre in New York--there isn't another place like it in the world--and +offered it to her for a birthday present. Then she began to hesitate." + +"Look here," Philip broke in, "I know all this. I know everything you +have told me, and everything you can tell me. What about it? What have +you got to say to me?" + +"This," Sylvanus Power declared, striking the desk with his clenched +fist. "I have only had one consolation all the time I have been +waiting--there has been no other man. Elizabeth isn't that sort. Each +time I was separated and came back, I just looked at her and I knew. +That's why I have been patient. That is why I haven't insisted upon my +debt being paid. You understand that?" + +"I hear what you say." + +Power crossed the room, helped himself to whisky, and returned to his +place with the tumbler in his hand. There was a brief silence. A little +clock upon the mantelpiece struck two. The street sounds outside had +ceased save for the hoot of an occasional taxicab. Philip was conscious +of a burning desire to get away. This man, this great lump of power and +success, standing like a colossus in his wonderful home, infuriated him. +That a man should live who thought he had a right such as he claimed, +was maddening. + +"Well," Power proceeded, setting down the tumbler empty, "you won't be +bought. How am I going to get you out of the way?" + +"You can't do it," Philip asserted. "I am going to-morrow morning to +Elizabeth, and I am going to pray her to marry me at once." + +Power swayed for a single moment upon his feet. The teeth gleamed between +his slightly parted lips. His great arm was outstretched, its bursting +muscles showing against the sleeve of his dinner coat. His chest was +heaving. + +"If you do it," he shouted, "I'll close the theatre to-morrow and sack +every one in it. I'll buy any theatre in New York where you try to +present your namby-pamby play. I'll buy every manager she goes to for an +engagement, every newspaper that says a word of praise of any work of +yours. I tell you I'll stand behind the scenes and pull the strings which +shall bring you and her to the knowledge of what failure and want mean. +I'll give up the great things in life. I'll devote every dollar I have, +every thought of my brain, every atom of my power, to bringing you two +face to face with misery. That's if I keep my hands off you. I mayn't do +that." + +Philip shrugged his shoulders. + +"If I put you in a play," he said, "which is where you really belong, +people would find you humorous. Your threats don't affect me at all, Mr. +Power. Elizabeth can choose." + +Power leaned over to the switch and turned on an electric light above +Philip's head. + +"Blast you, let me look at you!" he thundered. "You're a white-faced, +sickly creature to call yourself a man! Can't you see this thing as I see +it? You're the sort that's had women, and plenty of them. Another will do +for you, and, my God! she is the only one I've looked at--I, Sylvanus +Power, mind--I, who have ruled fate and ruled men all my life--I want +her! Don't be a fool! Get out of my path. I've crushed a hundred such men +as you in my day." + +Philip took up his hat. + +"We are wasting time," he observed. "You are a cruder person than I +thought you, Mr. Power. I am sorry for you, if that's anything." + +"Sorry for me? You?" + +"Very," Philip continued. "You see, you've imbibed a false view of life. +You've placed yourself amongst the gods and your feet really are made of +very sticky clay.... Shall I find my own way out?" + +"You can find your way to hell!" Power roared. "Use your toy pistol, if +you want to. You're going where you'll never need it again!" + +He took a giant stride, a stride which was more like the spring of a +maddened bull, towards Philip. The veneer of a spurious civilisation +seemed to have fallen from him. He was the great and splendid animal, +transformed with an overmastering passion. There was murder in his eyes. +His great right arm, with its long, hairy fingers and its single massive +ring, was like the limb of some prehistoric creature. Philip's brain and +his feet, however, were alike nimble. He sprang a little on one side, and +though that first blow caught him just on the edge of the shoulder and +sent him spinning round and round, he saved himself by clutching at the +desk. Fortunately, it was his left arm that hung helpless by his side. +His fingers groped feverishly in the cavernous folds of his overcoat +pocket. Power, who had dashed against the wall, smashing the glass of one +of the pictures, had already recovered his balance and turned around. The +little revolver, with whose use Philip was barely acquainted, flashed +suddenly out in the lamplight. Even in that lurid moment he kept his +nerve. He aimed at the right arm outstretched to strike him, and pulled +the trigger. Through the little mist of smoke he saw a spasm of pain in +his assailant's face, felt the thundering crash of his other arm, +striking him on the side of the head. The room spun round. There was a +second almost of unconsciousness.... When he came to, he was lying with +his finger pressed against the electric bell. Power was clutching the +desk for support, and gasping. The sober person in black, with a couple +of footmen behind, were already in the room.... Their master turned to +them. + +"There has been an accident here," he groaned, "nothing serious. Take +that gentleman and put him in the car. It's waiting outside for him. +Telephone round for Doctor Renshaw." + +For a single moment the major-domo hesitated. The weapon was still +smoking in Philip's hand. Then Power's voice rang out again in furious +command. + +"Do as I tell you," he ordered. "If there's one of you here opens his +lips about this, he leaves my service to-morrow. Not a dollar of pension, +mind," he added, his voice shaking a little. + +The servant bowed sombrely. + +"Your orders shall be obeyed, sir," he promised. + +He took up the telephone, and signed to one of the footmen, who helped +Philip to the door. A moment afterwards the latter sank back amongst the +cushions, a little dizzy and breathless, but revived almost instantly by +the cool night air. He gave the chauffeur his address, and the car glided +through the iron gates and down Fifth Avenue. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Philip was awakened the next morning by the insistent ringing of the +telephone at his elbow. He took up the receiver, conscious of a sharp +pain in his left shoulder as he moved. + +"Is this Mr. Merton Ware?" a man's smooth voice enquired. + +"Yes!" + +"I am speaking for Mr. Sylvanus Power. Mr. Sylvanus Power regrets very +much that he is unable to lunch with Mr. Ware as arranged to-day, but he +is compelled to go to Philadelphia on the morning train. He will be glad +to meet Mr. Ware anywhere, a week to-day, and know the result of the +matter which was discussed last night." + +"To whom am I speaking?" Philip demanded. "I don't know anything about +lunching with Mr. Power to-day." + +"I am Mr. Power's secretary, George Lunt," was the reply. "Mr. Power's +message is very clear. He wishes you to know that he will not be in New +York until a week to-day." + +"How is Mr. Power?" Philip enquired. + +"He met with a slight accident last night," the voice continued, "and is +obliged to wear his arm in a sling. Except for that he is quite well. He +has already left for Philadelphia by the early train. He was anxious that +you should know this." + +"Thank you very much," Philip murmured, a little dazed. + +He sprang out of bed, dressed quickly, hurried over his coffee and rolls, +boarded a cross-town car, and arrived at the Monmouth House flats just in +time to meet Martha Grimes issuing into the street. She was not at all +the same Martha. She was very neatly dressed, her shoes were nicely +polished, her clothes well brushed, her gloves new, and she wore a bunch +of fresh-looking violets in her waistband. She started in surprise as +Philip accosted her. + +"Whatever are you doing back in the slums?" she demanded. "Any fresh +trouble?" + +"Nothing particular," Philip replied, turning round and falling into step +with her. "I can't see my way, that's all, and I want to talk to you. +You're the most human person I know, and you understand Elizabeth." + +"Gee!" she smiled. "This is the lion and the mouse, with a vengeance. You +can walk with me, if you like, as far as the block before the theatre. +I'm not going to arrive there with you, and I tell you so straight." + +"No followers, eh?" + +"There's no reason to set people talking," she declared. "Their tongues +wag fast enough at the theatre, as it is. I've only been there for one +day's work, and it seems to me I've heard the inside history of every one +connected with the place." + +"That makes what I have to say easier," he remarked. "Just what do they +say about Miss Dalstan and Mr. Sylvanus Power?" + +She looked at him indignantly. + +"If you think you're going to worm things out of me--" + +"Don't be foolish," he interrupted, a little wearily. "How could you know +anything? You are only the echo of a thousand voices. I could find out, +if I went where they gossip. I don't. In effect I don't care, but I am up +against a queer situation. I want to know just what people think of them. +Afterwards I'll tell you the truth." + +"Well, they profess to think," she said slowly, "that the theatre belongs +to Miss Dalstan, and that she--" + +"Stop, please," he interrupted. "I know you hate saying it, and I know +quite well what you mean. Well, what about that?" + +"It isn't my affair." + +"It isn't true," he told her. + +"Whether it's true or not, she is one of the best women in the world," +Martha declared vigorously. + +"There isn't any doubt about that, either," he assented. "This is the +situation. Listen. Sylvanus Power has been in love with Elizabeth for the +best part of his life. He built that theatre for her and offered it--at a +price. She accepted his terms. When the time came for payment, he saw her +flinch. He went away again and has just come back. She is face to face +now with a decision, a decision to which she is partly committed. In the +meantime, during these last few months, Elizabeth and I have become great +friends. You know that I care for her. I think that she cares for me. She +has to make up her mind. Martha, which is she to choose?" + +"How do you want me to answer that?" the girl asked, slackening her pace +a little. "I'm not Miss Dalstan." + +"From her point of view," he explained eagerly. "This man Power is madly +and I believe truly in love with her. In his way he is great; in his way, +too, he is a potentate. He can give her more than luxury, more, even, +than success. You know Elizabeth," he went on. "She is one of the finest +women who ever breathed, an idealist but a seeker after big things. She +deserves the big things. Is she more likely to find them with me or with +him?" + +"Power's wife is still alive," she ruminated. + +"And won't accept a divorce at present," he observed. "If ever she does, +of course he will marry her. That has to be taken into account not +morally but the temporal side of it. We know perfectly well that whatever +Elizabeth decides, she couldn't possibly do wrong." + +Martha smiled a little grimly. + +"That's what it is to be born in the clouds," she said. "There is no sin +for a good woman." + +He looked at her appreciatively. + +"I wonder how I knew that you would understand this," he sighed. + +Suddenly he clutched at her arm. She glanced up in surprise. He was +staring at a passer-by. Her eyes followed his. In a neat morning suit, +with a black bowler hat and well-polished shoes, a cigar in his mouth and +a general air of prosperity, Mr. Edward Dane was strolling along +Broadway. He passed without a glance at either of them. For a moment +Philip faltered. Then he set his teeth and walked on. There was an ashen +shade in his face. The girl looked at him and shook her head. + +"Mr. Ware," she said, "we haven't talked much about it, but there is +something there behind, isn't there, something you are terrified about, +something that might come, even now?" + +"She knows about it," he interposed quickly. + +"Would it be very bad if it came?" + +"Hideous!" + +"If she were your wife--?" + +"She would be notorious. It would ruin her." + +"Do you think, then," she asked quietly, "that you needed to come and ask +my advice?" + +He walked on with his head high, looking upwards with unseeing eyes. A +little vista of that undisturbed supper table on the other side of the +marble hall, a dim perspective of those eight years of waiting, flitted +through his brain. The lord of that Fifth Avenue Mansion was in earnest, +right enough, and he had so much to offer. + +"It will break me if I have to give her up," he said simply. "I believe I +should have gone overboard, crossing the Atlantic, but for her." + +"There are some women," she sighed, "the best of all women, the joy of +whose life seems to be sacrifice. That sounds queer, don't it, but it's +true. They're happy in misfortune, so long as they are helping some one +else. She is wonderful, Elizabeth Dalstan. She may even be one of those. +You'll find that out. You'd better find out for yourself. There isn't any +one can help you very much." + +"I am not sure that you haven't," he said. "Now I'll go. Where did you +get your violets, Martha? Had them in water since last night, haven't +you?" + +She made a little grimace at him. + +"A very polite young gentleman at the box office sent us each a bunch +directly we started work yesterday. I've only had a few words with him +yet, but Eva--that's the other girl--she's plagued to death with fellows +already, so I'm going to take him out one evening." + +Philip stopped short. They were approaching the theatre. + +"Not a step further," he declared solemnly. "I wouldn't spoil your +prospects for worlds. Run along, my little cynic, and warm your hands. +Life's good at your age--better than when I found you, eh?" + +"You don't think I am ungrateful?" she asked, a little wistfully. + +He shook his head. + +"You couldn't be that, Martha.... Good luck to you!" + +She turned away with a little farewell wave of the hand and was lost at +once in the surging stream of people. Philip summoned a taxicab, sat far +back in the corner, and drove to his rooms. He hesitated for a moment +before getting out, crossed the pavement quickly, hurried into the lift, +and, arriving up-stairs, let down the latch of the outside door. Edward +Dane was back in New York! For a moment, the memory of the great human +drama in which he found himself a somewhat pathetic figure seemed +swallowed up by this sudden resurrection of a grisly tragedy. He looked +around his room a little helplessly. Against his will, that hideous +vision which had loomed up before him in so many moments of depression +was slowly reforming itself, this time not in the still watches of the +night but in the broad daylight, with the spring sunshine to cheer his +heart, the roar of a friendly city in his ears. It was no time for +dreams, this, and yet he felt the misery sweeping in upon him, felt all +the cold shivers of his ineffective struggles. Slowly that fateful +panorama unfolded itself before his memory. He saw himself step out with +glad relief from the uncomfortable, nauseous, third-class carriage, and, +clutching his humble little present in his hand, cross the flinty +platform, climb the long, rain-swept hill, keeping his head upraised, +though the very sky seemed grimy, battling against the miserable +depression of that everlasting ugliness. Before him, at least, there +was his one companion. There would be kind words, sympathy, a cheerful +fireside, a little dreaming, a little wandering into that world which +they had made for themselves with the help of such treasures as that +cheap little volume he carried. And then the last few steps, the open +door, the room, its air at first of wonderful comfort, and then the queer +note of luxury obtruding itself disquietingly, the picture on the +mantelpiece, her coming. He had never been in love with Beatrice. He knew +that now perfectly well. He had simply clung to her because she was the +only living being who knew and understood, because they had mingled their +thoughts and trodden the path of misery together. Removed now from that +blaze of passion, smouldering perhaps in him through previous years of +discontent, but which leaped into actual and effective life for the first +time in those few moments, he realised a certain justice in her point of +view, a certain hard logic in the way she had spoken of life and their +relations. There had been so little real affection between them. So +little had passed which might have constituted a greater bond. It was his +passionate outburst of revolt against life, whose drear talons seemed to +have fastened themselves into his very soul, which had sent him out with +murder in his brain to seek the man who had robbed him of the one thing +which stood between him and despair; the pent-up fury of a lifetime which +had tingled in his blood and had given him the strength of the navvy in +those few minutes by the canal side. + +He covered his face with his hands, strode around the room, gazing wildly +out over the city, trying to listen to the clanging of the surface cars, +the rumble of the overhead railway in the distance, the breaking of the +long, ceaseless waves of human feet upon the pavement. It was useless. No +effort of his will could keep from his brain the haunting memory of those +final moments--the man's face, handsome and well-satisfied at first, the +careless greeting, the sudden change, the surprise, the apprehension, the +ghastly fear, the agony! He heard the low, gurgling shriek of terror; he +looked into the eyes with the fear of hell before them! Then he heard the +splash of the black, filthy water. + +There was a cry. It was several seconds before he realised that it had +broken from his lips. He looked around him like a hunted creature. There +was another terror now--the gloomy court with its ugly, miserable +paraphernalia--the death, uglier still, death in disgrace, a sordid, +ghastly thing! And in his brain, too, there was so much dawning, so many +wonderful ideas craving for fulfilment. These few months had been months +of marvellous development. The power of the writer had seemed to grow, +hour by hour. His brain was full of fancies, exquisite fancies some of +them. It was a new world growing up around him and within him, too +beautiful a world to leave. Yet, in those breathless moments, fear was +the dominant sensation. He felt a coward to his fingertips... + +He walked up and down the room feverishly, as a man might pace a prison +in the first few moments of captivity. There was no escape! If he +disappeared again, it would only rivet suspicion the more closely. There +was no place to which he could fly, no shelter save on the other side of +the life which he had just begun to love. His physical condition began to +alarm him. He felt his forehead by accident and found it damp with sweat. +His heart was beating irregularly with a spasmodic vigour which brought +pain. He caught sight of his terror-stricken face in the looking-glass, +and the craving to escape from his frenzied solitude overcame all his +other resolutions. He rushed to the telephone, spoke with Phoebe, waited +breathlessly whilst she fetched his mistress to the instrument. + +"I want to see you," he begged, as soon as he was conscious of her +presence at the other end. "I want to see you at once." + +"Has anything happened?" she asked quickly. + +"Yes!" he almost groaned. "I can't tell you--" + +"I will be with you in ten minutes," she promised. + +He set the receiver down. Those ten minutes were surely the longest which +had ever ticked their way into Eternity! And then she came. He heard the +lift stop and his door open. There was a moment's breathless silence as +their eyes met, then a little gathering together of the lines of her +forehead, a half querulous, half sympathetic smile. She shook her head at +him. + +"You've had one of those silly nervous attacks," she declared. "Tell me +at once why?" + +"Dane is back--I saw him on the pavement this morning!" he exclaimed. "He +has been to England to find out!" + +She made him sit down and seated herself by his side. + +"Listen," she said, "Dane came back on the _Orinoco_, the day before +yesterday. I saw his name in the paper. If his voyage to England had been +a success, which it could not have been, you would have heard from him +before now." + +"I didn't think of that," he muttered. + +"I have never asked you," she went on, "to tell me exactly what happened +behind there. I don't want to know. Only I have a consciousness--I had +from the first, when you began to talk to me about it--that your fears +were exaggerated. If you have been allowed to remain safe all this time, +you will be safe always. I feel it, and I am always right in these +things. Now use your own common sense. Tell me truthfully, don't you +think it is very improbable that anything could be discovered?" + +"That anything could be proved," he admitted eagerly, "yes!" + +"Then don't be silly. No one is likely to make accusations and attempt a +case unless they had a definite end in view. We are safe even from the +_Elletania_ people. Mr. Raymond Greene has ceased to talk of your +wonderful resemblance to Douglas Romilly. Phoebe--the only one who could +really know--will never open her lips. Now take me for a little walk. We +will look in the shops in Fifth Avenue and lunch at the Ritz-Carlton. Go +and brush yourself and make yourself look respectable. I'll have a +cigarette and read the paper.... No, I won't, I'll look over these loose +sheets and see how you are getting on." + +He disappeared into his room for a few minutes. When he returned she was +entirely engrossed. She looked up at him with something almost of +reverence in her face. + +"When did you write this?" she asked. + +"Yesterday, most of it," he answered. "There is more of it--I haven't +finished yet. When you send me away this afternoon, I shall go on. That +is only the beginning. I have a great idea dawning." + +"What you have written is wonderful," she said simply. "It makes me feel +almost humble, makes me feel that the very best actress in the world +remains only an interpretress. Yes, I can say those words you have +written, but they can never be mine. I want to be something more than an +intelligent parrot, Philip. Why can't you teach me to feel and think +things like that?" + +"You!" he murmured, as he took her arm and led her to the door. "You +could feel all the sweetest and most wonderful things in heaven. The +writer's knack is only a slight gift. I put on paper what lives in your +heart." + +She raised her head, and he kissed her lips. For a moment he held her +quite quietly. Her arms encircled him. The perfume of her clothes, her +hair, her warm, gentle touch, seemed like a strong sedative. If she said +that he was safe, he must be. It was queer how so often at these times +their sexes seemed reversed; it was he who felt that womanly desire for +shelter and protection which she so amply afforded him. She patted his +cheek. + +"Now for our little walk," she said. "Open the windows and let out all +these bad fancies of yours. And listen," she went on, as they stepped out +of the lift a moment or two later, and passed through the hall towards +the pavement, "not a word about our own problem. We are going to talk +nonsense. We are going to be just two light-hearted children in this +wonderful city, gazing at the sights and taking all she has to offer us. +I love it, you know. I love the noise of it. It isn't a distant, stifled +roar like London. There's a harsh, clarion-like note about it, like metal +striking upon metal. And the smell of New York--there isn't any other +city like it! When we get into Fifth Avenue I am going to direct your +attention to the subject of hats. Have you ever bought a woman's hat, +Philip?" + +"Never," he answered, truthfully enough. + +"Then you are going to this morning, or rather you are going to help me +to choose one," she declared, "and in a very few moments, too. There +is a little place almost underground in Fifth Avenue there, and a +Frenchwoman--oh, she is so French!--and all her assistants have black +hair and wear untidy, shapeless clothes and velvet slippers. It isn't New +York at all, but I love it, and I let them put their name on the +programme. They really don't charge me more than twice as much as they +ought to for my hats. We go down here," she added, descending some steps, +"and if you make eyes at any of the young women I shall bring you +straight out again." + +They spent half an hour choosing a hat and nearly two hours over lunch. +It was late in the afternoon before she dropped him at his rooms. Not a +word had they spoken of Sylvanus Power or their future, but Philip was a +different man. Only, as he turned and said good-by, his voice trembled. + +"I can't say thank you," he muttered, "but you know!"... + +The lift was too slow for him. He opened his door with almost breathless +haste. He only paused to light a cigarette and change his coat and wheel +his table round so as to catch the afternoon light more perfectly. Then, +with his brain teeming with fancies, he plunged into his work. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Philip let the pen slip at last from his tired fingers. The light had +failed. He had been writing with straining eyes, almost in the darkness. +But there was something else. Had it been fancy or ... This time there +could be no mistake. He had not heard the lift stop, but some one was +knocking softly at the door, softly but persistently. He turned his head. +The room seemed filled with shadows. He had written for hours, and he was +conscious that his limbs were stiff. The sun had gone down in a cloudy +sky, and the light had faded. He could scarcely distinguish the articles +of furniture at the further end of the room. For some reason or other he +felt tongue-tied. Then, without any answer from him to this mysterious +summons, the handle of the door slowly turned. As he sat there he saw it +pushed open. A woman, wrapped in a long coat, stepped inside, closing it +firmly behind her. She stood peering around the room. There was something +familiar and yet unfamiliar in her height, her carriage. He waited, +spellbound, for her voice. + +"Douglas!" she exclaimed. "Ah, there you are!" + +The words seemed to die away, unuttered, upon his lips. He suddenly +thought that he was choking. He stared at her blankly. It was impossible! +She came a step further into the room. Her hand was stretched out +accusingly. + +"So I've found you, have I, Douglas?" she cried, and there was a note of +bitter triumph in her words, "found you after all these months! Aren't +you terrified? Aren't you afraid? No wonder you sit there, shrinking +away! Do you know what I have come for?" + +He tried to speak, but his lips were as powerless to frame words as his +limbs were to respond to his desire for movement. This was the one thing +which he had not foreseen. + +"You broke your promise," she went on, raising her voice a little in +passionate reproach. "You left me there alone to face dismissal, without +a penny, and slipped off yourself to America. You never even came in to +wish me good-by. Why? Tell me why you went without coming near me?... You +won't, eh? You daren't. Be a man. Out with it. I am here, and I know the +truth." + +For the first time some definite sound came from his lips. + +"Beatrice!" he gasped. + +"Ah!" she mocked. "You can remember my name, then? Douglas, I knew that +you were a bad man. I knew that when you told me how you meant to cheat +your creditors, how you meant to escape over here on the pretext of +business, and bring all the money you could scrape together. I knew that, +and yet I was willing to come with you, and I should have come. But there +was one thing I didn't reckon upon. I didn't know that you had the heart +or the courage to be a murderer!" + +The little cry that broke from his lips was stifled even before it was +uttered. + +"I shall never forgive you!" she sobbed. "I never want to touch your +bloodstained fingers! I have forgotten that I ever loved you. You're +horrible--do you hear?--horrible! And yet, I don't mean to be left to +starve. That's why I've followed you. You're afraid I am going to give +you up to justice? Well, I don't know. It depends.... Turn on the lights. +I want to see you. Do you hear? I want to see how you can face me. I want +to see how the memory of that afternoon has dealt with you. Do as I tell +you. Don't stand there glowering at me." + +He crossed the room with stumbling footsteps. + +"You've learnt to stoop, anyhow," she went on. "You're thinner, +too.... My God!" + +The room was suddenly flooded with light. Philip, rigid and ghastly, was +looking at her from the other side of the table. She held up her hands as +though to shut out the sight of him. + +"Philip!" she shrieked. "Philip!... Oh, my God!" + +Her eyes were lit with horror as she swayed upon her feet. For a moment +she seemed about to collapse. Then she groped her way towards the door +and stood there, clinging to the handle. Slowly she looked around over +her shoulder, her face as white as death. She moistened her lips with her +tongue, her eyes glared at him. Behind, her brain seemed to be working. +Her first spasm of inarticulate fear passed. + +"Philip---alive!" she muttered. "Alive!... Speak! Can't you speak to me? +Are you a ghost?" + +"Of course not," he answered, with a calm which surprised him. "You can't +have forgotten in less than six months what I look like." + +A new expression struggled into her face. She abandoned her grasp of the +handle and came back to her former position. + +"Look here," she faltered, "if you are Philip Romilly, where's +he--Douglas?... Where's Douglas?" + +There was no answer. Philip simply looked at her. She began to shake once +more upon her feet. + +"Where's Douglas?" she demanded fiercely. "Tell me? Tell me quickly, +before I go mad! If you are Philip Romilly alive, if it wasn't your body +they found, where's Douglas?" + +"You can guess what happened to him," Philip said slowly. "I met him on +the towing-path by the side of the canal. I spoke to him--about you. +He answered me with a jest. I think that all the passion of those +grinding years of misery swept up at that moment from my heart. I was +strong--God, how strong I was! I took him by the throat, Beatrice. I +watched his face change. I watched his damned, self-satisfied complacency +fade away. He lost all his smugness, and his eyes began to stare at me, +and his lips grew whiter as they struggled to utter the cries for mercy +which choked back. Then I flung him in--that's all. Splash!... God, I can +hear it now! I saw his face just under the water. Then I went on." + +"You went on?" she repeated, trembling in every limb. + +"I picked up the pocketbook which I had shaken out of his clothes in +that first struggle. I studied its contents, and it gave me an idea. I +went to Liverpool, stayed at the hotel where he had engaged rooms, +dressed myself in his clothes, and went on the steamer in his place. I +travelled to New York as Mr. Douglas Romilly of the Douglas Romilly Shoe +Company, occupied my room at the Waldorf under that name. Then I +disappeared suddenly--there were too many people waiting to see me. I +took the pseudonym which he had carefully prepared for himself and hid +for a time in a small tenement house. Then I rewrote the play. There you +have my story." + +"You--murdered him, Philip!... You!" + +"It was no crime," he continued calmly, filled with a queer sense of +relief at the idea of being able to talk about it. "My whole life, up +till that day, had been one epitome of injustice and evil fortune. You +were my one solace. His life--well, you know what it had been. Everything +was made easy for him. He had a luxurious boyhood, he was sent to +college, pampered and spoilt, and passed on to a dissipated manhood. He +spent a great fortune, ruined a magnificent business. He lived, month by +month, hour by hour, for just the voluptuous pleasures which his wealth +made possible to him. That was the man I met on the canal bank that +afternoon. You know the state I was in. You know very well the grievance +I had against him." + +"You had no right to interfere," she said dully. "If I chose to accept +what he had to give, it was my business. There never had been over-much +affection between you and me. We were just waifs together. Life wouldn't +give us what we wanted. I had made up my mind months before to escape +whenever the opportunity came. Douglas brought it to me and I snatched at +it. I am not accepting any blame." + +He leaned towards her. + +"Neither am I," he declared. "Do you remember we used to talk about the +doctrine of responsibility? I am a pervert. I did what I had to do, and +I am content." + +She stood quite still for several moments. Then she took out the pins +from her hat, banged it upon the table, opened her tweed coat, came round +to the fireside, and threw herself into an easy-chair. Her action was +portentous and significant. + +"Tell me how you found me out?" he asked, after a brief pause. + +"I was dismissed from Detton Magna," she told him. "I had to go and +be waiting-maid to Aunt Esther at Croydon. I took the place of her +maid-of-all-work. I scrubbed for my living. There wasn't anything else. I +hadn't clothes to try for the bolder things, not a friend in the world, +but I was only waiting. I meant, at the first chance, to rob Aunt Esther, +to come to London, dress myself properly, and find a post on the stage, +if possible. I wasn't particular. Then one day a man came to see me--an +American. He'd travelled all the way from New York because he was +interested in what he called the mysterious Romilly disappearance. He +knew that I had been Douglas' friend. He asked me to come out and +identify--you! He offered me my passage, a hundred pounds, and to give me +a start in life here, if I needed it. So I came out with him." + +"With Dane," he muttered. + +She nodded. + +"Yes, that was his name--Mr. Edward Dane. I came out to identify +Douglas." + +"You weren't going to give him away?" Philip asked curiously. + +"Of course not. I should have made my bargain, and then, after I had +scared Douglas for leaving me as he did, I should have said that it +wasn't the man. And instead--I found you!" + +He tapped the table with his fingers, restlessly. A new hope was forming +in his brain. This, indeed, might be the end of all his troubles. + +"Listen," he said earnestly, "Dane has always suspected me. Sometimes I +have wondered whether he hadn't the truth at the back of his head. You +can make me safe forever." + +She made no reply. Her eyes were watching his face. She seemed to be +waiting to hear what else he had to say. + +"Don't you understand?" he went on impatiently. "You have only to tell +Dane that I am neither Douglas nor Philip, but curiously like both, and +he will chuck the thing up. He must. Then I shall be safe. You see that, +don't you?" + +"Yes, I see that," she admitted. + +"Well?" + +"Tell me exactly how much of Douglas' money you have spent?" she +demanded. + +"Only the loose money from the pocketbook. Not all of that. I am earning +money now." + +She leaned across the table. + +"What about the twenty thousand pounds?" + +"I haven't touched it," he assured her, "not a penny." + +"On your honour?" + +He rose silently and went to his desk, unlocked one of the drawers, and +drew from a hidden place a thin strip of paper. He smoothed it out on the +table before her. + +"There's the deposit note," he said,--"_Twenty thousand pounds to the +joint or separate credit of Beatrice Wenderley and Douglas Romilly, on +demand_. The money's there still. I haven't touched it." + +She gripped the paper in her fingers. The sight of the figures seemed to +fascinate her. Then she looked around. + +"How can you afford to live in a place like this, then?" she demanded +suspiciously. "Where does your money come from?" + +"The play," he told her. + +"What, all this?" she exclaimed. + +"It is a great success. The theatre is packed every night. My royalties +come every week to far more than I could spend." + +She looked once more around her, gripped the deposit note in her fingers, +and leaned back in her chair. She laughed curiously. Her eyes had +travelled back to Philip's anxious face. + +"Wonderful!" she murmured. "You paid the price, but you've won. You've +had something for it. I paid the price, and up till now--" + +She stared at the paper in her hand. Then she looked away into the fire. + +"I can't get it all into my head," she went on. "I pictured him here, +living in luxury, spending the money of which he had promised me a +share ... and he's dead! That was his body--that unrecognisable thing +they found in the canal. You killed him--Douglas! He was so fond of life, +too." + +"Fond of the things which meant life to him," Philip muttered. + +"I should never have believed that you had the courage," she observed +ruminatingly. "After all, then, he wasn't faithless. He wasn't the brute +I thought him." + +She sat thinking for what seemed to him to be an interminable time. He +broke in at last upon her meditations. + +"Well," he asked, "what are you going to say to Dane?" + +"I shan't give you away--at least I don't think so," she promised +cautiously. "I shall see. Presently I will make terms, only this time I +am not going to be left. I am going to have what I want." + +"But he'll be waiting to hear from you!" Philip exclaimed. "He may come +here, even." + +She shook her head. + +"He's gone to Chicago. He can't be back for five days. I promised to +wire, but I shan't. I'll wait until he's back. And in the meantime--" + +Her fingers closed upon the deposit note. He nodded shortly. + +"That's yours," he said. "You can have it all. I have helped myself to a +fresh start in life at his expense. That's all I wanted." + +She folded up the paper and thrust it carefully into the bosom of her +gown. Then she stood up. + +"Well," she pronounced, "I think I am getting used to things. It's +wonderful how callous one can become. The banks are closed now, I +suppose?" + +He nodded. + +"They will be open at nine o'clock in the morning." + +"First of all, then," she decided, "I'll make sure of my twenty thousand +pounds, and then we'll see. I don't think you'll find me hard, Philip. I +ought not to be hard on you, ought I?" + +She looked at him most kindly, and he began to shiver. Curiously enough, +her very kindness, when he realised the knowledge which lay behind her +brain, was hateful to him. He had pleaded for her forgiveness, even her +toleration, but--anything else seemed horrible! She strolled across the +room and glanced at the clock, took one of his cigarettes from a box and +lit it. + +"Well, this is queer!" she murmured reflectively. "Now I want some +dinner, and I'll see your play, Philip. You shall take me. Get ready +quickly, please." + +He looked at her doubtfully. + +"But, Beatrice," he protested, "think! You know why you came here? You +know the story you will have to tell? We are strangers, you and I. What +if we are seen together?" + +She snapped her fingers at him. + +"Pooh! Who cares! I am a stranger in New York, and I have taken a fancy +to you. You are a young man of gallantry, and you are going to take me +out.... We often used to talk of a little excursion like this in London. +We'll have it in New York instead." + +He turned slowly towards the door of his bedroom. She was busy looking at +her own eyes in the mirror, and she missed the little gleam of horror in +his face. + +"In ten minutes," he promised her. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +Beatrice replaced the programme which she had been studying, on the ledge +of the box, and turned towards Philip, who was seated in the background. +There was something a little new in her manner. Her tone was subdued, her +eyes curious. + +"You really are a wonderful person, Philip," she declared. "It's the same +play, just as you used to tell it me, word for word. And yet it isn't. +What is it that you have gained, I wonder?--a sense of atmosphere, +breadth, something strangely vital." + +"I am glad you like it," he said simply. + +"Like it? It's amazing! And what an audience! I never thought that the +people were so fashionable here, Philip. I am sitting right back in the +box, but ten minutes after I have cashed my draft tomorrow I shall be +buying clothes. You won't be ashamed to be seen anywhere with me then." + +He drew his chair up to her side, a little haggard and worn with the +suspense of the evening. She laughed at him mockingly. + +"What an idiot you are!" she exclaimed. "You ought to be one of the +happiest men in the world, and you look like a death's-head." + +"The happiest man in the world," he repeated. + +"Beatrice, sometimes I think that there is only one thing in the world +that makes for happiness." + +"And what's that, booby?" she asked, with some of her old familiarity. + +"A clear conscience." + +She laid her hand upon his arm. + +"Look here, Philip," she said, "the one thing I determined, when I threw +up the sponge, was that whether the venture was a success or not I'd +never waste a single moment in regrets. Things didn't turn out too +brilliantly with me, as you know. But you--see what you've attained! Why, +it's wonderful! Your play, the one thing you dreamed about, produced in +one of the greatest cities in the world, and a packed house to listen to +it, people applauding all the time. I didn't realise your success when we +talked this evening. I am just beginning to understand. I've been reading +some of these extracts from the newspapers. You're Merton Ware, the great +dramatist, the coming man of letters. You've won, Philip. Can't you see +that it's puling cowardice to grumble at the price?" + +He, for his part, was wondering at her callousness, of which he was +constantly discovering fresh evidences. The whole shock of her discovery +seemed already, in these few hours, to have passed away. + +"If you can forget--so soon," he muttered, "I suppose I ought to be able +to." + +She made a little grimace, but immediately afterwards he saw the cold +tightening of her lips. + +"Listen, Philip," she said. "I started life with the usual quiverful of +good qualities, but there's one I've lost, and I don't want it back +again. I'm a selfish woman, and I mean to stay a selfish woman. I am +going to live for myself. I've paid a fair price, and I'm going to have +what I've paid for. See?" + +"Do you think," he asked, "that it is possible to make that sort of +bargain with one's self and fate?" + +She laughed scornfully. + +"There's room for a little stiffening in you, even now, Philip! No one +but a weakling ever talks about fate. You'd think better of me, I +suppose, if I stayed in my room and wept. Well, I could do it if I let +myself, but I won't. I should lose several hours of the life that belongs +to me. You think I didn't care about Douglas? I am not at all sure that I +didn't care for him as much as I ever did for you, although, of course, +he wasn't worthy of it. But he's gone, and all the shudders and morbid +regrets in the world won't bring him back again. And I am here in New +York, and to-morrow I shall have twenty thousand pounds, and to-night I +am with you, watching your play. That's life enough for me at present--no +more, no less. I hate missing the first act, and I'm coming to see it +again to-morrow. What time is it over?" + +"Soon after eleven," he told her. + +She glanced at her watch. + +"You shall take me out and give me some supper," she decided, "somewhere +where there's music." + +He made no remark, but she surprised again something in his face which +irritated her. + +"Look here, Philip," she said firmly, "I won't have you look at me as +though I were something inhuman. There are plenty of other women like me +in the world, even if they are not quite so frank about it. I want to +live, and I will live, and I grudge every moment out of which I am not +extracting the fullest amount of happiness. That's because I've paid. +It's the woman's bargaining instinct, you know. She wants to get +value.... Now I want to hear about Miss Dalstan. Where did you meet her, +and how did you get her to accept your play?" + +"She was on the _Elletania_," he explained. "We crossed from Liverpool +together. She sat at my table." + +"How much does she know about you?" Beatrice asked bluntly. + +"Everything," he confessed. "I don't know what I should have done without +her. She has been the most wonderful friend any one could have." + +Beatrice looked at him a little critically. + +"You're a queer person, Philip," she exclaimed. "You're not fit to go +about alone, really. Good thing I came over to take care of you, I +think." + +"You don't understand," he replied. "Miss Dalstan is--well, unlike +anybody else. She wants to see you. I am to take you round after the next +act, if you would like to go." + +Beatrice smiled at him in a gratified manner. + +"I've always wanted to go behind the scenes," she admitted. "I'll come +with you, with pleasure. Perhaps if I decide that I'd like to go on the +stage, she may be able to help me. How much is twenty thousand pounds in +dollars, Philip?" + +"A little over a hundred thousand," he told her. + +"I don't suppose they think that much out here," she went on +ruminatingly. "The hotel where Mr. Dane sent me--it's nice enough, in its +way, but very stuffy as regards the people--is twice as expensive as it +would be in London. However, we shall see." + +The curtain rang up on the third act, and Beatrice, seated well back in +the shadows, followed the play attentively, appreciated its good points +and had every appearance of both understanding and enjoying it. +Afterwards, she rose promptly to her feet, still clapping. + +"I'm longing to meet Miss Dalstan, Philip," she declared. "She is +wonderful. And to think that you wrote it--that you created the part for +her! I am really quite proud of you." + +She laughed at his embarrassment, affecting to ignore the fact that it +was less the author's modesty than some queer impulse of horror which +seemed to come over him when any action of hers reminded him of their +past familiarity. He hurried on, piloting her down the corridor to the +door of Elizabeth's dressing room. In response to his knock they were +bidden to enter, and Elizabeth, who was lying on a couch whilst a maid +was busy preparing her costume for the next act, held out her hand with a +little welcoming smile. + +"I am so glad to see you, Miss Wenderley," she said cordially. "Philip, +bring Miss Wenderley over here. You'll forgive my not getting up, won't +you? I have to rest for just these few minutes before the next act." + +Beatrice was for a moment overpowered. The luxury of the wonderful +dressing room, with its perfect French furniture, its white walls hung +with a few choice sketches, the thick rugs upon the polished wood floor, +the exquisite toilet table with its wealth of gold and tortoiseshell +appurtenances--Elizabeth herself, so beautiful and gracious--even a +hurried contemplation of all these things took her breath away. She felt +suddenly acutely conscious of the poverty of her travelling clothes, of +her own insignificance. + +"Won't you sit down for a moment?" Elizabeth begged, pointing to a chair +by her side. "You and I must be friends, you know, for Philip's sake." + +Beatrice recovered herself a little. She sank into the blue satin chair, +with its ample cushions, and looked down at Elizabeth with something very +much like awe. + +"I am sure Philip must feel very grateful to you for having taken his +play," she declared. "It has given him a fresh chance in life." + +"After all he has gone through," Elizabeth said gently, "he certainly +deserves it. It is a wonderfully clever play, you know ... don't blush, +Mr. Author!" + +"I heard the story long ago," Beatrice observed, "only of course it +sounded very differently then, and we never dreamed that it would really +be produced." + +"Philip has told me about those days," Elizabeth said. "I am afraid that +you, too, have had your share of unhappiness, Miss Wenderley. I only hope +that life in the future will make up to you something of what you have +lost." + +The girl's face hardened. Her lips came together in familiar fashion. + +"I mean it to," she declared. "I am going to make a start to-morrow. I +wish, Miss Dalstan, you could get Philip to look at things a little more +cheerfully. He has been like a ghost ever since I arrived." + +Elizabeth turned and smiled at him sympathetically. + +"Your coming must have been rather a shock," she reminded Beatrice. "You +came with the idea, did you not, that--you would find Mr. Douglas +Romilly?" + +The girl nodded and glanced around for the maid, who had disappeared, +however, into an inner apartment. + +"They were always alike," she confided,--"the same figures, same shaped +head and that sort of thing. Douglas was a little overfond of life, +though, and Philip here hasn't found out yet what it means. It was a +shock, though, Miss Dalstan. Philip was sitting in the dark when I +arrived at his rooms this evening, and--I thought it was Douglas." + +Elizabeth shivered a little. + +"Don't let us talk about it," she begged. "You must come and see me, +won't you, Miss Wenderley? Philip will tell you where I live. Are you +going back to England at once?" + +"I haven't made up my mind yet," the girl replied, with a slight frown. +"It just depends." + +Elizabeth glanced at the little clock upon her table, and Philip threw +away his cigarette and came forward. + +"We must go, Beatrice," he announced. "Miss Dalstan has to change her +dress for this act." + +He held out his hand and Elizabeth rose lightly to her feet. So far, no +word as to their two selves had passed their lips. She smiled at him and +all this sense of throbbing, almost theatrical excitement subsided. He +was once more conscious of the beautiful things beyond. Once more he felt +the rest of her presence. + +"You must let me see something of you tomorrow, Philip," she said. +"Telephone, will you? Good night, Miss Wenderley." + +The maid, who had just returned, held the door open. Philip glanced back +over his shoulder. Elizabeth blew him a kiss, a gesture which curiously +enough brought a frown to Beatrice's face. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +The close of the performance left them both curiously tongue-tied. They +waited until the theatre was half empty before they left their seats. +Then they joined the little throng of stragglers at the end. + +"Your play!" she murmured, as they faced the soft night air. "I can't +believe it, even now. We've seen it together--your play--and this is +New York! That's a new ending, isn't it?" + +"Absolutely," he confessed. "The ending was always what bothered me, you +know." + +She laughed, not quite naturally. She was unexpectedly impressed. + +"So you're a genius, after all," she went on. "Sometimes I wondered--but +never mind that now. Philip, do you know I am starving? We took exactly +ten minutes over dinner!" + +He led her to a huge restaurant a few doors away, where they found a +corner table. Up in the balcony an orchestra was playing light music, and +a little crowd of people were all the time streaming through the doors. +Beatrice settled herself down with an air of content. Few of the people +were in evening dress, and the tone of the place was essentially +democratic. Philip, who had learnt a little about American dishes, gave +an order, and Beatrice sipped her cocktail with an air of growing +appreciation. + +"Queer idea, this, but the stuff tastes all right," she acknowledged. "I +suppose, if you were taking your dear Miss Dalstan out, you'd go to a +different sort of place, eh?" + +"We generally go further up town," he admitted unthinkingly. + +She set her glass down quickly. + +"So you do take her out, do you?" she asked coldly. "You'd have been with +her to-night, perhaps, if I hadn't been here?" + +"Very likely." + +She was half inclined to rally him, behind it all a little annoyed. + +"You're a nice sort of person! Why, it's only a few months ago since you +pretended to be in love with me!" + +He looked at her, and her eyes fell before his. + +"I don't think there was ever much question of our being in love with one +another, was there? We simply seemed to have drifted together because we +were both miserable, and then, as the time passed on--well, you came to +be my only solace against the wretchedness of that life." + +She nodded appreciatively. For a moment the sights and sounds of the +noisy restaurant passed from her consciousness. + +"Do you remember how glad I was to see you? How we used to spend our +holidays out in those dingy fields and hope and pray for better things +some day? But it was all so hopeless, wasn't it! You could barely keep +yourself from starving, and I--oh, the misery of that awful Detton Magna +and teaching those wretched children! There never were such children in +the world. I couldn't get their mothers to send them clean. They seemed +to have inherited all the vice, the bad language, the ugly sordidness +with which the place reeked. They were old men and women in wickedness +before they passed their first standard. It's a corner of the world I +never want to see again. I'd rather find hell! Have you ordered any wine, +Philip? I want to forget." + +He pointed to the bottle which stood in the pail by their side, and +summoned a waiter. She watched it being opened and their glasses filled. + +"This is like one of our fairy stories of the old days, isn't it?" she +said. "Well, I drink to you, Philip. Here's success to our new lives!" + +She raised her glass and drained it. A woman had entered who reminded him +of Elizabeth, and his eyes had wandered away for a moment as Beatrice +pledged him. She called him back a little impatiently. + +"Don't sit there as though you were looking at ghosts, Philip! Try and +remember who I am and what we used to mean to one another. Let us try +and believe," she added, a little wistfully, "that one of those dreams of +ours which we used to set floating like bubbles, has come true. We can +wipe out all the memories we don't want. That ought to be easy." + +"Ought it?" he answered grimly. "There are times when I've found it +difficult enough." + +She laughed and looked about her. He realised suddenly that she was still +very attractive with her rather insolent mouth, her clear eyes, her silky +hair with the little fringe. People, as they passed, paid her some +attention, and she was frankly curious about everybody. + +"Well," she went on presently, "thank heavens I have plenty of will +power. I remember nothing, absolutely nothing, which happened before this +evening. I am going to tell myself that an uncle in Australia has died +and left me money, and so we are here in New York to spend it. To-morrow +I am going to begin. I shall buy clothes--all sorts of clothes--and hats. +You won't know me to-morrow evening, Philip." + +His heart sank. To-morrow evening! + +"But Beatrice," he expostulated, "you don't think of staying out here, do +you? You don't know a soul. You haven't a friend in the city." + +"What friends have I in England?" she retorted. "Not one! I may just as +well start a new life in a new country. It seems bright enough here, and +gay. I like it. I shall move to a different sort of hotel to-morrow. You +must help me choose one. And as to friends," she whispered, looking up at +him with a little provocative gleam in her eyes, "don't you count? Can't +you do what I am going to do, Philip? Can't you draw down that curtain?" + +He shivered. + +"I can't!" he muttered. + +A waiter brought their first course, and she at once evinced interest in +her food. She returned to the subject, however, later on, after she had +drunk another glass of wine. + +"You're a silly old thing, you know," she declared. "You found the +courage, somehow, to break away from that loathsome existence. You had +more courage, even, than I, because you ran a risk I never did. But here +you are, free, with the whole world before you, and your last danger +disappearing with the knowledge that I am ready to be your friend and +am sensible about everything that has happened. This ought to be an +immense relief to you, Philip. You ought to be the happiest man on earth. +And there you sit, looking like a death's-head! Look at me for a moment +like a human being, can't you? Drink some more wine. There must be some +strength, some manhood about you somewhere, or you couldn't have done +what you have done." + +He filled his glass mechanically. She leaned across the table. Her eyes +were bright, her cheeks delicately pink. + +"Courage, Philip," she murmured. "Remember that what you did ... well, in +a way it was for my sake, wasn't it?--for love of me? I am here now and +we are both free. The old days are passed. Even their shadow cannot +trouble us any longer. Don't be a sentimentalist. Listen and I'll tell +you something--at the bottom of my heart I rather admire you for what you +did. Don't you want your reward?" + +"No," he answered firmly, "I don't!" + +She shrugged her shoulders and kept time with her foot to the music. +Across the table, although she kept silence for a while, she smiled at +him whenever she caught his eye. She was not angry, not even hurt. Philip +had always been so difficult, but in the end so easily led. She had +unlimited confidence in herself. + +"Don't be a goose!" she exclaimed at last. "Of course you want your +reward, and of course you'll have it, some day! You've always lived with +your head partly in the clouds, and it's always been my task to pull you +down to earth. I suppose I shall have to do the same again, but to-night +I haven't patience. I feel suddenly gay. You are so nice-looking, Philip, +but you'd look ten times nicer still if you'd only smile once or twice +and look as though you were glad." + +The whole thing was a nightmare to him. The horror of it was in his +blood, yet he did his best to obey. Plain speaking just then was +impossible. He drank glass after glass of wine and called for liqueurs. +She held his fingers for a moment under the table. + +"Oh, Philip," she whispered, "can't you forget that you have ever been a +school-teacher, dear? We are only human, and did suffer so. You know," +she went on, "you were made for the things that are coming to us. You've +improved already, ever so much. I like your clothes and the way you carry +yourself. But you look--oh, so sad and so far away all the time! When I +came to your rooms, at my first glimpse of you I knew that you were +miserable. We must alter all that, dear. Tell me how it is that with all +your success you haven't been happy?" + +"Memories!" he answered harshly. "Only a few hours before you came, +I was in hell!" + +"Then you had better make up your mind," she told him firmly, "that you +are going to climb up out of there, and when you're out, you're going to +stay out. You can't alter the past. You can't alter even the smallest +detail of its setting. Just as inevitably as our lives come and go, so +what has happened is finished with, unchangeable. It is only a weak +person who would spoil the present and the future, brooding. You used not +to be weak, Philip." + +"I don't think that I am, really," he said. "I am moody, though, and +that's almost as bad. The sight of you brought it all back. And that +fellow Dane--I've been frightened of him, Beatrice." + +"Well, you needn't be any longer," she declared. "What you want is some +one with you all the time who understands you, some one to drive back +those other thoughts when they come to worry you. It is really a very +good thing for you, dear, that I came out to New York. Mr. Dane is going +to be very disappointed when I tell him that I never saw you before in my +life.... Don't you love the music? Listen to that waltz. That was written +for happy people, Philip. I adore this place. I suppose we shall find +others that we like better, as time goes on, but I shall always think of +this evening. It is the beginning of my task, too, Philip, with you--for +you. What has really happened, dear? I can't realise anything. I feel as +though the gates of some great prison had been thrown wide-open, and +everything there was to long for in life was just there, within reach, +waiting. I am glad, so much gladder than I should have imagined possible. +It's wonderful to have you again. I didn't even feel that I missed you so +much, but I know now what it was that made life so appalling. Tell me, am +I still nice to look at?" + +"Of course you are," he assured her. "Can't you understand that by the +way people notice you?" + +She strummed upon the table with her fingers. Her whole body seemed to be +moving to the music. She nodded several times. + +"I don't want them to notice me, Philip," she murmured. "I want you to +look just for a moment as though you thought me the only person in the +world--as you did once, you know." + +He did his best to be responsive, but he was not wholly successful. +Nevertheless, she was tolerant with his shortcomings. They sat there +until nearly three o'clock. It was she at last who rose reluctantly to +her feet. + +"I want to go whilst the memory of it all is wonderful," she declared. +"Come. Here's a card with my address on. Drive me home now, please." + +He paid his bill and they found a cab. She linked her arm through his, +her head sank a little upon his shoulder. He made no movement. She waited +for a moment, then she leaned back amongst the cushions. + +"Philip," she asked quietly, "has this Elizabeth Dalstan been letting you +make love to her?" + +"Please don't speak of Miss Dalstan like that," he begged. + +"Answer my question," she insisted. + +"Miss Dalstan has been very kind to me," he admitted slowly, "wonderfully +kind. If you really want to know, I do care for her." + +"More than you did for me?" + +"Very much more," he answered bravely, "and in a different fashion." + +In the darkness of the cab it seemed to him that her face had grown +whiter. Her arm remained within his but it clasped him no longer. Her +body seemed to have become limp. Even her voice, firm though it was, +seemed pitched in a different key. + +"Listen," she said. "You will have to forget Miss Dalstan. I have made up +my mind what I want in life and I am going to have it. I shall draw my +money to-morrow morning and afterwards I shall come straight to your +rooms. Then we will talk. I want more than just that money. I am lonely. +And do you know, Philip, I believe that I must have cared for you all the +time, and you--you must have cared for me a little or you would never +have done that for my sake. You must and you shall care, Philip, because +our time has come, and I want you, please--shall I have to say it, +dear?--I want you to marry me." + +He wrenched himself free from her. + +"That is quite out of the question, Beatrice," he declared. + +She laughed at him mockingly. + +"Oh, don't say that, Philip! You might tempt me to be brutal. You might +tempt me to speak horribly plain words to you." + +"Speak them and have done with it," he told her roughly. "I might find a +few, too." + +"I am past hurting," she replied, "and I am not in the least afraid of +anything you could say. You robbed me of the man who was bringing me to +America--who would have married me some day, I suppose. Well, you must +pay, do you see, and in my way? I have told you the way I choose." + +"You want me to marry you?" he demanded--"simply marry you? You do not +care whether I have any love for you or whether I loathe you now." + +"You couldn't loathe me, could you?" she begged. "The thought of those +long days we spent together in our prison house would rise up and forbid +it. Kiss me." + +"I will not!" + +Her lips sought his, in vain. He pushed her away. + +"Don't you understand?" he exclaimed. "There is another woman whom I have +kissed--whom I am longing to kiss now." + +"But we are old friends," she pleaded, "and I am lonely. Kiss me how you +like. Don't be foolish." + +He kissed her upon the cheek. She pulled down her veil. The cab had +stopped before the door of her hotel. + +"You are not to worry any more about ugly things, Philip," she whispered, +holding his hand for a moment as he rang the bell for her. "You are safe, +remember--quite safe. I've come to take care of you. You need it so +badly.... Good night, dear!" + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Late though it was when Philip reached his rooms, he found on his writing +table a message addressed to him from the telephone call office in the +building. He tore it open: + +"Kindly ring up Number 551 Avenue immediately you return, whatever the +time." + +He glanced at the clock, hesitated, and finally approaching the +instrument called up Elizabeth's number. For a few moments he waited. The +silence in the streets outside seemed somehow to have become communicated +to the line, the space between them emptied of all the jarring sounds of +the day. It was across a deep gulf of silence that he heard at last her +voice. + +"Yes? Is that you, Philip?" + +"I am here," he answered. "I am sorry it is so late." + +"Have you only just come in?" + +"This moment." + +"Has that girl kept you out till now?" she asked reprovingly. + +"I couldn't help it," he replied. "It was her first night over here. I +took her to Churchill's for supper." + +"Is everything--all right with her? She doesn't mean to make trouble?" + +The unconscious irony of the question almost forced a smile to his lips. + +"I don't think so," he answered. "She is thoroughly excited at the idea +of possessing the money. I believe she thought that Douglas would have +drawn it all. She is going straight to the bank, early in the morning, to +get hold of it." + +"What about the man Dane?" + +"He has gone to Chicago. He won't be back for several days." + +There was a moment's pause. + +"Have you anything to ask me?" she enquired. + +"Nothing." + +"I have had the most extraordinary letter from Sylvanus. You and he have +met." + +"Yes," he admitted. + +"Philip, we must make up our minds." + +"You mean that you must make up your mind," he answered gently. + +There was another silence. Then she spoke a little abruptly. + +"I wonder whether you really love me, Philip.... No! don't, please--don't +try to answer such a foolish question. Go to bed and sleep well now. +You've had a trying day. Good night, dear!" + +He had barely time to say good night before he heard the ring off. He set +down the receiver. Somehow, there was a sensation of relief in having +been, although indirectly, in touch with her. The idea of the letter from +Sylvanus Power affected him only hazily. The crowded events of the day +had somehow or other dulled his power of concentrated thought. He felt a +curious sense of passivity. He undressed without conscious effort, closed +his eyes, and slept until he was awakened by the movements of the valet +about the room. + +Philip was still seated over his breakfast, reading the paper and +finishing his coffee, when the door was thrown suddenly open, and +Beatrice entered tumultuously. She laughed at his air of blank surprise. + +"You booby!" she exclaimed. "I couldn't help coming in to wish you good +morning. I have just discovered that my hotel is quite close by here. +Lucky, isn't it, except that I am going to move. Good morning, Mr. +Serious Face!" she went on, leaning towards him, her hands behind her, +her lips held out invitingly. + +He set down his paper, kissed her on the cheek, and looked inside the +coffeepot. + +"Have you had your breakfast?" + +"Hours ago. I was too excited to sleep when I got to bed, and yet I feel +so well. Philip, where's Wall Street? Won't you take me there?" + +He shook his head. + +"I am expecting a visitor, and I have piles of work to do." + +She made a grimace. + +"I know I shall be terrified when I march up to the counter of the bank +and say I've come for twenty thousand pounds!" + +"You must transfer it to a current account," he explained, "in your own +name. Have you any papers with you--for identification, I mean?" + +She nodded. + +"I've thought of all that. I've a photograph and a passport and some +letters. It isn't that I'm really afraid, but I hate being alone, and you +look so nice, Philip dear. I always loved you in blue serge, and I adore +your eyeglass. You really have been clever in the small things you have +done to change your appearance. Perhaps you are right not to come, +though," she went on, looking in the mirror. "These clothes are the best +I could get at a minute's notice. Mr. Dane was really quite nice, but he +hadn't the least idea how long it takes a woman to prepare for a journey. +Never mind, you wait until I get back here this afternoon! I am going +round to all the shops, and I am going to bring the clothes I buy away +with me. Then I am going to lock myself in my room and change everything. +I am going to have some of those funny little patent shoes, and silk +stockings--and, oh, well, all sorts of things you wouldn't understand +about. And do try and cheer up before I get back, please, Philip. Twelve +months ago you would have thought all this Paradise. Oh, I can't stop a +moment longer!" she wound up, throwing away the cigarette she had taken +from the box and lit. "I'm off now. And, Philip, don't you dare to go out +of these rooms until I come back!" + +She turned towards the door--she was half-way there, in fact--when they +were both aware of a ring at the bell. She stopped short and looked +around enquiringly. + +"Who's that?" she whispered. + +Philip glanced at the clock. It was too early for Elizabeth. + +"No idea," he answered. "Come in." + +The door opened and closed. Philip sat as though turned to stone. +Beatrice remained in the middle of the room, her fingers clasping the +back of a chair. Mr. Dane, hat in hand, had entered. + +"Good morning, Miss Wenderley!" he said. "Good morning, Mr. Ware!" + +Philip said nothing. He had a horrible feeling that this was some trap. +Beatrice at first could only stare at the unexpected visitor. His sudden +appearance had disconcerted her. + +"I thought you were in Chicago, Mr. Dane!" she exclaimed at last. + +"My plans were altered at the last moment," he told her. "No, I won't sit +down, thanks," he added, waving away the chair towards which Philip had +pointed. "As a matter of fact, I haven't been out of New York. I decided +to wait and hear your news, Miss Wenderley." + +"Well, you're going to be disappointed, then," she said bluntly. "I +haven't any." + +Mr. Dane was politely incredulous. He was also a little stern. + +"You mean," he protested, "that you cannot identify this gentleman--that +you don't recognise him as Mr. Douglas Romilly?" + +"I cannot identify him," she repeated. "He is not Mr. Douglas Romilly." + +"I have brought you all this way, then, to confront you with a stranger?" + +"Absolutely," she insisted. "It wasn't my fault. I didn't want to come." + +Mr. Dane's expression suddenly changed. His hard knuckles were pressed +upon the table, he leaned forward towards her. Even his tone was altered. +His blandness had all vanished, his grey eyes were as hard as steel. + +"A stranger!" he exclaimed derisively. "Yet you come here to his rooms +early in the evening, you stay here, you go to the theatre with him the +same night, you go on to supper at Churchill's and stay there till three +o'clock in the morning, you are here with him again at nine o'clock--at +breakfast time. A stranger, Miss Wenderley? Think again! A story like +this might do for Scotland Yard. It won't do for us out here." + +She knew at once that she had fallen into a trap, but she was not wholly +dismayed. The position was one which they had half anticipated. She told +herself that he was bluffing, that it was simply the outburst of a +disappointed man. On the whole, she behaved extraordinarily well. + +"You brought me out here," she said, "to confront me with this man--to +identify him, if I could, as Mr. Douglas Romilly. Well, he isn't Mr. +Douglas Romilly, and that's all there is about it. As to my going out +with him last evening, I can't see that that's any concern of any one. He +was kind to me, cheered me up when he saw that I was disappointed; I told +him my whole story and that I didn't know a soul in New York, and we +became friends. That's all there is about it." + +"That so?" the detective observed, with quiet sarcasm. "You seem to have +a knack of making friends pretty easily, Miss Wenderley." + +"It is not your business if I have," she snapped. + +"Well, we'll pass that, then," he conceded. "I haven't quite finished +with you yet, though. There are just one or two more points I am going to +put before you--and this gentleman who is not Mr. Douglas Romilly," he +added, with a little bow to Philip. "The first is this. There is one fact +which we can all three take for granted, because I know it--I can prove +it a hundred times over--and you both know it; and that is that the Mr. +Merton Ware of to-day travelled from Liverpool on the _Elletania_ as Mr. +Douglas Romilly, occupied a room at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel as Mr. +Douglas Romilly, and absconded from there, leaving his luggage and his +identity behind him, to blossom out in an attic of the Monmouth tenement +house as Mr. Merton Ware, a young writer of plays. Now I don't think," +Mr. Dane went on, leaning a little further over the table, "that the Mr. +Douglas Romilly who has disappeared was ever capable of writing a play. I +don't think he was a man of talent at all. I don't think he could have +written, for instance, 'The House of Shams.' Let us, however, leave the +subject of Douglas Romilly for a moment. Let us go a little further +back--to Detton Magna, let us say. Curiously enough, there was another +young man who disappeared from that little Derbyshire village about the +same time, who has never been heard of since. His name, too, was Romilly. +I gathered, during the course of my recent enquiries, that he was a poor +relation, a cousin of Mr. Douglas Romilly." + +"He was drowned in the canal," Beatrice faltered. "His body has been +found." + +"A body has been found," Mr. Dane corrected, "but it was in an +unrecognisable state. It has been presumed to be the body of Philip +Romilly, the poor relation, a starving young art teacher in London +with literary aspirations--but I hold that that presumption is a mistake. +I believe," the detective went on, his eyes fastened upon Philip, his +voice a little raised, "that it was the body of Douglas Romilly, the shoe +manufacturer, which was fished out from the canal, and that you, sir, are +Mr. Philip Romilly, late art-school teacher of Kensington, who murdered +Douglas Romilly on the banks of the canal, stole his money and +pocketbook, assumed his identity in Liverpool and on the _Elletania_, and +became what you are now--Mr. Merton Ware." + +Philip threw away the cigarette which he had been smoking, and, leaning +over the box, carefully selected another. He tapped it against the table +and lit it. + +"Mr. Dane," he said coolly, "I shall always be grateful to you for your +visit this morning, for you have given me what is the most difficult +thing in the whole world to stumble up against--an excellent idea for a +new play. Apart from that, you seem, for so intelligent a man, to have +wasted a good deal of your time and to have come, what we should call in +English, a cropper. I will take you into my confidence so far as to admit +that I am not particularly anxious to disclose my private history, but if +ever the necessity should arise I shall do so without hesitation. Until +that time comes, you must forgive me if I choose to preserve a certain +reticence as to my antecedents." + +Mr. Dane, in the moment's breathless silence which followed, acknowledged +to himself the perpetration of a rare mistake. He had selected Philip to +bear the brunt of his attack, believing him to be possessed of the weaker +nerve. Beatrice, who at the end of his last speech had sunk into a chair, +white and terrified, an easy victim, had rallied now, inspired by +Philip's composure. + +"You deny, then, that you are Mr. Philip Romilly?" the detective asked. + +"I never heard of the fellow in my life," Philip replied pleasantly, "but +don't go, Mr. Dane. You can't imagine how interesting this is to me. You +have sent me a most charming acquaintance," he added, bowing to Beatrice, +"and you have provided me with what I can assure you is almost +pathetically scarce in these days--a new and very dramatic idea. Take a +seat, won't you, and chat with us a little longer? Tell us how you came +to think of all this? I have always held that the workings of a +criminologist's brain must be one of the most interesting studies in +life." + +Mr. Dane smiled enigmatically. + +"Ah!" he protested, "you mustn't ask me to disclose all my secrets." + +"You wouldn't care to tell us a little about your future intentions?" +Philip enquired. + +Mr. Dane shook his head. + +"It is very kind of you, Mr. Merton Ware," he confessed, "to let me down +so gently. We all make mistakes, of course. As to my future intentions, +well, I am not quite sure about them. You see, this isn't really my job +at all. It isn't up to me to hunt out English criminals, so long as they +behave themselves in this city. If an extradition order or anything of +that sort came my way, it would, of course, be different." + +"Why not lay this interesting theory of yours before the authorities at +Scotland Yard?" Philip suggested. "I am sure they would listen with +immense interest to any report from you." + +"That's some idea, certainly," the detective admitted, taking up his hat +from the table. "For the present I'll wish you both good morning--or +shall I say an revoir?" + +"We may look for the pleasure of another visit from you, then?" Philip +enquired politely. + +The detective faced them from the doorway. + +"Sir," he said to Philip, "I admire your nerve, and I admire the nerve of +your old sweetheart, Miss Wenderley. I am afraid I cannot promise you, +however, that this will be my last visit." + +The door closed behind him. They heard the shrill summons of the bell, +the arrival of the lift, the clanging of the iron gate, and its +subsequent descent. Then Beatrice turned her head. Philip was still +smoking serenely, standing with his back to the mantelpiece, his hands in +his pockets. She rose and threw her arms around him. + +"Philip!" she cried. "Why, you are wonderful! You are marvellous! You +make me ashamed. It was only for a moment that I lost my nerve, and you +saved us. Oh, what idiots we were! Of course he meant to watch--that's +why he told me he was going to Chicago. The beast!" + +"He seems to have got hold of the idea all right, doesn't he?" Philip +muttered. + +"Pooh!" she exclaimed encouragingly. "I know a little about the law--so +do you. He hasn't any proof--he never can have any proof. No one will +ever be able to swear that the body which they picked out of the canal +was the body of Douglas Romilly. There wasn't a soul who saw you do it. I +am the only person in the world who could supply the motive, and I--I +shall never be any use to them. Don't you see, Philip?... I shall be your +wife! A wife can't give evidence against her husband! You'll be safe, +dear--quite safe." + +He withdrew a little from her embrace. + +"Beatrice," he reminded her, "there is another tragedy beyond the one +with which Dane threatens us. I do not wish to marry you." + +She suddenly blazed up. + +"Because--?" + +"Not because of any reason in the world," he interrupted, "except that I +love Elizabeth Dalstan." + +"Does she want to marry you?" + +He was suddenly an altered person. Some of his confidence seemed to +desert him. He shook his head doubtfully. + +"I am not sure. Sometimes I think that she would. Sometimes I fancy that +it is only a great kindness of heart, an immense sympathy, a kind of +protective sympathy, which has made her so good to me." + +She looked at herself steadily for a moment in the mirror. Then she +pulled down her veil. + +"Philip," she said, "we find out the truth when we are up against things +like this. I used to think I could live alone. I can't. Whatever you may +think of me, I was fond of Douglas. It wasn't only for the sake of the +money and the comfort. He was kind, and in his way he understood. And +then, you know, misery didn't agree with you. You were often, even in +those few hours we spent together, very hard and cold. Anyway," she +added, with a little tightening of the lips, "I am going to get my money +now. No one can stop that. You stay here and think it over. It would be +better to marry me, Philip, and be safe, than to have the fear of that +man Dane always before you. And wait--wait till you see me when I come +back!" she went on, her spirits rapidly rising as she moved towards the +door. "You'll change your mind then, Philip. You were always so +impressionable, weren't you? A little touch of colour, the perfume of +flowers, a single soft word spoken at the right moment--anything that +took your fancy made such a difference. Well--just wait till I come +back!" + +She closed the door. Philip heard her descend in the lift. He moved to +the window and watched for her on the pavement. She appeared there in a +moment or two and waited whilst the boy whistled for a taxicab, her face +expectantly upraised, one hand resting lightly on her bosom, just over +the spot where her pocketbook lay. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +Philip was still gazing into vacancy and smoking cigarettes when +Elizabeth arrived. She seemed conscious at once of the disturbed +atmosphere. His hands, which she held firmly in hers, were as cold as +ice. + +"Is that girl going to be troublesome?" she demanded anxiously. + +"Not in the way we feared," he replied. "All the same, the plot has +thickened so far as I am concerned. That fellow Dane has been here." + +"Go on," she begged. + +"He laid a trap for us, and we fell into it like the veriest simpletons. +He let Beatrice think that he had gone to Chicago. Of course, he did +nothing of the sort. He turned her loose to come to me, and he had us +watched. He knew that we spent last evening together as old friends. She +was here in my rooms this morning when he arrived." + +"Oh, Philip, Philip!" she murmured. "Well, what does he suspect?" + +"The truth! He accused me to my face of being Philip Romilly. Beatrice +did her best but, you see, the position was a little absurd. She denied +strenuously that she had ever seen me before, that I was anything but a +stranger to her. In the face of last evening, and his finding her here +this morning, it didn't sound convincing." + +"What is Dane going to do?" + +"Heaven knows! It isn't his affair, really. If there were any charge +against me--well, you see, there'd have to be an extradition order. I +should think he will probably lay the facts before Scotland Yard and let +them do what they choose." + +She made him sit down and drew a low chair herself to his side. She held +his hand in hers. + +"Philip," she said soothingly, "they can't possibly prove anything." + +"They can prove," he pointed out, "that I was in Detton Magna that +afternoon. I don't think any one except Beatrice saw me start along the +canal path, but they can prove that I knew all about Douglas Romilly's +disappearance, because I travelled to America under his name and with his +ticket, and deliberately personated him." + +"They can prove all that," she agreed, "but they can't prove the crime +itself. Beatrice is the only person who could do that." + +"She proposes to marry me," he announced grimly. "That would prevent her +giving evidence at all." + +Elizabeth suddenly threw her arms around his neck and held her cheek to +his. + +"She shan't marry you!" she declared. "I want you myself!" + +"Elizabeth!" + +"Yes, I have made up my mind, Philip. It is no use. The other things are +fascinating and splendid in their way, but they don't count, they don't +last. They're tinsel, dear, and I don't want tinsel--I want the gold. +We'll face this bravely, wherever it leads, however far, however deep +down, and then we'll start again." + +"You know what this means, Elizabeth?" he faltered. "That man Power--" + +She brushed the thought away. + +"I know. He'll close the theatre. He'll do all he can to harm us. That +doesn't matter. The play is ours. That's worth a fortune. And the new one +coming--why, it's wonderful, Philip. We don't want wealth. Your brain and +my art can win us all that we desire in life. We shall have something +sweeter than anything which Sylvanus Power's millions could buy. We shall +have our love--your love for me, dear, and mine for you." + +He felt her tears upon his cheek, her lips pressed to his. He held her +there, but although his heart was beating with renewed hope, he said +nothing for a time. When she stepped back to look at his face, however, +the change was already there. + +"You are glad, Philip!" she cried. "You are happy--I can see it! You +didn't ever care really for that girl, did you?" + +He almost laughed. + +"Not like this!" he answered confidently. "I never even for a single +moment pretended to care in a great way. We were just companions in +misfortune. The madness that came over me that day had been growing in my +brain for years. I hated Douglas Romilly. I had every reason to hate him. +And then, after all he had robbed me of--my one companion--" + +She stopped him. + +"I know--I know," she murmured. "You need never try to explain anything +to me. I know everything, I understand, I sympathise." + +A revulsion of feeling had suddenly chilled him. He held her to him none +the less tightly but there was a ring of despair in his tone. + +"Elizabeth, think what it may mean!" he muttered. "How can I drag you +through it all? A trial, perhaps, the suspense, and all the time that +guilty knowledge behind--yours and mine!" + +"Pooh!" she exclaimed lightly. "I am not a sentimentalist. I am a woman +in love." + +"But, Elizabeth, I am guilty!" he groaned. "That's the horror of it! I'd +take the risk if I were an innocent man--I'd risk everything. But I am +afraid to stand there and know that every word they say against me will +be true, and every word of the men who speak in my defence will be false. +Can't you realise the black, abominable horror of it? I couldn't drag you +into such a plight, Elizabeth! I was weak to think of it. I couldn't!" + +"You'll drag me nowhere," she answered, holding him tightly. "Where I go +my feet will lead me, and my love for you. You can't help that. We'll +play the game--play it magnificently, Philip. My faith in you will count +for something." + +"But, dear," he protested, "don't you see? If the case ever comes into +court, even if I get off, every one will know that it is through a +technicality. The evidence is too strong. Half the world at least will +believe me guilty." + +"It shan't come into court," she proclaimed confidently. "I shall talk to +Dane. I have some influence with the police authorities here. I shall +point out how ridiculous it all is. What's the use of formulating a +charge that they can never, never prove?" + +"Unless," he reminded her hesitatingly, "Beatrice--" + +"Beatrice! You're not afraid of her?" + +"I am afraid of no one or anything," he declared, "when you are here! But +Beatrice has been behaving strangely ever since she arrived. She has a +sudden fancy for remembering that in a sense we were once engaged." + +"Beatrice," Elizabeth announced, "must be satisfied with her twenty +thousand pounds. I know what you are trying to say--she wants you. She +shan't have you, Philip! We'll find her some one else. We'll be kind to +her--I don't mind that. Very soon we'll find her plenty of friends. But +as for you, Philip--well, she just shan't have you, and that's all there +is about it." + +He took her suddenly into his arms. In that moment he was the lover she +had craved for--strong, passionate, and reckless. + +"All the love that my heart has ever known," he cried, "is yours, +Elizabeth! Every thought and every hope is yours. You are my life. You +saved me--you made me what I am. The play is yours, my brain is yours, +there isn't a thought or a dream or a wish that isn't for you--of +you--yours!" + +He kissed her as he had never dreamed of kissing any woman. It was the +one supreme moment of their life and their love. Time passed +uncounted.... + +Then interruption came, suddenly and tragically. Without knock or ring, +the door was flung open and slammed again. Beatrice stood there, still in +her shabby clothes, her veil pushed back, gloveless and breathless. Her +clenched hand flew out towards Philip as though she would have struck +him. + +"You liar!" she shrieked. "You've had my money! You've spent it! You've +stolen it! Thief! Murderer!" + +She paused, struggling for breath, tore her hat from her head and threw +it on the table. Her face was like the face of a virago, her eyes blazed, +her cheeks were as pale as death save for one hectic spot of colour. + +"You are talking nonsense, Beatrice," he expostulated. + +"Don't lie to me!" she shouted. "You can lie in the dock when you stand +there and tell them you never murdered Douglas Romilly! That makes you +cringe, doesn't it? I don't want to make a scene, but the woman you're in +love with had better hear what I have to say. Are you going to give me +back my money, Philip?" + +"As I stand here," he declared solemnly, "I have not touched that money +or been near the bank where it was deposited. I swear it. Every penny I +have spent since I moved into this apartment, I have spent from my +earnings. My own royalties come to over a hundred pounds a week--more +than sufficient to keep me in luxury. I never meant to touch that +money. I have not touched it." + +His words carried conviction with them. She stood there for several +seconds, absolutely rigid, her eyes growing larger and rounder, her lips +a little parted. Bewilderment was now struggling with her passion. + +"Who in God's name, then," she asked hoarsely, "could have known about +the money and forged his signature! I tell you that I've seen it with my +own eyes, a few minutes ago, in the bank. They showed me into a little +cupboard, a place without any roof, and laid it there before me on the +desk--his cheque and signature for the whole amount." + +Philip looked at her earnestly, oppressed by a sense of coming trouble. + +"Beatrice," he said, "I wouldn't deceive you. I should be a fool to try, +shouldn't I? I can only repeat what I have said. I have never been near +the bank. I have never touched that money." + +She shivered a little where she stood. It was obvious that she was +convinced, but her sense of personal injustice remained unabated. + +"Then there is some one else," she declared, "who knows everything--some +one else, my man," she added, leaning across the table and shaking her +head with a sudden fierceness, "who can step into the witness box and +tell the truth about you. You must find out who it is. You must find out +who has stolen that money and get it back. I tell you I won't have +everything snatched away from me like this!" she cried, her voice +breaking hysterically, "I won't be robbed of life and happiness and +everything that counts! I want my money. Are you going to get it back for +me?" + +"Beatrice, don't be absurd," he protested. "You know very well that I +can't do that. I am not in a position to go about making enquiries. I +shall be watched from now, day and night, if nothing worse happens. A +single step on my part in that direction would mean disaster." + +"Then take me straight to the town hall, or the registry office, or +wherever you go here, and marry me," she demanded. "A hundred pounds a +week royalty, eh? Well, that's good enough. I'll marry you, Philip--do +you hear?--at once. That'll save your skin if it won't get me back my +twenty thousand pounds. You needn't flatter yourself overmuch, either. +I'd rather have had Douglas. He's more of a man than you, after all. You +are too self-conscious. You think about yourself too much. You're too +intellectual, too. I don't want those things. I want to live! Any way, +you've got to marry me--to-day. Now give me some money, do you hear?" + +He took out his pocketbook and threw it towards her. She smoothed out the +wad of notes which it contained and counted them with glistening eyes. + +"Well, there's enough here for a start," she decided, slipping them into +her bosom. "No one shall rob me of these before I get to the shops. +Better come with me, Philip. I'm not going to leave you alone with her." + +Elizabeth would have intervened, but Philip laid his hand upon her arm. + +"Beatrice," he said sternly, "you are a little beside yourself. Listen. I +don't understand what has happened. I must think about it. Apparently +that twenty thousand pounds has gone, but so far as regards money I +recognise your claim. You shall have half my earnings. I'll write more. +I'll make it up somehow. But for the rest, this morning has cleared +away many misunderstandings. Let this be the last word. Miss Dalstan has +promised to be my wife. She is the only woman I could ever love." + +"Then you'll have to marry me without loving me," Beatrice declared +thickly. "I won't be left alone in this beastly city! I want some one to +take care of me. I am getting frightened. It's uncanny--horrible! I--oh! +I am so miserable--so miserable!" + +She sank into a chair and fell forward across the table, sobbing +hysterically. + +"I hate every one!" she moaned. "Philip, why can't you be kind to me! +Why doesn't some one care!" + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +And, after all, nothing happened. Dane's barely veiled threats seemed to +vanish like the man himself into thin air. Beatrice, after the breakdown +of her one passionate outburst, had become wonderfully meek and +tractable. Sylvanus Power, who had received from Elizabeth the message +for which he had waited, showed no sign either of disappointment or +anger. After the storm which had seemed to be breaking in upon him from +every quarter, the days which followed possessed for Philip almost the +calm of an Indian summer. He had found something in life at last stronger +than his turbulent fears. His whole nature was engrossed by one great +atmosphere of deep and wonderful affection. He spent a part of every day +with Elizabeth, and the remainder of his time was completely engrossed by +the work over which she, too, the presiding genius, pored eagerly. +Together they humoured many of Beatrice's whims, treating her very much +as an unexpected protegée, a position with which she seemed entirely +content. She made friends with the utmost facility. She wore new clothes +with frank and obvious joy. She preened herself before the looking-glass +of life, developed a capacity for living and enjoying herself which, +under the circumstances, was nothing less than remarkable. + +And then came the climax of Philip's new-found happiness. His earnest +protests had long since been overruled, and certainly no one could have +accused him of posing for a single moment as the reluctant bridegroom. +The happiness which shone from their two faces seemed to brighten the +strangely unecclesiastical looking apartment, in which a cheerful and +exceedingly pleasant looking American divine completed the formalities of +their marriage. It was a queer little company who hurried back to +Elizabeth's room for tea--Elizabeth and Philip themselves, and Martha +Grimes and Beatrice sharing the attentions of Noel Bridges. For an +event of such stupendous importance, it was amazing how perfectly +matter-of-fact the two persons chiefly concerned were. There was only one +moment, just before they started for the theatre, when Elizabeth betrayed +the slightest signs of uneasiness. + +"I sent a telegram, Philip," she said, "to Sylvanus Power. I thought I +had better. This is his answer." + +Philip read the few typewritten words on the little slip of paper: + +"You will hear from me within twenty-four hours." + +Philip frowned a little as he handed it back. It was dated from +Washington. + +"I think," Elizabeth faltered, "he might have sent his good wishes, at +any rate." + +Philip laughed confidently. + +"We have nothing to fear," he declared confidently, "from Sylvanus +Power." + +"Nor from any one else in the world," Elizabeth murmured fervently. + +Then followed the wonderful evening. Philip found Beatrice alone in the +stage box when he returned from taking Elizabeth to her dressing-room. + +"Where's Martha?" he asked. + +"Faithless," Beatrice replied. "She is in the stalls down there with a +young man from the box office. She said you'd understand." + +"A serious affair?" Philip ventured. + +Beatrice nodded. + +"They are engaged. I had tea with them yesterday." + +"We shall have to do something for you, Beatrice, soon," he remarked +cheerfully. + +A very rare gravity settled for a moment upon her face. + +"I wonder, Philip," she said simply. "I thought, a little time ago, it +would be easy enough to care for the right sort of person. Perhaps I am +not really quite so rotten as I thought I was. Here comes Elizabeth. +Let's watch her." + +They both leaned a little forward in the box, Philip in a state of +beatific wonder, which turned soon to amazement when, at Elizabeth's +first appearance, the house suddenly rose, and a torrent of applause +broke out from the floor to the ceiling. Elizabeth for a moment seemed +dumbfounded. The fact that the news of what had happened that afternoon +could so soon have become public property had not occurred to either her +or Philip. Then a sudden smile of comprehension broke across her face. +With understanding, however, came a momentary embarrassment. She looked a +little pathetically at the great audience, then laughed and glanced at +Philip, seated now well back in the box. Many of them followed her gaze, +and the applause broke out again. Then there was silence. She paused +before she spoke the first words of her part. + +"Thank you so much," she said quietly. + +It was a queer little episode. Beatrice gripped Philip's hand as she drew +her chair back to his. There were tears in her eyes. + +"How they love her, these people! And fancy their knowing about it, +Philip, already! You ought to have shown yourself as the happy +bridegroom. They were all looking up here. I wonder why men are so shy. +I'm glad I have my new frock on.... Fancy being married only a few hours +ago! Tell me how you are feeling, can't you, Philip? You sit there +looking like a sphinx. You are happy, aren't you?" + +"Happier, I think, than any man has a right to be," he answered, his eyes +watching Elizabeth's every movement. + +As the play proceeded, his silence only deepened. He went behind at the +end of each act and spent a few stolen moments with Elizabeth. Life was a +marvellous thing, indeed. Every pulse and nerve in his body was tingling +with happiness. And yet, as he lingered for a moment in the vestibule of +the theatre, before going back to his box at the commencement of the last +act, he felt once more that terrible wave of depression, the ghostly +uprising of his old terrors even in this supreme moment. He looked down +from the panorama of flaring sky-signs into the faces of the passers-by +along the crowded pavement. He had a sudden fancy that Dane was there, +watching. His heart beat fiercely as he stood, almost transfixed, +scanning eagerly every strange face. Then the bell rang behind him. He +set his teeth and turned away. In less than half an hour the play would +be over. They would be on their way home. + +He found the box door open and the box itself, to his surprise, empty. +There was no sign anywhere of Beatrice. He waited for a little time. Then +he rang the bell for the attendant but could hear no news of her. His +uneasiness increased as the curtain at last fell and she had not +returned. He hurried round to the back, but Elizabeth, when he told her, +only smiled. + +"Why, there's nothing to worry about, dear," she said. "Beatrice can take +care of herself. Perhaps she thought it more tactful to hurry on home +tonight. She is really just as kind-hearted as she can be, you know, +Philip, underneath all that pent-up, passionate desire for just a small +share of the good things of life. She has wasted so much of herself in +longings. Poor child! I sometimes wonder that she is as level-headed as +she seems to be. Now I am ready." + +They passed down the corridor amidst a little chorus of good nights, and +stepped into the automobile which was waiting. As it glided off she +suddenly came closer to him. + +"Philip," she whispered, "it's true, isn't it? Put your arms around me. +You are driving me home--say it's true!" + +Elizabeth sat up presently, a little dazed. Her fingers were still +gripping Philip's almost fiercely. The automobile had stopped. + +"I haven't the least idea where we are," she murmured. + +"And I forgot to tell you," he laughed, as he helped her out. "I took the +suite below mine by the week. There are two or three rooms, and an +extra one for Beatrice. Of course, it's small, but then with this London +idea before us--" + +"Such extravagance!" she interrupted. "Your own rooms would have done +quite nicely, only it is a luxury to have a place for Phoebe. I hope +Beatrice won't have gone to bed." + +"I am sure she won't," he replied. "She has done all the arranging for +me--she and Phoebe together." + +They crossed the pavement and entered the lift. The attendant grinned +broadly as he stopped at the eighth floor, and held out his hand for the +tip for which Philip had been fumbling. The door of the suite was opened +before they could reach the bell. Elizabeth's maid, Phoebe, came forward +to take her mistress' cloak, and the floor valet was there to relieve +Philip of his overcoat. A waiter was hovering in the background. + +"Supper is served in the dining room, sir," he announced. "Shall I open +the wine?" + +Philip nodded and showed Elizabeth over the little flat, finally ushering +her into the small, round dining room. + +"It's perfectly delightful," she declared, "but we don't need nearly so +much room, Philip. What a dear little dining table and what a delicious +supper! Everything I like best in the world, from pâté de foie gras to +cold asparagus. You are a dear." + +The waiter disappeared with a little bow. They were alone at last. She +held his hands tightly. She was trembling. The forced composure of the +last few minutes seemed to have left her. + +"I am silly," she faltered, "but the servants and everything--they won't +come back, will they?" + +He laughed as he patted her hand. + +"We shan't see another soul, dear," he assured her. + +She laid her cheek against his. + +"How hot your face feels," she exclaimed. "Throw open the window, do. I +shan't feel it." + +He obeyed her at once. The roar of the city, all its harshness muffled, +came to them in a sombre, almost melodious undernote. She rested her +hands upon his shoulder. + +"What children we are!" she murmured. "Now it's you who are trembling! +Sit down, please. You've been so brave these last few days." + +"It was just for a moment," he told her. "It seems too wonderful. I had a +sudden impulse of terror lest it should all be snatched away." + +She laughed easily. + +"I don't think there's any fear of that, dear," she said. "Perhaps--" + +There was a little knock at the door. Philip, who had been holding +Elizabeth's chair, stood as though transfixed. Elizabeth gripped at the +side of the table. It was some few seconds before either of them +spoke. + +"It's perhaps--Beatrice," Elizabeth faltered. + +The knock was repeated. Philip drew a little breath. + +"Come in," he invited. + +The door opened slowly towards them and closed again. It was Mr. Dane who +had entered. From outside they caught a momentary glimpse of another +man, waiting. Mr. Dane took off his hat. For a man with so expressionless +a countenance, he was looking considerably perturbed. + +"Miss Dalstan," he said, "I am very sorry, believe me, to intrude. I only +heard of your marriage an hour ago. I wish I could have prevented it." + +"Prevented it?" Elizabeth repeated. "What do you mean?" + +"I think that Mr. Philip Romilly could explain," Dane continued, turning +towards Philip. "I am sorry, but I have received an imperative cable from +Scotland Yard, and it is my duty to arrest you, Philip Romilly, and to +hold you, pending the arrival of a special police mission from England. I +am bound to take note of anything you may say, so I beg of you not to ask +me any particulars as to the charge." + +The colour slowly faded from Elizabeth's cheeks. She had risen to her +feet and was gripping the mantelpiece for support. Philip, however, was +perfectly calm. He poured out a glass of water and held it to her lips. + +"Drink this, dear," he begged, "and don't be alarmed. It sounds very +terrible, but believe me there is nothing to be feared." + +He swung suddenly round to Dane. His voice shook with passion. + +"You've kept me under observation," he cried, "all this time. I haven't +attempted to escape. I haven't moved from New York. I haven't the +slightest intention of doing so until this thing is cleared up. Can't you +take my parole? Can't you leave me alone until they come from England?" + +Mr. Dane shook his head slowly. He was a hard man, but there was an +unaccustomed look of distress in his face. + +"Sorry, Mr. Romilly," he said regretfully. "I did suggest something of +the sort, but they wouldn't hear of it at headquarters. If we let you +slip through our fingers, we should never hear the last of it from +London." + +Then there came another and a still more unexpected interruption. From +outside they heard Beatrice's voice raised in excitement. Mr. Dane stood +on one side as the door was thrown open. Beatrice suddenly flung herself +into the room, dragging after her a man who was almost breathless. + +"I say, Beatrice, steady!" the latter began good-naturedly. + +There followed the most wonderful silence in the world, a silence which +was filled with throbbing, indescribable emotions, a silence which meant +something different for every one of them. Beatrice, gripping her captive +by the wrist, was looking around, striving to understand. Elizabeth was +filled with blank wonder. Mr. Dane was puzzled. But Philip, who a moment +before had seemed perfectly composed, was the one who seemed torn by +indescribable, by horrible emotions. He was livid almost to the lips. His +hands were stretched out as though to keep from him some awful and +ghastly vision. His eyes, filled with the anguished light of supreme +terror, were fastened upon the newcomer. His lips shook as he tried to +speak. + +"Take him away!" he shrieked. "Oh, my God!" + +Beatrice, more coherent than any of them, scoffed at him. + +"Don't be a fool!" she cried. "Take him away, indeed! He's the most +wonderful thing that ever happened. He's the one man in life you want to +see! So you've come for him, eh?" she went on, turning almost like a +wild-cat on Dane. "You beast! You chose to-night, did you? Now get on +with it, then, and I'll give you the surprise of your life. What are you +here for?" + +"I am here to arrest that man, Philip Romilly, for the murder of his +cousin, Douglas Romilly, Miss Wenderley," Dane announced gravely. "I am +sorry." + +Beatrice threw her head back and laughed hysterically. + +"You'll never write a play like it, Philip!" she exclaimed. "There never +was anything like it before. Now, Mr. Dane, what is it you say in America +when you want to introduce anybody?--shake hands with Mr. Douglas +Romilly--that's it. Shake hands with the dead man here and then get on +with your arresting. He must be dead if you say so, but he doesn't look +it, does he?" + +Philip's face had become a more natural colour. His eyes had never left +the other man's. He swayed a little on his feet and his voice seemed to +him to come from a long way off. + +"Douglas! It isn't you, Douglas! ... It isn't you really?" + +"I wish you'd all leave off staring at me as though I were a ghost," the +other man answered, almost pettishly. "I'm Douglas Romilly, right enough. +You needn't look in such a blue funk, Philip," he went on, his fingers +mechanically rearranging his collar and tie, which Beatrice had +disarranged. "I served you a beastly trick and you went for me. I should +have done the same if I'd been in your place. On the other hand, I rather +turned the tables on you by keeping quiet. Perhaps it's up to me to +explain." + +Elizabeth, feeling her way by the mantelpiece, came to Philip's side. His +arm supported her, holding her as though in a vise. + +"Is that your cousin?" she whispered hoarsely. "Is that Douglas Romilly? +Is he alive, after all?" + +Philip had no words, but his face spoke for him. Then they both turned to +listen. The newcomer had dragged a chair towards him and was leaning over +the back of it. He addressed Philip. + +"We met, as you know, on the canal path that beastly afternoon," he +began. "I was jolly well ashamed of myself for having made love to +Beatrice, and all the rest of it, and you were mad with rage. We had a +sort of tussle and you threw me into the canal. It was a nasty dark spot +just underneath the bridge. I expect I was stunned for a moment, +but it was only for a moment. I came to long before I choked, and when I +remembered your grip upon my throat, I decided I was safer where I was. I +could swim like a duck, you know, and though it was filthy water I took a +long dive. When I came up again--gad, what disgusting water it was!--you +were tearing off like a creature possessed. That's the true history of +our little fracas." + +"But afterwards?" Philip asked wonderingly. "What happened afterwards?" + +"You just tell them all about it," Beatrice ordered him sternly. "Go on, +Douglas." + +"Well, you see," Douglas Romilly continued, "I was just going to scramble +out on to the bank when my brain began to work, and I swam slowly along +instead. You see, just then I was in a devil of a mess. I'd spent a lot +of money, and though I'd kept the credit of the firm good, I knew that +the business was bust, and the one thing I was anxious about was to get +off to America without being stopped. I've explained this all to +Beatrice, and why I didn't send for her before. Anyway, I swam along +until I met with an old barge. I climbed in and got two of the choicest +blackguards you ever saw to let me spend an hour or two in their filthy +cabin and to keep their mouths closed about it. Fortunately, I had +another pocketbook, with sufficient to satisfy them and keep me going. +Then I borrowed some clothes and came out to America, steerage. I had no +difficulty in getting my money, as I had a couple of pals in Lynn whom I +had fixed things up with before I started. They came and identified me as +Merton Ware, and we all three started in business together as the Ford +Boot and Shoe Manufacturing Company at Lynn in Massachusetts. +Incidentally, we've done all right. Heaps more, of course, but that's the +pith of it. As for the body that was fished out of the canal, if you make +enquiries, you'll find there was a tramp missing, a month or so before." + +Elizabeth had begun to sob quietly. Philip, who was holding her tenderly +in his arms, whispered unheard things into her ears. It was Beatrice who +remained in charge of the situation. + +"So now, Mr. Dane," she jeered, "what about your little errand? I hope +this will be a lesson to you not to come meddling in other people's +affairs." + +Dane turned to the man who had brought this bombshell into their midst. + +"Do you swear that you are Douglas Romilly?" he asked. + +"I not only swear it but I can prove it, if you'll come along with me to +Murray's," he answered. "My partner's there, waiting supper, and another +man who has known me all his life." + +The detective glanced interrogatively towards Philip. + +"That is my cousin, Douglas Romilly," the latter pronounced. + +Dane took up his hat. + +"Mr. Merton Ware," he said, "or Mr. Philip Romilly, whichever you may in +future elect to call yourself, you may not believe it, but the end of +this affairs is an immense relief to me. I offer you my heartiest +congratulations. You need fear no more annoyance. Good night!" + +He passed out. They heard the sound of his footsteps and his companion's, +as they crossed the corridor and rang for the lift. Speech was a little +difficult. It was still Beatrice who imposed conviction upon them. + +"I was seated in the box," she explained, "when Philip went round to see +you, Elizabeth. I had looking down into the stalls to find Martha, and +all of a sudden I saw Douglas there. He, too, was staring at me. Of +course, I thought it was some extraordinary likeness, but, whilst I was +clutching at the curtain, he stood up and waved his hand. You should have +seen me tear from the box! You know, ever since they showed me that +signature at the bank I have had a queer idea at the back of my head. +Luckily for him," she went, patting his arm, "he sent home for me a +fortnight ago, and sent a draft for my expenses out. You won't mind, will +you, if I take him off now?" she concluded, turning to Elizabeth. "They +are waiting supper for us, but I wasn't going to let Philip--" + +"Did you know that Dane was going to be here?" Elizabeth asked. + +"Not an idea," Beatrice declared. "I simply dragged Douglas along here, +as soon as we'd talked things out, because I knew that it would be the +one thing wanting to complete Philip's happiness. We'll leave you now. +Douglas will bring me back, and we are going to be married in a few +days." + +Philip held out his hand a little diffidently. + +"You wouldn't--" + +"My dear fellow," Douglas interrupted, grasping it, "wouldn't I! I'm +thundering sorry for all you've been through. I suppose I ought to have +let you know that I was still in the land of the living, but I was +waiting until things blew over in England. That's all right now, though," +he went on. "I've turned over a new leaf and I am making money--making +it after a style they don't understand in England. I am going to pay my +creditors twenty shillings in the pound before a couple of years have +gone, and do pretty well for Beatrice and myself as well. You wouldn't +care, I suppose," he added, as they stood there with locked hands, "to +offer us just a glass of wine before we start out? Beatrice has been +riddling me with questions and dragging me through the streets till I +scarcely know whether I am on my head or my heels." + +Philip emptied the contents of the champagne bottle into the glasses. +Never was wine poured out more gladly. + +"Douglas," he explained, "this is Miss Elizabeth Dalstan, whom you saw +act this evening. We were married this afternoon. You can understand, +can't you, just what your coming has meant for us?" + +Douglas shook Elizabeth by the hand. Then he held up his glass. + +"Here's the best of luck to you both!" he said heartily. "Very soon +Beatrice and I will ask you to wish us the same. Philip, old chap," he +added, as he set his glass down and without the slightest protest watched +it replenished, "that's a thundering good play of yours I've seen this +evening, but you'll never write one to beat this!" + +Soon Beatrice and Douglas also took their departure. Elizabeth held out +her arms almost as the door closed. The tear-stains were still on her +cheeks. Her lips quivered a little, but her voice was clear and sweet and +passionate. + +"Philip," she cried, "it's all over--it's all finished with--the dread, +the awful days! I am not going to be hysterical any more, and you--you +are just going to remember that we have everything we want in the world. +Sit down opposite to me, if you please, and fill my glass. I have only +one emotion left. I am hungry--desperately hungry. Move your chair nearer +so that I can reach your hand. There! Now you and I will drink our little +toast." + +It was an hour before they thought of leaving the table. A very perplexed +waiter brought them coffee and watched them light cigarettes. Then the +telephone bell rang. They both stared at the instrument. Philip would +have taken off the receiver, but Elizabeth held out her hand. + +"I have an idea," she said. "I believe it is from Sylvanus Power. Let me +answer it." + +She held the receiver to her ear and listened. + +"Yes?" she murmured. "Yes?... At what time?" + +Her face grew more puzzled. She listened for a moment longer. + +"But, Sylvanus," she expostulated, "what do you mean?... Sylvanus?... Mr. +Power?" + +The telephone had become a dumb thing. She replaced the receiver. + +"I don't understand," she told Philip. "All that he said was--'You will +receive my present at five o'clock this morning!'" + +"Does he think we are going to sit up for it?" Philip asked. + +"He is the strangest man," she sighed.... + + * * * * * + +After all, some queer fancy awoke Philip at a little before five that +morning and drew him to the window. He sat looking out over the still +sleeping city. All sound now was hushed. It was the brief breathing space +before the dawn. In the clear morning spring light, the buildings of the +city seemed to stand out with a new and marvellous distinctness. Now and +then from the harbour came the shriek of a siren. A few pale lights were +still burning along the river way. From one of the city clocks the hour +was slowly tolled. Philip counted the strokes--one, two, three, four, +five. Then, almost as he was preparing to leave his post, there came a +terrific roar. The window against which he leaned shook. Some of the +buildings in the distance trembled. One, with its familiar white cupola, +seemed for a moment to be lifted from the ground and then split through +by some unseen hand. The roar of the explosion was followed by the +crashing of falling masonry. Long fingers of fire suddenly leapt up into +the quiet, cool air. Fragments of masonry, a portion, even, of that +wonderful cupola, came crashing down into the street. He heard +Elizabeth's voice behind him, felt her fingers upon his shoulder. + +"What is it? Philip, what is it?" + +He pointed with steady finger. The truth seemed to come to him by +inspiration. + +"It is Sylvanus Power's message to you," he replied. "The theatre!" + +There were flames now, leaping up to the sky. Together they watched them +and listened to the shrieking of sirens and whistles as the fire engines +galloped by from every section of the city. There was a strange look in +Elizabeth's face as she watched the curling flames. + +"Philip," she whispered, "thank God! There it goes, all his great +offering to me! It's like the man and his motto--'A man may do what he +will with his own.' Only last night I felt as though I would give +anything in the world never to stand upon the stage of that theatre +again. He doesn't know it, Philip, but his is a precious gift." + +He passed his arm around her and drew her from the window. + +"'A man may do what he will with his own,'" he repeated. "Well, it isn't +such a bad motto. Sylvanus Power may destroy a million-dollar theatre +for a whim, but so far as you and I are concerned--" + +She sighed with content. + +"We do both need a holiday," she murmured. "Somewhere in Europe, I +think." + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Cinema Murder, by E. Phillips Oppenheim + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10371 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c1e4e9f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10371 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10371) diff --git a/old/10371-8.txt b/old/10371-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a58100a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10371-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9348 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cinema Murder, by E. Phillips Oppenheim + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Cinema Murder + +Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim + +Release Date: December 3, 2003 [EBook #10371] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CINEMA MURDER *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +THE CINEMA MURDER + +BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM + +1917 + + + + +BOOK I + + + +CHAPTER I + +With a somewhat prolonged grinding of the brakes and an unnecessary +amount of fuss in the way of letting off steam, the afternoon train from +London came to a standstill in the station at Detton Magna. An elderly +porter, putting on his coat as he came, issued, with the dogged aid of +one bound by custom to perform a hopeless mission, from the small, +redbrick lamp room. The station master, occupying a position of vantage +in front of the shed which enclosed the booking office, looked up and +down the lifeless row of closed and streaming windows, with an expectancy +dulled by daily disappointment, for the passengers who seldom alighted. +On this occasion no records were broken. A solitary young man stepped out +on to the wet and flinty platform, handed over the half of a third-class +return ticket from London, passed through the two open doors and +commenced to climb the long ascent which led into the town. + +He wore no overcoat, and for protection against the inclement weather +he was able only to turn up the collar of his well-worn blue serge coat. +The damp of a ceaselessly wet day seemed to have laid its cheerless +pall upon the whole exceedingly ugly landscape. The hedges, blackened +with smuts from the colliery on the other side of the slope, were +dripping also with raindrops. The road, flinty and light grey in colour, +was greasy with repellent-looking mud--there were puddles even in the +asphalt-covered pathway which he trod. On either side of him stretched +the shrunken, unpastoral-looking fields of an industrial neighbourhood. +The town-village which stretched up the hillside before him presented +scarcely a single redeeming feature. The small, grey stone houses, hard +and unadorned, were interrupted at intervals by rows of brand-new, +red-brick cottages. In the background were the tall chimneys of several +factories; on the left, a colliery shaft raised its smoke-blackened +finger to the lowering clouds. + +After his first glance around at these familiar and unlovely objects, +Philip Romilly walked with his head a little thrown back, his eyes lifted +as though with intent to the melancholy and watery skies. He was a young +man well above medium height, slim, almost inclined to be angular, yet +with a good carriage notwithstanding a stoop which seemed more the +result of an habitual depression than occasioned by any physical +weakness. His features were large, his mouth querulous, a little +discontented, his eyes filled with the light of a silent and rebellious +bitterness which seemed, somehow, to have found a more or less permanent +abode in his face. His clothes, although they were neat, had seen better +days. He was ungloved, and he carried under his arm a small parcel, +which appeared to contain a book, carefully done up in brown paper. + +As he reached the outskirts of the village he slackened his pace. +Standing a little way back from the road, from which they were separated +by an ugly, gravelled playground, were the familiar school buildings, +with the usual inscription carved in stone above the door. He laid his +hand upon the wooden gate and paused. From inside he could catch the +drone of children's voices. He glanced at his watch. It was barely twenty +minutes past four. For a moment he hesitated. Then he strolled on, and, +turning at the gate of an adjoining cottage, the nearest to the schools +of a little unlovely row, he tried the latch, found it yield to his +touch, and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and turned, with +a little weary sigh of content, towards a large easy-chair drawn up in +front of the fire. For a single moment he seemed about to throw himself +into its depths--his long fingers, indeed, a little blue with the cold, +seemed already on their way towards the genial warmth of the flames. Then +he stopped short. He stood perfectly still in an attitude of arrested +motion, his eyes, wonderingly at first, and then with a strange, +unanalysable expression, seeming to embark upon a lengthened, a +scrupulous, an almost horrified estimate of his surroundings. + +To the ordinary observer there would have been nothing remarkable in the +appearance of the little room, save its entirely unexpected air of luxury +and refinement. There was a small Chippendale sideboard against the wall, +a round, gate-legged table on which stood a blue china bowl filled with +pink roses, a couple of luxurious easy-chairs, some old prints upon the +wall. On the sideboard was a basket, as yet unpacked, filled with +hothouse fruit, and on a low settee by the side of one of the easy-chairs +were a little pile of reviews, several volumes of poetry, and a couple of +library books. In the centre of the mantelpiece was a photograph, the +photograph of a man a little older, perhaps, than this newly-arrived +visitor, with rounder face, dressed in country tweeds, a flower in his +buttonhole, the picture of a prosperous man, yet with a curious, almost +disturbing likeness to the pale, over-nervous, loose-framed youth whose +eye had been attracted by its presence, and who was gazing at it, +spellbound. + +"Douglas!" he muttered. "Douglas!" + +He flung his hat upon the table and for a moment his hand rested upon his +forehead. He was confronted with a mystery which baffled him, a mystery +whose sinister possibilities were slowly framing themselves in his mind. +While he stood there he was suddenly conscious of the sound of the +opening gate, brisk footsteps up the tiled way, the soft swirl of a +woman's skirt. The latch was raised, the door opened and closed. The +newcomer stood upon the threshold, gazing at him. + +"Philip!" she exclaimed. "Why, Philip!" + +There was a curious change in the girl's tone, from almost glad welcome +to a note of abrupt fear in that last pronouncement of his name. She +stood looking at him, the victim, apparently, of so many emotions that +there was nothing definite to be drawn either from her tone or +expression. She was a young woman of medium height and slim, delicate +figure, attractive, with large, discontented mouth, full, clear eyes and +a wealth of dark brown hair. She was very simply dressed and yet in a +manner which scarcely suggested the school-teacher. To the man who +confronted her, his left hand gripping the mantelpiece, his eyes filled +with a flaming jealousy, there was something entirely new in the hang of +her well-cut skirt, the soft colouring of her low-necked blouse, the +greater animation of her piquant face with its somewhat dazzling +complexion. His hand flashed out towards her as he asked his question. + +"What does it mean, Beatrice?" + +She showed signs of recovering herself. With a little shrug of the +shoulders she turned towards the door which led into an inner room. + +"Let me get you some tea, Philip," she begged. "You look so cold and +wet." + +"Stay here, please," he insisted. + +She paused reluctantly. There was a curious lack of anything peremptory +in his manner, yet somehow, although she would have given the world +to have passed for a few moments into the shelter of the little kitchen +beyond, she was impelled to do as he bade her. + +"Don't be silly, Philip," she said petulantly. "You know you want some +tea, and so do I. Sit down, please, and make yourself comfortable. Why +didn't you let me know you were coming?" + +"Perhaps it would have been better," he agreed quietly. "However, since I +am here, answer my question." + +She drew a little breath. After all, although she was lacking in any real +strength of character, she was filled with a certain compensatory +doggedness. His challenge was there to be faced. There was no way out of +it. She would have lied willingly enough but for the sheer futility of +falsehood. She commenced the task of bracing herself for the struggle. + +"You had better," she said, "frame your question a little more exactly. I +will then try to answer it." + +He was stung by her altered demeanour, embarrassed by an avalanche of +words. A hundred questions were burning upon his lips. It was by a great +effort of self-control that he remained coherent. + +"The last time I visited you," he began, "was three months ago. Your +cottage then was furnished as one would expect it to be furnished. You +had a deal dresser, a deal table, one rather hard easy-chair and a very +old wicker one. You had, if I remember rightly, a strip of linoleum upon +the floor, and a single rug. Your flowers were from the hedges and your +fruit from the one apple tree in the garden behind. Your clothes--am I +mistaken about your clothes or are you dressed more expensively?" + +"I am dressed more expensively," she admitted. + +"You and I both know the value of these things," he went on, with a +little sweep of the hand. "We know the value of them because we were once +accustomed to them, because we have both since experienced the passionate +craving for them or the things they represent. Chippendale furniture, a +Turkey carpet, roses in January, hothouse fruit, Bartolozzi prints, do +not march with an income of fifty pounds a year." + +"They do not," she assented equably. "All the things which you see here +and which you have mentioned, are presents." + +His forefinger shot out with a sudden vigour towards the photograph. + +"From him?" + +"From Douglas," she admitted, "from your cousin." + +He took the photograph into his hand, looked at it for a moment, and +dashed it into the grate. The glass of the frame was shivered into a +hundred pieces. The girl only shrugged her shoulders. She was holding +herself in reserve. As for him, his eyes were hot, there was a dry +choking in his throat. He had passed through many weary and depressed +days, struggling always against the grinding monotony of life and his +surroundings. Now for the first time he felt that there was something +worse. + +"What does it mean?" he asked once more. + +She seemed almost to dilate as she answered him. Her feet were firmly +planted upon the ground. There was a new look in her face, a look of +decision. She was more or less a coward but she felt no fear. She even +leaned a little towards him and looked him in the face. + +"It means," she pronounced slowly, "exactly what it seems to mean." + +The words conveyed horrible things to him, but he was speechless. He +could only wait. + +"You and I, Philip," she continued, "have been--well, I suppose we should +call it engaged--for three years. During those three years I have earned, +by disgusting and wearisome labour, just enough to keep me alive in a +world which has had nothing to offer me but ugliness and discomfort and +misery. You, as you admitted last time we met, have done no better. You +have lived in a garret and gone often hungry to bed. For three years this +has been going on. All that time I have waited for you to bring something +human, something reasonable, something warm into my life, and you have +failed. I have passed, in those three years, from twenty-three to +twenty-six. In three more I shall be in my thirtieth year--that is to +say, the best time of my life will have passed. You see, I have been +thinking, and I have had enough." + +He stood quite dumb. The girl's newly-revealed personality seemed to fill +the room. He felt crowded out. She was, at that stage, absolutely +mistress of the situation.... She passed him carelessly by, flung herself +into the easy-chair and crossed her legs. As though he were looking at +some person in another world, he realized that she was wearing shoes of +shapely cut, and silk stockings. + +"Our engagement," she went on, "was at first the dearest thing in life to +me. It could have been the most wonderful thing in life. I am only an +ordinary person with an ordinary character, but I have the capacity to +love unselfishly, and I am at heart as faithful and as good as any other +woman. But there is my birthright. I have had three years of sordid and +utterly miserable life, teaching squalid, dirty, unlovable children +things they had much better not know. I have lived here, here in Detton +Magna, among the smuts and the mists, where the flowers seem withered and +even the meadows are stony, where the people are hard and coarse as their +ugly houses, where virtue is ugly, and vice is ugly, and living is ugly, +and death is fearsome. And now you see what I have chosen--not in a +moment's folly, mind, because I am not foolish; not in a moment's +passion, either, because until now the only real feeling I have had in +life was for you. But I have chosen, and I hold to my choice." + +"They won't let you stay here," he muttered. + +"They needn't," she answered calmly. "There are other ways in which I can +at least earn as much as the miserable pittance doled out to me here. I +have avoided even considering them before. Shall I tell you why? Because +I didn't want to face the temptation they might bring with them. I always +knew what would happen if escape became hopeless. It's the ugliness I +can't stand--the ugliness of cheap food, cheap clothes, uncomfortable +furniture, coarse voices, coarse friends if I would have them. How do you +suppose I have lived here these last three years, a teacher in the +national schools? Look up and down this long, dreary street, at the names +above the shops, at the villas in which the tradespeople live, and ask +yourself where my friends were to come from? The clergyman, perhaps? He +is over seventy, a widower, and he never comes near the place. Why, I'd +have been content to have been patronized if there had been anyone here +to do it, who wore the right sort of clothes and said the right sort of +thing in the right tone. But the others--well, that's done with." + +He remained curiously dumb. His eyes were fixed upon the fragments of the +photograph in the grate. In a corner of the room an old-fashioned clock +ticked wheezily. A lump of coal fell out on the hearth, which she +replaced mechanically with her foot. His silence seemed to irritate and +perplex her. She looked away from him, drew her chair a little closer +to the fire, and sat with her head resting upon her hands. Her tone had +become almost meditative. + +"I knew that this would come one day," she went on. "Why don't you speak +and get it over? Are you waiting to clothe your phrases? Are you afraid +of the naked words? I'm not. Let me hear them. Don't be more melodramatic +than you can help because, as you know, I am cursed with a sense of +humour, but don't stand there saying nothing." + +He raised his eyes and looked at her in silence, an alternative which she +found it hard to endure. Then, after a moment's shivering recoil into her +chair, she sprang to her feet. + +"Listen," she cried passionately, "I don't care what you think! I tell +you that if you were really a man, if you had a man's heart in your body, +you'd have sinned yourself before now--robbed some one, murdered them, +torn the things that make life from the fate that refuses to give them. +What is it they pay you," she went on contemptuously, "at that miserable +art school of yours? Sixty pounds a year! How much do you get to eat and +drink out of that? What sort of clothes have you to wear? Are you +content? Yet even you have been better off than I. You have always your +chance. Your play may be accepted or your stories published. I haven't +even had that forlorn hope. But even you, Philip, may wait too long. +There are too many laws, nowadays, for life to be lived naturally. If I +were a man, a man like you, I'd break them." + +Her taunts apparently moved him no more than the inner tragedy which her +words had revealed. He did not for one moment give any sign of abandoning +the unnatural calm which seemed to have descended upon him. He took up +his hat from the table, and thrust the little brown paper parcel which he +had been carrying, into his pocket. His eyes for a single moment met the +challenge of hers, and again she was conscious of some nameless, +inexplicable fear. + +"Perhaps," he said, as he turned away, "I may do that." + +His hand was upon the latch before she realized that he was actually +going. She sprang to her feet. Abuse, scorn, upbraidings, even +violence--she had been prepared for all of these. There was something +about this self-restraint, however, this strange, brooding silence, which +terrified her more than anything she could have imagined. + +"Philip!" she shrieked. "You're not going? You're not going like this? +You haven't said anything!" + +He closed the door with firm fingers. Her knees trembled, she was +conscious of an unexpected weakness. She abandoned her first intention of +following him, and stood before the window, holding tightly to the sash. +He had reached the gate now and paused for a moment, looking up the long, +windy street. Then he crossed to the other side of the road, stepped over +a stile and disappeared, walking without haste, with firm footsteps, +along a cindered path which bordered the sluggish-looking canal. He had +come and gone, and she knew what fear was! + + + +CHAPTER II + +The railway station at Detton Magna presented, if possible, an even +more dreary appearance than earlier in the day, as the time drew near +that night for the departure of the last train northwards. Its long strip +of flinty platform was utterly deserted. Around the three flickering +gas-lamps the drizzling rain fell continuously. The weary porter came +yawning out of his lamp room into the booking office, where the station +master sat alone, his chair turned away from the open wicket window to +the smouldering embers of the smoky fire. + +"No passengers to-night, seemingly," the latter remarked to his +subordinate. + +"Not a sign of one," was the reply. "That young chap who came down from +London on a one-day return excursion, hasn't gone back, either. That'll +do his ticket in." + +The outside door was suddenly opened and closed. The sound of footsteps +approaching the ticket window was heard. A long, white hand was thrust +through the aperture, a voice was heard from the invisible outside. + +"Third to Detton Junction, please." + +The station-master took the ticket from a little rack, received the exact +sum he demanded, swept it into the till, and resumed his place before the +fire. The porter, with the lamp in his hand, lounged out into the +booking-hall. The prospective passenger, however, was nowhere in sight. +He looked back into the office. + +"Was that Jim Spender going up to see his barmaid again?" he asked his +superior. + +The station master yawned drowsily. + +"Didn't notice," he answered. "What an old woman you're getting, George! +Want to know everybody's business, don't you?" + +The porter withdrew, a little huffed. When, a few minutes later, the +train drew in, he even avoided ostentatiously a journey to the far end of +the platform to open the door for the solitary passenger who was standing +there. He passed up the train and slammed the door without even glancing +in at the window. Then he stood and watched the red lights disappear. + +"Was it Jim?" the station master asked him, on their way out. + +"Didn't notice," his subordinate replied, a little curtly. "Maybe it was +and maybe it wasn't. Good night!" + + * * * * * + +Philip Romilly sat back in the corner of his empty third-class carriage, +peering out of the window, in which he could see only the reflection of +the feeble gas-lamp. There was no doubt about it, however--they were +moving. The first stage of his journey had commenced. The blessed sense +of motion, after so long waiting, at first soothed and then exhilarated +him. In a few moments he became restless. He let down the rain-blurred +window and leaned out. The cool dampness of the night was immensely +refreshing, the rain softened his hot cheeks. He sat there, peering away +into the shadows, struggling for the sight of definite objects--a tree, a +house, the outline of a field--anything to keep the other thoughts away, +the thoughts that came sometimes like the aftermath of a grisly, +unrealisable nightmare. Then he felt chilly, drew up the window, thrust +his hands into his pockets from which he drew out a handsome cigarette +case, struck a match, and smoked with vivid appreciation of the quality +of the tobacco, examined the crest on the case as he put it away, and +finally patted with surreptitious eagerness the flat morocco letter case +in his inside pocket. + +At the Junction, he made his way into the refreshment room and ordered +a long whisky and soda, which he drank in a couple of gulps. Then he +hastened to the booking office and took a first-class ticket to +Liverpool, and a few minutes later secured a seat in the long, +north-bound express which came gliding up to the side of the platform. He +spent some time in the lavatory, washing, arranging his hair, +straightening his tie, after which he made his way into the elaborate +dining-car and found a comfortable corner seat. The luxury of his +surroundings soothed his jagged nerves. The car was comfortably warmed, +the electric light upon his table was softly shaded. The steward who +waited upon him was swift-footed and obsequious, and seemed entirely +oblivious of Philip's shabby, half-soaked clothes. He ordered champagne a +little vaguely, and the wine ran through his veins with a curious +potency. He ate and drank now and then mechanically, now and then with +the keenest appetite. Afterwards he smoked a cigar, drank coffee, and +sipped a liqueur with the appreciation of a connoisseur. A fellow +passenger passed him an evening paper, which he glanced through with +apparent interest. Before he reached his journey's end he had ordered and +drunk another liqueur. He tipped the steward handsomely. It was the first +well-cooked meal which he had eaten for many months. + +Arrived at Liverpool, he entered a cab and drove to the Adelphi Hotel. He +made his way at once to the office. His clothes were dry now and the rest +and warmth had given him more confidence. + +"You have a room engaged for me, I think," he said, "Mr. Douglas Romilly. +I sent some luggage on." + +The man merely glanced at him and handed him a ticket. + +"Number sixty-seven, sir, on the second floor," he announced. + +A porter conducted him up-stairs into a large, well-furnished bedroom. A +fire was blazing in the grate; a dressing-case, a steamer trunk and a +hatbox were set out at the foot of the bedstead. + +"The heavier luggage, labelled for the hold, sir," the man told him, "is +down-stairs, and will go direct to the steamer to-morrow morning. That +was according to your instructions, I believe." + +"Quite right," Philip assented. "What time does the boat sail?" + +"Three o'clock, sir." + +Philip frowned. This was his first disappointment. He had fancied himself +on board early in the day. The prospect of a long morning's inaction +seemed already to terrify him. + +"Not till the afternoon," he muttered. + +"Matter of tide, sir," the man explained. "You can go on board any time +after eleven o'clock in the morning, though. Very much obliged to you, +sir." + +The porter withdrew, entirely satisfied with his tip. Philip Romilly +locked the door after him carefully. Then he drew a bunch of keys from +his pocket and, after several attempts, opened both the steamer trunk and +the dressing-case. He surveyed their carefully packed contents with a +certain grim and fantastic amusement, handled the silver brushes, shook +out a purple brocaded dressing-gown, laid out a suit of clothes for the +morrow, even selected a shirt and put the links in it. Finally he +wandered into the adjoining bathroom, took a hot bath, packed away at the +bottom of the steamer trunk the clothes which he had been wearing, went +to bed--and slept. + + + +CHAPTER III + +The sun was shining into his bedroom when Philip Romilly was awakened the +next morning by a discreet tapping at the door. He sat up in bed and +shouted "Come in." He had no occasion to hesitate for a moment. He knew +perfectly well where he was, he remembered exactly everything that had +happened. The knocking at the door was disquieting but he faced it +without a tremor. The floor waiter appeared and bowed deferentially. + +"There is a gentleman on the telephone wishes to speak to you, sir," he +announced. "I have connected him with the instrument by your side." + +"To speak with me?" Philip repeated. "Are you quite sure?" + +"Yes, sir. Mr. Douglas Romilly he asked for. He said that his name was +Mr. Gayes, I believe." + +The man left the room and Philip took up the receiver. For a moment he +sat and thought. The situation was perplexing, in a sense ominous, yet +it had to be faced. He held the instrument to his ear. + +"Hullo? Who's that?" he enquired. + +"That Mr. Romilly?" was the reply, in a man's pleasant voice. "Mr. +Douglas Romilly?" + +"Yes!" + +"Good! I'm Gayes--Mr. Gayes of Gayes Brothers. My people wrote me last +night from Leicester that you would be here this morning. You are +crossing, aren't you, on the _Elletania_?" + +Philip remained monosyllabic. + +"Yes," he admitted cautiously. + +"Can't you come round and see us this morning?" Mr. Gayes invited. "And +look here, Mr. Romilly, in any case I want you to lunch with me at the +club. My car shall come round and fetch you at any time you say." + +"Sorry," Philip replied. "I am very busy this morning, and I am engaged +for lunch." + +"Oh, come, that's too bad," the other protested, "I really want to have a +chat with you on business matters, Mr. Romilly. Will you spare me half an +hour if I come round?" + +"Tell me exactly what it is you want?" Philip insisted. + +"Oh! just the usual thing," was the cheerful answer. "We hear you are off +to America on a buying tour. Our last advices don't indicate a very easy +market over there. I am not at all sure that we couldn't do better for +you here, and give you better terms." + +Philip began to feel more sure of himself. The situation, after all, he +realized, was not exactly alarming. + +"Very kind of you," he said. "My arrangements are all made now, though, +and I can't interfere with them." + +"Well, I'm going to bother you with a few quotations, anyway. See here, +I'll just run round to see you. My car is waiting at the door now. I +won't keep you more than a few minutes." + +"Don't come before twelve," Philip begged. "I shall be busy until then." + +"At twelve o'clock precisely, then," was the reply. "I shall hope to +induce you to change your mind about luncheon. It's quite a long time +since we had you at the club. Good-by!" + +Philip set down the telephone. He was still in his pajamas and the +morning was cold, but he suddenly felt a great drop of perspiration on +his forehead. It was the sort of thing, this, which he had expected--had +been prepared for, in fact--but it was none the less, in its way, +gruesome. There was a further knock at the door, and the waiter +reappeared. + +"Can I bring you any breakfast, sir?" he enquired. + +"What time is it?" + +"Half-past nine, sir." + +"Bring me some coffee and rolls and butter," Philip ordered. + +He sprang out of bed, bathed, dressed, and ate his breakfast. Then he lit +a cigarette, repacked his dressing-case, and descended into the hall. He +made his way to the hall porter's enquiry office. + +"I am going to pay some calls in the city," he announced--"Mr. Romilly is +my name--and I may not be able to get back here before my boat sails. +I am going on the _Elletania_. Can I have my luggage sent there direct?" + +"By all means, sir." + +"Every article is properly labelled," Philip continued. "Those in my +bedroom--number sixty-seven--are for the cabin, and those you have in +your charge are for the hold." + +"That will be quite all right, sir," the man assured him pocketing his +liberal tip. "I will see to the matter myself." + +Philip paid his bill at the office and breathed a little more freely as +he left the hotel. Passing a large, plate-glass window he stopped +suddenly and stared at his own reflection. There was something unfamiliar +in the hang of his well-cut clothes and fashionable Homburg hat. It was +like the shadow of some one else passing--some one to whom those clothes +belonged. Then he remembered, remembered with a cold shiver which +blanched his cheeks and brought a little agonised murmur to his lips. The +moment passed, however, crushed down, stifled as he had sworn that he +would stifle all such memories. He turned in at a barber's shop, had his +hair cut, and yielded to the solicitations of a fluffy-haired young lady +who was dying to go to America if only somebody would take her, and who +was sure that he ought to have a manicure before his voyage. Afterwards +he entered a call office and rang up the hotel on the telephone. + +"Mr. Romilly speaking," he announced. "Will you kindly tell Mr. Gayes, if +he calls to see me, that I have been detained in the city, and shall not +be back." + +The man took down the message. Philip strolled out once more into the +streets, wandering aimlessly about for an hour or more. By this time it +was nearly one o'clock, and, selecting a restaurant, he entered and +ordered luncheon. Once more it came over him, as he looked around the +place, that he had, after all, only a very imperfect hold upon his own +identity. It seemed impossible that he, Philip Romilly, should be there, +ordering precisely what appealed to him most, without thought or care of +the cost. He ate and drank slowly and with discrimination, and when he +left the place he felt stronger. He sought out a first-class +tobacconist's, bought some cigarettes, and enquired his way to the dock. +At a few minutes after two, he passed up the gangway and boarded the +great steamer. One of the little army of linen-coated stewards enquired +the number of his room and conducted him below. + +"Anything I can do for you, sir, before your luggage comes on?" the man +asked civilly. + +Philip shook his head and wandered up on deck again, where there were +already a fair number of passengers in evidence. He leaned over the side, +watching the constant stream of porters bearing supplies, and the +steerage passengers passing into the forepart of the ship. With every +moment his impatience grew. He looked at his watch sometimes half a dozen +times in ten minutes, changed his position continually, started violently +whenever he heard an unexpected footstep behind him. Finally he broke a +promise he had made to himself. He bought newspapers, took them into a +sheltered corner, and tore them open. Column by column he searched them +through feverishly, running his finger down one side and up the next. It +seemed impossible to find nowhere the heading he dreaded to see, to +realize that they were entirely empty of any exciting incident. He +satisfied himself at last, however. The disappearance of a half-starved +art teacher had not yet blazoned out to a sympathetic world. It was so +much to the good.... There was a touch upon his shoulder, and he felt a +chill of horror. When he turned around, it was the steward who had +conducted him below, holding out a telegram. + +"I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "Telegram just arrived for you." + +He passed on almost at once, in search of some one else. Philip stood for +several moments perfectly still. He looked at the inscription--_Douglas +Romilly_--set his teeth and tore open the envelope: + +Understood you were returning to factory before leaving. Am posting a few +final particulars to Waldorf Hotel, New York. Staff joins me in wishing +you bon voyage. + +Philip felt his heart cease its pounding, felt an immense sense of +relief. It was a wonderful thing, this message. It cleared up one point +on which he had been anxious and unsettled. It was taken for granted at +the Works, then, that he had come straight to Liverpool. He walked up and +down the deck on the side remote from the dock, driving this into his +mind. + +Everything was wonderfully simplified. If only he could get across, once +reach New York! Meanwhile, he looked at his watch again and discovered +that it wanted but ten minutes to three. He made his way back down to his +stateroom, which was already filled with his luggage. He shook out an +ulster from a bundle of wraps, and selected a tweed cap. Already there +was a faint touch of the sea in the river breeze, and he was impatient +for the immeasurable open spaces, the salt wind, the rise and fall of the +great ship. Then, as he stood on the threshold of his cabin, he heard +voices. + +"Down in number 110, eh?" + +"Yes, sir," he heard his steward's voice reply. "Mr. Romilly has just +gone down. You've only a minute, sir, before the last call for +passengers." + +"That's all right," the voice which had spoken to him over the telephone +that morning replied. "I'd just like to shake hands with him and wish him +bon voyage." + +Philip's teeth came together in a little fury of anger. It was maddening, +this, to be trapped when only a few minutes remained between him and +safety! His brain worked swiftly. He took his chance of finding the next +stateroom empty, as it happened to be, and stepped quickly inside. He +kept his back to the door until the footsteps had passed. He heard the +knock at his stateroom, stepped back into the corridor, and passed along +a little gangway to the other side of the ship. He hurried up the stairs +and into the smoking-room. The bugle was sounding now, and hoarse voices +were shouting: + +"Every one for the shore! Last call for the shore!" + +"Give me a brandy and soda," he begged the steward, who was just opening +the bar. + +The man glanced at the clock and obeyed. Philip swallowed half of it at a +gulp, then sat down with the tumbler in his hand. All of a sudden +something disappeared from in front of one of the portholes. His heart +gave a little jump. They were moving! He sprang up and hurried to the +doorway. Slowly but unmistakably they were gliding away from the dock. +Already a lengthening line of people were waving their handkerchiefs and +shouting farewells. Around them in the river little tugs were screaming, +and the ropes from the dock had been thrown loose. Philip stepped to the +rail, his heart growing lighter at every moment. His ubiquitous steward, +laden with hand luggage, paused for a moment. + +"I sent a gentleman down to your stateroom just before the steamer +started, sir," he announced, "gentleman of the name of Gayes, who wanted +to say good-by to you." + +"Bad luck!" Philip answered. "I must have just missed him." + +The steward turned around and pointed to the quay. + +"There he is, sir--elderly gentleman in a grey suit, and a bunch of +violets in his buttonhole. He's looking straight at you." + +Philip raised his cap and waved it with enthusiasm. After a moment's +hesitation, the other man did the same. The steward collected his +belongings and shuffled off. + +"He picked you out, sir, all right," he remarked as he disappeared in the +companionway. + +Philip turned away with a little final wave of the hand. + +"Glad I didn't miss him altogether," he observed cheerfully. +"Good-afternoon, Mr. Gayes! Good-by, England!" + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Mr. Raymond Greene, very soon after the bugle had sounded for dinner that +evening, took his place at the head of one of the small tables in the +saloon and wished every one good evening. It was perfectly apparent that +he meant to enjoy the trip, that he was prepared to like his fellow +passengers and that he wished them to know it. Even the somewhat +melancholy-looking steward, who had been waiting for his arrival, cheered +up at the sight of his beaming face, and the other four occupants of the +table returned his salutation according to their lights. + +"Two vacant places, I am sorry to see," Mr. Greene observed. "One of them +I can answer for, though. The young lady who is to sit on my right will +be down directly--Miss Elizabeth Dalstan, the great actress, you know. +She is by way of being under my charge. Very charming and talented +young lady she is. Let us see who our other absentee is." + +He stretched across and glanced at the name upon the card. + +"Mr. Douglas Romilly," he read out. "Quite a good name--English, without +a doubt. I have crossed with you before, haven't I, sir?" he went on +affably, turning to his nearest neighbour on the left. + +A burly, many-chinned American signified his assent. + +"Why, I should say so," he admitted, "and I'd like a five-dollar bill, +Mr. Greene, for every film I've seen of yours in the United States." + +Mr. Greene beamed with satisfaction. + +"Well, I am glad to hear you've come across my stuff," he declared. "I've +made some name for myself on the films and I am proud of it. Raymond +Greene it is, at your service." + +"Joseph P. Hyam's mine," the large American announced, watching the +disappearance of his soup plate with an air of regret. "I'm in the +clothing business. If my wife were here, she'd say you wouldn't think it +to look at me. Never was faddy about myself, though," he added, with a +glance at Mr. Greene's very correct dinner attire. + +"You ought to remember me, Mr. Greene," one of the two men remarked from +the right-hand side of the table. "I've played golf with you at Baltusrol +more than once." + +Mr. Greene glanced surreptitiously at the card and smiled. + +"Why, it's James P. Busby, of course!" he exclaimed. "Your father's the +Busby Iron Works, isn't he?" + +The young man nodded. + +"And this is Mr. Caroll, one of our engineers," he said, indicating a +rather rough-looking personage by his side. + +"Delighted to meet you both," Mr. Greene assured them. "Say, I remember +your golf, Mr. Busby! You're some driver, eh? And those long putts of +yours--you never took three on any green that I can remember!" + +"Been playing in England?" the young man asked. + +Mr. Raymond Greene shook his head. + +"When I am on business," he explained, "I don't carry my sticks about +with me, and I tell you this last fortnight has been a giddy whirl for +me. I was in Berlin Wednesday night, and I did business in Vienna last +Monday. Ah! here comes Miss Dalstan." + +He rose ceremoniously to his feet. A young lady who was still wearing her +travelling clothes smiled at him delightfully and sank into the chair by +his side. During the little stir caused by her arrival, no one paid any +attention to the man who had slipped into the other vacant place +opposite. Mr. Greene, however, when he had finished making known his +companion's wants to the steward, welcomed Philip Romilly genially. + +"Now we're a full table," he declared. "That's what I like. I only hope +we'll keep it up all the voyage. Mind, there'll be a forfeit for the +first one that misses a meal. Mr. Romilly, isn't it?" he went on, +glancing at his left-hand neighbour's card once more. "My name's Raymond +Greene. I am an old traveller and there's nothing I enjoy more, outside +my business, than these little ocean trips, especially when they come +after a pretty strenuous time on shore. Crossed many times, sir?" + +"Never before," Philip answered. + +"First trip, eh?" Mr. Greene remarked, mildly interested. "Well, well, +you've some surprises in store for you, then. Let me make you acquainted +with your opposite neighbour, Miss Elizabeth Dalstan. I dare say, even if +you haven't been in the States, you know some of our principal actresses +by name." + +Philip raised his head and caught a glimpse of a rather pale face, a mass +of deep brown hair, a pleasant smile from a very shapely mouth, and the +rather intense regard of a pair of wonderfully soft eyes, whose colour at +that moment he was not able to determine. + +"I have had the pleasure of seeing Miss Dalstan on the stage," he +observed. + +"Capital!" Mr. Raymond Greene exclaimed. "We haven't met before, have we, +Mr. Romilly? Something kind of familiar in your face. You are not by way +of being in the Profession, are you?" + +Romilly shook his head. + +"I am a manufacturer," he acknowledged. + +"That so?" his neighbour remarked, a trifle surprised. "Queer! I had a +fancy that we'd met, and quite lately, too. I am in the cinema business. +You may have heard of me--Raymond Greene?" + +"I have seen some of your films," Philip told him. "Very excellent +productions, if you will allow me to say so." + +"That's pleasant hearing at any time," Mr. Greene admitted, with a +gratified smile. "Well, I can see that we are going to be quite a +friendly party. That's Mr. Busby on your right, Mr. Romilly--some +golfer, I can tell you!--and his friend Mr. Caroll alongside. The lady +next you--" + +"My name is Miss Pinsent," the elderly lady indicated declared +pleasantly, replying to Mr. Greene's interrogative glance. "It is my +first trip to America, too. I am going out to see a nephew who has +settled in Chicago." + +"Capital!" Mr. Raymond Greene repeated. "Now we are all more or less a +family party. What did you say your line of business was, Mr. Romilly?" + +"I don't remember mentioning it," Philip observed, "but I am a +manufacturer of boots and shoes." + +Elizabeth Dalstan looked across at him a little curiously. One might have +surmised that she was in some way disappointed. + +"Coming over to learn a thing or two from us, eh?" Mr. Greene went on. +"You use all our machinery, don't you? Well, there's Paul Lawton on +board, from Brockton. I should think he has one of the biggest plants in +Massachusetts. I must make you acquainted with him." + +Philip frowned slightly. + +"That is very kind of you, Mr. Greene," he acknowledged, "but do you know +I would very much rather not talk business with any one while I am on +the steamer? I am a little overworked and I need the rest." + +Elizabeth Dalstan looked at her vis-à-vis with some renewal of her former +interest. She saw a young man who was, without doubt, good-looking, +although he certainly had an over-tired and somewhat depressed +appearance. His cheeks were colourless, and there were little dark +lines under his eyes as though he suffered from sleeplessness. He was +clean-shaven and he had the sensitive mouth of an artist. His forehead +was high and exceptionally good. His air of breeding was unmistakable. + +"You do look a little fagged," Mr. Raymond Greene observed +sympathetically. "Well, these are strenuous days in business. We all have +to stretch out as far as we can go, and keep stretched out, or else some +one else will get ahead of us. Business been good with you this fall, Mr. +Romilly?" + +"Very fair, thank you," Philip answered a little vaguely. "Tell me, Miss +Dalstan," he went on, leaning slightly towards her, and with a note of +curiosity in his tone, "I want to know your candid opinion of the last +act of the play I saw you in--'Henderson's Second Wife'? I made up my +mind that if ever I had the privilege of meeting you, I would ask you +that question." + +"I know exactly why," she declared, with a quick little nod of +appreciation. "Listen." + +They talked together for some time, earnestly. Mr. Greene addressed his +conversation to his neighbours lower down the table. It was not until the +arrival of dessert that Philip and his vis-à-vis abandoned their +discussion. + +"Tell me, have you written yourself, Mr. Romilly?" Elizabeth Dalstan +asked him with interest. + +"I have made an attempt at it," he confessed. + +"Most difficult thing in the whole world to write a play," Mr. Raymond +Greene intervened, seeing an opportunity to join once more in the +conversation. "Most difficult thing in the world, I should say. Now with +pictures it's entirely different. The slightest little happening in +everyday life may give you the start, and then, there you are--the whole +thing unravels itself. Now let me give you an example," he went on, +helping himself to a little more whisky and soda. "Only yesterday +afternoon, on our way up to Liverpool, the train got pulled up somewhere +in Derbyshire, and I sat looking out of the window. It was a dreary +neighbourhood, a miserable afternoon, and we happened to be crossing a +rather high viaduct. Down below were some meadows and a canal, and by +the side of the canal, a path. At a certain point--I should think about +half a mile from where the train was standing--this path went underneath +a rude bridge, built of bricks and covered over with turf. Well, as I sat +there I could see two men, both approaching the bridge along the path +from opposite directions. One was tall, dressed in light tweeds, a +good-looking fellow--looked like one of your country squires except that +he was a little on the thin side. The other was a sombre-looking person, +dressed in dark clothes, about your height and build, I should say, Mr. +Romilly. Well, they both disappeared under that bridge at the same +moment, and I don't know why, but I leaned forward to see them come out. +The train was there for quite another two minutes, perhaps more. There +wasn't another soul anywhere in sight, and it was raining as it only can +rain in England." + +Mr. Raymond Greene paused. Every one at the table had been listening +intently. He glanced around at their rapt faces with satisfaction. He was +conscious of the artist's dramatic touch. Once more it had not failed +him. He had excited interest. In Philip Romilly's eyes there was +something even more than interest. It seemed almost as though he were +trying to project his thoughts back and conjure up for himself the very +scene which was being described to him. The young man was certainly in a +very delicate state of health, Mr. Greene decided. + +"You are keeping us in suspense, sir," the elderly lady complained, +leaning forward in her place. "Please go on. What happened when they came +out?" + +"That," Mr. Raymond Greene said impressively, "is the point of the +story. The train remained standing there, as I have said, for several +minutes--as many minutes, in fact, as it would have taken them seconds to +have traversed that tunnel. Notwithstanding that, they neither of them +appeared again. I sat there, believe me, with my eyes fastened upon that +path, and when the train started I leaned out of the window until we had +rounded the curve and we were out of sight, but I never saw either of +those two men again. Now there's the beginning of a film story for you! +What do you want more than that? There's dramatic interest, surprise, an +original situation." + +"After all, I suppose the explanation was quite a simple one," Mr. Busby +remarked. "They were probably acquaintances, and they stayed to have a +chat." + +Mr. Raymond Greene shook his head doubtfully. + +"All I can say to that is that it was a queer place to choose for a +little friendly conversation," he pronounced. "They were both tall +men--about the same height, I should say--and it would have been +impossible for them to have even stood upright." + +"You mentioned the fact, did you not," the lady who called herself Miss +Pinsent observed, "that it was raining heavily at the time? Perhaps they +stayed under the bridge to shelter." + +"That's something I never thought of," Mr. Greene admitted, "perhaps for +the reason that they both of them seemed quite indifferent to the rain. +The young man in the dark clothes hadn't even an umbrella. I must admit +that I allowed my thoughts to travel in another direction. Professional +instinct, you see. It was a fairly broad canal, and the water was nearly +up to the towing-path. I'd lay a wager it was twelve or fifteen feet +deep. Supposing those two men had met on that narrow path and quarrelled! +Supposing--" + +"Don't!" + +Mr. Raymond Greene stopped short. He gazed in amazement at Elizabeth +Dalstan, who had suddenly clutched his hand. There was something in her +face which puzzled as well as startled him. She had been looking at her +opposite neighbour but she turned back towards the narrator of this +thrilling story as the monosyllable broke from her lips. + +"Please stop," she begged. "You are too dramatic, Mr. Greene. You really +frighten me." + +"Frighten you?" he repeated. "My dear Miss Dalstan!" + +"I suppose it is very absurd of me," she went on, smiling appealingly at +him, "but your words were altogether too graphic. I can't bear to think +of what might have taken place underneath that tunnel! You must remember +that I saw it, too. Don't go on. Don't talk about it any more. I am going +upstairs for my cigarette. Are you coming to get my chair for me, Mr. +Greene, or must I rely upon the deck steward?" + +Mr. Raymond Greene was a very gallant man, and he did not hesitate for a +moment. He sprang to his feet and escorted the young lady from the +saloon. He glanced back, as he left the table, to nod his adieux to the +little company whom he had taken under his charge. Philip Romilly was +gazing steadfastly out of the porthole. + +"Kind of delicate young fellow, that," he remarked. "Nice face, too. +Can't help thinking that I've met or seen some one like him lately." + + + +CHAPTER V + +Philip Romilly found himself alone at last with the things which he had +craved--darkness, solitude, the rushing of the salt wind, the sense of +open spaces. On the other, the sheltered side of the steamer, long lines +of passengers were stretched in wicker chairs, smoking and drinking their +coffee, but where he was no one came save an occasional promenader. Yet +even here was a disappointment. He had come for peace, for a brief escape +from the thrall of memories which during the last few hours had become +charged with undreamed-of horrors--and there was to be no peace. In the +shadowy darkness which rested upon the white-churned sea flying past him, +he saw again, with horrible distinctness, the face, the figure of the man +who for those few brief minutes he had hated with a desperate and +passionate hatred. He saw the broken photograph, the glass splintered +into a thousand pieces. He saw the man himself, choking, sinking down +beneath the black waters; heard the stifled cry from his palsied lips, +saw the slow dawning agony of death in his distorted features. Some one +was playing a mandolin down in the second class. He heard the feet of a +dancer upon the deck, the little murmur of applause. Well, after all, +this was life. It was a rebuke of fate to his own illogical and useless +vapourings. Men died every second whilst women danced, and no one who +knew life had any care save for the measure of their own days. Some +freakish thought pleaded stridently his own justification. His mind +travelled back down the gloomy avenues of his past, along those last +aching years of grinding and undeserved poverty. He remembered his +upbringing, his widowed mother, a woman used to every luxury, struggling +to make both ends meet in a suburban street, in a hired cottage filled +with hired furniture. He remembered his schooldays, devoid of pocket +money, unable to join in the sports of others, slaving with melancholy +perseverance for a scholarship to lighten his mother's burden. Always +there was the same ghastly, crushing penuriousness, the struggle to make +a living before his schooldays were well over, the unbought books he had +fingered at the bookstalls and let drop again, the coarse clothes he had +been compelled to wear, the scanty food he had eaten, the narrow, driving +ways of poverty, culminating in his mother's death and his own fear--he, +at the age of nineteen years--lest the money for her funeral should not +be forthcoming. If there were any hell, surely he had lived in it! This +other, whose flames mocked him now, could be no worse. Sin! Crime! He +remembered the words of the girl who during these latter years had +represented to him what there might have been of light in life. He +remembered, and it seemed to him that he could meet that ghostly image +which had risen from the black waters, without shrinking, almost +contemptuously. Fate had mocked him long enough. It was time, indeed, +that he helped himself. + +He swung away from the solitude to the other side of the steamer, paused +in a sheltered spot while he lit a cigarette, and paced up and down the +more frequented ways. A soft voice from an invisible mass of furs and +rugs, called to him. + +"Mr. Romilly, please come and talk to me. My rug has slipped--thank you +so much. Take this chair next mine for a few minutes, won't you? Mr. +Greene has rushed off to the smoking room. I think he has just been told +that there is a rival cinema producer on board, and he is trying to run +him to ground." + +Philip settled himself without hesitation in the vacant place. + +"One is forced to envy Mr. Raymond Greene," he sighed. "To have work in +life which one loves as he does his is the rarest form of happiness." + +"What about your own?" she asked him. "But you are a manufacturer, are +you not? Somehow or other, that surprises me." + +"And me," he acknowledged frankly. "I mean that I wonder I have +persevered at it so long." + +"But you are a very young man!" + +"Young or old," he answered, "I am one of those who have made a false +start in life. I am on my way to new things. Do you think, Miss Dalstan, +that your country is a good place for one to visit who seeks new things?" + +She turned in her chair a little more towards him. Against the background +of empty spaces, the pale softness of her face seemed to gain a new +attractiveness. + +"Well, that depends," she said reflectively, "upon what these new things +might be which you desire. For an ambitious business man America is a +great country." + +"But supposing one had finished with business?" he persisted. "Supposing +one wanted to develop tastes and a gift for another method of life?" + +"Then I should say that New York is the one place in the world," she told +him. "You are speaking of yourself?" + +"Yes!" + +"You have ambitions, I am sure," she continued. "Tell me, are they +literary?" + +"I would like to call them so," he admitted. "I have written a play and +three stories, so bad that no one would produce the play or publish the +stories." + +"You have brought them with you?" + +He shook his head. + +"No! They are where I shall never see them again." + +"Never see them again?" she repeated, puzzled. + +"I mean that I have left them at home. I have left them there, perhaps, +to a certain extent deliberately," he went on. "You see, the idea is +still with me. I think that I shall rewrite them when I have settled down +in America. I fancy that I shall find myself in an atmosphere more +conducive to the sort of work I want to do. I would rather not be +handicapped by the ghosts of my old failures." + +"One's ghosts are hard sometimes to escape from," she whispered. + +He clutched nervously at the end of his rug. She looked up and down along +the row of chairs. There were one or two slumbering forms, but most were +empty. There were no promenaders in sight. + +"You know," she asked, her voice still very low, "why I left the saloon a +little abruptly this evening?" + +"Why?" he demanded. + +"Because," she went on, "I could see the effect which Mr. Raymond +Greene's story had upon you; because I, also, was in that train, and I +have better eyesight than Mr. Greene. You were one of the two men who +were walking along the towpath." + +"Well?" he muttered. + +"You have nothing to tell me?" + +"Nothing!" + +She waited for a moment. + +"At least you have not attempted to persuade me that you lingered +underneath that bridge to escape from the rain," she remarked. + +"If I cannot tell you the truth," he promised, "I am not going to tell +you a lie, but apart from that I admit nothing. I do not even admit that +it was I whom you saw." + +She laid her hand upon his. The touch of her fingers was wonderful, cool +and soft and somehow reassuring. He felt a sense of relaxation, felt the +strain of living suddenly grow less. + +"You know," she said, "all my friends tell me that I am a restful person. +You are living at high pressure, are you not? Try and forget it. Fate +makes queer uses of all of us sometimes. She sends her noblest sons down +into the shadows and pitchforks her outcasts into the high places of +life. Those do best who learn to control themselves, to live and think +for the best." + +"Go on talking to me," he begged. "Is it your voice, I wonder, that is so +soothing, or just what you say?" + +She smiled reassuringly. + +"You are glad because you have found a friend," she told him, "and a +friend who, even if she does not understand, does not wish to understand. +Do you see?" + +"I wish I felt that I deserved it," he groaned. + +She laughed almost gaily. + +"What a sorting up there would be of our places in life," she declared, +"if we all had just what we deserved!... Now give me your arm. I want to +walk a little. While we walk, if you like, I will try to tell you what I +can about New York. It may interest you." + +They walked up and down the deck, and by degrees their conversation +drifted into a discussion of such recent plays as were familiar to both +of them. At the far end of the ship she clung to him once or twice as the +wind came booming over the freshening waves. She weighed and measured his +criticisms of the plays they spoke of, and in the main approved of them. +When at last she stopped outside the companionway and bade him good +night, the deck was almost deserted. They were near one of the electric +lights, and he saw her face more distinctly than he had seen it at all, +realised more adequately its wonderful charm. The large, firm mouth, +womanly and tender though it was, was almost the mouth of a protector. +She smiled at him as one might smile at a boy. + +"You are to sleep well," she said firmly. "Those are my orders. Good +night!" + +She gave him her hand--a woman's soft and delicate fingers, yet clasping +his with an almost virile strength and friendliness. She left him with +just that feeling about her--that she was expansive, in her heart, her +sympathies, even her brain and peculiar gifts of apprehension. She left +him, too, with a curious sense of restfulness, as though suddenly he +had become metamorphosed into the woman and had found a sorely-needed +guardian. He abandoned without a second thought his intention of going to +the smoking-room and sitting up late. The thought of his empty stateroom, +a horror to him a few hours ago, seemed suddenly almost alluring, and he +made his way there cheerfully. He felt the sleep already upon his eyes. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +All the physical exhilaration of his unlived youth seemed to be dancing +in Philip Romilly's veins when he awoke the next morning to find an open +porthole, the blue sea tossing away to infinity, and his steward's +cheerful face at his bedside. + +"Bathroom steward says if you are ready, sir, he can arrange for your +bath now," the man announced. + +Philip sprang out of bed and reached for his Bond Street dressing-gown. + +"I'll bring you a cup of tea when you get back, sir," the steward +continued. "The bathrooms are exactly opposite." + +The sting of the salt water seemed to complete his new-found +light-heartedness. Philip dressed and shaved, whistling softly all the +time to himself. He even found a queer sort of interest in examining his +stock of ties and other garments. The memory of Elizabeth Dalstan's words +was still in his brain. They had become the text of his life. This, he +told himself, was his birthday. He even accepted without a tremor a +letter and telegram which the steward brought him. + +"These were in the rack for you, sir," he said. "I meant to bring them +down last night but we had a busy start off." + +Philip took them up on deck to read. He tore open the telegram first and +permitted himself a little start when he saw the signature. It was sent +off from Detton Magna,-- + +"Why did you not come as promised? What am I to do? BEATRICE." + +The envelope of the letter he opened with a little more compunction. It +was written on the printed notepaper of the Douglas Romilly Shoe Company, +and was of no great length,-- + +"Dear Mr. Romilly, + +"I understood that you would return to the factory this evening for a few +minutes, before taking the train to Liverpool. There were one or two +matters upon which I should like some further information, but as time is +short I am writing to you at the Waldorf Hotel at New York. + +"I see that the acceptances due next 4th are unusually heavy, but I think +I understood you to say that you had spoken to Mr. Henshaw at the bank +concerning these, and in any case I presume there would be no difficulty. + +"Wishing you every success on the other side, and a safe return, + +"I am, + +"Your obedient servant, + +"J.L. POTTS." + +"There is not the slightest doubt," Philip said to himself, as he tore +both communications into pieces and watched them flutter away downwards, +"that I am on my way to New York. If only one knew what had become of +that poor, half-starved art master!" + +He went down to breakfast and afterwards strolled aimlessly about the +deck. His sense of enjoyment was so extraordinarily keen that he found it +hard to settle down to any of the usual light occupations of idle +travellers. He was content to stand by the rail and gaze across the sea, +a new wonder to him; or to lie about in his steamer chair and listen, +with half-closed eyes, to the hissing of the spray and the faint music of +the wind. His mind turned by chance to one of those stories of which he +had spoken. A sudden new vigour of thought seemed to rend it inside out +almost in those first few seconds. He thought of the garret in which it +had been written, the wretched surroundings, the odoriferous food, the +thick crockery, the smoke-palled vista of roofs and chimneys. The genius +of a Stevenson would have become dwarfed in such surroundings. A phrase, +a happy idea, suddenly caught his fancy. He itched for a pencil and +paper. Then he looked up to find the one thing wanting. Elizabeth +Dalstan, followed by a maid carrying rugs and cushions, had paused, +smiling, by his side. + +"You have slept and you are better," she said pleasantly. "Now for the +next few minutes you must please devote yourself to making me +comfortable. Put everything down, Phoebe. Mr. Romilly will look after +me." + +For a moment he paused before proceeding to his task. + +"I want to look at you," he confessed. "Remember I have only seen you +under the electric lights of the saloon, or in that queer, violet gloom +of last night. Why, you have quite light hair, and I thought it was +dark!" + +She laughed good-humouredly and turned slowly around. + +"Here I am," she announced, "a much bephotographed person. Almost plain, +some journalists have dared to call me, but for my expression. On flowing +lines, as you see, because I always wear such loose clothes, and yet, +believe me, slim. As a matter of fact," she went on pensively, "I am +rather proud of my figure. A little journalist who had annoyed me, and to +whom I was rude, once called it ample. No one has ever ventured to say +more. The critics who love me, and they most of them love me because I am +so exceptionally polite to them, and tell them exactly what to say about +every new play, allude to my physique as Grecian." + +"But your eyes!" he exclaimed. "Last night I thought they were grey. This +morning--why, surely they are brown?" + +"You see, that is all according to the light," she confided. "If any one +does try to write a description of me, they generally evade the point by +calling them browny-grey. A young man who was in love with me," she +sighed, "but that was long ago, used to say that they reminded him of +fallen leaves in a place where the sunlight sometimes is and sometimes +isn't. And now, if you please, I want to be made exceedingly comfortable. +I want you to find the deck steward and see that I have some beef tea as +quickly as possible. I want my box of cigarettes on one side and my +vanity case on the other, and I should like to listen to the plot of your +play." + +He obeyed her behests with scrupulous care, leaned back in his chair and +brought into the foreground of his mind the figures of those men and +women who had told his story, finding them, to his dismay, unexpectedly +crude and unlifelike. And the story itself. Was unhappiness so necessary, +after all? They suddenly seemed to crumble away into insignificance, +these men and women of his creation. In their place he could almost fancy +a race of larger beings, a more extensive canvas, a more splendid, a +riper and richer vocabulary. + +"Nothing that I have ever done," he sighed, "is worth talking to you +about. But if you are going to be my friend--" + +"Well?" + +"If you are going to be my friend," he went on, with almost inspired +conviction, "I shall write something different." + +"One can rebuild," she murmured. "One can sometimes use the old pieces. +Life and chess are both like that." + +"Would you help me, I wonder?" he asked impulsively. + +She looked away from him, out across the steamer rail. She seemed to be +measuring with her eyes the roll of the ship as it rose and fell in the +trough of the sea. + +"You are a strange person," she said. "Tell me, are you in the habit of +becoming suddenly dependent upon people?" + +"Not I," he assured her. "If I were to tell you how my last ten years +have been spent, you would not believe me. You couldn't. If I were to +speak of a tearing, unutterable loneliness, if I were to speak of +poverty--not the poverty you know anything about, but the poverty of bare +walls, of coarse food and little enough of it, of everything cheap and +miserable and soiled and second-hand--nothing fresh, nothing +real--" + +He stopped abruptly. + +"But I forgot," he muttered. "I can't explain." + +"Is one to understand," she asked, a little puzzled, "that you have had +difficulties in your business?" + +"I have never been in business," he answered quickly. "My name is +Romilly, but I am not Romilly the manufacturer. For the last eight years +I have lived in a garret in London, teaching false art in a third-rate +school some of the time, doing penny-a-line journalistic work when I got +the chance; clerk for a month or two in a brewer's office and sacked for +incapacity--those are a few of the real threads in my life." + +"At the present moment, then," she observed, "you are an impostor." + +"Exactly," he admitted, "and I should probably have been repenting it by +now but for your words last night." + +She smiled at him and the sun shone once more. It wasn't an ordinary +smile at all. It was just as though she were letting him into the light +of her understanding, as though some one from the world, entrance into +which he had craved, had stooped down to understand and was telling him +that all was well. He drew his chair a little closer to hers. + +"We are all more or less impostors," she said. "Does any one, I wonder, +go about the world telling everybody what they really are, how they +really live? Dear me, how unpleasant and uncomfortable it would be! You +are so wise, my new friend. You know the value of impulses. You tell me +the truth, and I am your friend. I do not need facts, because facts count +for little. I judge by what lies behind, and I understand. Do not weary +me with explanations. I like what you have told me. Only, of course, your +work must have suffered from surroundings like that. Will it be better +for you now?" + +"I shall land in New York," he told her, "with at least a thousand +pounds. That is about as much as I have spent in ten years. There is the +possibility of other money. Concerning that--well, I can't make up my +mind. The thousand pounds, of course, is stolen." + +"So I gathered," she remarked. "Do you continue, may I ask, to be Douglas +Romilly, the manufacturer?" + +He shook his head a little vaguely. + +"I haven't thought," he confessed. "But of course I don't. I have risked +everything for the chance of a new life. I shall start it in a new way +and under a new name." + +He was suddenly conscious of her pity, of a moistness in her eyes as she +looked at him. + +"I think," she said, "that you must have been very miserable. Above all +things, now, whatever you may have done for your liberty, don't be +fainthearted. If you are in trouble or danger you must come to me. You +promise?" + +"If I may," he assented fervently. + +"Now I must hear the play as it stood in your thoughts when you wrote +it," she insisted. "I have a fancy that it will sound a little gloomy. Am +I right?" + +He laughed. + +"Of course you are! How could I write in any other way except through the +darkened spectacles? However, there's a way out--of altering it, I mean. +I feel flashes of it already. Listen." + +The story expanded with relation. He no longer felt confined to its +established lines. Every now and then he paused to tell her that this or +that was new, and she nodded appreciatively. They walked for a time, +watched the seagulls, and bade their farewell to the Irish coast. + +"You will have to re-write that play for me," she said, a little +abruptly, as she paused before the companionway. "I am going down to my +room for a few minutes before lunch now. Afterwards I shall bring up a +pencil and paper. We will make some notes together." + +Philip walked on to the smoking room. He could scarcely believe that the +planks he trod were of solid wood. Raymond Greene met him at the entrance +and slapped him on the back: + +"Just in time for a cocktail before lunch!" he exclaimed. "I was looking +everywhere for a pal. Two Martinis, dry as you like, Jim," he added, +turning round to the smoking room steward. "Sure you won't join us, +Lawton?" + +"Daren't!" was the laconic answer from the man whom he had addressed. + +"By-the-bye," Mr. Raymond Greene went on, "let me make you two +acquainted. This is Mr. Douglas Romilly, an English boot +manufacturer--Mr. Paul Lawton of Brockton. Mr. Lawton owns one of the +largest boot and shoe plants in the States," the introducer went on. "You +two ought to find something to talk about." + +Philip held out his hand without a single moment's hesitation. He was +filled with a new confidence. + +"I should be delighted to talk with Mr. Lawton on any subject in the +world," he declared, "except our respective businesses." + +"I am very glad to meet you, sir," the other replied, shaking hands +heartily. "I don't follow that last stipulation of yours, though." + +"It simply means that I am taking seven days' holiday," Philip explained +gaily, "seven days during which I have passed my word to myself to +neither talk business nor think business. Your very good health, Mr. +Raymond Greene," he went on, drinking his cocktail with relish. "If we +meet on the other side, Mr. Lawton, we'll compare notes as much as you +like." + +"That's all right, sir," the other agreed. "I don't know as you're not +right. We Americans do hang round our businesses, and that's a fact. +Still, there's a little matter of lasts I should like to have a word or +two with you about some time." + +"A little matter of what?" Philip asked vaguely. + +"Lasts," the other repeated. "That's where your people and ours look +different ways chiefly, that and a little matter of manipulation of our +machinery." + +"Just so," Philip assented, swallowing the rest of his cocktail. "What +about luncheon? There's nothing in the world to give you an appetite like +this sea air." + +"I'm with you," Mr. Raymond Greene chimed in. "You two can have your +trade talk later on." + +He took his young friend's arm, and they descended the stairs together. + +"What the mischief is a last?" he inquired. + +"I haven't the least idea," Philip replied carelessly. "Something to do +with boots and shoes, isn't it?" + +His questioner stared at him for a moment and then laughed. + +"Say, you're a young man of your word!" he remarked appreciatively. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Philip Romilly was accosted, late that afternoon, by two young women +whose presence on board he had noticed with a certain amount of +disapproval. They were obviously of the chorus-girl type, a fact which +they seemed to lack the ambition to conceal. After several would-be +ingratiating giggles, they finally pulled up in front of him whilst he +was promenading the deck. + +"You are Mr. Romilly, aren't you?" one of them asked. "Bob Millet told us +you were going to be on this steamer. You know Bob, don't you?" + +Philip for a moment was taken aback. + +"Bob Millet," he repeated thoughtfully. + +"Of course! Good old Bob! I don't mind confessing," the young woman went +on, "that though we were all out one night together--Trocadero, Empire, +and Murray's afterwards--I should never have recognised you. Seems to me +you've got thinner and more serious-looking." + +"I am afraid my own memory is also at fault," Philip remarked, a little +stiffly. + +"I am Violet Fox," the young woman who had accosted him continued. "This +my friend, Hilda Mason. She's a dear girl but a little shy, aren't you, +Hilda?" + +"That's just because I told her that we ought to wait until you +remembered us," the slighter young woman, with the very obvious +peroxidised hair, protested. + +"Didn't seem to be any use waiting for that," her friend retorted +briskly. "Hilda and I are dying for a cocktail, Mr. Romilly." + +He led them with an unwillingness of which they seemed frankly unaware, +towards the lounge. They drank two cocktails and found themselves +unfortunately devoid of cigarettes, a misfortune which it became his +privilege to remedy. They were very friendly young ladies, if a little +slangy, invited him around to their staterooms, and offered to show him +the runs around New York. Philip escaped after about an hour and made his +way to where Elizabeth was reclining in her deck chair. + +"That fellow Romilly," he declared irritably, "the other one, I mean, +seems to have had the vilest tastes. If I am to be landed with any more +of his ridiculous indiscretions, I think I shall have to go overboard. +There was an enterprising gentleman named Gayes in Liverpool, who nearly +drove me crazy, then there's this Mr. Lawton who wants to talk about +lasts, and finally it seems that I dined at the Trocadero and spent the +evening at the Empire and Murray's with the two very obvious-looking +young ladies who accosted me just now. I am beginning to believe that +Douglas' life was not above suspicion." + +She smiled at him tolerantly. An unopened book lay by her side. She +seemed to have been spending the last quarter of an hour in thought. + +"I am rather relieved to hear," she confessed, "that those two young +people are a heritage from the other Mr. Romilly. No, don't sit down," +she went on. "I want you to do something for me. Go into the library, and +on the left-hand side as you enter you will see all the wireless news. +Read the bottom item and then come back to me." + +He turned slowly away. All his new-found buoyancy of spirits had +suddenly left him. He cursed the imagination which lifted his feet from +the white decks and dragged his eyes from the sparkling blue sea to the +rain-soaked, smut-blackened fields riven by that long thread of bleak, +turgid water. The horrors of a murderous passion beat upon his brain. +He saw himself hastening, grim and blind, on his devil-sped mission. Then +the haze faded from before his eyes. Somehow or other he accomplished his +errand. He was in the library, standing in front of those many sheets of +typewritten messages, passing them all over, heedless of what their +message might be, until he came to the last and most insignificant. +Four lines, almost overlapped by another sheet-- + + STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE OF A LONDON ART TEACHER + + SUICIDE FEARED + + Acting upon instructions received, the police + are investigating a somewhat curious case of + disappearance. Philip Romilly, a teacher of art in + a London school, visited Detton Magna on Friday + afternoon and apparently started for a walk along + the canal bank, towards dusk. Nothing has since + been heard of him or his movements, and + arrangements have been made to drag the canal + at a certain point. + +The letters seemed to grow larger to him as he stood and read. He +remained in front of the message for an inordinately long time. Again his +imagination was at work. He saw the whole ghastly business, the police on +the canal banks, watching the slow progress of the men with their drags +bringing to the surface all the miserable refuse of the turgid waters, +the dripping black mud, perhaps at last.... + +He was back again on the deck, walking quite steadily yet seeing little. +He made his way to the smoking room, asked almost indifferently for a +brandy and soda, and drained it to the last drop. Then he walked up the +deck to where Elizabeth was seated, and dropped into a chair by her side. + +"So I am missing," he remarked, almost in his ordinary tone. "I really +had no idea that I was a person of such importance. Fancy reading of my +own disappearance within a few days of its taking place, in the middle of +the Atlantic!" + +"There was probably some one there who gave information," she suggested. + +"There was the young lady whom I went to visit," he assented. "She +probably watched me cross the road and turn in at that gate and take the +path by the canal side. Yes, she may even have gone to the station to see +whether I took the only other train back to London, and found that I did +not. She knew, too, that I could only have had a few shillings in my +pocket, and that my living depended upon being in London for my school +the next morning. Yes, the whole thing was reasonable." + +"And they are going to drag the canal," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. + +"A difficult business," he assured her. "It is one of the most ghastly, +ill-constructed, filthiest strips of water you ever looked upon. It has +been the garbage depository of the villages through which it makes its +beastly way, for generations. I don't envy the men who have to handle the +drags." + +"You do not believe, then, that they will find anything--interesting?" + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +"That type of man," he continued, "must have a morbid mind. There will be +dead animals without a doubt, worn-out boots, filthy and decomposed +articles of clothing--" + +"Don't!" she interrupted. "You know what I mean. Do leave off painting +your ghastly pictures. You know quite well what I mean. Philip Romilly is +here by my side. What can they hope to find there in his place?" + +His evil moments for that afternoon were over. He answered her almost +carelessly. + +"Not what they are looking for. Have you brought the paper and pencil you +spoke of? I have an idea--I am getting fresh ideas every moment now +that I picture you as my heroine. It is queer, isn't it, how naturally +you fall into the role?" + +She drew a little nearer to him. He was conscious of a mysterious and +unfamiliar perfume, perhaps from the violets half hidden in her furs, or +was it something in her hair? It reminded him a little of the world the +keys into which he had gripped--the world of joyousness, of light-hearted +pleasures, the sunlit world into which he had only looked through other +men's eyes. + +"Perhaps you knew that I was somewhere across the threshold," she +suggested. "Did you drag your Mona wholly from your brain, or has she her +prototype somewhere in your world?" + +He shook his head. + +"Therein lies the weakness of all that I have ever written," he declared. +"There have been so few in my world from whom I could garner even the +gleanings of a personality. They are all, my men and women, artificially +made, not born. Twenty-three shillings a week has kept me well outside +the locked doors." + +"Yet, you know, in many ways," she reflected, "Mona is like me." + +"Like you because she was a helper of men," he assented swiftly, "a woman +of large sympathies, appealing to me, I suppose, because in my solitude, +thoughts of my own weakness taunted me, weakness because I couldn't break +out, I mean. Perhaps for that reason the thought of a strong woman +fascinated me, a woman large in thoughts and ways, a woman to whom +purposes and tendencies counted most. I dreamed of a woman sweetly +omnipotent, strong without a shadow of masculinity. That is where my Mona +was to be different from all other created figures." + +"Chance," she declared, "is a wonderful thing. Chance has pitchforked you +here, absolutely to my side, I, the one woman who could understand what +you mean, who could give your Mona life. Don't think I am vain," she went +on. "I can assure you that my head isn't the least turned because I have +been successful. I simply know. Listen. I have few engagements in New +York. I should not be going back at all but to see my mother, who is too +delicate to travel, and who is miserable when I am away for long. Take +this pencil and paper. Let us leave off dreaming for a little time and +give ourselves up to technicalities. I want to draft a new first act and +a new last one, not so very different from your version and yet with +changes which I want to explain as we go on. Bring your chair a little +nearer--so. Now take down these notes." + +They worked until the first gong for dinner rang. She sat up in her chair +with a happy little laugh. + +"Isn't it wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I never knew time to pass so +quickly. There isn't any pleasure in the world like this," she added, a +little impulsively, "the pleasure of letting your thoughts run out to +meet some one else's, some one who understands. Take care of every line +we have written, my friend." + +"We might go on after dinner," he suggested eagerly. + +She shook her head. + +"I'd rather not," she admitted. "My brain is too full. I have a hundred +fancies dancing about. I even find myself, as we sit here, rehearsing +my gestures, tuning myself to a new outlook. Oh! You most disturbing +person--intellectually of course, I mean," she added, laughing into his +face. "Take off my rugs and help me up. No, we'll leave them there. +Perhaps, after dinner, we might walk for a little time." + +"But the whole thing is tingling in my brain," he protested. "Couldn't we +go into the library? We could find a corner by ourselves." + +She turned and looked at him, standing up now, the wind blowing her +skirts, her eyes glowing, her lips a little parted. Then for the first +time he understood her beauty, understood the peculiar qualities of it, +the dissensions of the Press as to her appearance, the supreme charm of a +woman possessed of a sweet and passionate temperament, turning her face +towards the long-wished-for sun. Even the greater things caught hold of +him in that moment, and he felt dimly what was coming. + +"Do you really wish to work?" she asked. + +He looked away from her. + +"No!" he answered, a little thickly. "We will talk, if you will." + +They neither of them moved. The atmosphere had suddenly become charged +with a force indescribable, almost numbing. In the far distance they saw +the level line of lights from a passing steamer. Mr. Raymond Greene, with +his hands in his ulster pockets, suddenly spotted them and did for them +what they seemed to have lost the power to do. + +"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "I've been looking for you two everywhere. I don't +want to hurt that smoking room steward's feelings. He's not bad at +his job. But," he added confidentially, dropping his voice and taking +them both by the arm, "I have made a cocktail down in my stateroom--it's +there in the shaker waiting for us, something I can't talk about. I've +given Lawton one, and he's following me about like a dog. Come right this +way, both of you. Steady across the gangway--she's pitching a little. +Why, you look kind of scared, Mr. Romilly. Been to sleep, either of you?" + +Philip's laugh was almost too long to be natural. Elizabeth, as though by +accident, had dropped her veil. Mr. Raymond Greene, bubbling over with +good nature and anticipation, led them towards the stairs. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Mr. Raymond Greene could scarcely wait until Philip had taken his place +at the dinner table that evening, to make known his latest discovery. + +"Say, Mr. Romilly," he exclaimed, leaning a little forward, "do you +happen to have seen the wireless messages to-day?--those tissue sheets +that are stuck up in the library?" + +Philip set down the menu, in which he had been taking an unusual +interest. + +"Yes, I looked through them this afternoon," he acknowledged. + +"There's a little one at the bottom, looks as though it had been shoved +in at the last moment. I don't know whether you noticed it. It announced +the mysterious disappearance of a young man of the same name as your +own--an art teacher from London, I think he was. I wondered whether it +might have been any relation?" + +"I read the message," Philip admitted. "It certainly looks as though it +might have referred to my cousin." + +Mr. Raymond Greene became almost impressive in his interested +earnestness. + +"Talk about coincidences!" he continued. "Do you remember last night +talking about subjects for cinema plays? I told you of a little incident +I happened to have noticed on the way from London to Liverpool, about the +two men somewhere in Derbyshire whom I had seen approaching a tunnel over +a canal--they neither of them came out, you know, all the time that the +train was standing there." + +Philip helped himself a little absently to whisky and soda from the +bottle in front of him. + +"I remember your professional interest in the situation," he confessed. + +"I felt at the time," Mr. Raymond Greene went on eagerly, "that there was +something queer about the affair. Listen! I have been putting two and two +together, and it seems to me that one of those men might very well have +been this missing Mr. Romilly." + +Philip shook his head pensively. + +"I don't think so," he ventured. + +"What's that? You don't think so?" the cinema magnate exclaimed. "Why +not, Mr. Romilly? It's exactly the district--at Detton Magna, the message +said, in Derbyshire--and it was a canal, too, one of the filthiest I ever +saw. Can't you realise the dramatic interest of the situation now that +you are confronted with this case of disappearance? I have been asking +myself ever since I strolled up into the library before dinner and read +this notice--'_What about the other man_?'" + +Philip had commenced a leisurely consumption of his first course, and +answered without undue haste. + +"Well," he said, "if this young man Romilly is my cousin, it would be +the second or third time already that he has disappeared. He is an +ill-balanced, neurotic sort of creature. At times he accepts help--even +solicits it--from his more prosperous relations, and at times he won't +speak to us. But of one thing I am perfectly convinced, and that is that +there is no man in the world who would be less likely to make away with +himself. He has a nervous horror of death or pain of any sort, and in +his peculiar way he is much too fond of life ever to dream of voluntarily +shortening it. On the other hand, he is always doing eccentric things. He +probably set out to walk to London--I have known him do it before--and +will turn up there in a fortnight's time." + +Mr. Raymond Greene seemed rather to resent having cold water poured upon +his melodramatic imaginings. He turned to Elizabeth, who had remained +silent during the brief colloquy. + +"What do you think, Miss Dalstan?" he asked. "Don't you think that, under +the circumstances, I ought to give information to the British police?" + +She laughed at him quite good-naturedly, and yet in such a way that a +less sensitive man than Mr. Raymond Greene might well have been conscious +of the note of ridicule. + +"No wonder you are such a great success in your profession!" she +observed. "You carry the melodramatic instinct with you, day by day. You +see everything through the dramatist's spectacles." + +"That's all very well," Mr. Greene protested, "but you saw the two men +yourself, and you've probably read about the case of mysterious +disappearance. Surely you must admit that the coincidence is +interesting?" + +"Alas!" she went on, shaking her head, "I am afraid I must throw cold +water upon your vivid imaginings. You see, my eyesight is better than +yours and I could see the two men distinctly, whilst you could only see +their figures. One of them, the better-dressed, was fair and obviously +affluent, and the other was a labourer. Neither of them could in any way +have answered the description of the missing man." + +Mr. Raymond Greene was a little dashed. + +"You didn't say so at the time," he complained. + +"I really wasn't sufficiently interested," she told him. "Besides, +without knowing anything of Mr. Romilly's cousin, I don't think any +person in the world could have had the courage to seek an exit from his +troubles by means of that canal." + +"But my point," Mr. Raymond Greene persisted, "is that it wasn't suicide +at all. I maintain that the situation as I saw it presented all the +possibilities of a different sort of crime." + +"My cousin hadn't an enemy in the world except himself," Philip +intervened. + +"And I would give you the filming of my next play for nothing," Elizabeth +ventured, "if either of those two men could possibly have been an art +teacher.... Can I have a little more oil with my salad, please, steward, +and I should like some French white wine." + +Mr. Raymond Greene took what appeared to be a positive disappointment +very good-naturedly. + +"Well," he said, "I dare say you are both right, and in any case I +shouldn't like to persist in a point of view which might naturally enough +become distressing to our young friend here. Tell you what I'll do to +show my penitence. I shall order a bottle of wine, and we'll drink to the +welfare of the missing Mr. Philip Romilly, wherever he may be. Pommery, +steward, and bring some ice along." + +Philip pushed away his whisky and soda. + +"Just in time," he remarked. "I'll drink to poor Philip's welfare, with +pleasure, although he hasn't been an unmixed blessing to his family." + +The subject passed away with the drinking of the toast, and with the +necessity for a guard upon himself gone, Philip found himself eating and +drinking mechanically, watching all the time the woman who sat opposite +to him, who had now engaged Mr. Raymond Greene in an animated +conversation on the subject of the suitability for filming of certain +recent plays. He was trying with a curious intentness to study her +dispassionately, to understand the nature of the charm on which dramatic +critics had wasted a wealth of adjectives, and of which he himself was +humanly and personally conscious. She wore a high-necked gown of some +soft, black material, with a little lace at her throat fastened by her +only article of jewellery, a pearl pin. Her hair was arranged in coils, +with a simplicity and a precision which to a more experienced observer +would have indicated the possession of a maid of no ordinary qualities. +Her mouth became more and more delightful every time he studied it; her +voice, even her method of speech, were entirely natural and with a +peculiarly fascinating inflexion. At times she looked and spoke with the +light-hearted gaiety of a child; then again there was the grave and +cultured woman apparent in her well-balanced and thoughtful criticisms. +When, at the end of the meal, she rose to leave the table, he found +himself surprised at her height and the slim perfection of her figure. +His first remark, when he joined her upon the stairs, was an almost +abrupt expression of his thoughts. + +"Tell me," he exclaimed, "why were all my first impressions of you wrong? +To-night you are a revelation to me. You are amazingly different." + +She laughed at him. + +"I really can't do more than show you myself as I am," she expostulated. + +"Ah! but you are so many women," he murmured. + +"Of course, if you are going to flatter me! Give me a cigarette from my +case, please, and strike a match, and if you don't mind struggling with +this wind and the darkness, we will have our walk. There!" she added, as +they stood in the companionway. "Now don't you feel as though we were +facing an adventure? We shan't be able to see a yard ahead of us, and the +wind is singing." + +They passed through up the companionway. She took his arm and he suddenly +felt the touch of her warm fingers feeling for his other hand. He gripped +them tightly, and his last impression of her face, before they plunged +into the darkness, was of a queer softness, as though she were giving +herself up to some unexpected but welcome emotion. Her eyes were half +closed. She had the air of one wrapped in silence. So they walked almost +the whole length of the deck. Philip, indeed, had no impulse or desire +for speech. All his aching nerves were soothed into repose. The last +remnants of his ghostly fears had been swept away. They were on the +windward side of the ship, untenanted save now and then by the shadowy +forms of other promenaders. The whole experience, even the regular +throbbing of the engines, the swish of the sea, the rising and falling of +a lantern bound to the top of a fishing smack by which they were passing, +the distant chant of the changing watch, all the night sights and sounds +of the seaborne hostel, were unfamiliar and exhilarating. And inside his +hand, even though given him of her great pity, a woman's fingers lay in +his. + +She spoke at last a little abruptly. + +"There is something I must know about," she said. + +"You have only to ask," he assured her. + +"Don't be afraid," she continued. "I wish to ask you nothing which might +give you pain, but I must know--you see, I am really such a ordinary +woman--I must know about some one whom you went to visit that day, didn't +you, at Detton Magna?" + +He answered her almost eagerly. + +"I want to talk about Beatrice," he declared. "I want to tell you +everything about her. I know that you will understand. We were brought up +together in the same country place. We were both thrown upon the world +about the same time. That was one thing, I suppose, which made us kindly +disposed towards one another. We corresponded always. I commenced my +unsuccessful fight in London. I lived--I can't tell you how--week by +week, month by month. I ate coarse food, I was a hanger-on to the fringe +of everything in life which appealed to me, fed intellectually on the +crumbs of free libraries and picture galleries. I met no one of my own +station--I was at a public school and my people were gentlefolk--or +tastes. I had no friends in London before whom I dared present myself, no +money to join a club where I might have mixed with my fellows, no one to +talk to or exchange a single idea with--and I wasn't always the gloomy +sort of person I have become; in my younger days I loved companionship. +And the women--my landlady's daughter, with dyed hair, a loud voice, +slatternly in the morning, a flagrant imitation of her less honest +sisters at night! Who else? Where was I to meet women when I didn't even +know men? I spent my poor holidays at Detton Magna. Our very loneliness +brought Beatrice and me closer together. We used to walk in those ugly +fields around Detton Magna and exchanged the story of our woes. She was a +teacher at the national school. The children weren't pleasant, their +parents were worse. The drudgery was horrible, and there wasn't any +escape for her. Sometimes she would sob as we sat side by side. She, too, +wanted something out of life, as I did, and there seemed nothing but that +black wall always before us. I think that we clung together because we +shared a common misery. We talked endlessly of a way out. For me what was +there? There was no one to rob--I wasn't clever enough. There was no way +I could earn money, honestly or dishonestly. And for her, buried in that +Derbyshire village amongst the collieries, where there was scarcely a +person who hadn't the taint of the place upon them--what chance was there +for her? There was nothing she could do, either. I knew in my heart that +we were both ready for evil things, if by evil things we could make our +escape. And we couldn't. So we tried to lose ourselves in the only fields +left for such as we. We read poetry. We tried to live in that unnatural +world where the brains only are nourished and the body languishes. It was +a morbid, unhealthy existence, but I plodded along and so did she. Then +her weekly letters became different. For the first time she wrote me with +reserves. I took a day's vacation and I went down to Detton Magna to see +what had happened." + +"That was the day," she interrupted softly, "when--" + +"That was the day," he assented. "I remember so well getting out of +the train and walking up that long, miserable street. School wasn't +over, and I went straight to her cottage, as I have often done before. +There was a change. Her cheap furniture had gone. It was like one of +those little rooms we had dreamed of. There was a soft carpet upon the +floor, Chippendale furniture, flowers, hothouse fruit, and on the +mantelpiece--the photograph of a man." + +He paused, and they took the whole one long turn along the wind-swept, +shadowy deck in silence. + +"Presently she came," he continued. "The change was there, too. She was +dressed simply enough, but even I, in my inexperience, knew the +difference. She came in--she, who had spoken of suicide a short time +ago--singing softly to herself. She saw me, our eyes met, and the story +was told. I knew, and she knew that I knew." + +It seemed as though something in his tone might have grated upon her. +Gently, but with a certain firmness, she drew her hand away from his. + +"You were very angry, I suppose?" she murmured. + +Some instinct told him exactly what was passing in her thoughts. In a +moment he was on the defensive. + +"I think," he said, "that if it had been any other man--but listen. The +photograph which I took from the mantelpiece and threw into the fire was +the photograph of my own cousin. His father and my father were brought up +together. My father chose the Church, his founded the factory in which +most of the people in Detton Magna were employed. When my grandfather +died, it was found that he was penniless. The whole of his money had gone +towards founding the Douglas Romilly Shoe Company. I won't weary with the +details. The business prospered, but we remained in poverty. When my +mother died I was left with nothing. My uncle made promises and never +kept them. He, too, died. My cousin and I quarrelled. He and his father +both held that the money advanced by my grandfather had been a gift and +not a loan. They offered me a pittance. Well, I refused anything. I spoke +plain words, and that was an end of it. And then I came back and I saw +his picture, my cousin's picture, upon the mantelpiece. I can see it now +and it looks hateful to me. All the old fires burned up in me. I +remembered my father's death--a pauper he was. I remembered how near I +had been to starvation. I remembered the years I had spent in a garret +whilst Douglas had idled time away at Oxford, had left there to trifle +with the business his father had founded, had his West End club, hunters, +and shooting. It was a vicious, mad, jealous hatred, perhaps, but I claim +that it was human. I went out of that little house and it seemed to me +that there was a new lust in my heart, a new, craving desire. If I had +thrown myself into that canal, they might well have called it temporary +insanity. I didn't, but I was mad all the same. Anything else I did--was +temporary insanity!" + +Her hand suddenly came back again and she leaned towards him through the +darkness. + +"You poor child," she whispered. "Stop there, please. Don't be afraid to +think you've told me this. You see, I am of the world, and I know that we +are all only human. Now, twice up and down the deck, and not a word. Then +I shall ask you something." + +So they passed on, side by side, the touch of her fingers keeping this +new courage alive in his heart, his head uplifted even to the stars +towards which their rolling mast pointed. It was wonderful, this--to tell +the truth, to open the door of his heart! + +"Now I am going to ask you something," she said, when they turned for the +third time. "You may think it a strange question, but you must please +answer it. To me it is rather important. Just what were your feelings for +Beatrice?" + +"I think I was fond of her," he answered thoughtfully. "I know that I +hated her when she came in from the schoolhouse--when I understood. Both +of us, in the days of our joint poverty, had scoffed at principles, had +spoken boldly enough of sin, but I can only say that when she came, when +I looked into her eyes, I seemed to have discovered a new horror in life. +I can't analyse it. I am not sure, even now, that I was not more of a +beast that I had thought myself. I am not sure that part of my rage was +not because she had escaped and I couldn't." + +"But your personal feelings--that is what I want to know about?" she +persisted. + +He dug down into his consciousness to satisfy her. + +"Think of what my life in London had been," he reminded her. "There +wasn't a single woman I knew, with whom I could exchange a word. All the +time I loved beautiful things, and beautiful women, and the thought of +them. I have gone out into the streets at nights sometimes and hung +around the entrances to theatres and restaurants just for the pleasure of +looking at them with other men. It didn't do me any good, you know, but +the desire was there. I wanted a companion like those other men had. +Beatrice was the only woman I knew. I didn't choose her. It wasn't the +selective instinct that made her attractive to me. It was because she was +the only one. I never felt anything great when I was with her," he went +on hoarsely. "I knew very well that ours were ordinary feelings. She was +in the same position that I was. There was no one else for her, either. +Do you want me to go on?" + +She hesitated. + +"Don't be afraid--I am not quite mad," he continued, "only I'll answer +for you the part of your question you don't put into words. Beatrice was +nothing to me but an interpretress of her sex. I never loved her. If I +had, we might in our misery have done the wildest, the most foolish +things. I will tell you why I know so clearly that I never loved her. I +have known it since you have been kind to me, since I have realised what +a wonderful thing a woman can be, what a world she can make for the man +who cares, whom she cares for." + +Her fingers gripped his tightly. + +"And now," she said, "I know all that I want to know and all that it is +well for us to speak of just now. Dear friend, will you remember that you +are sharing your burden with me, and that I, who am accounted something +in the world and who know life pretty thoroughly, believe in you and hope +for you." + +They paused for a moment by the side of the steamer rail. She understood +so well his speechlessness. She drew her hand away from his and held it +to his lips. + +"Please kiss my fingers," she begged. "That is just the seal of our +friendship in these days. See how quickly we seem to plough our way +through the water. Listen to the throbbing of that engine, always towards +a new world for you, my friend. It is to be an undiscovered country. Be +brave, keep on being brave, and remember--" + +The words seemed to die away upon her lips. A shower of spray came +glittering into the dim light, like flakes of snow falling with +unexpected violence close to them. He drew her cloak around her and +moved back. + +"Now," she said, "I think we will smoke, and perhaps, if you made +yourself very agreeable to the steward in the smoking room, you could get +some coffee." + +"One moment," he pleaded. "Remember what? Don't you realise that there is +just one word I still need, one little word to crown all that you have +said?" + +She turned her head towards him. The trouble and brooding melancholy +seemed to have fallen from his face. She realised more fully its +sensitive lines, its poetic, almost passionate charm. She was carried +suddenly away upon a wave of the emotion which she herself had created. + +"Oh, but you know!" she faltered. "You see, I trust you even to know +when ... Now your arm, please, until we reach the smoking room, and +mind--I must have coffee." + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Philip Romilly, on the last day of the voyage, experienced to the full +that peculiar sensation of unrest which seems inevitably to prevail when +an oceangoing steamer is being slowly towed into port. The winds of the +ocean had been left behind. There was a new but pleasant chill in the +frosty, sunlit air. The great buildings of New York, at which he had +been gazing for hours, were standing, heterogeneous but magnificent, +clear-cut against an azure sky. The ferry boats, with their amazing human +cargo, seemed to be screeching a welcome as they churned their way across +the busy river. Wherever he looked, there was something novel and +interesting, yet nothing sufficiently arresting to enable him to forget +that he was face to face now with the first crisis of his new life. Since +that brief wireless message on the first day out, there had been nothing +disquieting in the daily bulletins of news, and he had been able to +appreciate to the full the soothing sense of detachment, the friendliness +of his fellow voyagers, immeasurably above all the daily association with +Elizabeth. He felt like one awaking from a dream as he realised that +these things were over. At the first sight of land, it was as though a +magician's wand had been waved, a charm broken. His fellow passengers, in +unfamiliar costumes, were standing about with their eyes glued upon the +distant docks. A queer sense of ostracism possessed him. Perhaps, after +all, it had been a dream from which he was now slowly awaking. + +He wandered into the lounge to find Elizabeth surrounded by a little +group of journalists. She nodded to him pleasantly and waved a great +bunch of long-stemmed pink roses which one of them had brought to her. +Her greeting saved him from despair. She, at least, was unchanged. + +"See how my friends are beginning to spoil me!" she cried out. "Really, I +can't tell any of you a thing more," she went on, turning back to them, +"only this, and I am sure it ought to be interesting. I have discovered a +new dramatist, and I am going to produce a play of his within three +months, I hope. I shan't tell you his name and I shan't tell you anything +about the play, except that I find more promise in it than anything I +have seen or read for months. Mr. Romilly, please wait for me," she +called after him. "I want to point out some of the buildings to you." + +A dark young man, wearing eyeglasses, with a notebook and pencil in his +hand, swung around. + +"Is this Mr. Douglas Romilly," he enquired, "of the Romilly Shoe Company? +I am from the _New York Star_. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Romilly. You are +over here on business, we understand?" + +Philip was taken aback and for the moment remained speechless. + +"We'd like to know your reason, Mr. Romilly, for paying us a visit," the +young man continued, "in your own words. How long a trip do you intend to +make, anyway? What might your output be in England per week? Women's +shoes and misses', isn't it?" + +Elizabeth intervened swiftly, shaking her finger at the journalist. + +"Mr. Harris," she said, "Mr. Romilly is my friend, and I am not going to +have him spend these few impressive moments, when he ought to be looking +about him at the harbour, telling you silly details about his business. +You can call upon him at his hotel, if you like--the Waldorf he is going +to, I believe--and I am sure he will tell you anything you want to know." + +"That's all right, Miss Dalstan," the young man declared soothingly. "See +you later, Mr. Romilly," he added. "Maybe you'll let us have a few of +your impressions to work in with the other stuff." + +Romilly made light of the matter, but there was a slight frown upon his +forehead as they passed along the curiously stationary deck. + +"I am afraid," he observed, "that this is going to be a terribly hard +country to disappear in." + +"Don't you believe it," she replied cheerfully. "You arrive here to-day +and you are in request everywhere. To-morrow you are forgotten--some +one else arrives. That newspaper man scarcely remembers your existence at +the present moment. He has discovered Mr. Raymond Greene.... Tell me, why +do you look so white and unhappy?" + +"I am sorry the voyage is over," he confessed. + +"So am I, for that matter," she assented. "I have loved every minute of +the last few days, but then we knew all the time, didn't we, that it was +just an interlude? The things which lie before us are so full of +interest." + +"It is the next few hours which I fear," he muttered gloomily. + +She laughed at him. + +"Foolish! If there had been any one on this side who wanted to ask you +disagreeable questions, they wouldn't have waited to meet you on the +quay. They'd have come down the harbour and held us up. Don't think about +that for a moment. Think instead of all the wonderful things we are going +to do. You will be occupied every minute of the time until I come back to +New York, and I shall be so anxious to see the result. You won't +disappoint me, will you?" + +"I will not," he promised. "It was only for just a moment that I felt an +idiot. It's exciting, you know, this new atmosphere, and the voyage was +so wonderful, such a perfect rest. It's like waking up, and the daylight +seems a little crude." + +She held out her hand. + +"You see, the gangways are going down," she pointed out. "I can see many +of my friends waiting. Remember, with your new life begins our new +alliance. Good luck to you, dear friend!" + +Their fingers were locked for a moment together. He looked earnestly into +her eyes. + +"Whatever the new life may mean for me," he said fervently, "I shall owe +to you." + +A little rush of people came up the gangway, and Elizabeth was speedily +surrounded and carried off. They came across one another several times in +the Custom House, and she waved her hand to him gaily. Philip went +through the usual formalities, superintended the hoisting of his trunks +upon a clumsy motor truck, and was himself driven without question from +the covered shed adjoining the quay. He looked back at the huge side of +the steamer, the floor of the Custom House, about which were still dotted +little crowds of his fellow passengers. It was the disintegration of a +wonderful memory--his farewell.... + + * * * * * + +At the Waldorf he found himself greeted with unexpected cordiality. The +young gentleman to whom he applied, after some hesitation, for a room, +stretched out his hand and welcomed him to America. + +"So you are Mr. Romilly!" he exclaimed. "Well, that's good. We've got +your room--Number 602, on the ninth floor." + +"Ninth floor!" Philip gasped. + +"If you'd like to be higher up we can change you," the young man +continued amiably. "Been several people here enquiring for you. A young +man from the 'Boot and Shoe Trades Reporter' was here only half an hour +ago, and here's a cable. No mail yet." + +He handed the key to a small boy and waved Philip away. The small boy +proved fully equal to his mission. + +"You just step this way, sir," he invited encouragingly. "Those packages +of yours will be all right. You don't need to worry about them." + +He led the way down a corridor streaming with human beings, into a lift +from which it appeared to Philip that he was shot on to the ninth floor, +along a thickly-carpeted way into a good-sized and comfortable bedroom, +with bathroom attached. + +"Your things will be up directly, sir," the small boy promised, holding +out his hand. "I'll see after them myself." + +Philip expressed his gratitude in a satisfactory manner and stood for a +few moments at the window. Although it was practically his first glimpse +of New York, the wonders of the panorama over which he looked failed even +to excite his curiosity. The clanging of the surface cars, the roar and +clatter of the overhead railway, the hooting of streams of automobiles, +all apparently being driven at breakneck speed, alien sounds though they +were, fell upon deaf ears. He could neither listen nor observe. Every +second's delay fretted him. His plans were all made. Everything depended +upon their being carried out now without the slightest hitch. He +walked a dozen times to the door, waiting for his luggage, and when at +last it arrived he was on the point of using the telephone. He feed the +linen-coated porters and dismissed them as rapidly as possible. Then he +ransacked the trunks until he found, amidst a pile of fashionable +clothing, a quiet and inconspicuous suit of dark grey. In the bathroom +he hastily changed his clothes, selected an ordinary Homburg hat, and +filled a small leather case with various papers. He was on the point of +leaving the room when his eyes fell upon the cable. He hesitated for a +moment, gazed at the superscription, shrugged his shoulders, and tore it +open. He moved to the window and read it slowly, word for word: + +"Just seen Henshaw. Most disturbing interview. Tells me you have had +notice to reduce overdraft by February 1st. Absolutely declines any +further advances. Payments coming in insufficient meet wages and current +liabilities. No provision for 4th bills, amounting sixteen thousand +pounds. Have wired London for accountant. Await your instructions +urgently. Suggest you cable back the twenty thousand pounds lying our +credit New York. Please reply. Very worried. Potts." + +Word by word, Philip read the cable twice over. Then it fluttered from +his fingers on to the table. It told its own story beyond any shadow of a +mistake. His cousin's great wealth was a fiction. The business to which +his own fortune and the whole of his grandfather's money had been +devoted, was even now tottering. He remembered the rumours he had heard +of Douglas' extravagance, his establishment in London, the burden of his +college debts. And then a further light flashed in upon him. Twenty +thousand pounds in America!--lying there, too, for Douglas under a false +name! He drew out one of the documents which he had packed and glanced at +it more carefully. Then he replaced it, a little dazed. Douglas had +planned to leave England, then, with this crisis looming over him. Why? +Philip for a moment sat down on the arm of an easy-chair. A grim sense of +humour suddenly parted his lips. He threw back his head and laughed. +Douglas Romilly had actually been coming to America to disappear! It was +incredible but it was true. + +He left the cable carefully open upon the dressing-table, and, picking up +the small leather case, left the room. He reached the lift, happily +escaping the observation of the young lady seated at her desk, and +descended into the hall. Once amongst the crowd of people who thronged +the corridors, he found it perfectly simple to leave the hotel by one of +the side entrances. He walked to the corner of the street and drew a +little breath. Then he lit a cigarette and strolled along Broadway, +curiously light-hearted, his spirits rising at every step. He was free +for ever from that other hateful personality. Mr. Douglas Romilly, of the +Douglas Romilly Shoe Company, had paid his brief visit to America and +passed on. + + + + +BOOK II + + + + +CHAPTER I + +After a fortnight of his new life, Philip took stock of himself and his +belongings. In the first place, then, he owned a new name, taken bodily +from certain documents which he had brought with him from England. +Further, as Mr. Merton Ware, he was the monthly tenant of a small but not +uncomfortable suite of rooms on the top story of a residential hotel in +the purlieus of Broadway. He had also, apparently, been a collector of +newspapers of certain dates, all of which contained some such paragraph +as this: + + DOUGLAS ROMILLY, WEALTHY ENGLISH BOOT + MANUFACTURER, DISAPPEARS FROM THE WALDORF ASTORIA + HOTEL. WALKS OUT OF HIS ROOM WITHIN AN HOUR OF + LANDING AND HAS NOT BEEN HEARD OF SINCE. DOWN TOWN + HAUNTS SEARCHED. FOUL PLAY FEARED. + + SUPERINTENDENT SHIPMAN DECLARES HIMSELF BAFFLED. + + Early on Monday morning, the police of the city + were invited to investigate a case of curious + disappearance. Mr. Douglas Romilly, an English + shoe manufacturer, who travelled out from England + on board the _Elletania_, arrived at the Waldorf + Hotel at four o'clock on Saturday afternoon and + was shown to the reservation made for him. Within + an hour he was enquired for by several callers, + who were shown to his room without result. The + apartment was found to be empty and nothing has + since been seen or heard of Mr. Romilly. The room + assigned to him, which could only have been + occupied for a few minutes, has been locked up and + the keys handed to the police. A considerable + amount of luggage is in their possession, and + certain documents of a somewhat curious character. + From cables received early this afternoon, it + would appear that the Douglas Romilly Shoe + Company, one of the oldest established firms in + England, is in financial difficulties. + +Then there was a paragraph in a paper of later date: + + NO NEWS OF DOUGLAS ROMILLY. + + The police have been unable to discover any trace + of the missing Englishman. From further cables to + hand, it appears that he was in possession of a + considerable sum of money, which must have been on + his person at the time of disappearance, and it is + alleged that there was also a large amount, with + which he had intended to make purchases for his + business, standing to his credit at a New York + bank. Nothing has since been discovered, however, + amongst his belongings, of the slightest financial + value, nor does any bank in New York admit holding + a credit on behalf of the missing man. + +"Perhaps it is time," Philip murmured, "that these were destroyed." + +He tore the newspapers into pieces and threw them into his waste-basket. +On his writing-table were forty or fifty closely written pages of +manuscript. In his pocketbook were sixteen hundred dollars, and a +document indicating a credit for a very much larger amount at the United +Bank of New York, in favor of Merton Ware and another. The remainder +of his belongings were negligible. He stood at the window and looked out +across the city, the city into whose labyrinths he was so eager to +penetrate--the undiscovered country. By day and night its voices were in +his ears, the rattle and roar of the overhead railway, the clanging of +the street cars, the heavy traffic, the fainter but never ceasing +foot-fall of the multitudes. He had sat there before dawn and watched the +queer, pinky-white light steal with ever widening fingers through the +darkness, heard the yawn of the city as it seemed to shiver and tremble +before the battle of the day. At twilight he had watched the lights +spring up one by one, at first like pin pricks in the distance, growing +and widening until the grotesque shapes of the buildings from which they +sprung had faded into nothingness, and there was left only a velvet +curtain of strangely-lit stars. At a giddy distance below he could trace +the blaze of Broadway, the blue lights flashing from the electric wires +as the cable cars rushed back and forth, the red and violet glimmer of +the sky signs. He knew it all so well, by morning, by noon and night; +in rainstorm, storms which he had watched come up from oceanwards in +drifting clouds of vapour; and in sunshine, clear, brilliant sunshine, a +little hard and austere, to his way of thinking, and unseasonable. + +"A week," he muttered. "She said a week. Tonight I will go out." + +He looked at himself in the glass. He wore no longer the well-cut clothes +of Mr. Douglas Romilly's Saville Row tailor, but a ready-made suit of +Schmitt & Mayer's business reach-me-downs, an American felt hat and +square-toed shoes. + +"She said a week," he repeated. "It's a fortnight to-day. I'll go to the +restaurant at the corner. I must find out for myself what all this noise +means, what the city has to say." + +He turned towards the door and then stopped short. For almost the first +time since he had taken up his quarters here, the lift had stopped +outside. There was a brief pause, then his bell rang. For a moment Philip +hesitated. Then he stepped forward and opened the door, looking out +enquiringly at his caller. + +"You Mr. Merton Ware?" + +He admitted the fact briefly. His visitor was a young woman dressed in a +rather shabby black indoor dress, over which she wore an apron. She was +without either hat or gloves. Her fingers were stained with purple +copying ink, and her dark hair was untidily arranged. + +"I live two stories down below," she announced, handing him a little +card. "Miss Martha Grimes--that's my name--typewriter and stenographer, +you see. The waiter who brings our meals told me he thought you were some +way literary, so I just stepped up to show you my prospectus. If you've +any typewriting you want doing, I'm on the spot, and I don't know as +you'd get it done much cheaper anywhere else--or better." + +There was nothing particularly ingratiating about Miss Martha Grimes, +but, with the exception of a coloured waiter, she happened to be the +first human being with whom Philip had exchanged a word for several days. +He felt disinclined to hurry her away. + +"Come in," he invited, holding the door open. "So you do typing, eh? What +sort of a machine do you use?" + +"Remington," she answered. "It's a bit knocked about--a few of the +letters, I mean--but I've got some violet ink and I can make a manuscript +look all right. Half a dollar a thousand words, and a quarter for carbon +copies. Of course, if you'd got a lot of stuff," she went on, her eyes +lighting hopefully upon the little collection of manuscript upon his +table, "I might quote you a trifle less." + +He picked up some of his sheets and glanced at them. + +"Sooner or later," he admitted, "I shall have to have this typed. It +isn't quite ready yet, though." + +He was struck by the curious little light of anticipation which somehow +changed her face, and which passed away at his last words. Under pretence +of gathering together some of those loose pages, he examined her more +closely and realised that he had done her at first scant justice. She was +very thin, and the expression of her face was spoilt by the discontented +curve of her lips. The shape of her head, however, was good. Her dark +hair, notwithstanding its temporary disarrangement, was of beautiful +quality, and her eyes, though dull and spiritless-looking, were large and +full of subtle promise. He replaced the sheets of manuscript. + +"Sit down for a moment," he begged. + +"I'd rather stand," she replied. + +"Just as you please," he assented, smiling. "I was just wondering what to +do about this stuff." + +She hesitated for a moment, then a little sulkily she seated herself. + +"I suppose you think I'm a pretty forward young person to come up here +and beg for work. I don't care if you do," she went on, swinging her foot +back and forth. "One has to live." + +"I am very pleased that you came," he assured her. "It will be a great +convenience to me to have my typing done on the premises, and although I +am afraid there won't be much of it, you shall certainly do what there +is." + +"Story writer?" she enquired. + +"I am only a beginner," he told her. "This work I am going to give you is +a play." + +She looked at him with a shade of commiseration in her face. + +"Sickening job, ain't it, writing for the stage unless you've got some +sort of pull?" + +"This is my first effort," he explained. + +"Well, it's none of my business," she said gloomily. "All I want is the +typing of it, only you should see some of the truck I've had! I've hated +to send in the bill. Waste of good time and paper! I don't suppose yours +is like that, but there ain't much written that's any good, anyway." + +"You're a hopeful young person, aren't you?" he remarked, taking a +cigarette from the mantelpiece and lighting it. "Have one?" + +"No, thank _you_!" she replied, rising briskly to her feet. "I'm not that +sort that sits about and smokes cigarettes with strange young men. If +you'll let me know when that work's going to be ready, I'll send the +janitor up for it." + +He smiled deprecatingly. + +"You're not afraid of me, by any chance, are you?" he asked. + +Her eyes glowed with contempt as she looked him up and down. + +"Afraid of you, sir!" she repeated. "I should say not! I've met all sorts +of men and I know something about them." + +"Then sit down again, please," he begged. + +She hesitated for a moment, then subsided once more unwillingly into the +chair. + +"Don't know as I want to stay up here gossiping," she remarked. "You'd +much better be getting on with your work. Give me one of those +cigarettes, anyway," she added abruptly. + +"Do you live in the building?" he enquired, as he obeyed her behest. + +"Two flats below with pop," she replied. "He's a bad actor, very seldom +in work, and he drinks. There are just the two of us. Now you know as +much as is good for you. You're English, ain't you?" + +"I am," Philip admitted. + +"Just out, too, by the way you talk." + +"I have been living in Jamaica," he told her, "for many years--clerk in +an office there." + +"Better have stayed where you were, I should think, if you've come here +hoping to make a living by that sort of stuff." + +"Perhaps you're right," he agreed, "but you see I am here--been here a +week or two, in fact." + +"Done much visiting around?" she enquired. + +"I've scarcely been out," he confessed. "You see, I don't know the city +except from my windows. It's wonderful from here after twilight." + +"Think so," she replied dully. "It's a hard, hammering, brazen sort of +place when you're living in it from hand to mouth. Not but what we don't +get along all right," she added, a little defiantly. "I'm not grumbling." + +"I am sure you're not," he assented soothingly. "Tell me--to-night I am a +little tired of work. I thought of going out. Be a Good Samaritan and +tell me where to find a restaurant in Broadway, somewhere where crowds +of people go but not what they call a fashionable place. I want to get +some dinner--I haven't had anything decent to eat for I don't know how +long--and I want to breathe the same atmosphere as other people." + +She looked at him a little enviously. + +"How much do you want to spend?" she asked bluntly. + +"I don't know that that really matters very much. I have some money. +Things are more expensive over here, aren't they?" + +"I should go to the New Martin House," she advised him, "right at the +corner of this block. It's real swell, and they say the food's +wonderful." + +"I could go as I am, I suppose?" he asked, glancing down at his clothes. + +She stared at him wonderingly. + +"Say, where did you come from?" she exclaimed. "You ain't supposed to +dress yourself out in glad clothes for a Broadway restaurant, not even +the best of them." + +"Have you been to this place yourself?" he enquired. + +"Nope!" + +"Come with me," he invited suddenly. + +She arose at once to her feet and threw the remains of her cigarette into +the grate. + +"Say, Mr. Ware," she pronounced, "I ain't that sort, and the sooner you +know it the better, especially if I'm going to do your work. I'll be +going." + +"Look here," he remonstrated earnestly, "you don't seem to understand me +altogether. What do you mean by saying you're not that sort?" + +"You know well enough," she answered defiantly. "I guess you're not +proposing to give me a supper out of charity, are you?" + +"I am asking you to accompany me," he declared, "because I haven't spoken +to a human being for a week, because I don't know a soul in New York, +because I've got enough money to pay for two dinners, and because I am +fiendishly lonely." + +She looked at him and it was obvious that she was more than half +convinced. Her brightening expression transformed her face. She was still +hesitating, but her inclinations were apparent. + +"Say, you mean that straight?" she asked. "You won't turn around +afterwards and expect a lot of soft sawder because you've bought me a +meal?" + +"Don't be a silly little fool," he answered good-humouredly. "All I want +from you is to sit by my side and talk, and tell me what to order." + +Her face suddenly fell. + +"No good," she sighed. "Haven't got any clothes." + +"If I am going like this," he expostulated, "why can't you go as you are? +Take your apron off. You'll be all right." + +"There's my black hat with the ribbon," she reminded herself. "It's no +style, and Stella said yesterday she wouldn't be seen in a dime show in +it." + +"Never you mind about Stella," he insisted confidently. "You clap it on +your head and come along." + +She swung towards the door. + +"Meet you in the hall in ten minutes," she promised. "Can't be any +quicker. This is your trouble, you know. I didn't invite myself." + +Philip opened the door, a civility which seemed to somewhat embarrass +her. + +"I shall be waiting for you," he declared cheerfully. + + + +CHAPTER II + +Philip stepped into his own little bedroom and made scanty preparations +for this, his first excursion. Then he made his way down into the shabby +hall and was seated there on the worn settee when his guest descended. +She was wearing a hat which, so far as he could judge, was almost +becoming. Her gloves, notwithstanding their many signs of mending, were +neat, her shoes carefully polished, and although her dress was undeniably +shabby, there was something in her carriage which pleased him. Her +eyes were fixed upon his from the moment she stepped from the lift. She +was watching for his expression half defiantly, half anxiously. + +"Well, you see what I look like," she remarked brusquely. "You can back +out of it, if you want to." + +"Don't be silly," he replied. "You look quite all right. I'm not much of +a beau myself, you know. I bought this suit over the counter the other +day, without being measured for it or anything." + +"Guess you ain't used to ready-made clothes," she observed, as they +stepped outside. + +"You see, in England--and the Colonies," he added hastily, "things aren't +so expensive as here. What a wonderful city this is of yours, Martha!" + +"Miss Grimes, please," she corrected him. + +"I beg your pardon," he apologised. + +"That's just what I was afraid of," she went on querulously. "You're +beginning already. You think because you're giving me a meal, you can +take all sorts of liberties. Calling me by my Christian name, indeed!" + +"It was entirely a slip," he assured her. "Tell me what theatre that is +across the way?" + +She answered his question and volunteered other pieces of information. +Philip gazed about him, as they walked along Broadway, with the eager +curiosity of a provincial sightseer. She laughed at him a little +scornfully. + +"You'll get used to all the life and bustle presently," she told him. "It +won't seem so wonderful to you when you walk along here without a dollar +to bless yourself with, and your silly plays come tumbling back. Now this +is the Martin House. My! Looks good inside, don't it?" + +They crossed the threshold, Philip handed his hat to the attendant and +they stood, a little undecided, at the top of the brilliantly-lit room. A +condescending maître d'hotel showed them to a retired table in a distant +corner, and another waiter handed them a menu. + +"You know, half of this is unintelligible to me," Philip confessed. +"You'll have to do the ordering--that was our bargain, you know." + +"You must tell me how much you want to spend, then?" she insisted. + +"I will not," he answered firmly. "What I want is a good dinner, and for +this once in my life I don't care what it costs. I've a few hundred +dollars in my pocket, so you needn't be afraid I shan't be able to pay +the bill. You just order the things you like, and a bottle of claret or +anything else you prefer." + +She turned to the waiter, and, carefully studying the prices, she gave +him an order. + +"One portion for two, remember, of the fish and the salad," she enjoined. +"Two portions of the chicken, if you think one won't be enough." + +She leaned back in her place. + +"It's going to cost you, when you've paid for the claret, a matter of +four dollars and fifty cents, this dinner," she said, "and I guess you'll +have to give the waiter a quarter. Are you scared?" + +He laughed at her once more. + +"Not a bit!" + +She looked at his long, delicate fingers--studied him for a moment. +Notwithstanding his clothes, there was an air of breeding about him, +unconcealable, a thing apart, even, from his good looks. + +"Clerk, were you?" she remarked. "Seems to me you're used to spending two +dollars on a meal all right. I'm not!" + +"Neither am I," he assured her. "One doesn't have much opportunity of +spending money in--Jamaica." + +"You seem kind of used to it, somehow," she persisted. "Have you come +into money, then?" + +"I've saved a little," he explained, with a rather grim smile, "and +I've--well, shall we say come into some?" + +"Stolen it, maybe," she observed indifferently. + +"Should you be horrified if I told that I had?" + +"I don't know," she answered. "I'm one of those who's lived honest, and I +sometimes wonder whether it pays." + +"It's a great problem," he sighed. + +"It is that," she admitted gloomily. "I've got a friend--she used to live +in our place, just below me--Stella Kimbell, her name is. She and I +learnt our typewriting together and started in the same office. We stood +it, somehow, for three years, sometimes office work, sometimes at home. +We didn't have much luck. It was always better for me than for Stella, +because she was good-looking, and I'm not." + +"I shouldn't say that," he remonstrated. "You've got beautiful eyes, you +know." + +"You stop it!" she warned him firmly. "My eyes are my own, and I'll +trouble you not to make remarks about them." + +"Sorry," Philip murmured, duly crushed. + +"The men were after her all the time," the girl continued, reminiscently. +"Last place we were at, a dry goods store not far from here, the heads of +the departments used to make her life fairly miserable. She held out, +though, but what with fines, and one thing or another, they forced her to +leave. So I did the same. We drifted apart then for a while. She got a +job at an automobile place, and I was working at home. I remember the +night she came to me--I was all alone. Pop had got a three-line part +somewhere and was bragging about it at all the bars in Broadway. Stella +came in quite suddenly and almost out of breath. + +"'Kid,' she said, 'I'm through with it.' + +"'What do you mean?' I asked her. + +"Then she threw herself down on the sofa and she sobbed--I never heard a +girl cry like that in all my life. She shrieked, she was pretty nearly in +hysterics, and I couldn't get a word out of her. When she was through at +last, she was all limp and white. She wouldn't tell me anything. She +simply sat and looked at the stove. Presently she got up to go. I put my +hands on her shoulders and I forced her back in the chair. + +"'You've got to tell me all about it, Stella,' I insisted. + +"And then of course I heard the whole story. She'd got fired again. These +men are devils!" + +"Don't tell me more about it unless you like," he begged sympathetically. +"Where is she now?" + +"In the chorus of 'Three Frivolous Maids.' She comes in here regularly." + +"Sorry for herself?" + +"Not she! Last time I saw her she told me she wouldn't go back into an +office, or take on typewriting again, for anything in the world. She was +looking prettier than ever, too. There's a swell chap almost crazy about +her. Shouldn't wonder if she hasn't got an automobile." + +"Well, she answers our question one way, then," he remarked thoughtfully. +"Tell me, Miss Grimes, is everything to eat in America as good as this +fish?" + +"Some cooking here," she observed, looking rather regretfully at her +empty plate. "I told you things were all right. There's grilled +chicken--Maryland chicken--coming, and green corn." + +"Have I got to eat the corn like that man opposite?" he asked anxiously. + +"You can eat it how you like," she answered. + +"Watch me, if you want to. I don't care. I ain't tasted green corn since +I can remember, and I'm going to enjoy it." + +"You don't like your claret, I'm afraid," he remarked. + +She sipped it and set down the glass a little disparagingly. + +"If you want to know what I would like," she said, "it's just a Martini +cocktail. We don't drink wines over here as much as you folk, I guess." + +He ordered the cocktails at once. Every now and then he watched her. She +ate delicately but with a healthy and unashamed appetite. A little colour +came into her cheeks as the room grew warmer, her lower lip became less +uncompromising. Suddenly she laid down her knife and fork. Her eyes were +agleam with interest. She pulled at his sleeve. + +"Say, that's Stella!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Look, she's coming this +way! Don't she look stunning!" + +A girl, undeniably pretty, with dark, red-gold hair, wearing a long +ermine coat and followed by a fashionably dressed young man, was making +her way up the room. She suddenly recognised Philip's companion and came +towards her with outstretched hand. + +"If it isn't Martha!" she cried. "Isn't this great! Felix, this is Miss +Grimes--Martha Grimes, you know," she added, calling to the young man who +was accompanying her. "You must remember--why, what's the matter with +you, Felix?" + +She broke off in her speech. Her companion was staring at Philip, who was +returning his scrutiny with an air of mild interrogation. + +"Say," the young man enquired, "didn't I meet you on the _Elletania_? +Aren't you Mr. Douglas Romilly?" + +Philip shook his head. + +"My name is Ware," he pronounced, "Merton Ware. I have certainly never +been on the _Elletania_ and I don't remember having met you before." + +The young man whose name was Felix appeared almost stupefied. + +"Gee whiz!" he muttered. "Excuse me, sir, but I never saw such a likeness +before--never!" + +"Well, shake hands with Miss Grimes quickly and come along," Stella +enjoined. "Remember I only have half an hour for dinner now. You coming +to see the show, Martha?" + +"Not to-night," that young woman declared firmly. + +The two passed on after a few more moments of amiable but, on the part of +the young man, somewhat dazed conversation. Philip had resumed the +consumption of his chicken. He raised an over-filled glass to his lips +steadily and drank it without spilling a drop. + +"Mistook me for some one," he remarked coolly. + +She nodded. + +"Man who disappeared from the Waldorf Astoria. They made quite a fuss +about him in the newspapers. I shouldn't have said you were the least +like him--to judge by his pictures, anyway." + +Philip shrugged his shoulders. He seemed very little interested. + +"I don't often read the newspapers.... So that is Stella." + +"That is Stella," she assented, a little defiantly. "And if I were she--I +mean if I were as good-looking as she is--I'd be in her place." + +"I wonder whether you would?" he observed thoughtfully. + +"Oh! don't bother me with your problems," she replied. "Does it run to +coffee?" + +"Of course it does," he agreed, "and a liqueur, if you like." + +"If you mean a cordial, I'll have some of that green stuff," she decided. +"Don't know when I shall get another dinner like this again." + +"Well, that rests with you," he assured her. "I am very lonely just now. +Later on it will be different. We'll come again next week, if you like." + +"Better see how you feel about it when the time comes," she answered +practically. "Besides, I'm not sure they'd let me in here again. Did you +see Stella's coat? Fancy feeling fur like that up against your chin! +Fancy--" + +She broke off and sipped her coffee broodingly. + +"Those things are immaterial in themselves," he reminded her. "It's just +a question how much happiness they have brought her, whether the thing +pays or not." + +"Of course it pays!" she declared, almost passionately. "You've never +seen my rooms or my drunken father. I can tell you what they're like, +though. They're ugly, they're tawdry, they're untidy, when I've any work +to do, they're scarcely clean. Our meals are thrown at us--we're always +behind with the rent. There isn't anything to look at or listen to that +isn't ugly. You haven't known what it is to feel the grim pang of a +constant hideousness crawling into your senses, stupefying you almost +with a sort of misery--oh, I can't describe it!" + +"I have felt all those things," he said quietly. + +"What did you do?" she demanded. "No, perhaps you had luck. Perhaps it's +not fair to ask you that. It wouldn't apply. What should you do if you +were me, if you had the chance to get out of it all the way that she +has?" + +"I am not a woman," he reminded her simply. "If I answer you as an +outsider, a passer-by--mind, though, one who thinks about men and +women--I should say try one of her lesser sins, one of the sins that +leaves you clean. Steal, for instance." + +"And go to prison!" she protested angrily. "How much better off would you +be there, I wonder, and what about when you came out? Pooh! Pay your bill +and let's get out of this." + +He obeyed, and they made their way into the crowded street. He paused for +a moment on the pavement. The pleasure swirl was creeping a little into +his veins. + +"Would you like to go to a theatre?" he asked. + +She shook her head. + +"You do as you like. I'm going home. You needn't bother about coming with +me, either." + +"Don't be foolish," he protested. "I only mentioned a theatre for your +sake. Come along." + +They walked down Broadway and turned into their own street. They entered +the tenement building together and stepped into the lift. She held out +her hand a little abruptly. + +"Good night!" + +"Good night!" he answered. "You get out first, don't you? I'll polish +that stuff up to-night, the first part of it, so that you can get on with +the typing." + +Some half-developed fear which had been troubling her during the walk +home, seemed to have passed. Her face cleared. + +"Don't think I am ungrateful," she begged, as the lift stopped. "I +haven't had a good time like this for many months. Thank you, Mr. Ware, +and good night!" + +She stepped through the iron gates on to her own floor, and Philip swung +up to his rooms. Somehow, he entered almost light-heartedly. The roar of +the city below was no longer provocative. He felt as though he had +stretched out a hand towards it, as though he were in the way of becoming +one of its children. + + + +CHAPTER III + +A few nights later Philip awoke suddenly to find himself in a cold sweat, +face to face with all the horrors of an excited imagination. Once more he +felt his hand greedy for the soft flesh of the man he hated, tearing its +way through the stiff collar, felt the demoniacal strength shooting down +his arm, the fever at his finger tips. He saw the terrified face of his +victim, a strong man but impotent in his grasp; heard the splash of the +turgid waters; saw himself, his lust for vengeance unsatisfied, peering +downwards through the dim and murky gloom. It was not only a physical +nightmare which seized him. His brain, too, was his accuser. He saw with +a hideous clarity that even the excuse of motive was denied him. It was a +sense of personal loss which had driven him out on to that canal path, a +murderer at heart. It was something of which he had been robbed, an acute +and burning desire for vengeance, personal, entirely egotistical. It was +not the wrong to the woman which he resented, had there been any wrong. +It was the agony of his own personal misery. He rose from his bed and +stamped up and down his little chamber in a fear which was almost +hysterical. He threw wide open the windows, heedless of a driving +snowstorm. The subdued murmur of the city, with its paling lights, +brought him no relief. He longed frantically for some one who knew the +truth, for Elizabeth before any one, with her soft, cool touch, her +gentle, protective sympathy. He was a fool to think he could live alone +like this, with such a burden to bear! Perhaps it would not be for long. +The risks were many. At any moment he might hear the lift stop, steps +across the corridor, the ring at his bell, the plainly-clad, businesslike +man outside, with his formal questions, his grim civility. He fumbled +about in his little dressing-case until he came to a small box containing +several white pills. He gripped them in his hand and looked around, +listening. No, it was fancy! There was still no sound in the building. +When at last he went back to bed, however, the little box was tightly +clenched in his hands. + +In the morning he went through his usual programme. He arose soon after +eight, lighted his little spirit lamp, made his coffee, cut some bread +and butter, and breakfasted. Then he lit a cigarette and sat down at his +desk. His imagination, however, seemed to have burnt itself out in the +night. Ideas and phrases were denied to him. He was thankful, about +eleven o'clock, to hear a ring at the bell and find Martha Grimes outside +with a little parcel under her arm. She was wearing the same shabby black +dress and her fingers were stained with copying ink. Her almost too +luxuriant hair was ill-arranged and untidy. Even her eyes seemed to have +lost their lustre. + +"I've finished," she announced, handing him the parcel. "Better look and +see whether it's all right. I can't do it up properly till I've had the +whole." + +He cut the string and looked at a few of the sheets. The typing was +perfect. He began to express his approval but she interrupted him. + +"It's better stuff than I expected," she declared grudgingly. "I thought +you were only one of these miserable amateurs. Where did you learn to +write like that?" + +Somehow, her praise was like a tonic. + +"Do you like it?" he asked eagerly. + +"Oh! my likes or dislikes don't matter," she replied. "It's good stuff. +You'll find the account in there. If you'd like to pay me, I'd like to +have the money." + +He glanced at the neat little bill and took out his pocketbook. + +"Sit down for a minute," he begged. "I'm stuck this morning--can't write +a line. Take my easy-chair and smoke a cigarette--I have nothing else +to offer you." + +For a moment she seemed about to refuse. Then she flung herself into his +easy-chair, took a cigarette, and, holding it between her lips, almost +scarlet against the pallor of her cheeks, stretched upwards towards the +match which he was holding. + +"Stella and her boy were over to see me last night," she announced, a +little abruptly. + +"The young lady with the ermines," he murmured. + +"And her boy, Felix Martin. It was through him they came--I could see +that all right. He was trying all the time to pump me about you." + +"About me?" + +"Oh! you needn't trouble to look surprised," she remarked. "I guess you +remember the bee he had in his bonnet that night." + +"Mistook me for some one, didn't he?" Philip murmured. + +She nodded. + +"Kind of queer you don't read our newspapers! It was a guy named +Romilly--Douglas Romilly--who disappeared from the Waldorf Hotel. Strange +thing about it," she went on, "is that I saw photographs of him in the +newspapers, and I can't recognise even a likeness." + +"This Mr. Felix Martin doesn't agree with you, apparently," Philip +observed. + +"He don't go by the photographs," Martha Grimes explained. "He believes +that he crossed from Liverpool with this Mr. Douglas Romilly, and that +you," she continued, crossing her legs and smoothing down her skirt to +hide her shabby shoes, "are so much like him that he came down last night +to see if there was anything else he could find out from me before he +paid a visit to police headquarters." + +There was a moment's silence. Philip was apparently groping for a match, +and the girl was keeping her head studiously turned away from him. + +"What business is it of his?" + +"There was a reward offered. Don't know as that would make much +difference to Felix Martin, though. According to Stella's account, he is +pretty well a millionaire already." + +"It would be more useful to you, wouldn't it?" Philip remarked. + +"Five hundred dollars!" Martha sighed. "Don't seem to me just now that +there's much in the world you couldn't buy with five hundred dollars." + +"Well, what did you tell Mr. Felix Martin?" + +"Oh, I lied, sure! He'd found out the date you came into your rooms +here--the day this man Romilly disappeared--but I told him that I'd known +you and done work for you before then--long enough before the _Elletania_ +ever reached New York. That kind of stumped him." + +"Why did you do that?" Philip demanded. + +"Dunno," the girl replied, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Just a fancy. +I guessed you wouldn't want him poking around." + +"But supposing I had been Douglas Romilly, you might at least have +divided the reward," he reminded her. + +"There's money and money," Martha declared. "We spoke of that the other +day. Stella's got money--now. Well, she's welcome. My time will come, I +suppose, but if I can't have clean money, I haven't made up my mind yet +whether I wouldn't rather try the Hudson on a foggy morning." + +"Well, I am not Douglas Romilly, anyway," Philip announced. + +She looked up at him almost for the first time since her entrance. + +"I kind of thought you were," she admitted. "I might have saved my lies, +then." + +He shook his head. + +"You have probably saved me from more than you know of," he replied. "I +am not Douglas Romilly, but--" + +"You're not Merton Ware, either," she interrupted. + +"Quite right," he agreed. "I started life as Philip Merton Ware the day I +took these rooms, and if the time should come," he went on, "that any one +seriously set about the task of finding out exactly who I was before I +was Merton Ware, you and I might as well take that little journey--was it +to the Hudson, you said, on a foggy morning?--together." + +They sat in complete silence for several moments, Then she threw the end +of her cigarette into the fire. + +"Well, I'm glad I didn't lie for nothing," she declared. "I didn't quite +tumble to the Douglas Romilly stunt, though. They say he has left his +business bankrupt in England and brought a fortune out here. You don't +look as though you were overdone with it." + +"I certainly haven't the fortune that Douglas Romilly is supposed to have +got away with," he said quietly. "I have enough money for my present +needs, though--enough, by-the-by, to pay you for this typing," he added, +counting out the money upon the table. + +"Any more stuff ready?" + +"With luck there'll be some this afternoon," he promised her. "I had a +bad night last night, but I think I'll be able to work later in the day." + +She looked at him curiously, at his face, absolutely devoid of colour, +his eyes, restless and overbright, his long, twitching fingers. + +"Bad conscience or drugs?" she asked. + +"Bad conscience," he acknowledged. "I've been where you have been--Miss +Grimes. I looked over the edge and I jumped. I'd stay where you are, if +I were you." + +"Maybe I shall, maybe I shan't," she replied doggedly. "Stella wants to +bring a boy around to see me. 'You bring him,' I said. 'I'll talk to +him.' Then she got a little confused. Stella's kind, in her way. She came +back after Mr. Martin had gone down the passage. 'See here, kid,' she +said, 'you know as well as I do I can't bring any one round to see you +while you are sitting around in those rags. Let me lend you--' Well, I +stopped her short at that. 'My own plumes or none at all,' I told +her, 'and I'd just as soon he didn't come, anyway.'" + +"You're a queer girl," Philip exclaimed. "Where's your father to-day?" + +"Usual place," she answered,--"in bed. He never gets up till five." + +"Let me order lunch up here for both of us, from the restaurant," he +suggested. + +She shook her head. + +"No, thanks!" + +"Why not?" he persisted. + +"I'm going round to the office to see if I can get any extra work." + +"But you've got to lunch some time," he persisted. + +She laughed a little hardly. + +"Have I? We girls haven't got to eat like you men. I'll call up towards +the evening and see if you've anything ready for me." + +She was gone before he could stop her. He turned back to his desk and +seated himself. The sight of his last finished sentence presented itself +suddenly in a new light. There was a suggestiveness about it which was +almost poignant. He took up his pen and began to write rapidly. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +It was a few minutes after six that evening when Philip was conscious of +a knock at his door. He swung around in his chair, blinking a little. + +"Come in!" + +Martha Grimes entered. She was in outdoor apparel, that is to say she +wore her hat and a long mackintosh. She remained standing upon the +threshold. + +"Just looked up to see if you've got any more work ready," she explained. + +He sprang to his feet and stood there, for a moment, unsteadily. + +"Come in and shut the door," he ordered. "Look! Look!" he added, pointing +to his table. "Thirty-three sheets! I've been working all the time. I've +been living, I tell you, living God knows where!--not in this accursed +little world. Here, let's pick up the sheets. There's enough work for +you." + +She looked at him curiously. + +"Have you been in that chair ever since?" she asked. + +"Ever since," he assented enthusiastically. + +"Any lunch?" + +"Not a scrap. Never thought about it." + +"You'll make yourself sick, that's what you'll do," she declared. "Go out +and get something at once." + +"Never even thought about lunch," he repeated, half to himself. "Where +have you been?" + +"Some luck," she replied. "First place I dropped in at. Found there was a +girl gone home for the day, fainted. Lots of work to do, so they just +stuck me down in her chair. Three dollars they gave me. The girl's coming +back to-morrow, though, worse luck." + +"When did you have your lunch?" + +"Haven't had any. I'm going to make myself a cup of tea now." + +He reached for his hat. + +"Not on your life" he exclaimed. "Come along, Miss Martha Grimes. I +have written lines--you just wait till you type them! I tell you it's +what I have had at the back of my head for months. It's there now on +paper--living, flaring words. Come along." + +"Where to?" + +"We are going to eat," he insisted. "I am faint, and so are you. We are +going to that same place, and we'll have lunch and dinner in one." + +"Nothing doing," she snapped. "You'll see some more people who recognise +you." + +He waved his hand contemptuously. + +"Who cares! If you don't come along with me, I'll go up town to the +Waldorf or the Ritz Carlton. I'll waste my money and advertise myself. +Come along--that same little quiet corner. I don't suppose your friends +will be there again." + +"Stella won't," she admitted doubtfully. "She's going to Sherry's. I'd +just as soon be out," she went on ruminatingly. "Shouldn't be surprised +if she didn't bring that guy in, after all." + +He had already rung the bell of the lift. + +"Look at me!" she exclaimed ironically. "Nice sort of an object I am to +take out! Got a raincoat on--though it's dry enough--because my coat's +gone at the seams." + +"If you don't stop talking like that," he declared, "I'll march into one +of those great stores and order everything a woman wants to wear. Look at +me. Did you ever see such clothes!" + +"A man's different," she protested. "Besides, you've got a way with you +of looking as though you could wear better clothes if you wanted +to--something superior. I don't like it. I should like you better if you +were common." + +"You're going to like me better," he assured her, "because we are going +to have a cocktail together within the next three minutes. Look at +you--pale as you can stick. I bet you haven't had a mouthful of food all +day. Neither have I, except a slice of bread and butter with my tea this +morning. We're a nice sort of couple to talk about clothes. What we want +is food." + +She swayed for a moment and pretended that she tripped. He caught her arm +and steadied her. She jerked it from him. + +"Have your own way," she yielded. + +They reached the corner of the street, plunged into the surging crowds of +Broadway, passed into the huge restaurant, were once more pounced upon +by a businesslike but slightly patronizing maître d'hôtel, and escorted +to a remote table in a sort of annex of the room. Philip pushed the menu +away. + +"Two cocktails--the quickest you ever mixed in your life," he ordered. +"Quicker than that, mind." + +The man was back again almost at once with two frosted glasses upon a +tray. They laughed together almost like children as they set them down +empty. + +"I know what I want, and you, too, by the look of you," he continued--"a +beefsteak, with some more of that green corn you gave me the other day, +and fried potatoes, and Burgundy. We'll have some oysters first while we +wait." + +She sighed. + +"I don't mean to come here with you again," she said, a little +impatiently. "I don't know why I give in to you. You're not strong, you +know. You are a weak man. Women will always look after you; they'll +always help you in trouble--I suppose they'll always care for you. Can't +think why I do what you want me to. Guess I was near starving." + +He laughed. + +"You don't know much about me yet," he reminded her. + +"You don't know much about yourself," she retorted glibly. "Why, +according to your own confession, you only started life a few weeks ago. +I fancy what went before didn't count for much. You've been fretted and +tied up somewhere. You haven't had the chance of getting big like so many +of our American men. What are you going to do with this play of yours?" + +"Miss Elizabeth Dalstan has promised to produce it," he told her. + +She looked at him in some surprise. + +"Elizabeth Dalstan?" she repeated. "Why, she's one of our best +actresses." + +"I understood so," he replied. "She has heard the story--in fact I wrote +out one of the scenes with her. She is going to produce it as soon as +it's finished." + +"Well, all you poor idiots who write things have some fine tale to tell +their typewriter," she remarked. "You seem as though you mean it, though. +Where did you meet Elizabeth Dalstan?" + +"I came over with her on the _Elletania_," he answered thoughtlessly. + +She gave a little start. Then she turned upon him almost in anger. + +"Well, of all the simpletons!" she exclaimed. "So that's the way you give +yourself away, is it? Just here from Jamaica, eh! Nothing to do with +Douglas Romilly! Never heard of the _Elletania_, did you! I'd like to see +you on the grid at police headquarters for five minutes, with one of our +men asking you a few friendly questions! You'd look well, you would! You +ought to go about with a nurse!" + +Philip had all the appearance of a guilty child. + +"You see," he explained penitently, "I am new to this sort of thing. +However, you know now." + +"Still ready to swear that you're not Douglas Romilly, I suppose?" + +"On my honour I am not," he replied. + +"Kind of funny that you should have been on the steamer, after all," she +jeered. + +"Perhaps so, but I am not Douglas Romilly," he persisted. + +She was silent for a moment, then she shrugged her shoulders. + +"What do I care who your are?" she said. "Here, help me off with this +raincoat, please. It's warm in here, thank goodness!" + +He looked at her as she sat by his side in her plain black dress, and was +impressed for the first time with a certain unsuspected grace of outline, +which made him for the moment oblivious of the shabbiness of her gown. + +"You have rather a nice figure," he told her with a sudden impulse of +ingenuousness. + +She turned upon him almost furiously. Something in his expression, +however, seemed to disarm her. She closed her lips again. + +"You are nothing but a child!" she declared. "You don't mean anything. +I'd be a fool to be angry with you." + +The waiter brought their steak. Philip was conscious of something in his +companion's eyes which almost horrified him. It was just that gleam of +hungry desire which has starvation for its background. + +"Don't let's talk," he pleaded. "There isn't any conversation in the +world as good as this." + +The waiter served them and withdrew, casting a curious glance behind. +They were, from his point of view, a strange couple, for, cosmopolitan +though the restaurant was, money was plentiful in the neighbourhood, and +clients as shabby as these two seldom presented themselves. He pointed +them out to a maître d'hôtel, who in his turn whispered a few words +concerning them to a dark, lantern-jawed man, with keen eyes and a hard +mouth, who was dining by himself. The latter glanced at them and +nodded. + +"Thank you, Charles," he said, "I've had my eye on them. The girl's a +pauper, daughter of that old fool Grimes, the actor. Does a little +typewriting--precious little, I should think, from the look of her. The +man's interesting. Don't talk about them. Understand?" + +The maître d'hôtel bowed. + +"I understand, Inspector. Not much any one can tell you, sir." + +"Pays his bill in American money, I suppose?" the diner asked. + +"I'll ascertain for you, Mr. Dane," Charles replied. "I believe he is an +Englishman." + +"Name of Merton Ware," the inspector agreed, nodding, "just arrived from +Jamaica. Writes some sort of stuff which the girl with him typewrites. +That's his story. He's probably as harmless as a baby." + +Charles bowed and moved away. His smile was inscrutable. + + + +CHAPTER V + +New York became a changed city to Philip. Its roar and its turmoil, its +babel of tongues speaking to him always in some alien language, were +suddenly hushed! He was no longer conscious of the hard unconcern of a +million faces, of the crude buildings in the streets, the cutting winds, +the curious, depressing sense of being on a desert island, the hermit +clutching at the sleeves of imaginary multitudes. A few minutes' journey +in a cable car which seemed to crawl, a few minutes' swift walking along +the broad thoroughfare of Fifth Avenue, where his feet seemed to fall +upon the air and the passersby seemed to smile upon him like real human +beings, and he was in her room. It was only an hotel sitting room, after +all, but eloquent of her, a sitting room filled with great bowls of +roses, with comfortable easy-chairs, furniture of rose-coloured satin, +white walls, and an English fire upon the grate. Elizabeth was in New +York, and the world moved differently. + +She came out to him from an inner room almost at once. His eyes swept +over her feverishly. He almost held his breath. Then he gave a great sigh +of satisfaction. She came with her hands outstretched, a welcoming smile +upon her lips. She was just as he had expected to find her. There was +nothing in her manner to indicate that they had not parted yesterday. + +"Welcome to New York, my dramatist!" she exclaimed. "I am here, you see, +to the day, almost to the hour." + +He stood there, holding her hands. His eyes seemed to be devouring her. + +"Go on talking to me," he begged. "Let me hear you speak. You can't +think--you can't imagine how often in the middle of the night, I have +waked up and thought of you, and the cold shivers have come because, +after all, I fancied that you must be a dream, that you didn't really +exist, that that voyage had never existed. Go on talking." + +"You foolish person!" she laughed, patting his hands affectionately. "But +then, of course, you are a little overwrought. I am very real, I can +assure you. I have been in Chicago, playing, but there hasn't been a +night when I haven't thought of the times when we used to talk together +in the darkness, when you let me into your life, and I made up my mind to +try and help you. Foolish person! Sit down in that great easy-chair and +draw it up to the fire." + +He sank into it with a little sigh of content. She threw herself on to +the couch opposite to him. Her hands drooped down a little wearily on +either side, her head was thrown back. Against the background of +rose-silk cushions, her cheeks seemed unexpectedly pale. + +"I am tired with travelling," she murmured, "and I hate Chicago, and I +have worried about you. Day by day I have read the papers. Everything has +gone well?" + +"So far as I know," he answered. "I did exactly as we planned--or rather +as you planned. The papers have been full of the disappearance of +Douglas Romilly. You read how wonderfully it has all turned out? Fate has +provided him with a real reason for disappearing. It seems that the +business was bankrupt." + +"You mustn't forget, though," she reminded him, "that that also supplies +a considerable motive for tracking him down. He is supposed to have at +least twenty thousand pounds with him." + +"I have all the papers," he went on. "They prove that he knew the state +the business was in. They prove that he really intended to disappear in +New York. The money stands to the credit of Merton Ware--and another at a +bank with which his firm apparently had had no connections, a small bank +in Wall Street." + +"So that," she remarked, "is where you get your pseudonym from?" + +"It makes the identification so easy," he pointed out, "and no one knew +of it except he. I could easily get a witness presently to prove that I +am Merton Ware." + +"You haven't drawn the money yet, then?" + +"I haven't been near the bank," he replied. "I still have over a thousand +dollars--money he had with him. Sometimes I think that if I could I'd +like to leave that twenty thousand pounds where it is. I should like some +day, if I could do so without suspicion, to let the creditors of the firm +have it back again. What do you think?" + +She nodded. + +"I would rather you didn't touch it yourself," she agreed. "I think +you'll find, too, that you'll be able to earn quite enough without +wanting it. Nothing disturbing has happened to you at all, then?" + +"Once I had a fright," he told her. "I was in a restaurant close to my +hotel. I was there with a young woman who is typing the play for me." + +She looked towards him incredulously. + +"You were there with a typewriter?" she exclaimed. + +"I suppose it seems queer," he admitted. "It didn't to me. She is a +plain, shabby, half starved little thing, fighting her own battle +bravely. She came to me for work--she lives in the flat below--and +it seemed to me that she was just as hungry for a kind word as I was +lonely, and I took her out with me. Twice I have taken her. Her name is +Miss Grimes." + +"I am not in the least sure that I approve," she said, "but go on." + +"A friend of hers came into the restaurant, a girl in the chorus of a +musical comedy here, and she had with her a young man. I recognised him +at once. We didn't come across one another much, but he was on the +steamer." + +Elizabeth's face was full of concern. + +"Go on." + +"He asked me twice if I wasn't Mr. Romilly. I assured him that he was +mistaken. I don't think I gave myself away. The next day he went to see +the girl I was with, Martha Grimes." + +"Well, what did she tell him?" + +"She told him that she had been typing my work for over a month, that I +had come from Jamaica, and that my name was Merton Ware." + +Elizabeth gazed into the fire for several moments, and Philip watched +her. It was a woman's face, grave and thoughtful, a little perturbed just +then, as though by some unwelcome thought. Presently she looked back at +him, looked into his eyes long and earnestly. + +"My friend," she said, "you are like no one else on earth. Perhaps you +are one of those horrible people who have what they call an unholy +influence over my sex. You have known this girl for a matter of a few +days, and she lies for you. And there's five hundred dollars reward. I +suppose she knew about that?" + +"Yes, she knew," he admitted. "She simply isn't that sort. I suppose I +realised that, or I shouldn't have been kind to her." + +"It's a puzzle," she went on. "I think there must be something in you of +the weakling, you know, something that appeals to the mothering instinct +in women. I know that my first feeling for you was that I wanted to help +you. Tell me what you think of yourself, Mr. Philip Merton Ware? Are you +a faithful person? Are you conscientious? Have you a heart, I wonder? How +much of the man is there underneath that strong frame of yours? Are you +going to take just the things that are given you in life, and make no +return? For the moment, you see, I am forgetting that you are my friend +and that I like you. I am thinking of you from the point of view of an +actress--as a psychical problem. Philip, you idiot!" she broke off, +suddenly stamping her foot, "don't sit there looking at me with your +great eyes. Tell me you are glad I've come back. Tell me you feel +something, for goodness' sake!" + +He was on his knees before she could check him, his arms, his lips +praying for her. She thrust him back. + +"It was my fault," she declared, "but don't, please. Yes, of course you +have feelings. I don't know why you tempted me to that little outburst." + +"You'll tempt me to more than that," he cried passionately. "Do you think +it's for your help that I've thought of you? Do you think it's because +you're an angel to me, because you've comforted me in my darkest, most +miserable hours that I've dreamed of you and craved for you? There's more +than that in my thoughts, dear. It's because you are you, yourself, that +I've longed for you through the aching hours of the night, that I've sat +and written like a man beside himself just for the joy of thinking that +the words I wrote would be spoken by you. Oh! if you want me to tell you +what I feel--" + +She suddenly leaned forward, took his head between her hands and kissed +his forehead. + +"Now get back, please, to your chair," she begged. "You've stilled the +horrible, miserable little doubt that was tearing at my heartstrings. I +just had it before, once or twice, and then--isn't it foolish!--your +telling me about this little typewriter girl! I must go and see her. We +must be kind to her." + +He resumed his seat with a little sigh. + +"She thought a great deal more of me and my work when I told her that you +were probably going to act in my play." + +Her expression changed. She was more serious, at the same time more +eager. + +"Ah! The play!" she exclaimed. "I can see that you have brought some of +it." + +He drew the roll of manuscript from his pocket. + +"Shall I read it?" he suggested. + +She almost snatched it away. "No! I can't wait for that. Give it to me, +quickly." + +She leaned forward so that the firelight fell upon the pages. Little +strands of soft brown hair drooped over her face. In studying her, Philip +almost forgot his own anxiety. He had known so few women, yet he had +watched so many from afar off, endowed them with their natural qualities, +built up their lives and tastes for them, and found them all so sadly +wanting. To him, Elizabeth represented everything that was desirable in +her sex, from the flowing lines of her beautiful body to the sympathy +which seemed to be always shining out of her eyes. Notwithstanding her +strength, she was so exquisitely and entirely feminine, a creature of +silk and laces, free from any effort of provocativeness, yet subtly, +almost clamorously human. He forgot, in those few moments, that she had +become the arbitress of his material fate--that he was a humble author, +watching the effect of his first attempts upon a mistress in her +profession. He remembered only that she was the woman who was filling his +life, stealing into every corner of it, permeating him with love, +pointing him onwards towards a life indescribable, unrealisable.... + +She swung suddenly towards him. There was a certain amount of enthusiasm +in her face but even more marked was her relief. + +"Oh! I am so glad," she cried. "You know, I have had qualms. When you +told me the story in your own words, picking your language so carefully, +and building it all up before me, well, you know what I said. I gave you +more than hope--I promised you success. And then, when I got away into +the hard, stagey world of Chicago, and my manager talked business to me, +and my last playwright preached of technique, I began to wonder whether, +after all, you could bring your ideas together like this, whether you +would have a sense of perspective--you know what I mean, don't you? And +you have it, and the play is going to be wonderful, and I shall produce +it. Why don't you look pleased, Mr. Author? You are going to be famous." + +He smiled. + +"I don't care about fame," he said. "And for the rest, I think I knew." + +"Conceited!" she exclaimed. + +"It wasn't that," he protested. "It was simply when I sat down in that +little room, high up over the roofs and buildings of a strange city, shut +myself in and told myself that it was for you--well, the thoughts came +too easily. They tumbled over one another. And when I looked away from my +work, I saw the people moving around me, and I knew that I had made my +dreams real, and that's the great thing, isn't it?... Elizabeth!" + +"Well?" + +"I am lonely in that little room." + +"You lonely, taking out typewriters to dine!" she mocked tenderly. + +"It is lonely," he repeated, "and I am afraid of you here in all this +luxury. I am so far away. I come from my attic to this, and I am afraid. +Do you know why?" + +She sat quite still for a moment. Dimly she felt the presage of a coming +change in their relations. Up to now she had been the mistress, she had +held him so easily in check with her practised skill, with an unfinished +sentence, a look, a touch. And now the man was rising up in him, and she +felt her powers weaken. + +"Shall I change my abode?" she murmured. + +"Ah! but you would be just as wonderful and as far away even if we +changed places--if you sat in my attic and I took your place here. That +isn't why I torture myself, why I am always asking myself if you are +real, if the things we talk about are real, if the things we feel belong +to ourselves, well up from our own hearts for one another or are just the +secondary emotions of other people we catch up without knowing why. This +is foolish, but you understand--you do understand. It is because you +keep me so far away from yourself, when my fingers are burning for yours, +when even to touch your face, to feel your cheek against mine, would +banish every fear I have ever had. Elizabeth, you do understand! I have +never kissed you, I have never held you for one moment in my arms--and I +love you!" + +He was leaning over her chair and she held him tightly by the shoulders. +There was nothing left of that hidden fear in his dark eyes. They shone +now with another light, and she began to tremble. + +"I wanted to wait a little, Philip, but if you feel like that--well, I +can't." + +He took her silently into his arms. With the half closing of her eyes, +the first touch of her responsive lips, himself dimly conscious of the +change, he passed into the world where stronger men live. + + + + +BOOK III + + + +CHAPTER I + +Three months later, a very different Philip stood in the smaller of a +handsome suite of reception rooms in a fashionable Fifth Avenue hotel. He +was wearing evening clothes of the most approved cut and carried himself +with a dignity and assurance entirely transforming. The distinction of +birth and breeding, little apparent in those half-starved, passionate +days of his misery, had come easily to the surface. His shoulders, too, +seemed to have broadened, and his face had lost its cadaverous pallor. + +The apartment in which he stood was plainly but handsomely furnished as a +small withdrawing room. On the oak chiffonier stood a silver tray on +which were half a dozen frosted cocktails. Through the curtains was +apparent a room beyond, in which a round table, smothered with flowers, +was arranged for supper; in the distance, from the public restaurant, +came the sound of softly played music. Philip glanced at the clock. The +whole of the anxieties of this momentous evening had passed. Telephone +messages had reached him every quarter of an hour. The play was a great +success. Elizabeth was coming to him with her producer and a few +theatrical friends, flushed with triumph. They were all to meet for the +first time that night the man who for the last three months had lived as +a hermit--Merton Ware, the author of "The House of Shams," the new-found +dramatist. + +A maître d'hôtel appeared in the space between the two rooms, and bowed. + +"Everything is quite ready, Mr. Ware," he said, in the friendly yet +deferential manner of an American head-waiter. "Won't you take a +cocktail, sir, while you are waiting?" + +"Very thoughtful of you, Louis. I think I will," Philip assented, taking +a little case from his pocket and lighting a cigarette. + +The man passed him a glass upon a small salver. + +"You'll pardon the liberty, I am sure, sir," he continued, dropping his +voice a little. "I've just heard that 'The House of Shams' seems to be a +huge success, sir. If I might take the liberty of offering my +congratulations!" + +Philip smiled genially. + +"You are the first, Louis," he said. "Thank you very much indeed." + +"I think you will find the supper everything that could be desired, Mr. +Ware," the man went on. "Our head chef, Monsieur Raconnot, has given it +his personal attention. The wine will be slightly iced, as you desired. I +shall be outside in the corridor to announce the guests." + +"Capital, Louis!" Ware replied, sipping his cocktail. "It will be another +quarter of an hour yet before we see anything of them, I am afraid." + +The man disappeared and left Philip once more alone. He looked through +the walls of the room as though, indeed, he could see into the packed +theatre and could hear the cries for "Author!" which even then were +echoing through the house. From the moment when Elizabeth, abandoning her +reserve, had given him the love he craved, a new strength seemed to have +shone out of the man. Step by step he had thought out subtly and with +infinite care every small detail of his life. It was he who had elected +to live those three months in absolute seclusion. It was he, indirectly, +who had arranged that many more photographs of Douglas Romilly, the +English shoe manufacturer, should appear in the newspapers. One moment's +horror he had certainly had. He could see the little paragraph now, +almost lost in the shoals of more important news: + + GHASTLY DISCOVERY IN A DERBYSHIRE CANAL + + Yesterday the police recovered the body of a man + who had apparently been dead for some weeks, from + a canal close to Detton Magna. The body was + unrecognisable but it is believed that the remains + are those of Mr. Philip Romilly, the missing art + teacher from London, who is alleged to have + committed suicide in January last. + +The thought of that gruesome find scarcely blanched his cheeks. His +nerves now were stronger and tenser things. He crushed back those +memories with all the strength of his will. Whatever might lie behind, he +had struck for the future which he meant to live and enjoy. They were +only weaklings who brooded over an unalterable past. It was for the +present and the near future that he lived, and both, in that moment, were +more alluring than ever before. Even his intellectual powers seemed to +have developed in his new-found happiness. The play which he had written, +every line of which appeared to gain in vital and literary force towards +its conclusion, was only the first of his children. Already other images +and ideas were flowing into his brain. The power of creation was +triumphantly throwing out its tendrils. He was filled with an amazing and +almost inspired confidence. He was ready to start upon fresh work that +hour, to-morrow, or when he chose. And before him now was the prospect of +stimulating companionship. Elizabeth and he had decided that the time had +come for him to take his fate into his hands. He was to be introduced to +the magnates of the dramatic profession, to become a clubman in the +world's most hospitable city, to mix freely in the circles where he would +find himself in constant association with the keenest brains and most +brilliant men of letters in the world. He was safe. They had both decided +it. + +He walked to the mirror and looked at himself. The nervous, +highly-strung, half-starved, neurotic stripling had become the perfectly +assured, well-mannered, and well-dressed man of the world. He had studied +various details with a peculiar care, suffered a barber to take summary +measures with his overlong black hair, had accustomed himself to the use +of an eyeglass, which hung around his neck by a thin, black ribbon. Men +might talk of likenesses, men who were close students of their fellows, +yet there was no living person who could point to him and say--"You are, +beyond a shadow of doubt, a man with whom I travelled on the +_Elletania_." The thing was impossible. + +Louis once more made a noiseless appearance. There was the slightest of +frowns upon his face. + +"A gentleman wishes a word with you before the arrival of your guests, +Mr. Ware," he announced. + +"A journalist?" Philip enquired carelessly. + +"I do not think so, sir." + +Even as he spoke the door was opened and closed again. The man who +had entered bowed slightly to Philip. He was tall and clean-shaven, +self-assured, and with manner almost significantly reserved. He held a +bowler hat in his hand and glanced towards Louis. He had the air of +being somewhat out of place in so fashionable a rendezvous. + +"Good evening, Mr. Ware!" he began. "Could I have just a word with you?" + +Philip nodded to Louis, who at once left the room. The newcomer drew a +little nearer. + +"My name, sir," he said, "is Dane--Edward Dane." + +Philip bowed politely. He was just a little annoyed at the intrusion, an +annoyance which he failed altogether to conceal. + +"What do you want with me?" he asked. "I am expecting some friends to +supper in about ten minutes." + +"Ten minutes will perhaps be sufficient for what I have to say," the +other promised. "You don't know me, then, Mr. Ware?" + +"Never saw you before, to the best of my knowledge," Philip replied +nonchalantly. "Are you a journalist?" + +The man laid his hat upon a corner of the table. + +"I am a detective," he said, "attached to the Cherry Street headquarters. +Your last rooms, Mr. Ware, were in my beat." + +Philip nodded with some slight indication of interest. He faced his +ordeal with the courage of a man of steel. + +"That so?" he remarked indifferently. "Well, Mr. Dane, I have heard a +good deal about you American detectives. Pleased to meet you. What can I +do for you?" + +The detective eyed Philip steadfastly. There was just the shadow of +something that looked like admiration in his hard, grey eyes. + +"Well, Mr. Ware," he said, "nothing that need disturb your supper party, +I am sure. Over in this country we sometimes do things in an unusual +way. That's why I am paying you this visit. I have been watching you for +exactly three months and fourteen days." + +"Watching me?" Philip repeated. + +"Precisely! No idea why, I suppose?" + +"Not the slightest." + +The detective glanced towards the clock. Barely two minutes had passed. + +"Well," he explained, "I got on your tracks quick enough when you skipped +from the Waldorf and blossomed out in a second-rate tenement house as +Merton Ware." + +"So I was at the Waldorf, was I?" Philip murmured. + +"You crossed from Liverpool on the _Elletania_," the man continued, +"registered at the Waldorf as Mr. Douglas Romilly of the Douglas Romilly +Shoe Company, went to your room, changed your clothes, and disappeared. +Of course, a disappearance of that sort," he went on tolerantly, "might +be possible in London. In New York, to even attempt it is farcical." + +"Dear me," remarked Philip, "this is very interesting. Let me ask you +this question, though. If you were so sure of your facts, why didn't you +arrest me at once instead of just watching me?" + +The man's eyes were like gimlets. He seemed as though he were trying, +with curious and professional intensity, to read the thoughts in Philip's +brain. + +"There is no criminal charge against Douglas Romilly that I know of," he +said. + +"There's a considerable reward offered for his discovery," Philip +reminded him. + +"I can claim that at any moment," the man replied. "I have had my reasons +for waiting. It's partly those reasons that have brought me here. For one +thing, Mr. Douglas Romilly was supposed to be able to put his hand on a +matter of a hundred thousand dollars somewhere in New York. You haven't +shown many signs up till now, Mr. Ware, of having any such sum in your +possession." + +"I see," Philip assented. "You wanted the money as well." + +"The creditors of the Douglas Romilly Shoe Company are wanting it pretty +badly," the man proceeded, "but that wasn't all. I wanted to find out +what your game was. That I don't know, even now. That is why I have come +to you. Have I the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Douglas Romilly?" + +"I really don't see," Philip protested thoughtfully, "why I should go +into partnership with you in this affair. You see, in the long run, our +interests might not be altogether identical." + +Mr. Dane smiled grimly. + +"That's a fairly shrewd calculation, Mr. Ware," he admitted. "You ain't +bound to answer any question you don't want to. This is just a friendly +chat and no more." + +"Besides," Philip continued, lighting another cigarette, "I think I +understood you to say that you had already arrived at the conclusion that +I was Douglas Romilly?" + +"Not precisely that," the detective replied. "All that I discovered was +that you were the man who registered at the Waldorf Hotel as Mr. Douglas +Romilly." + +"Well, the only name I choose to acknowledge at present is the name of +Merton Ware," Philip declared. "If you think there is any mystery about +me, any connection with the gentleman whom I believe you call Mr. Douglas +Romilly, well, the matter is one for your investigation. You will forgive +me if I remind you that my guests will be here in a matter of a few +minutes, and permit me to ask you one more question. Why do you come here +to me in this very unofficial manner? If I am really an impostor, you are +giving me every opportunity of clearing out." + +Mr. Edward Dane shook his head. He was fingering the brim of his hat. + +"Oh, no, Mr. Ware!" he declared smoothly. "Our detective system may have +some faults, but when a man's name is put on the list where yours +figures, he has not one chance in a million of leaving the country or of +gaining any place of hiding. I shall know where you lunch to-morrow and +with whom you dine, and with whom you spend your time. The law, sir, will +keep its eye upon you." + +"Really, that seems very friendly," Philip said coolly. "Shall I have the +privilege of your personal surveillance?" + +"I think not, Mr. Ware. To tell you the truth, this is rather a p.p.c. +visit. I've booked my passage on the _Elletania_, sailing to-morrow from +New York. I am taking a trip over to England to make a few enquiries +round about the spot where this Mr. Douglas Romilly hails from--Detton +Magna, isn't it?" + +Philip made no reply, yet even his silence might well have been the +silence of indifference. + +"At the last moment," the detective concluded, "it flashed in upon me +that there might be some ridiculous explanation of the few little points +about your case which, I must confess, have puzzled me. For that reason, +I decided to seek an interview with you before I left. You have, however, +I gather, nothing to say to me?" + +"Nothing at all, Mr. Dane, except to wish you a pleasant voyage," Philip +declared. "I won't detain you a moment longer. I hear my guests in the +corridor. Good night, sir!" he added, opening the door. "I appreciate +your call very much. Come and see me again when you return from England." + +Mr. Dane lingered for a moment upon the threshold, hat in hand, a +somewhat ominous figure. There was no attempt at a handshake between the +two men. The detective was imperturbable. Philip, listening to +Elizabeth's voice, had shown his first sign of impatience. + +"I shall surely do that, Mr. Ware!" the other promised, as he passed out. + +The door closed. Philip stood for a moment in the empty room, listening +to the man's retreating footsteps. Then he turned slowly around. His +cheeks were blanched, his eyes were glazed with reminiscent horror. He +looked through the wall of the room--a long way back. + +"We shall find Mr. Ware in here, I expect." He could hear the voices of +his approaching guests. + +He ground his heel into the carpet and swung around. He anticipated +Louis, threw open the curtain, and stood there waiting to welcome his +guests, a smile upon his lips, his hands outstretched towards Elizabeth. + + + +CHAPTER II + +Elizabeth's face was glowing with joy. For the first time Philip realised +that she, too, had had her anxieties. + +"You dear, dear man!" she exclaimed. "To think what you have missed! It +would have been the evening of your life. It's a success, do you hear?--a +great success! It was wonderful!" + +He seemed, almost to himself, to be playing a part, he was so calm yet so +gracefully happy. + +"I am glad for both our sakes," he said. + +She indicated the others with a little wave of the hand. + +"I don't think you know a soul, do you?" she asked. "They none of them +quite believe in your existence down at the theatre. This is my leading +man, Noel Bridges. You should have seen how splendid he was as +Carriston." + +Mr. Noel Bridges, with a deprecating smile towards Elizabeth, held out +his hand. He was tall and of rather a rugged type for the New York stage. +Like the rest of the little party, his eyes were full of curiosity as he +shook hands with Philip. + +"So you are something human, after all," he remarked. "We began to think +you lived underground and only put your head up every now and then for a +little air. I am glad to meet you, Mr. Ware. I enjoy acting in your play +very much indeed, and I hope it's only the first of many." + +"You are very kind," Philip murmured cordially. + +Elizabeth glanced around the little group. + +"Dear me, I am forgetting my manners," she declared. "I ought to have +presented you to Sara Denison first. Sara is really the star of your +play, Mr. Ware, although I have the most work to do. She loves her part +and has asked about you nearly every day." + +Miss Denison, a young lady of the smaller Gibson type, with large eyes +and a very constant smile, greeted Philip warmly. + +"Do you know," she told him, "that this is the first time I have ever +been in a play in which the author hasn't been round setting us to rights +most of the time? I can't imagine how you kept away, Mr. Ware." + +"Perhaps," observed Philip, "my absence has contributed to your success. +I am sure I shouldn't have known what to tell you. You see, I am so +absolutely ignorant of the technique." + +"I've got to shake hands with you, Mr. Ware," a stout, middle-aged, +clean-shaven man, with narrow black eyes and pale cheeks, declared, +stepping forward. "These other folk don't count for much by the side of +me. I am the manager of the theatre, and I'm thundering glad that your +first play has been produced at the 'New York,' sir. There's good stuff +in it, and if I am any judge, and I'm supposed to be, there's plenty of +better stuff behind. Shake hands, if you please, sir. You know me by +name--Paul Fink. I hope you'll see my signature at the bottom of a good +many fat cheques before you've finished writing plays." + +"That's very nice of you, Mr. Fink," Philip declared. "Now I am sure you +all want your supper." + +At a sign from Philip, the maître d'hôtel handed round the tray of +cocktails. Mr. Fink raised his glass. + +"Here's success to the play," he exclaimed, "and good luck to all of us!" + +He tossed off the contents of the glass and they all followed his +example. Then they took their places at the little round table and the +service of supper began. The conversation somewhat naturally centered +around Philip. The three strangers were all interested in his personality +and the fact that he had no previous work to his credit. It was unusual, +almost dramatic, and for a time both Elizabeth and he himself found +themselves hard put to it to escape the constant wave of good-natured but +very pertinent questions. + +"You'll have a dose of our newspapermen to-morrow, sir," Mr. Fink +promised him. "They'll be buzzing around you all day long. They'll want +to know everything, from where you get your clothes and what cigarettes +you smoke, to how you like best to do your work and what complexioned +typist you prefer. They're some boys, I can tell you." + +Philip's eyes met Elizabeth's across the table. The same instinct of +disquietude kept them both, for a moment, silent. + +"I am afraid," Elizabeth sighed, "that Mr. Ware will find it rather hard +to appreciate some of our journalistic friends." + +"They're good fellows," Mr. Fink declared heartily, "white men, all of +them. So long as you don't try to put 'em off on a false stunt, or +anything of that sort, they'll sling the ink about some. Ed Harris was in +my room just after the second act, and he showed me some of his stuff. I +tell you he means to boost us." + +Elizabeth laid her hand upon her manager's arm. + +"They're delightful, every one of them," she agreed, "but, Mr. Fink, you +have such influence with them, I wonder if I dare give you just a hint? +Mr. Ware has passed through some very painful times lately. He is so +anxious to forget, and I really don't wonder at it myself. I am sure he +will be delighted to talk with all of them as to the future and his +future plans, but do you think you could just drop them a hint to go +quietly as regards the past?" + +Mr. Fink was a little perplexed but inclined to be sympathetic. He +glanced towards Philip, who was deep in conversation with Sara Denison. + +"Why, I'll do my best, Miss Dalstan," he promised. "You know what the +boys are, though. They do love a story." + +"I am not going to have Mr. Ware's story published in every newspaper in +New York," Elizabeth said firmly, "and the newspaper man who worms the +history of Mr. Ware's misfortunes out of him, and then makes use of it, +will be no friend of mine. Ask them to be sports, Mr. Fink, there's a +dear." + +"I'll do what I can," he promised. "Mr. Ware isn't the first man in the +world who has funked the limelight, and from what I can see of him it +probably wasn't his fault if things did go a little crooked in the past. +I'll do my best, Miss Dalstan, I promise you that. I'll look in at the +club to-night and drop a few hints around." + +Elizabeth patted his hand and smiled at him very sweetly. The +conversation flowed back once more into its former channels, became a +medley of confused chaff, disjointed streams of congratulation, of +toast-drinking and pleasant speeches. Then Mr. Fink suddenly rose to his +feet. + +"Say," he exclaimed, "we've all drunk one another's healths. There's just +one other friend I think we ought to take a glass of wine with. Gee, +he'd give something to be with us to-night! You'll agree with me, Miss +Dalstan, I know. Let's empty a full glass to Sylvanus Power!" + +There was a curious silence for a second or two, then a clamour of +assenting voices. For a single moment Philip felt a sharp pang at his +heart. Elizabeth was gazing steadily out of the room, a queer tremble at +her lips, a look in her eyes which puzzled him, a look almost of fear, of +some sort of apprehension. The moment passed, but her enthusiasm, as +she raised her glass, was a little overdone, her gaiety too easily +assumed. + +"Why, of course!" she declared. "Fancy not thinking of Sylvanus!" + +They drank his health noisily. Philip set down his glass empty. A curious +instinct kept his lips sealed. He crushed down and stifled the memory of +that sudden stab. He did not even ask the one natural question. + +"Say, where is Sylvanus Power these days?" Mr. Fink enquired. + +"In Honolulu, when last I heard," Elizabeth replied lightly, "but then +one never knows really where he is." + +Philip became naturally the central figure of the little gathering. Mr. +Fink was anxious to arrange a little dinner, to introduce him to some +fellow workers. Noel Bridges insisted upon a card for the Lambs Club and +a luncheon there. Philip accepted gratefully everything that was offered +to him. It was no good doing things by halves, he told himself. The days +of his solitude were over. Even when, after the departure of his guests, +he glanced for a moment into the anteroom beyond and remembered those few +throbbing moments of suspense, they came back to him with a curious sense +of unreality--they belonged, surety, to some other man, living in some +other world! + +"You are happy?" Elizabeth murmured, as she took his arm and they waited +in the portico below for her automobile. + +He had no longer any idea of telling her of that disquieting visit. The +touch of her hair blown against his cheek, as he had helped her on with +her cloak, something in her voice, some slight diffidence, a queer, half +expostulating look in the eyes that fell with a curious uneasiness before +his, drove every thought of future danger out of his mind. He had at +least the present! He answered without a moment's hesitation. + +"For the first time in my life!" + +She gave the chauffeur a whispered order as she stepped into the car. + +"I have told him to go home by Riverside Drive," she said, as they glided +off. "It is a little farther, and I love the air at this time of night." + +He clasped her fingers--suddenly felt, with the leaning of her body, her +heart beating against his. With that wave of passion there was an instant +and portentous change in their attitudes. The soft protectiveness which +had sometimes seemed to shine out of her face, to envelop him in its +warmth, had disappeared. She was no longer the stronger. She looked at +him almost with fear, and he was electrically conscious of all the vigour +and strength of his stunted manhood, was master at last of his fate, +accepting battle, willing to fight whatever might come for the sake of +the joy of these moments. She crept into his arms almost humbly. + + + +CHAPTER III + +The success of "The House of Shams" was as immediate and complete as was +the social success of its author. After a few faint-hearted attempts, +Philip and Elizabeth both agreed that the wisest course was to play the +bold game--to submit himself to the photographer, the interviewer, and, +to some judicious extent, to the wave of hospitality which flowed in upon +him from all sides. He threw aside, completely and utterly, every idea of +leading a more or less sheltered life. His photograph was in the Sunday +newspapers and the magazines. It was quite easy, in satisfying the +appetite of journalists for copious personal details, especially after +the hints dropped by Mr. Fink, to keep them carefully off the subject of +his immediate past. There had been many others in the world who, on +attaining fame, had preferred to gloss over their earlier history. It +seemed to be tacitly understood amongst this wonderful freemasonry of +newspaper men that Mr. Merton Ware was to be humoured in this way. He was +a man of the present. Character sketches of him were to be all +foreground. But, nevertheless, Philip had his trials. + +"Want to introduce you to one of our chief 'movie' men," Noel Bridges +said to him one day in the smoking room of "The Lambs." "He is much +interested in the play, too. Mr. Raymond Greene, shake hands with Mr. +Merton Ware." + +Mr. Raymond Greene, smiling and urbane, turned around with outstretched +hand, which Philip, courteous, and with all that charm of manner which +was making him speedily one of the most popular young men in New York, +grasped cordially. + +"I am very happy to meet you, Mr. Greene," he said. "You represent an +amazing development. I am told that we shall all have to work for you +presently or find our occupation gone." + +With a cool calculation which had come to Philip in these days of his +greater strength, he had purposely extended his sentence, conscious, +although apparently he ignored the fact, that all the time Mr. Raymond +Greene was staring in his face with a bewilderment which was not without +its humorous side. He was too much a man of the world, this great picture +producer, to be at a loss for words, to receive an introduction with any +degree of clumsiness. + +"But surely," he almost stammered, "we have met before?" + +Philip shook his head doubtfully. + +"I don't think so," he said, "As a matter of fact, I am sure we haven't, +because you are one of the men whom I hoped some day to come across over +here. I couldn't possibly have forgotten a meeting with you." + +Mr. Raymond Greene's blue eyes looked as though they saw visions. + +"But surely," he expostulated, "the _Elletania_--my table on the +_Elletania_, when Miss Dalstan crossed--" + +Philip laughed easily. + +"Why," he exclaimed, "are you going to be like the others and take me +for--wasn't it Mr. Romilly?--the man who disappeared from the Waldorf? +Why, I've been tracked all round New York because of my likeness to that +man." + +"Likeness!" Mr. Raymond Greene muttered. "Likeness!" + +There was a moment's silence. Then Mr. Greene knew that the time had +arrived for him to pull himself together. He had carried his bewilderment +to the very limits of good breeding. + +"Well, well!" he continued. "Fortunately, it's six o'clock, and I can +offer you gentlemen a cocktail, for upon my word I need it! Come to look +at you, Mr. Ware, there's a trifle more what I might term _savoir faire_, +about you. That chap on the boat was a little crude in places, but +believe me, sir," he went on, thrusting his arm through Ware's and +leading him towards the bar, "you don't want to be annoyed at those +people who have mistaken you for Romilly, for in the whole course of my +life, and I've travelled round the world a pretty good deal, I never came +across a likeness so entirely extraordinary." + +"I have heard other people mention it," Noel Bridges intervened, +"although not quite with the same conviction as you, Mr. Greene. +Curiously enough, however, the photograph of Romilly which they sent out +from England, and which was in all the Sunday papers, didn't strike me as +being particularly like Mr. Ware." + +"It was a damned bad photograph, that," Mr. Raymond Greene pronounced. "I +saw it--couldn't make head nor tail of it, myself. Well, the world is +full of queer surprises, but this is the queerest I ever ran up against. +Believe me, Mr. Ware, if this man Romilly who disappeared had been a +millionaire, you could have walked into his family circle and been made +welcome at the present moment. Why, I don't believe his own wife or +sister, if he had such appendages, would have been able to tell that you +weren't the man." + +"Unfortunately," Bridges remarked, as he sipped the cocktail which the +cinema man had ordered, "this chap Romilly was broke, wasn't he?--did a +scoot to avoid the smash-up? They say that he had a few hundred thousand +dollars over here, ostensibly for buying material, and that he has taken +the lot out West." + +"Well, I must say he didn't seem that sort on the steamer," Mr. Raymond +Greene declared, "but you never can tell. Looked to me more like a +schoolteacher. Some day, Mr. Ware, I want you to come along to my +office--it's just round the corner in Broadway there--and have a chat +about the play." + +"You don't want to film us before we've finished its first run, surely?" +Philip protested, laughing. "Give us a chance!" + +"Well, we'll talk about that," the cinema magnate promised. + +They were joined by other acquaintances, and Philip presently made his +escape. One of the moments which he had dreaded more than any other had +come and passed. Even if Mr. Raymond Greene had still some slight +misgivings, he was, to all effects and purposes, convinced. Philip walked +down the street, feeling that one more obstacle in the path of his +absolute freedom had been torn away. He glanced at his watch and boarded +a down-town car, descended in the heart of the city region of Broadway, +and threaded his way through several streets until he came to the back +entrance of a dry goods store. Here he glanced once more at his watch and +commenced slowly to walk up and down. The timekeeper, who was standing in +the doorway with his hands in his pockets, watched him with interest. +When Philip approached for the third time, he addressed him in friendly +fashion. + +"Waiting for one of our gals, eh?" + +Philip stifled his quick annoyance and answered in as matter-of-fact a +tone as possible. + +"Yes! How long will it be before they are out from the typewriting +department?" + +"Typewriting department?" the man repeated. "Well, that depends some upon +the work. They'll be out, most likely, in ten minutes or so. I guessed +you were after one of our showroom young ladies. We get some real swells +down here sometimes--motor cars of their own. The typists ain't much, as +a rule. It's a skinny job, theirs." + +"The young ladies from here appear to be prosperous," Ware remarked. "I +watched them last night coming out. My friend happened to be late, +and I had to leave without seeing her." + +"That's nothing to go by, their clothes ain't," the man replied. "They +spend all their money on their backs instead of putting it inside. If +it's Miss Grimes you're waiting for, you're in luck, for here she is, +first out." + +Philip drew a little into the background. The girl came down the stone +passage, passed the timekeeper without appearing to notice his familiar +"Good-evening!" and stepped out into the murky street. Philip, who saw +her face as she emerged from the gloom, gave a little start. She seemed +paler than ever, and she walked with her eyes fixed upon vacancy, as +though almost unconscious of her whereabouts. She crossed the sidewalk +without noticing the curbstone, and stumbled at the unexpected depth of +it. Philip stepped hastily forward. + +"Miss Grimes!" he exclaimed. "Martha!... Why do you look at me as though +I were a ghost?" + +She started violently. It was certain that she saw him then for the first +time. + +"You! Mr. Ware! Sorry, I didn't see you." + +He insisted upon shaking hands. There was a little streak of colour in +her cheeks now. + +"I came to meet you," he explained. "I came yesterday and missed you. I +have been to your rooms four times and only found out with difficulty +where you were working. The last time I called, I rang the bell six +times, but the door was locked." + +"I was in bed," she said shortly. "I can't have gentlemen callers there +at all now. Father's gone off on tour. Thank you for coming to meet me, +but I don't think you'd better stop." + +"Why not?" he asked gently. + +"Because I don't want to be seen about with you," she declared, "because +I don't want you to look at me, because I want you to leave me alone," +she added, with a little passionate choke in her voice. + +He turned and walked by her side. + +"Martha," he said, "you were very kind to me when I needed it, you were a +companion to me when I was more miserable than I ever thought any human +being could be. I was in a quandary then--in a very difficult position. I +took a plunge. In a way I have been successful." + +"Oh, we all know that!" she replied bitterly. "Pictures everywhere, +notices in the paper all the time--you and your fine play! I've seen it. +Didn't think much of it myself, but I suppose I'm not a judge." + +"Tell me why you came out there looking as though you'd seen a ghost?" he +asked. + +"Discharged," she answered promptly. + +"Why?" + +"Fainted yesterday," she went on, "and was a bit wobbly to-day. The head +clerk said he wanted some one stronger." + +"Brute!" Philip muttered. "Well, that's all right, Martha. I have some +work for you." + +"Don't want to do your work." + +"Little fool!" he exclaimed. "Martha, do you know you're the most +obstinate, pig-headed, prejudiced, ill-tempered little beast I ever +knew?" + +"Then go along and leave me," she insisted, stopping short, "if I'm all +that." + +"You're also a dear!" + +She drew a little breath and looked at him fiercely. + +"Now don't be silly," he begged. "I'm starving. I had no lunch so that I +could dine early. Here we are at Durrad's." + +"I'm not going inside there with you," she declared. + +"Look here," he expostulated, "are we going to do a wrestling act on the +sidewalk? It will be in all the papers, you know." + +"Spoil your clothes some, wouldn't it?" she remarked, looking at them +disparagingly. + +"It would indeed, also my temper," he assured her. "We are going to have +a cocktail, you and I, within two minutes, young lady, and a steak +afterwards. If you want to go in there with my hand on your neck, you +can, but I think it would look better--" + +She set her feet squarely upon the ground and faced him. + +"Mr. Ware," she said, "I am in rags--any one can see that. Listen. I will +not go into a restaurant and sit by your side to have people wonder what +woman from the streets you have brought in to give a meal to out of +charity. Do you hear that? I can live or I can die, just by myself. If I +can't keep myself, I'll die, but I won't. Nothing doing. You hear?" + +She had been so strong and then something in his eyes, that pitying, half +anxious expression with which he listened, suddenly seemed to sap her +determination. She swayed a little upon her feet--she was indeed very +tired and very weak. Philip took instant advantage of her condition. +Without a moment's hesitation he passed his arm firmly through hers, and +before she could protest she was inside the place, being led to a table, +seated there with her back to the wall, with a confused tangle of words +still in her throat, unuttered. Then two great tears found their way into +her eyes. She said nothing because she could not. Philip was busy talking +to the waiter. Soon there was a cocktail by her side, and he was +drinking, smiling at her, perfectly good-natured, obviously accepting her +momentary weakness and his triumph as a joke. + +"Got you in, didn't I?" he observed pleasantly. "Now, remember you told +me the way to drink American cocktails--one look, one swallow, and down +they go." + +She obeyed him instinctively. Then she took out a miserable little piece +of a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. + +"What's gone wrong?" he asked briskly. "Tell me all about it." + +"Father went off on tour," she explained. "He left the rent owing for a +month, and he's been writing for money all the time. The agent who comes +round doesn't listen to excuses. You pay, or out you go into the street. +I've paid somehow and nearly starved over it. Then I got this job after +worrying about it Lord knows how long, and this evening I'm discharged." + +"How much a week was it?" he enquired, with sympathy. + +"Ten dollars," she replied. "Little enough, but I can't live without it." + +He changed his attitude, suddenly realising the volcanic sensitiveness of +her attitude towards him and life in general. Instinctively he felt that +at a single ill-considered word she would even then, in her moment of +weakness, have left him, have pushed him on one side, and walked out to +whatever she might have to face. + +"What a fool you are!" he exclaimed, a little brusquely. + +"Am I!" she replied belligerently. + +"Of course you are! You call yourself a daughter of New York, a city +whose motto seems to be pretty well every one for himself. You know you +did my typing all right, you know my play was a success, you know that I +shall have to write another. What made you take it for granted that I +shouldn't want to employ you, and go and hide yourself? Lock the door +when I came to see you, because it was past eight o'clock, and not answer +my letters?" + +"Can't have men callers now dad's away," she told him, a little +brusquely. "It's not allowed." + +"Oh, rubbish!" he answered irritably. "That isn't the point. You've kept +away from me. You've deliberately avoided me. You knew that I was just +as lonely as you were." + +Then she blazed out. The sallowness of her cheeks, the little dip under +her cheekbones--she had grown thinner during the last week or so--made +her eyes seem larger and more brilliant than ever. + +"You lonely! Rubbish! Why, they're all running after you everywhere. +Quite a social success, according to the papers! I say, ain't you +afraid?" + +"Horribly," he admitted, "and about the one person I could have talked to +about it chucks me." + +"I don't know anything about you, or what you've done," she said. "I only +know that the tecs--" + +He laid his hand upon her fingers. She snatched them away but accepted +his warning. They were served then with their meal, and their +conversation drifted into other channels. + +"Well," he continued presently, in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone, "I've +found you now, and you've got to be sensible. It's true I've had a stroke +of luck, but that might fall away at any moment. I've typing waiting for +you, or I can get you a post at the New York Theatre. You'd better first +do my typing. I'll have it in your rooms to-morrow morning by nine +o'clock. And would you like something in advance?" + +"No!" she replied grudgingly. "I'll have what I've earned, when I've +earned it." + +He sipped his claret and studied her meditatively. + +"You're not much of a pal, are you?" + +She scoffed at him, looked him up and down, at his well-fitting clothes, +his general air of prosperity. + +"Pal!" she jeered. "Look at you--Merton Ware, the great dramatist, and +me--a shabby, ugly, bad-tempered, indifferent typewriter. Bad-tempered," +she repeated. "Yes, I am that. I didn't start out to be. I just haven't +had any luck." + +"It will all come some day," he assured her cheerfully. + +"I think if you'd stayed different," she went on thoughtfully, "if you +hadn't slipped away into the clouds ... shows what a selfish little beast +I am! Can't imagine why you bother about me." + +"Shall I tell you why, really?" he asked. "Because you saved me--I don't +know what from. The night we went out I was suffering from a loneliness +which was the worst torture I have ever felt. It was there in my throat +and dragging down my heart, and I just felt as though any way of ending +it all would be a joy. All these millions of hard-faced people, intent on +their own prosperity or their own petty troubles, goaded me, I think, +into a sort of silent fury. Just that one night I craved like a madman +for a single human being to talk to--well, I shall never forget it, +Martha--" + +"Miss Grimes!" she interrupted under her breath. + +He laughed. + +"That doesn't really matter, does it?" he asked. "You've never been +afraid that I should want to make love to you, have you?" + +She glanced round into the mirror by their side, looked at her wan face, +the shabby little hat, the none too tidily arranged hair which drooped +over her ears; down at her shapeless jacket, her patched skirt, the shoes +which were in open rebellion. Then she laughed, curiously enough without +any note of bitterness. + +"Seems queer, doesn't it, even to think of such a thing! I've been up +against it pretty hard, though. A man who gives a meal to a girl, even if +she is as plain as I am, generally seems to think he's bought her, in +this city. Even the men who are earning money don't give much for +nothing. But you are different," she admitted. "I'll be fair about +it--you're different." + +"You'll be waiting for the work at nine o'clock to-morrow morning?" he +asked, as indifferently as possible. + +"I will," she promised. + +He leaned back and told her little anecdotes about the play, things that +had happened to him during the last few weeks, speaking often of +Elizabeth Dalstan. By degrees the nervous unrest seemed to pass away from +her. When they had finished their meal and drunk their coffee, she was +almost normal. She smoked a cigarette and even accepted the box which he +thrust into her hand. When he had paid the bill, she rose a little +abruptly. + +"Well," she said, "you've had your way, and a kind, nice way it was. Now +I'll have mine. I don't want any politeness. When we leave this place I +am going to walk home, and I am going to walk home alone." + +"That's lucky," he replied, "because I have to be at the theatre in ten +minutes to meet a cinema man. Button up your coat and have a good night's +sleep." + +They left the place together. She turned away with a farewell nod and +walked rapidly eastwards. He watched her cross the road. A poor little +waif, she seemed, except that something had gone from her face which had +almost terrified him. She carried herself, he fancied, with more +buoyancy, with infinitely more confidence, and he drew a sigh of relief +as he called for a taxi. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Elizabeth paused for breath at the top of the third flight of stairs. She +leaned against the iron balustrade. + +"You poor dear!" she exclaimed. "How many times a day did you have to do +this?" + +"I didn't go out very often," he reminded her, "and it wasn't every day +that the lift was out of order. It's only one more flight." + +She looked up the stairs, sighed, and raised her smart, grey, tailor-made +skirt a little higher over her shoes. + +"Well," she announced heroically, "lead on. If they would sometimes dust +these steps--but, after all, it doesn't matter to you now, does it? Fancy +that poor girl, though." + +He smiled a little grimly. + +"A few flights of stairs aren't the worst things she has had to face, I'm +afraid," he said. + +"I am rather terrified of her," Elizabeth confided, supporting herself by +her companion's shoulder. "I think I know that ultra-independent type. +Kick me if I put my foot in it. Is this the door?" + +Philip nodded and knocked softly. There was a sharp "Come in!" + +"Put the key down, please," the figure at the typewriter said, as they +entered. + +The words had scarcely left Martha's lips before she turned around, +conscious of some other influence in the room. Philip stepped forward. + +"Miss Grimes," he said, "I have brought Miss Dalstan in to see you. She +wants--" + +He paused. Something in the stony expression of the girl who had risen to +her feet and stood now facing them, her ashen paleness unrelieved by any +note of colour, her hands hanging in front of her patched and shabby +frock, seemed to check the words upon his lips. Her voice was low but not +soft. It seemed to create at once an atmosphere of anger and resentment. + +"What do you want?" she demanded. + +"I hope you don't mind--I am so anxious that you should do some work for +me," Elizabeth explained. "When Mr. Ware first brought me in his play, I +noticed how nicely it was typewritten. You must have been glad to find it +turn out such a success." + +"I take no interest in my work when once it is typed," Martha Grimes +declared, "and I am very sorry but I do not like to receive visitors. I +am very busy. Mr. Ware knows quite well that I like to be left alone." + +Elizabeth smiled at her delightfully. + +"But it isn't always good for us, is it," she reminded her, "to live +exactly as we would like, or to have our own way in all things?" + +There was a moment's rather queer silence. Martha Grimes seemed to be +intent upon studying the appearance of her visitor, the very beautiful +woman familiar to nearly every one in New York, perhaps at that moment +America's most popular actress. Her eyes seemed to dwell upon the little +strands of fair hair that escaped from beneath her smart but simple hat, +to take in the slightly deprecating lift of the eyebrows, the very +attractive, half appealing smile, the smart grey tailor-made gown with +the bunch of violets in her waistband. Elizabeth was as quietly dressed +as it was possible for her to be, but her appearance nevertheless brought +a note of some other world into the shabby little apartment. + +"It's the only thing I ask of life," Martha said, "the only thing I get. +I want to be left alone, and I will be left alone. If there is any more +work, I will do it. If there isn't, I can find some somewhere else. But +visitors I don't want and won't have." + +Elizabeth was adorably patient. She surreptitiously drew towards her a +cane chair, a doubtful-looking article of furniture upon which she seated +herself slowly and with great care. + +"Well," she continued, with unabated pleasantness, "that is reasonable as +far as it goes, only we didn't quite understand, and it is such a climb +up here, isn't it? I came to talk about some work, but I must get my +breath first." + +"Miss Dalstan thought, perhaps," Philip intervened diffidently, "that you +might consider accepting a post at the theatre. They always keep two +stenographers there, and one of them fills up her time by private work, +generally work for some one connected with the theatre. In your case you +could, of course, go on with mine, only when I hadn't enough for you, and +of course I can't compose as fast as you can type, there would be +something else, and the salary would be regular." + +"I should like a regular post," the girl admitted sullenly. "So would any +one who's out of work, of course." + +"The salary," Elizabeth explained, "is twenty-five dollars a week. The +hours are nine to six. You have quite a comfortable room there, but when +you have private work connected with the theatre you can bring it home if +you wish. Mr. Ware tells me that you work very quickly. You will finish +all that you have for him to-day, won't you?" + +"I shall have it finished in half an hour." + +"Then will you be at the New York Theatre to-morrow morning at nine +o'clock," Elizabeth suggested. "There are some parts to be copied. It +will be very nice indeed if you like the work, and I think you will." + +The girl stood there, irresolute. It was obvious that she was trying to +bring herself to utter some form of thanks. Then there was a loud knock +at the door, which was opened without waiting for any reply. The janitor +stood there with a small key in his hand, which he threw down upon a +table. + +"Key of number two hundred, miss," he said. "Let me have it back again +to-night." + +He closed the door and departed. + +"Two hundred?" Philip exclaimed. "Why, that's my old room, the one up +above." + +"I must see it," Elizabeth insisted. "Do please let us go up there. I +meant to ask you to show it me." + +"You are not thinking of moving, are you, Miss Grimes?" Philip enquired. + +She snatched at the key, but he had just possessed himself of it and was +swinging it from his forefinger. + +"I don't know," she snapped. "I was going up there, anyway. You can't +have the key to-day." + +"Why not?" Philip asked in surprise. + +"Never mind. There are some things of mine up there. I--" + +She broke off. They both looked at her, perplexed. Philip shook his head +good-naturedly. + +"Miss Grimes," he said, "you forget that the rooms are mine till next +quarter day. I promise you we will respect any of your belongings we may +find there. Come along, Elizabeth." + +"We'll see you as we come down," the latter promised, nodding pleasantly, + +"I don't know as you will," the girl retorted fiercely. "I may not be +here." + +They climbed the last two flights of stairs together. + +"What an extraordinary young woman!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Is there any +reason for her being quite so rude to me?" + +"None that I can conceive," he answered. "She is always like that." + +"And yet you took an interest in her!" + +"Why not? She is human, soured by misfortune, if you like, with an +immense stock of bravery and honesty underneath it all. She has had a +drunken father practically upon her hands, and life's been pretty sordid +for her. Here we are." + +He fitted the key into the lock and swung the door open. The clear +afternoon light shone in upon the little shabby room and its worn +furniture. There were one or two insignificant belongings of Philip's +still lying about the place, and on the writing-table, exactly opposite +the spot where he used to sit, a little blue vase, in which was a bunch +of violets. Somehow or other it was the one arresting object in the room. +They both of them looked at it in equal amazement. + +"Is any one living here?" Elizabeth enquired. + +"Not to my knowledge," he replied. "No one could take it on without my +signing a release." + +They moved over to the desk. Elizabeth stooped down and smelt the +violets, lifted them up and looked at the cut stalks. + +"Is this where you used to sit and write?" she asked. + +He nodded. + +"But I never had any flowers here," he observed, gazing at them in a +puzzled manner. + +Elizabeth looked at the vase and set it down. Then she turned towards her +companion and shook her head. + +"Oh, my dear Philip," she sighed, "you really don't know what makes that +girl so uncouth?" + +"You mean Martha? Of course I don't. You think that she ... Rubbish!" + +He stopped short in sudden confusion. Elizabeth passed her arm through +his. She replaced the vase very carefully, looked once more around the +room, and led him to the door. + +"Never mind," she said. "It isn't anything serious, of course, but it's +wonderful, Philip, what memories a really lonely woman will live on, what +she will do to keep that little natural vein of sentiment alive in her, +and how fiercely she will fight to conceal it. You can go on down and +wait for me in the hall. I am going in to say good-by to Miss Martha +Grimes. I think that this time I shall get on better with her." + + + +CHAPTER V + +Philip waited nearly a quarter of an hour for Elizabeth. When at last she +returned, she was unusually silent. They drove off together in her +automobile. She held his fingers under the rug. + +"Philip dear," she said, "I think it is time that you and I were +married." + +He turned and looked at her in amazement. There was a smile upon her +lips, but rather a plaintive one. He had a fancy, somehow, that there had +been tears in her eyes lately. + +"Elizabeth!" + +"If we are ever going to be," she went on softly, "why shouldn't we be +married quietly, as people are sometimes, and then tell every one +afterwards?" + +He held the joy away from him, struggling hard for composure. + +"But a little time ago," he reminded her, "you wanted to wait." + +"Yes," she confessed, "I, too, had my--my what shall I call it--fear?--my +ghost in the background?" + +"Ah! but not like mine," he faltered, his voice unsteady with a surging +flood of passion. "Elizabeth, if you really mean it, if you are going to +take the risk of finding yourself the wife of the villain in a _cause +célèbre_, why--why--you know very well that even the thought of it can +draw me up into heaven. But, dear--my sweetheart--remember! We've played +a bold game, or rather I have with your encouragement, but we're not safe +yet." + +"Do you know anything that I don't?" she asked feverishly. + +"Well, I suppose I do," he admitted. "It isn't necessarily serious," he +went on quickly, as he saw the colour fade from her cheeks, "but on the +very night that our play was produced, whilst I was waiting about for you +all at the restaurant, a man came to see me. He is one of the keenest +detectives in New York--Edward Dane his name is. He knew perfectly well +that I was the man who had disappeared from the Waldorf. He told me so to +my face." + +"Then why didn't he--why didn't he do something?" + +"Because he was clever enough to suspect that there was something else +behind it all," Philip said grimly. "You see, he'd discovered that I +hadn't used any of the money. He couldn't fit in any of my doings with +the reports they'd had about Douglas. Somehow or other--I can't tell +how--another suspicion seems to have crept into the man's brain. All the +time he talked to me I could see him trying to read in my face whether +there wasn't something else! He'd stumbled across a puzzle of which the +pieces didn't fit. He has gone to England--gone to Detton Magna--gone to +see whether there are any missing pieces to be found. He may be back any +day now." + +"But what could he discover?" she faltered. + +"God knows!" Philip groaned. "There's the whole ghastly truth there, if +fortune helped him, and he were clever enough, if by any devilish chance +the threads came into his hand. I don't think--I don't think there was +ever any fear from the other side. I had all the luck. But, Elizabeth, +sometimes I am terrified of this man Dane. I didn't mean to tell you +this, but it's too late now. Do you know that I am watched, day by day? I +pretend not to notice it--I am even able, now and then, to shut it out +from my own thoughts--but wherever I go there's some one shadowing me, +some one walking in my footsteps. I'm perfectly certain that if you were +to go to police headquarters here, you could find out where I have spent +almost every hour since I took that room in Monmouth House." + +She gripped his fingers fiercely. + +"Philip! Philip!" + +He leaned forward, gazing with peculiar, almost passionate intentness, +into the faces of the people as they swept along Broadway. + +"Look at them, Elizabeth!" he muttered. "Look at that mob of men and +women sweeping along the pavements there, every kind and shape of man, +every nationality, every age! They are like the little flecks on the top +of a wave. I watched them when I first came and I felt almost reckless. +You'd think a man could plunge in there and be lost, wouldn't you? He +can't! I tried it. Is there anywhere else in the world, I wonder? Is +there anywhere in the living world where one can throw off everything of +the past, where one can take up a new life, and memory doesn't come?" + +She shook her head. She was more composed now. The moment of feverish +excitement had passed. Her shrewd and level common sense had begun to +reassert itself. + +"There isn't any such place, Philip," she told him, "and if there were it +wouldn't be worth while your trying to find it. We are both a little +hysterical this evening. We've lost our sense of proportion. You've +played for your stake. You mustn't quail; if the worst should come, you +must brave it out. I believe, even then, you would be safe. But it won't +come--it shan't!" + +He gripped her hands. They were slowing up now, caught in a maze of heavy +traffic a few blocks from the theatre. His voice was firm. He had +regained his self-control. + +"What an idiot I have been!" he exclaimed scornfully. "Never mind, that's +past. There is just one more serious word, though, dear." + +She responded immediately to the change in his manner, and smiled into +his face. + +"Well?" + +"My only real problem," he went on earnestly, "is this. Dare I hold you +to your word, Elizabeth? Dare I, for instance, say 'yes' to the wonderful +suggestion of yours?--make you my wife and risk having people look at you +in years to come, point at you with pity and say that you married a +murderer who died a shameful death! Fancy how the tragedy of that would +lie across your life--you who are so wonderful and so courted and so +clever!" + +"Isn't that my affair, Philip?" she asked calmly. + +"No," he answered, "it's mine!" + +She turned and laughed at him. For a moment she was her old self again. + +"You refuse me?" + +His eyes glowed. + +"We'll wait," he said hoarsely, "till Dane comes back from England!" + +The car had stopped outside the theatre. Hat in hand, and with his face +wreathed in smiles, the commissionaire had thrown open the door. The +people on the pavement were nudging one another--a famous woman was about +to descend. She turned back to Philip. + +"Come in with me," she begged. "Somehow, I feel cold and lonely to-night. +It hasn't anything to do with what we were talking about, but I feel as +though something were going to happen, that something were coming out of +the shadows, something that threatens either you or me. I'm silly, but +come." + +She clung to him as they crossed the pavement. For once she forgot to +smile at the little curious crowd. She was absorbed in herself and her +feelings. + +"Life is so hard sometimes!" she exclaimed, as they lingered for a moment +near the box office. "There's that poor girl, Philip, friendless and +lonely. What she must suffer! God help her--God help us all! I am sick +with loneliness myself, Philip. Don't leave me alone. Come with me to my +room. I only want to see if there are any letters. We'll go somewhere +near and dine first, before I change. Philip, what is the matter with me? +I don't want to go a step alone. I don't want to be alone for a moment." + +He laughed reassuringly and drew her closer to him. She led the way down +the passage towards her own suite of apartments. They passed one or two +of the officials of the theatre, whom she greeted with something less +than her usual charm of manner. As they reached the manager's office +there was the sound of loud voices, and the door was thrown open. Mr. +Fink appeared, and with him a somewhat remarkable figure--a tall, +immensely broad, ill-dressed man, with a strong, rugged face and a mass +of grey hair; a huge man, who seemed, somehow or other, to proclaim +himself of a bigger and stronger type than those others amongst whom +he moved. He had black eyes, and the heavy jaw of an Irishman. His face +was curiously unwrinkled. He stood there, blocking the way, his great +hands suddenly thrust forward. + +"Betty, by the Lord that loves us!" he exclaimed. "Here's luck! I was on +my way out to search for you. Got here on the Chicago Limited at four +o'clock. Give me your hands and say that you are glad to see me." + +If Elizabeth were glad, she showed no sign of it. She seemed to have +become rooted to the spot, suddenly dumb. Philip, by her side, heard the +quick indrawing of her breath. + +"Sylvanus!" she murmured. "You! Why, I thought you were in China." + +"There's no place on God's earth can hold me for long," was the +boisterous reply. "I did my business there in three days and caught a +Japanese boat back. Such a voyage and such food! But New York will make +up for that. You've got a great play, they tell me. I must hear all about +it. Shake my hands first, though, girl, as though you were glad to see +me. You seem to have shrunken since I saw you last--to have grown +smaller. Didn't London agree with you?" + +The moment of shock had passed. Elizabeth had recovered herself. She gave +the newcomer her hands quite frankly. She even seemed, in a measure, glad +to see him. + +"These unannounced comings and goings of yours from the ends of the earth +are so upsetting to your friends," she declared. + +"And this gentleman? Who is he?" + +Elizabeth laughed softly. + +"I needn't tell you, Mr. Ware," she said, turning to Philip, "that this +dear man here is an eccentric. I dare say you've heard of him. It is Mr. +Sylvanus Power, and Sylvanus, this is Mr. Merton Ware, the author of our +play--'The House of Shams.'" + +Philip felt his hand held in a grasp which, firm though it was, seemed to +owe its vigour rather to the long, powerful fingers than to any real +cordiality. Mr. Sylvanus Power was studying him from behind his bushy +eyebrows. + +"So you're Merton Ware," he observed. "I haven't seen your play yet--hope +to to-night. An Englishman, eh?" + +"Yes, I am English," Philip assented coolly. "You come from the West, +don't you?" + +There was a moment's silence. Elizabeth laughed softly. + +"Oh, there's no mistake about Mr. Power!" she declared. "He brings the +breezy West with him, to Wall Street or Broadway, Paris or London. You +can't shake it off or blow it away." + +"And I don't know as I am particularly anxious to, either," Mr. Power +pronounced. "Are you going to your rooms here, Betty? If so, I'll come +along. I guess Mr. Ware will excuse you." + +Philip was instantly conscious of the antagonism in the other's manner. +As yet, however, he felt little more than amusement. He glanced towards +Elizabeth, and the look in her face startled him. The colour had once +more left her cheeks and her eyes were full of appeal. + +"If you wouldn't mind?" she begged. "Mr. Power is a very old friend and +we haven't met for so long." + +"You needn't expect to see anything more of Miss Dalstan to-night, either +of you," the newcomer declared, drawing her hand through his arm, "except +on the stage, that is. I am going to take her out and give her a little +dinner directly. Au revoir, Fink! I'll see you to-night here. Good-day to +you, Mr. Ware." + +Philip stood for a moment motionless. The voice of Mr. Sylvanus Power was +no small thing, and he was conscious that several of the officials of the +place, and the man in the box office, had heard every word that had +passed. He felt, somehow, curiously ignored. He watched the huge figure +of the Westerner, with Elizabeth by his side, disappear down the +corridor. Mr. Fink, who had also been looking after them, turned towards +him. + +"Say, that's some man, Sylvanus Power!" he exclaimed admiringly. "He is +one of our multimillionaires, Mr. Ware. What do you think of him?" + +"So far as one can judge from a few seconds' conversation," Philip +remarked, "he seems to possess all the qualities essential to the +production of a multimillionaire in this country." + +Mr. Fink grinned. + +"Sounds a trifle sarcastic, but I guess he's a new type to you," he +observed tolerantly. + +"Absolutely," Philip acknowledged, as he turned and made his way slowly +out of the theatre. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Philip's disposition had been so curiously affected by the emotions of +the last few months that he was not in the least surprised to find +himself, that evening, torn by a very curious and unfamiliar spasm of +jealousy. After an hour or so of indecision he made his way, as usual, to +the theatre, but instead of going at once to Elizabeth's room, he slipped +in at the back of the stalls. The house was crowded, and, seated in the +stage box, alone and gloomy, his somewhat austere demeanour intensified +by the severity of his evening clothes, sat Sylvanus Power with the air +of a conqueror. Philip, unaccountably restless, left his seat in a very +few minutes, and, making his way to the box office, scribbled a line to +Elizabeth. The official to whom he handed it looked at him in surprise. + +"Won't you go round yourself, Mr. Ware?" he suggested. "Miss Dalstan has +another ten minutes before she is on." + +Philip shook his head. + +"I'm looking for a man I know," he replied evasively. "I'll be somewhere +about here in five minutes." + +The answer came in less than that time. It was just a scrawled line in +pencil: + +"Forgive me, dear. I will explain everything in the morning, if you will +come to my rooms at eleven o'clock. This evening I have a hateful duty to +perform and I cannot see you." + +Philip, impatient of the atmosphere of the theatre, wandered out into the +streets with the note in his pocket. Broadway was thronged with people, a +heterogeneous, slowly-moving throng, the hardest crowd to apprehend, to +understand, of any in the world. He looked absently into the varying +stream of faces, stared at the whirling sky-signs, the lights flashing +from the tall buildings, heard snatches of the music from the open doors +of the cafes and restaurants. Men, and even women, elbowed him, +unresenting, out of the way, without the semblance of an apology. It +seemed to him that his presence there, part of the drifting pandemonium +of the pavement, was in a sense typical of his own existence in New York. +He had given so much of his life into another's hands and now the anchor +was dragging. He was suddenly confronted with the possibility of a rift +in his relations with Elizabeth; with a sudden surging doubt, not of +Elizabeth herself but simply a feeling of insecurity with regard to their +future. He only realised in those moments how much he had leaned upon +her, how completely she seemed to have extended over him and his troubled +life some sort of sheltering influence, to which he had succumbed with an +effortless, an almost fatalistic impulse, finding there, at any rate, a +refuge from the horrors of his empty days. It was all abstract and +impersonal at first, this jealousy which had come so suddenly to disturb +the serenity of an almost too perfect day, but as the hours passed it +seemed to him that his thoughts dwelt more often upon the direct cause of +his brief separation from Elizabeth. He turned in at one of the clubs of +which he had been made a member, and threw himself gloomily into an +easy-chair. His thoughts had turned towards the grim, masterful +personality of the man who seemed to have obtruded himself upon their +lives. What did it mean when Elizabeth told him she was engaged for +to-night? She was supping with him somewhere--probably at that moment +seated opposite to him at a small, rose-shaded table in one of the many +restaurants of the city which they had visited together. He, Sylvanus +Power, his supplanter, was occupying the place that belonged to him, +ordering her supper, humouring her little preferences, perhaps sharing +with her that little glow of relief which comes with the hour of rest, +after the strain of the day's work. The suggestion was intolerable. +To-morrow he would have an explanation! Elizabeth belonged to him. +The sooner the world knew it, the better, and this man first of all. He +read her few lines again, hastily pencilled, and evidently written +standing up. There was a certain ignominy in being sent about his +business, just because this colossus from the West had appeared and +claimed--what? Not his right!--he could have no right! What then?... + +Philip ordered a drink, tore open an evening paper, and tried to read. +The letters danced before his eyes, the whisky and soda stood neglected +at his elbow. Afterwards he found himself looking into space. There was +something cynical, challenging almost, in the manner in which that man +had taken Elizabeth away from him, had acknowledged his introduction, +even had treated the author of a play, a writer, as some sort of a +mountebank, making his living by catering for the amusements of the +world. How did that man regard such gifts as his, he wondered?--Sylvanus +Power, of whom he had seen it written that he was one of the conquerors +of nature, a hard but splendid utilitarian, the builder of railways in +China and bridges for the transit of his metals amid the clouds of the +mountain tops. In the man's absence, his harshness, almost uncouthness, +seemed modified. He was a rival, without a doubt, and to-night a favoured +one. How well had he known Elizabeth? For how long? Was it true, that +rumour he had once heard--that the first step in her fortunes had been +due to the caprice of a millionaire? He found the room stifling, but the +thought of the streets outside unnerved him. He looked about for some +distraction. + +The room was beginning to fill--actors, musicians, a few journalists, a +great many men of note in the world of Bohemia kept streaming in. One +or two of them nodded to him, several paused to speak. + +"Hullo, Ware!" Noel Bridges exclaimed. "Not often you give us a look in. +What are you doing with yourself here all alone?" + +Philip turned to answer him, and suddenly felt the fire blaze up again. +He saw his questioner's frown, saw him even bite his lip as though +conscious of having said a tactless thing. The actor probably understood +the whole situation well enough. + +"I generally go into the Lotus," Philip lied. "To-night I had a fancy to +come here." + +"The Lotus is too far up town for us fellows," Bridges remarked. "We need +a drink, a little supper, and to see our pals quickly when the night's +work is over. I hear great things of the new play, Mr. Ware, but I don't +know when you'll get a chance to produce it. Were you in the house +tonight?" + +"Only for a moment." + +"Going stronger than ever," Bridges continued impressively. "Yes, thanks, +I'll take a Scotch highball," he added, in response to Philip's mute +invitation, "plenty of ice, Mick. There wasn't a seat to be had in the +house, and I wouldn't like to say what old Fink had to go through before +he could get his box for the great Sylvanus." + +"His box?" Philip queried. + +"The theatre belongs to Sylvanus Power, you know," Bridges explained. "He +built it five years ago." + +"For a speculation?" + +The actor fidgeted for a moment with his tumbler. + +"No, for Miss Dalstan," he replied. + +Philip set his teeth hard. The temptation to pursue the conversation was +almost overpowering. The young man himself, though a trifle embarrassed, +seemed perfectly willing to talk. At least it was better to know the +truth! Then another impulse suddenly asserted itself. Whatever he was to +know he must learn from her lips and from hers only. + +"Well, I should think it's turned out all right," he remarked. + +Noel Bridges shrugged his shoulders. + +"The rent, if it were figured out at a fair interest on the capital, +would be something fabulous," he declared. "You see, the place was +extravagantly built--without any regard to cost. The dressing rooms, as +you may have noticed, are wonderful, and all the appointments are unique. +I don't fancy the old man's ever had a quarter's rent yet that's paid him +one per cent, on the money. See you later, perhaps, Mr. Ware," the young +man concluded, setting down his tumbler. "I'm going in to have a grill. +Why don't you come along?" + +Philip hesitated for a second and then, somewhat to the other's surprise, +assented. He was conscious that he had been, perhaps, just a little +unresponsive to the many courtesies which had been offered him here and +at the other kindred clubs. They had been ready to receive him with open +arms, this little fraternity of brain-workers, and his response had been, +perhaps, a little doubtful, not from any lack of appreciation but partly +from that curious diffidence, so hard to understand but so fundamentally +English, and partly because of that queer sense of being an impostor +which sometimes swept over him, a sense that he was, after all, only +the ghost of another man, living a subjective life; that, reason it out +however he might, there was something of the fraud in any personality +he might adopt. And yet, deep down in his heart he was conscious of so +earnest a desire to be really one of them, this good-natured, +good-hearted, gay-spirited little throng, with their delightful +intimacies, their keen interest in each other's welfare, their potent, +almost mysterious geniality, which seemed to draw the stranger of kindred +tastes so closely under its influence. Philip, as he sat at the long +table with a dozen or so other men, did his best that night to break +through the fetters, tried hard to remember that his place amongst them, +after all, was honest enough. They were writers and actors and +journalists. Well, he too was a writer. He had written a play which they +had welcomed with open arms, as they had done him. In this world of +Bohemia, if anywhere, he surely had a right to lift up his head and +breathe--and he would do it. He sat with them, smoking and talking, until +the little company began to thin out, establishing all the time a new +reputation, doing a great deal to dissipate that little sense of +disappointment which his former non-responsiveness had created. + +"He's a damned good fellow, after all," one of them declared, as at last +he left the room. "He is losing his Britishness every day he stays here." + +"Been through rough times, they say," another remarked. + +"He is one of those," an elder member pronounced, taking his pipe for a +moment from his mouth, "who was never made for happiness. You can always +read those men. You can see it behind their eyes." + +Nevertheless, Philip walked home a saner and a better man. He felt +somehow warmed by those few hours of companionship. The senseless part of +his jealousy was gone, his trust in Elizabeth reestablished. He looked at +the note once more as he undressed. At eleven o'clock on the following +morning in her rooms! + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Something of his overnight's optimism remained with Philip when at eleven +o'clock on the following morning he was ushered into Elizabeth's rooms. +It was a frame of mind, however, which did not long survive his +reception. From the moment of his arrival, he seemed to detect a +different atmosphere in his surroundings,--the demeanour of Phoebe, his +staunch ally, who admitted him without her usual welcoming smile; the +unanalysable sense of something wanting in the dainty little room, +overfilled with strong-smelling, hothouse flowers in the entrance and +welcome of Elizabeth herself. His eyes had ached for the sight of her. +He was so sure that he would know everything the moment she spoke. +Yet her coming brought only confusion to his senses. She was +different--unexpectedly, bewilderingly different. She had lost that +delicate serenity of manner, that almost protective affection which he +had grown to lean upon and expect. She entered dressed for the street, +smoking a cigarette, which was in itself unusual, with dark rings under +her eyes, which seemed to be looking all around the room on some +pretext or other, but never at him. + +"Am I late?" she asked, a little breathlessly. "I am so sorry. Tell me, +have you anything particular to do?" + +"Nothing," he answered. + +"I want to go out of the city--into the country, at once," she told him +feverishly. "The car is waiting. I ordered it for a quarter to eleven. +Let us start." + +"Of course, if you wish it," he assented. + +He opened the door but before she passed through he leaned towards her. +She shook her head. His heart sank. What could there be more ominous +than this! + +"I am not well," she muttered. "Don't take any notice of anything I say +or do for a little time. I am like this sometimes--temperamental, I +suppose. All great actresses are temperamental. I suppose I am a great +actress. Do you think I am, Philip?" + +He was following her down-stairs now. He found it hard, however, to +imitate the flippancy of her tone. + +"The critics insist upon it," he observed drily. "Evidently your audience +last night shared their opinion." + +She nodded. + +"I love them to applaud like that, and yet--audiences don't really know, +do they? Perhaps--" + +She relapsed into silence, and they took their places in the car. She +settled herself down with a little sigh of content and drew the rug over +her. + +"As far as you can go, John," she told the man, "but you must get back at +six o'clock. The country, mind--not the shore." + +They started off. + +"So you were there last night?" she murmured, leaning back amongst the +cushions with an air of relief. + +"I was there for a few moments. I wrote my note to you in the box +office." + +She shook the memory away. + +"And afterwards?" + +"I went to one of the clubs down-town." + +"What did you do there?" she enquired. "Gossip?" + +"Some of the men were very kind to me," he said. "I had supper with Noel +Bridges, amongst others." + +"Well?" she asked, almost defiantly. + +"I don't understand." + +She looked intently at him for a moment. + +"I forgot," she went on. "You are very chivalrous, aren't you? You +wouldn't ask questions.... See, I am going to close my eyes. It is too +horrible here, and all through Brooklyn. When we are in the lanes I can +talk. This is just one of those days I wish that we were in England. All +our country is either suburban or too wild and restless. Can you be +content with silence for a little time?" + +"Of course," he assured her. "Besides, you forget that I am in a strange +country. Everything is worth watching." + +They passed over Brooklyn Bridge, and for an hour or more they made slow +progress through the wide-flung environs of the city. At last, however, +the endless succession of factories and small tenement dwellings lay +behind them. They passed houses with real gardens, through stretches of +wood whose leaves were opening, whose branches were filled with the +sweet-smelling sap of springtime. Elizabeth seemed to wake almost +automatically from a kind of stupor. She pushed back her veil, and +Philip, stealing eager glances towards her, was almost startled by some +indefinable change. Her face seemed more delicate, almost the face of an +invalid, and she lay back there with half-closed eyes. The strength of +her mouth seemed to have dissolved, and its sweetness had become almost +pathetic. There were signs of a great weariness about her. The fingers +which reached out for the little speaking-tube seemed to have become +thinner. + +"Take the turn to the left, John," she instructed, "the one to Bay Shore. +Go slowly by the lake and stop where I tell you." + +They left the main road and travelled for some distance along a lane +which, with its bramble-grown fences and meadows beyond, was curiously +reminiscent of England. They passed a country house, built of the wood +which was still a little unfamiliar to Philip, but wonderfully homelike +with its cluster of outbuildings, its trim lawns, and the turret clock +over the stable entrance. Then, through the leaves of an avenue of elms, +they caught occasional glimpses of the blue waters of the lake, which +they presently skirted. Elizabeth's eyes travelled over its placid +surface idly, yet with a sense of passive satisfaction. In a few minutes +they passed into the heart of a little wood, and she leaned forward. + +"Stop here, close to the side of the road, John. Stop your engine, +please, and go and sit by the lake." + +The man obeyed at once with the unquestioning readiness of one used to +his mistress' whims. For several minutes she remained silent. She had the +air of one drinking in with almost passionate eagerness the sedative +effect of the stillness, the soft spring air, the musical country sounds, +the ripple of the breeze in the trees, the humming of insects, the soft +splash of the lake against the stony shore. Philip himself was awakened +into a peculiar sense of pleasure by this, almost his first glimpse of +the country since his arrival in New York. A host of half forgotten +sensations warmed his heart. He felt suddenly intensely sympathetic, +perhaps more genuinely tender than he had ever felt before towards the +woman by his side, whose hour of suffering it was. His hand slipped under +the rug and held her fingers, which clutched his in instantaneous +response. Her lips seemed unlocked by his slight action. + +"I came here alone two years ago," she told him, "and since then often, +sometimes to study a difficult part, sometimes only to think. One +moment." + +She released her fingers from his, drew out the hatpins from her hat, +unwound the veil and threw them both on to the opposite seat. Then she +laid her hands upon her forehead as though to cool it. The little breeze +from the lake rippled through her hair, bringing them every now and then +faint whiffs of perfume from the bordering gardens. + +"There!" she exclaimed, with a little murmur of content. "That's a man's +action, isn't it? Now I think I am getting brave. I have something to +say to you, Philip." + +He felt her fingers seeking his again and held them tightly. It was +curious how in that moment of crisis his thoughts seemed to wander away. +He was watching the little flecks of gold in her hair, wondering if he +had ever properly appreciated the beautiful curve of her neck. Even her +voice seemed somehow attuned to the melody of their surroundings, the +confused song of the birds, the sighing of the lake, the passing of the +west wind through the trees and shrubs around. + +"Philip," she began, clinging closely to him, "I have brought you here to +tell you a story which perhaps you will think, when you have heard it, +might better have been told in my dressing-room. Well, I couldn't. +Besides, I wanted to get away. It is about Sylvanus Power." + +He sat a little more upright. His nerves were tingling now with +eagerness. + +"Yes?" + +"I met him," she continued, "eight years ago out West, when I was in a +travelling show. I accepted his attentions at first carelessly enough. I +did not realise the sort of man he was. He was a great personage even in +those days, and I suppose my head was a little turned. Then he began to +follow us everywhere. There was a scandal, of course. In the end I left +the company and came to New York. He went to China, where he has always +had large interests. When I heard that he had sailed--I remember reading +it in the paper--I could have sobbed with joy." + +Philip moved a little uneasily in his place. Some instinct told him, +however, how greatly she desired his silence--that she wanted to tell her +story her own way. + +"Then followed three miserable years, during which I saw little of him. I +knew that I had talent, I was always sure of making a living, but I got +no further. It didn't seem possible to get any further. Nothing that I +could do or say seemed able to procure for me an engagement in New York. +Think of me for a moment now, Philip, as a woman absolutely and entirely +devoted to her work. I loved it. It absorbed all my thoughts. It was just +the one thing in life I cared anything about. I simply ached to get at +New York, and I couldn't. All the time I had to play on tour, and you +won't quite understand this, dear, but there is nothing so wearing in +life as for any one with my cravings for recognition there to be always +playing on the road." + +She paused for a few minutes. There was a loud twittering of birds. A +rabbit who had stolen carefully through the undergrowth scurried away. A +car had come through the wood and swept past them, bringing with it some +vague sense of disturbance. It was some little time before she settled +down again to her story. + +"At the end of those three years," she went on, "Sylvanus Power had +become richer, stronger, more masterful than ever. I was beginning to +lose heart. He was clever. He studied my every weakness. He knew quite +well that with me there was only one way, and he laid his schemes with +regard to me just in the same fashion as he schemed to be a conqueror +of men, to build up those millions. We were playing near New York and one +day he asked me to motor in there and lunch with him. I accepted. It was +in the springtime, almost on such a day as this. We motored up in one of +his wonderful cars. We lunched--I remember how shabby I felt--at the best +restaurant in New York, where I was waited upon like a queen. Somehow or +other, the man had always the knack of making himself felt wherever he +went. He strode the very streets of New York like one of its masters and +the people seemed to recognise it. Afterwards he took me into Broadway, +and he ordered the car to stop outside the theatre where I am now +playing. I looked at it, and I remember I gave a little cry of interest. + +"'This is the new theatre that every one is talking about, isn't it?' I +asked him eagerly. + +"'It is,' he answered. 'Would you like to see inside?' + +"Of course, I was half crazy with curiosity. The doors flew open before +him, and he took me everywhere. You know yourself what a magnificent +place it is--that marvellous stage, the auditorium all in dark green +satin, the seats like armchairs, the dressing rooms like boudoirs--the +wonderful spaciousness of it! It took my breath away. I had never +imagined such splendour. When we had finished looking over the whole +building, I clutched his arm. + +"'I can't believe that it isn't some sort of fairy palace!' I exclaimed. +And to think that no one knows who owns the place or when it is going to +be opened!' + +"'I'll tell you all about that' he answered. 'I built it, I own it, and +it will be opened just when you accept my offer and play in it.' + +"It all seemed too amazing. For a time I couldn't speak coherently. Then +I remember thinking that whatever happened, whatever price I had to pay, +I must stand upon the stage of that theatre and win. My lips were quite +dry. His great voice seemed to have faded into a whisper. + +"'Your offer?' I repeated. + +"'Yourself,' he answered gruffly." + +There was a silence which seemed to Philip interminable. All the magic of +the place had passed away, its music seemed no longer to be singing +happiness into his heart. Then at last he realised that she was waiting +for him to speak. + +"He wanted--to marry you?" he faltered. + +"He had a wife already." + +Splash! John was throwing stones into the lake, a pastime of which he was +getting a little tired. A huge thrush was thinking about commencing to +build his nest, and in the meantime sat upon a fallen log across the way +and sang about it. A little tree-climbing bird ran round and round the +trunk of the nearest elm, staring at them, every time he appeared, with +his tiny black eyes. A squirrel, almost overhead, who had long since come +to the conclusion that they were harmless, decided now that they had the +queerest manners of any two young people he had ever watched from his +leafy throne, and finally abandoned his position. Elizabeth had been +staring down the road ever since the last words had passed her lips. She +turned at last and looked at her companion. He was once more the refugee, +the half-starved man flying from horrors greater even than he had known. +She began to tremble. + +"Philip!" she cried. "Say anything, but speak to me!" + +Like a flash he seemed to pass from his own, almost the hermit's way of +looking out upon life from the old-fashioned standpoint of his inherent +puritanism, into a closer sympathy with those others, the men and women +of the world into which he had so lately entered, the men and women who +had welcomed him so warm-heartedly, human beings all of them, who lived +and loved with glad hearts and much kindliness. The contrast was absurd, +the story itself suddenly so reasonable. No other woman on tour would +have kept Sylvanus Power waiting for three years. Only Elizabeth could +have done that. It was such a human little problem. People didn't live in +the clouds. He wasn't fit for the clouds himself. Nevertheless, when he +tried to speak his throat was hard and dry, and at the second attempt he +began instead to laugh. She gripped his arm. + +"Philip!" she exclaimed. "Be reasonable! Say what you like, but look and +behave like a human being. Don't make that noise!" she almost shrieked. + +He stopped at once. + +"Forgive me," he begged humbly. "I can't help it. I seem to be playing +hide and seek with myself. You haven't finished the story yet--if there +is anything more to tell me." + +She drew herself up. She spoke absolutely without faltering. + +"I accepted Sylvanus Power's terms," she went on. "He placed large sums +of money in Fink's hands to run the theatre. There was a wonderful +opening. You were not interested then or you might have heard of it. I +produced a new play of Clyde Fitch's. It was a great triumph. The house +was packed. Sylvanus Power sat in his box. It was to be his night. +Through it all I fought like a woman in a nightmare. I didn't know what +it meant. I knew hundreds of women who had done in a small way what I was +prepared to do magnificently. In all my acquaintance I think that I +scarcely knew one who would have refused to do what I was doing. And all +the time I was in a state of fierce revolt. I had moments when my life's +ambitions, when New York itself, the Mecca of my dreams, and that +marvellous theatre, with its marble and silk, seemed suddenly to dwindle +to a miserable, contemptible little doll's house. And then again I +played, and I felt my soul as I played, and the old dreams swept over +me, and I said that it wasn't anything to do with personal vanity that +made me crave for the big gifts of success; that it was my art, and that +I must find myself in my art or die." + +The blood was flowing in his veins again. She was coming back to him. He +was ashamed--he with his giant load of sin! His voice trembled with +tenderness. + +"Go on," he begged. + +"I think that the reason I played that night as though I were inspired +was because of the great passionate craving at my heart for +forgetfulness, to shut out the memory of that man who sat almost +gloomily alone in his box, waiting. And then, after it was all over, the +wonder and the glory of it, he appeared suddenly in my dressing-room, +elbowing his way through excited journalists, kicking bouquets of flowers +from his path. We stood for a moment face to face. He came nearer. I +shrank away. I was terrified! He looked at me in cold surprise. + +"'Three minutes,' he exclaimed, 'to say good-by. I'm off to China. Stick +at it. You've done well for a start, but remember a New York audience +wants holding. Choose your plays carefully. Trust Fink.' + +"'You're going away?' I almost shrieked. + +"He glanced at his watch, leaned over, and kissed me on the forehead. + +"'I'll barely make that boat,' he muttered, and rushed out."... + +Philip was breathless. The strange, untold passion of the whole thing was +coming to him in waves of wonderful suggestion. + +"Finish!" he cried impatiently. "Finish!" + +"That is the end," she said. "I played for two years and a half, with +scarcely a pause. Then I came to Europe for a rest and travelled back +with you on the _Elletania_. Last night I saw Sylvanus Power again for +the first time. Don't speak. My story is in two halves. That is the +first. The second is just one question. That will come before we reach +home...John!" she called. + +The man approached promptly--he was quite weary of throwing stones. + +"Take us somewhere to lunch," his mistress directed, "and get back to New +York at six o'clock." + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +It was not until they were crossing Brooklyn Bridge, on their way into +the city, that she asked him that question. They crawled along, one of an +interminable, tangled line of vehicles of all sorts and conditions, the +trains rattling overhead, and endless streams of earnest people passing +along the footway. Below them, the evening sunlight flashed upon the +murky waters, glittered from the windows of the tall buildings, and shone +a little mercilessly upon the unlovely purlieus of the great human hive. +The wind had turned cool, and Elizabeth, with a little shiver, had drawn +her furs around her neck. All through the day, during the luncheon in an +unpretentious little inn, and the leisurely homeward drive, she had been +once more entirely herself, pleasant and sympathetic, ignoring absolutely +the intangible barrier which had grown up between them, soon to be thrown +down for ever or to remain for all time. + +"We left our heroine," she said, "at an interesting crisis in her career. +I am waiting to hear from you--what would you have done in her place?" + +He answered her at once, and he spoke from the lesser heights. He was +fiercely jealous. + +"It is not a reasonable question," he declared. "I am not a woman. I am +just a man who has led an unusually narrow and cramped life until these +last few months." + +"That is scarcely fair," she objected. "You profess to have loved--to +love still, I hope. That in itself makes a man of any one. Then you, too, +have sinned. You, too, are one of those who have yielded to passion of a +sort. Therefore, your judgment ought to be the better worth having." + +He winced as though he had been struck, and looked at her with eyes +momentarily wild. He felt that the deliberate cruelty of her words was of +intent, an instinct of her brain, defying for the moment her heart. + +"I don't know," he faltered. "I won't answer your question. I can't. You +see, the love you speak of is my love for you. You ask me to ignore +that--I, who am clinging on to life by one rope." + +"You are like all men," she sighed. "We do not blame you for it--perhaps +we love you the more--but when a great crisis comes you think only of +yourselves. You disappoint me a little, Philip. I fancied that you might +have thought a little of me, something of Sylvanus Power." + +"I haven't your sympathy for other people," he declared hoarsely. + +"No," she assented, "sympathy is the one thing a man lacks. It isn't your +fault, Philip. You are to be pitied for it. And, after all, it is a +woman's gift, isn't it?" + +There followed then a silence which seemed interminable. It was not until +they were nearing the theatre that he suddenly spoke with a passion which +startled her. + +"Tell me," he insisted, "last night? I can't help asking. I was in hell!" + +He told himself afterwards that there couldn't be any possible way of +reconciling cruelty so cold-blooded with all that he knew of Elizabeth. +She behaved as though his question had fallen upon deaf ears. The car had +stopped before the entrance to the theatre. She stepped out even before +he could assist her, hurried across the pavement and looked back at him +for one moment only before she plunged into the dark passage. She nodded, +and there was an utterly meaningless smile upon her lips. + +"Good-by!" she said. "Do you mind telling John he needn't wait for me?" + +Then she disappeared. He stood motionless upon the pavement, a little +dazed. Two or three people jostled against him. A policeman glanced at +him curiously. A lady with very yellow hair winked in his face. Philip +pulled himself together and simultaneously felt a touch upon his elbow. +He glanced into the face of the girl who had accosted him, and for a +moment he scarcely recognised her. + +"Wish you'd remember you're in New York and not one of your own sleepy +old towns," Miss Grimes remarked brusquely. "You'll have a policeman say +you're drunk, in a minute, if you stand there letting people shove you +around." + +He fell into step by her side, and they walked slowly along. Martha was +plainly dressed, but she was wearing new clothes, new shoes, and a new +hat. + +"Don't stare at me as though you never saw me out of a garret before," +she went on, a little sharply. "Your friend Miss Dalstan is a lady who +understands things. When I arrived at the theatre this morning I found +that it was to be a permanent job all right, and there was a little +advance for me waiting in an envelope. That fat old Mr. Fink began to +cough and look at my clothes, so I got one in first. 'This is for me to +make myself look smart enough for your theatre, I suppose?' I said. +'Give me an hour off, and I'll do it.' So he grinned, and here I am. Done +a good day's work, too, copying the parts of your play for a road +company, and answering letters. What's wrong with you?" + +The very sound of her voice was a tonic. He almost smiled as he answered +her. + +"Just a sort of hankering for the moon and a sudden fear lest I mightn't +get it." + +"You're spoilt, that's what's the matter with you," she declared +brusquely. + +"It never occurred to me," he said gloomily, "that life had been +over-kind." + +"Oh, cut it out!" she answered. "Here you are not only set on your feet +but absolutely held up there; all the papers full of Merton Ware's +brilliant play, and Merton Ware, the new dramatist, with his social +gifts--such an acquisition to New York Society! Why, it isn't so very +long ago, after all, that you hadn't a soul in New York to speak to. +I saw something in your face that night. I thought you were hungry. So +you were, only it wasn't for food. It cheered you up even to talk with +me. And look at you to-day! Clubs and parties and fine friends, and there +you were, half dazed in Broadway! Be careful, man. You don't know what it +is to be down and out. You haven't been as near it as I have, anyway, or +you'd lift your head up and be thankful." + +"Martha," he began earnestly-- + +"Miss Grimes!" she interrupted firmly. "Don't let there be any mistake +about that. I hate familiarity." + +"Miss Grimes, then," he went on. "You talk about my friends. Quite right. +I should think I have been introduced to nearly a thousand people since +the night my play was produced. I have dined at a score of houses and +many scores of restaurants. The people are pleasant enough, too, but all +the time it's Merton Ware the dramatist they are patting on the back. +They don't know anything about Merton Ware the man. Perhaps there are +some of them would be glad to, but you see it's too soon, and they seem +to live too quickly here to make friends. I am almost as lonely as I was, +so far as regards ordinary companionship. Last night I felt the first +little glow of real friendliness--just the men down at the club." + +"You've put all your eggs into one basket, that's what you've done," she +declared. + +"That's true enough," he groaned. + +"And like all men--selfish brutes!" she proceeded deliberately--"you +expect everything. Fancy expecting everything from a woman like Miss +Dalstan! Why, you aren't worthy of it, you know." + +"Perhaps not," he admitted, "but you see, Miss Grimes, there is something +in life which seems to have passed you by up till now." + +"Has it indeed!" she objected. "You think I've never had a young man, eh? +Perhaps you're right. Haven't found much time for that sort of rubbish. +Anyway, this is where I hop on a trolley car." + +"Wait a moment," he begged. "Don't leave me yet. You've nothing to do, +have you?" + +"Nothing particular," she confessed, "except go home and cook my dinner." + +"Look here," he went on eagerly, "I feel like work. I've got the second +act of my new play in my mind. Come round with me and let me try +dictating it. I'll give you something to eat in my rooms. It's for the +theatre, mind. I never tried dictating. I believe I could do it to you." + +"In your rooms," she repeated, a little doubtfully. + +"They won't talk scandal about us, Miss Grimes," he assured her. "To tell +you the truth, I want to be near the telephone." + +"In case she rings you up, eh?" + +"That's so. I said something I ought not to have done. I ought to have +waited for her, but it was something that had been tearing at me ever +since last night, and I couldn't bear it." + +"Some blunderers, you men," Miss Grimes sighed. "Well, I'm with you." + +He led her almost apologetically to the lift of the handsome building in +which his new rooms were situated. They were very pleasant bachelor +rooms, with black oak walls and green hangings, prints upon the wall, a +serviceable writing-table, and a deep green carpet. She looked around her +and at the servant who had come forward at their entrance, with a little +sniff. + +"Shall you be changing to-night, sir?" he asked. + +"Not to-night," Philip answered quickly. "Tell the waiter to send up a +simple dinner for two--I can't bother to order. And two cocktails," he +added, as an afterthought. + +Martha stared after the disappearing manservant disparagingly. + +"Some style," she muttered. "A manservant, eh? Don't know as I ever saw +one before off the stage." + +"Don't be silly," he remonstrated. "He has four other flats to look after +besides mine. It's the way one lives, nowadays, cheaper than ordinary +hotels or rooms. Take off your coat." + +She obeyed him, depositing it carefully in a safe place. Then she +strolled around the room, finding pictures little to her taste, and +finally threw herself into an easy-chair. + +"Are we going to work before we eat?" she asked. + +"No, afterwards," he told her. "Have a cigarette?" + +She held it between her fingers but declined a match. + +"I'll wait for the cocktails," she decided. "Now listen here, Mr. Ware, +there's a word or two I'd like to say to you." + +"Go ahead," he invited listlessly. + +"You men," she continued, looking him squarely in the face, "think a lot +too much of yourselves. You think so much of yourselves that as often as +not you've no time to think of other folk. A month or so ago who were +you? You were hiding in a cheap tenement house, scared out of your wits, +dressed pretty near as shabbily as I was, with a detective on your track, +and with no idea of what you were going to do for a living. And now look +at you. Who's done it all?" + +"Of course, my play being successful," he began-- + +She broke in at once. + +"You and your play! Who took your play? Who produced it at the New York +Theatre and acted in it so that people couldn't listen without a sob in +their throats and a tingling all over? Yours isn't the only play in the +world! I bet Miss Dalstan has a box full of them. She probably chose +yours because she knew that you were feeling pretty miserable, because +she'd got sorry for you coming over on the steamer, because she has a +great big heart, and is always trying to do something for others. She's +made a man of you. Oh! I know a bit about plays. I know that with the +royalties you're drawing you can well afford rooms like these and +anything else you want. But that isn't all she's done. She's introduced +you to her friends, she's taken more notice of you than any man around. +She takes you out automobile driving, she lets you spend all your spare +time in her rooms. She don't mind what people say. You dine with her and +take her home after the play. You have more of her than any other person +alive. Say, what I want to ask is--do you think you're properly +grateful?" + +"I couldn't ever repay Miss Dalstan," he acknowledged, a little sadly, +"but--" + +"Look here, no 'buts'!" she interrupted. "You think I don't know +anything. Perhaps I don't, and perhaps I do. I was standing in the door +of the office when you two came in from your automobile drive this +afternoon. I saw her come away without wishing you good-by, then I saw +her turn and nod, looking just as usual, and I saw her face afterwards. +If I had had you, my man, as close to me then as you are now, I'd have +boxed your ears." + +He moved uneasily in his chair. There was no doubt about the girl's +earnestness. She was leaning a little forward, and her brown eyes were +filled with a hard, accusing light. There was a little spot of colour, +even, in her sallow cheeks. She was unmistakably angry. + +"I'd like to know who you are and what you think yourself to make a woman +look like that?" she wound up. + +The waiter entered with the cocktails and began to lay the cloth for +dinner. Philip paced the room uneasily until he had gone. + +"Look here, my little friend," he said, when at last the door was closed, +"there's a great deal of sound common sense in what you say. I may be +an egoist--I dare say I am. I've been through the proper training for +it, and I've started life again on a pretty one-sided basis, perhaps. +But--have you ever been jealous?" + +"Me jealous!" she repeated scornfully. "What of, I wonder?" + +There was a suspicious glitter in her eyes, a queer little tremble in her +tone. His question, however, was merely perfunctory. She represented +little more to him, at that moment, than the incarnation of his own +conscience. + +"Very likely you haven't," he went on. "You are too independent ever to +care much for any one. Well, I've been half mad with jealousy since last +night. That is the truth of it. There's another man wants her, the man +who built the theatre for her. She told me about him yesterday while we +were out together." + +"Don't you want her to be happy?" the girl asked bluntly. + +"Of course I do." + +"Then leave her alone to choose. Don't go about looking as though you had +a knife in your heart, if you find her turn for a moment to some one +else. You don't want her to choose you, do you, just because you are a +weakling, because her great kind heart can't bear the thought of making +you miserable? Stand on your feet like a man and take your luck.... Can I +take off my hat? I can't eat in this." + +The waiter had entered with the dinner. Merton opened the door of his +room and paced up and down, for a few moments, thoughtfully. When she +reappeared she took the seat opposite Philip and suddenly smiled at him, +an exceedingly rare but most becoming performance. Her mouth seemed at +once to soften, and even her eyes laughed at him. + +"Here you ask me to dine," she said, "because you are lonely, and I do +nothing but scold you! Never mind. I was typewriting something of yours +this morning--I've forgotten the words, but it was something about the +discipline of affection. You can take my scolding that way. If I didn't +adore Miss Dalstan, and if you hadn't been kind to me, I should never +take the trouble to make myself disagreeable." + +He smiled back at her, readily falling in with her altered mood. She +seemed to have talked the ill-humour out of her blood, and during the +service of the meal she told him of the comfort of her work, the charm of +the other girl in the room, with whom she was already discussing a plan +to share an apartment. When she came to speak, however remotely, of Miss +Dalstan, her voice seemed instinctively to soften. Philip found himself +wondering what had passed between the two women in those few moments when +Elizabeth had left him and gone back to Martha's room. By some strange +miracle, the strong, sweet, understanding woman had simply taken +possession of the friendless child. The thought of her sat now in +Martha's heart, an obsession, almost a worship. Perhaps that was why the +sense of companionship between the two, notwithstanding certain obvious +disparities, seemed to grow stronger every moment. + +They drank their coffee and smoked cigarettes afterwards in lazy fashion. +Suddenly Martha sprang up. + +"Say, I came here to work!" she exclaimed. + +"And I brought you under false pretences," he confessed. "My brain's not +working. I can't dictate. We'll try another evening. You don't mind?" + +"Of course not," she answered, glancing at the clock. "I'll be going." + +"Wait a little time longer," he begged. + +She resumed her seat. There was only one heavily shaded lamp burning on +the table, and through the little cloud of tobacco smoke she watched him. +His eyes were sometimes upon the timepiece, sometimes on the telephone. +He seemed always, although his attitude was one of repose, to be +listening, waiting. It was half-past nine--the middle of the second +act. They knew quite well that for a quarter of an hour Elizabeth would +be in her dressing room. She could ring up if she wished. The seconds +ticked monotonously away. Martha found herself, too, sharing that +curiously intense desire to hear the ring of the telephone. Nothing +happened. A quarter to ten came and passed. She rose to her feet. + +"I am going home right now," she announced. + +He reached for his hat. + +"I'll come with you," he suggested, a little halfheartedly. + +"You'll do nothing of the sort," she objected, "or if you do, I'll never +come inside your rooms again. Understand that. I don't want any of these +Society tricks. See me home, indeed! I'd have you know that I'm better +able to take care of myself in the streets of New York than you are. So +thank you for your dinner, and just you sit down and listen for that +telephone. It will ring right presently, and if it doesn't, go to bed and +say to yourself that whatever she decides is best. She knows which way +her happiness lies. You don't. And it's she who counts much more than +you. Leave off thinking of yourself quite so much and shake hands with +me, please, Mr. Ware." + +He gripped her hand, opened the door, and watched her sail down towards +the lift, whistling to herself, her hands in her coat pockets. Then he +turned back into the room and locked himself in. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +The slow fever of inaction, fretting in Philip's veins, culminated soon +after Martha's departure in a passionate desire for a movement of some +sort. The very silence of the room maddened him, the unresponsive-looking +telephone, the fire which had burned itself out, the dropping even of the +wind, which at intervals during the evening had flung a rainstorm +against the windowpane. At midnight he could bear it no longer and +sallied out into the streets. Again that curious desire for companionship +was upon him, a strange heritage for one who throughout the earlier +stages of his life had been content with and had even sought a grim and +unending solitude. He boarded a surface car for the sake of sitting +wedged in amongst a little crowd of people, and he entered his club, +noting the number of hats and coats in the cloakroom with a queer sense +of satisfaction. He no sooner made his appearance in the main room than +he was greeted vociferously from half a dozen quarters. He accepted every +hospitality that was offered to him, drinking cheerfully with new as well +as old acquaintances. Presently Noel Bridges came up and gripped his +shoulder. + +"Come and have a grill with us, Ware," he begged. "There's Seymour and +Richmond here, from the Savage Club, and a whole crowd of us. Hullo, +Freddy!" he went on, greeting the man with whom Philip had been talking. +"Why don't you come and join us, too? We'll have a rubber of bridge +afterwards." + +"That's great," the other declared. "Come on, Ware. We'll rag old +Honeybrook into telling us some of his stories." + +The little party gathered together at the end of the common table. Philip +had already drunk much more than he was accustomed to, but the only +result appeared to be some slight slackening of the tension in which he +had been living. His eyes flashed, and his tongue became more nimble. He +insisted upon ordering wine. He had had no opportunity yet of repaying +many courtesies. They drank his health, forced him into the place of +honour by the side of Honeybrook, veteran of the club, and ate their meal +to the accompaniment of ceaseless bursts of laughter, chaff, the popping +of corks, mock speeches, badinage of every sort. Philip felt, somehow, +that his brain had never been clearer. He not only held his own, but he +earned a reputation for a sense of humour previously denied to him. And +in the midst of it all the door opened and closed, and a huge man, +dressed in plain dinner clothes, still wearing his theatre hat, with a +coat upon his arm and a stick in his hand, passed through the door and +stood for a moment gazing around him. + +"Say, that's Sylvanus Power!" one of the young men at the table +exclaimed. "Looks a trifle grim, doesn't he?" + +"It's the old man, right enough," Noel Bridges murmured. "Wonder what he +wants down here? It isn't in his beat?" + +Honeybrook, the great New York raconteur, father of the club, touched +Philip upon the shoulder. + +"Hey, presto!" he whispered. "We who think so much of ourselves have +become pigmies upon the face of the earth. There towers the +representative of modern omnipotence. Those are the hands--grim, +strong-looking hands, aren't they?--that grip the levers of modern +American life. Rodin ought to do a statue of him as he stands there--art +and letters growing smaller as he grows larger. We exist for him. He +builds theatres for our plays, museums for our pictures, libraries for +our books." + +"Seems to me he is looking for one of us," Noel Bridges remarked. + +"Some pose, isn't it!" a younger member of the party exclaimed +reverently, as he lifted his tankard. + +All these things were a matter of seconds, during which Sylvanus Power +did indeed stand without moving, looking closely about the room. Then his +eye at last lit upon the end of the table where Philip and his friends +were seated. He approached them without a word. Noel Bridges ventured +upon a greeting. + +"Coming to join us, Mr. Power?" he asked. + +Sylvanus Power, if he heard the question, ignored it. His eyes had rested +upon Philip. He stood over the table now, looming before them, massive, +in his way awe-inspiring. + +"Ware," he said, "I've been looking for you." + +Instinctively Philip rose to his feet. Tall though he was, he had to look +up at the other man, and his slender body seemed in comparison like a +willow wand. Nevertheless, the light in his eyes was illuminative. There +was no shrinking away. He stood there with the air of one prepared to +welcome, to incite and provoke storm whatever might be brewing. + +"I have been to your rooms," Sylvanus Power went on. "They knew nothing +about you there." + +"They wouldn't," Philip replied. "I go where I choose and when I choose. +What do you want with me?" + +Conversation in the room was almost suspended. Those in the immediate +locality, well acquainted with the gossip of the city, held the key to +the situation. Every one for a moment, however, was spellbound. They felt +the coming storm, but they were powerless. + +"I sought you out, Ware," Sylvanus Power continued, his harsh voice +ringing through the room, "to tell you what probably every other man here +knows except you. If you know it you're a fool, and I'm here to tell you +so." + +"Have you been drinking?" Philip asked calmly. + +"Maybe I have," Sylvanus Power answered, "but whisky can't cloud my brain +or stop my tongue. You're looking at my little toy here," he went on, +twirling in his right hand a heavy malacca cane with a leaden top. "I +killed a man with that once." + +"The weapon seems sufficient for the purpose," Philip answered +indifferently. + +"Any other man," Sylvanus Power went on, "would have sat in the chair for +that. Not I! You don't know as much of me as you need to, Merton Ware. +I'm no whippersnapper of a pen-slinger, earning a few paltry dollars by +writing doggerel for women and mountebanks to act. I've hewn my way with +my right arm and my brain, from the streets to the palace. They say that +money talks. By God! if it does I ought to shout, for I've more million +dollars than there are men in this room." + +"Nevertheless," Philip said, growing calmer as he recognised the man's +condition, "you are a very insufferable fellow." + +There had been a little murmur throughout the room at the end of Sylvanus +Power's last blatant speech, but at Philip's retort there was a hushed, +almost an awed silence. Mr. Honeybrook rose to his feet. + +"Sir," he said, turning to Power, "to the best of my belief you are not a +member of this club." + +"I am a member of any club in America I choose to enter," the intruder +declared. "As for you writing and acting popinjays, I could break the lot +of you if I chose. I came to see you, Ware. Come out from your friends +and talk to me." + +Philip pushed back his chair, made his way deliberately round the head of +the table, brushing aside several arms outstretched to prevent his going. +Sylvanus Power stood in an open space between the tables, swinging his +cane, with its ugly top, in the middle of his hand. He watched Philip's +approach and lowered his head a little, like a bull about to charge. + +"If you have anything to say to me," Philip observed coolly, "I am here, +but I warn you that there is one subject which is never discussed within +these walls. If you transgress our unwritten rule, I shall neither listen +to what you have to say nor will you be allowed to remain here." + +"And what is that subject?" Sylvanus Power thundered. + +"No woman's name is mentioned here," Philip told him calmly. + +Several of the men had sprung to their feet. It seemed from Power's +attitude as though murder might be done. Philip, however, stood his +ground almost contemptuously, his frame tense and poised, his fists +clenched. Suddenly the strain passed. The man whose face for a moment had +been almost black with passion, lowered his cane, swayed a little upon +his feet, and recovered himself. + +"So you know what I've come here to talk about, young man?" he demanded. + +"One can surmise," Philip replied. "If you think it worth while, I will +accompany you to my rooms or to yours." + +Philip in those few seconds made a reputation for himself which he never +lost. The little company of men looked at one another in mute +acknowledgment of a courage which not one of them failed to appreciate. + +"I'll take you at your word," Sylvanus Power decided grimly. "Here, +boys," he went on, moving towards the table where Philip had been seated, +"give me a drink--some rye whisky. I'm dry." + +Not a soul stirred. Even Noel Bridges remained motionless. Heselton, the +junior manager of the theatre, met the millionaire's eye and never +flinched. Mr. Honeybrook knocked the ash from his cigar and accepted the +role of spokesman. + +"Mr. Power," he said, "we are a hospitable company here, and we are at +all times glad to entertain our friends. At the same time, the privileges +of the club are retained so far as possible for those who conform to a +reasonable standard of good manners." + +There was a sudden thumping of hands upon the table until the glasses +rattled. Power's face showed not a single sign of anger. He was simply +puzzled. He had come into touch with something which he could not +understand. There was Bridges, earning a salary at his theatre, to be +thrown out into the streets or made a star of, according to his whim; +Heselton, a family man, drawing his salary, and a good one, too, also +from the theatre; men whose faces were familiar to him--some of them, he +knew, on newspapers in which he owned a controlling interest. The power +of which he had bragged was a real enough thing. What had come to these +men that they failed to recognise it?--to this slim young boy of an +Englishman that he dared to defy him? + +"Pretty queer crowd, you boys," he muttered. + +Philip, who had been waiting by the door, came a few steps back again. + +"Mr. Power," he said, "I don't know much about you, and you don't seem to +know anything at all about us. I am only at present a member by courtesy +of this club, but it isn't often that any one has reason to complain of +lack of hospitality here. If you take my advice, you'll apologise to +these gentlemen for your shockingly bad behaviour when you came in. Tell +them that you weren't quite yourself, and I'll stand you a drink myself." + +"That goes," Honeybrook assented gravely. "It's up to you, sir." + +Mr. Sylvanus Power felt that he had wandered into a cul-de-sac. He had +found his way into one of those branch avenues leading from the great +road of his imperial success. He was man enough to know when to turn +back. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "I offer you my apologies. I came here in a furious +temper and a little drunk. I retract all that I said. I'll drink to your +club, if you'll allow me the privilege." + +Willing hands filled his tumbler, and grateful ones forced a glass +between Philip's fingers. None of them really wanted Sylvanus Power for +an enemy. + +"Here's looking at you all," the latter said. "Luck!" he muttered, +glancing towards Philip. + +They all drank as though it were a rite. Philip and Sylvanus Power set +their glasses down almost at the same moment. Philip turned towards the +door. + +"I am at your service now, Mr. Power," he announced. "Good night, you +fellows!" + +There was a new ring of friendliness in the hearty response which came +from every corner of the room. + +"Goodnight, Ware!" + +"So long, old fellow!" + +"Good night, old chap!" + +There was a little delay in the cloakroom while the attendant searched +for Philip's hat, which had been temporarily misplaced. Honeybrook, who +had followed the two men out of the room, fumbling for a moment in his +locker and, coming over to Philip, dropped something into the latter's +overcoat pocket. + +"Rather like a scene in a melodrama, isn't it, Ware," he whispered, "but +I know a little about Sylvanus Power. It's only a last resource, mind." + + + +CHAPTER X + +Philip fetched his hat, and the two men stepped out on to the pavement. A +servant in quiet grey livery held open the door of an enormous motor car. +Sylvanus Power beckoned his companion to precede him. + +"Home," he told the man, "unless," he added, turning to Philip, "you'd +rather go to your rooms?" + +"I am quite indifferent," Philip replied. + +They drove off in absolute silence, a silence which remained unbroken +until they passed through some elaborate iron gates and drew up before a +mansion in Fifth Avenue. + +"You'll wait," Sylvanus Power ordered, "and take this gentleman home. +This way, sir." + +The doors rolled open before them. Philip caught a vista of a wonderful +hall, with a domed roof and stained glass windows, and a fountain playing +from some marble statuary at the further end. A personage in black took +his coat and hat. The door of a dining room stood open. A table, covered +with a profusion of flowers, was laid, and places set for two. Mr. +Sylvanus Power turned abruptly to a footman. + +"You can have that cleared away," he directed harshly. "No supper will be +required." + +He swung around and led the way into a room at the rear of the hall, a +room which, in comparison with Philip's confused impressions of the rest +of the place, was almost plainly furnished. There was a small oak +sideboard, upon which was set out whisky and soda and cigars; a great +desk, covered with papers, before which a young man was seated; two +telephone instruments and a phonograph. The walls were lined with books. +The room itself was long and narrow. Power turned to the young man. + +"You can go to bed, George," he ordered. "Disconnect the telephones." + +The young man gathered up some papers, locked the desk in silence, bowed +to his employer, and left the room without a word. Power waited until the +door was closed. Then he stood up with his back to the fireplace and +pointed to a chair. + +"You can sit, if you like," he invited. "Drink or smoke if you want to. +You're welcome." + +"Thank you," Philip replied. "I'd rather stand." + +"You don't want even to take a chair in my house, I suppose," +Mr. Sylvanus Power went on mockingly, "or drink my whisky or +smoke my cigars, eh?" + +"From the little I have seen of you," Philip confessed, "my inclinations +are certainly against accepting any hospitality at your hands." + +"That's a play-writing trick, I suppose," Sylvanus Power sneered, +"stringing out your sentences as pat as butter. It's not my way. There's +the truth always at the back of my head, and the words ready to fit it, +but they come as they please." + +"I seem to have noticed that," Philip observed. + +"What sort of a man are you, anyway?" the other demanded, his heavy +eyebrows suddenly lowering, his wonderful, keen eyes riveted upon Philip. +"Can I buy you, I wonder, or threaten you?" + +"That rather depends upon what it is you want from me?" + +"I want you to leave this country and never set foot in it again. That's +what I want of you. I want you to get back to your London slums and +write your stuff there and have it played in your own poky little +theatres. I want you out of New York, and I want you out quick." + +"Then I am afraid," Philip regretted, "that we are wasting time. I +haven't the least intention of leaving New York." + +"Well, we'll go through the rigmarole," Power continued gruffly. "We've +got to understand one another. There's my cheque book in that safe. A +million dollars if you leave this country--alone--within twenty-four +hours, and stay away for the rest of your life." + +Philip raised his eyebrows. He was lounging slightly against the desk. + +"I should have no use for a million dollars, Mr. Power," he said. "If I +had, I should not take it from you, and further, the conditions you +suggest are absurd." + +"Bribery no good, eh?" Mr. Power observed. "What about threats? There was +a man once who wrote a letter to a certain woman, which I found. I killed +him a few days afterwards. There was a sort of a scuffle, but it was +murder, right enough. I am nearer the door than you are, and I should say +about three times as strong. How would a fight suit you?" + +Ware's hand was in his overcoat pocket. + +"Not particularly," he answered. "Besides, it wouldn't be fair. You see, +I am armed, and you're not." + +As though for curiosity, he drew from his pocket the little revolver +which Honeybrook had slipped into it. Power looked at it and shrugged his +shoulders. + +"We'll leave that out, then, for the moment," he said. "Now listen to me. +I'm off on another tack now. Eight years ago I met Elizabeth Dalstan. I +was thirty-eight years old then--I am forty-six now. You young men +nowadays go through your life, they tell me, with a woman on your hands +most of the time, waste yourself out in a score of passions, go through +the same old rigmarole once a year or something like it. I was married +when I was twenty-four. I got married to lay my hands on the first ten +thousand dollars I needed. My wife left me fifteen years ago. You may +have read of her. She was a storekeeper's daughter then. She has a flat +in Paris now, a country house in England, a villa at Monte Carlo and +another at Florence. She lives her life, I live mine. She's the only +woman I'd ever spoken a civil word to until I met Elizabeth Dalstan, +or since." + +Philip was interested despite his violent antipathy to the man. + +"A singular record of fidelity," he remarked suavely. + +"If you'd drop that play-acting talk and speak like a man, I'd like you +better," Sylvanus Power continued. "There it is in plain words. I lived +with my wife until we quarrelled and she left me, and while she lived +with me I thought no more of women than cats. When she went, I thought +I'd done with the sex. Elizabeth Dalstan happened along, and I found I +hadn't even begun. Eight years ago we met. I offered her at once +everything I could offer. Nothing doing. We don't need to tell one +another that she isn't that sort. I went off and left her, spent a +winter in Siberia, and came home by China. I suppose there were women +there and in Paris. I was there for a month. I didn't see them. Then +America. Elizabeth Dalstan was still touring, not doing much good for +herself. I hung around for a time, tried my luck once more--no go. Then I +went back to Europe, offered my wife ten million and an income for a +divorce. It didn't suit her, so I came back again. The third time I found +Elizabeth discouraged. If ever a man found a woman at the right time, I +did. She is ambitious--Lord knows why! I hate acting and the theatres and +everything to do with them. However, I tried a new move. I built that +theatre in New York--there isn't another place like it in the world--and +offered it to her for a birthday present. Then she began to hesitate." + +"Look here," Philip broke in, "I know all this. I know everything you +have told me, and everything you can tell me. What about it? What have +you got to say to me?" + +"This," Sylvanus Power declared, striking the desk with his clenched +fist. "I have only had one consolation all the time I have been +waiting--there has been no other man. Elizabeth isn't that sort. Each +time I was separated and came back, I just looked at her and I knew. +That's why I have been patient. That is why I haven't insisted upon my +debt being paid. You understand that?" + +"I hear what you say." + +Power crossed the room, helped himself to whisky, and returned to his +place with the tumbler in his hand. There was a brief silence. A little +clock upon the mantelpiece struck two. The street sounds outside had +ceased save for the hoot of an occasional taxicab. Philip was conscious +of a burning desire to get away. This man, this great lump of power and +success, standing like a colossus in his wonderful home, infuriated him. +That a man should live who thought he had a right such as he claimed, +was maddening. + +"Well," Power proceeded, setting down the tumbler empty, "you won't be +bought. How am I going to get you out of the way?" + +"You can't do it," Philip asserted. "I am going to-morrow morning to +Elizabeth, and I am going to pray her to marry me at once." + +Power swayed for a single moment upon his feet. The teeth gleamed between +his slightly parted lips. His great arm was outstretched, its bursting +muscles showing against the sleeve of his dinner coat. His chest was +heaving. + +"If you do it," he shouted, "I'll close the theatre to-morrow and sack +every one in it. I'll buy any theatre in New York where you try to +present your namby-pamby play. I'll buy every manager she goes to for an +engagement, every newspaper that says a word of praise of any work of +yours. I tell you I'll stand behind the scenes and pull the strings which +shall bring you and her to the knowledge of what failure and want mean. +I'll give up the great things in life. I'll devote every dollar I have, +every thought of my brain, every atom of my power, to bringing you two +face to face with misery. That's if I keep my hands off you. I mayn't do +that." + +Philip shrugged his shoulders. + +"If I put you in a play," he said, "which is where you really belong, +people would find you humorous. Your threats don't affect me at all, Mr. +Power. Elizabeth can choose." + +Power leaned over to the switch and turned on an electric light above +Philip's head. + +"Blast you, let me look at you!" he thundered. "You're a white-faced, +sickly creature to call yourself a man! Can't you see this thing as I see +it? You're the sort that's had women, and plenty of them. Another will do +for you, and, my God! she is the only one I've looked at--I, Sylvanus +Power, mind--I, who have ruled fate and ruled men all my life--I want +her! Don't be a fool! Get out of my path. I've crushed a hundred such men +as you in my day." + +Philip took up his hat. + +"We are wasting time," he observed. "You are a cruder person than I +thought you, Mr. Power. I am sorry for you, if that's anything." + +"Sorry for me? You?" + +"Very," Philip continued. "You see, you've imbibed a false view of life. +You've placed yourself amongst the gods and your feet really are made of +very sticky clay.... Shall I find my own way out?" + +"You can find your way to hell!" Power roared. "Use your toy pistol, if +you want to. You're going where you'll never need it again!" + +He took a giant stride, a stride which was more like the spring of a +maddened bull, towards Philip. The veneer of a spurious civilisation +seemed to have fallen from him. He was the great and splendid animal, +transformed with an overmastering passion. There was murder in his eyes. +His great right arm, with its long, hairy fingers and its single massive +ring, was like the limb of some prehistoric creature. Philip's brain and +his feet, however, were alike nimble. He sprang a little on one side, and +though that first blow caught him just on the edge of the shoulder and +sent him spinning round and round, he saved himself by clutching at the +desk. Fortunately, it was his left arm that hung helpless by his side. +His fingers groped feverishly in the cavernous folds of his overcoat +pocket. Power, who had dashed against the wall, smashing the glass of one +of the pictures, had already recovered his balance and turned around. The +little revolver, with whose use Philip was barely acquainted, flashed +suddenly out in the lamplight. Even in that lurid moment he kept his +nerve. He aimed at the right arm outstretched to strike him, and pulled +the trigger. Through the little mist of smoke he saw a spasm of pain in +his assailant's face, felt the thundering crash of his other arm, +striking him on the side of the head. The room spun round. There was a +second almost of unconsciousness.... When he came to, he was lying with +his finger pressed against the electric bell. Power was clutching the +desk for support, and gasping. The sober person in black, with a couple +of footmen behind, were already in the room.... Their master turned to +them. + +"There has been an accident here," he groaned, "nothing serious. Take +that gentleman and put him in the car. It's waiting outside for him. +Telephone round for Doctor Renshaw." + +For a single moment the major-domo hesitated. The weapon was still +smoking in Philip's hand. Then Power's voice rang out again in furious +command. + +"Do as I tell you," he ordered. "If there's one of you here opens his +lips about this, he leaves my service to-morrow. Not a dollar of pension, +mind," he added, his voice shaking a little. + +The servant bowed sombrely. + +"Your orders shall be obeyed, sir," he promised. + +He took up the telephone, and signed to one of the footmen, who helped +Philip to the door. A moment afterwards the latter sank back amongst the +cushions, a little dizzy and breathless, but revived almost instantly by +the cool night air. He gave the chauffeur his address, and the car glided +through the iron gates and down Fifth Avenue. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Philip was awakened the next morning by the insistent ringing of the +telephone at his elbow. He took up the receiver, conscious of a sharp +pain in his left shoulder as he moved. + +"Is this Mr. Merton Ware?" a man's smooth voice enquired. + +"Yes!" + +"I am speaking for Mr. Sylvanus Power. Mr. Sylvanus Power regrets very +much that he is unable to lunch with Mr. Ware as arranged to-day, but he +is compelled to go to Philadelphia on the morning train. He will be glad +to meet Mr. Ware anywhere, a week to-day, and know the result of the +matter which was discussed last night." + +"To whom am I speaking?" Philip demanded. "I don't know anything about +lunching with Mr. Power to-day." + +"I am Mr. Power's secretary, George Lunt," was the reply. "Mr. Power's +message is very clear. He wishes you to know that he will not be in New +York until a week to-day." + +"How is Mr. Power?" Philip enquired. + +"He met with a slight accident last night," the voice continued, "and is +obliged to wear his arm in a sling. Except for that he is quite well. He +has already left for Philadelphia by the early train. He was anxious that +you should know this." + +"Thank you very much," Philip murmured, a little dazed. + +He sprang out of bed, dressed quickly, hurried over his coffee and rolls, +boarded a cross-town car, and arrived at the Monmouth House flats just in +time to meet Martha Grimes issuing into the street. She was not at all +the same Martha. She was very neatly dressed, her shoes were nicely +polished, her clothes well brushed, her gloves new, and she wore a bunch +of fresh-looking violets in her waistband. She started in surprise as +Philip accosted her. + +"Whatever are you doing back in the slums?" she demanded. "Any fresh +trouble?" + +"Nothing particular," Philip replied, turning round and falling into step +with her. "I can't see my way, that's all, and I want to talk to you. +You're the most human person I know, and you understand Elizabeth." + +"Gee!" she smiled. "This is the lion and the mouse, with a vengeance. You +can walk with me, if you like, as far as the block before the theatre. +I'm not going to arrive there with you, and I tell you so straight." + +"No followers, eh?" + +"There's no reason to set people talking," she declared. "Their tongues +wag fast enough at the theatre, as it is. I've only been there for one +day's work, and it seems to me I've heard the inside history of every one +connected with the place." + +"That makes what I have to say easier," he remarked. "Just what do they +say about Miss Dalstan and Mr. Sylvanus Power?" + +She looked at him indignantly. + +"If you think you're going to worm things out of me--" + +"Don't be foolish," he interrupted, a little wearily. "How could you know +anything? You are only the echo of a thousand voices. I could find out, +if I went where they gossip. I don't. In effect I don't care, but I am up +against a queer situation. I want to know just what people think of them. +Afterwards I'll tell you the truth." + +"Well, they profess to think," she said slowly, "that the theatre belongs +to Miss Dalstan, and that she--" + +"Stop, please," he interrupted. "I know you hate saying it, and I know +quite well what you mean. Well, what about that?" + +"It isn't my affair." + +"It isn't true," he told her. + +"Whether it's true or not, she is one of the best women in the world," +Martha declared vigorously. + +"There isn't any doubt about that, either," he assented. "This is the +situation. Listen. Sylvanus Power has been in love with Elizabeth for the +best part of his life. He built that theatre for her and offered it--at a +price. She accepted his terms. When the time came for payment, he saw her +flinch. He went away again and has just come back. She is face to face +now with a decision, a decision to which she is partly committed. In the +meantime, during these last few months, Elizabeth and I have become great +friends. You know that I care for her. I think that she cares for me. She +has to make up her mind. Martha, which is she to choose?" + +"How do you want me to answer that?" the girl asked, slackening her pace +a little. "I'm not Miss Dalstan." + +"From her point of view," he explained eagerly. "This man Power is madly +and I believe truly in love with her. In his way he is great; in his way, +too, he is a potentate. He can give her more than luxury, more, even, +than success. You know Elizabeth," he went on. "She is one of the finest +women who ever breathed, an idealist but a seeker after big things. She +deserves the big things. Is she more likely to find them with me or with +him?" + +"Power's wife is still alive," she ruminated. + +"And won't accept a divorce at present," he observed. "If ever she does, +of course he will marry her. That has to be taken into account not +morally but the temporal side of it. We know perfectly well that whatever +Elizabeth decides, she couldn't possibly do wrong." + +Martha smiled a little grimly. + +"That's what it is to be born in the clouds," she said. "There is no sin +for a good woman." + +He looked at her appreciatively. + +"I wonder how I knew that you would understand this," he sighed. + +Suddenly he clutched at her arm. She glanced up in surprise. He was +staring at a passer-by. Her eyes followed his. In a neat morning suit, +with a black bowler hat and well-polished shoes, a cigar in his mouth and +a general air of prosperity, Mr. Edward Dane was strolling along +Broadway. He passed without a glance at either of them. For a moment +Philip faltered. Then he set his teeth and walked on. There was an ashen +shade in his face. The girl looked at him and shook her head. + +"Mr. Ware," she said, "we haven't talked much about it, but there is +something there behind, isn't there, something you are terrified about, +something that might come, even now?" + +"She knows about it," he interposed quickly. + +"Would it be very bad if it came?" + +"Hideous!" + +"If she were your wife--?" + +"She would be notorious. It would ruin her." + +"Do you think, then," she asked quietly, "that you needed to come and ask +my advice?" + +He walked on with his head high, looking upwards with unseeing eyes. A +little vista of that undisturbed supper table on the other side of the +marble hall, a dim perspective of those eight years of waiting, flitted +through his brain. The lord of that Fifth Avenue Mansion was in earnest, +right enough, and he had so much to offer. + +"It will break me if I have to give her up," he said simply. "I believe I +should have gone overboard, crossing the Atlantic, but for her." + +"There are some women," she sighed, "the best of all women, the joy of +whose life seems to be sacrifice. That sounds queer, don't it, but it's +true. They're happy in misfortune, so long as they are helping some one +else. She is wonderful, Elizabeth Dalstan. She may even be one of those. +You'll find that out. You'd better find out for yourself. There isn't any +one can help you very much." + +"I am not sure that you haven't," he said. "Now I'll go. Where did you +get your violets, Martha? Had them in water since last night, haven't +you?" + +She made a little grimace at him. + +"A very polite young gentleman at the box office sent us each a bunch +directly we started work yesterday. I've only had a few words with him +yet, but Eva--that's the other girl--she's plagued to death with fellows +already, so I'm going to take him out one evening." + +Philip stopped short. They were approaching the theatre. + +"Not a step further," he declared solemnly. "I wouldn't spoil your +prospects for worlds. Run along, my little cynic, and warm your hands. +Life's good at your age--better than when I found you, eh?" + +"You don't think I am ungrateful?" she asked, a little wistfully. + +He shook his head. + +"You couldn't be that, Martha.... Good luck to you!" + +She turned away with a little farewell wave of the hand and was lost at +once in the surging stream of people. Philip summoned a taxicab, sat far +back in the corner, and drove to his rooms. He hesitated for a moment +before getting out, crossed the pavement quickly, hurried into the lift, +and, arriving up-stairs, let down the latch of the outside door. Edward +Dane was back in New York! For a moment, the memory of the great human +drama in which he found himself a somewhat pathetic figure seemed +swallowed up by this sudden resurrection of a grisly tragedy. He looked +around his room a little helplessly. Against his will, that hideous +vision which had loomed up before him in so many moments of depression +was slowly reforming itself, this time not in the still watches of the +night but in the broad daylight, with the spring sunshine to cheer his +heart, the roar of a friendly city in his ears. It was no time for +dreams, this, and yet he felt the misery sweeping in upon him, felt all +the cold shivers of his ineffective struggles. Slowly that fateful +panorama unfolded itself before his memory. He saw himself step out with +glad relief from the uncomfortable, nauseous, third-class carriage, and, +clutching his humble little present in his hand, cross the flinty +platform, climb the long, rain-swept hill, keeping his head upraised, +though the very sky seemed grimy, battling against the miserable +depression of that everlasting ugliness. Before him, at least, there +was his one companion. There would be kind words, sympathy, a cheerful +fireside, a little dreaming, a little wandering into that world which +they had made for themselves with the help of such treasures as that +cheap little volume he carried. And then the last few steps, the open +door, the room, its air at first of wonderful comfort, and then the queer +note of luxury obtruding itself disquietingly, the picture on the +mantelpiece, her coming. He had never been in love with Beatrice. He knew +that now perfectly well. He had simply clung to her because she was the +only living being who knew and understood, because they had mingled their +thoughts and trodden the path of misery together. Removed now from that +blaze of passion, smouldering perhaps in him through previous years of +discontent, but which leaped into actual and effective life for the first +time in those few moments, he realised a certain justice in her point of +view, a certain hard logic in the way she had spoken of life and their +relations. There had been so little real affection between them. So +little had passed which might have constituted a greater bond. It was his +passionate outburst of revolt against life, whose drear talons seemed to +have fastened themselves into his very soul, which had sent him out with +murder in his brain to seek the man who had robbed him of the one thing +which stood between him and despair; the pent-up fury of a lifetime which +had tingled in his blood and had given him the strength of the navvy in +those few minutes by the canal side. + +He covered his face with his hands, strode around the room, gazing wildly +out over the city, trying to listen to the clanging of the surface cars, +the rumble of the overhead railway in the distance, the breaking of the +long, ceaseless waves of human feet upon the pavement. It was useless. No +effort of his will could keep from his brain the haunting memory of those +final moments--the man's face, handsome and well-satisfied at first, the +careless greeting, the sudden change, the surprise, the apprehension, the +ghastly fear, the agony! He heard the low, gurgling shriek of terror; he +looked into the eyes with the fear of hell before them! Then he heard the +splash of the black, filthy water. + +There was a cry. It was several seconds before he realised that it had +broken from his lips. He looked around him like a hunted creature. There +was another terror now--the gloomy court with its ugly, miserable +paraphernalia--the death, uglier still, death in disgrace, a sordid, +ghastly thing! And in his brain, too, there was so much dawning, so many +wonderful ideas craving for fulfilment. These few months had been months +of marvellous development. The power of the writer had seemed to grow, +hour by hour. His brain was full of fancies, exquisite fancies some of +them. It was a new world growing up around him and within him, too +beautiful a world to leave. Yet, in those breathless moments, fear was +the dominant sensation. He felt a coward to his fingertips... + +He walked up and down the room feverishly, as a man might pace a prison +in the first few moments of captivity. There was no escape! If he +disappeared again, it would only rivet suspicion the more closely. There +was no place to which he could fly, no shelter save on the other side of +the life which he had just begun to love. His physical condition began to +alarm him. He felt his forehead by accident and found it damp with sweat. +His heart was beating irregularly with a spasmodic vigour which brought +pain. He caught sight of his terror-stricken face in the looking-glass, +and the craving to escape from his frenzied solitude overcame all his +other resolutions. He rushed to the telephone, spoke with Phoebe, waited +breathlessly whilst she fetched his mistress to the instrument. + +"I want to see you," he begged, as soon as he was conscious of her +presence at the other end. "I want to see you at once." + +"Has anything happened?" she asked quickly. + +"Yes!" he almost groaned. "I can't tell you--" + +"I will be with you in ten minutes," she promised. + +He set the receiver down. Those ten minutes were surely the longest which +had ever ticked their way into Eternity! And then she came. He heard the +lift stop and his door open. There was a moment's breathless silence as +their eyes met, then a little gathering together of the lines of her +forehead, a half querulous, half sympathetic smile. She shook her head at +him. + +"You've had one of those silly nervous attacks," she declared. "Tell me +at once why?" + +"Dane is back--I saw him on the pavement this morning!" he exclaimed. "He +has been to England to find out!" + +She made him sit down and seated herself by his side. + +"Listen," she said, "Dane came back on the _Orinoco_, the day before +yesterday. I saw his name in the paper. If his voyage to England had been +a success, which it could not have been, you would have heard from him +before now." + +"I didn't think of that," he muttered. + +"I have never asked you," she went on, "to tell me exactly what happened +behind there. I don't want to know. Only I have a consciousness--I had +from the first, when you began to talk to me about it--that your fears +were exaggerated. If you have been allowed to remain safe all this time, +you will be safe always. I feel it, and I am always right in these +things. Now use your own common sense. Tell me truthfully, don't you +think it is very improbable that anything could be discovered?" + +"That anything could be proved," he admitted eagerly, "yes!" + +"Then don't be silly. No one is likely to make accusations and attempt a +case unless they had a definite end in view. We are safe even from the +_Elletania_ people. Mr. Raymond Greene has ceased to talk of your +wonderful resemblance to Douglas Romilly. Phoebe--the only one who could +really know--will never open her lips. Now take me for a little walk. We +will look in the shops in Fifth Avenue and lunch at the Ritz-Carlton. Go +and brush yourself and make yourself look respectable. I'll have a +cigarette and read the paper.... No, I won't, I'll look over these loose +sheets and see how you are getting on." + +He disappeared into his room for a few minutes. When he returned she was +entirely engrossed. She looked up at him with something almost of +reverence in her face. + +"When did you write this?" she asked. + +"Yesterday, most of it," he answered. "There is more of it--I haven't +finished yet. When you send me away this afternoon, I shall go on. That +is only the beginning. I have a great idea dawning." + +"What you have written is wonderful," she said simply. "It makes me feel +almost humble, makes me feel that the very best actress in the world +remains only an interpretress. Yes, I can say those words you have +written, but they can never be mine. I want to be something more than an +intelligent parrot, Philip. Why can't you teach me to feel and think +things like that?" + +"You!" he murmured, as he took her arm and led her to the door. "You +could feel all the sweetest and most wonderful things in heaven. The +writer's knack is only a slight gift. I put on paper what lives in your +heart." + +She raised her head, and he kissed her lips. For a moment he held her +quite quietly. Her arms encircled him. The perfume of her clothes, her +hair, her warm, gentle touch, seemed like a strong sedative. If she said +that he was safe, he must be. It was queer how so often at these times +their sexes seemed reversed; it was he who felt that womanly desire for +shelter and protection which she so amply afforded him. She patted his +cheek. + +"Now for our little walk," she said. "Open the windows and let out all +these bad fancies of yours. And listen," she went on, as they stepped out +of the lift a moment or two later, and passed through the hall towards +the pavement, "not a word about our own problem. We are going to talk +nonsense. We are going to be just two light-hearted children in this +wonderful city, gazing at the sights and taking all she has to offer us. +I love it, you know. I love the noise of it. It isn't a distant, stifled +roar like London. There's a harsh, clarion-like note about it, like metal +striking upon metal. And the smell of New York--there isn't any other +city like it! When we get into Fifth Avenue I am going to direct your +attention to the subject of hats. Have you ever bought a woman's hat, +Philip?" + +"Never," he answered, truthfully enough. + +"Then you are going to this morning, or rather you are going to help me +to choose one," she declared, "and in a very few moments, too. There +is a little place almost underground in Fifth Avenue there, and a +Frenchwoman--oh, she is so French!--and all her assistants have black +hair and wear untidy, shapeless clothes and velvet slippers. It isn't New +York at all, but I love it, and I let them put their name on the +programme. They really don't charge me more than twice as much as they +ought to for my hats. We go down here," she added, descending some steps, +"and if you make eyes at any of the young women I shall bring you +straight out again." + +They spent half an hour choosing a hat and nearly two hours over lunch. +It was late in the afternoon before she dropped him at his rooms. Not a +word had they spoken of Sylvanus Power or their future, but Philip was a +different man. Only, as he turned and said good-by, his voice trembled. + +"I can't say thank you," he muttered, "but you know!"... + +The lift was too slow for him. He opened his door with almost breathless +haste. He only paused to light a cigarette and change his coat and wheel +his table round so as to catch the afternoon light more perfectly. Then, +with his brain teeming with fancies, he plunged into his work. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Philip let the pen slip at last from his tired fingers. The light had +failed. He had been writing with straining eyes, almost in the darkness. +But there was something else. Had it been fancy or ... This time there +could be no mistake. He had not heard the lift stop, but some one was +knocking softly at the door, softly but persistently. He turned his head. +The room seemed filled with shadows. He had written for hours, and he was +conscious that his limbs were stiff. The sun had gone down in a cloudy +sky, and the light had faded. He could scarcely distinguish the articles +of furniture at the further end of the room. For some reason or other he +felt tongue-tied. Then, without any answer from him to this mysterious +summons, the handle of the door slowly turned. As he sat there he saw it +pushed open. A woman, wrapped in a long coat, stepped inside, closing it +firmly behind her. She stood peering around the room. There was something +familiar and yet unfamiliar in her height, her carriage. He waited, +spellbound, for her voice. + +"Douglas!" she exclaimed. "Ah, there you are!" + +The words seemed to die away, unuttered, upon his lips. He suddenly +thought that he was choking. He stared at her blankly. It was impossible! +She came a step further into the room. Her hand was stretched out +accusingly. + +"So I've found you, have I, Douglas?" she cried, and there was a note of +bitter triumph in her words, "found you after all these months! Aren't +you terrified? Aren't you afraid? No wonder you sit there, shrinking +away! Do you know what I have come for?" + +He tried to speak, but his lips were as powerless to frame words as his +limbs were to respond to his desire for movement. This was the one thing +which he had not foreseen. + +"You broke your promise," she went on, raising her voice a little in +passionate reproach. "You left me there alone to face dismissal, without +a penny, and slipped off yourself to America. You never even came in to +wish me good-by. Why? Tell me why you went without coming near me?... You +won't, eh? You daren't. Be a man. Out with it. I am here, and I know the +truth." + +For the first time some definite sound came from his lips. + +"Beatrice!" he gasped. + +"Ah!" she mocked. "You can remember my name, then? Douglas, I knew that +you were a bad man. I knew that when you told me how you meant to cheat +your creditors, how you meant to escape over here on the pretext of +business, and bring all the money you could scrape together. I knew that, +and yet I was willing to come with you, and I should have come. But there +was one thing I didn't reckon upon. I didn't know that you had the heart +or the courage to be a murderer!" + +The little cry that broke from his lips was stifled even before it was +uttered. + +"I shall never forgive you!" she sobbed. "I never want to touch your +bloodstained fingers! I have forgotten that I ever loved you. You're +horrible--do you hear?--horrible! And yet, I don't mean to be left to +starve. That's why I've followed you. You're afraid I am going to give +you up to justice? Well, I don't know. It depends.... Turn on the lights. +I want to see you. Do you hear? I want to see how you can face me. I want +to see how the memory of that afternoon has dealt with you. Do as I tell +you. Don't stand there glowering at me." + +He crossed the room with stumbling footsteps. + +"You've learnt to stoop, anyhow," she went on. "You're thinner, +too.... My God!" + +The room was suddenly flooded with light. Philip, rigid and ghastly, was +looking at her from the other side of the table. She held up her hands as +though to shut out the sight of him. + +"Philip!" she shrieked. "Philip!... Oh, my God!" + +Her eyes were lit with horror as she swayed upon her feet. For a moment +she seemed about to collapse. Then she groped her way towards the door +and stood there, clinging to the handle. Slowly she looked around over +her shoulder, her face as white as death. She moistened her lips with her +tongue, her eyes glared at him. Behind, her brain seemed to be working. +Her first spasm of inarticulate fear passed. + +"Philip---alive!" she muttered. "Alive!... Speak! Can't you speak to me? +Are you a ghost?" + +"Of course not," he answered, with a calm which surprised him. "You can't +have forgotten in less than six months what I look like." + +A new expression struggled into her face. She abandoned her grasp of the +handle and came back to her former position. + +"Look here," she faltered, "if you are Philip Romilly, where's +he--Douglas?... Where's Douglas?" + +There was no answer. Philip simply looked at her. She began to shake once +more upon her feet. + +"Where's Douglas?" she demanded fiercely. "Tell me? Tell me quickly, +before I go mad! If you are Philip Romilly alive, if it wasn't your body +they found, where's Douglas?" + +"You can guess what happened to him," Philip said slowly. "I met him on +the towing-path by the side of the canal. I spoke to him--about you. +He answered me with a jest. I think that all the passion of those +grinding years of misery swept up at that moment from my heart. I was +strong--God, how strong I was! I took him by the throat, Beatrice. I +watched his face change. I watched his damned, self-satisfied complacency +fade away. He lost all his smugness, and his eyes began to stare at me, +and his lips grew whiter as they struggled to utter the cries for mercy +which choked back. Then I flung him in--that's all. Splash!... God, I can +hear it now! I saw his face just under the water. Then I went on." + +"You went on?" she repeated, trembling in every limb. + +"I picked up the pocketbook which I had shaken out of his clothes in +that first struggle. I studied its contents, and it gave me an idea. I +went to Liverpool, stayed at the hotel where he had engaged rooms, +dressed myself in his clothes, and went on the steamer in his place. I +travelled to New York as Mr. Douglas Romilly of the Douglas Romilly Shoe +Company, occupied my room at the Waldorf under that name. Then I +disappeared suddenly--there were too many people waiting to see me. I +took the pseudonym which he had carefully prepared for himself and hid +for a time in a small tenement house. Then I rewrote the play. There you +have my story." + +"You--murdered him, Philip!... You!" + +"It was no crime," he continued calmly, filled with a queer sense of +relief at the idea of being able to talk about it. "My whole life, up +till that day, had been one epitome of injustice and evil fortune. You +were my one solace. His life--well, you know what it had been. Everything +was made easy for him. He had a luxurious boyhood, he was sent to +college, pampered and spoilt, and passed on to a dissipated manhood. He +spent a great fortune, ruined a magnificent business. He lived, month by +month, hour by hour, for just the voluptuous pleasures which his wealth +made possible to him. That was the man I met on the canal bank that +afternoon. You know the state I was in. You know very well the grievance +I had against him." + +"You had no right to interfere," she said dully. "If I chose to accept +what he had to give, it was my business. There never had been over-much +affection between you and me. We were just waifs together. Life wouldn't +give us what we wanted. I had made up my mind months before to escape +whenever the opportunity came. Douglas brought it to me and I snatched at +it. I am not accepting any blame." + +He leaned towards her. + +"Neither am I," he declared. "Do you remember we used to talk about the +doctrine of responsibility? I am a pervert. I did what I had to do, and +I am content." + +She stood quite still for several moments. Then she took out the pins +from her hat, banged it upon the table, opened her tweed coat, came round +to the fireside, and threw herself into an easy-chair. Her action was +portentous and significant. + +"Tell me how you found me out?" he asked, after a brief pause. + +"I was dismissed from Detton Magna," she told him. "I had to go and +be waiting-maid to Aunt Esther at Croydon. I took the place of her +maid-of-all-work. I scrubbed for my living. There wasn't anything else. I +hadn't clothes to try for the bolder things, not a friend in the world, +but I was only waiting. I meant, at the first chance, to rob Aunt Esther, +to come to London, dress myself properly, and find a post on the stage, +if possible. I wasn't particular. Then one day a man came to see me--an +American. He'd travelled all the way from New York because he was +interested in what he called the mysterious Romilly disappearance. He +knew that I had been Douglas' friend. He asked me to come out and +identify--you! He offered me my passage, a hundred pounds, and to give me +a start in life here, if I needed it. So I came out with him." + +"With Dane," he muttered. + +She nodded. + +"Yes, that was his name--Mr. Edward Dane. I came out to identify +Douglas." + +"You weren't going to give him away?" Philip asked curiously. + +"Of course not. I should have made my bargain, and then, after I had +scared Douglas for leaving me as he did, I should have said that it +wasn't the man. And instead--I found you!" + +He tapped the table with his fingers, restlessly. A new hope was forming +in his brain. This, indeed, might be the end of all his troubles. + +"Listen," he said earnestly, "Dane has always suspected me. Sometimes I +have wondered whether he hadn't the truth at the back of his head. You +can make me safe forever." + +She made no reply. Her eyes were watching his face. She seemed to be +waiting to hear what else he had to say. + +"Don't you understand?" he went on impatiently. "You have only to tell +Dane that I am neither Douglas nor Philip, but curiously like both, and +he will chuck the thing up. He must. Then I shall be safe. You see that, +don't you?" + +"Yes, I see that," she admitted. + +"Well?" + +"Tell me exactly how much of Douglas' money you have spent?" she +demanded. + +"Only the loose money from the pocketbook. Not all of that. I am earning +money now." + +She leaned across the table. + +"What about the twenty thousand pounds?" + +"I haven't touched it," he assured her, "not a penny." + +"On your honour?" + +He rose silently and went to his desk, unlocked one of the drawers, and +drew from a hidden place a thin strip of paper. He smoothed it out on the +table before her. + +"There's the deposit note," he said,--"_Twenty thousand pounds to the +joint or separate credit of Beatrice Wenderley and Douglas Romilly, on +demand_. The money's there still. I haven't touched it." + +She gripped the paper in her fingers. The sight of the figures seemed to +fascinate her. Then she looked around. + +"How can you afford to live in a place like this, then?" she demanded +suspiciously. "Where does your money come from?" + +"The play," he told her. + +"What, all this?" she exclaimed. + +"It is a great success. The theatre is packed every night. My royalties +come every week to far more than I could spend." + +She looked once more around her, gripped the deposit note in her fingers, +and leaned back in her chair. She laughed curiously. Her eyes had +travelled back to Philip's anxious face. + +"Wonderful!" she murmured. "You paid the price, but you've won. You've +had something for it. I paid the price, and up till now--" + +She stared at the paper in her hand. Then she looked away into the fire. + +"I can't get it all into my head," she went on. "I pictured him here, +living in luxury, spending the money of which he had promised me a +share ... and he's dead! That was his body--that unrecognisable thing +they found in the canal. You killed him--Douglas! He was so fond of life, +too." + +"Fond of the things which meant life to him," Philip muttered. + +"I should never have believed that you had the courage," she observed +ruminatingly. "After all, then, he wasn't faithless. He wasn't the brute +I thought him." + +She sat thinking for what seemed to him to be an interminable time. He +broke in at last upon her meditations. + +"Well," he asked, "what are you going to say to Dane?" + +"I shan't give you away--at least I don't think so," she promised +cautiously. "I shall see. Presently I will make terms, only this time I +am not going to be left. I am going to have what I want." + +"But he'll be waiting to hear from you!" Philip exclaimed. "He may come +here, even." + +She shook her head. + +"He's gone to Chicago. He can't be back for five days. I promised to +wire, but I shan't. I'll wait until he's back. And in the meantime--" + +Her fingers closed upon the deposit note. He nodded shortly. + +"That's yours," he said. "You can have it all. I have helped myself to a +fresh start in life at his expense. That's all I wanted." + +She folded up the paper and thrust it carefully into the bosom of her +gown. Then she stood up. + +"Well," she pronounced, "I think I am getting used to things. It's +wonderful how callous one can become. The banks are closed now, I +suppose?" + +He nodded. + +"They will be open at nine o'clock in the morning." + +"First of all, then," she decided, "I'll make sure of my twenty thousand +pounds, and then we'll see. I don't think you'll find me hard, Philip. I +ought not to be hard on you, ought I?" + +She looked at him most kindly, and he began to shiver. Curiously enough, +her very kindness, when he realised the knowledge which lay behind her +brain, was hateful to him. He had pleaded for her forgiveness, even her +toleration, but--anything else seemed horrible! She strolled across the +room and glanced at the clock, took one of his cigarettes from a box and +lit it. + +"Well, this is queer!" she murmured reflectively. "Now I want some +dinner, and I'll see your play, Philip. You shall take me. Get ready +quickly, please." + +He looked at her doubtfully. + +"But, Beatrice," he protested, "think! You know why you came here? You +know the story you will have to tell? We are strangers, you and I. What +if we are seen together?" + +She snapped her fingers at him. + +"Pooh! Who cares! I am a stranger in New York, and I have taken a fancy +to you. You are a young man of gallantry, and you are going to take me +out.... We often used to talk of a little excursion like this in London. +We'll have it in New York instead." + +He turned slowly towards the door of his bedroom. She was busy looking at +her own eyes in the mirror, and she missed the little gleam of horror in +his face. + +"In ten minutes," he promised her. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +Beatrice replaced the programme which she had been studying, on the ledge +of the box, and turned towards Philip, who was seated in the background. +There was something a little new in her manner. Her tone was subdued, her +eyes curious. + +"You really are a wonderful person, Philip," she declared. "It's the same +play, just as you used to tell it me, word for word. And yet it isn't. +What is it that you have gained, I wonder?--a sense of atmosphere, +breadth, something strangely vital." + +"I am glad you like it," he said simply. + +"Like it? It's amazing! And what an audience! I never thought that the +people were so fashionable here, Philip. I am sitting right back in the +box, but ten minutes after I have cashed my draft tomorrow I shall be +buying clothes. You won't be ashamed to be seen anywhere with me then." + +He drew his chair up to her side, a little haggard and worn with the +suspense of the evening. She laughed at him mockingly. + +"What an idiot you are!" she exclaimed. "You ought to be one of the +happiest men in the world, and you look like a death's-head." + +"The happiest man in the world," he repeated. + +"Beatrice, sometimes I think that there is only one thing in the world +that makes for happiness." + +"And what's that, booby?" she asked, with some of her old familiarity. + +"A clear conscience." + +She laid her hand upon his arm. + +"Look here, Philip," she said, "the one thing I determined, when I threw +up the sponge, was that whether the venture was a success or not I'd +never waste a single moment in regrets. Things didn't turn out too +brilliantly with me, as you know. But you--see what you've attained! Why, +it's wonderful! Your play, the one thing you dreamed about, produced in +one of the greatest cities in the world, and a packed house to listen to +it, people applauding all the time. I didn't realise your success when we +talked this evening. I am just beginning to understand. I've been reading +some of these extracts from the newspapers. You're Merton Ware, the great +dramatist, the coming man of letters. You've won, Philip. Can't you see +that it's puling cowardice to grumble at the price?" + +He, for his part, was wondering at her callousness, of which he was +constantly discovering fresh evidences. The whole shock of her discovery +seemed already, in these few hours, to have passed away. + +"If you can forget--so soon," he muttered, "I suppose I ought to be able +to." + +She made a little grimace, but immediately afterwards he saw the cold +tightening of her lips. + +"Listen, Philip," she said. "I started life with the usual quiverful of +good qualities, but there's one I've lost, and I don't want it back +again. I'm a selfish woman, and I mean to stay a selfish woman. I am +going to live for myself. I've paid a fair price, and I'm going to have +what I've paid for. See?" + +"Do you think," he asked, "that it is possible to make that sort of +bargain with one's self and fate?" + +She laughed scornfully. + +"There's room for a little stiffening in you, even now, Philip! No one +but a weakling ever talks about fate. You'd think better of me, I +suppose, if I stayed in my room and wept. Well, I could do it if I let +myself, but I won't. I should lose several hours of the life that belongs +to me. You think I didn't care about Douglas? I am not at all sure that I +didn't care for him as much as I ever did for you, although, of course, +he wasn't worthy of it. But he's gone, and all the shudders and morbid +regrets in the world won't bring him back again. And I am here in New +York, and to-morrow I shall have twenty thousand pounds, and to-night I +am with you, watching your play. That's life enough for me at present--no +more, no less. I hate missing the first act, and I'm coming to see it +again to-morrow. What time is it over?" + +"Soon after eleven," he told her. + +She glanced at her watch. + +"You shall take me out and give me some supper," she decided, "somewhere +where there's music." + +He made no remark, but she surprised again something in his face which +irritated her. + +"Look here, Philip," she said firmly, "I won't have you look at me as +though I were something inhuman. There are plenty of other women like me +in the world, even if they are not quite so frank about it. I want to +live, and I will live, and I grudge every moment out of which I am not +extracting the fullest amount of happiness. That's because I've paid. +It's the woman's bargaining instinct, you know. She wants to get +value.... Now I want to hear about Miss Dalstan. Where did you meet her, +and how did you get her to accept your play?" + +"She was on the _Elletania_," he explained. "We crossed from Liverpool +together. She sat at my table." + +"How much does she know about you?" Beatrice asked bluntly. + +"Everything," he confessed. "I don't know what I should have done without +her. She has been the most wonderful friend any one could have." + +Beatrice looked at him a little critically. + +"You're a queer person, Philip," she exclaimed. "You're not fit to go +about alone, really. Good thing I came over to take care of you, I +think." + +"You don't understand," he replied. "Miss Dalstan is--well, unlike +anybody else. She wants to see you. I am to take you round after the next +act, if you would like to go." + +Beatrice smiled at him in a gratified manner. + +"I've always wanted to go behind the scenes," she admitted. "I'll come +with you, with pleasure. Perhaps if I decide that I'd like to go on the +stage, she may be able to help me. How much is twenty thousand pounds in +dollars, Philip?" + +"A little over a hundred thousand," he told her. + +"I don't suppose they think that much out here," she went on +ruminatingly. "The hotel where Mr. Dane sent me--it's nice enough, in its +way, but very stuffy as regards the people--is twice as expensive as it +would be in London. However, we shall see." + +The curtain rang up on the third act, and Beatrice, seated well back in +the shadows, followed the play attentively, appreciated its good points +and had every appearance of both understanding and enjoying it. +Afterwards, she rose promptly to her feet, still clapping. + +"I'm longing to meet Miss Dalstan, Philip," she declared. "She is +wonderful. And to think that you wrote it--that you created the part for +her! I am really quite proud of you." + +She laughed at his embarrassment, affecting to ignore the fact that it +was less the author's modesty than some queer impulse of horror which +seemed to come over him when any action of hers reminded him of their +past familiarity. He hurried on, piloting her down the corridor to the +door of Elizabeth's dressing room. In response to his knock they were +bidden to enter, and Elizabeth, who was lying on a couch whilst a maid +was busy preparing her costume for the next act, held out her hand with a +little welcoming smile. + +"I am so glad to see you, Miss Wenderley," she said cordially. "Philip, +bring Miss Wenderley over here. You'll forgive my not getting up, won't +you? I have to rest for just these few minutes before the next act." + +Beatrice was for a moment overpowered. The luxury of the wonderful +dressing room, with its perfect French furniture, its white walls hung +with a few choice sketches, the thick rugs upon the polished wood floor, +the exquisite toilet table with its wealth of gold and tortoiseshell +appurtenances--Elizabeth herself, so beautiful and gracious--even a +hurried contemplation of all these things took her breath away. She felt +suddenly acutely conscious of the poverty of her travelling clothes, of +her own insignificance. + +"Won't you sit down for a moment?" Elizabeth begged, pointing to a chair +by her side. "You and I must be friends, you know, for Philip's sake." + +Beatrice recovered herself a little. She sank into the blue satin chair, +with its ample cushions, and looked down at Elizabeth with something very +much like awe. + +"I am sure Philip must feel very grateful to you for having taken his +play," she declared. "It has given him a fresh chance in life." + +"After all he has gone through," Elizabeth said gently, "he certainly +deserves it. It is a wonderfully clever play, you know ... don't blush, +Mr. Author!" + +"I heard the story long ago," Beatrice observed, "only of course it +sounded very differently then, and we never dreamed that it would really +be produced." + +"Philip has told me about those days," Elizabeth said. "I am afraid that +you, too, have had your share of unhappiness, Miss Wenderley. I only hope +that life in the future will make up to you something of what you have +lost." + +The girl's face hardened. Her lips came together in familiar fashion. + +"I mean it to," she declared. "I am going to make a start to-morrow. I +wish, Miss Dalstan, you could get Philip to look at things a little more +cheerfully. He has been like a ghost ever since I arrived." + +Elizabeth turned and smiled at him sympathetically. + +"Your coming must have been rather a shock," she reminded Beatrice. "You +came with the idea, did you not, that--you would find Mr. Douglas +Romilly?" + +The girl nodded and glanced around for the maid, who had disappeared, +however, into an inner apartment. + +"They were always alike," she confided,--"the same figures, same shaped +head and that sort of thing. Douglas was a little overfond of life, +though, and Philip here hasn't found out yet what it means. It was a +shock, though, Miss Dalstan. Philip was sitting in the dark when I +arrived at his rooms this evening, and--I thought it was Douglas." + +Elizabeth shivered a little. + +"Don't let us talk about it," she begged. "You must come and see me, +won't you, Miss Wenderley? Philip will tell you where I live. Are you +going back to England at once?" + +"I haven't made up my mind yet," the girl replied, with a slight frown. +"It just depends." + +Elizabeth glanced at the little clock upon her table, and Philip threw +away his cigarette and came forward. + +"We must go, Beatrice," he announced. "Miss Dalstan has to change her +dress for this act." + +He held out his hand and Elizabeth rose lightly to her feet. So far, no +word as to their two selves had passed their lips. She smiled at him and +all this sense of throbbing, almost theatrical excitement subsided. He +was once more conscious of the beautiful things beyond. Once more he felt +the rest of her presence. + +"You must let me see something of you tomorrow, Philip," she said. +"Telephone, will you? Good night, Miss Wenderley." + +The maid, who had just returned, held the door open. Philip glanced back +over his shoulder. Elizabeth blew him a kiss, a gesture which curiously +enough brought a frown to Beatrice's face. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +The close of the performance left them both curiously tongue-tied. They +waited until the theatre was half empty before they left their seats. +Then they joined the little throng of stragglers at the end. + +"Your play!" she murmured, as they faced the soft night air. "I can't +believe it, even now. We've seen it together--your play--and this is +New York! That's a new ending, isn't it?" + +"Absolutely," he confessed. "The ending was always what bothered me, you +know." + +She laughed, not quite naturally. She was unexpectedly impressed. + +"So you're a genius, after all," she went on. "Sometimes I wondered--but +never mind that now. Philip, do you know I am starving? We took exactly +ten minutes over dinner!" + +He led her to a huge restaurant a few doors away, where they found a +corner table. Up in the balcony an orchestra was playing light music, and +a little crowd of people were all the time streaming through the doors. +Beatrice settled herself down with an air of content. Few of the people +were in evening dress, and the tone of the place was essentially +democratic. Philip, who had learnt a little about American dishes, gave +an order, and Beatrice sipped her cocktail with an air of growing +appreciation. + +"Queer idea, this, but the stuff tastes all right," she acknowledged. "I +suppose, if you were taking your dear Miss Dalstan out, you'd go to a +different sort of place, eh?" + +"We generally go further up town," he admitted unthinkingly. + +She set her glass down quickly. + +"So you do take her out, do you?" she asked coldly. "You'd have been with +her to-night, perhaps, if I hadn't been here?" + +"Very likely." + +She was half inclined to rally him, behind it all a little annoyed. + +"You're a nice sort of person! Why, it's only a few months ago since you +pretended to be in love with me!" + +He looked at her, and her eyes fell before his. + +"I don't think there was ever much question of our being in love with one +another, was there? We simply seemed to have drifted together because we +were both miserable, and then, as the time passed on--well, you came to +be my only solace against the wretchedness of that life." + +She nodded appreciatively. For a moment the sights and sounds of the +noisy restaurant passed from her consciousness. + +"Do you remember how glad I was to see you? How we used to spend our +holidays out in those dingy fields and hope and pray for better things +some day? But it was all so hopeless, wasn't it! You could barely keep +yourself from starving, and I--oh, the misery of that awful Detton Magna +and teaching those wretched children! There never were such children in +the world. I couldn't get their mothers to send them clean. They seemed +to have inherited all the vice, the bad language, the ugly sordidness +with which the place reeked. They were old men and women in wickedness +before they passed their first standard. It's a corner of the world I +never want to see again. I'd rather find hell! Have you ordered any wine, +Philip? I want to forget." + +He pointed to the bottle which stood in the pail by their side, and +summoned a waiter. She watched it being opened and their glasses filled. + +"This is like one of our fairy stories of the old days, isn't it?" she +said. "Well, I drink to you, Philip. Here's success to our new lives!" + +She raised her glass and drained it. A woman had entered who reminded him +of Elizabeth, and his eyes had wandered away for a moment as Beatrice +pledged him. She called him back a little impatiently. + +"Don't sit there as though you were looking at ghosts, Philip! Try and +remember who I am and what we used to mean to one another. Let us try +and believe," she added, a little wistfully, "that one of those dreams of +ours which we used to set floating like bubbles, has come true. We can +wipe out all the memories we don't want. That ought to be easy." + +"Ought it?" he answered grimly. "There are times when I've found it +difficult enough." + +She laughed and looked about her. He realised suddenly that she was still +very attractive with her rather insolent mouth, her clear eyes, her silky +hair with the little fringe. People, as they passed, paid her some +attention, and she was frankly curious about everybody. + +"Well," she went on presently, "thank heavens I have plenty of will +power. I remember nothing, absolutely nothing, which happened before this +evening. I am going to tell myself that an uncle in Australia has died +and left me money, and so we are here in New York to spend it. To-morrow +I am going to begin. I shall buy clothes--all sorts of clothes--and hats. +You won't know me to-morrow evening, Philip." + +His heart sank. To-morrow evening! + +"But Beatrice," he expostulated, "you don't think of staying out here, do +you? You don't know a soul. You haven't a friend in the city." + +"What friends have I in England?" she retorted. "Not one! I may just as +well start a new life in a new country. It seems bright enough here, and +gay. I like it. I shall move to a different sort of hotel to-morrow. You +must help me choose one. And as to friends," she whispered, looking up at +him with a little provocative gleam in her eyes, "don't you count? Can't +you do what I am going to do, Philip? Can't you draw down that curtain?" + +He shivered. + +"I can't!" he muttered. + +A waiter brought their first course, and she at once evinced interest in +her food. She returned to the subject, however, later on, after she had +drunk another glass of wine. + +"You're a silly old thing, you know," she declared. "You found the +courage, somehow, to break away from that loathsome existence. You had +more courage, even, than I, because you ran a risk I never did. But here +you are, free, with the whole world before you, and your last danger +disappearing with the knowledge that I am ready to be your friend and +am sensible about everything that has happened. This ought to be an +immense relief to you, Philip. You ought to be the happiest man on earth. +And there you sit, looking like a death's-head! Look at me for a moment +like a human being, can't you? Drink some more wine. There must be some +strength, some manhood about you somewhere, or you couldn't have done +what you have done." + +He filled his glass mechanically. She leaned across the table. Her eyes +were bright, her cheeks delicately pink. + +"Courage, Philip," she murmured. "Remember that what you did ... well, in +a way it was for my sake, wasn't it?--for love of me? I am here now and +we are both free. The old days are passed. Even their shadow cannot +trouble us any longer. Don't be a sentimentalist. Listen and I'll tell +you something--at the bottom of my heart I rather admire you for what you +did. Don't you want your reward?" + +"No," he answered firmly, "I don't!" + +She shrugged her shoulders and kept time with her foot to the music. +Across the table, although she kept silence for a while, she smiled at +him whenever she caught his eye. She was not angry, not even hurt. Philip +had always been so difficult, but in the end so easily led. She had +unlimited confidence in herself. + +"Don't be a goose!" she exclaimed at last. "Of course you want your +reward, and of course you'll have it, some day! You've always lived with +your head partly in the clouds, and it's always been my task to pull you +down to earth. I suppose I shall have to do the same again, but to-night +I haven't patience. I feel suddenly gay. You are so nice-looking, Philip, +but you'd look ten times nicer still if you'd only smile once or twice +and look as though you were glad." + +The whole thing was a nightmare to him. The horror of it was in his +blood, yet he did his best to obey. Plain speaking just then was +impossible. He drank glass after glass of wine and called for liqueurs. +She held his fingers for a moment under the table. + +"Oh, Philip," she whispered, "can't you forget that you have ever been a +school-teacher, dear? We are only human, and did suffer so. You know," +she went on, "you were made for the things that are coming to us. You've +improved already, ever so much. I like your clothes and the way you carry +yourself. But you look--oh, so sad and so far away all the time! When I +came to your rooms, at my first glimpse of you I knew that you were +miserable. We must alter all that, dear. Tell me how it is that with all +your success you haven't been happy?" + +"Memories!" he answered harshly. "Only a few hours before you came, +I was in hell!" + +"Then you had better make up your mind," she told him firmly, "that you +are going to climb up out of there, and when you're out, you're going to +stay out. You can't alter the past. You can't alter even the smallest +detail of its setting. Just as inevitably as our lives come and go, so +what has happened is finished with, unchangeable. It is only a weak +person who would spoil the present and the future, brooding. You used not +to be weak, Philip." + +"I don't think that I am, really," he said. "I am moody, though, and +that's almost as bad. The sight of you brought it all back. And that +fellow Dane--I've been frightened of him, Beatrice." + +"Well, you needn't be any longer," she declared. "What you want is some +one with you all the time who understands you, some one to drive back +those other thoughts when they come to worry you. It is really a very +good thing for you, dear, that I came out to New York. Mr. Dane is going +to be very disappointed when I tell him that I never saw you before in my +life.... Don't you love the music? Listen to that waltz. That was written +for happy people, Philip. I adore this place. I suppose we shall find +others that we like better, as time goes on, but I shall always think of +this evening. It is the beginning of my task, too, Philip, with you--for +you. What has really happened, dear? I can't realise anything. I feel as +though the gates of some great prison had been thrown wide-open, and +everything there was to long for in life was just there, within reach, +waiting. I am glad, so much gladder than I should have imagined possible. +It's wonderful to have you again. I didn't even feel that I missed you so +much, but I know now what it was that made life so appalling. Tell me, am +I still nice to look at?" + +"Of course you are," he assured her. "Can't you understand that by the +way people notice you?" + +She strummed upon the table with her fingers. Her whole body seemed to be +moving to the music. She nodded several times. + +"I don't want them to notice me, Philip," she murmured. "I want you to +look just for a moment as though you thought me the only person in the +world--as you did once, you know." + +He did his best to be responsive, but he was not wholly successful. +Nevertheless, she was tolerant with his shortcomings. They sat there +until nearly three o'clock. It was she at last who rose reluctantly to +her feet. + +"I want to go whilst the memory of it all is wonderful," she declared. +"Come. Here's a card with my address on. Drive me home now, please." + +He paid his bill and they found a cab. She linked her arm through his, +her head sank a little upon his shoulder. He made no movement. She waited +for a moment, then she leaned back amongst the cushions. + +"Philip," she asked quietly, "has this Elizabeth Dalstan been letting you +make love to her?" + +"Please don't speak of Miss Dalstan like that," he begged. + +"Answer my question," she insisted. + +"Miss Dalstan has been very kind to me," he admitted slowly, "wonderfully +kind. If you really want to know, I do care for her." + +"More than you did for me?" + +"Very much more," he answered bravely, "and in a different fashion." + +In the darkness of the cab it seemed to him that her face had grown +whiter. Her arm remained within his but it clasped him no longer. Her +body seemed to have become limp. Even her voice, firm though it was, +seemed pitched in a different key. + +"Listen," she said. "You will have to forget Miss Dalstan. I have made up +my mind what I want in life and I am going to have it. I shall draw my +money to-morrow morning and afterwards I shall come straight to your +rooms. Then we will talk. I want more than just that money. I am lonely. +And do you know, Philip, I believe that I must have cared for you all the +time, and you--you must have cared for me a little or you would never +have done that for my sake. You must and you shall care, Philip, because +our time has come, and I want you, please--shall I have to say it, +dear?--I want you to marry me." + +He wrenched himself free from her. + +"That is quite out of the question, Beatrice," he declared. + +She laughed at him mockingly. + +"Oh, don't say that, Philip! You might tempt me to be brutal. You might +tempt me to speak horribly plain words to you." + +"Speak them and have done with it," he told her roughly. "I might find a +few, too." + +"I am past hurting," she replied, "and I am not in the least afraid of +anything you could say. You robbed me of the man who was bringing me to +America--who would have married me some day, I suppose. Well, you must +pay, do you see, and in my way? I have told you the way I choose." + +"You want me to marry you?" he demanded--"simply marry you? You do not +care whether I have any love for you or whether I loathe you now." + +"You couldn't loathe me, could you?" she begged. "The thought of those +long days we spent together in our prison house would rise up and forbid +it. Kiss me." + +"I will not!" + +Her lips sought his, in vain. He pushed her away. + +"Don't you understand?" he exclaimed. "There is another woman whom I have +kissed--whom I am longing to kiss now." + +"But we are old friends," she pleaded, "and I am lonely. Kiss me how you +like. Don't be foolish." + +He kissed her upon the cheek. She pulled down her veil. The cab had +stopped before the door of her hotel. + +"You are not to worry any more about ugly things, Philip," she whispered, +holding his hand for a moment as he rang the bell for her. "You are safe, +remember--quite safe. I've come to take care of you. You need it so +badly.... Good night, dear!" + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Late though it was when Philip reached his rooms, he found on his writing +table a message addressed to him from the telephone call office in the +building. He tore it open: + +"Kindly ring up Number 551 Avenue immediately you return, whatever the +time." + +He glanced at the clock, hesitated, and finally approaching the +instrument called up Elizabeth's number. For a few moments he waited. The +silence in the streets outside seemed somehow to have become communicated +to the line, the space between them emptied of all the jarring sounds of +the day. It was across a deep gulf of silence that he heard at last her +voice. + +"Yes? Is that you, Philip?" + +"I am here," he answered. "I am sorry it is so late." + +"Have you only just come in?" + +"This moment." + +"Has that girl kept you out till now?" she asked reprovingly. + +"I couldn't help it," he replied. "It was her first night over here. I +took her to Churchill's for supper." + +"Is everything--all right with her? She doesn't mean to make trouble?" + +The unconscious irony of the question almost forced a smile to his lips. + +"I don't think so," he answered. "She is thoroughly excited at the idea +of possessing the money. I believe she thought that Douglas would have +drawn it all. She is going straight to the bank, early in the morning, to +get hold of it." + +"What about the man Dane?" + +"He has gone to Chicago. He won't be back for several days." + +There was a moment's pause. + +"Have you anything to ask me?" she enquired. + +"Nothing." + +"I have had the most extraordinary letter from Sylvanus. You and he have +met." + +"Yes," he admitted. + +"Philip, we must make up our minds." + +"You mean that you must make up your mind," he answered gently. + +There was another silence. Then she spoke a little abruptly. + +"I wonder whether you really love me, Philip.... No! don't, please--don't +try to answer such a foolish question. Go to bed and sleep well now. +You've had a trying day. Good night, dear!" + +He had barely time to say good night before he heard the ring off. He set +down the receiver. Somehow, there was a sensation of relief in having +been, although indirectly, in touch with her. The idea of the letter from +Sylvanus Power affected him only hazily. The crowded events of the day +had somehow or other dulled his power of concentrated thought. He felt a +curious sense of passivity. He undressed without conscious effort, closed +his eyes, and slept until he was awakened by the movements of the valet +about the room. + +Philip was still seated over his breakfast, reading the paper and +finishing his coffee, when the door was thrown suddenly open, and +Beatrice entered tumultuously. She laughed at his air of blank surprise. + +"You booby!" she exclaimed. "I couldn't help coming in to wish you good +morning. I have just discovered that my hotel is quite close by here. +Lucky, isn't it, except that I am going to move. Good morning, Mr. +Serious Face!" she went on, leaning towards him, her hands behind her, +her lips held out invitingly. + +He set down his paper, kissed her on the cheek, and looked inside the +coffeepot. + +"Have you had your breakfast?" + +"Hours ago. I was too excited to sleep when I got to bed, and yet I feel +so well. Philip, where's Wall Street? Won't you take me there?" + +He shook his head. + +"I am expecting a visitor, and I have piles of work to do." + +She made a grimace. + +"I know I shall be terrified when I march up to the counter of the bank +and say I've come for twenty thousand pounds!" + +"You must transfer it to a current account," he explained, "in your own +name. Have you any papers with you--for identification, I mean?" + +She nodded. + +"I've thought of all that. I've a photograph and a passport and some +letters. It isn't that I'm really afraid, but I hate being alone, and you +look so nice, Philip dear. I always loved you in blue serge, and I adore +your eyeglass. You really have been clever in the small things you have +done to change your appearance. Perhaps you are right not to come, +though," she went on, looking in the mirror. "These clothes are the best +I could get at a minute's notice. Mr. Dane was really quite nice, but he +hadn't the least idea how long it takes a woman to prepare for a journey. +Never mind, you wait until I get back here this afternoon! I am going +round to all the shops, and I am going to bring the clothes I buy away +with me. Then I am going to lock myself in my room and change everything. +I am going to have some of those funny little patent shoes, and silk +stockings--and, oh, well, all sorts of things you wouldn't understand +about. And do try and cheer up before I get back, please, Philip. Twelve +months ago you would have thought all this Paradise. Oh, I can't stop a +moment longer!" she wound up, throwing away the cigarette she had taken +from the box and lit. "I'm off now. And, Philip, don't you dare to go out +of these rooms until I come back!" + +She turned towards the door--she was half-way there, in fact--when they +were both aware of a ring at the bell. She stopped short and looked +around enquiringly. + +"Who's that?" she whispered. + +Philip glanced at the clock. It was too early for Elizabeth. + +"No idea," he answered. "Come in." + +The door opened and closed. Philip sat as though turned to stone. +Beatrice remained in the middle of the room, her fingers clasping the +back of a chair. Mr. Dane, hat in hand, had entered. + +"Good morning, Miss Wenderley!" he said. "Good morning, Mr. Ware!" + +Philip said nothing. He had a horrible feeling that this was some trap. +Beatrice at first could only stare at the unexpected visitor. His sudden +appearance had disconcerted her. + +"I thought you were in Chicago, Mr. Dane!" she exclaimed at last. + +"My plans were altered at the last moment," he told her. "No, I won't sit +down, thanks," he added, waving away the chair towards which Philip had +pointed. "As a matter of fact, I haven't been out of New York. I decided +to wait and hear your news, Miss Wenderley." + +"Well, you're going to be disappointed, then," she said bluntly. "I +haven't any." + +Mr. Dane was politely incredulous. He was also a little stern. + +"You mean," he protested, "that you cannot identify this gentleman--that +you don't recognise him as Mr. Douglas Romilly?" + +"I cannot identify him," she repeated. "He is not Mr. Douglas Romilly." + +"I have brought you all this way, then, to confront you with a stranger?" + +"Absolutely," she insisted. "It wasn't my fault. I didn't want to come." + +Mr. Dane's expression suddenly changed. His hard knuckles were pressed +upon the table, he leaned forward towards her. Even his tone was altered. +His blandness had all vanished, his grey eyes were as hard as steel. + +"A stranger!" he exclaimed derisively. "Yet you come here to his rooms +early in the evening, you stay here, you go to the theatre with him the +same night, you go on to supper at Churchill's and stay there till three +o'clock in the morning, you are here with him again at nine o'clock--at +breakfast time. A stranger, Miss Wenderley? Think again! A story like +this might do for Scotland Yard. It won't do for us out here." + +She knew at once that she had fallen into a trap, but she was not wholly +dismayed. The position was one which they had half anticipated. She told +herself that he was bluffing, that it was simply the outburst of a +disappointed man. On the whole, she behaved extraordinarily well. + +"You brought me out here," she said, "to confront me with this man--to +identify him, if I could, as Mr. Douglas Romilly. Well, he isn't Mr. +Douglas Romilly, and that's all there is about it. As to my going out +with him last evening, I can't see that that's any concern of any one. He +was kind to me, cheered me up when he saw that I was disappointed; I told +him my whole story and that I didn't know a soul in New York, and we +became friends. That's all there is about it." + +"That so?" the detective observed, with quiet sarcasm. "You seem to have +a knack of making friends pretty easily, Miss Wenderley." + +"It is not your business if I have," she snapped. + +"Well, we'll pass that, then," he conceded. "I haven't quite finished +with you yet, though. There are just one or two more points I am going to +put before you--and this gentleman who is not Mr. Douglas Romilly," he +added, with a little bow to Philip. "The first is this. There is one fact +which we can all three take for granted, because I know it--I can prove +it a hundred times over--and you both know it; and that is that the Mr. +Merton Ware of to-day travelled from Liverpool on the _Elletania_ as Mr. +Douglas Romilly, occupied a room at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel as Mr. +Douglas Romilly, and absconded from there, leaving his luggage and his +identity behind him, to blossom out in an attic of the Monmouth tenement +house as Mr. Merton Ware, a young writer of plays. Now I don't think," +Mr. Dane went on, leaning a little further over the table, "that the Mr. +Douglas Romilly who has disappeared was ever capable of writing a play. I +don't think he was a man of talent at all. I don't think he could have +written, for instance, 'The House of Shams.' Let us, however, leave the +subject of Douglas Romilly for a moment. Let us go a little further +back--to Detton Magna, let us say. Curiously enough, there was another +young man who disappeared from that little Derbyshire village about the +same time, who has never been heard of since. His name, too, was Romilly. +I gathered, during the course of my recent enquiries, that he was a poor +relation, a cousin of Mr. Douglas Romilly." + +"He was drowned in the canal," Beatrice faltered. "His body has been +found." + +"A body has been found," Mr. Dane corrected, "but it was in an +unrecognisable state. It has been presumed to be the body of Philip +Romilly, the poor relation, a starving young art teacher in London +with literary aspirations--but I hold that that presumption is a mistake. +I believe," the detective went on, his eyes fastened upon Philip, his +voice a little raised, "that it was the body of Douglas Romilly, the shoe +manufacturer, which was fished out from the canal, and that you, sir, are +Mr. Philip Romilly, late art-school teacher of Kensington, who murdered +Douglas Romilly on the banks of the canal, stole his money and +pocketbook, assumed his identity in Liverpool and on the _Elletania_, and +became what you are now--Mr. Merton Ware." + +Philip threw away the cigarette which he had been smoking, and, leaning +over the box, carefully selected another. He tapped it against the table +and lit it. + +"Mr. Dane," he said coolly, "I shall always be grateful to you for your +visit this morning, for you have given me what is the most difficult +thing in the whole world to stumble up against--an excellent idea for a +new play. Apart from that, you seem, for so intelligent a man, to have +wasted a good deal of your time and to have come, what we should call in +English, a cropper. I will take you into my confidence so far as to admit +that I am not particularly anxious to disclose my private history, but if +ever the necessity should arise I shall do so without hesitation. Until +that time comes, you must forgive me if I choose to preserve a certain +reticence as to my antecedents." + +Mr. Dane, in the moment's breathless silence which followed, acknowledged +to himself the perpetration of a rare mistake. He had selected Philip to +bear the brunt of his attack, believing him to be possessed of the weaker +nerve. Beatrice, who at the end of his last speech had sunk into a chair, +white and terrified, an easy victim, had rallied now, inspired by +Philip's composure. + +"You deny, then, that you are Mr. Philip Romilly?" the detective asked. + +"I never heard of the fellow in my life," Philip replied pleasantly, "but +don't go, Mr. Dane. You can't imagine how interesting this is to me. You +have sent me a most charming acquaintance," he added, bowing to Beatrice, +"and you have provided me with what I can assure you is almost +pathetically scarce in these days--a new and very dramatic idea. Take a +seat, won't you, and chat with us a little longer? Tell us how you came +to think of all this? I have always held that the workings of a +criminologist's brain must be one of the most interesting studies in +life." + +Mr. Dane smiled enigmatically. + +"Ah!" he protested, "you mustn't ask me to disclose all my secrets." + +"You wouldn't care to tell us a little about your future intentions?" +Philip enquired. + +Mr. Dane shook his head. + +"It is very kind of you, Mr. Merton Ware," he confessed, "to let me down +so gently. We all make mistakes, of course. As to my future intentions, +well, I am not quite sure about them. You see, this isn't really my job +at all. It isn't up to me to hunt out English criminals, so long as they +behave themselves in this city. If an extradition order or anything of +that sort came my way, it would, of course, be different." + +"Why not lay this interesting theory of yours before the authorities at +Scotland Yard?" Philip suggested. "I am sure they would listen with +immense interest to any report from you." + +"That's some idea, certainly," the detective admitted, taking up his hat +from the table. "For the present I'll wish you both good morning--or +shall I say an revoir?" + +"We may look for the pleasure of another visit from you, then?" Philip +enquired politely. + +The detective faced them from the doorway. + +"Sir," he said to Philip, "I admire your nerve, and I admire the nerve of +your old sweetheart, Miss Wenderley. I am afraid I cannot promise you, +however, that this will be my last visit." + +The door closed behind him. They heard the shrill summons of the bell, +the arrival of the lift, the clanging of the iron gate, and its +subsequent descent. Then Beatrice turned her head. Philip was still +smoking serenely, standing with his back to the mantelpiece, his hands in +his pockets. She rose and threw her arms around him. + +"Philip!" she cried. "Why, you are wonderful! You are marvellous! You +make me ashamed. It was only for a moment that I lost my nerve, and you +saved us. Oh, what idiots we were! Of course he meant to watch--that's +why he told me he was going to Chicago. The beast!" + +"He seems to have got hold of the idea all right, doesn't he?" Philip +muttered. + +"Pooh!" she exclaimed encouragingly. "I know a little about the law--so +do you. He hasn't any proof--he never can have any proof. No one will +ever be able to swear that the body which they picked out of the canal +was the body of Douglas Romilly. There wasn't a soul who saw you do it. I +am the only person in the world who could supply the motive, and I--I +shall never be any use to them. Don't you see, Philip?... I shall be your +wife! A wife can't give evidence against her husband! You'll be safe, +dear--quite safe." + +He withdrew a little from her embrace. + +"Beatrice," he reminded her, "there is another tragedy beyond the one +with which Dane threatens us. I do not wish to marry you." + +She suddenly blazed up. + +"Because--?" + +"Not because of any reason in the world," he interrupted, "except that I +love Elizabeth Dalstan." + +"Does she want to marry you?" + +He was suddenly an altered person. Some of his confidence seemed to +desert him. He shook his head doubtfully. + +"I am not sure. Sometimes I think that she would. Sometimes I fancy that +it is only a great kindness of heart, an immense sympathy, a kind of +protective sympathy, which has made her so good to me." + +She looked at herself steadily for a moment in the mirror. Then she +pulled down her veil. + +"Philip," she said, "we find out the truth when we are up against things +like this. I used to think I could live alone. I can't. Whatever you may +think of me, I was fond of Douglas. It wasn't only for the sake of the +money and the comfort. He was kind, and in his way he understood. And +then, you know, misery didn't agree with you. You were often, even in +those few hours we spent together, very hard and cold. Anyway," she +added, with a little tightening of the lips, "I am going to get my money +now. No one can stop that. You stay here and think it over. It would be +better to marry me, Philip, and be safe, than to have the fear of that +man Dane always before you. And wait--wait till you see me when I come +back!" she went on, her spirits rapidly rising as she moved towards the +door. "You'll change your mind then, Philip. You were always so +impressionable, weren't you? A little touch of colour, the perfume of +flowers, a single soft word spoken at the right moment--anything that +took your fancy made such a difference. Well--just wait till I come +back!" + +She closed the door. Philip heard her descend in the lift. He moved to +the window and watched for her on the pavement. She appeared there in a +moment or two and waited whilst the boy whistled for a taxicab, her face +expectantly upraised, one hand resting lightly on her bosom, just over +the spot where her pocketbook lay. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +Philip was still gazing into vacancy and smoking cigarettes when +Elizabeth arrived. She seemed conscious at once of the disturbed +atmosphere. His hands, which she held firmly in hers, were as cold as +ice. + +"Is that girl going to be troublesome?" she demanded anxiously. + +"Not in the way we feared," he replied. "All the same, the plot has +thickened so far as I am concerned. That fellow Dane has been here." + +"Go on," she begged. + +"He laid a trap for us, and we fell into it like the veriest simpletons. +He let Beatrice think that he had gone to Chicago. Of course, he did +nothing of the sort. He turned her loose to come to me, and he had us +watched. He knew that we spent last evening together as old friends. She +was here in my rooms this morning when he arrived." + +"Oh, Philip, Philip!" she murmured. "Well, what does he suspect?" + +"The truth! He accused me to my face of being Philip Romilly. Beatrice +did her best but, you see, the position was a little absurd. She denied +strenuously that she had ever seen me before, that I was anything but a +stranger to her. In the face of last evening, and his finding her here +this morning, it didn't sound convincing." + +"What is Dane going to do?" + +"Heaven knows! It isn't his affair, really. If there were any charge +against me--well, you see, there'd have to be an extradition order. I +should think he will probably lay the facts before Scotland Yard and let +them do what they choose." + +She made him sit down and drew a low chair herself to his side. She held +his hand in hers. + +"Philip," she said soothingly, "they can't possibly prove anything." + +"They can prove," he pointed out, "that I was in Detton Magna that +afternoon. I don't think any one except Beatrice saw me start along the +canal path, but they can prove that I knew all about Douglas Romilly's +disappearance, because I travelled to America under his name and with his +ticket, and deliberately personated him." + +"They can prove all that," she agreed, "but they can't prove the crime +itself. Beatrice is the only person who could do that." + +"She proposes to marry me," he announced grimly. "That would prevent her +giving evidence at all." + +Elizabeth suddenly threw her arms around his neck and held her cheek to +his. + +"She shan't marry you!" she declared. "I want you myself!" + +"Elizabeth!" + +"Yes, I have made up my mind, Philip. It is no use. The other things are +fascinating and splendid in their way, but they don't count, they don't +last. They're tinsel, dear, and I don't want tinsel--I want the gold. +We'll face this bravely, wherever it leads, however far, however deep +down, and then we'll start again." + +"You know what this means, Elizabeth?" he faltered. "That man Power--" + +She brushed the thought away. + +"I know. He'll close the theatre. He'll do all he can to harm us. That +doesn't matter. The play is ours. That's worth a fortune. And the new one +coming--why, it's wonderful, Philip. We don't want wealth. Your brain and +my art can win us all that we desire in life. We shall have something +sweeter than anything which Sylvanus Power's millions could buy. We shall +have our love--your love for me, dear, and mine for you." + +He felt her tears upon his cheek, her lips pressed to his. He held her +there, but although his heart was beating with renewed hope, he said +nothing for a time. When she stepped back to look at his face, however, +the change was already there. + +"You are glad, Philip!" she cried. "You are happy--I can see it! You +didn't ever care really for that girl, did you?" + +He almost laughed. + +"Not like this!" he answered confidently. "I never even for a single +moment pretended to care in a great way. We were just companions in +misfortune. The madness that came over me that day had been growing in my +brain for years. I hated Douglas Romilly. I had every reason to hate him. +And then, after all he had robbed me of--my one companion--" + +She stopped him. + +"I know--I know," she murmured. "You need never try to explain anything +to me. I know everything, I understand, I sympathise." + +A revulsion of feeling had suddenly chilled him. He held her to him none +the less tightly but there was a ring of despair in his tone. + +"Elizabeth, think what it may mean!" he muttered. "How can I drag you +through it all? A trial, perhaps, the suspense, and all the time that +guilty knowledge behind--yours and mine!" + +"Pooh!" she exclaimed lightly. "I am not a sentimentalist. I am a woman +in love." + +"But, Elizabeth, I am guilty!" he groaned. "That's the horror of it! I'd +take the risk if I were an innocent man--I'd risk everything. But I am +afraid to stand there and know that every word they say against me will +be true, and every word of the men who speak in my defence will be false. +Can't you realise the black, abominable horror of it? I couldn't drag you +into such a plight, Elizabeth! I was weak to think of it. I couldn't!" + +"You'll drag me nowhere," she answered, holding him tightly. "Where I go +my feet will lead me, and my love for you. You can't help that. We'll +play the game--play it magnificently, Philip. My faith in you will count +for something." + +"But, dear," he protested, "don't you see? If the case ever comes into +court, even if I get off, every one will know that it is through a +technicality. The evidence is too strong. Half the world at least will +believe me guilty." + +"It shan't come into court," she proclaimed confidently. "I shall talk to +Dane. I have some influence with the police authorities here. I shall +point out how ridiculous it all is. What's the use of formulating a +charge that they can never, never prove?" + +"Unless," he reminded her hesitatingly, "Beatrice--" + +"Beatrice! You're not afraid of her?" + +"I am afraid of no one or anything," he declared, "when you are here! But +Beatrice has been behaving strangely ever since she arrived. She has a +sudden fancy for remembering that in a sense we were once engaged." + +"Beatrice," Elizabeth announced, "must be satisfied with her twenty +thousand pounds. I know what you are trying to say--she wants you. She +shan't have you, Philip! We'll find her some one else. We'll be kind to +her--I don't mind that. Very soon we'll find her plenty of friends. But +as for you, Philip--well, she just shan't have you, and that's all there +is about it." + +He took her suddenly into his arms. In that moment he was the lover she +had craved for--strong, passionate, and reckless. + +"All the love that my heart has ever known," he cried, "is yours, +Elizabeth! Every thought and every hope is yours. You are my life. You +saved me--you made me what I am. The play is yours, my brain is yours, +there isn't a thought or a dream or a wish that isn't for you--of +you--yours!" + +He kissed her as he had never dreamed of kissing any woman. It was the +one supreme moment of their life and their love. Time passed +uncounted.... + +Then interruption came, suddenly and tragically. Without knock or ring, +the door was flung open and slammed again. Beatrice stood there, still in +her shabby clothes, her veil pushed back, gloveless and breathless. Her +clenched hand flew out towards Philip as though she would have struck +him. + +"You liar!" she shrieked. "You've had my money! You've spent it! You've +stolen it! Thief! Murderer!" + +She paused, struggling for breath, tore her hat from her head and threw +it on the table. Her face was like the face of a virago, her eyes blazed, +her cheeks were as pale as death save for one hectic spot of colour. + +"You are talking nonsense, Beatrice," he expostulated. + +"Don't lie to me!" she shouted. "You can lie in the dock when you stand +there and tell them you never murdered Douglas Romilly! That makes you +cringe, doesn't it? I don't want to make a scene, but the woman you're in +love with had better hear what I have to say. Are you going to give me +back my money, Philip?" + +"As I stand here," he declared solemnly, "I have not touched that money +or been near the bank where it was deposited. I swear it. Every penny I +have spent since I moved into this apartment, I have spent from my +earnings. My own royalties come to over a hundred pounds a week--more +than sufficient to keep me in luxury. I never meant to touch that +money. I have not touched it." + +His words carried conviction with them. She stood there for several +seconds, absolutely rigid, her eyes growing larger and rounder, her lips +a little parted. Bewilderment was now struggling with her passion. + +"Who in God's name, then," she asked hoarsely, "could have known about +the money and forged his signature! I tell you that I've seen it with my +own eyes, a few minutes ago, in the bank. They showed me into a little +cupboard, a place without any roof, and laid it there before me on the +desk--his cheque and signature for the whole amount." + +Philip looked at her earnestly, oppressed by a sense of coming trouble. + +"Beatrice," he said, "I wouldn't deceive you. I should be a fool to try, +shouldn't I? I can only repeat what I have said. I have never been near +the bank. I have never touched that money." + +She shivered a little where she stood. It was obvious that she was +convinced, but her sense of personal injustice remained unabated. + +"Then there is some one else," she declared, "who knows everything--some +one else, my man," she added, leaning across the table and shaking her +head with a sudden fierceness, "who can step into the witness box and +tell the truth about you. You must find out who it is. You must find out +who has stolen that money and get it back. I tell you I won't have +everything snatched away from me like this!" she cried, her voice +breaking hysterically, "I won't be robbed of life and happiness and +everything that counts! I want my money. Are you going to get it back for +me?" + +"Beatrice, don't be absurd," he protested. "You know very well that I +can't do that. I am not in a position to go about making enquiries. I +shall be watched from now, day and night, if nothing worse happens. A +single step on my part in that direction would mean disaster." + +"Then take me straight to the town hall, or the registry office, or +wherever you go here, and marry me," she demanded. "A hundred pounds a +week royalty, eh? Well, that's good enough. I'll marry you, Philip--do +you hear?--at once. That'll save your skin if it won't get me back my +twenty thousand pounds. You needn't flatter yourself overmuch, either. +I'd rather have had Douglas. He's more of a man than you, after all. You +are too self-conscious. You think about yourself too much. You're too +intellectual, too. I don't want those things. I want to live! Any way, +you've got to marry me--to-day. Now give me some money, do you hear?" + +He took out his pocketbook and threw it towards her. She smoothed out the +wad of notes which it contained and counted them with glistening eyes. + +"Well, there's enough here for a start," she decided, slipping them into +her bosom. "No one shall rob me of these before I get to the shops. +Better come with me, Philip. I'm not going to leave you alone with her." + +Elizabeth would have intervened, but Philip laid his hand upon her arm. + +"Beatrice," he said sternly, "you are a little beside yourself. Listen. I +don't understand what has happened. I must think about it. Apparently +that twenty thousand pounds has gone, but so far as regards money I +recognise your claim. You shall have half my earnings. I'll write more. +I'll make it up somehow. But for the rest, this morning has cleared +away many misunderstandings. Let this be the last word. Miss Dalstan has +promised to be my wife. She is the only woman I could ever love." + +"Then you'll have to marry me without loving me," Beatrice declared +thickly. "I won't be left alone in this beastly city! I want some one to +take care of me. I am getting frightened. It's uncanny--horrible! I--oh! +I am so miserable--so miserable!" + +She sank into a chair and fell forward across the table, sobbing +hysterically. + +"I hate every one!" she moaned. "Philip, why can't you be kind to me! +Why doesn't some one care!" + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +And, after all, nothing happened. Dane's barely veiled threats seemed to +vanish like the man himself into thin air. Beatrice, after the breakdown +of her one passionate outburst, had become wonderfully meek and +tractable. Sylvanus Power, who had received from Elizabeth the message +for which he had waited, showed no sign either of disappointment or +anger. After the storm which had seemed to be breaking in upon him from +every quarter, the days which followed possessed for Philip almost the +calm of an Indian summer. He had found something in life at last stronger +than his turbulent fears. His whole nature was engrossed by one great +atmosphere of deep and wonderful affection. He spent a part of every day +with Elizabeth, and the remainder of his time was completely engrossed by +the work over which she, too, the presiding genius, pored eagerly. +Together they humoured many of Beatrice's whims, treating her very much +as an unexpected protegée, a position with which she seemed entirely +content. She made friends with the utmost facility. She wore new clothes +with frank and obvious joy. She preened herself before the looking-glass +of life, developed a capacity for living and enjoying herself which, +under the circumstances, was nothing less than remarkable. + +And then came the climax of Philip's new-found happiness. His earnest +protests had long since been overruled, and certainly no one could have +accused him of posing for a single moment as the reluctant bridegroom. +The happiness which shone from their two faces seemed to brighten the +strangely unecclesiastical looking apartment, in which a cheerful and +exceedingly pleasant looking American divine completed the formalities of +their marriage. It was a queer little company who hurried back to +Elizabeth's room for tea--Elizabeth and Philip themselves, and Martha +Grimes and Beatrice sharing the attentions of Noel Bridges. For an +event of such stupendous importance, it was amazing how perfectly +matter-of-fact the two persons chiefly concerned were. There was only one +moment, just before they started for the theatre, when Elizabeth betrayed +the slightest signs of uneasiness. + +"I sent a telegram, Philip," she said, "to Sylvanus Power. I thought I +had better. This is his answer." + +Philip read the few typewritten words on the little slip of paper: + +"You will hear from me within twenty-four hours." + +Philip frowned a little as he handed it back. It was dated from +Washington. + +"I think," Elizabeth faltered, "he might have sent his good wishes, at +any rate." + +Philip laughed confidently. + +"We have nothing to fear," he declared confidently, "from Sylvanus +Power." + +"Nor from any one else in the world," Elizabeth murmured fervently. + +Then followed the wonderful evening. Philip found Beatrice alone in the +stage box when he returned from taking Elizabeth to her dressing-room. + +"Where's Martha?" he asked. + +"Faithless," Beatrice replied. "She is in the stalls down there with a +young man from the box office. She said you'd understand." + +"A serious affair?" Philip ventured. + +Beatrice nodded. + +"They are engaged. I had tea with them yesterday." + +"We shall have to do something for you, Beatrice, soon," he remarked +cheerfully. + +A very rare gravity settled for a moment upon her face. + +"I wonder, Philip," she said simply. "I thought, a little time ago, it +would be easy enough to care for the right sort of person. Perhaps I am +not really quite so rotten as I thought I was. Here comes Elizabeth. +Let's watch her." + +They both leaned a little forward in the box, Philip in a state of +beatific wonder, which turned soon to amazement when, at Elizabeth's +first appearance, the house suddenly rose, and a torrent of applause +broke out from the floor to the ceiling. Elizabeth for a moment seemed +dumbfounded. The fact that the news of what had happened that afternoon +could so soon have become public property had not occurred to either her +or Philip. Then a sudden smile of comprehension broke across her face. +With understanding, however, came a momentary embarrassment. She looked a +little pathetically at the great audience, then laughed and glanced at +Philip, seated now well back in the box. Many of them followed her gaze, +and the applause broke out again. Then there was silence. She paused +before she spoke the first words of her part. + +"Thank you so much," she said quietly. + +It was a queer little episode. Beatrice gripped Philip's hand as she drew +her chair back to his. There were tears in her eyes. + +"How they love her, these people! And fancy their knowing about it, +Philip, already! You ought to have shown yourself as the happy +bridegroom. They were all looking up here. I wonder why men are so shy. +I'm glad I have my new frock on.... Fancy being married only a few hours +ago! Tell me how you are feeling, can't you, Philip? You sit there +looking like a sphinx. You are happy, aren't you?" + +"Happier, I think, than any man has a right to be," he answered, his eyes +watching Elizabeth's every movement. + +As the play proceeded, his silence only deepened. He went behind at the +end of each act and spent a few stolen moments with Elizabeth. Life was a +marvellous thing, indeed. Every pulse and nerve in his body was tingling +with happiness. And yet, as he lingered for a moment in the vestibule of +the theatre, before going back to his box at the commencement of the last +act, he felt once more that terrible wave of depression, the ghostly +uprising of his old terrors even in this supreme moment. He looked down +from the panorama of flaring sky-signs into the faces of the passers-by +along the crowded pavement. He had a sudden fancy that Dane was there, +watching. His heart beat fiercely as he stood, almost transfixed, +scanning eagerly every strange face. Then the bell rang behind him. He +set his teeth and turned away. In less than half an hour the play would +be over. They would be on their way home. + +He found the box door open and the box itself, to his surprise, empty. +There was no sign anywhere of Beatrice. He waited for a little time. Then +he rang the bell for the attendant but could hear no news of her. His +uneasiness increased as the curtain at last fell and she had not +returned. He hurried round to the back, but Elizabeth, when he told her, +only smiled. + +"Why, there's nothing to worry about, dear," she said. "Beatrice can take +care of herself. Perhaps she thought it more tactful to hurry on home +tonight. She is really just as kind-hearted as she can be, you know, +Philip, underneath all that pent-up, passionate desire for just a small +share of the good things of life. She has wasted so much of herself in +longings. Poor child! I sometimes wonder that she is as level-headed as +she seems to be. Now I am ready." + +They passed down the corridor amidst a little chorus of good nights, and +stepped into the automobile which was waiting. As it glided off she +suddenly came closer to him. + +"Philip," she whispered, "it's true, isn't it? Put your arms around me. +You are driving me home--say it's true!" + +Elizabeth sat up presently, a little dazed. Her fingers were still +gripping Philip's almost fiercely. The automobile had stopped. + +"I haven't the least idea where we are," she murmured. + +"And I forgot to tell you," he laughed, as he helped her out. "I took the +suite below mine by the week. There are two or three rooms, and an +extra one for Beatrice. Of course, it's small, but then with this London +idea before us--" + +"Such extravagance!" she interrupted. "Your own rooms would have done +quite nicely, only it is a luxury to have a place for Phoebe. I hope +Beatrice won't have gone to bed." + +"I am sure she won't," he replied. "She has done all the arranging for +me--she and Phoebe together." + +They crossed the pavement and entered the lift. The attendant grinned +broadly as he stopped at the eighth floor, and held out his hand for the +tip for which Philip had been fumbling. The door of the suite was opened +before they could reach the bell. Elizabeth's maid, Phoebe, came forward +to take her mistress' cloak, and the floor valet was there to relieve +Philip of his overcoat. A waiter was hovering in the background. + +"Supper is served in the dining room, sir," he announced. "Shall I open +the wine?" + +Philip nodded and showed Elizabeth over the little flat, finally ushering +her into the small, round dining room. + +"It's perfectly delightful," she declared, "but we don't need nearly so +much room, Philip. What a dear little dining table and what a delicious +supper! Everything I like best in the world, from pâté de foie gras to +cold asparagus. You are a dear." + +The waiter disappeared with a little bow. They were alone at last. She +held his hands tightly. She was trembling. The forced composure of the +last few minutes seemed to have left her. + +"I am silly," she faltered, "but the servants and everything--they won't +come back, will they?" + +He laughed as he patted her hand. + +"We shan't see another soul, dear," he assured her. + +She laid her cheek against his. + +"How hot your face feels," she exclaimed. "Throw open the window, do. I +shan't feel it." + +He obeyed her at once. The roar of the city, all its harshness muffled, +came to them in a sombre, almost melodious undernote. She rested her +hands upon his shoulder. + +"What children we are!" she murmured. "Now it's you who are trembling! +Sit down, please. You've been so brave these last few days." + +"It was just for a moment," he told her. "It seems too wonderful. I had a +sudden impulse of terror lest it should all be snatched away." + +She laughed easily. + +"I don't think there's any fear of that, dear," she said. "Perhaps--" + +There was a little knock at the door. Philip, who had been holding +Elizabeth's chair, stood as though transfixed. Elizabeth gripped at the +side of the table. It was some few seconds before either of them +spoke. + +"It's perhaps--Beatrice," Elizabeth faltered. + +The knock was repeated. Philip drew a little breath. + +"Come in," he invited. + +The door opened slowly towards them and closed again. It was Mr. Dane who +had entered. From outside they caught a momentary glimpse of another +man, waiting. Mr. Dane took off his hat. For a man with so expressionless +a countenance, he was looking considerably perturbed. + +"Miss Dalstan," he said, "I am very sorry, believe me, to intrude. I only +heard of your marriage an hour ago. I wish I could have prevented it." + +"Prevented it?" Elizabeth repeated. "What do you mean?" + +"I think that Mr. Philip Romilly could explain," Dane continued, turning +towards Philip. "I am sorry, but I have received an imperative cable from +Scotland Yard, and it is my duty to arrest you, Philip Romilly, and to +hold you, pending the arrival of a special police mission from England. I +am bound to take note of anything you may say, so I beg of you not to ask +me any particulars as to the charge." + +The colour slowly faded from Elizabeth's cheeks. She had risen to her +feet and was gripping the mantelpiece for support. Philip, however, was +perfectly calm. He poured out a glass of water and held it to her lips. + +"Drink this, dear," he begged, "and don't be alarmed. It sounds very +terrible, but believe me there is nothing to be feared." + +He swung suddenly round to Dane. His voice shook with passion. + +"You've kept me under observation," he cried, "all this time. I haven't +attempted to escape. I haven't moved from New York. I haven't the +slightest intention of doing so until this thing is cleared up. Can't you +take my parole? Can't you leave me alone until they come from England?" + +Mr. Dane shook his head slowly. He was a hard man, but there was an +unaccustomed look of distress in his face. + +"Sorry, Mr. Romilly," he said regretfully. "I did suggest something of +the sort, but they wouldn't hear of it at headquarters. If we let you +slip through our fingers, we should never hear the last of it from +London." + +Then there came another and a still more unexpected interruption. From +outside they heard Beatrice's voice raised in excitement. Mr. Dane stood +on one side as the door was thrown open. Beatrice suddenly flung herself +into the room, dragging after her a man who was almost breathless. + +"I say, Beatrice, steady!" the latter began good-naturedly. + +There followed the most wonderful silence in the world, a silence which +was filled with throbbing, indescribable emotions, a silence which meant +something different for every one of them. Beatrice, gripping her captive +by the wrist, was looking around, striving to understand. Elizabeth was +filled with blank wonder. Mr. Dane was puzzled. But Philip, who a moment +before had seemed perfectly composed, was the one who seemed torn by +indescribable, by horrible emotions. He was livid almost to the lips. His +hands were stretched out as though to keep from him some awful and +ghastly vision. His eyes, filled with the anguished light of supreme +terror, were fastened upon the newcomer. His lips shook as he tried to +speak. + +"Take him away!" he shrieked. "Oh, my God!" + +Beatrice, more coherent than any of them, scoffed at him. + +"Don't be a fool!" she cried. "Take him away, indeed! He's the most +wonderful thing that ever happened. He's the one man in life you want to +see! So you've come for him, eh?" she went on, turning almost like a +wild-cat on Dane. "You beast! You chose to-night, did you? Now get on +with it, then, and I'll give you the surprise of your life. What are you +here for?" + +"I am here to arrest that man, Philip Romilly, for the murder of his +cousin, Douglas Romilly, Miss Wenderley," Dane announced gravely. "I am +sorry." + +Beatrice threw her head back and laughed hysterically. + +"You'll never write a play like it, Philip!" she exclaimed. "There never +was anything like it before. Now, Mr. Dane, what is it you say in America +when you want to introduce anybody?--shake hands with Mr. Douglas +Romilly--that's it. Shake hands with the dead man here and then get on +with your arresting. He must be dead if you say so, but he doesn't look +it, does he?" + +Philip's face had become a more natural colour. His eyes had never left +the other man's. He swayed a little on his feet and his voice seemed to +him to come from a long way off. + +"Douglas! It isn't you, Douglas! ... It isn't you really?" + +"I wish you'd all leave off staring at me as though I were a ghost," the +other man answered, almost pettishly. "I'm Douglas Romilly, right enough. +You needn't look in such a blue funk, Philip," he went on, his fingers +mechanically rearranging his collar and tie, which Beatrice had +disarranged. "I served you a beastly trick and you went for me. I should +have done the same if I'd been in your place. On the other hand, I rather +turned the tables on you by keeping quiet. Perhaps it's up to me to +explain." + +Elizabeth, feeling her way by the mantelpiece, came to Philip's side. His +arm supported her, holding her as though in a vise. + +"Is that your cousin?" she whispered hoarsely. "Is that Douglas Romilly? +Is he alive, after all?" + +Philip had no words, but his face spoke for him. Then they both turned to +listen. The newcomer had dragged a chair towards him and was leaning over +the back of it. He addressed Philip. + +"We met, as you know, on the canal path that beastly afternoon," he +began. "I was jolly well ashamed of myself for having made love to +Beatrice, and all the rest of it, and you were mad with rage. We had a +sort of tussle and you threw me into the canal. It was a nasty dark spot +just underneath the bridge. I expect I was stunned for a moment, +but it was only for a moment. I came to long before I choked, and when I +remembered your grip upon my throat, I decided I was safer where I was. I +could swim like a duck, you know, and though it was filthy water I took a +long dive. When I came up again--gad, what disgusting water it was!--you +were tearing off like a creature possessed. That's the true history of +our little fracas." + +"But afterwards?" Philip asked wonderingly. "What happened afterwards?" + +"You just tell them all about it," Beatrice ordered him sternly. "Go on, +Douglas." + +"Well, you see," Douglas Romilly continued, "I was just going to scramble +out on to the bank when my brain began to work, and I swam slowly along +instead. You see, just then I was in a devil of a mess. I'd spent a lot +of money, and though I'd kept the credit of the firm good, I knew that +the business was bust, and the one thing I was anxious about was to get +off to America without being stopped. I've explained this all to +Beatrice, and why I didn't send for her before. Anyway, I swam along +until I met with an old barge. I climbed in and got two of the choicest +blackguards you ever saw to let me spend an hour or two in their filthy +cabin and to keep their mouths closed about it. Fortunately, I had +another pocketbook, with sufficient to satisfy them and keep me going. +Then I borrowed some clothes and came out to America, steerage. I had no +difficulty in getting my money, as I had a couple of pals in Lynn whom I +had fixed things up with before I started. They came and identified me as +Merton Ware, and we all three started in business together as the Ford +Boot and Shoe Manufacturing Company at Lynn in Massachusetts. +Incidentally, we've done all right. Heaps more, of course, but that's the +pith of it. As for the body that was fished out of the canal, if you make +enquiries, you'll find there was a tramp missing, a month or so before." + +Elizabeth had begun to sob quietly. Philip, who was holding her tenderly +in his arms, whispered unheard things into her ears. It was Beatrice who +remained in charge of the situation. + +"So now, Mr. Dane," she jeered, "what about your little errand? I hope +this will be a lesson to you not to come meddling in other people's +affairs." + +Dane turned to the man who had brought this bombshell into their midst. + +"Do you swear that you are Douglas Romilly?" he asked. + +"I not only swear it but I can prove it, if you'll come along with me to +Murray's," he answered. "My partner's there, waiting supper, and another +man who has known me all his life." + +The detective glanced interrogatively towards Philip. + +"That is my cousin, Douglas Romilly," the latter pronounced. + +Dane took up his hat. + +"Mr. Merton Ware," he said, "or Mr. Philip Romilly, whichever you may in +future elect to call yourself, you may not believe it, but the end of +this affairs is an immense relief to me. I offer you my heartiest +congratulations. You need fear no more annoyance. Good night!" + +He passed out. They heard the sound of his footsteps and his companion's, +as they crossed the corridor and rang for the lift. Speech was a little +difficult. It was still Beatrice who imposed conviction upon them. + +"I was seated in the box," she explained, "when Philip went round to see +you, Elizabeth. I had looking down into the stalls to find Martha, and +all of a sudden I saw Douglas there. He, too, was staring at me. Of +course, I thought it was some extraordinary likeness, but, whilst I was +clutching at the curtain, he stood up and waved his hand. You should have +seen me tear from the box! You know, ever since they showed me that +signature at the bank I have had a queer idea at the back of my head. +Luckily for him," she went, patting his arm, "he sent home for me a +fortnight ago, and sent a draft for my expenses out. You won't mind, will +you, if I take him off now?" she concluded, turning to Elizabeth. "They +are waiting supper for us, but I wasn't going to let Philip--" + +"Did you know that Dane was going to be here?" Elizabeth asked. + +"Not an idea," Beatrice declared. "I simply dragged Douglas along here, +as soon as we'd talked things out, because I knew that it would be the +one thing wanting to complete Philip's happiness. We'll leave you now. +Douglas will bring me back, and we are going to be married in a few +days." + +Philip held out his hand a little diffidently. + +"You wouldn't--" + +"My dear fellow," Douglas interrupted, grasping it, "wouldn't I! I'm +thundering sorry for all you've been through. I suppose I ought to have +let you know that I was still in the land of the living, but I was +waiting until things blew over in England. That's all right now, though," +he went on. "I've turned over a new leaf and I am making money--making +it after a style they don't understand in England. I am going to pay my +creditors twenty shillings in the pound before a couple of years have +gone, and do pretty well for Beatrice and myself as well. You wouldn't +care, I suppose," he added, as they stood there with locked hands, "to +offer us just a glass of wine before we start out? Beatrice has been +riddling me with questions and dragging me through the streets till I +scarcely know whether I am on my head or my heels." + +Philip emptied the contents of the champagne bottle into the glasses. +Never was wine poured out more gladly. + +"Douglas," he explained, "this is Miss Elizabeth Dalstan, whom you saw +act this evening. We were married this afternoon. You can understand, +can't you, just what your coming has meant for us?" + +Douglas shook Elizabeth by the hand. Then he held up his glass. + +"Here's the best of luck to you both!" he said heartily. "Very soon +Beatrice and I will ask you to wish us the same. Philip, old chap," he +added, as he set his glass down and without the slightest protest watched +it replenished, "that's a thundering good play of yours I've seen this +evening, but you'll never write one to beat this!" + +Soon Beatrice and Douglas also took their departure. Elizabeth held out +her arms almost as the door closed. The tear-stains were still on her +cheeks. Her lips quivered a little, but her voice was clear and sweet and +passionate. + +"Philip," she cried, "it's all over--it's all finished with--the dread, +the awful days! I am not going to be hysterical any more, and you--you +are just going to remember that we have everything we want in the world. +Sit down opposite to me, if you please, and fill my glass. I have only +one emotion left. I am hungry--desperately hungry. Move your chair nearer +so that I can reach your hand. There! Now you and I will drink our little +toast." + +It was an hour before they thought of leaving the table. A very perplexed +waiter brought them coffee and watched them light cigarettes. Then the +telephone bell rang. They both stared at the instrument. Philip would +have taken off the receiver, but Elizabeth held out her hand. + +"I have an idea," she said. "I believe it is from Sylvanus Power. Let me +answer it." + +She held the receiver to her ear and listened. + +"Yes?" she murmured. "Yes?... At what time?" + +Her face grew more puzzled. She listened for a moment longer. + +"But, Sylvanus," she expostulated, "what do you mean?... Sylvanus?... Mr. +Power?" + +The telephone had become a dumb thing. She replaced the receiver. + +"I don't understand," she told Philip. "All that he said was--'You will +receive my present at five o'clock this morning!'" + +"Does he think we are going to sit up for it?" Philip asked. + +"He is the strangest man," she sighed.... + + * * * * * + +After all, some queer fancy awoke Philip at a little before five that +morning and drew him to the window. He sat looking out over the still +sleeping city. All sound now was hushed. It was the brief breathing space +before the dawn. In the clear morning spring light, the buildings of the +city seemed to stand out with a new and marvellous distinctness. Now and +then from the harbour came the shriek of a siren. A few pale lights were +still burning along the river way. From one of the city clocks the hour +was slowly tolled. Philip counted the strokes--one, two, three, four, +five. Then, almost as he was preparing to leave his post, there came a +terrific roar. The window against which he leaned shook. Some of the +buildings in the distance trembled. One, with its familiar white cupola, +seemed for a moment to be lifted from the ground and then split through +by some unseen hand. The roar of the explosion was followed by the +crashing of falling masonry. Long fingers of fire suddenly leapt up into +the quiet, cool air. Fragments of masonry, a portion, even, of that +wonderful cupola, came crashing down into the street. He heard +Elizabeth's voice behind him, felt her fingers upon his shoulder. + +"What is it? Philip, what is it?" + +He pointed with steady finger. The truth seemed to come to him by +inspiration. + +"It is Sylvanus Power's message to you," he replied. "The theatre!" + +There were flames now, leaping up to the sky. Together they watched them +and listened to the shrieking of sirens and whistles as the fire engines +galloped by from every section of the city. There was a strange look in +Elizabeth's face as she watched the curling flames. + +"Philip," she whispered, "thank God! There it goes, all his great +offering to me! It's like the man and his motto--'A man may do what he +will with his own.' Only last night I felt as though I would give +anything in the world never to stand upon the stage of that theatre +again. He doesn't know it, Philip, but his is a precious gift." + +He passed his arm around her and drew her from the window. + +"'A man may do what he will with his own,'" he repeated. "Well, it isn't +such a bad motto. Sylvanus Power may destroy a million-dollar theatre +for a whim, but so far as you and I are concerned--" + +She sighed with content. + +"We do both need a holiday," she murmured. "Somewhere in Europe, I +think." + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Cinema Murder, by E. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/10371-8.zip b/old/10371-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b96b4af --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10371-8.zip diff --git a/old/10371.txt b/old/10371.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..105512a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10371.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9348 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cinema Murder, by E. Phillips Oppenheim + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Cinema Murder + +Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim + +Release Date: December 3, 2003 [EBook #10371] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CINEMA MURDER *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +THE CINEMA MURDER + +BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM + +1917 + + + + +BOOK I + + + +CHAPTER I + +With a somewhat prolonged grinding of the brakes and an unnecessary +amount of fuss in the way of letting off steam, the afternoon train from +London came to a standstill in the station at Detton Magna. An elderly +porter, putting on his coat as he came, issued, with the dogged aid of +one bound by custom to perform a hopeless mission, from the small, +redbrick lamp room. The station master, occupying a position of vantage +in front of the shed which enclosed the booking office, looked up and +down the lifeless row of closed and streaming windows, with an expectancy +dulled by daily disappointment, for the passengers who seldom alighted. +On this occasion no records were broken. A solitary young man stepped out +on to the wet and flinty platform, handed over the half of a third-class +return ticket from London, passed through the two open doors and +commenced to climb the long ascent which led into the town. + +He wore no overcoat, and for protection against the inclement weather +he was able only to turn up the collar of his well-worn blue serge coat. +The damp of a ceaselessly wet day seemed to have laid its cheerless +pall upon the whole exceedingly ugly landscape. The hedges, blackened +with smuts from the colliery on the other side of the slope, were +dripping also with raindrops. The road, flinty and light grey in colour, +was greasy with repellent-looking mud--there were puddles even in the +asphalt-covered pathway which he trod. On either side of him stretched +the shrunken, unpastoral-looking fields of an industrial neighbourhood. +The town-village which stretched up the hillside before him presented +scarcely a single redeeming feature. The small, grey stone houses, hard +and unadorned, were interrupted at intervals by rows of brand-new, +red-brick cottages. In the background were the tall chimneys of several +factories; on the left, a colliery shaft raised its smoke-blackened +finger to the lowering clouds. + +After his first glance around at these familiar and unlovely objects, +Philip Romilly walked with his head a little thrown back, his eyes lifted +as though with intent to the melancholy and watery skies. He was a young +man well above medium height, slim, almost inclined to be angular, yet +with a good carriage notwithstanding a stoop which seemed more the +result of an habitual depression than occasioned by any physical +weakness. His features were large, his mouth querulous, a little +discontented, his eyes filled with the light of a silent and rebellious +bitterness which seemed, somehow, to have found a more or less permanent +abode in his face. His clothes, although they were neat, had seen better +days. He was ungloved, and he carried under his arm a small parcel, +which appeared to contain a book, carefully done up in brown paper. + +As he reached the outskirts of the village he slackened his pace. +Standing a little way back from the road, from which they were separated +by an ugly, gravelled playground, were the familiar school buildings, +with the usual inscription carved in stone above the door. He laid his +hand upon the wooden gate and paused. From inside he could catch the +drone of children's voices. He glanced at his watch. It was barely twenty +minutes past four. For a moment he hesitated. Then he strolled on, and, +turning at the gate of an adjoining cottage, the nearest to the schools +of a little unlovely row, he tried the latch, found it yield to his +touch, and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and turned, with +a little weary sigh of content, towards a large easy-chair drawn up in +front of the fire. For a single moment he seemed about to throw himself +into its depths--his long fingers, indeed, a little blue with the cold, +seemed already on their way towards the genial warmth of the flames. Then +he stopped short. He stood perfectly still in an attitude of arrested +motion, his eyes, wonderingly at first, and then with a strange, +unanalysable expression, seeming to embark upon a lengthened, a +scrupulous, an almost horrified estimate of his surroundings. + +To the ordinary observer there would have been nothing remarkable in the +appearance of the little room, save its entirely unexpected air of luxury +and refinement. There was a small Chippendale sideboard against the wall, +a round, gate-legged table on which stood a blue china bowl filled with +pink roses, a couple of luxurious easy-chairs, some old prints upon the +wall. On the sideboard was a basket, as yet unpacked, filled with +hothouse fruit, and on a low settee by the side of one of the easy-chairs +were a little pile of reviews, several volumes of poetry, and a couple of +library books. In the centre of the mantelpiece was a photograph, the +photograph of a man a little older, perhaps, than this newly-arrived +visitor, with rounder face, dressed in country tweeds, a flower in his +buttonhole, the picture of a prosperous man, yet with a curious, almost +disturbing likeness to the pale, over-nervous, loose-framed youth whose +eye had been attracted by its presence, and who was gazing at it, +spellbound. + +"Douglas!" he muttered. "Douglas!" + +He flung his hat upon the table and for a moment his hand rested upon his +forehead. He was confronted with a mystery which baffled him, a mystery +whose sinister possibilities were slowly framing themselves in his mind. +While he stood there he was suddenly conscious of the sound of the +opening gate, brisk footsteps up the tiled way, the soft swirl of a +woman's skirt. The latch was raised, the door opened and closed. The +newcomer stood upon the threshold, gazing at him. + +"Philip!" she exclaimed. "Why, Philip!" + +There was a curious change in the girl's tone, from almost glad welcome +to a note of abrupt fear in that last pronouncement of his name. She +stood looking at him, the victim, apparently, of so many emotions that +there was nothing definite to be drawn either from her tone or +expression. She was a young woman of medium height and slim, delicate +figure, attractive, with large, discontented mouth, full, clear eyes and +a wealth of dark brown hair. She was very simply dressed and yet in a +manner which scarcely suggested the school-teacher. To the man who +confronted her, his left hand gripping the mantelpiece, his eyes filled +with a flaming jealousy, there was something entirely new in the hang of +her well-cut skirt, the soft colouring of her low-necked blouse, the +greater animation of her piquant face with its somewhat dazzling +complexion. His hand flashed out towards her as he asked his question. + +"What does it mean, Beatrice?" + +She showed signs of recovering herself. With a little shrug of the +shoulders she turned towards the door which led into an inner room. + +"Let me get you some tea, Philip," she begged. "You look so cold and +wet." + +"Stay here, please," he insisted. + +She paused reluctantly. There was a curious lack of anything peremptory +in his manner, yet somehow, although she would have given the world +to have passed for a few moments into the shelter of the little kitchen +beyond, she was impelled to do as he bade her. + +"Don't be silly, Philip," she said petulantly. "You know you want some +tea, and so do I. Sit down, please, and make yourself comfortable. Why +didn't you let me know you were coming?" + +"Perhaps it would have been better," he agreed quietly. "However, since I +am here, answer my question." + +She drew a little breath. After all, although she was lacking in any real +strength of character, she was filled with a certain compensatory +doggedness. His challenge was there to be faced. There was no way out of +it. She would have lied willingly enough but for the sheer futility of +falsehood. She commenced the task of bracing herself for the struggle. + +"You had better," she said, "frame your question a little more exactly. I +will then try to answer it." + +He was stung by her altered demeanour, embarrassed by an avalanche of +words. A hundred questions were burning upon his lips. It was by a great +effort of self-control that he remained coherent. + +"The last time I visited you," he began, "was three months ago. Your +cottage then was furnished as one would expect it to be furnished. You +had a deal dresser, a deal table, one rather hard easy-chair and a very +old wicker one. You had, if I remember rightly, a strip of linoleum upon +the floor, and a single rug. Your flowers were from the hedges and your +fruit from the one apple tree in the garden behind. Your clothes--am I +mistaken about your clothes or are you dressed more expensively?" + +"I am dressed more expensively," she admitted. + +"You and I both know the value of these things," he went on, with a +little sweep of the hand. "We know the value of them because we were once +accustomed to them, because we have both since experienced the passionate +craving for them or the things they represent. Chippendale furniture, a +Turkey carpet, roses in January, hothouse fruit, Bartolozzi prints, do +not march with an income of fifty pounds a year." + +"They do not," she assented equably. "All the things which you see here +and which you have mentioned, are presents." + +His forefinger shot out with a sudden vigour towards the photograph. + +"From him?" + +"From Douglas," she admitted, "from your cousin." + +He took the photograph into his hand, looked at it for a moment, and +dashed it into the grate. The glass of the frame was shivered into a +hundred pieces. The girl only shrugged her shoulders. She was holding +herself in reserve. As for him, his eyes were hot, there was a dry +choking in his throat. He had passed through many weary and depressed +days, struggling always against the grinding monotony of life and his +surroundings. Now for the first time he felt that there was something +worse. + +"What does it mean?" he asked once more. + +She seemed almost to dilate as she answered him. Her feet were firmly +planted upon the ground. There was a new look in her face, a look of +decision. She was more or less a coward but she felt no fear. She even +leaned a little towards him and looked him in the face. + +"It means," she pronounced slowly, "exactly what it seems to mean." + +The words conveyed horrible things to him, but he was speechless. He +could only wait. + +"You and I, Philip," she continued, "have been--well, I suppose we should +call it engaged--for three years. During those three years I have earned, +by disgusting and wearisome labour, just enough to keep me alive in a +world which has had nothing to offer me but ugliness and discomfort and +misery. You, as you admitted last time we met, have done no better. You +have lived in a garret and gone often hungry to bed. For three years this +has been going on. All that time I have waited for you to bring something +human, something reasonable, something warm into my life, and you have +failed. I have passed, in those three years, from twenty-three to +twenty-six. In three more I shall be in my thirtieth year--that is to +say, the best time of my life will have passed. You see, I have been +thinking, and I have had enough." + +He stood quite dumb. The girl's newly-revealed personality seemed to fill +the room. He felt crowded out. She was, at that stage, absolutely +mistress of the situation.... She passed him carelessly by, flung herself +into the easy-chair and crossed her legs. As though he were looking at +some person in another world, he realized that she was wearing shoes of +shapely cut, and silk stockings. + +"Our engagement," she went on, "was at first the dearest thing in life to +me. It could have been the most wonderful thing in life. I am only an +ordinary person with an ordinary character, but I have the capacity to +love unselfishly, and I am at heart as faithful and as good as any other +woman. But there is my birthright. I have had three years of sordid and +utterly miserable life, teaching squalid, dirty, unlovable children +things they had much better not know. I have lived here, here in Detton +Magna, among the smuts and the mists, where the flowers seem withered and +even the meadows are stony, where the people are hard and coarse as their +ugly houses, where virtue is ugly, and vice is ugly, and living is ugly, +and death is fearsome. And now you see what I have chosen--not in a +moment's folly, mind, because I am not foolish; not in a moment's +passion, either, because until now the only real feeling I have had in +life was for you. But I have chosen, and I hold to my choice." + +"They won't let you stay here," he muttered. + +"They needn't," she answered calmly. "There are other ways in which I can +at least earn as much as the miserable pittance doled out to me here. I +have avoided even considering them before. Shall I tell you why? Because +I didn't want to face the temptation they might bring with them. I always +knew what would happen if escape became hopeless. It's the ugliness I +can't stand--the ugliness of cheap food, cheap clothes, uncomfortable +furniture, coarse voices, coarse friends if I would have them. How do you +suppose I have lived here these last three years, a teacher in the +national schools? Look up and down this long, dreary street, at the names +above the shops, at the villas in which the tradespeople live, and ask +yourself where my friends were to come from? The clergyman, perhaps? He +is over seventy, a widower, and he never comes near the place. Why, I'd +have been content to have been patronized if there had been anyone here +to do it, who wore the right sort of clothes and said the right sort of +thing in the right tone. But the others--well, that's done with." + +He remained curiously dumb. His eyes were fixed upon the fragments of the +photograph in the grate. In a corner of the room an old-fashioned clock +ticked wheezily. A lump of coal fell out on the hearth, which she +replaced mechanically with her foot. His silence seemed to irritate and +perplex her. She looked away from him, drew her chair a little closer +to the fire, and sat with her head resting upon her hands. Her tone had +become almost meditative. + +"I knew that this would come one day," she went on. "Why don't you speak +and get it over? Are you waiting to clothe your phrases? Are you afraid +of the naked words? I'm not. Let me hear them. Don't be more melodramatic +than you can help because, as you know, I am cursed with a sense of +humour, but don't stand there saying nothing." + +He raised his eyes and looked at her in silence, an alternative which she +found it hard to endure. Then, after a moment's shivering recoil into her +chair, she sprang to her feet. + +"Listen," she cried passionately, "I don't care what you think! I tell +you that if you were really a man, if you had a man's heart in your body, +you'd have sinned yourself before now--robbed some one, murdered them, +torn the things that make life from the fate that refuses to give them. +What is it they pay you," she went on contemptuously, "at that miserable +art school of yours? Sixty pounds a year! How much do you get to eat and +drink out of that? What sort of clothes have you to wear? Are you +content? Yet even you have been better off than I. You have always your +chance. Your play may be accepted or your stories published. I haven't +even had that forlorn hope. But even you, Philip, may wait too long. +There are too many laws, nowadays, for life to be lived naturally. If I +were a man, a man like you, I'd break them." + +Her taunts apparently moved him no more than the inner tragedy which her +words had revealed. He did not for one moment give any sign of abandoning +the unnatural calm which seemed to have descended upon him. He took up +his hat from the table, and thrust the little brown paper parcel which he +had been carrying, into his pocket. His eyes for a single moment met the +challenge of hers, and again she was conscious of some nameless, +inexplicable fear. + +"Perhaps," he said, as he turned away, "I may do that." + +His hand was upon the latch before she realized that he was actually +going. She sprang to her feet. Abuse, scorn, upbraidings, even +violence--she had been prepared for all of these. There was something +about this self-restraint, however, this strange, brooding silence, which +terrified her more than anything she could have imagined. + +"Philip!" she shrieked. "You're not going? You're not going like this? +You haven't said anything!" + +He closed the door with firm fingers. Her knees trembled, she was +conscious of an unexpected weakness. She abandoned her first intention of +following him, and stood before the window, holding tightly to the sash. +He had reached the gate now and paused for a moment, looking up the long, +windy street. Then he crossed to the other side of the road, stepped over +a stile and disappeared, walking without haste, with firm footsteps, +along a cindered path which bordered the sluggish-looking canal. He had +come and gone, and she knew what fear was! + + + +CHAPTER II + +The railway station at Detton Magna presented, if possible, an even +more dreary appearance than earlier in the day, as the time drew near +that night for the departure of the last train northwards. Its long strip +of flinty platform was utterly deserted. Around the three flickering +gas-lamps the drizzling rain fell continuously. The weary porter came +yawning out of his lamp room into the booking office, where the station +master sat alone, his chair turned away from the open wicket window to +the smouldering embers of the smoky fire. + +"No passengers to-night, seemingly," the latter remarked to his +subordinate. + +"Not a sign of one," was the reply. "That young chap who came down from +London on a one-day return excursion, hasn't gone back, either. That'll +do his ticket in." + +The outside door was suddenly opened and closed. The sound of footsteps +approaching the ticket window was heard. A long, white hand was thrust +through the aperture, a voice was heard from the invisible outside. + +"Third to Detton Junction, please." + +The station-master took the ticket from a little rack, received the exact +sum he demanded, swept it into the till, and resumed his place before the +fire. The porter, with the lamp in his hand, lounged out into the +booking-hall. The prospective passenger, however, was nowhere in sight. +He looked back into the office. + +"Was that Jim Spender going up to see his barmaid again?" he asked his +superior. + +The station master yawned drowsily. + +"Didn't notice," he answered. "What an old woman you're getting, George! +Want to know everybody's business, don't you?" + +The porter withdrew, a little huffed. When, a few minutes later, the +train drew in, he even avoided ostentatiously a journey to the far end of +the platform to open the door for the solitary passenger who was standing +there. He passed up the train and slammed the door without even glancing +in at the window. Then he stood and watched the red lights disappear. + +"Was it Jim?" the station master asked him, on their way out. + +"Didn't notice," his subordinate replied, a little curtly. "Maybe it was +and maybe it wasn't. Good night!" + + * * * * * + +Philip Romilly sat back in the corner of his empty third-class carriage, +peering out of the window, in which he could see only the reflection of +the feeble gas-lamp. There was no doubt about it, however--they were +moving. The first stage of his journey had commenced. The blessed sense +of motion, after so long waiting, at first soothed and then exhilarated +him. In a few moments he became restless. He let down the rain-blurred +window and leaned out. The cool dampness of the night was immensely +refreshing, the rain softened his hot cheeks. He sat there, peering away +into the shadows, struggling for the sight of definite objects--a tree, a +house, the outline of a field--anything to keep the other thoughts away, +the thoughts that came sometimes like the aftermath of a grisly, +unrealisable nightmare. Then he felt chilly, drew up the window, thrust +his hands into his pockets from which he drew out a handsome cigarette +case, struck a match, and smoked with vivid appreciation of the quality +of the tobacco, examined the crest on the case as he put it away, and +finally patted with surreptitious eagerness the flat morocco letter case +in his inside pocket. + +At the Junction, he made his way into the refreshment room and ordered +a long whisky and soda, which he drank in a couple of gulps. Then he +hastened to the booking office and took a first-class ticket to +Liverpool, and a few minutes later secured a seat in the long, +north-bound express which came gliding up to the side of the platform. He +spent some time in the lavatory, washing, arranging his hair, +straightening his tie, after which he made his way into the elaborate +dining-car and found a comfortable corner seat. The luxury of his +surroundings soothed his jagged nerves. The car was comfortably warmed, +the electric light upon his table was softly shaded. The steward who +waited upon him was swift-footed and obsequious, and seemed entirely +oblivious of Philip's shabby, half-soaked clothes. He ordered champagne a +little vaguely, and the wine ran through his veins with a curious +potency. He ate and drank now and then mechanically, now and then with +the keenest appetite. Afterwards he smoked a cigar, drank coffee, and +sipped a liqueur with the appreciation of a connoisseur. A fellow +passenger passed him an evening paper, which he glanced through with +apparent interest. Before he reached his journey's end he had ordered and +drunk another liqueur. He tipped the steward handsomely. It was the first +well-cooked meal which he had eaten for many months. + +Arrived at Liverpool, he entered a cab and drove to the Adelphi Hotel. He +made his way at once to the office. His clothes were dry now and the rest +and warmth had given him more confidence. + +"You have a room engaged for me, I think," he said, "Mr. Douglas Romilly. +I sent some luggage on." + +The man merely glanced at him and handed him a ticket. + +"Number sixty-seven, sir, on the second floor," he announced. + +A porter conducted him up-stairs into a large, well-furnished bedroom. A +fire was blazing in the grate; a dressing-case, a steamer trunk and a +hatbox were set out at the foot of the bedstead. + +"The heavier luggage, labelled for the hold, sir," the man told him, "is +down-stairs, and will go direct to the steamer to-morrow morning. That +was according to your instructions, I believe." + +"Quite right," Philip assented. "What time does the boat sail?" + +"Three o'clock, sir." + +Philip frowned. This was his first disappointment. He had fancied himself +on board early in the day. The prospect of a long morning's inaction +seemed already to terrify him. + +"Not till the afternoon," he muttered. + +"Matter of tide, sir," the man explained. "You can go on board any time +after eleven o'clock in the morning, though. Very much obliged to you, +sir." + +The porter withdrew, entirely satisfied with his tip. Philip Romilly +locked the door after him carefully. Then he drew a bunch of keys from +his pocket and, after several attempts, opened both the steamer trunk and +the dressing-case. He surveyed their carefully packed contents with a +certain grim and fantastic amusement, handled the silver brushes, shook +out a purple brocaded dressing-gown, laid out a suit of clothes for the +morrow, even selected a shirt and put the links in it. Finally he +wandered into the adjoining bathroom, took a hot bath, packed away at the +bottom of the steamer trunk the clothes which he had been wearing, went +to bed--and slept. + + + +CHAPTER III + +The sun was shining into his bedroom when Philip Romilly was awakened the +next morning by a discreet tapping at the door. He sat up in bed and +shouted "Come in." He had no occasion to hesitate for a moment. He knew +perfectly well where he was, he remembered exactly everything that had +happened. The knocking at the door was disquieting but he faced it +without a tremor. The floor waiter appeared and bowed deferentially. + +"There is a gentleman on the telephone wishes to speak to you, sir," he +announced. "I have connected him with the instrument by your side." + +"To speak with me?" Philip repeated. "Are you quite sure?" + +"Yes, sir. Mr. Douglas Romilly he asked for. He said that his name was +Mr. Gayes, I believe." + +The man left the room and Philip took up the receiver. For a moment he +sat and thought. The situation was perplexing, in a sense ominous, yet +it had to be faced. He held the instrument to his ear. + +"Hullo? Who's that?" he enquired. + +"That Mr. Romilly?" was the reply, in a man's pleasant voice. "Mr. +Douglas Romilly?" + +"Yes!" + +"Good! I'm Gayes--Mr. Gayes of Gayes Brothers. My people wrote me last +night from Leicester that you would be here this morning. You are +crossing, aren't you, on the _Elletania_?" + +Philip remained monosyllabic. + +"Yes," he admitted cautiously. + +"Can't you come round and see us this morning?" Mr. Gayes invited. "And +look here, Mr. Romilly, in any case I want you to lunch with me at the +club. My car shall come round and fetch you at any time you say." + +"Sorry," Philip replied. "I am very busy this morning, and I am engaged +for lunch." + +"Oh, come, that's too bad," the other protested, "I really want to have a +chat with you on business matters, Mr. Romilly. Will you spare me half an +hour if I come round?" + +"Tell me exactly what it is you want?" Philip insisted. + +"Oh! just the usual thing," was the cheerful answer. "We hear you are off +to America on a buying tour. Our last advices don't indicate a very easy +market over there. I am not at all sure that we couldn't do better for +you here, and give you better terms." + +Philip began to feel more sure of himself. The situation, after all, he +realized, was not exactly alarming. + +"Very kind of you," he said. "My arrangements are all made now, though, +and I can't interfere with them." + +"Well, I'm going to bother you with a few quotations, anyway. See here, +I'll just run round to see you. My car is waiting at the door now. I +won't keep you more than a few minutes." + +"Don't come before twelve," Philip begged. "I shall be busy until then." + +"At twelve o'clock precisely, then," was the reply. "I shall hope to +induce you to change your mind about luncheon. It's quite a long time +since we had you at the club. Good-by!" + +Philip set down the telephone. He was still in his pajamas and the +morning was cold, but he suddenly felt a great drop of perspiration on +his forehead. It was the sort of thing, this, which he had expected--had +been prepared for, in fact--but it was none the less, in its way, +gruesome. There was a further knock at the door, and the waiter +reappeared. + +"Can I bring you any breakfast, sir?" he enquired. + +"What time is it?" + +"Half-past nine, sir." + +"Bring me some coffee and rolls and butter," Philip ordered. + +He sprang out of bed, bathed, dressed, and ate his breakfast. Then he lit +a cigarette, repacked his dressing-case, and descended into the hall. He +made his way to the hall porter's enquiry office. + +"I am going to pay some calls in the city," he announced--"Mr. Romilly is +my name--and I may not be able to get back here before my boat sails. +I am going on the _Elletania_. Can I have my luggage sent there direct?" + +"By all means, sir." + +"Every article is properly labelled," Philip continued. "Those in my +bedroom--number sixty-seven--are for the cabin, and those you have in +your charge are for the hold." + +"That will be quite all right, sir," the man assured him pocketing his +liberal tip. "I will see to the matter myself." + +Philip paid his bill at the office and breathed a little more freely as +he left the hotel. Passing a large, plate-glass window he stopped +suddenly and stared at his own reflection. There was something unfamiliar +in the hang of his well-cut clothes and fashionable Homburg hat. It was +like the shadow of some one else passing--some one to whom those clothes +belonged. Then he remembered, remembered with a cold shiver which +blanched his cheeks and brought a little agonised murmur to his lips. The +moment passed, however, crushed down, stifled as he had sworn that he +would stifle all such memories. He turned in at a barber's shop, had his +hair cut, and yielded to the solicitations of a fluffy-haired young lady +who was dying to go to America if only somebody would take her, and who +was sure that he ought to have a manicure before his voyage. Afterwards +he entered a call office and rang up the hotel on the telephone. + +"Mr. Romilly speaking," he announced. "Will you kindly tell Mr. Gayes, if +he calls to see me, that I have been detained in the city, and shall not +be back." + +The man took down the message. Philip strolled out once more into the +streets, wandering aimlessly about for an hour or more. By this time it +was nearly one o'clock, and, selecting a restaurant, he entered and +ordered luncheon. Once more it came over him, as he looked around the +place, that he had, after all, only a very imperfect hold upon his own +identity. It seemed impossible that he, Philip Romilly, should be there, +ordering precisely what appealed to him most, without thought or care of +the cost. He ate and drank slowly and with discrimination, and when he +left the place he felt stronger. He sought out a first-class +tobacconist's, bought some cigarettes, and enquired his way to the dock. +At a few minutes after two, he passed up the gangway and boarded the +great steamer. One of the little army of linen-coated stewards enquired +the number of his room and conducted him below. + +"Anything I can do for you, sir, before your luggage comes on?" the man +asked civilly. + +Philip shook his head and wandered up on deck again, where there were +already a fair number of passengers in evidence. He leaned over the side, +watching the constant stream of porters bearing supplies, and the +steerage passengers passing into the forepart of the ship. With every +moment his impatience grew. He looked at his watch sometimes half a dozen +times in ten minutes, changed his position continually, started violently +whenever he heard an unexpected footstep behind him. Finally he broke a +promise he had made to himself. He bought newspapers, took them into a +sheltered corner, and tore them open. Column by column he searched them +through feverishly, running his finger down one side and up the next. It +seemed impossible to find nowhere the heading he dreaded to see, to +realize that they were entirely empty of any exciting incident. He +satisfied himself at last, however. The disappearance of a half-starved +art teacher had not yet blazoned out to a sympathetic world. It was so +much to the good.... There was a touch upon his shoulder, and he felt a +chill of horror. When he turned around, it was the steward who had +conducted him below, holding out a telegram. + +"I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "Telegram just arrived for you." + +He passed on almost at once, in search of some one else. Philip stood for +several moments perfectly still. He looked at the inscription--_Douglas +Romilly_--set his teeth and tore open the envelope: + +Understood you were returning to factory before leaving. Am posting a few +final particulars to Waldorf Hotel, New York. Staff joins me in wishing +you bon voyage. + +Philip felt his heart cease its pounding, felt an immense sense of +relief. It was a wonderful thing, this message. It cleared up one point +on which he had been anxious and unsettled. It was taken for granted at +the Works, then, that he had come straight to Liverpool. He walked up and +down the deck on the side remote from the dock, driving this into his +mind. + +Everything was wonderfully simplified. If only he could get across, once +reach New York! Meanwhile, he looked at his watch again and discovered +that it wanted but ten minutes to three. He made his way back down to his +stateroom, which was already filled with his luggage. He shook out an +ulster from a bundle of wraps, and selected a tweed cap. Already there +was a faint touch of the sea in the river breeze, and he was impatient +for the immeasurable open spaces, the salt wind, the rise and fall of the +great ship. Then, as he stood on the threshold of his cabin, he heard +voices. + +"Down in number 110, eh?" + +"Yes, sir," he heard his steward's voice reply. "Mr. Romilly has just +gone down. You've only a minute, sir, before the last call for +passengers." + +"That's all right," the voice which had spoken to him over the telephone +that morning replied. "I'd just like to shake hands with him and wish him +bon voyage." + +Philip's teeth came together in a little fury of anger. It was maddening, +this, to be trapped when only a few minutes remained between him and +safety! His brain worked swiftly. He took his chance of finding the next +stateroom empty, as it happened to be, and stepped quickly inside. He +kept his back to the door until the footsteps had passed. He heard the +knock at his stateroom, stepped back into the corridor, and passed along +a little gangway to the other side of the ship. He hurried up the stairs +and into the smoking-room. The bugle was sounding now, and hoarse voices +were shouting: + +"Every one for the shore! Last call for the shore!" + +"Give me a brandy and soda," he begged the steward, who was just opening +the bar. + +The man glanced at the clock and obeyed. Philip swallowed half of it at a +gulp, then sat down with the tumbler in his hand. All of a sudden +something disappeared from in front of one of the portholes. His heart +gave a little jump. They were moving! He sprang up and hurried to the +doorway. Slowly but unmistakably they were gliding away from the dock. +Already a lengthening line of people were waving their handkerchiefs and +shouting farewells. Around them in the river little tugs were screaming, +and the ropes from the dock had been thrown loose. Philip stepped to the +rail, his heart growing lighter at every moment. His ubiquitous steward, +laden with hand luggage, paused for a moment. + +"I sent a gentleman down to your stateroom just before the steamer +started, sir," he announced, "gentleman of the name of Gayes, who wanted +to say good-by to you." + +"Bad luck!" Philip answered. "I must have just missed him." + +The steward turned around and pointed to the quay. + +"There he is, sir--elderly gentleman in a grey suit, and a bunch of +violets in his buttonhole. He's looking straight at you." + +Philip raised his cap and waved it with enthusiasm. After a moment's +hesitation, the other man did the same. The steward collected his +belongings and shuffled off. + +"He picked you out, sir, all right," he remarked as he disappeared in the +companionway. + +Philip turned away with a little final wave of the hand. + +"Glad I didn't miss him altogether," he observed cheerfully. +"Good-afternoon, Mr. Gayes! Good-by, England!" + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Mr. Raymond Greene, very soon after the bugle had sounded for dinner that +evening, took his place at the head of one of the small tables in the +saloon and wished every one good evening. It was perfectly apparent that +he meant to enjoy the trip, that he was prepared to like his fellow +passengers and that he wished them to know it. Even the somewhat +melancholy-looking steward, who had been waiting for his arrival, cheered +up at the sight of his beaming face, and the other four occupants of the +table returned his salutation according to their lights. + +"Two vacant places, I am sorry to see," Mr. Greene observed. "One of them +I can answer for, though. The young lady who is to sit on my right will +be down directly--Miss Elizabeth Dalstan, the great actress, you know. +She is by way of being under my charge. Very charming and talented +young lady she is. Let us see who our other absentee is." + +He stretched across and glanced at the name upon the card. + +"Mr. Douglas Romilly," he read out. "Quite a good name--English, without +a doubt. I have crossed with you before, haven't I, sir?" he went on +affably, turning to his nearest neighbour on the left. + +A burly, many-chinned American signified his assent. + +"Why, I should say so," he admitted, "and I'd like a five-dollar bill, +Mr. Greene, for every film I've seen of yours in the United States." + +Mr. Greene beamed with satisfaction. + +"Well, I am glad to hear you've come across my stuff," he declared. "I've +made some name for myself on the films and I am proud of it. Raymond +Greene it is, at your service." + +"Joseph P. Hyam's mine," the large American announced, watching the +disappearance of his soup plate with an air of regret. "I'm in the +clothing business. If my wife were here, she'd say you wouldn't think it +to look at me. Never was faddy about myself, though," he added, with a +glance at Mr. Greene's very correct dinner attire. + +"You ought to remember me, Mr. Greene," one of the two men remarked from +the right-hand side of the table. "I've played golf with you at Baltusrol +more than once." + +Mr. Greene glanced surreptitiously at the card and smiled. + +"Why, it's James P. Busby, of course!" he exclaimed. "Your father's the +Busby Iron Works, isn't he?" + +The young man nodded. + +"And this is Mr. Caroll, one of our engineers," he said, indicating a +rather rough-looking personage by his side. + +"Delighted to meet you both," Mr. Greene assured them. "Say, I remember +your golf, Mr. Busby! You're some driver, eh? And those long putts of +yours--you never took three on any green that I can remember!" + +"Been playing in England?" the young man asked. + +Mr. Raymond Greene shook his head. + +"When I am on business," he explained, "I don't carry my sticks about +with me, and I tell you this last fortnight has been a giddy whirl for +me. I was in Berlin Wednesday night, and I did business in Vienna last +Monday. Ah! here comes Miss Dalstan." + +He rose ceremoniously to his feet. A young lady who was still wearing her +travelling clothes smiled at him delightfully and sank into the chair by +his side. During the little stir caused by her arrival, no one paid any +attention to the man who had slipped into the other vacant place +opposite. Mr. Greene, however, when he had finished making known his +companion's wants to the steward, welcomed Philip Romilly genially. + +"Now we're a full table," he declared. "That's what I like. I only hope +we'll keep it up all the voyage. Mind, there'll be a forfeit for the +first one that misses a meal. Mr. Romilly, isn't it?" he went on, +glancing at his left-hand neighbour's card once more. "My name's Raymond +Greene. I am an old traveller and there's nothing I enjoy more, outside +my business, than these little ocean trips, especially when they come +after a pretty strenuous time on shore. Crossed many times, sir?" + +"Never before," Philip answered. + +"First trip, eh?" Mr. Greene remarked, mildly interested. "Well, well, +you've some surprises in store for you, then. Let me make you acquainted +with your opposite neighbour, Miss Elizabeth Dalstan. I dare say, even if +you haven't been in the States, you know some of our principal actresses +by name." + +Philip raised his head and caught a glimpse of a rather pale face, a mass +of deep brown hair, a pleasant smile from a very shapely mouth, and the +rather intense regard of a pair of wonderfully soft eyes, whose colour at +that moment he was not able to determine. + +"I have had the pleasure of seeing Miss Dalstan on the stage," he +observed. + +"Capital!" Mr. Raymond Greene exclaimed. "We haven't met before, have we, +Mr. Romilly? Something kind of familiar in your face. You are not by way +of being in the Profession, are you?" + +Romilly shook his head. + +"I am a manufacturer," he acknowledged. + +"That so?" his neighbour remarked, a trifle surprised. "Queer! I had a +fancy that we'd met, and quite lately, too. I am in the cinema business. +You may have heard of me--Raymond Greene?" + +"I have seen some of your films," Philip told him. "Very excellent +productions, if you will allow me to say so." + +"That's pleasant hearing at any time," Mr. Greene admitted, with a +gratified smile. "Well, I can see that we are going to be quite a +friendly party. That's Mr. Busby on your right, Mr. Romilly--some +golfer, I can tell you!--and his friend Mr. Caroll alongside. The lady +next you--" + +"My name is Miss Pinsent," the elderly lady indicated declared +pleasantly, replying to Mr. Greene's interrogative glance. "It is my +first trip to America, too. I am going out to see a nephew who has +settled in Chicago." + +"Capital!" Mr. Raymond Greene repeated. "Now we are all more or less a +family party. What did you say your line of business was, Mr. Romilly?" + +"I don't remember mentioning it," Philip observed, "but I am a +manufacturer of boots and shoes." + +Elizabeth Dalstan looked across at him a little curiously. One might have +surmised that she was in some way disappointed. + +"Coming over to learn a thing or two from us, eh?" Mr. Greene went on. +"You use all our machinery, don't you? Well, there's Paul Lawton on +board, from Brockton. I should think he has one of the biggest plants in +Massachusetts. I must make you acquainted with him." + +Philip frowned slightly. + +"That is very kind of you, Mr. Greene," he acknowledged, "but do you know +I would very much rather not talk business with any one while I am on +the steamer? I am a little overworked and I need the rest." + +Elizabeth Dalstan looked at her vis-a-vis with some renewal of her former +interest. She saw a young man who was, without doubt, good-looking, +although he certainly had an over-tired and somewhat depressed +appearance. His cheeks were colourless, and there were little dark +lines under his eyes as though he suffered from sleeplessness. He was +clean-shaven and he had the sensitive mouth of an artist. His forehead +was high and exceptionally good. His air of breeding was unmistakable. + +"You do look a little fagged," Mr. Raymond Greene observed +sympathetically. "Well, these are strenuous days in business. We all have +to stretch out as far as we can go, and keep stretched out, or else some +one else will get ahead of us. Business been good with you this fall, Mr. +Romilly?" + +"Very fair, thank you," Philip answered a little vaguely. "Tell me, Miss +Dalstan," he went on, leaning slightly towards her, and with a note of +curiosity in his tone, "I want to know your candid opinion of the last +act of the play I saw you in--'Henderson's Second Wife'? I made up my +mind that if ever I had the privilege of meeting you, I would ask you +that question." + +"I know exactly why," she declared, with a quick little nod of +appreciation. "Listen." + +They talked together for some time, earnestly. Mr. Greene addressed his +conversation to his neighbours lower down the table. It was not until the +arrival of dessert that Philip and his vis-a-vis abandoned their +discussion. + +"Tell me, have you written yourself, Mr. Romilly?" Elizabeth Dalstan +asked him with interest. + +"I have made an attempt at it," he confessed. + +"Most difficult thing in the whole world to write a play," Mr. Raymond +Greene intervened, seeing an opportunity to join once more in the +conversation. "Most difficult thing in the world, I should say. Now with +pictures it's entirely different. The slightest little happening in +everyday life may give you the start, and then, there you are--the whole +thing unravels itself. Now let me give you an example," he went on, +helping himself to a little more whisky and soda. "Only yesterday +afternoon, on our way up to Liverpool, the train got pulled up somewhere +in Derbyshire, and I sat looking out of the window. It was a dreary +neighbourhood, a miserable afternoon, and we happened to be crossing a +rather high viaduct. Down below were some meadows and a canal, and by +the side of the canal, a path. At a certain point--I should think about +half a mile from where the train was standing--this path went underneath +a rude bridge, built of bricks and covered over with turf. Well, as I sat +there I could see two men, both approaching the bridge along the path +from opposite directions. One was tall, dressed in light tweeds, a +good-looking fellow--looked like one of your country squires except that +he was a little on the thin side. The other was a sombre-looking person, +dressed in dark clothes, about your height and build, I should say, Mr. +Romilly. Well, they both disappeared under that bridge at the same +moment, and I don't know why, but I leaned forward to see them come out. +The train was there for quite another two minutes, perhaps more. There +wasn't another soul anywhere in sight, and it was raining as it only can +rain in England." + +Mr. Raymond Greene paused. Every one at the table had been listening +intently. He glanced around at their rapt faces with satisfaction. He was +conscious of the artist's dramatic touch. Once more it had not failed +him. He had excited interest. In Philip Romilly's eyes there was +something even more than interest. It seemed almost as though he were +trying to project his thoughts back and conjure up for himself the very +scene which was being described to him. The young man was certainly in a +very delicate state of health, Mr. Greene decided. + +"You are keeping us in suspense, sir," the elderly lady complained, +leaning forward in her place. "Please go on. What happened when they came +out?" + +"That," Mr. Raymond Greene said impressively, "is the point of the +story. The train remained standing there, as I have said, for several +minutes--as many minutes, in fact, as it would have taken them seconds to +have traversed that tunnel. Notwithstanding that, they neither of them +appeared again. I sat there, believe me, with my eyes fastened upon that +path, and when the train started I leaned out of the window until we had +rounded the curve and we were out of sight, but I never saw either of +those two men again. Now there's the beginning of a film story for you! +What do you want more than that? There's dramatic interest, surprise, an +original situation." + +"After all, I suppose the explanation was quite a simple one," Mr. Busby +remarked. "They were probably acquaintances, and they stayed to have a +chat." + +Mr. Raymond Greene shook his head doubtfully. + +"All I can say to that is that it was a queer place to choose for a +little friendly conversation," he pronounced. "They were both tall +men--about the same height, I should say--and it would have been +impossible for them to have even stood upright." + +"You mentioned the fact, did you not," the lady who called herself Miss +Pinsent observed, "that it was raining heavily at the time? Perhaps they +stayed under the bridge to shelter." + +"That's something I never thought of," Mr. Greene admitted, "perhaps for +the reason that they both of them seemed quite indifferent to the rain. +The young man in the dark clothes hadn't even an umbrella. I must admit +that I allowed my thoughts to travel in another direction. Professional +instinct, you see. It was a fairly broad canal, and the water was nearly +up to the towing-path. I'd lay a wager it was twelve or fifteen feet +deep. Supposing those two men had met on that narrow path and quarrelled! +Supposing--" + +"Don't!" + +Mr. Raymond Greene stopped short. He gazed in amazement at Elizabeth +Dalstan, who had suddenly clutched his hand. There was something in her +face which puzzled as well as startled him. She had been looking at her +opposite neighbour but she turned back towards the narrator of this +thrilling story as the monosyllable broke from her lips. + +"Please stop," she begged. "You are too dramatic, Mr. Greene. You really +frighten me." + +"Frighten you?" he repeated. "My dear Miss Dalstan!" + +"I suppose it is very absurd of me," she went on, smiling appealingly at +him, "but your words were altogether too graphic. I can't bear to think +of what might have taken place underneath that tunnel! You must remember +that I saw it, too. Don't go on. Don't talk about it any more. I am going +upstairs for my cigarette. Are you coming to get my chair for me, Mr. +Greene, or must I rely upon the deck steward?" + +Mr. Raymond Greene was a very gallant man, and he did not hesitate for a +moment. He sprang to his feet and escorted the young lady from the +saloon. He glanced back, as he left the table, to nod his adieux to the +little company whom he had taken under his charge. Philip Romilly was +gazing steadfastly out of the porthole. + +"Kind of delicate young fellow, that," he remarked. "Nice face, too. +Can't help thinking that I've met or seen some one like him lately." + + + +CHAPTER V + +Philip Romilly found himself alone at last with the things which he had +craved--darkness, solitude, the rushing of the salt wind, the sense of +open spaces. On the other, the sheltered side of the steamer, long lines +of passengers were stretched in wicker chairs, smoking and drinking their +coffee, but where he was no one came save an occasional promenader. Yet +even here was a disappointment. He had come for peace, for a brief escape +from the thrall of memories which during the last few hours had become +charged with undreamed-of horrors--and there was to be no peace. In the +shadowy darkness which rested upon the white-churned sea flying past him, +he saw again, with horrible distinctness, the face, the figure of the man +who for those few brief minutes he had hated with a desperate and +passionate hatred. He saw the broken photograph, the glass splintered +into a thousand pieces. He saw the man himself, choking, sinking down +beneath the black waters; heard the stifled cry from his palsied lips, +saw the slow dawning agony of death in his distorted features. Some one +was playing a mandolin down in the second class. He heard the feet of a +dancer upon the deck, the little murmur of applause. Well, after all, +this was life. It was a rebuke of fate to his own illogical and useless +vapourings. Men died every second whilst women danced, and no one who +knew life had any care save for the measure of their own days. Some +freakish thought pleaded stridently his own justification. His mind +travelled back down the gloomy avenues of his past, along those last +aching years of grinding and undeserved poverty. He remembered his +upbringing, his widowed mother, a woman used to every luxury, struggling +to make both ends meet in a suburban street, in a hired cottage filled +with hired furniture. He remembered his schooldays, devoid of pocket +money, unable to join in the sports of others, slaving with melancholy +perseverance for a scholarship to lighten his mother's burden. Always +there was the same ghastly, crushing penuriousness, the struggle to make +a living before his schooldays were well over, the unbought books he had +fingered at the bookstalls and let drop again, the coarse clothes he had +been compelled to wear, the scanty food he had eaten, the narrow, driving +ways of poverty, culminating in his mother's death and his own fear--he, +at the age of nineteen years--lest the money for her funeral should not +be forthcoming. If there were any hell, surely he had lived in it! This +other, whose flames mocked him now, could be no worse. Sin! Crime! He +remembered the words of the girl who during these latter years had +represented to him what there might have been of light in life. He +remembered, and it seemed to him that he could meet that ghostly image +which had risen from the black waters, without shrinking, almost +contemptuously. Fate had mocked him long enough. It was time, indeed, +that he helped himself. + +He swung away from the solitude to the other side of the steamer, paused +in a sheltered spot while he lit a cigarette, and paced up and down the +more frequented ways. A soft voice from an invisible mass of furs and +rugs, called to him. + +"Mr. Romilly, please come and talk to me. My rug has slipped--thank you +so much. Take this chair next mine for a few minutes, won't you? Mr. +Greene has rushed off to the smoking room. I think he has just been told +that there is a rival cinema producer on board, and he is trying to run +him to ground." + +Philip settled himself without hesitation in the vacant place. + +"One is forced to envy Mr. Raymond Greene," he sighed. "To have work in +life which one loves as he does his is the rarest form of happiness." + +"What about your own?" she asked him. "But you are a manufacturer, are +you not? Somehow or other, that surprises me." + +"And me," he acknowledged frankly. "I mean that I wonder I have +persevered at it so long." + +"But you are a very young man!" + +"Young or old," he answered, "I am one of those who have made a false +start in life. I am on my way to new things. Do you think, Miss Dalstan, +that your country is a good place for one to visit who seeks new things?" + +She turned in her chair a little more towards him. Against the background +of empty spaces, the pale softness of her face seemed to gain a new +attractiveness. + +"Well, that depends," she said reflectively, "upon what these new things +might be which you desire. For an ambitious business man America is a +great country." + +"But supposing one had finished with business?" he persisted. "Supposing +one wanted to develop tastes and a gift for another method of life?" + +"Then I should say that New York is the one place in the world," she told +him. "You are speaking of yourself?" + +"Yes!" + +"You have ambitions, I am sure," she continued. "Tell me, are they +literary?" + +"I would like to call them so," he admitted. "I have written a play and +three stories, so bad that no one would produce the play or publish the +stories." + +"You have brought them with you?" + +He shook his head. + +"No! They are where I shall never see them again." + +"Never see them again?" she repeated, puzzled. + +"I mean that I have left them at home. I have left them there, perhaps, +to a certain extent deliberately," he went on. "You see, the idea is +still with me. I think that I shall rewrite them when I have settled down +in America. I fancy that I shall find myself in an atmosphere more +conducive to the sort of work I want to do. I would rather not be +handicapped by the ghosts of my old failures." + +"One's ghosts are hard sometimes to escape from," she whispered. + +He clutched nervously at the end of his rug. She looked up and down along +the row of chairs. There were one or two slumbering forms, but most were +empty. There were no promenaders in sight. + +"You know," she asked, her voice still very low, "why I left the saloon a +little abruptly this evening?" + +"Why?" he demanded. + +"Because," she went on, "I could see the effect which Mr. Raymond +Greene's story had upon you; because I, also, was in that train, and I +have better eyesight than Mr. Greene. You were one of the two men who +were walking along the towpath." + +"Well?" he muttered. + +"You have nothing to tell me?" + +"Nothing!" + +She waited for a moment. + +"At least you have not attempted to persuade me that you lingered +underneath that bridge to escape from the rain," she remarked. + +"If I cannot tell you the truth," he promised, "I am not going to tell +you a lie, but apart from that I admit nothing. I do not even admit that +it was I whom you saw." + +She laid her hand upon his. The touch of her fingers was wonderful, cool +and soft and somehow reassuring. He felt a sense of relaxation, felt the +strain of living suddenly grow less. + +"You know," she said, "all my friends tell me that I am a restful person. +You are living at high pressure, are you not? Try and forget it. Fate +makes queer uses of all of us sometimes. She sends her noblest sons down +into the shadows and pitchforks her outcasts into the high places of +life. Those do best who learn to control themselves, to live and think +for the best." + +"Go on talking to me," he begged. "Is it your voice, I wonder, that is so +soothing, or just what you say?" + +She smiled reassuringly. + +"You are glad because you have found a friend," she told him, "and a +friend who, even if she does not understand, does not wish to understand. +Do you see?" + +"I wish I felt that I deserved it," he groaned. + +She laughed almost gaily. + +"What a sorting up there would be of our places in life," she declared, +"if we all had just what we deserved!... Now give me your arm. I want to +walk a little. While we walk, if you like, I will try to tell you what I +can about New York. It may interest you." + +They walked up and down the deck, and by degrees their conversation +drifted into a discussion of such recent plays as were familiar to both +of them. At the far end of the ship she clung to him once or twice as the +wind came booming over the freshening waves. She weighed and measured his +criticisms of the plays they spoke of, and in the main approved of them. +When at last she stopped outside the companionway and bade him good +night, the deck was almost deserted. They were near one of the electric +lights, and he saw her face more distinctly than he had seen it at all, +realised more adequately its wonderful charm. The large, firm mouth, +womanly and tender though it was, was almost the mouth of a protector. +She smiled at him as one might smile at a boy. + +"You are to sleep well," she said firmly. "Those are my orders. Good +night!" + +She gave him her hand--a woman's soft and delicate fingers, yet clasping +his with an almost virile strength and friendliness. She left him with +just that feeling about her--that she was expansive, in her heart, her +sympathies, even her brain and peculiar gifts of apprehension. She left +him, too, with a curious sense of restfulness, as though suddenly he +had become metamorphosed into the woman and had found a sorely-needed +guardian. He abandoned without a second thought his intention of going to +the smoking-room and sitting up late. The thought of his empty stateroom, +a horror to him a few hours ago, seemed suddenly almost alluring, and he +made his way there cheerfully. He felt the sleep already upon his eyes. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +All the physical exhilaration of his unlived youth seemed to be dancing +in Philip Romilly's veins when he awoke the next morning to find an open +porthole, the blue sea tossing away to infinity, and his steward's +cheerful face at his bedside. + +"Bathroom steward says if you are ready, sir, he can arrange for your +bath now," the man announced. + +Philip sprang out of bed and reached for his Bond Street dressing-gown. + +"I'll bring you a cup of tea when you get back, sir," the steward +continued. "The bathrooms are exactly opposite." + +The sting of the salt water seemed to complete his new-found +light-heartedness. Philip dressed and shaved, whistling softly all the +time to himself. He even found a queer sort of interest in examining his +stock of ties and other garments. The memory of Elizabeth Dalstan's words +was still in his brain. They had become the text of his life. This, he +told himself, was his birthday. He even accepted without a tremor a +letter and telegram which the steward brought him. + +"These were in the rack for you, sir," he said. "I meant to bring them +down last night but we had a busy start off." + +Philip took them up on deck to read. He tore open the telegram first and +permitted himself a little start when he saw the signature. It was sent +off from Detton Magna,-- + +"Why did you not come as promised? What am I to do? BEATRICE." + +The envelope of the letter he opened with a little more compunction. It +was written on the printed notepaper of the Douglas Romilly Shoe Company, +and was of no great length,-- + +"Dear Mr. Romilly, + +"I understood that you would return to the factory this evening for a few +minutes, before taking the train to Liverpool. There were one or two +matters upon which I should like some further information, but as time is +short I am writing to you at the Waldorf Hotel at New York. + +"I see that the acceptances due next 4th are unusually heavy, but I think +I understood you to say that you had spoken to Mr. Henshaw at the bank +concerning these, and in any case I presume there would be no difficulty. + +"Wishing you every success on the other side, and a safe return, + +"I am, + +"Your obedient servant, + +"J.L. POTTS." + +"There is not the slightest doubt," Philip said to himself, as he tore +both communications into pieces and watched them flutter away downwards, +"that I am on my way to New York. If only one knew what had become of +that poor, half-starved art master!" + +He went down to breakfast and afterwards strolled aimlessly about the +deck. His sense of enjoyment was so extraordinarily keen that he found it +hard to settle down to any of the usual light occupations of idle +travellers. He was content to stand by the rail and gaze across the sea, +a new wonder to him; or to lie about in his steamer chair and listen, +with half-closed eyes, to the hissing of the spray and the faint music of +the wind. His mind turned by chance to one of those stories of which he +had spoken. A sudden new vigour of thought seemed to rend it inside out +almost in those first few seconds. He thought of the garret in which it +had been written, the wretched surroundings, the odoriferous food, the +thick crockery, the smoke-palled vista of roofs and chimneys. The genius +of a Stevenson would have become dwarfed in such surroundings. A phrase, +a happy idea, suddenly caught his fancy. He itched for a pencil and +paper. Then he looked up to find the one thing wanting. Elizabeth +Dalstan, followed by a maid carrying rugs and cushions, had paused, +smiling, by his side. + +"You have slept and you are better," she said pleasantly. "Now for the +next few minutes you must please devote yourself to making me +comfortable. Put everything down, Phoebe. Mr. Romilly will look after +me." + +For a moment he paused before proceeding to his task. + +"I want to look at you," he confessed. "Remember I have only seen you +under the electric lights of the saloon, or in that queer, violet gloom +of last night. Why, you have quite light hair, and I thought it was +dark!" + +She laughed good-humouredly and turned slowly around. + +"Here I am," she announced, "a much bephotographed person. Almost plain, +some journalists have dared to call me, but for my expression. On flowing +lines, as you see, because I always wear such loose clothes, and yet, +believe me, slim. As a matter of fact," she went on pensively, "I am +rather proud of my figure. A little journalist who had annoyed me, and to +whom I was rude, once called it ample. No one has ever ventured to say +more. The critics who love me, and they most of them love me because I am +so exceptionally polite to them, and tell them exactly what to say about +every new play, allude to my physique as Grecian." + +"But your eyes!" he exclaimed. "Last night I thought they were grey. This +morning--why, surely they are brown?" + +"You see, that is all according to the light," she confided. "If any one +does try to write a description of me, they generally evade the point by +calling them browny-grey. A young man who was in love with me," she +sighed, "but that was long ago, used to say that they reminded him of +fallen leaves in a place where the sunlight sometimes is and sometimes +isn't. And now, if you please, I want to be made exceedingly comfortable. +I want you to find the deck steward and see that I have some beef tea as +quickly as possible. I want my box of cigarettes on one side and my +vanity case on the other, and I should like to listen to the plot of your +play." + +He obeyed her behests with scrupulous care, leaned back in his chair and +brought into the foreground of his mind the figures of those men and +women who had told his story, finding them, to his dismay, unexpectedly +crude and unlifelike. And the story itself. Was unhappiness so necessary, +after all? They suddenly seemed to crumble away into insignificance, +these men and women of his creation. In their place he could almost fancy +a race of larger beings, a more extensive canvas, a more splendid, a +riper and richer vocabulary. + +"Nothing that I have ever done," he sighed, "is worth talking to you +about. But if you are going to be my friend--" + +"Well?" + +"If you are going to be my friend," he went on, with almost inspired +conviction, "I shall write something different." + +"One can rebuild," she murmured. "One can sometimes use the old pieces. +Life and chess are both like that." + +"Would you help me, I wonder?" he asked impulsively. + +She looked away from him, out across the steamer rail. She seemed to be +measuring with her eyes the roll of the ship as it rose and fell in the +trough of the sea. + +"You are a strange person," she said. "Tell me, are you in the habit of +becoming suddenly dependent upon people?" + +"Not I," he assured her. "If I were to tell you how my last ten years +have been spent, you would not believe me. You couldn't. If I were to +speak of a tearing, unutterable loneliness, if I were to speak of +poverty--not the poverty you know anything about, but the poverty of bare +walls, of coarse food and little enough of it, of everything cheap and +miserable and soiled and second-hand--nothing fresh, nothing +real--" + +He stopped abruptly. + +"But I forgot," he muttered. "I can't explain." + +"Is one to understand," she asked, a little puzzled, "that you have had +difficulties in your business?" + +"I have never been in business," he answered quickly. "My name is +Romilly, but I am not Romilly the manufacturer. For the last eight years +I have lived in a garret in London, teaching false art in a third-rate +school some of the time, doing penny-a-line journalistic work when I got +the chance; clerk for a month or two in a brewer's office and sacked for +incapacity--those are a few of the real threads in my life." + +"At the present moment, then," she observed, "you are an impostor." + +"Exactly," he admitted, "and I should probably have been repenting it by +now but for your words last night." + +She smiled at him and the sun shone once more. It wasn't an ordinary +smile at all. It was just as though she were letting him into the light +of her understanding, as though some one from the world, entrance into +which he had craved, had stooped down to understand and was telling him +that all was well. He drew his chair a little closer to hers. + +"We are all more or less impostors," she said. "Does any one, I wonder, +go about the world telling everybody what they really are, how they +really live? Dear me, how unpleasant and uncomfortable it would be! You +are so wise, my new friend. You know the value of impulses. You tell me +the truth, and I am your friend. I do not need facts, because facts count +for little. I judge by what lies behind, and I understand. Do not weary +me with explanations. I like what you have told me. Only, of course, your +work must have suffered from surroundings like that. Will it be better +for you now?" + +"I shall land in New York," he told her, "with at least a thousand +pounds. That is about as much as I have spent in ten years. There is the +possibility of other money. Concerning that--well, I can't make up my +mind. The thousand pounds, of course, is stolen." + +"So I gathered," she remarked. "Do you continue, may I ask, to be Douglas +Romilly, the manufacturer?" + +He shook his head a little vaguely. + +"I haven't thought," he confessed. "But of course I don't. I have risked +everything for the chance of a new life. I shall start it in a new way +and under a new name." + +He was suddenly conscious of her pity, of a moistness in her eyes as she +looked at him. + +"I think," she said, "that you must have been very miserable. Above all +things, now, whatever you may have done for your liberty, don't be +fainthearted. If you are in trouble or danger you must come to me. You +promise?" + +"If I may," he assented fervently. + +"Now I must hear the play as it stood in your thoughts when you wrote +it," she insisted. "I have a fancy that it will sound a little gloomy. Am +I right?" + +He laughed. + +"Of course you are! How could I write in any other way except through the +darkened spectacles? However, there's a way out--of altering it, I mean. +I feel flashes of it already. Listen." + +The story expanded with relation. He no longer felt confined to its +established lines. Every now and then he paused to tell her that this or +that was new, and she nodded appreciatively. They walked for a time, +watched the seagulls, and bade their farewell to the Irish coast. + +"You will have to re-write that play for me," she said, a little +abruptly, as she paused before the companionway. "I am going down to my +room for a few minutes before lunch now. Afterwards I shall bring up a +pencil and paper. We will make some notes together." + +Philip walked on to the smoking room. He could scarcely believe that the +planks he trod were of solid wood. Raymond Greene met him at the entrance +and slapped him on the back: + +"Just in time for a cocktail before lunch!" he exclaimed. "I was looking +everywhere for a pal. Two Martinis, dry as you like, Jim," he added, +turning round to the smoking room steward. "Sure you won't join us, +Lawton?" + +"Daren't!" was the laconic answer from the man whom he had addressed. + +"By-the-bye," Mr. Raymond Greene went on, "let me make you two +acquainted. This is Mr. Douglas Romilly, an English boot +manufacturer--Mr. Paul Lawton of Brockton. Mr. Lawton owns one of the +largest boot and shoe plants in the States," the introducer went on. "You +two ought to find something to talk about." + +Philip held out his hand without a single moment's hesitation. He was +filled with a new confidence. + +"I should be delighted to talk with Mr. Lawton on any subject in the +world," he declared, "except our respective businesses." + +"I am very glad to meet you, sir," the other replied, shaking hands +heartily. "I don't follow that last stipulation of yours, though." + +"It simply means that I am taking seven days' holiday," Philip explained +gaily, "seven days during which I have passed my word to myself to +neither talk business nor think business. Your very good health, Mr. +Raymond Greene," he went on, drinking his cocktail with relish. "If we +meet on the other side, Mr. Lawton, we'll compare notes as much as you +like." + +"That's all right, sir," the other agreed. "I don't know as you're not +right. We Americans do hang round our businesses, and that's a fact. +Still, there's a little matter of lasts I should like to have a word or +two with you about some time." + +"A little matter of what?" Philip asked vaguely. + +"Lasts," the other repeated. "That's where your people and ours look +different ways chiefly, that and a little matter of manipulation of our +machinery." + +"Just so," Philip assented, swallowing the rest of his cocktail. "What +about luncheon? There's nothing in the world to give you an appetite like +this sea air." + +"I'm with you," Mr. Raymond Greene chimed in. "You two can have your +trade talk later on." + +He took his young friend's arm, and they descended the stairs together. + +"What the mischief is a last?" he inquired. + +"I haven't the least idea," Philip replied carelessly. "Something to do +with boots and shoes, isn't it?" + +His questioner stared at him for a moment and then laughed. + +"Say, you're a young man of your word!" he remarked appreciatively. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Philip Romilly was accosted, late that afternoon, by two young women +whose presence on board he had noticed with a certain amount of +disapproval. They were obviously of the chorus-girl type, a fact which +they seemed to lack the ambition to conceal. After several would-be +ingratiating giggles, they finally pulled up in front of him whilst he +was promenading the deck. + +"You are Mr. Romilly, aren't you?" one of them asked. "Bob Millet told us +you were going to be on this steamer. You know Bob, don't you?" + +Philip for a moment was taken aback. + +"Bob Millet," he repeated thoughtfully. + +"Of course! Good old Bob! I don't mind confessing," the young woman went +on, "that though we were all out one night together--Trocadero, Empire, +and Murray's afterwards--I should never have recognised you. Seems to me +you've got thinner and more serious-looking." + +"I am afraid my own memory is also at fault," Philip remarked, a little +stiffly. + +"I am Violet Fox," the young woman who had accosted him continued. "This +my friend, Hilda Mason. She's a dear girl but a little shy, aren't you, +Hilda?" + +"That's just because I told her that we ought to wait until you +remembered us," the slighter young woman, with the very obvious +peroxidised hair, protested. + +"Didn't seem to be any use waiting for that," her friend retorted +briskly. "Hilda and I are dying for a cocktail, Mr. Romilly." + +He led them with an unwillingness of which they seemed frankly unaware, +towards the lounge. They drank two cocktails and found themselves +unfortunately devoid of cigarettes, a misfortune which it became his +privilege to remedy. They were very friendly young ladies, if a little +slangy, invited him around to their staterooms, and offered to show him +the runs around New York. Philip escaped after about an hour and made his +way to where Elizabeth was reclining in her deck chair. + +"That fellow Romilly," he declared irritably, "the other one, I mean, +seems to have had the vilest tastes. If I am to be landed with any more +of his ridiculous indiscretions, I think I shall have to go overboard. +There was an enterprising gentleman named Gayes in Liverpool, who nearly +drove me crazy, then there's this Mr. Lawton who wants to talk about +lasts, and finally it seems that I dined at the Trocadero and spent the +evening at the Empire and Murray's with the two very obvious-looking +young ladies who accosted me just now. I am beginning to believe that +Douglas' life was not above suspicion." + +She smiled at him tolerantly. An unopened book lay by her side. She +seemed to have been spending the last quarter of an hour in thought. + +"I am rather relieved to hear," she confessed, "that those two young +people are a heritage from the other Mr. Romilly. No, don't sit down," +she went on. "I want you to do something for me. Go into the library, and +on the left-hand side as you enter you will see all the wireless news. +Read the bottom item and then come back to me." + +He turned slowly away. All his new-found buoyancy of spirits had +suddenly left him. He cursed the imagination which lifted his feet from +the white decks and dragged his eyes from the sparkling blue sea to the +rain-soaked, smut-blackened fields riven by that long thread of bleak, +turgid water. The horrors of a murderous passion beat upon his brain. +He saw himself hastening, grim and blind, on his devil-sped mission. Then +the haze faded from before his eyes. Somehow or other he accomplished his +errand. He was in the library, standing in front of those many sheets of +typewritten messages, passing them all over, heedless of what their +message might be, until he came to the last and most insignificant. +Four lines, almost overlapped by another sheet-- + + STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE OF A LONDON ART TEACHER + + SUICIDE FEARED + + Acting upon instructions received, the police + are investigating a somewhat curious case of + disappearance. Philip Romilly, a teacher of art in + a London school, visited Detton Magna on Friday + afternoon and apparently started for a walk along + the canal bank, towards dusk. Nothing has since + been heard of him or his movements, and + arrangements have been made to drag the canal + at a certain point. + +The letters seemed to grow larger to him as he stood and read. He +remained in front of the message for an inordinately long time. Again his +imagination was at work. He saw the whole ghastly business, the police on +the canal banks, watching the slow progress of the men with their drags +bringing to the surface all the miserable refuse of the turgid waters, +the dripping black mud, perhaps at last.... + +He was back again on the deck, walking quite steadily yet seeing little. +He made his way to the smoking room, asked almost indifferently for a +brandy and soda, and drained it to the last drop. Then he walked up the +deck to where Elizabeth was seated, and dropped into a chair by her side. + +"So I am missing," he remarked, almost in his ordinary tone. "I really +had no idea that I was a person of such importance. Fancy reading of my +own disappearance within a few days of its taking place, in the middle of +the Atlantic!" + +"There was probably some one there who gave information," she suggested. + +"There was the young lady whom I went to visit," he assented. "She +probably watched me cross the road and turn in at that gate and take the +path by the canal side. Yes, she may even have gone to the station to see +whether I took the only other train back to London, and found that I did +not. She knew, too, that I could only have had a few shillings in my +pocket, and that my living depended upon being in London for my school +the next morning. Yes, the whole thing was reasonable." + +"And they are going to drag the canal," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. + +"A difficult business," he assured her. "It is one of the most ghastly, +ill-constructed, filthiest strips of water you ever looked upon. It has +been the garbage depository of the villages through which it makes its +beastly way, for generations. I don't envy the men who have to handle the +drags." + +"You do not believe, then, that they will find anything--interesting?" + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +"That type of man," he continued, "must have a morbid mind. There will be +dead animals without a doubt, worn-out boots, filthy and decomposed +articles of clothing--" + +"Don't!" she interrupted. "You know what I mean. Do leave off painting +your ghastly pictures. You know quite well what I mean. Philip Romilly is +here by my side. What can they hope to find there in his place?" + +His evil moments for that afternoon were over. He answered her almost +carelessly. + +"Not what they are looking for. Have you brought the paper and pencil you +spoke of? I have an idea--I am getting fresh ideas every moment now +that I picture you as my heroine. It is queer, isn't it, how naturally +you fall into the role?" + +She drew a little nearer to him. He was conscious of a mysterious and +unfamiliar perfume, perhaps from the violets half hidden in her furs, or +was it something in her hair? It reminded him a little of the world the +keys into which he had gripped--the world of joyousness, of light-hearted +pleasures, the sunlit world into which he had only looked through other +men's eyes. + +"Perhaps you knew that I was somewhere across the threshold," she +suggested. "Did you drag your Mona wholly from your brain, or has she her +prototype somewhere in your world?" + +He shook his head. + +"Therein lies the weakness of all that I have ever written," he declared. +"There have been so few in my world from whom I could garner even the +gleanings of a personality. They are all, my men and women, artificially +made, not born. Twenty-three shillings a week has kept me well outside +the locked doors." + +"Yet, you know, in many ways," she reflected, "Mona is like me." + +"Like you because she was a helper of men," he assented swiftly, "a woman +of large sympathies, appealing to me, I suppose, because in my solitude, +thoughts of my own weakness taunted me, weakness because I couldn't break +out, I mean. Perhaps for that reason the thought of a strong woman +fascinated me, a woman large in thoughts and ways, a woman to whom +purposes and tendencies counted most. I dreamed of a woman sweetly +omnipotent, strong without a shadow of masculinity. That is where my Mona +was to be different from all other created figures." + +"Chance," she declared, "is a wonderful thing. Chance has pitchforked you +here, absolutely to my side, I, the one woman who could understand what +you mean, who could give your Mona life. Don't think I am vain," she went +on. "I can assure you that my head isn't the least turned because I have +been successful. I simply know. Listen. I have few engagements in New +York. I should not be going back at all but to see my mother, who is too +delicate to travel, and who is miserable when I am away for long. Take +this pencil and paper. Let us leave off dreaming for a little time and +give ourselves up to technicalities. I want to draft a new first act and +a new last one, not so very different from your version and yet with +changes which I want to explain as we go on. Bring your chair a little +nearer--so. Now take down these notes." + +They worked until the first gong for dinner rang. She sat up in her chair +with a happy little laugh. + +"Isn't it wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I never knew time to pass so +quickly. There isn't any pleasure in the world like this," she added, a +little impulsively, "the pleasure of letting your thoughts run out to +meet some one else's, some one who understands. Take care of every line +we have written, my friend." + +"We might go on after dinner," he suggested eagerly. + +She shook her head. + +"I'd rather not," she admitted. "My brain is too full. I have a hundred +fancies dancing about. I even find myself, as we sit here, rehearsing +my gestures, tuning myself to a new outlook. Oh! You most disturbing +person--intellectually of course, I mean," she added, laughing into his +face. "Take off my rugs and help me up. No, we'll leave them there. +Perhaps, after dinner, we might walk for a little time." + +"But the whole thing is tingling in my brain," he protested. "Couldn't we +go into the library? We could find a corner by ourselves." + +She turned and looked at him, standing up now, the wind blowing her +skirts, her eyes glowing, her lips a little parted. Then for the first +time he understood her beauty, understood the peculiar qualities of it, +the dissensions of the Press as to her appearance, the supreme charm of a +woman possessed of a sweet and passionate temperament, turning her face +towards the long-wished-for sun. Even the greater things caught hold of +him in that moment, and he felt dimly what was coming. + +"Do you really wish to work?" she asked. + +He looked away from her. + +"No!" he answered, a little thickly. "We will talk, if you will." + +They neither of them moved. The atmosphere had suddenly become charged +with a force indescribable, almost numbing. In the far distance they saw +the level line of lights from a passing steamer. Mr. Raymond Greene, with +his hands in his ulster pockets, suddenly spotted them and did for them +what they seemed to have lost the power to do. + +"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "I've been looking for you two everywhere. I don't +want to hurt that smoking room steward's feelings. He's not bad at +his job. But," he added confidentially, dropping his voice and taking +them both by the arm, "I have made a cocktail down in my stateroom--it's +there in the shaker waiting for us, something I can't talk about. I've +given Lawton one, and he's following me about like a dog. Come right this +way, both of you. Steady across the gangway--she's pitching a little. +Why, you look kind of scared, Mr. Romilly. Been to sleep, either of you?" + +Philip's laugh was almost too long to be natural. Elizabeth, as though by +accident, had dropped her veil. Mr. Raymond Greene, bubbling over with +good nature and anticipation, led them towards the stairs. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Mr. Raymond Greene could scarcely wait until Philip had taken his place +at the dinner table that evening, to make known his latest discovery. + +"Say, Mr. Romilly," he exclaimed, leaning a little forward, "do you +happen to have seen the wireless messages to-day?--those tissue sheets +that are stuck up in the library?" + +Philip set down the menu, in which he had been taking an unusual +interest. + +"Yes, I looked through them this afternoon," he acknowledged. + +"There's a little one at the bottom, looks as though it had been shoved +in at the last moment. I don't know whether you noticed it. It announced +the mysterious disappearance of a young man of the same name as your +own--an art teacher from London, I think he was. I wondered whether it +might have been any relation?" + +"I read the message," Philip admitted. "It certainly looks as though it +might have referred to my cousin." + +Mr. Raymond Greene became almost impressive in his interested +earnestness. + +"Talk about coincidences!" he continued. "Do you remember last night +talking about subjects for cinema plays? I told you of a little incident +I happened to have noticed on the way from London to Liverpool, about the +two men somewhere in Derbyshire whom I had seen approaching a tunnel over +a canal--they neither of them came out, you know, all the time that the +train was standing there." + +Philip helped himself a little absently to whisky and soda from the +bottle in front of him. + +"I remember your professional interest in the situation," he confessed. + +"I felt at the time," Mr. Raymond Greene went on eagerly, "that there was +something queer about the affair. Listen! I have been putting two and two +together, and it seems to me that one of those men might very well have +been this missing Mr. Romilly." + +Philip shook his head pensively. + +"I don't think so," he ventured. + +"What's that? You don't think so?" the cinema magnate exclaimed. "Why +not, Mr. Romilly? It's exactly the district--at Detton Magna, the message +said, in Derbyshire--and it was a canal, too, one of the filthiest I ever +saw. Can't you realise the dramatic interest of the situation now that +you are confronted with this case of disappearance? I have been asking +myself ever since I strolled up into the library before dinner and read +this notice--'_What about the other man_?'" + +Philip had commenced a leisurely consumption of his first course, and +answered without undue haste. + +"Well," he said, "if this young man Romilly is my cousin, it would be +the second or third time already that he has disappeared. He is an +ill-balanced, neurotic sort of creature. At times he accepts help--even +solicits it--from his more prosperous relations, and at times he won't +speak to us. But of one thing I am perfectly convinced, and that is that +there is no man in the world who would be less likely to make away with +himself. He has a nervous horror of death or pain of any sort, and in +his peculiar way he is much too fond of life ever to dream of voluntarily +shortening it. On the other hand, he is always doing eccentric things. He +probably set out to walk to London--I have known him do it before--and +will turn up there in a fortnight's time." + +Mr. Raymond Greene seemed rather to resent having cold water poured upon +his melodramatic imaginings. He turned to Elizabeth, who had remained +silent during the brief colloquy. + +"What do you think, Miss Dalstan?" he asked. "Don't you think that, under +the circumstances, I ought to give information to the British police?" + +She laughed at him quite good-naturedly, and yet in such a way that a +less sensitive man than Mr. Raymond Greene might well have been conscious +of the note of ridicule. + +"No wonder you are such a great success in your profession!" she +observed. "You carry the melodramatic instinct with you, day by day. You +see everything through the dramatist's spectacles." + +"That's all very well," Mr. Greene protested, "but you saw the two men +yourself, and you've probably read about the case of mysterious +disappearance. Surely you must admit that the coincidence is +interesting?" + +"Alas!" she went on, shaking her head, "I am afraid I must throw cold +water upon your vivid imaginings. You see, my eyesight is better than +yours and I could see the two men distinctly, whilst you could only see +their figures. One of them, the better-dressed, was fair and obviously +affluent, and the other was a labourer. Neither of them could in any way +have answered the description of the missing man." + +Mr. Raymond Greene was a little dashed. + +"You didn't say so at the time," he complained. + +"I really wasn't sufficiently interested," she told him. "Besides, +without knowing anything of Mr. Romilly's cousin, I don't think any +person in the world could have had the courage to seek an exit from his +troubles by means of that canal." + +"But my point," Mr. Raymond Greene persisted, "is that it wasn't suicide +at all. I maintain that the situation as I saw it presented all the +possibilities of a different sort of crime." + +"My cousin hadn't an enemy in the world except himself," Philip +intervened. + +"And I would give you the filming of my next play for nothing," Elizabeth +ventured, "if either of those two men could possibly have been an art +teacher.... Can I have a little more oil with my salad, please, steward, +and I should like some French white wine." + +Mr. Raymond Greene took what appeared to be a positive disappointment +very good-naturedly. + +"Well," he said, "I dare say you are both right, and in any case I +shouldn't like to persist in a point of view which might naturally enough +become distressing to our young friend here. Tell you what I'll do to +show my penitence. I shall order a bottle of wine, and we'll drink to the +welfare of the missing Mr. Philip Romilly, wherever he may be. Pommery, +steward, and bring some ice along." + +Philip pushed away his whisky and soda. + +"Just in time," he remarked. "I'll drink to poor Philip's welfare, with +pleasure, although he hasn't been an unmixed blessing to his family." + +The subject passed away with the drinking of the toast, and with the +necessity for a guard upon himself gone, Philip found himself eating and +drinking mechanically, watching all the time the woman who sat opposite +to him, who had now engaged Mr. Raymond Greene in an animated +conversation on the subject of the suitability for filming of certain +recent plays. He was trying with a curious intentness to study her +dispassionately, to understand the nature of the charm on which dramatic +critics had wasted a wealth of adjectives, and of which he himself was +humanly and personally conscious. She wore a high-necked gown of some +soft, black material, with a little lace at her throat fastened by her +only article of jewellery, a pearl pin. Her hair was arranged in coils, +with a simplicity and a precision which to a more experienced observer +would have indicated the possession of a maid of no ordinary qualities. +Her mouth became more and more delightful every time he studied it; her +voice, even her method of speech, were entirely natural and with a +peculiarly fascinating inflexion. At times she looked and spoke with the +light-hearted gaiety of a child; then again there was the grave and +cultured woman apparent in her well-balanced and thoughtful criticisms. +When, at the end of the meal, she rose to leave the table, he found +himself surprised at her height and the slim perfection of her figure. +His first remark, when he joined her upon the stairs, was an almost +abrupt expression of his thoughts. + +"Tell me," he exclaimed, "why were all my first impressions of you wrong? +To-night you are a revelation to me. You are amazingly different." + +She laughed at him. + +"I really can't do more than show you myself as I am," she expostulated. + +"Ah! but you are so many women," he murmured. + +"Of course, if you are going to flatter me! Give me a cigarette from my +case, please, and strike a match, and if you don't mind struggling with +this wind and the darkness, we will have our walk. There!" she added, as +they stood in the companionway. "Now don't you feel as though we were +facing an adventure? We shan't be able to see a yard ahead of us, and the +wind is singing." + +They passed through up the companionway. She took his arm and he suddenly +felt the touch of her warm fingers feeling for his other hand. He gripped +them tightly, and his last impression of her face, before they plunged +into the darkness, was of a queer softness, as though she were giving +herself up to some unexpected but welcome emotion. Her eyes were half +closed. She had the air of one wrapped in silence. So they walked almost +the whole length of the deck. Philip, indeed, had no impulse or desire +for speech. All his aching nerves were soothed into repose. The last +remnants of his ghostly fears had been swept away. They were on the +windward side of the ship, untenanted save now and then by the shadowy +forms of other promenaders. The whole experience, even the regular +throbbing of the engines, the swish of the sea, the rising and falling of +a lantern bound to the top of a fishing smack by which they were passing, +the distant chant of the changing watch, all the night sights and sounds +of the seaborne hostel, were unfamiliar and exhilarating. And inside his +hand, even though given him of her great pity, a woman's fingers lay in +his. + +She spoke at last a little abruptly. + +"There is something I must know about," she said. + +"You have only to ask," he assured her. + +"Don't be afraid," she continued. "I wish to ask you nothing which might +give you pain, but I must know--you see, I am really such a ordinary +woman--I must know about some one whom you went to visit that day, didn't +you, at Detton Magna?" + +He answered her almost eagerly. + +"I want to talk about Beatrice," he declared. "I want to tell you +everything about her. I know that you will understand. We were brought up +together in the same country place. We were both thrown upon the world +about the same time. That was one thing, I suppose, which made us kindly +disposed towards one another. We corresponded always. I commenced my +unsuccessful fight in London. I lived--I can't tell you how--week by +week, month by month. I ate coarse food, I was a hanger-on to the fringe +of everything in life which appealed to me, fed intellectually on the +crumbs of free libraries and picture galleries. I met no one of my own +station--I was at a public school and my people were gentlefolk--or +tastes. I had no friends in London before whom I dared present myself, no +money to join a club where I might have mixed with my fellows, no one to +talk to or exchange a single idea with--and I wasn't always the gloomy +sort of person I have become; in my younger days I loved companionship. +And the women--my landlady's daughter, with dyed hair, a loud voice, +slatternly in the morning, a flagrant imitation of her less honest +sisters at night! Who else? Where was I to meet women when I didn't even +know men? I spent my poor holidays at Detton Magna. Our very loneliness +brought Beatrice and me closer together. We used to walk in those ugly +fields around Detton Magna and exchanged the story of our woes. She was a +teacher at the national school. The children weren't pleasant, their +parents were worse. The drudgery was horrible, and there wasn't any +escape for her. Sometimes she would sob as we sat side by side. She, too, +wanted something out of life, as I did, and there seemed nothing but that +black wall always before us. I think that we clung together because we +shared a common misery. We talked endlessly of a way out. For me what was +there? There was no one to rob--I wasn't clever enough. There was no way +I could earn money, honestly or dishonestly. And for her, buried in that +Derbyshire village amongst the collieries, where there was scarcely a +person who hadn't the taint of the place upon them--what chance was there +for her? There was nothing she could do, either. I knew in my heart that +we were both ready for evil things, if by evil things we could make our +escape. And we couldn't. So we tried to lose ourselves in the only fields +left for such as we. We read poetry. We tried to live in that unnatural +world where the brains only are nourished and the body languishes. It was +a morbid, unhealthy existence, but I plodded along and so did she. Then +her weekly letters became different. For the first time she wrote me with +reserves. I took a day's vacation and I went down to Detton Magna to see +what had happened." + +"That was the day," she interrupted softly, "when--" + +"That was the day," he assented. "I remember so well getting out of +the train and walking up that long, miserable street. School wasn't +over, and I went straight to her cottage, as I have often done before. +There was a change. Her cheap furniture had gone. It was like one of +those little rooms we had dreamed of. There was a soft carpet upon the +floor, Chippendale furniture, flowers, hothouse fruit, and on the +mantelpiece--the photograph of a man." + +He paused, and they took the whole one long turn along the wind-swept, +shadowy deck in silence. + +"Presently she came," he continued. "The change was there, too. She was +dressed simply enough, but even I, in my inexperience, knew the +difference. She came in--she, who had spoken of suicide a short time +ago--singing softly to herself. She saw me, our eyes met, and the story +was told. I knew, and she knew that I knew." + +It seemed as though something in his tone might have grated upon her. +Gently, but with a certain firmness, she drew her hand away from his. + +"You were very angry, I suppose?" she murmured. + +Some instinct told him exactly what was passing in her thoughts. In a +moment he was on the defensive. + +"I think," he said, "that if it had been any other man--but listen. The +photograph which I took from the mantelpiece and threw into the fire was +the photograph of my own cousin. His father and my father were brought up +together. My father chose the Church, his founded the factory in which +most of the people in Detton Magna were employed. When my grandfather +died, it was found that he was penniless. The whole of his money had gone +towards founding the Douglas Romilly Shoe Company. I won't weary with the +details. The business prospered, but we remained in poverty. When my +mother died I was left with nothing. My uncle made promises and never +kept them. He, too, died. My cousin and I quarrelled. He and his father +both held that the money advanced by my grandfather had been a gift and +not a loan. They offered me a pittance. Well, I refused anything. I spoke +plain words, and that was an end of it. And then I came back and I saw +his picture, my cousin's picture, upon the mantelpiece. I can see it now +and it looks hateful to me. All the old fires burned up in me. I +remembered my father's death--a pauper he was. I remembered how near I +had been to starvation. I remembered the years I had spent in a garret +whilst Douglas had idled time away at Oxford, had left there to trifle +with the business his father had founded, had his West End club, hunters, +and shooting. It was a vicious, mad, jealous hatred, perhaps, but I claim +that it was human. I went out of that little house and it seemed to me +that there was a new lust in my heart, a new, craving desire. If I had +thrown myself into that canal, they might well have called it temporary +insanity. I didn't, but I was mad all the same. Anything else I did--was +temporary insanity!" + +Her hand suddenly came back again and she leaned towards him through the +darkness. + +"You poor child," she whispered. "Stop there, please. Don't be afraid to +think you've told me this. You see, I am of the world, and I know that we +are all only human. Now, twice up and down the deck, and not a word. Then +I shall ask you something." + +So they passed on, side by side, the touch of her fingers keeping this +new courage alive in his heart, his head uplifted even to the stars +towards which their rolling mast pointed. It was wonderful, this--to tell +the truth, to open the door of his heart! + +"Now I am going to ask you something," she said, when they turned for the +third time. "You may think it a strange question, but you must please +answer it. To me it is rather important. Just what were your feelings for +Beatrice?" + +"I think I was fond of her," he answered thoughtfully. "I know that I +hated her when she came in from the schoolhouse--when I understood. Both +of us, in the days of our joint poverty, had scoffed at principles, had +spoken boldly enough of sin, but I can only say that when she came, when +I looked into her eyes, I seemed to have discovered a new horror in life. +I can't analyse it. I am not sure, even now, that I was not more of a +beast that I had thought myself. I am not sure that part of my rage was +not because she had escaped and I couldn't." + +"But your personal feelings--that is what I want to know about?" she +persisted. + +He dug down into his consciousness to satisfy her. + +"Think of what my life in London had been," he reminded her. "There +wasn't a single woman I knew, with whom I could exchange a word. All the +time I loved beautiful things, and beautiful women, and the thought of +them. I have gone out into the streets at nights sometimes and hung +around the entrances to theatres and restaurants just for the pleasure of +looking at them with other men. It didn't do me any good, you know, but +the desire was there. I wanted a companion like those other men had. +Beatrice was the only woman I knew. I didn't choose her. It wasn't the +selective instinct that made her attractive to me. It was because she was +the only one. I never felt anything great when I was with her," he went +on hoarsely. "I knew very well that ours were ordinary feelings. She was +in the same position that I was. There was no one else for her, either. +Do you want me to go on?" + +She hesitated. + +"Don't be afraid--I am not quite mad," he continued, "only I'll answer +for you the part of your question you don't put into words. Beatrice was +nothing to me but an interpretress of her sex. I never loved her. If I +had, we might in our misery have done the wildest, the most foolish +things. I will tell you why I know so clearly that I never loved her. I +have known it since you have been kind to me, since I have realised what +a wonderful thing a woman can be, what a world she can make for the man +who cares, whom she cares for." + +Her fingers gripped his tightly. + +"And now," she said, "I know all that I want to know and all that it is +well for us to speak of just now. Dear friend, will you remember that you +are sharing your burden with me, and that I, who am accounted something +in the world and who know life pretty thoroughly, believe in you and hope +for you." + +They paused for a moment by the side of the steamer rail. She understood +so well his speechlessness. She drew her hand away from his and held it +to his lips. + +"Please kiss my fingers," she begged. "That is just the seal of our +friendship in these days. See how quickly we seem to plough our way +through the water. Listen to the throbbing of that engine, always towards +a new world for you, my friend. It is to be an undiscovered country. Be +brave, keep on being brave, and remember--" + +The words seemed to die away upon her lips. A shower of spray came +glittering into the dim light, like flakes of snow falling with +unexpected violence close to them. He drew her cloak around her and +moved back. + +"Now," she said, "I think we will smoke, and perhaps, if you made +yourself very agreeable to the steward in the smoking room, you could get +some coffee." + +"One moment," he pleaded. "Remember what? Don't you realise that there is +just one word I still need, one little word to crown all that you have +said?" + +She turned her head towards him. The trouble and brooding melancholy +seemed to have fallen from his face. She realised more fully its +sensitive lines, its poetic, almost passionate charm. She was carried +suddenly away upon a wave of the emotion which she herself had created. + +"Oh, but you know!" she faltered. "You see, I trust you even to know +when ... Now your arm, please, until we reach the smoking room, and +mind--I must have coffee." + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Philip Romilly, on the last day of the voyage, experienced to the full +that peculiar sensation of unrest which seems inevitably to prevail when +an oceangoing steamer is being slowly towed into port. The winds of the +ocean had been left behind. There was a new but pleasant chill in the +frosty, sunlit air. The great buildings of New York, at which he had +been gazing for hours, were standing, heterogeneous but magnificent, +clear-cut against an azure sky. The ferry boats, with their amazing human +cargo, seemed to be screeching a welcome as they churned their way across +the busy river. Wherever he looked, there was something novel and +interesting, yet nothing sufficiently arresting to enable him to forget +that he was face to face now with the first crisis of his new life. Since +that brief wireless message on the first day out, there had been nothing +disquieting in the daily bulletins of news, and he had been able to +appreciate to the full the soothing sense of detachment, the friendliness +of his fellow voyagers, immeasurably above all the daily association with +Elizabeth. He felt like one awaking from a dream as he realised that +these things were over. At the first sight of land, it was as though a +magician's wand had been waved, a charm broken. His fellow passengers, in +unfamiliar costumes, were standing about with their eyes glued upon the +distant docks. A queer sense of ostracism possessed him. Perhaps, after +all, it had been a dream from which he was now slowly awaking. + +He wandered into the lounge to find Elizabeth surrounded by a little +group of journalists. She nodded to him pleasantly and waved a great +bunch of long-stemmed pink roses which one of them had brought to her. +Her greeting saved him from despair. She, at least, was unchanged. + +"See how my friends are beginning to spoil me!" she cried out. "Really, I +can't tell any of you a thing more," she went on, turning back to them, +"only this, and I am sure it ought to be interesting. I have discovered a +new dramatist, and I am going to produce a play of his within three +months, I hope. I shan't tell you his name and I shan't tell you anything +about the play, except that I find more promise in it than anything I +have seen or read for months. Mr. Romilly, please wait for me," she +called after him. "I want to point out some of the buildings to you." + +A dark young man, wearing eyeglasses, with a notebook and pencil in his +hand, swung around. + +"Is this Mr. Douglas Romilly," he enquired, "of the Romilly Shoe Company? +I am from the _New York Star_. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Romilly. You are +over here on business, we understand?" + +Philip was taken aback and for the moment remained speechless. + +"We'd like to know your reason, Mr. Romilly, for paying us a visit," the +young man continued, "in your own words. How long a trip do you intend to +make, anyway? What might your output be in England per week? Women's +shoes and misses', isn't it?" + +Elizabeth intervened swiftly, shaking her finger at the journalist. + +"Mr. Harris," she said, "Mr. Romilly is my friend, and I am not going to +have him spend these few impressive moments, when he ought to be looking +about him at the harbour, telling you silly details about his business. +You can call upon him at his hotel, if you like--the Waldorf he is going +to, I believe--and I am sure he will tell you anything you want to know." + +"That's all right, Miss Dalstan," the young man declared soothingly. "See +you later, Mr. Romilly," he added. "Maybe you'll let us have a few of +your impressions to work in with the other stuff." + +Romilly made light of the matter, but there was a slight frown upon his +forehead as they passed along the curiously stationary deck. + +"I am afraid," he observed, "that this is going to be a terribly hard +country to disappear in." + +"Don't you believe it," she replied cheerfully. "You arrive here to-day +and you are in request everywhere. To-morrow you are forgotten--some +one else arrives. That newspaper man scarcely remembers your existence at +the present moment. He has discovered Mr. Raymond Greene.... Tell me, why +do you look so white and unhappy?" + +"I am sorry the voyage is over," he confessed. + +"So am I, for that matter," she assented. "I have loved every minute of +the last few days, but then we knew all the time, didn't we, that it was +just an interlude? The things which lie before us are so full of +interest." + +"It is the next few hours which I fear," he muttered gloomily. + +She laughed at him. + +"Foolish! If there had been any one on this side who wanted to ask you +disagreeable questions, they wouldn't have waited to meet you on the +quay. They'd have come down the harbour and held us up. Don't think about +that for a moment. Think instead of all the wonderful things we are going +to do. You will be occupied every minute of the time until I come back to +New York, and I shall be so anxious to see the result. You won't +disappoint me, will you?" + +"I will not," he promised. "It was only for just a moment that I felt an +idiot. It's exciting, you know, this new atmosphere, and the voyage was +so wonderful, such a perfect rest. It's like waking up, and the daylight +seems a little crude." + +She held out her hand. + +"You see, the gangways are going down," she pointed out. "I can see many +of my friends waiting. Remember, with your new life begins our new +alliance. Good luck to you, dear friend!" + +Their fingers were locked for a moment together. He looked earnestly into +her eyes. + +"Whatever the new life may mean for me," he said fervently, "I shall owe +to you." + +A little rush of people came up the gangway, and Elizabeth was speedily +surrounded and carried off. They came across one another several times in +the Custom House, and she waved her hand to him gaily. Philip went +through the usual formalities, superintended the hoisting of his trunks +upon a clumsy motor truck, and was himself driven without question from +the covered shed adjoining the quay. He looked back at the huge side of +the steamer, the floor of the Custom House, about which were still dotted +little crowds of his fellow passengers. It was the disintegration of a +wonderful memory--his farewell.... + + * * * * * + +At the Waldorf he found himself greeted with unexpected cordiality. The +young gentleman to whom he applied, after some hesitation, for a room, +stretched out his hand and welcomed him to America. + +"So you are Mr. Romilly!" he exclaimed. "Well, that's good. We've got +your room--Number 602, on the ninth floor." + +"Ninth floor!" Philip gasped. + +"If you'd like to be higher up we can change you," the young man +continued amiably. "Been several people here enquiring for you. A young +man from the 'Boot and Shoe Trades Reporter' was here only half an hour +ago, and here's a cable. No mail yet." + +He handed the key to a small boy and waved Philip away. The small boy +proved fully equal to his mission. + +"You just step this way, sir," he invited encouragingly. "Those packages +of yours will be all right. You don't need to worry about them." + +He led the way down a corridor streaming with human beings, into a lift +from which it appeared to Philip that he was shot on to the ninth floor, +along a thickly-carpeted way into a good-sized and comfortable bedroom, +with bathroom attached. + +"Your things will be up directly, sir," the small boy promised, holding +out his hand. "I'll see after them myself." + +Philip expressed his gratitude in a satisfactory manner and stood for a +few moments at the window. Although it was practically his first glimpse +of New York, the wonders of the panorama over which he looked failed even +to excite his curiosity. The clanging of the surface cars, the roar and +clatter of the overhead railway, the hooting of streams of automobiles, +all apparently being driven at breakneck speed, alien sounds though they +were, fell upon deaf ears. He could neither listen nor observe. Every +second's delay fretted him. His plans were all made. Everything depended +upon their being carried out now without the slightest hitch. He +walked a dozen times to the door, waiting for his luggage, and when at +last it arrived he was on the point of using the telephone. He feed the +linen-coated porters and dismissed them as rapidly as possible. Then he +ransacked the trunks until he found, amidst a pile of fashionable +clothing, a quiet and inconspicuous suit of dark grey. In the bathroom +he hastily changed his clothes, selected an ordinary Homburg hat, and +filled a small leather case with various papers. He was on the point of +leaving the room when his eyes fell upon the cable. He hesitated for a +moment, gazed at the superscription, shrugged his shoulders, and tore it +open. He moved to the window and read it slowly, word for word: + +"Just seen Henshaw. Most disturbing interview. Tells me you have had +notice to reduce overdraft by February 1st. Absolutely declines any +further advances. Payments coming in insufficient meet wages and current +liabilities. No provision for 4th bills, amounting sixteen thousand +pounds. Have wired London for accountant. Await your instructions +urgently. Suggest you cable back the twenty thousand pounds lying our +credit New York. Please reply. Very worried. Potts." + +Word by word, Philip read the cable twice over. Then it fluttered from +his fingers on to the table. It told its own story beyond any shadow of a +mistake. His cousin's great wealth was a fiction. The business to which +his own fortune and the whole of his grandfather's money had been +devoted, was even now tottering. He remembered the rumours he had heard +of Douglas' extravagance, his establishment in London, the burden of his +college debts. And then a further light flashed in upon him. Twenty +thousand pounds in America!--lying there, too, for Douglas under a false +name! He drew out one of the documents which he had packed and glanced at +it more carefully. Then he replaced it, a little dazed. Douglas had +planned to leave England, then, with this crisis looming over him. Why? +Philip for a moment sat down on the arm of an easy-chair. A grim sense of +humour suddenly parted his lips. He threw back his head and laughed. +Douglas Romilly had actually been coming to America to disappear! It was +incredible but it was true. + +He left the cable carefully open upon the dressing-table, and, picking up +the small leather case, left the room. He reached the lift, happily +escaping the observation of the young lady seated at her desk, and +descended into the hall. Once amongst the crowd of people who thronged +the corridors, he found it perfectly simple to leave the hotel by one of +the side entrances. He walked to the corner of the street and drew a +little breath. Then he lit a cigarette and strolled along Broadway, +curiously light-hearted, his spirits rising at every step. He was free +for ever from that other hateful personality. Mr. Douglas Romilly, of the +Douglas Romilly Shoe Company, had paid his brief visit to America and +passed on. + + + + +BOOK II + + + + +CHAPTER I + +After a fortnight of his new life, Philip took stock of himself and his +belongings. In the first place, then, he owned a new name, taken bodily +from certain documents which he had brought with him from England. +Further, as Mr. Merton Ware, he was the monthly tenant of a small but not +uncomfortable suite of rooms on the top story of a residential hotel in +the purlieus of Broadway. He had also, apparently, been a collector of +newspapers of certain dates, all of which contained some such paragraph +as this: + + DOUGLAS ROMILLY, WEALTHY ENGLISH BOOT + MANUFACTURER, DISAPPEARS FROM THE WALDORF ASTORIA + HOTEL. WALKS OUT OF HIS ROOM WITHIN AN HOUR OF + LANDING AND HAS NOT BEEN HEARD OF SINCE. DOWN TOWN + HAUNTS SEARCHED. FOUL PLAY FEARED. + + SUPERINTENDENT SHIPMAN DECLARES HIMSELF BAFFLED. + + Early on Monday morning, the police of the city + were invited to investigate a case of curious + disappearance. Mr. Douglas Romilly, an English + shoe manufacturer, who travelled out from England + on board the _Elletania_, arrived at the Waldorf + Hotel at four o'clock on Saturday afternoon and + was shown to the reservation made for him. Within + an hour he was enquired for by several callers, + who were shown to his room without result. The + apartment was found to be empty and nothing has + since been seen or heard of Mr. Romilly. The room + assigned to him, which could only have been + occupied for a few minutes, has been locked up and + the keys handed to the police. A considerable + amount of luggage is in their possession, and + certain documents of a somewhat curious character. + From cables received early this afternoon, it + would appear that the Douglas Romilly Shoe + Company, one of the oldest established firms in + England, is in financial difficulties. + +Then there was a paragraph in a paper of later date: + + NO NEWS OF DOUGLAS ROMILLY. + + The police have been unable to discover any trace + of the missing Englishman. From further cables to + hand, it appears that he was in possession of a + considerable sum of money, which must have been on + his person at the time of disappearance, and it is + alleged that there was also a large amount, with + which he had intended to make purchases for his + business, standing to his credit at a New York + bank. Nothing has since been discovered, however, + amongst his belongings, of the slightest financial + value, nor does any bank in New York admit holding + a credit on behalf of the missing man. + +"Perhaps it is time," Philip murmured, "that these were destroyed." + +He tore the newspapers into pieces and threw them into his waste-basket. +On his writing-table were forty or fifty closely written pages of +manuscript. In his pocketbook were sixteen hundred dollars, and a +document indicating a credit for a very much larger amount at the United +Bank of New York, in favor of Merton Ware and another. The remainder +of his belongings were negligible. He stood at the window and looked out +across the city, the city into whose labyrinths he was so eager to +penetrate--the undiscovered country. By day and night its voices were in +his ears, the rattle and roar of the overhead railway, the clanging of +the street cars, the heavy traffic, the fainter but never ceasing +foot-fall of the multitudes. He had sat there before dawn and watched the +queer, pinky-white light steal with ever widening fingers through the +darkness, heard the yawn of the city as it seemed to shiver and tremble +before the battle of the day. At twilight he had watched the lights +spring up one by one, at first like pin pricks in the distance, growing +and widening until the grotesque shapes of the buildings from which they +sprung had faded into nothingness, and there was left only a velvet +curtain of strangely-lit stars. At a giddy distance below he could trace +the blaze of Broadway, the blue lights flashing from the electric wires +as the cable cars rushed back and forth, the red and violet glimmer of +the sky signs. He knew it all so well, by morning, by noon and night; +in rainstorm, storms which he had watched come up from oceanwards in +drifting clouds of vapour; and in sunshine, clear, brilliant sunshine, a +little hard and austere, to his way of thinking, and unseasonable. + +"A week," he muttered. "She said a week. Tonight I will go out." + +He looked at himself in the glass. He wore no longer the well-cut clothes +of Mr. Douglas Romilly's Saville Row tailor, but a ready-made suit of +Schmitt & Mayer's business reach-me-downs, an American felt hat and +square-toed shoes. + +"She said a week," he repeated. "It's a fortnight to-day. I'll go to the +restaurant at the corner. I must find out for myself what all this noise +means, what the city has to say." + +He turned towards the door and then stopped short. For almost the first +time since he had taken up his quarters here, the lift had stopped +outside. There was a brief pause, then his bell rang. For a moment Philip +hesitated. Then he stepped forward and opened the door, looking out +enquiringly at his caller. + +"You Mr. Merton Ware?" + +He admitted the fact briefly. His visitor was a young woman dressed in a +rather shabby black indoor dress, over which she wore an apron. She was +without either hat or gloves. Her fingers were stained with purple +copying ink, and her dark hair was untidily arranged. + +"I live two stories down below," she announced, handing him a little +card. "Miss Martha Grimes--that's my name--typewriter and stenographer, +you see. The waiter who brings our meals told me he thought you were some +way literary, so I just stepped up to show you my prospectus. If you've +any typewriting you want doing, I'm on the spot, and I don't know as +you'd get it done much cheaper anywhere else--or better." + +There was nothing particularly ingratiating about Miss Martha Grimes, +but, with the exception of a coloured waiter, she happened to be the +first human being with whom Philip had exchanged a word for several days. +He felt disinclined to hurry her away. + +"Come in," he invited, holding the door open. "So you do typing, eh? What +sort of a machine do you use?" + +"Remington," she answered. "It's a bit knocked about--a few of the +letters, I mean--but I've got some violet ink and I can make a manuscript +look all right. Half a dollar a thousand words, and a quarter for carbon +copies. Of course, if you'd got a lot of stuff," she went on, her eyes +lighting hopefully upon the little collection of manuscript upon his +table, "I might quote you a trifle less." + +He picked up some of his sheets and glanced at them. + +"Sooner or later," he admitted, "I shall have to have this typed. It +isn't quite ready yet, though." + +He was struck by the curious little light of anticipation which somehow +changed her face, and which passed away at his last words. Under pretence +of gathering together some of those loose pages, he examined her more +closely and realised that he had done her at first scant justice. She was +very thin, and the expression of her face was spoilt by the discontented +curve of her lips. The shape of her head, however, was good. Her dark +hair, notwithstanding its temporary disarrangement, was of beautiful +quality, and her eyes, though dull and spiritless-looking, were large and +full of subtle promise. He replaced the sheets of manuscript. + +"Sit down for a moment," he begged. + +"I'd rather stand," she replied. + +"Just as you please," he assented, smiling. "I was just wondering what to +do about this stuff." + +She hesitated for a moment, then a little sulkily she seated herself. + +"I suppose you think I'm a pretty forward young person to come up here +and beg for work. I don't care if you do," she went on, swinging her foot +back and forth. "One has to live." + +"I am very pleased that you came," he assured her. "It will be a great +convenience to me to have my typing done on the premises, and although I +am afraid there won't be much of it, you shall certainly do what there +is." + +"Story writer?" she enquired. + +"I am only a beginner," he told her. "This work I am going to give you is +a play." + +She looked at him with a shade of commiseration in her face. + +"Sickening job, ain't it, writing for the stage unless you've got some +sort of pull?" + +"This is my first effort," he explained. + +"Well, it's none of my business," she said gloomily. "All I want is the +typing of it, only you should see some of the truck I've had! I've hated +to send in the bill. Waste of good time and paper! I don't suppose yours +is like that, but there ain't much written that's any good, anyway." + +"You're a hopeful young person, aren't you?" he remarked, taking a +cigarette from the mantelpiece and lighting it. "Have one?" + +"No, thank _you_!" she replied, rising briskly to her feet. "I'm not that +sort that sits about and smokes cigarettes with strange young men. If +you'll let me know when that work's going to be ready, I'll send the +janitor up for it." + +He smiled deprecatingly. + +"You're not afraid of me, by any chance, are you?" he asked. + +Her eyes glowed with contempt as she looked him up and down. + +"Afraid of you, sir!" she repeated. "I should say not! I've met all sorts +of men and I know something about them." + +"Then sit down again, please," he begged. + +She hesitated for a moment, then subsided once more unwillingly into the +chair. + +"Don't know as I want to stay up here gossiping," she remarked. "You'd +much better be getting on with your work. Give me one of those +cigarettes, anyway," she added abruptly. + +"Do you live in the building?" he enquired, as he obeyed her behest. + +"Two flats below with pop," she replied. "He's a bad actor, very seldom +in work, and he drinks. There are just the two of us. Now you know as +much as is good for you. You're English, ain't you?" + +"I am," Philip admitted. + +"Just out, too, by the way you talk." + +"I have been living in Jamaica," he told her, "for many years--clerk in +an office there." + +"Better have stayed where you were, I should think, if you've come here +hoping to make a living by that sort of stuff." + +"Perhaps you're right," he agreed, "but you see I am here--been here a +week or two, in fact." + +"Done much visiting around?" she enquired. + +"I've scarcely been out," he confessed. "You see, I don't know the city +except from my windows. It's wonderful from here after twilight." + +"Think so," she replied dully. "It's a hard, hammering, brazen sort of +place when you're living in it from hand to mouth. Not but what we don't +get along all right," she added, a little defiantly. "I'm not grumbling." + +"I am sure you're not," he assented soothingly. "Tell me--to-night I am a +little tired of work. I thought of going out. Be a Good Samaritan and +tell me where to find a restaurant in Broadway, somewhere where crowds +of people go but not what they call a fashionable place. I want to get +some dinner--I haven't had anything decent to eat for I don't know how +long--and I want to breathe the same atmosphere as other people." + +She looked at him a little enviously. + +"How much do you want to spend?" she asked bluntly. + +"I don't know that that really matters very much. I have some money. +Things are more expensive over here, aren't they?" + +"I should go to the New Martin House," she advised him, "right at the +corner of this block. It's real swell, and they say the food's +wonderful." + +"I could go as I am, I suppose?" he asked, glancing down at his clothes. + +She stared at him wonderingly. + +"Say, where did you come from?" she exclaimed. "You ain't supposed to +dress yourself out in glad clothes for a Broadway restaurant, not even +the best of them." + +"Have you been to this place yourself?" he enquired. + +"Nope!" + +"Come with me," he invited suddenly. + +She arose at once to her feet and threw the remains of her cigarette into +the grate. + +"Say, Mr. Ware," she pronounced, "I ain't that sort, and the sooner you +know it the better, especially if I'm going to do your work. I'll be +going." + +"Look here," he remonstrated earnestly, "you don't seem to understand me +altogether. What do you mean by saying you're not that sort?" + +"You know well enough," she answered defiantly. "I guess you're not +proposing to give me a supper out of charity, are you?" + +"I am asking you to accompany me," he declared, "because I haven't spoken +to a human being for a week, because I don't know a soul in New York, +because I've got enough money to pay for two dinners, and because I am +fiendishly lonely." + +She looked at him and it was obvious that she was more than half +convinced. Her brightening expression transformed her face. She was still +hesitating, but her inclinations were apparent. + +"Say, you mean that straight?" she asked. "You won't turn around +afterwards and expect a lot of soft sawder because you've bought me a +meal?" + +"Don't be a silly little fool," he answered good-humouredly. "All I want +from you is to sit by my side and talk, and tell me what to order." + +Her face suddenly fell. + +"No good," she sighed. "Haven't got any clothes." + +"If I am going like this," he expostulated, "why can't you go as you are? +Take your apron off. You'll be all right." + +"There's my black hat with the ribbon," she reminded herself. "It's no +style, and Stella said yesterday she wouldn't be seen in a dime show in +it." + +"Never you mind about Stella," he insisted confidently. "You clap it on +your head and come along." + +She swung towards the door. + +"Meet you in the hall in ten minutes," she promised. "Can't be any +quicker. This is your trouble, you know. I didn't invite myself." + +Philip opened the door, a civility which seemed to somewhat embarrass +her. + +"I shall be waiting for you," he declared cheerfully. + + + +CHAPTER II + +Philip stepped into his own little bedroom and made scanty preparations +for this, his first excursion. Then he made his way down into the shabby +hall and was seated there on the worn settee when his guest descended. +She was wearing a hat which, so far as he could judge, was almost +becoming. Her gloves, notwithstanding their many signs of mending, were +neat, her shoes carefully polished, and although her dress was undeniably +shabby, there was something in her carriage which pleased him. Her +eyes were fixed upon his from the moment she stepped from the lift. She +was watching for his expression half defiantly, half anxiously. + +"Well, you see what I look like," she remarked brusquely. "You can back +out of it, if you want to." + +"Don't be silly," he replied. "You look quite all right. I'm not much of +a beau myself, you know. I bought this suit over the counter the other +day, without being measured for it or anything." + +"Guess you ain't used to ready-made clothes," she observed, as they +stepped outside. + +"You see, in England--and the Colonies," he added hastily, "things aren't +so expensive as here. What a wonderful city this is of yours, Martha!" + +"Miss Grimes, please," she corrected him. + +"I beg your pardon," he apologised. + +"That's just what I was afraid of," she went on querulously. "You're +beginning already. You think because you're giving me a meal, you can +take all sorts of liberties. Calling me by my Christian name, indeed!" + +"It was entirely a slip," he assured her. "Tell me what theatre that is +across the way?" + +She answered his question and volunteered other pieces of information. +Philip gazed about him, as they walked along Broadway, with the eager +curiosity of a provincial sightseer. She laughed at him a little +scornfully. + +"You'll get used to all the life and bustle presently," she told him. "It +won't seem so wonderful to you when you walk along here without a dollar +to bless yourself with, and your silly plays come tumbling back. Now this +is the Martin House. My! Looks good inside, don't it?" + +They crossed the threshold, Philip handed his hat to the attendant and +they stood, a little undecided, at the top of the brilliantly-lit room. A +condescending maitre d'hotel showed them to a retired table in a distant +corner, and another waiter handed them a menu. + +"You know, half of this is unintelligible to me," Philip confessed. +"You'll have to do the ordering--that was our bargain, you know." + +"You must tell me how much you want to spend, then?" she insisted. + +"I will not," he answered firmly. "What I want is a good dinner, and for +this once in my life I don't care what it costs. I've a few hundred +dollars in my pocket, so you needn't be afraid I shan't be able to pay +the bill. You just order the things you like, and a bottle of claret or +anything else you prefer." + +She turned to the waiter, and, carefully studying the prices, she gave +him an order. + +"One portion for two, remember, of the fish and the salad," she enjoined. +"Two portions of the chicken, if you think one won't be enough." + +She leaned back in her place. + +"It's going to cost you, when you've paid for the claret, a matter of +four dollars and fifty cents, this dinner," she said, "and I guess you'll +have to give the waiter a quarter. Are you scared?" + +He laughed at her once more. + +"Not a bit!" + +She looked at his long, delicate fingers--studied him for a moment. +Notwithstanding his clothes, there was an air of breeding about him, +unconcealable, a thing apart, even, from his good looks. + +"Clerk, were you?" she remarked. "Seems to me you're used to spending two +dollars on a meal all right. I'm not!" + +"Neither am I," he assured her. "One doesn't have much opportunity of +spending money in--Jamaica." + +"You seem kind of used to it, somehow," she persisted. "Have you come +into money, then?" + +"I've saved a little," he explained, with a rather grim smile, "and +I've--well, shall we say come into some?" + +"Stolen it, maybe," she observed indifferently. + +"Should you be horrified if I told that I had?" + +"I don't know," she answered. "I'm one of those who's lived honest, and I +sometimes wonder whether it pays." + +"It's a great problem," he sighed. + +"It is that," she admitted gloomily. "I've got a friend--she used to live +in our place, just below me--Stella Kimbell, her name is. She and I +learnt our typewriting together and started in the same office. We stood +it, somehow, for three years, sometimes office work, sometimes at home. +We didn't have much luck. It was always better for me than for Stella, +because she was good-looking, and I'm not." + +"I shouldn't say that," he remonstrated. "You've got beautiful eyes, you +know." + +"You stop it!" she warned him firmly. "My eyes are my own, and I'll +trouble you not to make remarks about them." + +"Sorry," Philip murmured, duly crushed. + +"The men were after her all the time," the girl continued, reminiscently. +"Last place we were at, a dry goods store not far from here, the heads of +the departments used to make her life fairly miserable. She held out, +though, but what with fines, and one thing or another, they forced her to +leave. So I did the same. We drifted apart then for a while. She got a +job at an automobile place, and I was working at home. I remember the +night she came to me--I was all alone. Pop had got a three-line part +somewhere and was bragging about it at all the bars in Broadway. Stella +came in quite suddenly and almost out of breath. + +"'Kid,' she said, 'I'm through with it.' + +"'What do you mean?' I asked her. + +"Then she threw herself down on the sofa and she sobbed--I never heard a +girl cry like that in all my life. She shrieked, she was pretty nearly in +hysterics, and I couldn't get a word out of her. When she was through at +last, she was all limp and white. She wouldn't tell me anything. She +simply sat and looked at the stove. Presently she got up to go. I put my +hands on her shoulders and I forced her back in the chair. + +"'You've got to tell me all about it, Stella,' I insisted. + +"And then of course I heard the whole story. She'd got fired again. These +men are devils!" + +"Don't tell me more about it unless you like," he begged sympathetically. +"Where is she now?" + +"In the chorus of 'Three Frivolous Maids.' She comes in here regularly." + +"Sorry for herself?" + +"Not she! Last time I saw her she told me she wouldn't go back into an +office, or take on typewriting again, for anything in the world. She was +looking prettier than ever, too. There's a swell chap almost crazy about +her. Shouldn't wonder if she hasn't got an automobile." + +"Well, she answers our question one way, then," he remarked thoughtfully. +"Tell me, Miss Grimes, is everything to eat in America as good as this +fish?" + +"Some cooking here," she observed, looking rather regretfully at her +empty plate. "I told you things were all right. There's grilled +chicken--Maryland chicken--coming, and green corn." + +"Have I got to eat the corn like that man opposite?" he asked anxiously. + +"You can eat it how you like," she answered. + +"Watch me, if you want to. I don't care. I ain't tasted green corn since +I can remember, and I'm going to enjoy it." + +"You don't like your claret, I'm afraid," he remarked. + +She sipped it and set down the glass a little disparagingly. + +"If you want to know what I would like," she said, "it's just a Martini +cocktail. We don't drink wines over here as much as you folk, I guess." + +He ordered the cocktails at once. Every now and then he watched her. She +ate delicately but with a healthy and unashamed appetite. A little colour +came into her cheeks as the room grew warmer, her lower lip became less +uncompromising. Suddenly she laid down her knife and fork. Her eyes were +agleam with interest. She pulled at his sleeve. + +"Say, that's Stella!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Look, she's coming this +way! Don't she look stunning!" + +A girl, undeniably pretty, with dark, red-gold hair, wearing a long +ermine coat and followed by a fashionably dressed young man, was making +her way up the room. She suddenly recognised Philip's companion and came +towards her with outstretched hand. + +"If it isn't Martha!" she cried. "Isn't this great! Felix, this is Miss +Grimes--Martha Grimes, you know," she added, calling to the young man who +was accompanying her. "You must remember--why, what's the matter with +you, Felix?" + +She broke off in her speech. Her companion was staring at Philip, who was +returning his scrutiny with an air of mild interrogation. + +"Say," the young man enquired, "didn't I meet you on the _Elletania_? +Aren't you Mr. Douglas Romilly?" + +Philip shook his head. + +"My name is Ware," he pronounced, "Merton Ware. I have certainly never +been on the _Elletania_ and I don't remember having met you before." + +The young man whose name was Felix appeared almost stupefied. + +"Gee whiz!" he muttered. "Excuse me, sir, but I never saw such a likeness +before--never!" + +"Well, shake hands with Miss Grimes quickly and come along," Stella +enjoined. "Remember I only have half an hour for dinner now. You coming +to see the show, Martha?" + +"Not to-night," that young woman declared firmly. + +The two passed on after a few more moments of amiable but, on the part of +the young man, somewhat dazed conversation. Philip had resumed the +consumption of his chicken. He raised an over-filled glass to his lips +steadily and drank it without spilling a drop. + +"Mistook me for some one," he remarked coolly. + +She nodded. + +"Man who disappeared from the Waldorf Astoria. They made quite a fuss +about him in the newspapers. I shouldn't have said you were the least +like him--to judge by his pictures, anyway." + +Philip shrugged his shoulders. He seemed very little interested. + +"I don't often read the newspapers.... So that is Stella." + +"That is Stella," she assented, a little defiantly. "And if I were she--I +mean if I were as good-looking as she is--I'd be in her place." + +"I wonder whether you would?" he observed thoughtfully. + +"Oh! don't bother me with your problems," she replied. "Does it run to +coffee?" + +"Of course it does," he agreed, "and a liqueur, if you like." + +"If you mean a cordial, I'll have some of that green stuff," she decided. +"Don't know when I shall get another dinner like this again." + +"Well, that rests with you," he assured her. "I am very lonely just now. +Later on it will be different. We'll come again next week, if you like." + +"Better see how you feel about it when the time comes," she answered +practically. "Besides, I'm not sure they'd let me in here again. Did you +see Stella's coat? Fancy feeling fur like that up against your chin! +Fancy--" + +She broke off and sipped her coffee broodingly. + +"Those things are immaterial in themselves," he reminded her. "It's just +a question how much happiness they have brought her, whether the thing +pays or not." + +"Of course it pays!" she declared, almost passionately. "You've never +seen my rooms or my drunken father. I can tell you what they're like, +though. They're ugly, they're tawdry, they're untidy, when I've any work +to do, they're scarcely clean. Our meals are thrown at us--we're always +behind with the rent. There isn't anything to look at or listen to that +isn't ugly. You haven't known what it is to feel the grim pang of a +constant hideousness crawling into your senses, stupefying you almost +with a sort of misery--oh, I can't describe it!" + +"I have felt all those things," he said quietly. + +"What did you do?" she demanded. "No, perhaps you had luck. Perhaps it's +not fair to ask you that. It wouldn't apply. What should you do if you +were me, if you had the chance to get out of it all the way that she +has?" + +"I am not a woman," he reminded her simply. "If I answer you as an +outsider, a passer-by--mind, though, one who thinks about men and +women--I should say try one of her lesser sins, one of the sins that +leaves you clean. Steal, for instance." + +"And go to prison!" she protested angrily. "How much better off would you +be there, I wonder, and what about when you came out? Pooh! Pay your bill +and let's get out of this." + +He obeyed, and they made their way into the crowded street. He paused for +a moment on the pavement. The pleasure swirl was creeping a little into +his veins. + +"Would you like to go to a theatre?" he asked. + +She shook her head. + +"You do as you like. I'm going home. You needn't bother about coming with +me, either." + +"Don't be foolish," he protested. "I only mentioned a theatre for your +sake. Come along." + +They walked down Broadway and turned into their own street. They entered +the tenement building together and stepped into the lift. She held out +her hand a little abruptly. + +"Good night!" + +"Good night!" he answered. "You get out first, don't you? I'll polish +that stuff up to-night, the first part of it, so that you can get on with +the typing." + +Some half-developed fear which had been troubling her during the walk +home, seemed to have passed. Her face cleared. + +"Don't think I am ungrateful," she begged, as the lift stopped. "I +haven't had a good time like this for many months. Thank you, Mr. Ware, +and good night!" + +She stepped through the iron gates on to her own floor, and Philip swung +up to his rooms. Somehow, he entered almost light-heartedly. The roar of +the city below was no longer provocative. He felt as though he had +stretched out a hand towards it, as though he were in the way of becoming +one of its children. + + + +CHAPTER III + +A few nights later Philip awoke suddenly to find himself in a cold sweat, +face to face with all the horrors of an excited imagination. Once more he +felt his hand greedy for the soft flesh of the man he hated, tearing its +way through the stiff collar, felt the demoniacal strength shooting down +his arm, the fever at his finger tips. He saw the terrified face of his +victim, a strong man but impotent in his grasp; heard the splash of the +turgid waters; saw himself, his lust for vengeance unsatisfied, peering +downwards through the dim and murky gloom. It was not only a physical +nightmare which seized him. His brain, too, was his accuser. He saw with +a hideous clarity that even the excuse of motive was denied him. It was a +sense of personal loss which had driven him out on to that canal path, a +murderer at heart. It was something of which he had been robbed, an acute +and burning desire for vengeance, personal, entirely egotistical. It was +not the wrong to the woman which he resented, had there been any wrong. +It was the agony of his own personal misery. He rose from his bed and +stamped up and down his little chamber in a fear which was almost +hysterical. He threw wide open the windows, heedless of a driving +snowstorm. The subdued murmur of the city, with its paling lights, +brought him no relief. He longed frantically for some one who knew the +truth, for Elizabeth before any one, with her soft, cool touch, her +gentle, protective sympathy. He was a fool to think he could live alone +like this, with such a burden to bear! Perhaps it would not be for long. +The risks were many. At any moment he might hear the lift stop, steps +across the corridor, the ring at his bell, the plainly-clad, businesslike +man outside, with his formal questions, his grim civility. He fumbled +about in his little dressing-case until he came to a small box containing +several white pills. He gripped them in his hand and looked around, +listening. No, it was fancy! There was still no sound in the building. +When at last he went back to bed, however, the little box was tightly +clenched in his hands. + +In the morning he went through his usual programme. He arose soon after +eight, lighted his little spirit lamp, made his coffee, cut some bread +and butter, and breakfasted. Then he lit a cigarette and sat down at his +desk. His imagination, however, seemed to have burnt itself out in the +night. Ideas and phrases were denied to him. He was thankful, about +eleven o'clock, to hear a ring at the bell and find Martha Grimes outside +with a little parcel under her arm. She was wearing the same shabby black +dress and her fingers were stained with copying ink. Her almost too +luxuriant hair was ill-arranged and untidy. Even her eyes seemed to have +lost their lustre. + +"I've finished," she announced, handing him the parcel. "Better look and +see whether it's all right. I can't do it up properly till I've had the +whole." + +He cut the string and looked at a few of the sheets. The typing was +perfect. He began to express his approval but she interrupted him. + +"It's better stuff than I expected," she declared grudgingly. "I thought +you were only one of these miserable amateurs. Where did you learn to +write like that?" + +Somehow, her praise was like a tonic. + +"Do you like it?" he asked eagerly. + +"Oh! my likes or dislikes don't matter," she replied. "It's good stuff. +You'll find the account in there. If you'd like to pay me, I'd like to +have the money." + +He glanced at the neat little bill and took out his pocketbook. + +"Sit down for a minute," he begged. "I'm stuck this morning--can't write +a line. Take my easy-chair and smoke a cigarette--I have nothing else +to offer you." + +For a moment she seemed about to refuse. Then she flung herself into his +easy-chair, took a cigarette, and, holding it between her lips, almost +scarlet against the pallor of her cheeks, stretched upwards towards the +match which he was holding. + +"Stella and her boy were over to see me last night," she announced, a +little abruptly. + +"The young lady with the ermines," he murmured. + +"And her boy, Felix Martin. It was through him they came--I could see +that all right. He was trying all the time to pump me about you." + +"About me?" + +"Oh! you needn't trouble to look surprised," she remarked. "I guess you +remember the bee he had in his bonnet that night." + +"Mistook me for some one, didn't he?" Philip murmured. + +She nodded. + +"Kind of queer you don't read our newspapers! It was a guy named +Romilly--Douglas Romilly--who disappeared from the Waldorf Hotel. Strange +thing about it," she went on, "is that I saw photographs of him in the +newspapers, and I can't recognise even a likeness." + +"This Mr. Felix Martin doesn't agree with you, apparently," Philip +observed. + +"He don't go by the photographs," Martha Grimes explained. "He believes +that he crossed from Liverpool with this Mr. Douglas Romilly, and that +you," she continued, crossing her legs and smoothing down her skirt to +hide her shabby shoes, "are so much like him that he came down last night +to see if there was anything else he could find out from me before he +paid a visit to police headquarters." + +There was a moment's silence. Philip was apparently groping for a match, +and the girl was keeping her head studiously turned away from him. + +"What business is it of his?" + +"There was a reward offered. Don't know as that would make much +difference to Felix Martin, though. According to Stella's account, he is +pretty well a millionaire already." + +"It would be more useful to you, wouldn't it?" Philip remarked. + +"Five hundred dollars!" Martha sighed. "Don't seem to me just now that +there's much in the world you couldn't buy with five hundred dollars." + +"Well, what did you tell Mr. Felix Martin?" + +"Oh, I lied, sure! He'd found out the date you came into your rooms +here--the day this man Romilly disappeared--but I told him that I'd known +you and done work for you before then--long enough before the _Elletania_ +ever reached New York. That kind of stumped him." + +"Why did you do that?" Philip demanded. + +"Dunno," the girl replied, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Just a fancy. +I guessed you wouldn't want him poking around." + +"But supposing I had been Douglas Romilly, you might at least have +divided the reward," he reminded her. + +"There's money and money," Martha declared. "We spoke of that the other +day. Stella's got money--now. Well, she's welcome. My time will come, I +suppose, but if I can't have clean money, I haven't made up my mind yet +whether I wouldn't rather try the Hudson on a foggy morning." + +"Well, I am not Douglas Romilly, anyway," Philip announced. + +She looked up at him almost for the first time since her entrance. + +"I kind of thought you were," she admitted. "I might have saved my lies, +then." + +He shook his head. + +"You have probably saved me from more than you know of," he replied. "I +am not Douglas Romilly, but--" + +"You're not Merton Ware, either," she interrupted. + +"Quite right," he agreed. "I started life as Philip Merton Ware the day I +took these rooms, and if the time should come," he went on, "that any one +seriously set about the task of finding out exactly who I was before I +was Merton Ware, you and I might as well take that little journey--was it +to the Hudson, you said, on a foggy morning?--together." + +They sat in complete silence for several moments, Then she threw the end +of her cigarette into the fire. + +"Well, I'm glad I didn't lie for nothing," she declared. "I didn't quite +tumble to the Douglas Romilly stunt, though. They say he has left his +business bankrupt in England and brought a fortune out here. You don't +look as though you were overdone with it." + +"I certainly haven't the fortune that Douglas Romilly is supposed to have +got away with," he said quietly. "I have enough money for my present +needs, though--enough, by-the-by, to pay you for this typing," he added, +counting out the money upon the table. + +"Any more stuff ready?" + +"With luck there'll be some this afternoon," he promised her. "I had a +bad night last night, but I think I'll be able to work later in the day." + +She looked at him curiously, at his face, absolutely devoid of colour, +his eyes, restless and overbright, his long, twitching fingers. + +"Bad conscience or drugs?" she asked. + +"Bad conscience," he acknowledged. "I've been where you have been--Miss +Grimes. I looked over the edge and I jumped. I'd stay where you are, if +I were you." + +"Maybe I shall, maybe I shan't," she replied doggedly. "Stella wants to +bring a boy around to see me. 'You bring him,' I said. 'I'll talk to +him.' Then she got a little confused. Stella's kind, in her way. She came +back after Mr. Martin had gone down the passage. 'See here, kid,' she +said, 'you know as well as I do I can't bring any one round to see you +while you are sitting around in those rags. Let me lend you--' Well, I +stopped her short at that. 'My own plumes or none at all,' I told +her, 'and I'd just as soon he didn't come, anyway.'" + +"You're a queer girl," Philip exclaimed. "Where's your father to-day?" + +"Usual place," she answered,--"in bed. He never gets up till five." + +"Let me order lunch up here for both of us, from the restaurant," he +suggested. + +She shook her head. + +"No, thanks!" + +"Why not?" he persisted. + +"I'm going round to the office to see if I can get any extra work." + +"But you've got to lunch some time," he persisted. + +She laughed a little hardly. + +"Have I? We girls haven't got to eat like you men. I'll call up towards +the evening and see if you've anything ready for me." + +She was gone before he could stop her. He turned back to his desk and +seated himself. The sight of his last finished sentence presented itself +suddenly in a new light. There was a suggestiveness about it which was +almost poignant. He took up his pen and began to write rapidly. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +It was a few minutes after six that evening when Philip was conscious of +a knock at his door. He swung around in his chair, blinking a little. + +"Come in!" + +Martha Grimes entered. She was in outdoor apparel, that is to say she +wore her hat and a long mackintosh. She remained standing upon the +threshold. + +"Just looked up to see if you've got any more work ready," she explained. + +He sprang to his feet and stood there, for a moment, unsteadily. + +"Come in and shut the door," he ordered. "Look! Look!" he added, pointing +to his table. "Thirty-three sheets! I've been working all the time. I've +been living, I tell you, living God knows where!--not in this accursed +little world. Here, let's pick up the sheets. There's enough work for +you." + +She looked at him curiously. + +"Have you been in that chair ever since?" she asked. + +"Ever since," he assented enthusiastically. + +"Any lunch?" + +"Not a scrap. Never thought about it." + +"You'll make yourself sick, that's what you'll do," she declared. "Go out +and get something at once." + +"Never even thought about lunch," he repeated, half to himself. "Where +have you been?" + +"Some luck," she replied. "First place I dropped in at. Found there was a +girl gone home for the day, fainted. Lots of work to do, so they just +stuck me down in her chair. Three dollars they gave me. The girl's coming +back to-morrow, though, worse luck." + +"When did you have your lunch?" + +"Haven't had any. I'm going to make myself a cup of tea now." + +He reached for his hat. + +"Not on your life" he exclaimed. "Come along, Miss Martha Grimes. I +have written lines--you just wait till you type them! I tell you it's +what I have had at the back of my head for months. It's there now on +paper--living, flaring words. Come along." + +"Where to?" + +"We are going to eat," he insisted. "I am faint, and so are you. We are +going to that same place, and we'll have lunch and dinner in one." + +"Nothing doing," she snapped. "You'll see some more people who recognise +you." + +He waved his hand contemptuously. + +"Who cares! If you don't come along with me, I'll go up town to the +Waldorf or the Ritz Carlton. I'll waste my money and advertise myself. +Come along--that same little quiet corner. I don't suppose your friends +will be there again." + +"Stella won't," she admitted doubtfully. "She's going to Sherry's. I'd +just as soon be out," she went on ruminatingly. "Shouldn't be surprised +if she didn't bring that guy in, after all." + +He had already rung the bell of the lift. + +"Look at me!" she exclaimed ironically. "Nice sort of an object I am to +take out! Got a raincoat on--though it's dry enough--because my coat's +gone at the seams." + +"If you don't stop talking like that," he declared, "I'll march into one +of those great stores and order everything a woman wants to wear. Look at +me. Did you ever see such clothes!" + +"A man's different," she protested. "Besides, you've got a way with you +of looking as though you could wear better clothes if you wanted +to--something superior. I don't like it. I should like you better if you +were common." + +"You're going to like me better," he assured her, "because we are going +to have a cocktail together within the next three minutes. Look at +you--pale as you can stick. I bet you haven't had a mouthful of food all +day. Neither have I, except a slice of bread and butter with my tea this +morning. We're a nice sort of couple to talk about clothes. What we want +is food." + +She swayed for a moment and pretended that she tripped. He caught her arm +and steadied her. She jerked it from him. + +"Have your own way," she yielded. + +They reached the corner of the street, plunged into the surging crowds of +Broadway, passed into the huge restaurant, were once more pounced upon +by a businesslike but slightly patronizing maitre d'hotel, and escorted +to a remote table in a sort of annex of the room. Philip pushed the menu +away. + +"Two cocktails--the quickest you ever mixed in your life," he ordered. +"Quicker than that, mind." + +The man was back again almost at once with two frosted glasses upon a +tray. They laughed together almost like children as they set them down +empty. + +"I know what I want, and you, too, by the look of you," he continued--"a +beefsteak, with some more of that green corn you gave me the other day, +and fried potatoes, and Burgundy. We'll have some oysters first while we +wait." + +She sighed. + +"I don't mean to come here with you again," she said, a little +impatiently. "I don't know why I give in to you. You're not strong, you +know. You are a weak man. Women will always look after you; they'll +always help you in trouble--I suppose they'll always care for you. Can't +think why I do what you want me to. Guess I was near starving." + +He laughed. + +"You don't know much about me yet," he reminded her. + +"You don't know much about yourself," she retorted glibly. "Why, +according to your own confession, you only started life a few weeks ago. +I fancy what went before didn't count for much. You've been fretted and +tied up somewhere. You haven't had the chance of getting big like so many +of our American men. What are you going to do with this play of yours?" + +"Miss Elizabeth Dalstan has promised to produce it," he told her. + +She looked at him in some surprise. + +"Elizabeth Dalstan?" she repeated. "Why, she's one of our best +actresses." + +"I understood so," he replied. "She has heard the story--in fact I wrote +out one of the scenes with her. She is going to produce it as soon as +it's finished." + +"Well, all you poor idiots who write things have some fine tale to tell +their typewriter," she remarked. "You seem as though you mean it, though. +Where did you meet Elizabeth Dalstan?" + +"I came over with her on the _Elletania_," he answered thoughtlessly. + +She gave a little start. Then she turned upon him almost in anger. + +"Well, of all the simpletons!" she exclaimed. "So that's the way you give +yourself away, is it? Just here from Jamaica, eh! Nothing to do with +Douglas Romilly! Never heard of the _Elletania_, did you! I'd like to see +you on the grid at police headquarters for five minutes, with one of our +men asking you a few friendly questions! You'd look well, you would! You +ought to go about with a nurse!" + +Philip had all the appearance of a guilty child. + +"You see," he explained penitently, "I am new to this sort of thing. +However, you know now." + +"Still ready to swear that you're not Douglas Romilly, I suppose?" + +"On my honour I am not," he replied. + +"Kind of funny that you should have been on the steamer, after all," she +jeered. + +"Perhaps so, but I am not Douglas Romilly," he persisted. + +She was silent for a moment, then she shrugged her shoulders. + +"What do I care who your are?" she said. "Here, help me off with this +raincoat, please. It's warm in here, thank goodness!" + +He looked at her as she sat by his side in her plain black dress, and was +impressed for the first time with a certain unsuspected grace of outline, +which made him for the moment oblivious of the shabbiness of her gown. + +"You have rather a nice figure," he told her with a sudden impulse of +ingenuousness. + +She turned upon him almost furiously. Something in his expression, +however, seemed to disarm her. She closed her lips again. + +"You are nothing but a child!" she declared. "You don't mean anything. +I'd be a fool to be angry with you." + +The waiter brought their steak. Philip was conscious of something in his +companion's eyes which almost horrified him. It was just that gleam of +hungry desire which has starvation for its background. + +"Don't let's talk," he pleaded. "There isn't any conversation in the +world as good as this." + +The waiter served them and withdrew, casting a curious glance behind. +They were, from his point of view, a strange couple, for, cosmopolitan +though the restaurant was, money was plentiful in the neighbourhood, and +clients as shabby as these two seldom presented themselves. He pointed +them out to a maitre d'hotel, who in his turn whispered a few words +concerning them to a dark, lantern-jawed man, with keen eyes and a hard +mouth, who was dining by himself. The latter glanced at them and +nodded. + +"Thank you, Charles," he said, "I've had my eye on them. The girl's a +pauper, daughter of that old fool Grimes, the actor. Does a little +typewriting--precious little, I should think, from the look of her. The +man's interesting. Don't talk about them. Understand?" + +The maitre d'hotel bowed. + +"I understand, Inspector. Not much any one can tell you, sir." + +"Pays his bill in American money, I suppose?" the diner asked. + +"I'll ascertain for you, Mr. Dane," Charles replied. "I believe he is an +Englishman." + +"Name of Merton Ware," the inspector agreed, nodding, "just arrived from +Jamaica. Writes some sort of stuff which the girl with him typewrites. +That's his story. He's probably as harmless as a baby." + +Charles bowed and moved away. His smile was inscrutable. + + + +CHAPTER V + +New York became a changed city to Philip. Its roar and its turmoil, its +babel of tongues speaking to him always in some alien language, were +suddenly hushed! He was no longer conscious of the hard unconcern of a +million faces, of the crude buildings in the streets, the cutting winds, +the curious, depressing sense of being on a desert island, the hermit +clutching at the sleeves of imaginary multitudes. A few minutes' journey +in a cable car which seemed to crawl, a few minutes' swift walking along +the broad thoroughfare of Fifth Avenue, where his feet seemed to fall +upon the air and the passersby seemed to smile upon him like real human +beings, and he was in her room. It was only an hotel sitting room, after +all, but eloquent of her, a sitting room filled with great bowls of +roses, with comfortable easy-chairs, furniture of rose-coloured satin, +white walls, and an English fire upon the grate. Elizabeth was in New +York, and the world moved differently. + +She came out to him from an inner room almost at once. His eyes swept +over her feverishly. He almost held his breath. Then he gave a great sigh +of satisfaction. She came with her hands outstretched, a welcoming smile +upon her lips. She was just as he had expected to find her. There was +nothing in her manner to indicate that they had not parted yesterday. + +"Welcome to New York, my dramatist!" she exclaimed. "I am here, you see, +to the day, almost to the hour." + +He stood there, holding her hands. His eyes seemed to be devouring her. + +"Go on talking to me," he begged. "Let me hear you speak. You can't +think--you can't imagine how often in the middle of the night, I have +waked up and thought of you, and the cold shivers have come because, +after all, I fancied that you must be a dream, that you didn't really +exist, that that voyage had never existed. Go on talking." + +"You foolish person!" she laughed, patting his hands affectionately. "But +then, of course, you are a little overwrought. I am very real, I can +assure you. I have been in Chicago, playing, but there hasn't been a +night when I haven't thought of the times when we used to talk together +in the darkness, when you let me into your life, and I made up my mind to +try and help you. Foolish person! Sit down in that great easy-chair and +draw it up to the fire." + +He sank into it with a little sigh of content. She threw herself on to +the couch opposite to him. Her hands drooped down a little wearily on +either side, her head was thrown back. Against the background of +rose-silk cushions, her cheeks seemed unexpectedly pale. + +"I am tired with travelling," she murmured, "and I hate Chicago, and I +have worried about you. Day by day I have read the papers. Everything has +gone well?" + +"So far as I know," he answered. "I did exactly as we planned--or rather +as you planned. The papers have been full of the disappearance of +Douglas Romilly. You read how wonderfully it has all turned out? Fate has +provided him with a real reason for disappearing. It seems that the +business was bankrupt." + +"You mustn't forget, though," she reminded him, "that that also supplies +a considerable motive for tracking him down. He is supposed to have at +least twenty thousand pounds with him." + +"I have all the papers," he went on. "They prove that he knew the state +the business was in. They prove that he really intended to disappear in +New York. The money stands to the credit of Merton Ware--and another at a +bank with which his firm apparently had had no connections, a small bank +in Wall Street." + +"So that," she remarked, "is where you get your pseudonym from?" + +"It makes the identification so easy," he pointed out, "and no one knew +of it except he. I could easily get a witness presently to prove that I +am Merton Ware." + +"You haven't drawn the money yet, then?" + +"I haven't been near the bank," he replied. "I still have over a thousand +dollars--money he had with him. Sometimes I think that if I could I'd +like to leave that twenty thousand pounds where it is. I should like some +day, if I could do so without suspicion, to let the creditors of the firm +have it back again. What do you think?" + +She nodded. + +"I would rather you didn't touch it yourself," she agreed. "I think +you'll find, too, that you'll be able to earn quite enough without +wanting it. Nothing disturbing has happened to you at all, then?" + +"Once I had a fright," he told her. "I was in a restaurant close to my +hotel. I was there with a young woman who is typing the play for me." + +She looked towards him incredulously. + +"You were there with a typewriter?" she exclaimed. + +"I suppose it seems queer," he admitted. "It didn't to me. She is a +plain, shabby, half starved little thing, fighting her own battle +bravely. She came to me for work--she lives in the flat below--and +it seemed to me that she was just as hungry for a kind word as I was +lonely, and I took her out with me. Twice I have taken her. Her name is +Miss Grimes." + +"I am not in the least sure that I approve," she said, "but go on." + +"A friend of hers came into the restaurant, a girl in the chorus of a +musical comedy here, and she had with her a young man. I recognised him +at once. We didn't come across one another much, but he was on the +steamer." + +Elizabeth's face was full of concern. + +"Go on." + +"He asked me twice if I wasn't Mr. Romilly. I assured him that he was +mistaken. I don't think I gave myself away. The next day he went to see +the girl I was with, Martha Grimes." + +"Well, what did she tell him?" + +"She told him that she had been typing my work for over a month, that I +had come from Jamaica, and that my name was Merton Ware." + +Elizabeth gazed into the fire for several moments, and Philip watched +her. It was a woman's face, grave and thoughtful, a little perturbed just +then, as though by some unwelcome thought. Presently she looked back at +him, looked into his eyes long and earnestly. + +"My friend," she said, "you are like no one else on earth. Perhaps you +are one of those horrible people who have what they call an unholy +influence over my sex. You have known this girl for a matter of a few +days, and she lies for you. And there's five hundred dollars reward. I +suppose she knew about that?" + +"Yes, she knew," he admitted. "She simply isn't that sort. I suppose I +realised that, or I shouldn't have been kind to her." + +"It's a puzzle," she went on. "I think there must be something in you of +the weakling, you know, something that appeals to the mothering instinct +in women. I know that my first feeling for you was that I wanted to help +you. Tell me what you think of yourself, Mr. Philip Merton Ware? Are you +a faithful person? Are you conscientious? Have you a heart, I wonder? How +much of the man is there underneath that strong frame of yours? Are you +going to take just the things that are given you in life, and make no +return? For the moment, you see, I am forgetting that you are my friend +and that I like you. I am thinking of you from the point of view of an +actress--as a psychical problem. Philip, you idiot!" she broke off, +suddenly stamping her foot, "don't sit there looking at me with your +great eyes. Tell me you are glad I've come back. Tell me you feel +something, for goodness' sake!" + +He was on his knees before she could check him, his arms, his lips +praying for her. She thrust him back. + +"It was my fault," she declared, "but don't, please. Yes, of course you +have feelings. I don't know why you tempted me to that little outburst." + +"You'll tempt me to more than that," he cried passionately. "Do you think +it's for your help that I've thought of you? Do you think it's because +you're an angel to me, because you've comforted me in my darkest, most +miserable hours that I've dreamed of you and craved for you? There's more +than that in my thoughts, dear. It's because you are you, yourself, that +I've longed for you through the aching hours of the night, that I've sat +and written like a man beside himself just for the joy of thinking that +the words I wrote would be spoken by you. Oh! if you want me to tell you +what I feel--" + +She suddenly leaned forward, took his head between her hands and kissed +his forehead. + +"Now get back, please, to your chair," she begged. "You've stilled the +horrible, miserable little doubt that was tearing at my heartstrings. I +just had it before, once or twice, and then--isn't it foolish!--your +telling me about this little typewriter girl! I must go and see her. We +must be kind to her." + +He resumed his seat with a little sigh. + +"She thought a great deal more of me and my work when I told her that you +were probably going to act in my play." + +Her expression changed. She was more serious, at the same time more +eager. + +"Ah! The play!" she exclaimed. "I can see that you have brought some of +it." + +He drew the roll of manuscript from his pocket. + +"Shall I read it?" he suggested. + +She almost snatched it away. "No! I can't wait for that. Give it to me, +quickly." + +She leaned forward so that the firelight fell upon the pages. Little +strands of soft brown hair drooped over her face. In studying her, Philip +almost forgot his own anxiety. He had known so few women, yet he had +watched so many from afar off, endowed them with their natural qualities, +built up their lives and tastes for them, and found them all so sadly +wanting. To him, Elizabeth represented everything that was desirable in +her sex, from the flowing lines of her beautiful body to the sympathy +which seemed to be always shining out of her eyes. Notwithstanding her +strength, she was so exquisitely and entirely feminine, a creature of +silk and laces, free from any effort of provocativeness, yet subtly, +almost clamorously human. He forgot, in those few moments, that she had +become the arbitress of his material fate--that he was a humble author, +watching the effect of his first attempts upon a mistress in her +profession. He remembered only that she was the woman who was filling his +life, stealing into every corner of it, permeating him with love, +pointing him onwards towards a life indescribable, unrealisable.... + +She swung suddenly towards him. There was a certain amount of enthusiasm +in her face but even more marked was her relief. + +"Oh! I am so glad," she cried. "You know, I have had qualms. When you +told me the story in your own words, picking your language so carefully, +and building it all up before me, well, you know what I said. I gave you +more than hope--I promised you success. And then, when I got away into +the hard, stagey world of Chicago, and my manager talked business to me, +and my last playwright preached of technique, I began to wonder whether, +after all, you could bring your ideas together like this, whether you +would have a sense of perspective--you know what I mean, don't you? And +you have it, and the play is going to be wonderful, and I shall produce +it. Why don't you look pleased, Mr. Author? You are going to be famous." + +He smiled. + +"I don't care about fame," he said. "And for the rest, I think I knew." + +"Conceited!" she exclaimed. + +"It wasn't that," he protested. "It was simply when I sat down in that +little room, high up over the roofs and buildings of a strange city, shut +myself in and told myself that it was for you--well, the thoughts came +too easily. They tumbled over one another. And when I looked away from my +work, I saw the people moving around me, and I knew that I had made my +dreams real, and that's the great thing, isn't it?... Elizabeth!" + +"Well?" + +"I am lonely in that little room." + +"You lonely, taking out typewriters to dine!" she mocked tenderly. + +"It is lonely," he repeated, "and I am afraid of you here in all this +luxury. I am so far away. I come from my attic to this, and I am afraid. +Do you know why?" + +She sat quite still for a moment. Dimly she felt the presage of a coming +change in their relations. Up to now she had been the mistress, she had +held him so easily in check with her practised skill, with an unfinished +sentence, a look, a touch. And now the man was rising up in him, and she +felt her powers weaken. + +"Shall I change my abode?" she murmured. + +"Ah! but you would be just as wonderful and as far away even if we +changed places--if you sat in my attic and I took your place here. That +isn't why I torture myself, why I am always asking myself if you are +real, if the things we talk about are real, if the things we feel belong +to ourselves, well up from our own hearts for one another or are just the +secondary emotions of other people we catch up without knowing why. This +is foolish, but you understand--you do understand. It is because you +keep me so far away from yourself, when my fingers are burning for yours, +when even to touch your face, to feel your cheek against mine, would +banish every fear I have ever had. Elizabeth, you do understand! I have +never kissed you, I have never held you for one moment in my arms--and I +love you!" + +He was leaning over her chair and she held him tightly by the shoulders. +There was nothing left of that hidden fear in his dark eyes. They shone +now with another light, and she began to tremble. + +"I wanted to wait a little, Philip, but if you feel like that--well, I +can't." + +He took her silently into his arms. With the half closing of her eyes, +the first touch of her responsive lips, himself dimly conscious of the +change, he passed into the world where stronger men live. + + + + +BOOK III + + + +CHAPTER I + +Three months later, a very different Philip stood in the smaller of a +handsome suite of reception rooms in a fashionable Fifth Avenue hotel. He +was wearing evening clothes of the most approved cut and carried himself +with a dignity and assurance entirely transforming. The distinction of +birth and breeding, little apparent in those half-starved, passionate +days of his misery, had come easily to the surface. His shoulders, too, +seemed to have broadened, and his face had lost its cadaverous pallor. + +The apartment in which he stood was plainly but handsomely furnished as a +small withdrawing room. On the oak chiffonier stood a silver tray on +which were half a dozen frosted cocktails. Through the curtains was +apparent a room beyond, in which a round table, smothered with flowers, +was arranged for supper; in the distance, from the public restaurant, +came the sound of softly played music. Philip glanced at the clock. The +whole of the anxieties of this momentous evening had passed. Telephone +messages had reached him every quarter of an hour. The play was a great +success. Elizabeth was coming to him with her producer and a few +theatrical friends, flushed with triumph. They were all to meet for the +first time that night the man who for the last three months had lived as +a hermit--Merton Ware, the author of "The House of Shams," the new-found +dramatist. + +A maitre d'hotel appeared in the space between the two rooms, and bowed. + +"Everything is quite ready, Mr. Ware," he said, in the friendly yet +deferential manner of an American head-waiter. "Won't you take a +cocktail, sir, while you are waiting?" + +"Very thoughtful of you, Louis. I think I will," Philip assented, taking +a little case from his pocket and lighting a cigarette. + +The man passed him a glass upon a small salver. + +"You'll pardon the liberty, I am sure, sir," he continued, dropping his +voice a little. "I've just heard that 'The House of Shams' seems to be a +huge success, sir. If I might take the liberty of offering my +congratulations!" + +Philip smiled genially. + +"You are the first, Louis," he said. "Thank you very much indeed." + +"I think you will find the supper everything that could be desired, Mr. +Ware," the man went on. "Our head chef, Monsieur Raconnot, has given it +his personal attention. The wine will be slightly iced, as you desired. I +shall be outside in the corridor to announce the guests." + +"Capital, Louis!" Ware replied, sipping his cocktail. "It will be another +quarter of an hour yet before we see anything of them, I am afraid." + +The man disappeared and left Philip once more alone. He looked through +the walls of the room as though, indeed, he could see into the packed +theatre and could hear the cries for "Author!" which even then were +echoing through the house. From the moment when Elizabeth, abandoning her +reserve, had given him the love he craved, a new strength seemed to have +shone out of the man. Step by step he had thought out subtly and with +infinite care every small detail of his life. It was he who had elected +to live those three months in absolute seclusion. It was he, indirectly, +who had arranged that many more photographs of Douglas Romilly, the +English shoe manufacturer, should appear in the newspapers. One moment's +horror he had certainly had. He could see the little paragraph now, +almost lost in the shoals of more important news: + + GHASTLY DISCOVERY IN A DERBYSHIRE CANAL + + Yesterday the police recovered the body of a man + who had apparently been dead for some weeks, from + a canal close to Detton Magna. The body was + unrecognisable but it is believed that the remains + are those of Mr. Philip Romilly, the missing art + teacher from London, who is alleged to have + committed suicide in January last. + +The thought of that gruesome find scarcely blanched his cheeks. His +nerves now were stronger and tenser things. He crushed back those +memories with all the strength of his will. Whatever might lie behind, he +had struck for the future which he meant to live and enjoy. They were +only weaklings who brooded over an unalterable past. It was for the +present and the near future that he lived, and both, in that moment, were +more alluring than ever before. Even his intellectual powers seemed to +have developed in his new-found happiness. The play which he had written, +every line of which appeared to gain in vital and literary force towards +its conclusion, was only the first of his children. Already other images +and ideas were flowing into his brain. The power of creation was +triumphantly throwing out its tendrils. He was filled with an amazing and +almost inspired confidence. He was ready to start upon fresh work that +hour, to-morrow, or when he chose. And before him now was the prospect of +stimulating companionship. Elizabeth and he had decided that the time had +come for him to take his fate into his hands. He was to be introduced to +the magnates of the dramatic profession, to become a clubman in the +world's most hospitable city, to mix freely in the circles where he would +find himself in constant association with the keenest brains and most +brilliant men of letters in the world. He was safe. They had both decided +it. + +He walked to the mirror and looked at himself. The nervous, +highly-strung, half-starved, neurotic stripling had become the perfectly +assured, well-mannered, and well-dressed man of the world. He had studied +various details with a peculiar care, suffered a barber to take summary +measures with his overlong black hair, had accustomed himself to the use +of an eyeglass, which hung around his neck by a thin, black ribbon. Men +might talk of likenesses, men who were close students of their fellows, +yet there was no living person who could point to him and say--"You are, +beyond a shadow of doubt, a man with whom I travelled on the +_Elletania_." The thing was impossible. + +Louis once more made a noiseless appearance. There was the slightest of +frowns upon his face. + +"A gentleman wishes a word with you before the arrival of your guests, +Mr. Ware," he announced. + +"A journalist?" Philip enquired carelessly. + +"I do not think so, sir." + +Even as he spoke the door was opened and closed again. The man who +had entered bowed slightly to Philip. He was tall and clean-shaven, +self-assured, and with manner almost significantly reserved. He held a +bowler hat in his hand and glanced towards Louis. He had the air of +being somewhat out of place in so fashionable a rendezvous. + +"Good evening, Mr. Ware!" he began. "Could I have just a word with you?" + +Philip nodded to Louis, who at once left the room. The newcomer drew a +little nearer. + +"My name, sir," he said, "is Dane--Edward Dane." + +Philip bowed politely. He was just a little annoyed at the intrusion, an +annoyance which he failed altogether to conceal. + +"What do you want with me?" he asked. "I am expecting some friends to +supper in about ten minutes." + +"Ten minutes will perhaps be sufficient for what I have to say," the +other promised. "You don't know me, then, Mr. Ware?" + +"Never saw you before, to the best of my knowledge," Philip replied +nonchalantly. "Are you a journalist?" + +The man laid his hat upon a corner of the table. + +"I am a detective," he said, "attached to the Cherry Street headquarters. +Your last rooms, Mr. Ware, were in my beat." + +Philip nodded with some slight indication of interest. He faced his +ordeal with the courage of a man of steel. + +"That so?" he remarked indifferently. "Well, Mr. Dane, I have heard a +good deal about you American detectives. Pleased to meet you. What can I +do for you?" + +The detective eyed Philip steadfastly. There was just the shadow of +something that looked like admiration in his hard, grey eyes. + +"Well, Mr. Ware," he said, "nothing that need disturb your supper party, +I am sure. Over in this country we sometimes do things in an unusual +way. That's why I am paying you this visit. I have been watching you for +exactly three months and fourteen days." + +"Watching me?" Philip repeated. + +"Precisely! No idea why, I suppose?" + +"Not the slightest." + +The detective glanced towards the clock. Barely two minutes had passed. + +"Well," he explained, "I got on your tracks quick enough when you skipped +from the Waldorf and blossomed out in a second-rate tenement house as +Merton Ware." + +"So I was at the Waldorf, was I?" Philip murmured. + +"You crossed from Liverpool on the _Elletania_," the man continued, +"registered at the Waldorf as Mr. Douglas Romilly of the Douglas Romilly +Shoe Company, went to your room, changed your clothes, and disappeared. +Of course, a disappearance of that sort," he went on tolerantly, "might +be possible in London. In New York, to even attempt it is farcical." + +"Dear me," remarked Philip, "this is very interesting. Let me ask you +this question, though. If you were so sure of your facts, why didn't you +arrest me at once instead of just watching me?" + +The man's eyes were like gimlets. He seemed as though he were trying, +with curious and professional intensity, to read the thoughts in Philip's +brain. + +"There is no criminal charge against Douglas Romilly that I know of," he +said. + +"There's a considerable reward offered for his discovery," Philip +reminded him. + +"I can claim that at any moment," the man replied. "I have had my reasons +for waiting. It's partly those reasons that have brought me here. For one +thing, Mr. Douglas Romilly was supposed to be able to put his hand on a +matter of a hundred thousand dollars somewhere in New York. You haven't +shown many signs up till now, Mr. Ware, of having any such sum in your +possession." + +"I see," Philip assented. "You wanted the money as well." + +"The creditors of the Douglas Romilly Shoe Company are wanting it pretty +badly," the man proceeded, "but that wasn't all. I wanted to find out +what your game was. That I don't know, even now. That is why I have come +to you. Have I the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Douglas Romilly?" + +"I really don't see," Philip protested thoughtfully, "why I should go +into partnership with you in this affair. You see, in the long run, our +interests might not be altogether identical." + +Mr. Dane smiled grimly. + +"That's a fairly shrewd calculation, Mr. Ware," he admitted. "You ain't +bound to answer any question you don't want to. This is just a friendly +chat and no more." + +"Besides," Philip continued, lighting another cigarette, "I think I +understood you to say that you had already arrived at the conclusion that +I was Douglas Romilly?" + +"Not precisely that," the detective replied. "All that I discovered was +that you were the man who registered at the Waldorf Hotel as Mr. Douglas +Romilly." + +"Well, the only name I choose to acknowledge at present is the name of +Merton Ware," Philip declared. "If you think there is any mystery about +me, any connection with the gentleman whom I believe you call Mr. Douglas +Romilly, well, the matter is one for your investigation. You will forgive +me if I remind you that my guests will be here in a matter of a few +minutes, and permit me to ask you one more question. Why do you come here +to me in this very unofficial manner? If I am really an impostor, you are +giving me every opportunity of clearing out." + +Mr. Edward Dane shook his head. He was fingering the brim of his hat. + +"Oh, no, Mr. Ware!" he declared smoothly. "Our detective system may have +some faults, but when a man's name is put on the list where yours +figures, he has not one chance in a million of leaving the country or of +gaining any place of hiding. I shall know where you lunch to-morrow and +with whom you dine, and with whom you spend your time. The law, sir, will +keep its eye upon you." + +"Really, that seems very friendly," Philip said coolly. "Shall I have the +privilege of your personal surveillance?" + +"I think not, Mr. Ware. To tell you the truth, this is rather a p.p.c. +visit. I've booked my passage on the _Elletania_, sailing to-morrow from +New York. I am taking a trip over to England to make a few enquiries +round about the spot where this Mr. Douglas Romilly hails from--Detton +Magna, isn't it?" + +Philip made no reply, yet even his silence might well have been the +silence of indifference. + +"At the last moment," the detective concluded, "it flashed in upon me +that there might be some ridiculous explanation of the few little points +about your case which, I must confess, have puzzled me. For that reason, +I decided to seek an interview with you before I left. You have, however, +I gather, nothing to say to me?" + +"Nothing at all, Mr. Dane, except to wish you a pleasant voyage," Philip +declared. "I won't detain you a moment longer. I hear my guests in the +corridor. Good night, sir!" he added, opening the door. "I appreciate +your call very much. Come and see me again when you return from England." + +Mr. Dane lingered for a moment upon the threshold, hat in hand, a +somewhat ominous figure. There was no attempt at a handshake between the +two men. The detective was imperturbable. Philip, listening to +Elizabeth's voice, had shown his first sign of impatience. + +"I shall surely do that, Mr. Ware!" the other promised, as he passed out. + +The door closed. Philip stood for a moment in the empty room, listening +to the man's retreating footsteps. Then he turned slowly around. His +cheeks were blanched, his eyes were glazed with reminiscent horror. He +looked through the wall of the room--a long way back. + +"We shall find Mr. Ware in here, I expect." He could hear the voices of +his approaching guests. + +He ground his heel into the carpet and swung around. He anticipated +Louis, threw open the curtain, and stood there waiting to welcome his +guests, a smile upon his lips, his hands outstretched towards Elizabeth. + + + +CHAPTER II + +Elizabeth's face was glowing with joy. For the first time Philip realised +that she, too, had had her anxieties. + +"You dear, dear man!" she exclaimed. "To think what you have missed! It +would have been the evening of your life. It's a success, do you hear?--a +great success! It was wonderful!" + +He seemed, almost to himself, to be playing a part, he was so calm yet so +gracefully happy. + +"I am glad for both our sakes," he said. + +She indicated the others with a little wave of the hand. + +"I don't think you know a soul, do you?" she asked. "They none of them +quite believe in your existence down at the theatre. This is my leading +man, Noel Bridges. You should have seen how splendid he was as +Carriston." + +Mr. Noel Bridges, with a deprecating smile towards Elizabeth, held out +his hand. He was tall and of rather a rugged type for the New York stage. +Like the rest of the little party, his eyes were full of curiosity as he +shook hands with Philip. + +"So you are something human, after all," he remarked. "We began to think +you lived underground and only put your head up every now and then for a +little air. I am glad to meet you, Mr. Ware. I enjoy acting in your play +very much indeed, and I hope it's only the first of many." + +"You are very kind," Philip murmured cordially. + +Elizabeth glanced around the little group. + +"Dear me, I am forgetting my manners," she declared. "I ought to have +presented you to Sara Denison first. Sara is really the star of your +play, Mr. Ware, although I have the most work to do. She loves her part +and has asked about you nearly every day." + +Miss Denison, a young lady of the smaller Gibson type, with large eyes +and a very constant smile, greeted Philip warmly. + +"Do you know," she told him, "that this is the first time I have ever +been in a play in which the author hasn't been round setting us to rights +most of the time? I can't imagine how you kept away, Mr. Ware." + +"Perhaps," observed Philip, "my absence has contributed to your success. +I am sure I shouldn't have known what to tell you. You see, I am so +absolutely ignorant of the technique." + +"I've got to shake hands with you, Mr. Ware," a stout, middle-aged, +clean-shaven man, with narrow black eyes and pale cheeks, declared, +stepping forward. "These other folk don't count for much by the side of +me. I am the manager of the theatre, and I'm thundering glad that your +first play has been produced at the 'New York,' sir. There's good stuff +in it, and if I am any judge, and I'm supposed to be, there's plenty of +better stuff behind. Shake hands, if you please, sir. You know me by +name--Paul Fink. I hope you'll see my signature at the bottom of a good +many fat cheques before you've finished writing plays." + +"That's very nice of you, Mr. Fink," Philip declared. "Now I am sure you +all want your supper." + +At a sign from Philip, the maitre d'hotel handed round the tray of +cocktails. Mr. Fink raised his glass. + +"Here's success to the play," he exclaimed, "and good luck to all of us!" + +He tossed off the contents of the glass and they all followed his +example. Then they took their places at the little round table and the +service of supper began. The conversation somewhat naturally centered +around Philip. The three strangers were all interested in his personality +and the fact that he had no previous work to his credit. It was unusual, +almost dramatic, and for a time both Elizabeth and he himself found +themselves hard put to it to escape the constant wave of good-natured but +very pertinent questions. + +"You'll have a dose of our newspapermen to-morrow, sir," Mr. Fink +promised him. "They'll be buzzing around you all day long. They'll want +to know everything, from where you get your clothes and what cigarettes +you smoke, to how you like best to do your work and what complexioned +typist you prefer. They're some boys, I can tell you." + +Philip's eyes met Elizabeth's across the table. The same instinct of +disquietude kept them both, for a moment, silent. + +"I am afraid," Elizabeth sighed, "that Mr. Ware will find it rather hard +to appreciate some of our journalistic friends." + +"They're good fellows," Mr. Fink declared heartily, "white men, all of +them. So long as you don't try to put 'em off on a false stunt, or +anything of that sort, they'll sling the ink about some. Ed Harris was in +my room just after the second act, and he showed me some of his stuff. I +tell you he means to boost us." + +Elizabeth laid her hand upon her manager's arm. + +"They're delightful, every one of them," she agreed, "but, Mr. Fink, you +have such influence with them, I wonder if I dare give you just a hint? +Mr. Ware has passed through some very painful times lately. He is so +anxious to forget, and I really don't wonder at it myself. I am sure he +will be delighted to talk with all of them as to the future and his +future plans, but do you think you could just drop them a hint to go +quietly as regards the past?" + +Mr. Fink was a little perplexed but inclined to be sympathetic. He +glanced towards Philip, who was deep in conversation with Sara Denison. + +"Why, I'll do my best, Miss Dalstan," he promised. "You know what the +boys are, though. They do love a story." + +"I am not going to have Mr. Ware's story published in every newspaper in +New York," Elizabeth said firmly, "and the newspaper man who worms the +history of Mr. Ware's misfortunes out of him, and then makes use of it, +will be no friend of mine. Ask them to be sports, Mr. Fink, there's a +dear." + +"I'll do what I can," he promised. "Mr. Ware isn't the first man in the +world who has funked the limelight, and from what I can see of him it +probably wasn't his fault if things did go a little crooked in the past. +I'll do my best, Miss Dalstan, I promise you that. I'll look in at the +club to-night and drop a few hints around." + +Elizabeth patted his hand and smiled at him very sweetly. The +conversation flowed back once more into its former channels, became a +medley of confused chaff, disjointed streams of congratulation, of +toast-drinking and pleasant speeches. Then Mr. Fink suddenly rose to his +feet. + +"Say," he exclaimed, "we've all drunk one another's healths. There's just +one other friend I think we ought to take a glass of wine with. Gee, +he'd give something to be with us to-night! You'll agree with me, Miss +Dalstan, I know. Let's empty a full glass to Sylvanus Power!" + +There was a curious silence for a second or two, then a clamour of +assenting voices. For a single moment Philip felt a sharp pang at his +heart. Elizabeth was gazing steadily out of the room, a queer tremble at +her lips, a look in her eyes which puzzled him, a look almost of fear, of +some sort of apprehension. The moment passed, but her enthusiasm, as +she raised her glass, was a little overdone, her gaiety too easily +assumed. + +"Why, of course!" she declared. "Fancy not thinking of Sylvanus!" + +They drank his health noisily. Philip set down his glass empty. A curious +instinct kept his lips sealed. He crushed down and stifled the memory of +that sudden stab. He did not even ask the one natural question. + +"Say, where is Sylvanus Power these days?" Mr. Fink enquired. + +"In Honolulu, when last I heard," Elizabeth replied lightly, "but then +one never knows really where he is." + +Philip became naturally the central figure of the little gathering. Mr. +Fink was anxious to arrange a little dinner, to introduce him to some +fellow workers. Noel Bridges insisted upon a card for the Lambs Club and +a luncheon there. Philip accepted gratefully everything that was offered +to him. It was no good doing things by halves, he told himself. The days +of his solitude were over. Even when, after the departure of his guests, +he glanced for a moment into the anteroom beyond and remembered those few +throbbing moments of suspense, they came back to him with a curious sense +of unreality--they belonged, surety, to some other man, living in some +other world! + +"You are happy?" Elizabeth murmured, as she took his arm and they waited +in the portico below for her automobile. + +He had no longer any idea of telling her of that disquieting visit. The +touch of her hair blown against his cheek, as he had helped her on with +her cloak, something in her voice, some slight diffidence, a queer, half +expostulating look in the eyes that fell with a curious uneasiness before +his, drove every thought of future danger out of his mind. He had at +least the present! He answered without a moment's hesitation. + +"For the first time in my life!" + +She gave the chauffeur a whispered order as she stepped into the car. + +"I have told him to go home by Riverside Drive," she said, as they glided +off. "It is a little farther, and I love the air at this time of night." + +He clasped her fingers--suddenly felt, with the leaning of her body, her +heart beating against his. With that wave of passion there was an instant +and portentous change in their attitudes. The soft protectiveness which +had sometimes seemed to shine out of her face, to envelop him in its +warmth, had disappeared. She was no longer the stronger. She looked at +him almost with fear, and he was electrically conscious of all the vigour +and strength of his stunted manhood, was master at last of his fate, +accepting battle, willing to fight whatever might come for the sake of +the joy of these moments. She crept into his arms almost humbly. + + + +CHAPTER III + +The success of "The House of Shams" was as immediate and complete as was +the social success of its author. After a few faint-hearted attempts, +Philip and Elizabeth both agreed that the wisest course was to play the +bold game--to submit himself to the photographer, the interviewer, and, +to some judicious extent, to the wave of hospitality which flowed in upon +him from all sides. He threw aside, completely and utterly, every idea of +leading a more or less sheltered life. His photograph was in the Sunday +newspapers and the magazines. It was quite easy, in satisfying the +appetite of journalists for copious personal details, especially after +the hints dropped by Mr. Fink, to keep them carefully off the subject of +his immediate past. There had been many others in the world who, on +attaining fame, had preferred to gloss over their earlier history. It +seemed to be tacitly understood amongst this wonderful freemasonry of +newspaper men that Mr. Merton Ware was to be humoured in this way. He was +a man of the present. Character sketches of him were to be all +foreground. But, nevertheless, Philip had his trials. + +"Want to introduce you to one of our chief 'movie' men," Noel Bridges +said to him one day in the smoking room of "The Lambs." "He is much +interested in the play, too. Mr. Raymond Greene, shake hands with Mr. +Merton Ware." + +Mr. Raymond Greene, smiling and urbane, turned around with outstretched +hand, which Philip, courteous, and with all that charm of manner which +was making him speedily one of the most popular young men in New York, +grasped cordially. + +"I am very happy to meet you, Mr. Greene," he said. "You represent an +amazing development. I am told that we shall all have to work for you +presently or find our occupation gone." + +With a cool calculation which had come to Philip in these days of his +greater strength, he had purposely extended his sentence, conscious, +although apparently he ignored the fact, that all the time Mr. Raymond +Greene was staring in his face with a bewilderment which was not without +its humorous side. He was too much a man of the world, this great picture +producer, to be at a loss for words, to receive an introduction with any +degree of clumsiness. + +"But surely," he almost stammered, "we have met before?" + +Philip shook his head doubtfully. + +"I don't think so," he said, "As a matter of fact, I am sure we haven't, +because you are one of the men whom I hoped some day to come across over +here. I couldn't possibly have forgotten a meeting with you." + +Mr. Raymond Greene's blue eyes looked as though they saw visions. + +"But surely," he expostulated, "the _Elletania_--my table on the +_Elletania_, when Miss Dalstan crossed--" + +Philip laughed easily. + +"Why," he exclaimed, "are you going to be like the others and take me +for--wasn't it Mr. Romilly?--the man who disappeared from the Waldorf? +Why, I've been tracked all round New York because of my likeness to that +man." + +"Likeness!" Mr. Raymond Greene muttered. "Likeness!" + +There was a moment's silence. Then Mr. Greene knew that the time had +arrived for him to pull himself together. He had carried his bewilderment +to the very limits of good breeding. + +"Well, well!" he continued. "Fortunately, it's six o'clock, and I can +offer you gentlemen a cocktail, for upon my word I need it! Come to look +at you, Mr. Ware, there's a trifle more what I might term _savoir faire_, +about you. That chap on the boat was a little crude in places, but +believe me, sir," he went on, thrusting his arm through Ware's and +leading him towards the bar, "you don't want to be annoyed at those +people who have mistaken you for Romilly, for in the whole course of my +life, and I've travelled round the world a pretty good deal, I never came +across a likeness so entirely extraordinary." + +"I have heard other people mention it," Noel Bridges intervened, +"although not quite with the same conviction as you, Mr. Greene. +Curiously enough, however, the photograph of Romilly which they sent out +from England, and which was in all the Sunday papers, didn't strike me as +being particularly like Mr. Ware." + +"It was a damned bad photograph, that," Mr. Raymond Greene pronounced. "I +saw it--couldn't make head nor tail of it, myself. Well, the world is +full of queer surprises, but this is the queerest I ever ran up against. +Believe me, Mr. Ware, if this man Romilly who disappeared had been a +millionaire, you could have walked into his family circle and been made +welcome at the present moment. Why, I don't believe his own wife or +sister, if he had such appendages, would have been able to tell that you +weren't the man." + +"Unfortunately," Bridges remarked, as he sipped the cocktail which the +cinema man had ordered, "this chap Romilly was broke, wasn't he?--did a +scoot to avoid the smash-up? They say that he had a few hundred thousand +dollars over here, ostensibly for buying material, and that he has taken +the lot out West." + +"Well, I must say he didn't seem that sort on the steamer," Mr. Raymond +Greene declared, "but you never can tell. Looked to me more like a +schoolteacher. Some day, Mr. Ware, I want you to come along to my +office--it's just round the corner in Broadway there--and have a chat +about the play." + +"You don't want to film us before we've finished its first run, surely?" +Philip protested, laughing. "Give us a chance!" + +"Well, we'll talk about that," the cinema magnate promised. + +They were joined by other acquaintances, and Philip presently made his +escape. One of the moments which he had dreaded more than any other had +come and passed. Even if Mr. Raymond Greene had still some slight +misgivings, he was, to all effects and purposes, convinced. Philip walked +down the street, feeling that one more obstacle in the path of his +absolute freedom had been torn away. He glanced at his watch and boarded +a down-town car, descended in the heart of the city region of Broadway, +and threaded his way through several streets until he came to the back +entrance of a dry goods store. Here he glanced once more at his watch and +commenced slowly to walk up and down. The timekeeper, who was standing in +the doorway with his hands in his pockets, watched him with interest. +When Philip approached for the third time, he addressed him in friendly +fashion. + +"Waiting for one of our gals, eh?" + +Philip stifled his quick annoyance and answered in as matter-of-fact a +tone as possible. + +"Yes! How long will it be before they are out from the typewriting +department?" + +"Typewriting department?" the man repeated. "Well, that depends some upon +the work. They'll be out, most likely, in ten minutes or so. I guessed +you were after one of our showroom young ladies. We get some real swells +down here sometimes--motor cars of their own. The typists ain't much, as +a rule. It's a skinny job, theirs." + +"The young ladies from here appear to be prosperous," Ware remarked. "I +watched them last night coming out. My friend happened to be late, +and I had to leave without seeing her." + +"That's nothing to go by, their clothes ain't," the man replied. "They +spend all their money on their backs instead of putting it inside. If +it's Miss Grimes you're waiting for, you're in luck, for here she is, +first out." + +Philip drew a little into the background. The girl came down the stone +passage, passed the timekeeper without appearing to notice his familiar +"Good-evening!" and stepped out into the murky street. Philip, who saw +her face as she emerged from the gloom, gave a little start. She seemed +paler than ever, and she walked with her eyes fixed upon vacancy, as +though almost unconscious of her whereabouts. She crossed the sidewalk +without noticing the curbstone, and stumbled at the unexpected depth of +it. Philip stepped hastily forward. + +"Miss Grimes!" he exclaimed. "Martha!... Why do you look at me as though +I were a ghost?" + +She started violently. It was certain that she saw him then for the first +time. + +"You! Mr. Ware! Sorry, I didn't see you." + +He insisted upon shaking hands. There was a little streak of colour in +her cheeks now. + +"I came to meet you," he explained. "I came yesterday and missed you. I +have been to your rooms four times and only found out with difficulty +where you were working. The last time I called, I rang the bell six +times, but the door was locked." + +"I was in bed," she said shortly. "I can't have gentlemen callers there +at all now. Father's gone off on tour. Thank you for coming to meet me, +but I don't think you'd better stop." + +"Why not?" he asked gently. + +"Because I don't want to be seen about with you," she declared, "because +I don't want you to look at me, because I want you to leave me alone," +she added, with a little passionate choke in her voice. + +He turned and walked by her side. + +"Martha," he said, "you were very kind to me when I needed it, you were a +companion to me when I was more miserable than I ever thought any human +being could be. I was in a quandary then--in a very difficult position. I +took a plunge. In a way I have been successful." + +"Oh, we all know that!" she replied bitterly. "Pictures everywhere, +notices in the paper all the time--you and your fine play! I've seen it. +Didn't think much of it myself, but I suppose I'm not a judge." + +"Tell me why you came out there looking as though you'd seen a ghost?" he +asked. + +"Discharged," she answered promptly. + +"Why?" + +"Fainted yesterday," she went on, "and was a bit wobbly to-day. The head +clerk said he wanted some one stronger." + +"Brute!" Philip muttered. "Well, that's all right, Martha. I have some +work for you." + +"Don't want to do your work." + +"Little fool!" he exclaimed. "Martha, do you know you're the most +obstinate, pig-headed, prejudiced, ill-tempered little beast I ever +knew?" + +"Then go along and leave me," she insisted, stopping short, "if I'm all +that." + +"You're also a dear!" + +She drew a little breath and looked at him fiercely. + +"Now don't be silly," he begged. "I'm starving. I had no lunch so that I +could dine early. Here we are at Durrad's." + +"I'm not going inside there with you," she declared. + +"Look here," he expostulated, "are we going to do a wrestling act on the +sidewalk? It will be in all the papers, you know." + +"Spoil your clothes some, wouldn't it?" she remarked, looking at them +disparagingly. + +"It would indeed, also my temper," he assured her. "We are going to have +a cocktail, you and I, within two minutes, young lady, and a steak +afterwards. If you want to go in there with my hand on your neck, you +can, but I think it would look better--" + +She set her feet squarely upon the ground and faced him. + +"Mr. Ware," she said, "I am in rags--any one can see that. Listen. I will +not go into a restaurant and sit by your side to have people wonder what +woman from the streets you have brought in to give a meal to out of +charity. Do you hear that? I can live or I can die, just by myself. If I +can't keep myself, I'll die, but I won't. Nothing doing. You hear?" + +She had been so strong and then something in his eyes, that pitying, half +anxious expression with which he listened, suddenly seemed to sap her +determination. She swayed a little upon her feet--she was indeed very +tired and very weak. Philip took instant advantage of her condition. +Without a moment's hesitation he passed his arm firmly through hers, and +before she could protest she was inside the place, being led to a table, +seated there with her back to the wall, with a confused tangle of words +still in her throat, unuttered. Then two great tears found their way into +her eyes. She said nothing because she could not. Philip was busy talking +to the waiter. Soon there was a cocktail by her side, and he was +drinking, smiling at her, perfectly good-natured, obviously accepting her +momentary weakness and his triumph as a joke. + +"Got you in, didn't I?" he observed pleasantly. "Now, remember you told +me the way to drink American cocktails--one look, one swallow, and down +they go." + +She obeyed him instinctively. Then she took out a miserable little piece +of a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. + +"What's gone wrong?" he asked briskly. "Tell me all about it." + +"Father went off on tour," she explained. "He left the rent owing for a +month, and he's been writing for money all the time. The agent who comes +round doesn't listen to excuses. You pay, or out you go into the street. +I've paid somehow and nearly starved over it. Then I got this job after +worrying about it Lord knows how long, and this evening I'm discharged." + +"How much a week was it?" he enquired, with sympathy. + +"Ten dollars," she replied. "Little enough, but I can't live without it." + +He changed his attitude, suddenly realising the volcanic sensitiveness of +her attitude towards him and life in general. Instinctively he felt that +at a single ill-considered word she would even then, in her moment of +weakness, have left him, have pushed him on one side, and walked out to +whatever she might have to face. + +"What a fool you are!" he exclaimed, a little brusquely. + +"Am I!" she replied belligerently. + +"Of course you are! You call yourself a daughter of New York, a city +whose motto seems to be pretty well every one for himself. You know you +did my typing all right, you know my play was a success, you know that I +shall have to write another. What made you take it for granted that I +shouldn't want to employ you, and go and hide yourself? Lock the door +when I came to see you, because it was past eight o'clock, and not answer +my letters?" + +"Can't have men callers now dad's away," she told him, a little +brusquely. "It's not allowed." + +"Oh, rubbish!" he answered irritably. "That isn't the point. You've kept +away from me. You've deliberately avoided me. You knew that I was just +as lonely as you were." + +Then she blazed out. The sallowness of her cheeks, the little dip under +her cheekbones--she had grown thinner during the last week or so--made +her eyes seem larger and more brilliant than ever. + +"You lonely! Rubbish! Why, they're all running after you everywhere. +Quite a social success, according to the papers! I say, ain't you +afraid?" + +"Horribly," he admitted, "and about the one person I could have talked to +about it chucks me." + +"I don't know anything about you, or what you've done," she said. "I only +know that the tecs--" + +He laid his hand upon her fingers. She snatched them away but accepted +his warning. They were served then with their meal, and their +conversation drifted into other channels. + +"Well," he continued presently, in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone, "I've +found you now, and you've got to be sensible. It's true I've had a stroke +of luck, but that might fall away at any moment. I've typing waiting for +you, or I can get you a post at the New York Theatre. You'd better first +do my typing. I'll have it in your rooms to-morrow morning by nine +o'clock. And would you like something in advance?" + +"No!" she replied grudgingly. "I'll have what I've earned, when I've +earned it." + +He sipped his claret and studied her meditatively. + +"You're not much of a pal, are you?" + +She scoffed at him, looked him up and down, at his well-fitting clothes, +his general air of prosperity. + +"Pal!" she jeered. "Look at you--Merton Ware, the great dramatist, and +me--a shabby, ugly, bad-tempered, indifferent typewriter. Bad-tempered," +she repeated. "Yes, I am that. I didn't start out to be. I just haven't +had any luck." + +"It will all come some day," he assured her cheerfully. + +"I think if you'd stayed different," she went on thoughtfully, "if you +hadn't slipped away into the clouds ... shows what a selfish little beast +I am! Can't imagine why you bother about me." + +"Shall I tell you why, really?" he asked. "Because you saved me--I don't +know what from. The night we went out I was suffering from a loneliness +which was the worst torture I have ever felt. It was there in my throat +and dragging down my heart, and I just felt as though any way of ending +it all would be a joy. All these millions of hard-faced people, intent on +their own prosperity or their own petty troubles, goaded me, I think, +into a sort of silent fury. Just that one night I craved like a madman +for a single human being to talk to--well, I shall never forget it, +Martha--" + +"Miss Grimes!" she interrupted under her breath. + +He laughed. + +"That doesn't really matter, does it?" he asked. "You've never been +afraid that I should want to make love to you, have you?" + +She glanced round into the mirror by their side, looked at her wan face, +the shabby little hat, the none too tidily arranged hair which drooped +over her ears; down at her shapeless jacket, her patched skirt, the shoes +which were in open rebellion. Then she laughed, curiously enough without +any note of bitterness. + +"Seems queer, doesn't it, even to think of such a thing! I've been up +against it pretty hard, though. A man who gives a meal to a girl, even if +she is as plain as I am, generally seems to think he's bought her, in +this city. Even the men who are earning money don't give much for +nothing. But you are different," she admitted. "I'll be fair about +it--you're different." + +"You'll be waiting for the work at nine o'clock to-morrow morning?" he +asked, as indifferently as possible. + +"I will," she promised. + +He leaned back and told her little anecdotes about the play, things that +had happened to him during the last few weeks, speaking often of +Elizabeth Dalstan. By degrees the nervous unrest seemed to pass away from +her. When they had finished their meal and drunk their coffee, she was +almost normal. She smoked a cigarette and even accepted the box which he +thrust into her hand. When he had paid the bill, she rose a little +abruptly. + +"Well," she said, "you've had your way, and a kind, nice way it was. Now +I'll have mine. I don't want any politeness. When we leave this place I +am going to walk home, and I am going to walk home alone." + +"That's lucky," he replied, "because I have to be at the theatre in ten +minutes to meet a cinema man. Button up your coat and have a good night's +sleep." + +They left the place together. She turned away with a farewell nod and +walked rapidly eastwards. He watched her cross the road. A poor little +waif, she seemed, except that something had gone from her face which had +almost terrified him. She carried herself, he fancied, with more +buoyancy, with infinitely more confidence, and he drew a sigh of relief +as he called for a taxi. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Elizabeth paused for breath at the top of the third flight of stairs. She +leaned against the iron balustrade. + +"You poor dear!" she exclaimed. "How many times a day did you have to do +this?" + +"I didn't go out very often," he reminded her, "and it wasn't every day +that the lift was out of order. It's only one more flight." + +She looked up the stairs, sighed, and raised her smart, grey, tailor-made +skirt a little higher over her shoes. + +"Well," she announced heroically, "lead on. If they would sometimes dust +these steps--but, after all, it doesn't matter to you now, does it? Fancy +that poor girl, though." + +He smiled a little grimly. + +"A few flights of stairs aren't the worst things she has had to face, I'm +afraid," he said. + +"I am rather terrified of her," Elizabeth confided, supporting herself by +her companion's shoulder. "I think I know that ultra-independent type. +Kick me if I put my foot in it. Is this the door?" + +Philip nodded and knocked softly. There was a sharp "Come in!" + +"Put the key down, please," the figure at the typewriter said, as they +entered. + +The words had scarcely left Martha's lips before she turned around, +conscious of some other influence in the room. Philip stepped forward. + +"Miss Grimes," he said, "I have brought Miss Dalstan in to see you. She +wants--" + +He paused. Something in the stony expression of the girl who had risen to +her feet and stood now facing them, her ashen paleness unrelieved by any +note of colour, her hands hanging in front of her patched and shabby +frock, seemed to check the words upon his lips. Her voice was low but not +soft. It seemed to create at once an atmosphere of anger and resentment. + +"What do you want?" she demanded. + +"I hope you don't mind--I am so anxious that you should do some work for +me," Elizabeth explained. "When Mr. Ware first brought me in his play, I +noticed how nicely it was typewritten. You must have been glad to find it +turn out such a success." + +"I take no interest in my work when once it is typed," Martha Grimes +declared, "and I am very sorry but I do not like to receive visitors. I +am very busy. Mr. Ware knows quite well that I like to be left alone." + +Elizabeth smiled at her delightfully. + +"But it isn't always good for us, is it," she reminded her, "to live +exactly as we would like, or to have our own way in all things?" + +There was a moment's rather queer silence. Martha Grimes seemed to be +intent upon studying the appearance of her visitor, the very beautiful +woman familiar to nearly every one in New York, perhaps at that moment +America's most popular actress. Her eyes seemed to dwell upon the little +strands of fair hair that escaped from beneath her smart but simple hat, +to take in the slightly deprecating lift of the eyebrows, the very +attractive, half appealing smile, the smart grey tailor-made gown with +the bunch of violets in her waistband. Elizabeth was as quietly dressed +as it was possible for her to be, but her appearance nevertheless brought +a note of some other world into the shabby little apartment. + +"It's the only thing I ask of life," Martha said, "the only thing I get. +I want to be left alone, and I will be left alone. If there is any more +work, I will do it. If there isn't, I can find some somewhere else. But +visitors I don't want and won't have." + +Elizabeth was adorably patient. She surreptitiously drew towards her a +cane chair, a doubtful-looking article of furniture upon which she seated +herself slowly and with great care. + +"Well," she continued, with unabated pleasantness, "that is reasonable as +far as it goes, only we didn't quite understand, and it is such a climb +up here, isn't it? I came to talk about some work, but I must get my +breath first." + +"Miss Dalstan thought, perhaps," Philip intervened diffidently, "that you +might consider accepting a post at the theatre. They always keep two +stenographers there, and one of them fills up her time by private work, +generally work for some one connected with the theatre. In your case you +could, of course, go on with mine, only when I hadn't enough for you, and +of course I can't compose as fast as you can type, there would be +something else, and the salary would be regular." + +"I should like a regular post," the girl admitted sullenly. "So would any +one who's out of work, of course." + +"The salary," Elizabeth explained, "is twenty-five dollars a week. The +hours are nine to six. You have quite a comfortable room there, but when +you have private work connected with the theatre you can bring it home if +you wish. Mr. Ware tells me that you work very quickly. You will finish +all that you have for him to-day, won't you?" + +"I shall have it finished in half an hour." + +"Then will you be at the New York Theatre to-morrow morning at nine +o'clock," Elizabeth suggested. "There are some parts to be copied. It +will be very nice indeed if you like the work, and I think you will." + +The girl stood there, irresolute. It was obvious that she was trying to +bring herself to utter some form of thanks. Then there was a loud knock +at the door, which was opened without waiting for any reply. The janitor +stood there with a small key in his hand, which he threw down upon a +table. + +"Key of number two hundred, miss," he said. "Let me have it back again +to-night." + +He closed the door and departed. + +"Two hundred?" Philip exclaimed. "Why, that's my old room, the one up +above." + +"I must see it," Elizabeth insisted. "Do please let us go up there. I +meant to ask you to show it me." + +"You are not thinking of moving, are you, Miss Grimes?" Philip enquired. + +She snatched at the key, but he had just possessed himself of it and was +swinging it from his forefinger. + +"I don't know," she snapped. "I was going up there, anyway. You can't +have the key to-day." + +"Why not?" Philip asked in surprise. + +"Never mind. There are some things of mine up there. I--" + +She broke off. They both looked at her, perplexed. Philip shook his head +good-naturedly. + +"Miss Grimes," he said, "you forget that the rooms are mine till next +quarter day. I promise you we will respect any of your belongings we may +find there. Come along, Elizabeth." + +"We'll see you as we come down," the latter promised, nodding pleasantly, + +"I don't know as you will," the girl retorted fiercely. "I may not be +here." + +They climbed the last two flights of stairs together. + +"What an extraordinary young woman!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Is there any +reason for her being quite so rude to me?" + +"None that I can conceive," he answered. "She is always like that." + +"And yet you took an interest in her!" + +"Why not? She is human, soured by misfortune, if you like, with an +immense stock of bravery and honesty underneath it all. She has had a +drunken father practically upon her hands, and life's been pretty sordid +for her. Here we are." + +He fitted the key into the lock and swung the door open. The clear +afternoon light shone in upon the little shabby room and its worn +furniture. There were one or two insignificant belongings of Philip's +still lying about the place, and on the writing-table, exactly opposite +the spot where he used to sit, a little blue vase, in which was a bunch +of violets. Somehow or other it was the one arresting object in the room. +They both of them looked at it in equal amazement. + +"Is any one living here?" Elizabeth enquired. + +"Not to my knowledge," he replied. "No one could take it on without my +signing a release." + +They moved over to the desk. Elizabeth stooped down and smelt the +violets, lifted them up and looked at the cut stalks. + +"Is this where you used to sit and write?" she asked. + +He nodded. + +"But I never had any flowers here," he observed, gazing at them in a +puzzled manner. + +Elizabeth looked at the vase and set it down. Then she turned towards her +companion and shook her head. + +"Oh, my dear Philip," she sighed, "you really don't know what makes that +girl so uncouth?" + +"You mean Martha? Of course I don't. You think that she ... Rubbish!" + +He stopped short in sudden confusion. Elizabeth passed her arm through +his. She replaced the vase very carefully, looked once more around the +room, and led him to the door. + +"Never mind," she said. "It isn't anything serious, of course, but it's +wonderful, Philip, what memories a really lonely woman will live on, what +she will do to keep that little natural vein of sentiment alive in her, +and how fiercely she will fight to conceal it. You can go on down and +wait for me in the hall. I am going in to say good-by to Miss Martha +Grimes. I think that this time I shall get on better with her." + + + +CHAPTER V + +Philip waited nearly a quarter of an hour for Elizabeth. When at last she +returned, she was unusually silent. They drove off together in her +automobile. She held his fingers under the rug. + +"Philip dear," she said, "I think it is time that you and I were +married." + +He turned and looked at her in amazement. There was a smile upon her +lips, but rather a plaintive one. He had a fancy, somehow, that there had +been tears in her eyes lately. + +"Elizabeth!" + +"If we are ever going to be," she went on softly, "why shouldn't we be +married quietly, as people are sometimes, and then tell every one +afterwards?" + +He held the joy away from him, struggling hard for composure. + +"But a little time ago," he reminded her, "you wanted to wait." + +"Yes," she confessed, "I, too, had my--my what shall I call it--fear?--my +ghost in the background?" + +"Ah! but not like mine," he faltered, his voice unsteady with a surging +flood of passion. "Elizabeth, if you really mean it, if you are going to +take the risk of finding yourself the wife of the villain in a _cause +celebre_, why--why--you know very well that even the thought of it can +draw me up into heaven. But, dear--my sweetheart--remember! We've played +a bold game, or rather I have with your encouragement, but we're not safe +yet." + +"Do you know anything that I don't?" she asked feverishly. + +"Well, I suppose I do," he admitted. "It isn't necessarily serious," he +went on quickly, as he saw the colour fade from her cheeks, "but on the +very night that our play was produced, whilst I was waiting about for you +all at the restaurant, a man came to see me. He is one of the keenest +detectives in New York--Edward Dane his name is. He knew perfectly well +that I was the man who had disappeared from the Waldorf. He told me so to +my face." + +"Then why didn't he--why didn't he do something?" + +"Because he was clever enough to suspect that there was something else +behind it all," Philip said grimly. "You see, he'd discovered that I +hadn't used any of the money. He couldn't fit in any of my doings with +the reports they'd had about Douglas. Somehow or other--I can't tell +how--another suspicion seems to have crept into the man's brain. All the +time he talked to me I could see him trying to read in my face whether +there wasn't something else! He'd stumbled across a puzzle of which the +pieces didn't fit. He has gone to England--gone to Detton Magna--gone to +see whether there are any missing pieces to be found. He may be back any +day now." + +"But what could he discover?" she faltered. + +"God knows!" Philip groaned. "There's the whole ghastly truth there, if +fortune helped him, and he were clever enough, if by any devilish chance +the threads came into his hand. I don't think--I don't think there was +ever any fear from the other side. I had all the luck. But, Elizabeth, +sometimes I am terrified of this man Dane. I didn't mean to tell you +this, but it's too late now. Do you know that I am watched, day by day? I +pretend not to notice it--I am even able, now and then, to shut it out +from my own thoughts--but wherever I go there's some one shadowing me, +some one walking in my footsteps. I'm perfectly certain that if you were +to go to police headquarters here, you could find out where I have spent +almost every hour since I took that room in Monmouth House." + +She gripped his fingers fiercely. + +"Philip! Philip!" + +He leaned forward, gazing with peculiar, almost passionate intentness, +into the faces of the people as they swept along Broadway. + +"Look at them, Elizabeth!" he muttered. "Look at that mob of men and +women sweeping along the pavements there, every kind and shape of man, +every nationality, every age! They are like the little flecks on the top +of a wave. I watched them when I first came and I felt almost reckless. +You'd think a man could plunge in there and be lost, wouldn't you? He +can't! I tried it. Is there anywhere else in the world, I wonder? Is +there anywhere in the living world where one can throw off everything of +the past, where one can take up a new life, and memory doesn't come?" + +She shook her head. She was more composed now. The moment of feverish +excitement had passed. Her shrewd and level common sense had begun to +reassert itself. + +"There isn't any such place, Philip," she told him, "and if there were it +wouldn't be worth while your trying to find it. We are both a little +hysterical this evening. We've lost our sense of proportion. You've +played for your stake. You mustn't quail; if the worst should come, you +must brave it out. I believe, even then, you would be safe. But it won't +come--it shan't!" + +He gripped her hands. They were slowing up now, caught in a maze of heavy +traffic a few blocks from the theatre. His voice was firm. He had +regained his self-control. + +"What an idiot I have been!" he exclaimed scornfully. "Never mind, that's +past. There is just one more serious word, though, dear." + +She responded immediately to the change in his manner, and smiled into +his face. + +"Well?" + +"My only real problem," he went on earnestly, "is this. Dare I hold you +to your word, Elizabeth? Dare I, for instance, say 'yes' to the wonderful +suggestion of yours?--make you my wife and risk having people look at you +in years to come, point at you with pity and say that you married a +murderer who died a shameful death! Fancy how the tragedy of that would +lie across your life--you who are so wonderful and so courted and so +clever!" + +"Isn't that my affair, Philip?" she asked calmly. + +"No," he answered, "it's mine!" + +She turned and laughed at him. For a moment she was her old self again. + +"You refuse me?" + +His eyes glowed. + +"We'll wait," he said hoarsely, "till Dane comes back from England!" + +The car had stopped outside the theatre. Hat in hand, and with his face +wreathed in smiles, the commissionaire had thrown open the door. The +people on the pavement were nudging one another--a famous woman was about +to descend. She turned back to Philip. + +"Come in with me," she begged. "Somehow, I feel cold and lonely to-night. +It hasn't anything to do with what we were talking about, but I feel as +though something were going to happen, that something were coming out of +the shadows, something that threatens either you or me. I'm silly, but +come." + +She clung to him as they crossed the pavement. For once she forgot to +smile at the little curious crowd. She was absorbed in herself and her +feelings. + +"Life is so hard sometimes!" she exclaimed, as they lingered for a moment +near the box office. "There's that poor girl, Philip, friendless and +lonely. What she must suffer! God help her--God help us all! I am sick +with loneliness myself, Philip. Don't leave me alone. Come with me to my +room. I only want to see if there are any letters. We'll go somewhere +near and dine first, before I change. Philip, what is the matter with me? +I don't want to go a step alone. I don't want to be alone for a moment." + +He laughed reassuringly and drew her closer to him. She led the way down +the passage towards her own suite of apartments. They passed one or two +of the officials of the theatre, whom she greeted with something less +than her usual charm of manner. As they reached the manager's office +there was the sound of loud voices, and the door was thrown open. Mr. +Fink appeared, and with him a somewhat remarkable figure--a tall, +immensely broad, ill-dressed man, with a strong, rugged face and a mass +of grey hair; a huge man, who seemed, somehow or other, to proclaim +himself of a bigger and stronger type than those others amongst whom +he moved. He had black eyes, and the heavy jaw of an Irishman. His face +was curiously unwrinkled. He stood there, blocking the way, his great +hands suddenly thrust forward. + +"Betty, by the Lord that loves us!" he exclaimed. "Here's luck! I was on +my way out to search for you. Got here on the Chicago Limited at four +o'clock. Give me your hands and say that you are glad to see me." + +If Elizabeth were glad, she showed no sign of it. She seemed to have +become rooted to the spot, suddenly dumb. Philip, by her side, heard the +quick indrawing of her breath. + +"Sylvanus!" she murmured. "You! Why, I thought you were in China." + +"There's no place on God's earth can hold me for long," was the +boisterous reply. "I did my business there in three days and caught a +Japanese boat back. Such a voyage and such food! But New York will make +up for that. You've got a great play, they tell me. I must hear all about +it. Shake my hands first, though, girl, as though you were glad to see +me. You seem to have shrunken since I saw you last--to have grown +smaller. Didn't London agree with you?" + +The moment of shock had passed. Elizabeth had recovered herself. She gave +the newcomer her hands quite frankly. She even seemed, in a measure, glad +to see him. + +"These unannounced comings and goings of yours from the ends of the earth +are so upsetting to your friends," she declared. + +"And this gentleman? Who is he?" + +Elizabeth laughed softly. + +"I needn't tell you, Mr. Ware," she said, turning to Philip, "that this +dear man here is an eccentric. I dare say you've heard of him. It is Mr. +Sylvanus Power, and Sylvanus, this is Mr. Merton Ware, the author of our +play--'The House of Shams.'" + +Philip felt his hand held in a grasp which, firm though it was, seemed to +owe its vigour rather to the long, powerful fingers than to any real +cordiality. Mr. Sylvanus Power was studying him from behind his bushy +eyebrows. + +"So you're Merton Ware," he observed. "I haven't seen your play yet--hope +to to-night. An Englishman, eh?" + +"Yes, I am English," Philip assented coolly. "You come from the West, +don't you?" + +There was a moment's silence. Elizabeth laughed softly. + +"Oh, there's no mistake about Mr. Power!" she declared. "He brings the +breezy West with him, to Wall Street or Broadway, Paris or London. You +can't shake it off or blow it away." + +"And I don't know as I am particularly anxious to, either," Mr. Power +pronounced. "Are you going to your rooms here, Betty? If so, I'll come +along. I guess Mr. Ware will excuse you." + +Philip was instantly conscious of the antagonism in the other's manner. +As yet, however, he felt little more than amusement. He glanced towards +Elizabeth, and the look in her face startled him. The colour had once +more left her cheeks and her eyes were full of appeal. + +"If you wouldn't mind?" she begged. "Mr. Power is a very old friend and +we haven't met for so long." + +"You needn't expect to see anything more of Miss Dalstan to-night, either +of you," the newcomer declared, drawing her hand through his arm, "except +on the stage, that is. I am going to take her out and give her a little +dinner directly. Au revoir, Fink! I'll see you to-night here. Good-day to +you, Mr. Ware." + +Philip stood for a moment motionless. The voice of Mr. Sylvanus Power was +no small thing, and he was conscious that several of the officials of the +place, and the man in the box office, had heard every word that had +passed. He felt, somehow, curiously ignored. He watched the huge figure +of the Westerner, with Elizabeth by his side, disappear down the +corridor. Mr. Fink, who had also been looking after them, turned towards +him. + +"Say, that's some man, Sylvanus Power!" he exclaimed admiringly. "He is +one of our multimillionaires, Mr. Ware. What do you think of him?" + +"So far as one can judge from a few seconds' conversation," Philip +remarked, "he seems to possess all the qualities essential to the +production of a multimillionaire in this country." + +Mr. Fink grinned. + +"Sounds a trifle sarcastic, but I guess he's a new type to you," he +observed tolerantly. + +"Absolutely," Philip acknowledged, as he turned and made his way slowly +out of the theatre. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Philip's disposition had been so curiously affected by the emotions of +the last few months that he was not in the least surprised to find +himself, that evening, torn by a very curious and unfamiliar spasm of +jealousy. After an hour or so of indecision he made his way, as usual, to +the theatre, but instead of going at once to Elizabeth's room, he slipped +in at the back of the stalls. The house was crowded, and, seated in the +stage box, alone and gloomy, his somewhat austere demeanour intensified +by the severity of his evening clothes, sat Sylvanus Power with the air +of a conqueror. Philip, unaccountably restless, left his seat in a very +few minutes, and, making his way to the box office, scribbled a line to +Elizabeth. The official to whom he handed it looked at him in surprise. + +"Won't you go round yourself, Mr. Ware?" he suggested. "Miss Dalstan has +another ten minutes before she is on." + +Philip shook his head. + +"I'm looking for a man I know," he replied evasively. "I'll be somewhere +about here in five minutes." + +The answer came in less than that time. It was just a scrawled line in +pencil: + +"Forgive me, dear. I will explain everything in the morning, if you will +come to my rooms at eleven o'clock. This evening I have a hateful duty to +perform and I cannot see you." + +Philip, impatient of the atmosphere of the theatre, wandered out into the +streets with the note in his pocket. Broadway was thronged with people, a +heterogeneous, slowly-moving throng, the hardest crowd to apprehend, to +understand, of any in the world. He looked absently into the varying +stream of faces, stared at the whirling sky-signs, the lights flashing +from the tall buildings, heard snatches of the music from the open doors +of the cafes and restaurants. Men, and even women, elbowed him, +unresenting, out of the way, without the semblance of an apology. It +seemed to him that his presence there, part of the drifting pandemonium +of the pavement, was in a sense typical of his own existence in New York. +He had given so much of his life into another's hands and now the anchor +was dragging. He was suddenly confronted with the possibility of a rift +in his relations with Elizabeth; with a sudden surging doubt, not of +Elizabeth herself but simply a feeling of insecurity with regard to their +future. He only realised in those moments how much he had leaned upon +her, how completely she seemed to have extended over him and his troubled +life some sort of sheltering influence, to which he had succumbed with an +effortless, an almost fatalistic impulse, finding there, at any rate, a +refuge from the horrors of his empty days. It was all abstract and +impersonal at first, this jealousy which had come so suddenly to disturb +the serenity of an almost too perfect day, but as the hours passed it +seemed to him that his thoughts dwelt more often upon the direct cause of +his brief separation from Elizabeth. He turned in at one of the clubs of +which he had been made a member, and threw himself gloomily into an +easy-chair. His thoughts had turned towards the grim, masterful +personality of the man who seemed to have obtruded himself upon their +lives. What did it mean when Elizabeth told him she was engaged for +to-night? She was supping with him somewhere--probably at that moment +seated opposite to him at a small, rose-shaded table in one of the many +restaurants of the city which they had visited together. He, Sylvanus +Power, his supplanter, was occupying the place that belonged to him, +ordering her supper, humouring her little preferences, perhaps sharing +with her that little glow of relief which comes with the hour of rest, +after the strain of the day's work. The suggestion was intolerable. +To-morrow he would have an explanation! Elizabeth belonged to him. +The sooner the world knew it, the better, and this man first of all. He +read her few lines again, hastily pencilled, and evidently written +standing up. There was a certain ignominy in being sent about his +business, just because this colossus from the West had appeared and +claimed--what? Not his right!--he could have no right! What then?... + +Philip ordered a drink, tore open an evening paper, and tried to read. +The letters danced before his eyes, the whisky and soda stood neglected +at his elbow. Afterwards he found himself looking into space. There was +something cynical, challenging almost, in the manner in which that man +had taken Elizabeth away from him, had acknowledged his introduction, +even had treated the author of a play, a writer, as some sort of a +mountebank, making his living by catering for the amusements of the +world. How did that man regard such gifts as his, he wondered?--Sylvanus +Power, of whom he had seen it written that he was one of the conquerors +of nature, a hard but splendid utilitarian, the builder of railways in +China and bridges for the transit of his metals amid the clouds of the +mountain tops. In the man's absence, his harshness, almost uncouthness, +seemed modified. He was a rival, without a doubt, and to-night a favoured +one. How well had he known Elizabeth? For how long? Was it true, that +rumour he had once heard--that the first step in her fortunes had been +due to the caprice of a millionaire? He found the room stifling, but the +thought of the streets outside unnerved him. He looked about for some +distraction. + +The room was beginning to fill--actors, musicians, a few journalists, a +great many men of note in the world of Bohemia kept streaming in. One +or two of them nodded to him, several paused to speak. + +"Hullo, Ware!" Noel Bridges exclaimed. "Not often you give us a look in. +What are you doing with yourself here all alone?" + +Philip turned to answer him, and suddenly felt the fire blaze up again. +He saw his questioner's frown, saw him even bite his lip as though +conscious of having said a tactless thing. The actor probably understood +the whole situation well enough. + +"I generally go into the Lotus," Philip lied. "To-night I had a fancy to +come here." + +"The Lotus is too far up town for us fellows," Bridges remarked. "We need +a drink, a little supper, and to see our pals quickly when the night's +work is over. I hear great things of the new play, Mr. Ware, but I don't +know when you'll get a chance to produce it. Were you in the house +tonight?" + +"Only for a moment." + +"Going stronger than ever," Bridges continued impressively. "Yes, thanks, +I'll take a Scotch highball," he added, in response to Philip's mute +invitation, "plenty of ice, Mick. There wasn't a seat to be had in the +house, and I wouldn't like to say what old Fink had to go through before +he could get his box for the great Sylvanus." + +"His box?" Philip queried. + +"The theatre belongs to Sylvanus Power, you know," Bridges explained. "He +built it five years ago." + +"For a speculation?" + +The actor fidgeted for a moment with his tumbler. + +"No, for Miss Dalstan," he replied. + +Philip set his teeth hard. The temptation to pursue the conversation was +almost overpowering. The young man himself, though a trifle embarrassed, +seemed perfectly willing to talk. At least it was better to know the +truth! Then another impulse suddenly asserted itself. Whatever he was to +know he must learn from her lips and from hers only. + +"Well, I should think it's turned out all right," he remarked. + +Noel Bridges shrugged his shoulders. + +"The rent, if it were figured out at a fair interest on the capital, +would be something fabulous," he declared. "You see, the place was +extravagantly built--without any regard to cost. The dressing rooms, as +you may have noticed, are wonderful, and all the appointments are unique. +I don't fancy the old man's ever had a quarter's rent yet that's paid him +one per cent, on the money. See you later, perhaps, Mr. Ware," the young +man concluded, setting down his tumbler. "I'm going in to have a grill. +Why don't you come along?" + +Philip hesitated for a second and then, somewhat to the other's surprise, +assented. He was conscious that he had been, perhaps, just a little +unresponsive to the many courtesies which had been offered him here and +at the other kindred clubs. They had been ready to receive him with open +arms, this little fraternity of brain-workers, and his response had been, +perhaps, a little doubtful, not from any lack of appreciation but partly +from that curious diffidence, so hard to understand but so fundamentally +English, and partly because of that queer sense of being an impostor +which sometimes swept over him, a sense that he was, after all, only +the ghost of another man, living a subjective life; that, reason it out +however he might, there was something of the fraud in any personality +he might adopt. And yet, deep down in his heart he was conscious of so +earnest a desire to be really one of them, this good-natured, +good-hearted, gay-spirited little throng, with their delightful +intimacies, their keen interest in each other's welfare, their potent, +almost mysterious geniality, which seemed to draw the stranger of kindred +tastes so closely under its influence. Philip, as he sat at the long +table with a dozen or so other men, did his best that night to break +through the fetters, tried hard to remember that his place amongst them, +after all, was honest enough. They were writers and actors and +journalists. Well, he too was a writer. He had written a play which they +had welcomed with open arms, as they had done him. In this world of +Bohemia, if anywhere, he surely had a right to lift up his head and +breathe--and he would do it. He sat with them, smoking and talking, until +the little company began to thin out, establishing all the time a new +reputation, doing a great deal to dissipate that little sense of +disappointment which his former non-responsiveness had created. + +"He's a damned good fellow, after all," one of them declared, as at last +he left the room. "He is losing his Britishness every day he stays here." + +"Been through rough times, they say," another remarked. + +"He is one of those," an elder member pronounced, taking his pipe for a +moment from his mouth, "who was never made for happiness. You can always +read those men. You can see it behind their eyes." + +Nevertheless, Philip walked home a saner and a better man. He felt +somehow warmed by those few hours of companionship. The senseless part of +his jealousy was gone, his trust in Elizabeth reestablished. He looked at +the note once more as he undressed. At eleven o'clock on the following +morning in her rooms! + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Something of his overnight's optimism remained with Philip when at eleven +o'clock on the following morning he was ushered into Elizabeth's rooms. +It was a frame of mind, however, which did not long survive his +reception. From the moment of his arrival, he seemed to detect a +different atmosphere in his surroundings,--the demeanour of Phoebe, his +staunch ally, who admitted him without her usual welcoming smile; the +unanalysable sense of something wanting in the dainty little room, +overfilled with strong-smelling, hothouse flowers in the entrance and +welcome of Elizabeth herself. His eyes had ached for the sight of her. +He was so sure that he would know everything the moment she spoke. +Yet her coming brought only confusion to his senses. She was +different--unexpectedly, bewilderingly different. She had lost that +delicate serenity of manner, that almost protective affection which he +had grown to lean upon and expect. She entered dressed for the street, +smoking a cigarette, which was in itself unusual, with dark rings under +her eyes, which seemed to be looking all around the room on some +pretext or other, but never at him. + +"Am I late?" she asked, a little breathlessly. "I am so sorry. Tell me, +have you anything particular to do?" + +"Nothing," he answered. + +"I want to go out of the city--into the country, at once," she told him +feverishly. "The car is waiting. I ordered it for a quarter to eleven. +Let us start." + +"Of course, if you wish it," he assented. + +He opened the door but before she passed through he leaned towards her. +She shook her head. His heart sank. What could there be more ominous +than this! + +"I am not well," she muttered. "Don't take any notice of anything I say +or do for a little time. I am like this sometimes--temperamental, I +suppose. All great actresses are temperamental. I suppose I am a great +actress. Do you think I am, Philip?" + +He was following her down-stairs now. He found it hard, however, to +imitate the flippancy of her tone. + +"The critics insist upon it," he observed drily. "Evidently your audience +last night shared their opinion." + +She nodded. + +"I love them to applaud like that, and yet--audiences don't really know, +do they? Perhaps--" + +She relapsed into silence, and they took their places in the car. She +settled herself down with a little sigh of content and drew the rug over +her. + +"As far as you can go, John," she told the man, "but you must get back at +six o'clock. The country, mind--not the shore." + +They started off. + +"So you were there last night?" she murmured, leaning back amongst the +cushions with an air of relief. + +"I was there for a few moments. I wrote my note to you in the box +office." + +She shook the memory away. + +"And afterwards?" + +"I went to one of the clubs down-town." + +"What did you do there?" she enquired. "Gossip?" + +"Some of the men were very kind to me," he said. "I had supper with Noel +Bridges, amongst others." + +"Well?" she asked, almost defiantly. + +"I don't understand." + +She looked intently at him for a moment. + +"I forgot," she went on. "You are very chivalrous, aren't you? You +wouldn't ask questions.... See, I am going to close my eyes. It is too +horrible here, and all through Brooklyn. When we are in the lanes I can +talk. This is just one of those days I wish that we were in England. All +our country is either suburban or too wild and restless. Can you be +content with silence for a little time?" + +"Of course," he assured her. "Besides, you forget that I am in a strange +country. Everything is worth watching." + +They passed over Brooklyn Bridge, and for an hour or more they made slow +progress through the wide-flung environs of the city. At last, however, +the endless succession of factories and small tenement dwellings lay +behind them. They passed houses with real gardens, through stretches of +wood whose leaves were opening, whose branches were filled with the +sweet-smelling sap of springtime. Elizabeth seemed to wake almost +automatically from a kind of stupor. She pushed back her veil, and +Philip, stealing eager glances towards her, was almost startled by some +indefinable change. Her face seemed more delicate, almost the face of an +invalid, and she lay back there with half-closed eyes. The strength of +her mouth seemed to have dissolved, and its sweetness had become almost +pathetic. There were signs of a great weariness about her. The fingers +which reached out for the little speaking-tube seemed to have become +thinner. + +"Take the turn to the left, John," she instructed, "the one to Bay Shore. +Go slowly by the lake and stop where I tell you." + +They left the main road and travelled for some distance along a lane +which, with its bramble-grown fences and meadows beyond, was curiously +reminiscent of England. They passed a country house, built of the wood +which was still a little unfamiliar to Philip, but wonderfully homelike +with its cluster of outbuildings, its trim lawns, and the turret clock +over the stable entrance. Then, through the leaves of an avenue of elms, +they caught occasional glimpses of the blue waters of the lake, which +they presently skirted. Elizabeth's eyes travelled over its placid +surface idly, yet with a sense of passive satisfaction. In a few minutes +they passed into the heart of a little wood, and she leaned forward. + +"Stop here, close to the side of the road, John. Stop your engine, +please, and go and sit by the lake." + +The man obeyed at once with the unquestioning readiness of one used to +his mistress' whims. For several minutes she remained silent. She had the +air of one drinking in with almost passionate eagerness the sedative +effect of the stillness, the soft spring air, the musical country sounds, +the ripple of the breeze in the trees, the humming of insects, the soft +splash of the lake against the stony shore. Philip himself was awakened +into a peculiar sense of pleasure by this, almost his first glimpse of +the country since his arrival in New York. A host of half forgotten +sensations warmed his heart. He felt suddenly intensely sympathetic, +perhaps more genuinely tender than he had ever felt before towards the +woman by his side, whose hour of suffering it was. His hand slipped under +the rug and held her fingers, which clutched his in instantaneous +response. Her lips seemed unlocked by his slight action. + +"I came here alone two years ago," she told him, "and since then often, +sometimes to study a difficult part, sometimes only to think. One +moment." + +She released her fingers from his, drew out the hatpins from her hat, +unwound the veil and threw them both on to the opposite seat. Then she +laid her hands upon her forehead as though to cool it. The little breeze +from the lake rippled through her hair, bringing them every now and then +faint whiffs of perfume from the bordering gardens. + +"There!" she exclaimed, with a little murmur of content. "That's a man's +action, isn't it? Now I think I am getting brave. I have something to +say to you, Philip." + +He felt her fingers seeking his again and held them tightly. It was +curious how in that moment of crisis his thoughts seemed to wander away. +He was watching the little flecks of gold in her hair, wondering if he +had ever properly appreciated the beautiful curve of her neck. Even her +voice seemed somehow attuned to the melody of their surroundings, the +confused song of the birds, the sighing of the lake, the passing of the +west wind through the trees and shrubs around. + +"Philip," she began, clinging closely to him, "I have brought you here to +tell you a story which perhaps you will think, when you have heard it, +might better have been told in my dressing-room. Well, I couldn't. +Besides, I wanted to get away. It is about Sylvanus Power." + +He sat a little more upright. His nerves were tingling now with +eagerness. + +"Yes?" + +"I met him," she continued, "eight years ago out West, when I was in a +travelling show. I accepted his attentions at first carelessly enough. I +did not realise the sort of man he was. He was a great personage even in +those days, and I suppose my head was a little turned. Then he began to +follow us everywhere. There was a scandal, of course. In the end I left +the company and came to New York. He went to China, where he has always +had large interests. When I heard that he had sailed--I remember reading +it in the paper--I could have sobbed with joy." + +Philip moved a little uneasily in his place. Some instinct told him, +however, how greatly she desired his silence--that she wanted to tell her +story her own way. + +"Then followed three miserable years, during which I saw little of him. I +knew that I had talent, I was always sure of making a living, but I got +no further. It didn't seem possible to get any further. Nothing that I +could do or say seemed able to procure for me an engagement in New York. +Think of me for a moment now, Philip, as a woman absolutely and entirely +devoted to her work. I loved it. It absorbed all my thoughts. It was just +the one thing in life I cared anything about. I simply ached to get at +New York, and I couldn't. All the time I had to play on tour, and you +won't quite understand this, dear, but there is nothing so wearing in +life as for any one with my cravings for recognition there to be always +playing on the road." + +She paused for a few minutes. There was a loud twittering of birds. A +rabbit who had stolen carefully through the undergrowth scurried away. A +car had come through the wood and swept past them, bringing with it some +vague sense of disturbance. It was some little time before she settled +down again to her story. + +"At the end of those three years," she went on, "Sylvanus Power had +become richer, stronger, more masterful than ever. I was beginning to +lose heart. He was clever. He studied my every weakness. He knew quite +well that with me there was only one way, and he laid his schemes with +regard to me just in the same fashion as he schemed to be a conqueror +of men, to build up those millions. We were playing near New York and one +day he asked me to motor in there and lunch with him. I accepted. It was +in the springtime, almost on such a day as this. We motored up in one of +his wonderful cars. We lunched--I remember how shabby I felt--at the best +restaurant in New York, where I was waited upon like a queen. Somehow or +other, the man had always the knack of making himself felt wherever he +went. He strode the very streets of New York like one of its masters and +the people seemed to recognise it. Afterwards he took me into Broadway, +and he ordered the car to stop outside the theatre where I am now +playing. I looked at it, and I remember I gave a little cry of interest. + +"'This is the new theatre that every one is talking about, isn't it?' I +asked him eagerly. + +"'It is,' he answered. 'Would you like to see inside?' + +"Of course, I was half crazy with curiosity. The doors flew open before +him, and he took me everywhere. You know yourself what a magnificent +place it is--that marvellous stage, the auditorium all in dark green +satin, the seats like armchairs, the dressing rooms like boudoirs--the +wonderful spaciousness of it! It took my breath away. I had never +imagined such splendour. When we had finished looking over the whole +building, I clutched his arm. + +"'I can't believe that it isn't some sort of fairy palace!' I exclaimed. +And to think that no one knows who owns the place or when it is going to +be opened!' + +"'I'll tell you all about that' he answered. 'I built it, I own it, and +it will be opened just when you accept my offer and play in it.' + +"It all seemed too amazing. For a time I couldn't speak coherently. Then +I remember thinking that whatever happened, whatever price I had to pay, +I must stand upon the stage of that theatre and win. My lips were quite +dry. His great voice seemed to have faded into a whisper. + +"'Your offer?' I repeated. + +"'Yourself,' he answered gruffly." + +There was a silence which seemed to Philip interminable. All the magic of +the place had passed away, its music seemed no longer to be singing +happiness into his heart. Then at last he realised that she was waiting +for him to speak. + +"He wanted--to marry you?" he faltered. + +"He had a wife already." + +Splash! John was throwing stones into the lake, a pastime of which he was +getting a little tired. A huge thrush was thinking about commencing to +build his nest, and in the meantime sat upon a fallen log across the way +and sang about it. A little tree-climbing bird ran round and round the +trunk of the nearest elm, staring at them, every time he appeared, with +his tiny black eyes. A squirrel, almost overhead, who had long since come +to the conclusion that they were harmless, decided now that they had the +queerest manners of any two young people he had ever watched from his +leafy throne, and finally abandoned his position. Elizabeth had been +staring down the road ever since the last words had passed her lips. She +turned at last and looked at her companion. He was once more the refugee, +the half-starved man flying from horrors greater even than he had known. +She began to tremble. + +"Philip!" she cried. "Say anything, but speak to me!" + +Like a flash he seemed to pass from his own, almost the hermit's way of +looking out upon life from the old-fashioned standpoint of his inherent +puritanism, into a closer sympathy with those others, the men and women +of the world into which he had so lately entered, the men and women who +had welcomed him so warm-heartedly, human beings all of them, who lived +and loved with glad hearts and much kindliness. The contrast was absurd, +the story itself suddenly so reasonable. No other woman on tour would +have kept Sylvanus Power waiting for three years. Only Elizabeth could +have done that. It was such a human little problem. People didn't live in +the clouds. He wasn't fit for the clouds himself. Nevertheless, when he +tried to speak his throat was hard and dry, and at the second attempt he +began instead to laugh. She gripped his arm. + +"Philip!" she exclaimed. "Be reasonable! Say what you like, but look and +behave like a human being. Don't make that noise!" she almost shrieked. + +He stopped at once. + +"Forgive me," he begged humbly. "I can't help it. I seem to be playing +hide and seek with myself. You haven't finished the story yet--if there +is anything more to tell me." + +She drew herself up. She spoke absolutely without faltering. + +"I accepted Sylvanus Power's terms," she went on. "He placed large sums +of money in Fink's hands to run the theatre. There was a wonderful +opening. You were not interested then or you might have heard of it. I +produced a new play of Clyde Fitch's. It was a great triumph. The house +was packed. Sylvanus Power sat in his box. It was to be his night. +Through it all I fought like a woman in a nightmare. I didn't know what +it meant. I knew hundreds of women who had done in a small way what I was +prepared to do magnificently. In all my acquaintance I think that I +scarcely knew one who would have refused to do what I was doing. And all +the time I was in a state of fierce revolt. I had moments when my life's +ambitions, when New York itself, the Mecca of my dreams, and that +marvellous theatre, with its marble and silk, seemed suddenly to dwindle +to a miserable, contemptible little doll's house. And then again I +played, and I felt my soul as I played, and the old dreams swept over +me, and I said that it wasn't anything to do with personal vanity that +made me crave for the big gifts of success; that it was my art, and that +I must find myself in my art or die." + +The blood was flowing in his veins again. She was coming back to him. He +was ashamed--he with his giant load of sin! His voice trembled with +tenderness. + +"Go on," he begged. + +"I think that the reason I played that night as though I were inspired +was because of the great passionate craving at my heart for +forgetfulness, to shut out the memory of that man who sat almost +gloomily alone in his box, waiting. And then, after it was all over, the +wonder and the glory of it, he appeared suddenly in my dressing-room, +elbowing his way through excited journalists, kicking bouquets of flowers +from his path. We stood for a moment face to face. He came nearer. I +shrank away. I was terrified! He looked at me in cold surprise. + +"'Three minutes,' he exclaimed, 'to say good-by. I'm off to China. Stick +at it. You've done well for a start, but remember a New York audience +wants holding. Choose your plays carefully. Trust Fink.' + +"'You're going away?' I almost shrieked. + +"He glanced at his watch, leaned over, and kissed me on the forehead. + +"'I'll barely make that boat,' he muttered, and rushed out."... + +Philip was breathless. The strange, untold passion of the whole thing was +coming to him in waves of wonderful suggestion. + +"Finish!" he cried impatiently. "Finish!" + +"That is the end," she said. "I played for two years and a half, with +scarcely a pause. Then I came to Europe for a rest and travelled back +with you on the _Elletania_. Last night I saw Sylvanus Power again for +the first time. Don't speak. My story is in two halves. That is the +first. The second is just one question. That will come before we reach +home...John!" she called. + +The man approached promptly--he was quite weary of throwing stones. + +"Take us somewhere to lunch," his mistress directed, "and get back to New +York at six o'clock." + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +It was not until they were crossing Brooklyn Bridge, on their way into +the city, that she asked him that question. They crawled along, one of an +interminable, tangled line of vehicles of all sorts and conditions, the +trains rattling overhead, and endless streams of earnest people passing +along the footway. Below them, the evening sunlight flashed upon the +murky waters, glittered from the windows of the tall buildings, and shone +a little mercilessly upon the unlovely purlieus of the great human hive. +The wind had turned cool, and Elizabeth, with a little shiver, had drawn +her furs around her neck. All through the day, during the luncheon in an +unpretentious little inn, and the leisurely homeward drive, she had been +once more entirely herself, pleasant and sympathetic, ignoring absolutely +the intangible barrier which had grown up between them, soon to be thrown +down for ever or to remain for all time. + +"We left our heroine," she said, "at an interesting crisis in her career. +I am waiting to hear from you--what would you have done in her place?" + +He answered her at once, and he spoke from the lesser heights. He was +fiercely jealous. + +"It is not a reasonable question," he declared. "I am not a woman. I am +just a man who has led an unusually narrow and cramped life until these +last few months." + +"That is scarcely fair," she objected. "You profess to have loved--to +love still, I hope. That in itself makes a man of any one. Then you, too, +have sinned. You, too, are one of those who have yielded to passion of a +sort. Therefore, your judgment ought to be the better worth having." + +He winced as though he had been struck, and looked at her with eyes +momentarily wild. He felt that the deliberate cruelty of her words was of +intent, an instinct of her brain, defying for the moment her heart. + +"I don't know," he faltered. "I won't answer your question. I can't. You +see, the love you speak of is my love for you. You ask me to ignore +that--I, who am clinging on to life by one rope." + +"You are like all men," she sighed. "We do not blame you for it--perhaps +we love you the more--but when a great crisis comes you think only of +yourselves. You disappoint me a little, Philip. I fancied that you might +have thought a little of me, something of Sylvanus Power." + +"I haven't your sympathy for other people," he declared hoarsely. + +"No," she assented, "sympathy is the one thing a man lacks. It isn't your +fault, Philip. You are to be pitied for it. And, after all, it is a +woman's gift, isn't it?" + +There followed then a silence which seemed interminable. It was not until +they were nearing the theatre that he suddenly spoke with a passion which +startled her. + +"Tell me," he insisted, "last night? I can't help asking. I was in hell!" + +He told himself afterwards that there couldn't be any possible way of +reconciling cruelty so cold-blooded with all that he knew of Elizabeth. +She behaved as though his question had fallen upon deaf ears. The car had +stopped before the entrance to the theatre. She stepped out even before +he could assist her, hurried across the pavement and looked back at him +for one moment only before she plunged into the dark passage. She nodded, +and there was an utterly meaningless smile upon her lips. + +"Good-by!" she said. "Do you mind telling John he needn't wait for me?" + +Then she disappeared. He stood motionless upon the pavement, a little +dazed. Two or three people jostled against him. A policeman glanced at +him curiously. A lady with very yellow hair winked in his face. Philip +pulled himself together and simultaneously felt a touch upon his elbow. +He glanced into the face of the girl who had accosted him, and for a +moment he scarcely recognised her. + +"Wish you'd remember you're in New York and not one of your own sleepy +old towns," Miss Grimes remarked brusquely. "You'll have a policeman say +you're drunk, in a minute, if you stand there letting people shove you +around." + +He fell into step by her side, and they walked slowly along. Martha was +plainly dressed, but she was wearing new clothes, new shoes, and a new +hat. + +"Don't stare at me as though you never saw me out of a garret before," +she went on, a little sharply. "Your friend Miss Dalstan is a lady who +understands things. When I arrived at the theatre this morning I found +that it was to be a permanent job all right, and there was a little +advance for me waiting in an envelope. That fat old Mr. Fink began to +cough and look at my clothes, so I got one in first. 'This is for me to +make myself look smart enough for your theatre, I suppose?' I said. +'Give me an hour off, and I'll do it.' So he grinned, and here I am. Done +a good day's work, too, copying the parts of your play for a road +company, and answering letters. What's wrong with you?" + +The very sound of her voice was a tonic. He almost smiled as he answered +her. + +"Just a sort of hankering for the moon and a sudden fear lest I mightn't +get it." + +"You're spoilt, that's what's the matter with you," she declared +brusquely. + +"It never occurred to me," he said gloomily, "that life had been +over-kind." + +"Oh, cut it out!" she answered. "Here you are not only set on your feet +but absolutely held up there; all the papers full of Merton Ware's +brilliant play, and Merton Ware, the new dramatist, with his social +gifts--such an acquisition to New York Society! Why, it isn't so very +long ago, after all, that you hadn't a soul in New York to speak to. +I saw something in your face that night. I thought you were hungry. So +you were, only it wasn't for food. It cheered you up even to talk with +me. And look at you to-day! Clubs and parties and fine friends, and there +you were, half dazed in Broadway! Be careful, man. You don't know what it +is to be down and out. You haven't been as near it as I have, anyway, or +you'd lift your head up and be thankful." + +"Martha," he began earnestly-- + +"Miss Grimes!" she interrupted firmly. "Don't let there be any mistake +about that. I hate familiarity." + +"Miss Grimes, then," he went on. "You talk about my friends. Quite right. +I should think I have been introduced to nearly a thousand people since +the night my play was produced. I have dined at a score of houses and +many scores of restaurants. The people are pleasant enough, too, but all +the time it's Merton Ware the dramatist they are patting on the back. +They don't know anything about Merton Ware the man. Perhaps there are +some of them would be glad to, but you see it's too soon, and they seem +to live too quickly here to make friends. I am almost as lonely as I was, +so far as regards ordinary companionship. Last night I felt the first +little glow of real friendliness--just the men down at the club." + +"You've put all your eggs into one basket, that's what you've done," she +declared. + +"That's true enough," he groaned. + +"And like all men--selfish brutes!" she proceeded deliberately--"you +expect everything. Fancy expecting everything from a woman like Miss +Dalstan! Why, you aren't worthy of it, you know." + +"Perhaps not," he admitted, "but you see, Miss Grimes, there is something +in life which seems to have passed you by up till now." + +"Has it indeed!" she objected. "You think I've never had a young man, eh? +Perhaps you're right. Haven't found much time for that sort of rubbish. +Anyway, this is where I hop on a trolley car." + +"Wait a moment," he begged. "Don't leave me yet. You've nothing to do, +have you?" + +"Nothing particular," she confessed, "except go home and cook my dinner." + +"Look here," he went on eagerly, "I feel like work. I've got the second +act of my new play in my mind. Come round with me and let me try +dictating it. I'll give you something to eat in my rooms. It's for the +theatre, mind. I never tried dictating. I believe I could do it to you." + +"In your rooms," she repeated, a little doubtfully. + +"They won't talk scandal about us, Miss Grimes," he assured her. "To tell +you the truth, I want to be near the telephone." + +"In case she rings you up, eh?" + +"That's so. I said something I ought not to have done. I ought to have +waited for her, but it was something that had been tearing at me ever +since last night, and I couldn't bear it." + +"Some blunderers, you men," Miss Grimes sighed. "Well, I'm with you." + +He led her almost apologetically to the lift of the handsome building in +which his new rooms were situated. They were very pleasant bachelor +rooms, with black oak walls and green hangings, prints upon the wall, a +serviceable writing-table, and a deep green carpet. She looked around her +and at the servant who had come forward at their entrance, with a little +sniff. + +"Shall you be changing to-night, sir?" he asked. + +"Not to-night," Philip answered quickly. "Tell the waiter to send up a +simple dinner for two--I can't bother to order. And two cocktails," he +added, as an afterthought. + +Martha stared after the disappearing manservant disparagingly. + +"Some style," she muttered. "A manservant, eh? Don't know as I ever saw +one before off the stage." + +"Don't be silly," he remonstrated. "He has four other flats to look after +besides mine. It's the way one lives, nowadays, cheaper than ordinary +hotels or rooms. Take off your coat." + +She obeyed him, depositing it carefully in a safe place. Then she +strolled around the room, finding pictures little to her taste, and +finally threw herself into an easy-chair. + +"Are we going to work before we eat?" she asked. + +"No, afterwards," he told her. "Have a cigarette?" + +She held it between her fingers but declined a match. + +"I'll wait for the cocktails," she decided. "Now listen here, Mr. Ware, +there's a word or two I'd like to say to you." + +"Go ahead," he invited listlessly. + +"You men," she continued, looking him squarely in the face, "think a lot +too much of yourselves. You think so much of yourselves that as often as +not you've no time to think of other folk. A month or so ago who were +you? You were hiding in a cheap tenement house, scared out of your wits, +dressed pretty near as shabbily as I was, with a detective on your track, +and with no idea of what you were going to do for a living. And now look +at you. Who's done it all?" + +"Of course, my play being successful," he began-- + +She broke in at once. + +"You and your play! Who took your play? Who produced it at the New York +Theatre and acted in it so that people couldn't listen without a sob in +their throats and a tingling all over? Yours isn't the only play in the +world! I bet Miss Dalstan has a box full of them. She probably chose +yours because she knew that you were feeling pretty miserable, because +she'd got sorry for you coming over on the steamer, because she has a +great big heart, and is always trying to do something for others. She's +made a man of you. Oh! I know a bit about plays. I know that with the +royalties you're drawing you can well afford rooms like these and +anything else you want. But that isn't all she's done. She's introduced +you to her friends, she's taken more notice of you than any man around. +She takes you out automobile driving, she lets you spend all your spare +time in her rooms. She don't mind what people say. You dine with her and +take her home after the play. You have more of her than any other person +alive. Say, what I want to ask is--do you think you're properly +grateful?" + +"I couldn't ever repay Miss Dalstan," he acknowledged, a little sadly, +"but--" + +"Look here, no 'buts'!" she interrupted. "You think I don't know +anything. Perhaps I don't, and perhaps I do. I was standing in the door +of the office when you two came in from your automobile drive this +afternoon. I saw her come away without wishing you good-by, then I saw +her turn and nod, looking just as usual, and I saw her face afterwards. +If I had had you, my man, as close to me then as you are now, I'd have +boxed your ears." + +He moved uneasily in his chair. There was no doubt about the girl's +earnestness. She was leaning a little forward, and her brown eyes were +filled with a hard, accusing light. There was a little spot of colour, +even, in her sallow cheeks. She was unmistakably angry. + +"I'd like to know who you are and what you think yourself to make a woman +look like that?" she wound up. + +The waiter entered with the cocktails and began to lay the cloth for +dinner. Philip paced the room uneasily until he had gone. + +"Look here, my little friend," he said, when at last the door was closed, +"there's a great deal of sound common sense in what you say. I may be +an egoist--I dare say I am. I've been through the proper training for +it, and I've started life again on a pretty one-sided basis, perhaps. +But--have you ever been jealous?" + +"Me jealous!" she repeated scornfully. "What of, I wonder?" + +There was a suspicious glitter in her eyes, a queer little tremble in her +tone. His question, however, was merely perfunctory. She represented +little more to him, at that moment, than the incarnation of his own +conscience. + +"Very likely you haven't," he went on. "You are too independent ever to +care much for any one. Well, I've been half mad with jealousy since last +night. That is the truth of it. There's another man wants her, the man +who built the theatre for her. She told me about him yesterday while we +were out together." + +"Don't you want her to be happy?" the girl asked bluntly. + +"Of course I do." + +"Then leave her alone to choose. Don't go about looking as though you had +a knife in your heart, if you find her turn for a moment to some one +else. You don't want her to choose you, do you, just because you are a +weakling, because her great kind heart can't bear the thought of making +you miserable? Stand on your feet like a man and take your luck.... Can I +take off my hat? I can't eat in this." + +The waiter had entered with the dinner. Merton opened the door of his +room and paced up and down, for a few moments, thoughtfully. When she +reappeared she took the seat opposite Philip and suddenly smiled at him, +an exceedingly rare but most becoming performance. Her mouth seemed at +once to soften, and even her eyes laughed at him. + +"Here you ask me to dine," she said, "because you are lonely, and I do +nothing but scold you! Never mind. I was typewriting something of yours +this morning--I've forgotten the words, but it was something about the +discipline of affection. You can take my scolding that way. If I didn't +adore Miss Dalstan, and if you hadn't been kind to me, I should never +take the trouble to make myself disagreeable." + +He smiled back at her, readily falling in with her altered mood. She +seemed to have talked the ill-humour out of her blood, and during the +service of the meal she told him of the comfort of her work, the charm of +the other girl in the room, with whom she was already discussing a plan +to share an apartment. When she came to speak, however remotely, of Miss +Dalstan, her voice seemed instinctively to soften. Philip found himself +wondering what had passed between the two women in those few moments when +Elizabeth had left him and gone back to Martha's room. By some strange +miracle, the strong, sweet, understanding woman had simply taken +possession of the friendless child. The thought of her sat now in +Martha's heart, an obsession, almost a worship. Perhaps that was why the +sense of companionship between the two, notwithstanding certain obvious +disparities, seemed to grow stronger every moment. + +They drank their coffee and smoked cigarettes afterwards in lazy fashion. +Suddenly Martha sprang up. + +"Say, I came here to work!" she exclaimed. + +"And I brought you under false pretences," he confessed. "My brain's not +working. I can't dictate. We'll try another evening. You don't mind?" + +"Of course not," she answered, glancing at the clock. "I'll be going." + +"Wait a little time longer," he begged. + +She resumed her seat. There was only one heavily shaded lamp burning on +the table, and through the little cloud of tobacco smoke she watched him. +His eyes were sometimes upon the timepiece, sometimes on the telephone. +He seemed always, although his attitude was one of repose, to be +listening, waiting. It was half-past nine--the middle of the second +act. They knew quite well that for a quarter of an hour Elizabeth would +be in her dressing room. She could ring up if she wished. The seconds +ticked monotonously away. Martha found herself, too, sharing that +curiously intense desire to hear the ring of the telephone. Nothing +happened. A quarter to ten came and passed. She rose to her feet. + +"I am going home right now," she announced. + +He reached for his hat. + +"I'll come with you," he suggested, a little halfheartedly. + +"You'll do nothing of the sort," she objected, "or if you do, I'll never +come inside your rooms again. Understand that. I don't want any of these +Society tricks. See me home, indeed! I'd have you know that I'm better +able to take care of myself in the streets of New York than you are. So +thank you for your dinner, and just you sit down and listen for that +telephone. It will ring right presently, and if it doesn't, go to bed and +say to yourself that whatever she decides is best. She knows which way +her happiness lies. You don't. And it's she who counts much more than +you. Leave off thinking of yourself quite so much and shake hands with +me, please, Mr. Ware." + +He gripped her hand, opened the door, and watched her sail down towards +the lift, whistling to herself, her hands in her coat pockets. Then he +turned back into the room and locked himself in. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +The slow fever of inaction, fretting in Philip's veins, culminated soon +after Martha's departure in a passionate desire for a movement of some +sort. The very silence of the room maddened him, the unresponsive-looking +telephone, the fire which had burned itself out, the dropping even of the +wind, which at intervals during the evening had flung a rainstorm +against the windowpane. At midnight he could bear it no longer and +sallied out into the streets. Again that curious desire for companionship +was upon him, a strange heritage for one who throughout the earlier +stages of his life had been content with and had even sought a grim and +unending solitude. He boarded a surface car for the sake of sitting +wedged in amongst a little crowd of people, and he entered his club, +noting the number of hats and coats in the cloakroom with a queer sense +of satisfaction. He no sooner made his appearance in the main room than +he was greeted vociferously from half a dozen quarters. He accepted every +hospitality that was offered to him, drinking cheerfully with new as well +as old acquaintances. Presently Noel Bridges came up and gripped his +shoulder. + +"Come and have a grill with us, Ware," he begged. "There's Seymour and +Richmond here, from the Savage Club, and a whole crowd of us. Hullo, +Freddy!" he went on, greeting the man with whom Philip had been talking. +"Why don't you come and join us, too? We'll have a rubber of bridge +afterwards." + +"That's great," the other declared. "Come on, Ware. We'll rag old +Honeybrook into telling us some of his stories." + +The little party gathered together at the end of the common table. Philip +had already drunk much more than he was accustomed to, but the only +result appeared to be some slight slackening of the tension in which he +had been living. His eyes flashed, and his tongue became more nimble. He +insisted upon ordering wine. He had had no opportunity yet of repaying +many courtesies. They drank his health, forced him into the place of +honour by the side of Honeybrook, veteran of the club, and ate their meal +to the accompaniment of ceaseless bursts of laughter, chaff, the popping +of corks, mock speeches, badinage of every sort. Philip felt, somehow, +that his brain had never been clearer. He not only held his own, but he +earned a reputation for a sense of humour previously denied to him. And +in the midst of it all the door opened and closed, and a huge man, +dressed in plain dinner clothes, still wearing his theatre hat, with a +coat upon his arm and a stick in his hand, passed through the door and +stood for a moment gazing around him. + +"Say, that's Sylvanus Power!" one of the young men at the table +exclaimed. "Looks a trifle grim, doesn't he?" + +"It's the old man, right enough," Noel Bridges murmured. "Wonder what he +wants down here? It isn't in his beat?" + +Honeybrook, the great New York raconteur, father of the club, touched +Philip upon the shoulder. + +"Hey, presto!" he whispered. "We who think so much of ourselves have +become pigmies upon the face of the earth. There towers the +representative of modern omnipotence. Those are the hands--grim, +strong-looking hands, aren't they?--that grip the levers of modern +American life. Rodin ought to do a statue of him as he stands there--art +and letters growing smaller as he grows larger. We exist for him. He +builds theatres for our plays, museums for our pictures, libraries for +our books." + +"Seems to me he is looking for one of us," Noel Bridges remarked. + +"Some pose, isn't it!" a younger member of the party exclaimed +reverently, as he lifted his tankard. + +All these things were a matter of seconds, during which Sylvanus Power +did indeed stand without moving, looking closely about the room. Then his +eye at last lit upon the end of the table where Philip and his friends +were seated. He approached them without a word. Noel Bridges ventured +upon a greeting. + +"Coming to join us, Mr. Power?" he asked. + +Sylvanus Power, if he heard the question, ignored it. His eyes had rested +upon Philip. He stood over the table now, looming before them, massive, +in his way awe-inspiring. + +"Ware," he said, "I've been looking for you." + +Instinctively Philip rose to his feet. Tall though he was, he had to look +up at the other man, and his slender body seemed in comparison like a +willow wand. Nevertheless, the light in his eyes was illuminative. There +was no shrinking away. He stood there with the air of one prepared to +welcome, to incite and provoke storm whatever might be brewing. + +"I have been to your rooms," Sylvanus Power went on. "They knew nothing +about you there." + +"They wouldn't," Philip replied. "I go where I choose and when I choose. +What do you want with me?" + +Conversation in the room was almost suspended. Those in the immediate +locality, well acquainted with the gossip of the city, held the key to +the situation. Every one for a moment, however, was spellbound. They felt +the coming storm, but they were powerless. + +"I sought you out, Ware," Sylvanus Power continued, his harsh voice +ringing through the room, "to tell you what probably every other man here +knows except you. If you know it you're a fool, and I'm here to tell you +so." + +"Have you been drinking?" Philip asked calmly. + +"Maybe I have," Sylvanus Power answered, "but whisky can't cloud my brain +or stop my tongue. You're looking at my little toy here," he went on, +twirling in his right hand a heavy malacca cane with a leaden top. "I +killed a man with that once." + +"The weapon seems sufficient for the purpose," Philip answered +indifferently. + +"Any other man," Sylvanus Power went on, "would have sat in the chair for +that. Not I! You don't know as much of me as you need to, Merton Ware. +I'm no whippersnapper of a pen-slinger, earning a few paltry dollars by +writing doggerel for women and mountebanks to act. I've hewn my way with +my right arm and my brain, from the streets to the palace. They say that +money talks. By God! if it does I ought to shout, for I've more million +dollars than there are men in this room." + +"Nevertheless," Philip said, growing calmer as he recognised the man's +condition, "you are a very insufferable fellow." + +There had been a little murmur throughout the room at the end of Sylvanus +Power's last blatant speech, but at Philip's retort there was a hushed, +almost an awed silence. Mr. Honeybrook rose to his feet. + +"Sir," he said, turning to Power, "to the best of my belief you are not a +member of this club." + +"I am a member of any club in America I choose to enter," the intruder +declared. "As for you writing and acting popinjays, I could break the lot +of you if I chose. I came to see you, Ware. Come out from your friends +and talk to me." + +Philip pushed back his chair, made his way deliberately round the head of +the table, brushing aside several arms outstretched to prevent his going. +Sylvanus Power stood in an open space between the tables, swinging his +cane, with its ugly top, in the middle of his hand. He watched Philip's +approach and lowered his head a little, like a bull about to charge. + +"If you have anything to say to me," Philip observed coolly, "I am here, +but I warn you that there is one subject which is never discussed within +these walls. If you transgress our unwritten rule, I shall neither listen +to what you have to say nor will you be allowed to remain here." + +"And what is that subject?" Sylvanus Power thundered. + +"No woman's name is mentioned here," Philip told him calmly. + +Several of the men had sprung to their feet. It seemed from Power's +attitude as though murder might be done. Philip, however, stood his +ground almost contemptuously, his frame tense and poised, his fists +clenched. Suddenly the strain passed. The man whose face for a moment had +been almost black with passion, lowered his cane, swayed a little upon +his feet, and recovered himself. + +"So you know what I've come here to talk about, young man?" he demanded. + +"One can surmise," Philip replied. "If you think it worth while, I will +accompany you to my rooms or to yours." + +Philip in those few seconds made a reputation for himself which he never +lost. The little company of men looked at one another in mute +acknowledgment of a courage which not one of them failed to appreciate. + +"I'll take you at your word," Sylvanus Power decided grimly. "Here, +boys," he went on, moving towards the table where Philip had been seated, +"give me a drink--some rye whisky. I'm dry." + +Not a soul stirred. Even Noel Bridges remained motionless. Heselton, the +junior manager of the theatre, met the millionaire's eye and never +flinched. Mr. Honeybrook knocked the ash from his cigar and accepted the +role of spokesman. + +"Mr. Power," he said, "we are a hospitable company here, and we are at +all times glad to entertain our friends. At the same time, the privileges +of the club are retained so far as possible for those who conform to a +reasonable standard of good manners." + +There was a sudden thumping of hands upon the table until the glasses +rattled. Power's face showed not a single sign of anger. He was simply +puzzled. He had come into touch with something which he could not +understand. There was Bridges, earning a salary at his theatre, to be +thrown out into the streets or made a star of, according to his whim; +Heselton, a family man, drawing his salary, and a good one, too, also +from the theatre; men whose faces were familiar to him--some of them, he +knew, on newspapers in which he owned a controlling interest. The power +of which he had bragged was a real enough thing. What had come to these +men that they failed to recognise it?--to this slim young boy of an +Englishman that he dared to defy him? + +"Pretty queer crowd, you boys," he muttered. + +Philip, who had been waiting by the door, came a few steps back again. + +"Mr. Power," he said, "I don't know much about you, and you don't seem to +know anything at all about us. I am only at present a member by courtesy +of this club, but it isn't often that any one has reason to complain of +lack of hospitality here. If you take my advice, you'll apologise to +these gentlemen for your shockingly bad behaviour when you came in. Tell +them that you weren't quite yourself, and I'll stand you a drink myself." + +"That goes," Honeybrook assented gravely. "It's up to you, sir." + +Mr. Sylvanus Power felt that he had wandered into a cul-de-sac. He had +found his way into one of those branch avenues leading from the great +road of his imperial success. He was man enough to know when to turn +back. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "I offer you my apologies. I came here in a furious +temper and a little drunk. I retract all that I said. I'll drink to your +club, if you'll allow me the privilege." + +Willing hands filled his tumbler, and grateful ones forced a glass +between Philip's fingers. None of them really wanted Sylvanus Power for +an enemy. + +"Here's looking at you all," the latter said. "Luck!" he muttered, +glancing towards Philip. + +They all drank as though it were a rite. Philip and Sylvanus Power set +their glasses down almost at the same moment. Philip turned towards the +door. + +"I am at your service now, Mr. Power," he announced. "Good night, you +fellows!" + +There was a new ring of friendliness in the hearty response which came +from every corner of the room. + +"Goodnight, Ware!" + +"So long, old fellow!" + +"Good night, old chap!" + +There was a little delay in the cloakroom while the attendant searched +for Philip's hat, which had been temporarily misplaced. Honeybrook, who +had followed the two men out of the room, fumbling for a moment in his +locker and, coming over to Philip, dropped something into the latter's +overcoat pocket. + +"Rather like a scene in a melodrama, isn't it, Ware," he whispered, "but +I know a little about Sylvanus Power. It's only a last resource, mind." + + + +CHAPTER X + +Philip fetched his hat, and the two men stepped out on to the pavement. A +servant in quiet grey livery held open the door of an enormous motor car. +Sylvanus Power beckoned his companion to precede him. + +"Home," he told the man, "unless," he added, turning to Philip, "you'd +rather go to your rooms?" + +"I am quite indifferent," Philip replied. + +They drove off in absolute silence, a silence which remained unbroken +until they passed through some elaborate iron gates and drew up before a +mansion in Fifth Avenue. + +"You'll wait," Sylvanus Power ordered, "and take this gentleman home. +This way, sir." + +The doors rolled open before them. Philip caught a vista of a wonderful +hall, with a domed roof and stained glass windows, and a fountain playing +from some marble statuary at the further end. A personage in black took +his coat and hat. The door of a dining room stood open. A table, covered +with a profusion of flowers, was laid, and places set for two. Mr. +Sylvanus Power turned abruptly to a footman. + +"You can have that cleared away," he directed harshly. "No supper will be +required." + +He swung around and led the way into a room at the rear of the hall, a +room which, in comparison with Philip's confused impressions of the rest +of the place, was almost plainly furnished. There was a small oak +sideboard, upon which was set out whisky and soda and cigars; a great +desk, covered with papers, before which a young man was seated; two +telephone instruments and a phonograph. The walls were lined with books. +The room itself was long and narrow. Power turned to the young man. + +"You can go to bed, George," he ordered. "Disconnect the telephones." + +The young man gathered up some papers, locked the desk in silence, bowed +to his employer, and left the room without a word. Power waited until the +door was closed. Then he stood up with his back to the fireplace and +pointed to a chair. + +"You can sit, if you like," he invited. "Drink or smoke if you want to. +You're welcome." + +"Thank you," Philip replied. "I'd rather stand." + +"You don't want even to take a chair in my house, I suppose," +Mr. Sylvanus Power went on mockingly, "or drink my whisky or +smoke my cigars, eh?" + +"From the little I have seen of you," Philip confessed, "my inclinations +are certainly against accepting any hospitality at your hands." + +"That's a play-writing trick, I suppose," Sylvanus Power sneered, +"stringing out your sentences as pat as butter. It's not my way. There's +the truth always at the back of my head, and the words ready to fit it, +but they come as they please." + +"I seem to have noticed that," Philip observed. + +"What sort of a man are you, anyway?" the other demanded, his heavy +eyebrows suddenly lowering, his wonderful, keen eyes riveted upon Philip. +"Can I buy you, I wonder, or threaten you?" + +"That rather depends upon what it is you want from me?" + +"I want you to leave this country and never set foot in it again. That's +what I want of you. I want you to get back to your London slums and +write your stuff there and have it played in your own poky little +theatres. I want you out of New York, and I want you out quick." + +"Then I am afraid," Philip regretted, "that we are wasting time. I +haven't the least intention of leaving New York." + +"Well, we'll go through the rigmarole," Power continued gruffly. "We've +got to understand one another. There's my cheque book in that safe. A +million dollars if you leave this country--alone--within twenty-four +hours, and stay away for the rest of your life." + +Philip raised his eyebrows. He was lounging slightly against the desk. + +"I should have no use for a million dollars, Mr. Power," he said. "If I +had, I should not take it from you, and further, the conditions you +suggest are absurd." + +"Bribery no good, eh?" Mr. Power observed. "What about threats? There was +a man once who wrote a letter to a certain woman, which I found. I killed +him a few days afterwards. There was a sort of a scuffle, but it was +murder, right enough. I am nearer the door than you are, and I should say +about three times as strong. How would a fight suit you?" + +Ware's hand was in his overcoat pocket. + +"Not particularly," he answered. "Besides, it wouldn't be fair. You see, +I am armed, and you're not." + +As though for curiosity, he drew from his pocket the little revolver +which Honeybrook had slipped into it. Power looked at it and shrugged his +shoulders. + +"We'll leave that out, then, for the moment," he said. "Now listen to me. +I'm off on another tack now. Eight years ago I met Elizabeth Dalstan. I +was thirty-eight years old then--I am forty-six now. You young men +nowadays go through your life, they tell me, with a woman on your hands +most of the time, waste yourself out in a score of passions, go through +the same old rigmarole once a year or something like it. I was married +when I was twenty-four. I got married to lay my hands on the first ten +thousand dollars I needed. My wife left me fifteen years ago. You may +have read of her. She was a storekeeper's daughter then. She has a flat +in Paris now, a country house in England, a villa at Monte Carlo and +another at Florence. She lives her life, I live mine. She's the only +woman I'd ever spoken a civil word to until I met Elizabeth Dalstan, +or since." + +Philip was interested despite his violent antipathy to the man. + +"A singular record of fidelity," he remarked suavely. + +"If you'd drop that play-acting talk and speak like a man, I'd like you +better," Sylvanus Power continued. "There it is in plain words. I lived +with my wife until we quarrelled and she left me, and while she lived +with me I thought no more of women than cats. When she went, I thought +I'd done with the sex. Elizabeth Dalstan happened along, and I found I +hadn't even begun. Eight years ago we met. I offered her at once +everything I could offer. Nothing doing. We don't need to tell one +another that she isn't that sort. I went off and left her, spent a +winter in Siberia, and came home by China. I suppose there were women +there and in Paris. I was there for a month. I didn't see them. Then +America. Elizabeth Dalstan was still touring, not doing much good for +herself. I hung around for a time, tried my luck once more--no go. Then I +went back to Europe, offered my wife ten million and an income for a +divorce. It didn't suit her, so I came back again. The third time I found +Elizabeth discouraged. If ever a man found a woman at the right time, I +did. She is ambitious--Lord knows why! I hate acting and the theatres and +everything to do with them. However, I tried a new move. I built that +theatre in New York--there isn't another place like it in the world--and +offered it to her for a birthday present. Then she began to hesitate." + +"Look here," Philip broke in, "I know all this. I know everything you +have told me, and everything you can tell me. What about it? What have +you got to say to me?" + +"This," Sylvanus Power declared, striking the desk with his clenched +fist. "I have only had one consolation all the time I have been +waiting--there has been no other man. Elizabeth isn't that sort. Each +time I was separated and came back, I just looked at her and I knew. +That's why I have been patient. That is why I haven't insisted upon my +debt being paid. You understand that?" + +"I hear what you say." + +Power crossed the room, helped himself to whisky, and returned to his +place with the tumbler in his hand. There was a brief silence. A little +clock upon the mantelpiece struck two. The street sounds outside had +ceased save for the hoot of an occasional taxicab. Philip was conscious +of a burning desire to get away. This man, this great lump of power and +success, standing like a colossus in his wonderful home, infuriated him. +That a man should live who thought he had a right such as he claimed, +was maddening. + +"Well," Power proceeded, setting down the tumbler empty, "you won't be +bought. How am I going to get you out of the way?" + +"You can't do it," Philip asserted. "I am going to-morrow morning to +Elizabeth, and I am going to pray her to marry me at once." + +Power swayed for a single moment upon his feet. The teeth gleamed between +his slightly parted lips. His great arm was outstretched, its bursting +muscles showing against the sleeve of his dinner coat. His chest was +heaving. + +"If you do it," he shouted, "I'll close the theatre to-morrow and sack +every one in it. I'll buy any theatre in New York where you try to +present your namby-pamby play. I'll buy every manager she goes to for an +engagement, every newspaper that says a word of praise of any work of +yours. I tell you I'll stand behind the scenes and pull the strings which +shall bring you and her to the knowledge of what failure and want mean. +I'll give up the great things in life. I'll devote every dollar I have, +every thought of my brain, every atom of my power, to bringing you two +face to face with misery. That's if I keep my hands off you. I mayn't do +that." + +Philip shrugged his shoulders. + +"If I put you in a play," he said, "which is where you really belong, +people would find you humorous. Your threats don't affect me at all, Mr. +Power. Elizabeth can choose." + +Power leaned over to the switch and turned on an electric light above +Philip's head. + +"Blast you, let me look at you!" he thundered. "You're a white-faced, +sickly creature to call yourself a man! Can't you see this thing as I see +it? You're the sort that's had women, and plenty of them. Another will do +for you, and, my God! she is the only one I've looked at--I, Sylvanus +Power, mind--I, who have ruled fate and ruled men all my life--I want +her! Don't be a fool! Get out of my path. I've crushed a hundred such men +as you in my day." + +Philip took up his hat. + +"We are wasting time," he observed. "You are a cruder person than I +thought you, Mr. Power. I am sorry for you, if that's anything." + +"Sorry for me? You?" + +"Very," Philip continued. "You see, you've imbibed a false view of life. +You've placed yourself amongst the gods and your feet really are made of +very sticky clay.... Shall I find my own way out?" + +"You can find your way to hell!" Power roared. "Use your toy pistol, if +you want to. You're going where you'll never need it again!" + +He took a giant stride, a stride which was more like the spring of a +maddened bull, towards Philip. The veneer of a spurious civilisation +seemed to have fallen from him. He was the great and splendid animal, +transformed with an overmastering passion. There was murder in his eyes. +His great right arm, with its long, hairy fingers and its single massive +ring, was like the limb of some prehistoric creature. Philip's brain and +his feet, however, were alike nimble. He sprang a little on one side, and +though that first blow caught him just on the edge of the shoulder and +sent him spinning round and round, he saved himself by clutching at the +desk. Fortunately, it was his left arm that hung helpless by his side. +His fingers groped feverishly in the cavernous folds of his overcoat +pocket. Power, who had dashed against the wall, smashing the glass of one +of the pictures, had already recovered his balance and turned around. The +little revolver, with whose use Philip was barely acquainted, flashed +suddenly out in the lamplight. Even in that lurid moment he kept his +nerve. He aimed at the right arm outstretched to strike him, and pulled +the trigger. Through the little mist of smoke he saw a spasm of pain in +his assailant's face, felt the thundering crash of his other arm, +striking him on the side of the head. The room spun round. There was a +second almost of unconsciousness.... When he came to, he was lying with +his finger pressed against the electric bell. Power was clutching the +desk for support, and gasping. The sober person in black, with a couple +of footmen behind, were already in the room.... Their master turned to +them. + +"There has been an accident here," he groaned, "nothing serious. Take +that gentleman and put him in the car. It's waiting outside for him. +Telephone round for Doctor Renshaw." + +For a single moment the major-domo hesitated. The weapon was still +smoking in Philip's hand. Then Power's voice rang out again in furious +command. + +"Do as I tell you," he ordered. "If there's one of you here opens his +lips about this, he leaves my service to-morrow. Not a dollar of pension, +mind," he added, his voice shaking a little. + +The servant bowed sombrely. + +"Your orders shall be obeyed, sir," he promised. + +He took up the telephone, and signed to one of the footmen, who helped +Philip to the door. A moment afterwards the latter sank back amongst the +cushions, a little dizzy and breathless, but revived almost instantly by +the cool night air. He gave the chauffeur his address, and the car glided +through the iron gates and down Fifth Avenue. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +Philip was awakened the next morning by the insistent ringing of the +telephone at his elbow. He took up the receiver, conscious of a sharp +pain in his left shoulder as he moved. + +"Is this Mr. Merton Ware?" a man's smooth voice enquired. + +"Yes!" + +"I am speaking for Mr. Sylvanus Power. Mr. Sylvanus Power regrets very +much that he is unable to lunch with Mr. Ware as arranged to-day, but he +is compelled to go to Philadelphia on the morning train. He will be glad +to meet Mr. Ware anywhere, a week to-day, and know the result of the +matter which was discussed last night." + +"To whom am I speaking?" Philip demanded. "I don't know anything about +lunching with Mr. Power to-day." + +"I am Mr. Power's secretary, George Lunt," was the reply. "Mr. Power's +message is very clear. He wishes you to know that he will not be in New +York until a week to-day." + +"How is Mr. Power?" Philip enquired. + +"He met with a slight accident last night," the voice continued, "and is +obliged to wear his arm in a sling. Except for that he is quite well. He +has already left for Philadelphia by the early train. He was anxious that +you should know this." + +"Thank you very much," Philip murmured, a little dazed. + +He sprang out of bed, dressed quickly, hurried over his coffee and rolls, +boarded a cross-town car, and arrived at the Monmouth House flats just in +time to meet Martha Grimes issuing into the street. She was not at all +the same Martha. She was very neatly dressed, her shoes were nicely +polished, her clothes well brushed, her gloves new, and she wore a bunch +of fresh-looking violets in her waistband. She started in surprise as +Philip accosted her. + +"Whatever are you doing back in the slums?" she demanded. "Any fresh +trouble?" + +"Nothing particular," Philip replied, turning round and falling into step +with her. "I can't see my way, that's all, and I want to talk to you. +You're the most human person I know, and you understand Elizabeth." + +"Gee!" she smiled. "This is the lion and the mouse, with a vengeance. You +can walk with me, if you like, as far as the block before the theatre. +I'm not going to arrive there with you, and I tell you so straight." + +"No followers, eh?" + +"There's no reason to set people talking," she declared. "Their tongues +wag fast enough at the theatre, as it is. I've only been there for one +day's work, and it seems to me I've heard the inside history of every one +connected with the place." + +"That makes what I have to say easier," he remarked. "Just what do they +say about Miss Dalstan and Mr. Sylvanus Power?" + +She looked at him indignantly. + +"If you think you're going to worm things out of me--" + +"Don't be foolish," he interrupted, a little wearily. "How could you know +anything? You are only the echo of a thousand voices. I could find out, +if I went where they gossip. I don't. In effect I don't care, but I am up +against a queer situation. I want to know just what people think of them. +Afterwards I'll tell you the truth." + +"Well, they profess to think," she said slowly, "that the theatre belongs +to Miss Dalstan, and that she--" + +"Stop, please," he interrupted. "I know you hate saying it, and I know +quite well what you mean. Well, what about that?" + +"It isn't my affair." + +"It isn't true," he told her. + +"Whether it's true or not, she is one of the best women in the world," +Martha declared vigorously. + +"There isn't any doubt about that, either," he assented. "This is the +situation. Listen. Sylvanus Power has been in love with Elizabeth for the +best part of his life. He built that theatre for her and offered it--at a +price. She accepted his terms. When the time came for payment, he saw her +flinch. He went away again and has just come back. She is face to face +now with a decision, a decision to which she is partly committed. In the +meantime, during these last few months, Elizabeth and I have become great +friends. You know that I care for her. I think that she cares for me. She +has to make up her mind. Martha, which is she to choose?" + +"How do you want me to answer that?" the girl asked, slackening her pace +a little. "I'm not Miss Dalstan." + +"From her point of view," he explained eagerly. "This man Power is madly +and I believe truly in love with her. In his way he is great; in his way, +too, he is a potentate. He can give her more than luxury, more, even, +than success. You know Elizabeth," he went on. "She is one of the finest +women who ever breathed, an idealist but a seeker after big things. She +deserves the big things. Is she more likely to find them with me or with +him?" + +"Power's wife is still alive," she ruminated. + +"And won't accept a divorce at present," he observed. "If ever she does, +of course he will marry her. That has to be taken into account not +morally but the temporal side of it. We know perfectly well that whatever +Elizabeth decides, she couldn't possibly do wrong." + +Martha smiled a little grimly. + +"That's what it is to be born in the clouds," she said. "There is no sin +for a good woman." + +He looked at her appreciatively. + +"I wonder how I knew that you would understand this," he sighed. + +Suddenly he clutched at her arm. She glanced up in surprise. He was +staring at a passer-by. Her eyes followed his. In a neat morning suit, +with a black bowler hat and well-polished shoes, a cigar in his mouth and +a general air of prosperity, Mr. Edward Dane was strolling along +Broadway. He passed without a glance at either of them. For a moment +Philip faltered. Then he set his teeth and walked on. There was an ashen +shade in his face. The girl looked at him and shook her head. + +"Mr. Ware," she said, "we haven't talked much about it, but there is +something there behind, isn't there, something you are terrified about, +something that might come, even now?" + +"She knows about it," he interposed quickly. + +"Would it be very bad if it came?" + +"Hideous!" + +"If she were your wife--?" + +"She would be notorious. It would ruin her." + +"Do you think, then," she asked quietly, "that you needed to come and ask +my advice?" + +He walked on with his head high, looking upwards with unseeing eyes. A +little vista of that undisturbed supper table on the other side of the +marble hall, a dim perspective of those eight years of waiting, flitted +through his brain. The lord of that Fifth Avenue Mansion was in earnest, +right enough, and he had so much to offer. + +"It will break me if I have to give her up," he said simply. "I believe I +should have gone overboard, crossing the Atlantic, but for her." + +"There are some women," she sighed, "the best of all women, the joy of +whose life seems to be sacrifice. That sounds queer, don't it, but it's +true. They're happy in misfortune, so long as they are helping some one +else. She is wonderful, Elizabeth Dalstan. She may even be one of those. +You'll find that out. You'd better find out for yourself. There isn't any +one can help you very much." + +"I am not sure that you haven't," he said. "Now I'll go. Where did you +get your violets, Martha? Had them in water since last night, haven't +you?" + +She made a little grimace at him. + +"A very polite young gentleman at the box office sent us each a bunch +directly we started work yesterday. I've only had a few words with him +yet, but Eva--that's the other girl--she's plagued to death with fellows +already, so I'm going to take him out one evening." + +Philip stopped short. They were approaching the theatre. + +"Not a step further," he declared solemnly. "I wouldn't spoil your +prospects for worlds. Run along, my little cynic, and warm your hands. +Life's good at your age--better than when I found you, eh?" + +"You don't think I am ungrateful?" she asked, a little wistfully. + +He shook his head. + +"You couldn't be that, Martha.... Good luck to you!" + +She turned away with a little farewell wave of the hand and was lost at +once in the surging stream of people. Philip summoned a taxicab, sat far +back in the corner, and drove to his rooms. He hesitated for a moment +before getting out, crossed the pavement quickly, hurried into the lift, +and, arriving up-stairs, let down the latch of the outside door. Edward +Dane was back in New York! For a moment, the memory of the great human +drama in which he found himself a somewhat pathetic figure seemed +swallowed up by this sudden resurrection of a grisly tragedy. He looked +around his room a little helplessly. Against his will, that hideous +vision which had loomed up before him in so many moments of depression +was slowly reforming itself, this time not in the still watches of the +night but in the broad daylight, with the spring sunshine to cheer his +heart, the roar of a friendly city in his ears. It was no time for +dreams, this, and yet he felt the misery sweeping in upon him, felt all +the cold shivers of his ineffective struggles. Slowly that fateful +panorama unfolded itself before his memory. He saw himself step out with +glad relief from the uncomfortable, nauseous, third-class carriage, and, +clutching his humble little present in his hand, cross the flinty +platform, climb the long, rain-swept hill, keeping his head upraised, +though the very sky seemed grimy, battling against the miserable +depression of that everlasting ugliness. Before him, at least, there +was his one companion. There would be kind words, sympathy, a cheerful +fireside, a little dreaming, a little wandering into that world which +they had made for themselves with the help of such treasures as that +cheap little volume he carried. And then the last few steps, the open +door, the room, its air at first of wonderful comfort, and then the queer +note of luxury obtruding itself disquietingly, the picture on the +mantelpiece, her coming. He had never been in love with Beatrice. He knew +that now perfectly well. He had simply clung to her because she was the +only living being who knew and understood, because they had mingled their +thoughts and trodden the path of misery together. Removed now from that +blaze of passion, smouldering perhaps in him through previous years of +discontent, but which leaped into actual and effective life for the first +time in those few moments, he realised a certain justice in her point of +view, a certain hard logic in the way she had spoken of life and their +relations. There had been so little real affection between them. So +little had passed which might have constituted a greater bond. It was his +passionate outburst of revolt against life, whose drear talons seemed to +have fastened themselves into his very soul, which had sent him out with +murder in his brain to seek the man who had robbed him of the one thing +which stood between him and despair; the pent-up fury of a lifetime which +had tingled in his blood and had given him the strength of the navvy in +those few minutes by the canal side. + +He covered his face with his hands, strode around the room, gazing wildly +out over the city, trying to listen to the clanging of the surface cars, +the rumble of the overhead railway in the distance, the breaking of the +long, ceaseless waves of human feet upon the pavement. It was useless. No +effort of his will could keep from his brain the haunting memory of those +final moments--the man's face, handsome and well-satisfied at first, the +careless greeting, the sudden change, the surprise, the apprehension, the +ghastly fear, the agony! He heard the low, gurgling shriek of terror; he +looked into the eyes with the fear of hell before them! Then he heard the +splash of the black, filthy water. + +There was a cry. It was several seconds before he realised that it had +broken from his lips. He looked around him like a hunted creature. There +was another terror now--the gloomy court with its ugly, miserable +paraphernalia--the death, uglier still, death in disgrace, a sordid, +ghastly thing! And in his brain, too, there was so much dawning, so many +wonderful ideas craving for fulfilment. These few months had been months +of marvellous development. The power of the writer had seemed to grow, +hour by hour. His brain was full of fancies, exquisite fancies some of +them. It was a new world growing up around him and within him, too +beautiful a world to leave. Yet, in those breathless moments, fear was +the dominant sensation. He felt a coward to his fingertips... + +He walked up and down the room feverishly, as a man might pace a prison +in the first few moments of captivity. There was no escape! If he +disappeared again, it would only rivet suspicion the more closely. There +was no place to which he could fly, no shelter save on the other side of +the life which he had just begun to love. His physical condition began to +alarm him. He felt his forehead by accident and found it damp with sweat. +His heart was beating irregularly with a spasmodic vigour which brought +pain. He caught sight of his terror-stricken face in the looking-glass, +and the craving to escape from his frenzied solitude overcame all his +other resolutions. He rushed to the telephone, spoke with Phoebe, waited +breathlessly whilst she fetched his mistress to the instrument. + +"I want to see you," he begged, as soon as he was conscious of her +presence at the other end. "I want to see you at once." + +"Has anything happened?" she asked quickly. + +"Yes!" he almost groaned. "I can't tell you--" + +"I will be with you in ten minutes," she promised. + +He set the receiver down. Those ten minutes were surely the longest which +had ever ticked their way into Eternity! And then she came. He heard the +lift stop and his door open. There was a moment's breathless silence as +their eyes met, then a little gathering together of the lines of her +forehead, a half querulous, half sympathetic smile. She shook her head at +him. + +"You've had one of those silly nervous attacks," she declared. "Tell me +at once why?" + +"Dane is back--I saw him on the pavement this morning!" he exclaimed. "He +has been to England to find out!" + +She made him sit down and seated herself by his side. + +"Listen," she said, "Dane came back on the _Orinoco_, the day before +yesterday. I saw his name in the paper. If his voyage to England had been +a success, which it could not have been, you would have heard from him +before now." + +"I didn't think of that," he muttered. + +"I have never asked you," she went on, "to tell me exactly what happened +behind there. I don't want to know. Only I have a consciousness--I had +from the first, when you began to talk to me about it--that your fears +were exaggerated. If you have been allowed to remain safe all this time, +you will be safe always. I feel it, and I am always right in these +things. Now use your own common sense. Tell me truthfully, don't you +think it is very improbable that anything could be discovered?" + +"That anything could be proved," he admitted eagerly, "yes!" + +"Then don't be silly. No one is likely to make accusations and attempt a +case unless they had a definite end in view. We are safe even from the +_Elletania_ people. Mr. Raymond Greene has ceased to talk of your +wonderful resemblance to Douglas Romilly. Phoebe--the only one who could +really know--will never open her lips. Now take me for a little walk. We +will look in the shops in Fifth Avenue and lunch at the Ritz-Carlton. Go +and brush yourself and make yourself look respectable. I'll have a +cigarette and read the paper.... No, I won't, I'll look over these loose +sheets and see how you are getting on." + +He disappeared into his room for a few minutes. When he returned she was +entirely engrossed. She looked up at him with something almost of +reverence in her face. + +"When did you write this?" she asked. + +"Yesterday, most of it," he answered. "There is more of it--I haven't +finished yet. When you send me away this afternoon, I shall go on. That +is only the beginning. I have a great idea dawning." + +"What you have written is wonderful," she said simply. "It makes me feel +almost humble, makes me feel that the very best actress in the world +remains only an interpretress. Yes, I can say those words you have +written, but they can never be mine. I want to be something more than an +intelligent parrot, Philip. Why can't you teach me to feel and think +things like that?" + +"You!" he murmured, as he took her arm and led her to the door. "You +could feel all the sweetest and most wonderful things in heaven. The +writer's knack is only a slight gift. I put on paper what lives in your +heart." + +She raised her head, and he kissed her lips. For a moment he held her +quite quietly. Her arms encircled him. The perfume of her clothes, her +hair, her warm, gentle touch, seemed like a strong sedative. If she said +that he was safe, he must be. It was queer how so often at these times +their sexes seemed reversed; it was he who felt that womanly desire for +shelter and protection which she so amply afforded him. She patted his +cheek. + +"Now for our little walk," she said. "Open the windows and let out all +these bad fancies of yours. And listen," she went on, as they stepped out +of the lift a moment or two later, and passed through the hall towards +the pavement, "not a word about our own problem. We are going to talk +nonsense. We are going to be just two light-hearted children in this +wonderful city, gazing at the sights and taking all she has to offer us. +I love it, you know. I love the noise of it. It isn't a distant, stifled +roar like London. There's a harsh, clarion-like note about it, like metal +striking upon metal. And the smell of New York--there isn't any other +city like it! When we get into Fifth Avenue I am going to direct your +attention to the subject of hats. Have you ever bought a woman's hat, +Philip?" + +"Never," he answered, truthfully enough. + +"Then you are going to this morning, or rather you are going to help me +to choose one," she declared, "and in a very few moments, too. There +is a little place almost underground in Fifth Avenue there, and a +Frenchwoman--oh, she is so French!--and all her assistants have black +hair and wear untidy, shapeless clothes and velvet slippers. It isn't New +York at all, but I love it, and I let them put their name on the +programme. They really don't charge me more than twice as much as they +ought to for my hats. We go down here," she added, descending some steps, +"and if you make eyes at any of the young women I shall bring you +straight out again." + +They spent half an hour choosing a hat and nearly two hours over lunch. +It was late in the afternoon before she dropped him at his rooms. Not a +word had they spoken of Sylvanus Power or their future, but Philip was a +different man. Only, as he turned and said good-by, his voice trembled. + +"I can't say thank you," he muttered, "but you know!"... + +The lift was too slow for him. He opened his door with almost breathless +haste. He only paused to light a cigarette and change his coat and wheel +his table round so as to catch the afternoon light more perfectly. Then, +with his brain teeming with fancies, he plunged into his work. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Philip let the pen slip at last from his tired fingers. The light had +failed. He had been writing with straining eyes, almost in the darkness. +But there was something else. Had it been fancy or ... This time there +could be no mistake. He had not heard the lift stop, but some one was +knocking softly at the door, softly but persistently. He turned his head. +The room seemed filled with shadows. He had written for hours, and he was +conscious that his limbs were stiff. The sun had gone down in a cloudy +sky, and the light had faded. He could scarcely distinguish the articles +of furniture at the further end of the room. For some reason or other he +felt tongue-tied. Then, without any answer from him to this mysterious +summons, the handle of the door slowly turned. As he sat there he saw it +pushed open. A woman, wrapped in a long coat, stepped inside, closing it +firmly behind her. She stood peering around the room. There was something +familiar and yet unfamiliar in her height, her carriage. He waited, +spellbound, for her voice. + +"Douglas!" she exclaimed. "Ah, there you are!" + +The words seemed to die away, unuttered, upon his lips. He suddenly +thought that he was choking. He stared at her blankly. It was impossible! +She came a step further into the room. Her hand was stretched out +accusingly. + +"So I've found you, have I, Douglas?" she cried, and there was a note of +bitter triumph in her words, "found you after all these months! Aren't +you terrified? Aren't you afraid? No wonder you sit there, shrinking +away! Do you know what I have come for?" + +He tried to speak, but his lips were as powerless to frame words as his +limbs were to respond to his desire for movement. This was the one thing +which he had not foreseen. + +"You broke your promise," she went on, raising her voice a little in +passionate reproach. "You left me there alone to face dismissal, without +a penny, and slipped off yourself to America. You never even came in to +wish me good-by. Why? Tell me why you went without coming near me?... You +won't, eh? You daren't. Be a man. Out with it. I am here, and I know the +truth." + +For the first time some definite sound came from his lips. + +"Beatrice!" he gasped. + +"Ah!" she mocked. "You can remember my name, then? Douglas, I knew that +you were a bad man. I knew that when you told me how you meant to cheat +your creditors, how you meant to escape over here on the pretext of +business, and bring all the money you could scrape together. I knew that, +and yet I was willing to come with you, and I should have come. But there +was one thing I didn't reckon upon. I didn't know that you had the heart +or the courage to be a murderer!" + +The little cry that broke from his lips was stifled even before it was +uttered. + +"I shall never forgive you!" she sobbed. "I never want to touch your +bloodstained fingers! I have forgotten that I ever loved you. You're +horrible--do you hear?--horrible! And yet, I don't mean to be left to +starve. That's why I've followed you. You're afraid I am going to give +you up to justice? Well, I don't know. It depends.... Turn on the lights. +I want to see you. Do you hear? I want to see how you can face me. I want +to see how the memory of that afternoon has dealt with you. Do as I tell +you. Don't stand there glowering at me." + +He crossed the room with stumbling footsteps. + +"You've learnt to stoop, anyhow," she went on. "You're thinner, +too.... My God!" + +The room was suddenly flooded with light. Philip, rigid and ghastly, was +looking at her from the other side of the table. She held up her hands as +though to shut out the sight of him. + +"Philip!" she shrieked. "Philip!... Oh, my God!" + +Her eyes were lit with horror as she swayed upon her feet. For a moment +she seemed about to collapse. Then she groped her way towards the door +and stood there, clinging to the handle. Slowly she looked around over +her shoulder, her face as white as death. She moistened her lips with her +tongue, her eyes glared at him. Behind, her brain seemed to be working. +Her first spasm of inarticulate fear passed. + +"Philip---alive!" she muttered. "Alive!... Speak! Can't you speak to me? +Are you a ghost?" + +"Of course not," he answered, with a calm which surprised him. "You can't +have forgotten in less than six months what I look like." + +A new expression struggled into her face. She abandoned her grasp of the +handle and came back to her former position. + +"Look here," she faltered, "if you are Philip Romilly, where's +he--Douglas?... Where's Douglas?" + +There was no answer. Philip simply looked at her. She began to shake once +more upon her feet. + +"Where's Douglas?" she demanded fiercely. "Tell me? Tell me quickly, +before I go mad! If you are Philip Romilly alive, if it wasn't your body +they found, where's Douglas?" + +"You can guess what happened to him," Philip said slowly. "I met him on +the towing-path by the side of the canal. I spoke to him--about you. +He answered me with a jest. I think that all the passion of those +grinding years of misery swept up at that moment from my heart. I was +strong--God, how strong I was! I took him by the throat, Beatrice. I +watched his face change. I watched his damned, self-satisfied complacency +fade away. He lost all his smugness, and his eyes began to stare at me, +and his lips grew whiter as they struggled to utter the cries for mercy +which choked back. Then I flung him in--that's all. Splash!... God, I can +hear it now! I saw his face just under the water. Then I went on." + +"You went on?" she repeated, trembling in every limb. + +"I picked up the pocketbook which I had shaken out of his clothes in +that first struggle. I studied its contents, and it gave me an idea. I +went to Liverpool, stayed at the hotel where he had engaged rooms, +dressed myself in his clothes, and went on the steamer in his place. I +travelled to New York as Mr. Douglas Romilly of the Douglas Romilly Shoe +Company, occupied my room at the Waldorf under that name. Then I +disappeared suddenly--there were too many people waiting to see me. I +took the pseudonym which he had carefully prepared for himself and hid +for a time in a small tenement house. Then I rewrote the play. There you +have my story." + +"You--murdered him, Philip!... You!" + +"It was no crime," he continued calmly, filled with a queer sense of +relief at the idea of being able to talk about it. "My whole life, up +till that day, had been one epitome of injustice and evil fortune. You +were my one solace. His life--well, you know what it had been. Everything +was made easy for him. He had a luxurious boyhood, he was sent to +college, pampered and spoilt, and passed on to a dissipated manhood. He +spent a great fortune, ruined a magnificent business. He lived, month by +month, hour by hour, for just the voluptuous pleasures which his wealth +made possible to him. That was the man I met on the canal bank that +afternoon. You know the state I was in. You know very well the grievance +I had against him." + +"You had no right to interfere," she said dully. "If I chose to accept +what he had to give, it was my business. There never had been over-much +affection between you and me. We were just waifs together. Life wouldn't +give us what we wanted. I had made up my mind months before to escape +whenever the opportunity came. Douglas brought it to me and I snatched at +it. I am not accepting any blame." + +He leaned towards her. + +"Neither am I," he declared. "Do you remember we used to talk about the +doctrine of responsibility? I am a pervert. I did what I had to do, and +I am content." + +She stood quite still for several moments. Then she took out the pins +from her hat, banged it upon the table, opened her tweed coat, came round +to the fireside, and threw herself into an easy-chair. Her action was +portentous and significant. + +"Tell me how you found me out?" he asked, after a brief pause. + +"I was dismissed from Detton Magna," she told him. "I had to go and +be waiting-maid to Aunt Esther at Croydon. I took the place of her +maid-of-all-work. I scrubbed for my living. There wasn't anything else. I +hadn't clothes to try for the bolder things, not a friend in the world, +but I was only waiting. I meant, at the first chance, to rob Aunt Esther, +to come to London, dress myself properly, and find a post on the stage, +if possible. I wasn't particular. Then one day a man came to see me--an +American. He'd travelled all the way from New York because he was +interested in what he called the mysterious Romilly disappearance. He +knew that I had been Douglas' friend. He asked me to come out and +identify--you! He offered me my passage, a hundred pounds, and to give me +a start in life here, if I needed it. So I came out with him." + +"With Dane," he muttered. + +She nodded. + +"Yes, that was his name--Mr. Edward Dane. I came out to identify +Douglas." + +"You weren't going to give him away?" Philip asked curiously. + +"Of course not. I should have made my bargain, and then, after I had +scared Douglas for leaving me as he did, I should have said that it +wasn't the man. And instead--I found you!" + +He tapped the table with his fingers, restlessly. A new hope was forming +in his brain. This, indeed, might be the end of all his troubles. + +"Listen," he said earnestly, "Dane has always suspected me. Sometimes I +have wondered whether he hadn't the truth at the back of his head. You +can make me safe forever." + +She made no reply. Her eyes were watching his face. She seemed to be +waiting to hear what else he had to say. + +"Don't you understand?" he went on impatiently. "You have only to tell +Dane that I am neither Douglas nor Philip, but curiously like both, and +he will chuck the thing up. He must. Then I shall be safe. You see that, +don't you?" + +"Yes, I see that," she admitted. + +"Well?" + +"Tell me exactly how much of Douglas' money you have spent?" she +demanded. + +"Only the loose money from the pocketbook. Not all of that. I am earning +money now." + +She leaned across the table. + +"What about the twenty thousand pounds?" + +"I haven't touched it," he assured her, "not a penny." + +"On your honour?" + +He rose silently and went to his desk, unlocked one of the drawers, and +drew from a hidden place a thin strip of paper. He smoothed it out on the +table before her. + +"There's the deposit note," he said,--"_Twenty thousand pounds to the +joint or separate credit of Beatrice Wenderley and Douglas Romilly, on +demand_. The money's there still. I haven't touched it." + +She gripped the paper in her fingers. The sight of the figures seemed to +fascinate her. Then she looked around. + +"How can you afford to live in a place like this, then?" she demanded +suspiciously. "Where does your money come from?" + +"The play," he told her. + +"What, all this?" she exclaimed. + +"It is a great success. The theatre is packed every night. My royalties +come every week to far more than I could spend." + +She looked once more around her, gripped the deposit note in her fingers, +and leaned back in her chair. She laughed curiously. Her eyes had +travelled back to Philip's anxious face. + +"Wonderful!" she murmured. "You paid the price, but you've won. You've +had something for it. I paid the price, and up till now--" + +She stared at the paper in her hand. Then she looked away into the fire. + +"I can't get it all into my head," she went on. "I pictured him here, +living in luxury, spending the money of which he had promised me a +share ... and he's dead! That was his body--that unrecognisable thing +they found in the canal. You killed him--Douglas! He was so fond of life, +too." + +"Fond of the things which meant life to him," Philip muttered. + +"I should never have believed that you had the courage," she observed +ruminatingly. "After all, then, he wasn't faithless. He wasn't the brute +I thought him." + +She sat thinking for what seemed to him to be an interminable time. He +broke in at last upon her meditations. + +"Well," he asked, "what are you going to say to Dane?" + +"I shan't give you away--at least I don't think so," she promised +cautiously. "I shall see. Presently I will make terms, only this time I +am not going to be left. I am going to have what I want." + +"But he'll be waiting to hear from you!" Philip exclaimed. "He may come +here, even." + +She shook her head. + +"He's gone to Chicago. He can't be back for five days. I promised to +wire, but I shan't. I'll wait until he's back. And in the meantime--" + +Her fingers closed upon the deposit note. He nodded shortly. + +"That's yours," he said. "You can have it all. I have helped myself to a +fresh start in life at his expense. That's all I wanted." + +She folded up the paper and thrust it carefully into the bosom of her +gown. Then she stood up. + +"Well," she pronounced, "I think I am getting used to things. It's +wonderful how callous one can become. The banks are closed now, I +suppose?" + +He nodded. + +"They will be open at nine o'clock in the morning." + +"First of all, then," she decided, "I'll make sure of my twenty thousand +pounds, and then we'll see. I don't think you'll find me hard, Philip. I +ought not to be hard on you, ought I?" + +She looked at him most kindly, and he began to shiver. Curiously enough, +her very kindness, when he realised the knowledge which lay behind her +brain, was hateful to him. He had pleaded for her forgiveness, even her +toleration, but--anything else seemed horrible! She strolled across the +room and glanced at the clock, took one of his cigarettes from a box and +lit it. + +"Well, this is queer!" she murmured reflectively. "Now I want some +dinner, and I'll see your play, Philip. You shall take me. Get ready +quickly, please." + +He looked at her doubtfully. + +"But, Beatrice," he protested, "think! You know why you came here? You +know the story you will have to tell? We are strangers, you and I. What +if we are seen together?" + +She snapped her fingers at him. + +"Pooh! Who cares! I am a stranger in New York, and I have taken a fancy +to you. You are a young man of gallantry, and you are going to take me +out.... We often used to talk of a little excursion like this in London. +We'll have it in New York instead." + +He turned slowly towards the door of his bedroom. She was busy looking at +her own eyes in the mirror, and she missed the little gleam of horror in +his face. + +"In ten minutes," he promised her. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +Beatrice replaced the programme which she had been studying, on the ledge +of the box, and turned towards Philip, who was seated in the background. +There was something a little new in her manner. Her tone was subdued, her +eyes curious. + +"You really are a wonderful person, Philip," she declared. "It's the same +play, just as you used to tell it me, word for word. And yet it isn't. +What is it that you have gained, I wonder?--a sense of atmosphere, +breadth, something strangely vital." + +"I am glad you like it," he said simply. + +"Like it? It's amazing! And what an audience! I never thought that the +people were so fashionable here, Philip. I am sitting right back in the +box, but ten minutes after I have cashed my draft tomorrow I shall be +buying clothes. You won't be ashamed to be seen anywhere with me then." + +He drew his chair up to her side, a little haggard and worn with the +suspense of the evening. She laughed at him mockingly. + +"What an idiot you are!" she exclaimed. "You ought to be one of the +happiest men in the world, and you look like a death's-head." + +"The happiest man in the world," he repeated. + +"Beatrice, sometimes I think that there is only one thing in the world +that makes for happiness." + +"And what's that, booby?" she asked, with some of her old familiarity. + +"A clear conscience." + +She laid her hand upon his arm. + +"Look here, Philip," she said, "the one thing I determined, when I threw +up the sponge, was that whether the venture was a success or not I'd +never waste a single moment in regrets. Things didn't turn out too +brilliantly with me, as you know. But you--see what you've attained! Why, +it's wonderful! Your play, the one thing you dreamed about, produced in +one of the greatest cities in the world, and a packed house to listen to +it, people applauding all the time. I didn't realise your success when we +talked this evening. I am just beginning to understand. I've been reading +some of these extracts from the newspapers. You're Merton Ware, the great +dramatist, the coming man of letters. You've won, Philip. Can't you see +that it's puling cowardice to grumble at the price?" + +He, for his part, was wondering at her callousness, of which he was +constantly discovering fresh evidences. The whole shock of her discovery +seemed already, in these few hours, to have passed away. + +"If you can forget--so soon," he muttered, "I suppose I ought to be able +to." + +She made a little grimace, but immediately afterwards he saw the cold +tightening of her lips. + +"Listen, Philip," she said. "I started life with the usual quiverful of +good qualities, but there's one I've lost, and I don't want it back +again. I'm a selfish woman, and I mean to stay a selfish woman. I am +going to live for myself. I've paid a fair price, and I'm going to have +what I've paid for. See?" + +"Do you think," he asked, "that it is possible to make that sort of +bargain with one's self and fate?" + +She laughed scornfully. + +"There's room for a little stiffening in you, even now, Philip! No one +but a weakling ever talks about fate. You'd think better of me, I +suppose, if I stayed in my room and wept. Well, I could do it if I let +myself, but I won't. I should lose several hours of the life that belongs +to me. You think I didn't care about Douglas? I am not at all sure that I +didn't care for him as much as I ever did for you, although, of course, +he wasn't worthy of it. But he's gone, and all the shudders and morbid +regrets in the world won't bring him back again. And I am here in New +York, and to-morrow I shall have twenty thousand pounds, and to-night I +am with you, watching your play. That's life enough for me at present--no +more, no less. I hate missing the first act, and I'm coming to see it +again to-morrow. What time is it over?" + +"Soon after eleven," he told her. + +She glanced at her watch. + +"You shall take me out and give me some supper," she decided, "somewhere +where there's music." + +He made no remark, but she surprised again something in his face which +irritated her. + +"Look here, Philip," she said firmly, "I won't have you look at me as +though I were something inhuman. There are plenty of other women like me +in the world, even if they are not quite so frank about it. I want to +live, and I will live, and I grudge every moment out of which I am not +extracting the fullest amount of happiness. That's because I've paid. +It's the woman's bargaining instinct, you know. She wants to get +value.... Now I want to hear about Miss Dalstan. Where did you meet her, +and how did you get her to accept your play?" + +"She was on the _Elletania_," he explained. "We crossed from Liverpool +together. She sat at my table." + +"How much does she know about you?" Beatrice asked bluntly. + +"Everything," he confessed. "I don't know what I should have done without +her. She has been the most wonderful friend any one could have." + +Beatrice looked at him a little critically. + +"You're a queer person, Philip," she exclaimed. "You're not fit to go +about alone, really. Good thing I came over to take care of you, I +think." + +"You don't understand," he replied. "Miss Dalstan is--well, unlike +anybody else. She wants to see you. I am to take you round after the next +act, if you would like to go." + +Beatrice smiled at him in a gratified manner. + +"I've always wanted to go behind the scenes," she admitted. "I'll come +with you, with pleasure. Perhaps if I decide that I'd like to go on the +stage, she may be able to help me. How much is twenty thousand pounds in +dollars, Philip?" + +"A little over a hundred thousand," he told her. + +"I don't suppose they think that much out here," she went on +ruminatingly. "The hotel where Mr. Dane sent me--it's nice enough, in its +way, but very stuffy as regards the people--is twice as expensive as it +would be in London. However, we shall see." + +The curtain rang up on the third act, and Beatrice, seated well back in +the shadows, followed the play attentively, appreciated its good points +and had every appearance of both understanding and enjoying it. +Afterwards, she rose promptly to her feet, still clapping. + +"I'm longing to meet Miss Dalstan, Philip," she declared. "She is +wonderful. And to think that you wrote it--that you created the part for +her! I am really quite proud of you." + +She laughed at his embarrassment, affecting to ignore the fact that it +was less the author's modesty than some queer impulse of horror which +seemed to come over him when any action of hers reminded him of their +past familiarity. He hurried on, piloting her down the corridor to the +door of Elizabeth's dressing room. In response to his knock they were +bidden to enter, and Elizabeth, who was lying on a couch whilst a maid +was busy preparing her costume for the next act, held out her hand with a +little welcoming smile. + +"I am so glad to see you, Miss Wenderley," she said cordially. "Philip, +bring Miss Wenderley over here. You'll forgive my not getting up, won't +you? I have to rest for just these few minutes before the next act." + +Beatrice was for a moment overpowered. The luxury of the wonderful +dressing room, with its perfect French furniture, its white walls hung +with a few choice sketches, the thick rugs upon the polished wood floor, +the exquisite toilet table with its wealth of gold and tortoiseshell +appurtenances--Elizabeth herself, so beautiful and gracious--even a +hurried contemplation of all these things took her breath away. She felt +suddenly acutely conscious of the poverty of her travelling clothes, of +her own insignificance. + +"Won't you sit down for a moment?" Elizabeth begged, pointing to a chair +by her side. "You and I must be friends, you know, for Philip's sake." + +Beatrice recovered herself a little. She sank into the blue satin chair, +with its ample cushions, and looked down at Elizabeth with something very +much like awe. + +"I am sure Philip must feel very grateful to you for having taken his +play," she declared. "It has given him a fresh chance in life." + +"After all he has gone through," Elizabeth said gently, "he certainly +deserves it. It is a wonderfully clever play, you know ... don't blush, +Mr. Author!" + +"I heard the story long ago," Beatrice observed, "only of course it +sounded very differently then, and we never dreamed that it would really +be produced." + +"Philip has told me about those days," Elizabeth said. "I am afraid that +you, too, have had your share of unhappiness, Miss Wenderley. I only hope +that life in the future will make up to you something of what you have +lost." + +The girl's face hardened. Her lips came together in familiar fashion. + +"I mean it to," she declared. "I am going to make a start to-morrow. I +wish, Miss Dalstan, you could get Philip to look at things a little more +cheerfully. He has been like a ghost ever since I arrived." + +Elizabeth turned and smiled at him sympathetically. + +"Your coming must have been rather a shock," she reminded Beatrice. "You +came with the idea, did you not, that--you would find Mr. Douglas +Romilly?" + +The girl nodded and glanced around for the maid, who had disappeared, +however, into an inner apartment. + +"They were always alike," she confided,--"the same figures, same shaped +head and that sort of thing. Douglas was a little overfond of life, +though, and Philip here hasn't found out yet what it means. It was a +shock, though, Miss Dalstan. Philip was sitting in the dark when I +arrived at his rooms this evening, and--I thought it was Douglas." + +Elizabeth shivered a little. + +"Don't let us talk about it," she begged. "You must come and see me, +won't you, Miss Wenderley? Philip will tell you where I live. Are you +going back to England at once?" + +"I haven't made up my mind yet," the girl replied, with a slight frown. +"It just depends." + +Elizabeth glanced at the little clock upon her table, and Philip threw +away his cigarette and came forward. + +"We must go, Beatrice," he announced. "Miss Dalstan has to change her +dress for this act." + +He held out his hand and Elizabeth rose lightly to her feet. So far, no +word as to their two selves had passed their lips. She smiled at him and +all this sense of throbbing, almost theatrical excitement subsided. He +was once more conscious of the beautiful things beyond. Once more he felt +the rest of her presence. + +"You must let me see something of you tomorrow, Philip," she said. +"Telephone, will you? Good night, Miss Wenderley." + +The maid, who had just returned, held the door open. Philip glanced back +over his shoulder. Elizabeth blew him a kiss, a gesture which curiously +enough brought a frown to Beatrice's face. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +The close of the performance left them both curiously tongue-tied. They +waited until the theatre was half empty before they left their seats. +Then they joined the little throng of stragglers at the end. + +"Your play!" she murmured, as they faced the soft night air. "I can't +believe it, even now. We've seen it together--your play--and this is +New York! That's a new ending, isn't it?" + +"Absolutely," he confessed. "The ending was always what bothered me, you +know." + +She laughed, not quite naturally. She was unexpectedly impressed. + +"So you're a genius, after all," she went on. "Sometimes I wondered--but +never mind that now. Philip, do you know I am starving? We took exactly +ten minutes over dinner!" + +He led her to a huge restaurant a few doors away, where they found a +corner table. Up in the balcony an orchestra was playing light music, and +a little crowd of people were all the time streaming through the doors. +Beatrice settled herself down with an air of content. Few of the people +were in evening dress, and the tone of the place was essentially +democratic. Philip, who had learnt a little about American dishes, gave +an order, and Beatrice sipped her cocktail with an air of growing +appreciation. + +"Queer idea, this, but the stuff tastes all right," she acknowledged. "I +suppose, if you were taking your dear Miss Dalstan out, you'd go to a +different sort of place, eh?" + +"We generally go further up town," he admitted unthinkingly. + +She set her glass down quickly. + +"So you do take her out, do you?" she asked coldly. "You'd have been with +her to-night, perhaps, if I hadn't been here?" + +"Very likely." + +She was half inclined to rally him, behind it all a little annoyed. + +"You're a nice sort of person! Why, it's only a few months ago since you +pretended to be in love with me!" + +He looked at her, and her eyes fell before his. + +"I don't think there was ever much question of our being in love with one +another, was there? We simply seemed to have drifted together because we +were both miserable, and then, as the time passed on--well, you came to +be my only solace against the wretchedness of that life." + +She nodded appreciatively. For a moment the sights and sounds of the +noisy restaurant passed from her consciousness. + +"Do you remember how glad I was to see you? How we used to spend our +holidays out in those dingy fields and hope and pray for better things +some day? But it was all so hopeless, wasn't it! You could barely keep +yourself from starving, and I--oh, the misery of that awful Detton Magna +and teaching those wretched children! There never were such children in +the world. I couldn't get their mothers to send them clean. They seemed +to have inherited all the vice, the bad language, the ugly sordidness +with which the place reeked. They were old men and women in wickedness +before they passed their first standard. It's a corner of the world I +never want to see again. I'd rather find hell! Have you ordered any wine, +Philip? I want to forget." + +He pointed to the bottle which stood in the pail by their side, and +summoned a waiter. She watched it being opened and their glasses filled. + +"This is like one of our fairy stories of the old days, isn't it?" she +said. "Well, I drink to you, Philip. Here's success to our new lives!" + +She raised her glass and drained it. A woman had entered who reminded him +of Elizabeth, and his eyes had wandered away for a moment as Beatrice +pledged him. She called him back a little impatiently. + +"Don't sit there as though you were looking at ghosts, Philip! Try and +remember who I am and what we used to mean to one another. Let us try +and believe," she added, a little wistfully, "that one of those dreams of +ours which we used to set floating like bubbles, has come true. We can +wipe out all the memories we don't want. That ought to be easy." + +"Ought it?" he answered grimly. "There are times when I've found it +difficult enough." + +She laughed and looked about her. He realised suddenly that she was still +very attractive with her rather insolent mouth, her clear eyes, her silky +hair with the little fringe. People, as they passed, paid her some +attention, and she was frankly curious about everybody. + +"Well," she went on presently, "thank heavens I have plenty of will +power. I remember nothing, absolutely nothing, which happened before this +evening. I am going to tell myself that an uncle in Australia has died +and left me money, and so we are here in New York to spend it. To-morrow +I am going to begin. I shall buy clothes--all sorts of clothes--and hats. +You won't know me to-morrow evening, Philip." + +His heart sank. To-morrow evening! + +"But Beatrice," he expostulated, "you don't think of staying out here, do +you? You don't know a soul. You haven't a friend in the city." + +"What friends have I in England?" she retorted. "Not one! I may just as +well start a new life in a new country. It seems bright enough here, and +gay. I like it. I shall move to a different sort of hotel to-morrow. You +must help me choose one. And as to friends," she whispered, looking up at +him with a little provocative gleam in her eyes, "don't you count? Can't +you do what I am going to do, Philip? Can't you draw down that curtain?" + +He shivered. + +"I can't!" he muttered. + +A waiter brought their first course, and she at once evinced interest in +her food. She returned to the subject, however, later on, after she had +drunk another glass of wine. + +"You're a silly old thing, you know," she declared. "You found the +courage, somehow, to break away from that loathsome existence. You had +more courage, even, than I, because you ran a risk I never did. But here +you are, free, with the whole world before you, and your last danger +disappearing with the knowledge that I am ready to be your friend and +am sensible about everything that has happened. This ought to be an +immense relief to you, Philip. You ought to be the happiest man on earth. +And there you sit, looking like a death's-head! Look at me for a moment +like a human being, can't you? Drink some more wine. There must be some +strength, some manhood about you somewhere, or you couldn't have done +what you have done." + +He filled his glass mechanically. She leaned across the table. Her eyes +were bright, her cheeks delicately pink. + +"Courage, Philip," she murmured. "Remember that what you did ... well, in +a way it was for my sake, wasn't it?--for love of me? I am here now and +we are both free. The old days are passed. Even their shadow cannot +trouble us any longer. Don't be a sentimentalist. Listen and I'll tell +you something--at the bottom of my heart I rather admire you for what you +did. Don't you want your reward?" + +"No," he answered firmly, "I don't!" + +She shrugged her shoulders and kept time with her foot to the music. +Across the table, although she kept silence for a while, she smiled at +him whenever she caught his eye. She was not angry, not even hurt. Philip +had always been so difficult, but in the end so easily led. She had +unlimited confidence in herself. + +"Don't be a goose!" she exclaimed at last. "Of course you want your +reward, and of course you'll have it, some day! You've always lived with +your head partly in the clouds, and it's always been my task to pull you +down to earth. I suppose I shall have to do the same again, but to-night +I haven't patience. I feel suddenly gay. You are so nice-looking, Philip, +but you'd look ten times nicer still if you'd only smile once or twice +and look as though you were glad." + +The whole thing was a nightmare to him. The horror of it was in his +blood, yet he did his best to obey. Plain speaking just then was +impossible. He drank glass after glass of wine and called for liqueurs. +She held his fingers for a moment under the table. + +"Oh, Philip," she whispered, "can't you forget that you have ever been a +school-teacher, dear? We are only human, and did suffer so. You know," +she went on, "you were made for the things that are coming to us. You've +improved already, ever so much. I like your clothes and the way you carry +yourself. But you look--oh, so sad and so far away all the time! When I +came to your rooms, at my first glimpse of you I knew that you were +miserable. We must alter all that, dear. Tell me how it is that with all +your success you haven't been happy?" + +"Memories!" he answered harshly. "Only a few hours before you came, +I was in hell!" + +"Then you had better make up your mind," she told him firmly, "that you +are going to climb up out of there, and when you're out, you're going to +stay out. You can't alter the past. You can't alter even the smallest +detail of its setting. Just as inevitably as our lives come and go, so +what has happened is finished with, unchangeable. It is only a weak +person who would spoil the present and the future, brooding. You used not +to be weak, Philip." + +"I don't think that I am, really," he said. "I am moody, though, and +that's almost as bad. The sight of you brought it all back. And that +fellow Dane--I've been frightened of him, Beatrice." + +"Well, you needn't be any longer," she declared. "What you want is some +one with you all the time who understands you, some one to drive back +those other thoughts when they come to worry you. It is really a very +good thing for you, dear, that I came out to New York. Mr. Dane is going +to be very disappointed when I tell him that I never saw you before in my +life.... Don't you love the music? Listen to that waltz. That was written +for happy people, Philip. I adore this place. I suppose we shall find +others that we like better, as time goes on, but I shall always think of +this evening. It is the beginning of my task, too, Philip, with you--for +you. What has really happened, dear? I can't realise anything. I feel as +though the gates of some great prison had been thrown wide-open, and +everything there was to long for in life was just there, within reach, +waiting. I am glad, so much gladder than I should have imagined possible. +It's wonderful to have you again. I didn't even feel that I missed you so +much, but I know now what it was that made life so appalling. Tell me, am +I still nice to look at?" + +"Of course you are," he assured her. "Can't you understand that by the +way people notice you?" + +She strummed upon the table with her fingers. Her whole body seemed to be +moving to the music. She nodded several times. + +"I don't want them to notice me, Philip," she murmured. "I want you to +look just for a moment as though you thought me the only person in the +world--as you did once, you know." + +He did his best to be responsive, but he was not wholly successful. +Nevertheless, she was tolerant with his shortcomings. They sat there +until nearly three o'clock. It was she at last who rose reluctantly to +her feet. + +"I want to go whilst the memory of it all is wonderful," she declared. +"Come. Here's a card with my address on. Drive me home now, please." + +He paid his bill and they found a cab. She linked her arm through his, +her head sank a little upon his shoulder. He made no movement. She waited +for a moment, then she leaned back amongst the cushions. + +"Philip," she asked quietly, "has this Elizabeth Dalstan been letting you +make love to her?" + +"Please don't speak of Miss Dalstan like that," he begged. + +"Answer my question," she insisted. + +"Miss Dalstan has been very kind to me," he admitted slowly, "wonderfully +kind. If you really want to know, I do care for her." + +"More than you did for me?" + +"Very much more," he answered bravely, "and in a different fashion." + +In the darkness of the cab it seemed to him that her face had grown +whiter. Her arm remained within his but it clasped him no longer. Her +body seemed to have become limp. Even her voice, firm though it was, +seemed pitched in a different key. + +"Listen," she said. "You will have to forget Miss Dalstan. I have made up +my mind what I want in life and I am going to have it. I shall draw my +money to-morrow morning and afterwards I shall come straight to your +rooms. Then we will talk. I want more than just that money. I am lonely. +And do you know, Philip, I believe that I must have cared for you all the +time, and you--you must have cared for me a little or you would never +have done that for my sake. You must and you shall care, Philip, because +our time has come, and I want you, please--shall I have to say it, +dear?--I want you to marry me." + +He wrenched himself free from her. + +"That is quite out of the question, Beatrice," he declared. + +She laughed at him mockingly. + +"Oh, don't say that, Philip! You might tempt me to be brutal. You might +tempt me to speak horribly plain words to you." + +"Speak them and have done with it," he told her roughly. "I might find a +few, too." + +"I am past hurting," she replied, "and I am not in the least afraid of +anything you could say. You robbed me of the man who was bringing me to +America--who would have married me some day, I suppose. Well, you must +pay, do you see, and in my way? I have told you the way I choose." + +"You want me to marry you?" he demanded--"simply marry you? You do not +care whether I have any love for you or whether I loathe you now." + +"You couldn't loathe me, could you?" she begged. "The thought of those +long days we spent together in our prison house would rise up and forbid +it. Kiss me." + +"I will not!" + +Her lips sought his, in vain. He pushed her away. + +"Don't you understand?" he exclaimed. "There is another woman whom I have +kissed--whom I am longing to kiss now." + +"But we are old friends," she pleaded, "and I am lonely. Kiss me how you +like. Don't be foolish." + +He kissed her upon the cheek. She pulled down her veil. The cab had +stopped before the door of her hotel. + +"You are not to worry any more about ugly things, Philip," she whispered, +holding his hand for a moment as he rang the bell for her. "You are safe, +remember--quite safe. I've come to take care of you. You need it so +badly.... Good night, dear!" + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Late though it was when Philip reached his rooms, he found on his writing +table a message addressed to him from the telephone call office in the +building. He tore it open: + +"Kindly ring up Number 551 Avenue immediately you return, whatever the +time." + +He glanced at the clock, hesitated, and finally approaching the +instrument called up Elizabeth's number. For a few moments he waited. The +silence in the streets outside seemed somehow to have become communicated +to the line, the space between them emptied of all the jarring sounds of +the day. It was across a deep gulf of silence that he heard at last her +voice. + +"Yes? Is that you, Philip?" + +"I am here," he answered. "I am sorry it is so late." + +"Have you only just come in?" + +"This moment." + +"Has that girl kept you out till now?" she asked reprovingly. + +"I couldn't help it," he replied. "It was her first night over here. I +took her to Churchill's for supper." + +"Is everything--all right with her? She doesn't mean to make trouble?" + +The unconscious irony of the question almost forced a smile to his lips. + +"I don't think so," he answered. "She is thoroughly excited at the idea +of possessing the money. I believe she thought that Douglas would have +drawn it all. She is going straight to the bank, early in the morning, to +get hold of it." + +"What about the man Dane?" + +"He has gone to Chicago. He won't be back for several days." + +There was a moment's pause. + +"Have you anything to ask me?" she enquired. + +"Nothing." + +"I have had the most extraordinary letter from Sylvanus. You and he have +met." + +"Yes," he admitted. + +"Philip, we must make up our minds." + +"You mean that you must make up your mind," he answered gently. + +There was another silence. Then she spoke a little abruptly. + +"I wonder whether you really love me, Philip.... No! don't, please--don't +try to answer such a foolish question. Go to bed and sleep well now. +You've had a trying day. Good night, dear!" + +He had barely time to say good night before he heard the ring off. He set +down the receiver. Somehow, there was a sensation of relief in having +been, although indirectly, in touch with her. The idea of the letter from +Sylvanus Power affected him only hazily. The crowded events of the day +had somehow or other dulled his power of concentrated thought. He felt a +curious sense of passivity. He undressed without conscious effort, closed +his eyes, and slept until he was awakened by the movements of the valet +about the room. + +Philip was still seated over his breakfast, reading the paper and +finishing his coffee, when the door was thrown suddenly open, and +Beatrice entered tumultuously. She laughed at his air of blank surprise. + +"You booby!" she exclaimed. "I couldn't help coming in to wish you good +morning. I have just discovered that my hotel is quite close by here. +Lucky, isn't it, except that I am going to move. Good morning, Mr. +Serious Face!" she went on, leaning towards him, her hands behind her, +her lips held out invitingly. + +He set down his paper, kissed her on the cheek, and looked inside the +coffeepot. + +"Have you had your breakfast?" + +"Hours ago. I was too excited to sleep when I got to bed, and yet I feel +so well. Philip, where's Wall Street? Won't you take me there?" + +He shook his head. + +"I am expecting a visitor, and I have piles of work to do." + +She made a grimace. + +"I know I shall be terrified when I march up to the counter of the bank +and say I've come for twenty thousand pounds!" + +"You must transfer it to a current account," he explained, "in your own +name. Have you any papers with you--for identification, I mean?" + +She nodded. + +"I've thought of all that. I've a photograph and a passport and some +letters. It isn't that I'm really afraid, but I hate being alone, and you +look so nice, Philip dear. I always loved you in blue serge, and I adore +your eyeglass. You really have been clever in the small things you have +done to change your appearance. Perhaps you are right not to come, +though," she went on, looking in the mirror. "These clothes are the best +I could get at a minute's notice. Mr. Dane was really quite nice, but he +hadn't the least idea how long it takes a woman to prepare for a journey. +Never mind, you wait until I get back here this afternoon! I am going +round to all the shops, and I am going to bring the clothes I buy away +with me. Then I am going to lock myself in my room and change everything. +I am going to have some of those funny little patent shoes, and silk +stockings--and, oh, well, all sorts of things you wouldn't understand +about. And do try and cheer up before I get back, please, Philip. Twelve +months ago you would have thought all this Paradise. Oh, I can't stop a +moment longer!" she wound up, throwing away the cigarette she had taken +from the box and lit. "I'm off now. And, Philip, don't you dare to go out +of these rooms until I come back!" + +She turned towards the door--she was half-way there, in fact--when they +were both aware of a ring at the bell. She stopped short and looked +around enquiringly. + +"Who's that?" she whispered. + +Philip glanced at the clock. It was too early for Elizabeth. + +"No idea," he answered. "Come in." + +The door opened and closed. Philip sat as though turned to stone. +Beatrice remained in the middle of the room, her fingers clasping the +back of a chair. Mr. Dane, hat in hand, had entered. + +"Good morning, Miss Wenderley!" he said. "Good morning, Mr. Ware!" + +Philip said nothing. He had a horrible feeling that this was some trap. +Beatrice at first could only stare at the unexpected visitor. His sudden +appearance had disconcerted her. + +"I thought you were in Chicago, Mr. Dane!" she exclaimed at last. + +"My plans were altered at the last moment," he told her. "No, I won't sit +down, thanks," he added, waving away the chair towards which Philip had +pointed. "As a matter of fact, I haven't been out of New York. I decided +to wait and hear your news, Miss Wenderley." + +"Well, you're going to be disappointed, then," she said bluntly. "I +haven't any." + +Mr. Dane was politely incredulous. He was also a little stern. + +"You mean," he protested, "that you cannot identify this gentleman--that +you don't recognise him as Mr. Douglas Romilly?" + +"I cannot identify him," she repeated. "He is not Mr. Douglas Romilly." + +"I have brought you all this way, then, to confront you with a stranger?" + +"Absolutely," she insisted. "It wasn't my fault. I didn't want to come." + +Mr. Dane's expression suddenly changed. His hard knuckles were pressed +upon the table, he leaned forward towards her. Even his tone was altered. +His blandness had all vanished, his grey eyes were as hard as steel. + +"A stranger!" he exclaimed derisively. "Yet you come here to his rooms +early in the evening, you stay here, you go to the theatre with him the +same night, you go on to supper at Churchill's and stay there till three +o'clock in the morning, you are here with him again at nine o'clock--at +breakfast time. A stranger, Miss Wenderley? Think again! A story like +this might do for Scotland Yard. It won't do for us out here." + +She knew at once that she had fallen into a trap, but she was not wholly +dismayed. The position was one which they had half anticipated. She told +herself that he was bluffing, that it was simply the outburst of a +disappointed man. On the whole, she behaved extraordinarily well. + +"You brought me out here," she said, "to confront me with this man--to +identify him, if I could, as Mr. Douglas Romilly. Well, he isn't Mr. +Douglas Romilly, and that's all there is about it. As to my going out +with him last evening, I can't see that that's any concern of any one. He +was kind to me, cheered me up when he saw that I was disappointed; I told +him my whole story and that I didn't know a soul in New York, and we +became friends. That's all there is about it." + +"That so?" the detective observed, with quiet sarcasm. "You seem to have +a knack of making friends pretty easily, Miss Wenderley." + +"It is not your business if I have," she snapped. + +"Well, we'll pass that, then," he conceded. "I haven't quite finished +with you yet, though. There are just one or two more points I am going to +put before you--and this gentleman who is not Mr. Douglas Romilly," he +added, with a little bow to Philip. "The first is this. There is one fact +which we can all three take for granted, because I know it--I can prove +it a hundred times over--and you both know it; and that is that the Mr. +Merton Ware of to-day travelled from Liverpool on the _Elletania_ as Mr. +Douglas Romilly, occupied a room at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel as Mr. +Douglas Romilly, and absconded from there, leaving his luggage and his +identity behind him, to blossom out in an attic of the Monmouth tenement +house as Mr. Merton Ware, a young writer of plays. Now I don't think," +Mr. Dane went on, leaning a little further over the table, "that the Mr. +Douglas Romilly who has disappeared was ever capable of writing a play. I +don't think he was a man of talent at all. I don't think he could have +written, for instance, 'The House of Shams.' Let us, however, leave the +subject of Douglas Romilly for a moment. Let us go a little further +back--to Detton Magna, let us say. Curiously enough, there was another +young man who disappeared from that little Derbyshire village about the +same time, who has never been heard of since. His name, too, was Romilly. +I gathered, during the course of my recent enquiries, that he was a poor +relation, a cousin of Mr. Douglas Romilly." + +"He was drowned in the canal," Beatrice faltered. "His body has been +found." + +"A body has been found," Mr. Dane corrected, "but it was in an +unrecognisable state. It has been presumed to be the body of Philip +Romilly, the poor relation, a starving young art teacher in London +with literary aspirations--but I hold that that presumption is a mistake. +I believe," the detective went on, his eyes fastened upon Philip, his +voice a little raised, "that it was the body of Douglas Romilly, the shoe +manufacturer, which was fished out from the canal, and that you, sir, are +Mr. Philip Romilly, late art-school teacher of Kensington, who murdered +Douglas Romilly on the banks of the canal, stole his money and +pocketbook, assumed his identity in Liverpool and on the _Elletania_, and +became what you are now--Mr. Merton Ware." + +Philip threw away the cigarette which he had been smoking, and, leaning +over the box, carefully selected another. He tapped it against the table +and lit it. + +"Mr. Dane," he said coolly, "I shall always be grateful to you for your +visit this morning, for you have given me what is the most difficult +thing in the whole world to stumble up against--an excellent idea for a +new play. Apart from that, you seem, for so intelligent a man, to have +wasted a good deal of your time and to have come, what we should call in +English, a cropper. I will take you into my confidence so far as to admit +that I am not particularly anxious to disclose my private history, but if +ever the necessity should arise I shall do so without hesitation. Until +that time comes, you must forgive me if I choose to preserve a certain +reticence as to my antecedents." + +Mr. Dane, in the moment's breathless silence which followed, acknowledged +to himself the perpetration of a rare mistake. He had selected Philip to +bear the brunt of his attack, believing him to be possessed of the weaker +nerve. Beatrice, who at the end of his last speech had sunk into a chair, +white and terrified, an easy victim, had rallied now, inspired by +Philip's composure. + +"You deny, then, that you are Mr. Philip Romilly?" the detective asked. + +"I never heard of the fellow in my life," Philip replied pleasantly, "but +don't go, Mr. Dane. You can't imagine how interesting this is to me. You +have sent me a most charming acquaintance," he added, bowing to Beatrice, +"and you have provided me with what I can assure you is almost +pathetically scarce in these days--a new and very dramatic idea. Take a +seat, won't you, and chat with us a little longer? Tell us how you came +to think of all this? I have always held that the workings of a +criminologist's brain must be one of the most interesting studies in +life." + +Mr. Dane smiled enigmatically. + +"Ah!" he protested, "you mustn't ask me to disclose all my secrets." + +"You wouldn't care to tell us a little about your future intentions?" +Philip enquired. + +Mr. Dane shook his head. + +"It is very kind of you, Mr. Merton Ware," he confessed, "to let me down +so gently. We all make mistakes, of course. As to my future intentions, +well, I am not quite sure about them. You see, this isn't really my job +at all. It isn't up to me to hunt out English criminals, so long as they +behave themselves in this city. If an extradition order or anything of +that sort came my way, it would, of course, be different." + +"Why not lay this interesting theory of yours before the authorities at +Scotland Yard?" Philip suggested. "I am sure they would listen with +immense interest to any report from you." + +"That's some idea, certainly," the detective admitted, taking up his hat +from the table. "For the present I'll wish you both good morning--or +shall I say an revoir?" + +"We may look for the pleasure of another visit from you, then?" Philip +enquired politely. + +The detective faced them from the doorway. + +"Sir," he said to Philip, "I admire your nerve, and I admire the nerve of +your old sweetheart, Miss Wenderley. I am afraid I cannot promise you, +however, that this will be my last visit." + +The door closed behind him. They heard the shrill summons of the bell, +the arrival of the lift, the clanging of the iron gate, and its +subsequent descent. Then Beatrice turned her head. Philip was still +smoking serenely, standing with his back to the mantelpiece, his hands in +his pockets. She rose and threw her arms around him. + +"Philip!" she cried. "Why, you are wonderful! You are marvellous! You +make me ashamed. It was only for a moment that I lost my nerve, and you +saved us. Oh, what idiots we were! Of course he meant to watch--that's +why he told me he was going to Chicago. The beast!" + +"He seems to have got hold of the idea all right, doesn't he?" Philip +muttered. + +"Pooh!" she exclaimed encouragingly. "I know a little about the law--so +do you. He hasn't any proof--he never can have any proof. No one will +ever be able to swear that the body which they picked out of the canal +was the body of Douglas Romilly. There wasn't a soul who saw you do it. I +am the only person in the world who could supply the motive, and I--I +shall never be any use to them. Don't you see, Philip?... I shall be your +wife! A wife can't give evidence against her husband! You'll be safe, +dear--quite safe." + +He withdrew a little from her embrace. + +"Beatrice," he reminded her, "there is another tragedy beyond the one +with which Dane threatens us. I do not wish to marry you." + +She suddenly blazed up. + +"Because--?" + +"Not because of any reason in the world," he interrupted, "except that I +love Elizabeth Dalstan." + +"Does she want to marry you?" + +He was suddenly an altered person. Some of his confidence seemed to +desert him. He shook his head doubtfully. + +"I am not sure. Sometimes I think that she would. Sometimes I fancy that +it is only a great kindness of heart, an immense sympathy, a kind of +protective sympathy, which has made her so good to me." + +She looked at herself steadily for a moment in the mirror. Then she +pulled down her veil. + +"Philip," she said, "we find out the truth when we are up against things +like this. I used to think I could live alone. I can't. Whatever you may +think of me, I was fond of Douglas. It wasn't only for the sake of the +money and the comfort. He was kind, and in his way he understood. And +then, you know, misery didn't agree with you. You were often, even in +those few hours we spent together, very hard and cold. Anyway," she +added, with a little tightening of the lips, "I am going to get my money +now. No one can stop that. You stay here and think it over. It would be +better to marry me, Philip, and be safe, than to have the fear of that +man Dane always before you. And wait--wait till you see me when I come +back!" she went on, her spirits rapidly rising as she moved towards the +door. "You'll change your mind then, Philip. You were always so +impressionable, weren't you? A little touch of colour, the perfume of +flowers, a single soft word spoken at the right moment--anything that +took your fancy made such a difference. Well--just wait till I come +back!" + +She closed the door. Philip heard her descend in the lift. He moved to +the window and watched for her on the pavement. She appeared there in a +moment or two and waited whilst the boy whistled for a taxicab, her face +expectantly upraised, one hand resting lightly on her bosom, just over +the spot where her pocketbook lay. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +Philip was still gazing into vacancy and smoking cigarettes when +Elizabeth arrived. She seemed conscious at once of the disturbed +atmosphere. His hands, which she held firmly in hers, were as cold as +ice. + +"Is that girl going to be troublesome?" she demanded anxiously. + +"Not in the way we feared," he replied. "All the same, the plot has +thickened so far as I am concerned. That fellow Dane has been here." + +"Go on," she begged. + +"He laid a trap for us, and we fell into it like the veriest simpletons. +He let Beatrice think that he had gone to Chicago. Of course, he did +nothing of the sort. He turned her loose to come to me, and he had us +watched. He knew that we spent last evening together as old friends. She +was here in my rooms this morning when he arrived." + +"Oh, Philip, Philip!" she murmured. "Well, what does he suspect?" + +"The truth! He accused me to my face of being Philip Romilly. Beatrice +did her best but, you see, the position was a little absurd. She denied +strenuously that she had ever seen me before, that I was anything but a +stranger to her. In the face of last evening, and his finding her here +this morning, it didn't sound convincing." + +"What is Dane going to do?" + +"Heaven knows! It isn't his affair, really. If there were any charge +against me--well, you see, there'd have to be an extradition order. I +should think he will probably lay the facts before Scotland Yard and let +them do what they choose." + +She made him sit down and drew a low chair herself to his side. She held +his hand in hers. + +"Philip," she said soothingly, "they can't possibly prove anything." + +"They can prove," he pointed out, "that I was in Detton Magna that +afternoon. I don't think any one except Beatrice saw me start along the +canal path, but they can prove that I knew all about Douglas Romilly's +disappearance, because I travelled to America under his name and with his +ticket, and deliberately personated him." + +"They can prove all that," she agreed, "but they can't prove the crime +itself. Beatrice is the only person who could do that." + +"She proposes to marry me," he announced grimly. "That would prevent her +giving evidence at all." + +Elizabeth suddenly threw her arms around his neck and held her cheek to +his. + +"She shan't marry you!" she declared. "I want you myself!" + +"Elizabeth!" + +"Yes, I have made up my mind, Philip. It is no use. The other things are +fascinating and splendid in their way, but they don't count, they don't +last. They're tinsel, dear, and I don't want tinsel--I want the gold. +We'll face this bravely, wherever it leads, however far, however deep +down, and then we'll start again." + +"You know what this means, Elizabeth?" he faltered. "That man Power--" + +She brushed the thought away. + +"I know. He'll close the theatre. He'll do all he can to harm us. That +doesn't matter. The play is ours. That's worth a fortune. And the new one +coming--why, it's wonderful, Philip. We don't want wealth. Your brain and +my art can win us all that we desire in life. We shall have something +sweeter than anything which Sylvanus Power's millions could buy. We shall +have our love--your love for me, dear, and mine for you." + +He felt her tears upon his cheek, her lips pressed to his. He held her +there, but although his heart was beating with renewed hope, he said +nothing for a time. When she stepped back to look at his face, however, +the change was already there. + +"You are glad, Philip!" she cried. "You are happy--I can see it! You +didn't ever care really for that girl, did you?" + +He almost laughed. + +"Not like this!" he answered confidently. "I never even for a single +moment pretended to care in a great way. We were just companions in +misfortune. The madness that came over me that day had been growing in my +brain for years. I hated Douglas Romilly. I had every reason to hate him. +And then, after all he had robbed me of--my one companion--" + +She stopped him. + +"I know--I know," she murmured. "You need never try to explain anything +to me. I know everything, I understand, I sympathise." + +A revulsion of feeling had suddenly chilled him. He held her to him none +the less tightly but there was a ring of despair in his tone. + +"Elizabeth, think what it may mean!" he muttered. "How can I drag you +through it all? A trial, perhaps, the suspense, and all the time that +guilty knowledge behind--yours and mine!" + +"Pooh!" she exclaimed lightly. "I am not a sentimentalist. I am a woman +in love." + +"But, Elizabeth, I am guilty!" he groaned. "That's the horror of it! I'd +take the risk if I were an innocent man--I'd risk everything. But I am +afraid to stand there and know that every word they say against me will +be true, and every word of the men who speak in my defence will be false. +Can't you realise the black, abominable horror of it? I couldn't drag you +into such a plight, Elizabeth! I was weak to think of it. I couldn't!" + +"You'll drag me nowhere," she answered, holding him tightly. "Where I go +my feet will lead me, and my love for you. You can't help that. We'll +play the game--play it magnificently, Philip. My faith in you will count +for something." + +"But, dear," he protested, "don't you see? If the case ever comes into +court, even if I get off, every one will know that it is through a +technicality. The evidence is too strong. Half the world at least will +believe me guilty." + +"It shan't come into court," she proclaimed confidently. "I shall talk to +Dane. I have some influence with the police authorities here. I shall +point out how ridiculous it all is. What's the use of formulating a +charge that they can never, never prove?" + +"Unless," he reminded her hesitatingly, "Beatrice--" + +"Beatrice! You're not afraid of her?" + +"I am afraid of no one or anything," he declared, "when you are here! But +Beatrice has been behaving strangely ever since she arrived. She has a +sudden fancy for remembering that in a sense we were once engaged." + +"Beatrice," Elizabeth announced, "must be satisfied with her twenty +thousand pounds. I know what you are trying to say--she wants you. She +shan't have you, Philip! We'll find her some one else. We'll be kind to +her--I don't mind that. Very soon we'll find her plenty of friends. But +as for you, Philip--well, she just shan't have you, and that's all there +is about it." + +He took her suddenly into his arms. In that moment he was the lover she +had craved for--strong, passionate, and reckless. + +"All the love that my heart has ever known," he cried, "is yours, +Elizabeth! Every thought and every hope is yours. You are my life. You +saved me--you made me what I am. The play is yours, my brain is yours, +there isn't a thought or a dream or a wish that isn't for you--of +you--yours!" + +He kissed her as he had never dreamed of kissing any woman. It was the +one supreme moment of their life and their love. Time passed +uncounted.... + +Then interruption came, suddenly and tragically. Without knock or ring, +the door was flung open and slammed again. Beatrice stood there, still in +her shabby clothes, her veil pushed back, gloveless and breathless. Her +clenched hand flew out towards Philip as though she would have struck +him. + +"You liar!" she shrieked. "You've had my money! You've spent it! You've +stolen it! Thief! Murderer!" + +She paused, struggling for breath, tore her hat from her head and threw +it on the table. Her face was like the face of a virago, her eyes blazed, +her cheeks were as pale as death save for one hectic spot of colour. + +"You are talking nonsense, Beatrice," he expostulated. + +"Don't lie to me!" she shouted. "You can lie in the dock when you stand +there and tell them you never murdered Douglas Romilly! That makes you +cringe, doesn't it? I don't want to make a scene, but the woman you're in +love with had better hear what I have to say. Are you going to give me +back my money, Philip?" + +"As I stand here," he declared solemnly, "I have not touched that money +or been near the bank where it was deposited. I swear it. Every penny I +have spent since I moved into this apartment, I have spent from my +earnings. My own royalties come to over a hundred pounds a week--more +than sufficient to keep me in luxury. I never meant to touch that +money. I have not touched it." + +His words carried conviction with them. She stood there for several +seconds, absolutely rigid, her eyes growing larger and rounder, her lips +a little parted. Bewilderment was now struggling with her passion. + +"Who in God's name, then," she asked hoarsely, "could have known about +the money and forged his signature! I tell you that I've seen it with my +own eyes, a few minutes ago, in the bank. They showed me into a little +cupboard, a place without any roof, and laid it there before me on the +desk--his cheque and signature for the whole amount." + +Philip looked at her earnestly, oppressed by a sense of coming trouble. + +"Beatrice," he said, "I wouldn't deceive you. I should be a fool to try, +shouldn't I? I can only repeat what I have said. I have never been near +the bank. I have never touched that money." + +She shivered a little where she stood. It was obvious that she was +convinced, but her sense of personal injustice remained unabated. + +"Then there is some one else," she declared, "who knows everything--some +one else, my man," she added, leaning across the table and shaking her +head with a sudden fierceness, "who can step into the witness box and +tell the truth about you. You must find out who it is. You must find out +who has stolen that money and get it back. I tell you I won't have +everything snatched away from me like this!" she cried, her voice +breaking hysterically, "I won't be robbed of life and happiness and +everything that counts! I want my money. Are you going to get it back for +me?" + +"Beatrice, don't be absurd," he protested. "You know very well that I +can't do that. I am not in a position to go about making enquiries. I +shall be watched from now, day and night, if nothing worse happens. A +single step on my part in that direction would mean disaster." + +"Then take me straight to the town hall, or the registry office, or +wherever you go here, and marry me," she demanded. "A hundred pounds a +week royalty, eh? Well, that's good enough. I'll marry you, Philip--do +you hear?--at once. That'll save your skin if it won't get me back my +twenty thousand pounds. You needn't flatter yourself overmuch, either. +I'd rather have had Douglas. He's more of a man than you, after all. You +are too self-conscious. You think about yourself too much. You're too +intellectual, too. I don't want those things. I want to live! Any way, +you've got to marry me--to-day. Now give me some money, do you hear?" + +He took out his pocketbook and threw it towards her. She smoothed out the +wad of notes which it contained and counted them with glistening eyes. + +"Well, there's enough here for a start," she decided, slipping them into +her bosom. "No one shall rob me of these before I get to the shops. +Better come with me, Philip. I'm not going to leave you alone with her." + +Elizabeth would have intervened, but Philip laid his hand upon her arm. + +"Beatrice," he said sternly, "you are a little beside yourself. Listen. I +don't understand what has happened. I must think about it. Apparently +that twenty thousand pounds has gone, but so far as regards money I +recognise your claim. You shall have half my earnings. I'll write more. +I'll make it up somehow. But for the rest, this morning has cleared +away many misunderstandings. Let this be the last word. Miss Dalstan has +promised to be my wife. She is the only woman I could ever love." + +"Then you'll have to marry me without loving me," Beatrice declared +thickly. "I won't be left alone in this beastly city! I want some one to +take care of me. I am getting frightened. It's uncanny--horrible! I--oh! +I am so miserable--so miserable!" + +She sank into a chair and fell forward across the table, sobbing +hysterically. + +"I hate every one!" she moaned. "Philip, why can't you be kind to me! +Why doesn't some one care!" + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +And, after all, nothing happened. Dane's barely veiled threats seemed to +vanish like the man himself into thin air. Beatrice, after the breakdown +of her one passionate outburst, had become wonderfully meek and +tractable. Sylvanus Power, who had received from Elizabeth the message +for which he had waited, showed no sign either of disappointment or +anger. After the storm which had seemed to be breaking in upon him from +every quarter, the days which followed possessed for Philip almost the +calm of an Indian summer. He had found something in life at last stronger +than his turbulent fears. His whole nature was engrossed by one great +atmosphere of deep and wonderful affection. He spent a part of every day +with Elizabeth, and the remainder of his time was completely engrossed by +the work over which she, too, the presiding genius, pored eagerly. +Together they humoured many of Beatrice's whims, treating her very much +as an unexpected protegee, a position with which she seemed entirely +content. She made friends with the utmost facility. She wore new clothes +with frank and obvious joy. She preened herself before the looking-glass +of life, developed a capacity for living and enjoying herself which, +under the circumstances, was nothing less than remarkable. + +And then came the climax of Philip's new-found happiness. His earnest +protests had long since been overruled, and certainly no one could have +accused him of posing for a single moment as the reluctant bridegroom. +The happiness which shone from their two faces seemed to brighten the +strangely unecclesiastical looking apartment, in which a cheerful and +exceedingly pleasant looking American divine completed the formalities of +their marriage. It was a queer little company who hurried back to +Elizabeth's room for tea--Elizabeth and Philip themselves, and Martha +Grimes and Beatrice sharing the attentions of Noel Bridges. For an +event of such stupendous importance, it was amazing how perfectly +matter-of-fact the two persons chiefly concerned were. There was only one +moment, just before they started for the theatre, when Elizabeth betrayed +the slightest signs of uneasiness. + +"I sent a telegram, Philip," she said, "to Sylvanus Power. I thought I +had better. This is his answer." + +Philip read the few typewritten words on the little slip of paper: + +"You will hear from me within twenty-four hours." + +Philip frowned a little as he handed it back. It was dated from +Washington. + +"I think," Elizabeth faltered, "he might have sent his good wishes, at +any rate." + +Philip laughed confidently. + +"We have nothing to fear," he declared confidently, "from Sylvanus +Power." + +"Nor from any one else in the world," Elizabeth murmured fervently. + +Then followed the wonderful evening. Philip found Beatrice alone in the +stage box when he returned from taking Elizabeth to her dressing-room. + +"Where's Martha?" he asked. + +"Faithless," Beatrice replied. "She is in the stalls down there with a +young man from the box office. She said you'd understand." + +"A serious affair?" Philip ventured. + +Beatrice nodded. + +"They are engaged. I had tea with them yesterday." + +"We shall have to do something for you, Beatrice, soon," he remarked +cheerfully. + +A very rare gravity settled for a moment upon her face. + +"I wonder, Philip," she said simply. "I thought, a little time ago, it +would be easy enough to care for the right sort of person. Perhaps I am +not really quite so rotten as I thought I was. Here comes Elizabeth. +Let's watch her." + +They both leaned a little forward in the box, Philip in a state of +beatific wonder, which turned soon to amazement when, at Elizabeth's +first appearance, the house suddenly rose, and a torrent of applause +broke out from the floor to the ceiling. Elizabeth for a moment seemed +dumbfounded. The fact that the news of what had happened that afternoon +could so soon have become public property had not occurred to either her +or Philip. Then a sudden smile of comprehension broke across her face. +With understanding, however, came a momentary embarrassment. She looked a +little pathetically at the great audience, then laughed and glanced at +Philip, seated now well back in the box. Many of them followed her gaze, +and the applause broke out again. Then there was silence. She paused +before she spoke the first words of her part. + +"Thank you so much," she said quietly. + +It was a queer little episode. Beatrice gripped Philip's hand as she drew +her chair back to his. There were tears in her eyes. + +"How they love her, these people! And fancy their knowing about it, +Philip, already! You ought to have shown yourself as the happy +bridegroom. They were all looking up here. I wonder why men are so shy. +I'm glad I have my new frock on.... Fancy being married only a few hours +ago! Tell me how you are feeling, can't you, Philip? You sit there +looking like a sphinx. You are happy, aren't you?" + +"Happier, I think, than any man has a right to be," he answered, his eyes +watching Elizabeth's every movement. + +As the play proceeded, his silence only deepened. He went behind at the +end of each act and spent a few stolen moments with Elizabeth. Life was a +marvellous thing, indeed. Every pulse and nerve in his body was tingling +with happiness. And yet, as he lingered for a moment in the vestibule of +the theatre, before going back to his box at the commencement of the last +act, he felt once more that terrible wave of depression, the ghostly +uprising of his old terrors even in this supreme moment. He looked down +from the panorama of flaring sky-signs into the faces of the passers-by +along the crowded pavement. He had a sudden fancy that Dane was there, +watching. His heart beat fiercely as he stood, almost transfixed, +scanning eagerly every strange face. Then the bell rang behind him. He +set his teeth and turned away. In less than half an hour the play would +be over. They would be on their way home. + +He found the box door open and the box itself, to his surprise, empty. +There was no sign anywhere of Beatrice. He waited for a little time. Then +he rang the bell for the attendant but could hear no news of her. His +uneasiness increased as the curtain at last fell and she had not +returned. He hurried round to the back, but Elizabeth, when he told her, +only smiled. + +"Why, there's nothing to worry about, dear," she said. "Beatrice can take +care of herself. Perhaps she thought it more tactful to hurry on home +tonight. She is really just as kind-hearted as she can be, you know, +Philip, underneath all that pent-up, passionate desire for just a small +share of the good things of life. She has wasted so much of herself in +longings. Poor child! I sometimes wonder that she is as level-headed as +she seems to be. Now I am ready." + +They passed down the corridor amidst a little chorus of good nights, and +stepped into the automobile which was waiting. As it glided off she +suddenly came closer to him. + +"Philip," she whispered, "it's true, isn't it? Put your arms around me. +You are driving me home--say it's true!" + +Elizabeth sat up presently, a little dazed. Her fingers were still +gripping Philip's almost fiercely. The automobile had stopped. + +"I haven't the least idea where we are," she murmured. + +"And I forgot to tell you," he laughed, as he helped her out. "I took the +suite below mine by the week. There are two or three rooms, and an +extra one for Beatrice. Of course, it's small, but then with this London +idea before us--" + +"Such extravagance!" she interrupted. "Your own rooms would have done +quite nicely, only it is a luxury to have a place for Phoebe. I hope +Beatrice won't have gone to bed." + +"I am sure she won't," he replied. "She has done all the arranging for +me--she and Phoebe together." + +They crossed the pavement and entered the lift. The attendant grinned +broadly as he stopped at the eighth floor, and held out his hand for the +tip for which Philip had been fumbling. The door of the suite was opened +before they could reach the bell. Elizabeth's maid, Phoebe, came forward +to take her mistress' cloak, and the floor valet was there to relieve +Philip of his overcoat. A waiter was hovering in the background. + +"Supper is served in the dining room, sir," he announced. "Shall I open +the wine?" + +Philip nodded and showed Elizabeth over the little flat, finally ushering +her into the small, round dining room. + +"It's perfectly delightful," she declared, "but we don't need nearly so +much room, Philip. What a dear little dining table and what a delicious +supper! Everything I like best in the world, from pate de foie gras to +cold asparagus. You are a dear." + +The waiter disappeared with a little bow. They were alone at last. She +held his hands tightly. She was trembling. The forced composure of the +last few minutes seemed to have left her. + +"I am silly," she faltered, "but the servants and everything--they won't +come back, will they?" + +He laughed as he patted her hand. + +"We shan't see another soul, dear," he assured her. + +She laid her cheek against his. + +"How hot your face feels," she exclaimed. "Throw open the window, do. I +shan't feel it." + +He obeyed her at once. The roar of the city, all its harshness muffled, +came to them in a sombre, almost melodious undernote. She rested her +hands upon his shoulder. + +"What children we are!" she murmured. "Now it's you who are trembling! +Sit down, please. You've been so brave these last few days." + +"It was just for a moment," he told her. "It seems too wonderful. I had a +sudden impulse of terror lest it should all be snatched away." + +She laughed easily. + +"I don't think there's any fear of that, dear," she said. "Perhaps--" + +There was a little knock at the door. Philip, who had been holding +Elizabeth's chair, stood as though transfixed. Elizabeth gripped at the +side of the table. It was some few seconds before either of them +spoke. + +"It's perhaps--Beatrice," Elizabeth faltered. + +The knock was repeated. Philip drew a little breath. + +"Come in," he invited. + +The door opened slowly towards them and closed again. It was Mr. Dane who +had entered. From outside they caught a momentary glimpse of another +man, waiting. Mr. Dane took off his hat. For a man with so expressionless +a countenance, he was looking considerably perturbed. + +"Miss Dalstan," he said, "I am very sorry, believe me, to intrude. I only +heard of your marriage an hour ago. I wish I could have prevented it." + +"Prevented it?" Elizabeth repeated. "What do you mean?" + +"I think that Mr. Philip Romilly could explain," Dane continued, turning +towards Philip. "I am sorry, but I have received an imperative cable from +Scotland Yard, and it is my duty to arrest you, Philip Romilly, and to +hold you, pending the arrival of a special police mission from England. I +am bound to take note of anything you may say, so I beg of you not to ask +me any particulars as to the charge." + +The colour slowly faded from Elizabeth's cheeks. She had risen to her +feet and was gripping the mantelpiece for support. Philip, however, was +perfectly calm. He poured out a glass of water and held it to her lips. + +"Drink this, dear," he begged, "and don't be alarmed. It sounds very +terrible, but believe me there is nothing to be feared." + +He swung suddenly round to Dane. His voice shook with passion. + +"You've kept me under observation," he cried, "all this time. I haven't +attempted to escape. I haven't moved from New York. I haven't the +slightest intention of doing so until this thing is cleared up. Can't you +take my parole? Can't you leave me alone until they come from England?" + +Mr. Dane shook his head slowly. He was a hard man, but there was an +unaccustomed look of distress in his face. + +"Sorry, Mr. Romilly," he said regretfully. "I did suggest something of +the sort, but they wouldn't hear of it at headquarters. If we let you +slip through our fingers, we should never hear the last of it from +London." + +Then there came another and a still more unexpected interruption. From +outside they heard Beatrice's voice raised in excitement. Mr. Dane stood +on one side as the door was thrown open. Beatrice suddenly flung herself +into the room, dragging after her a man who was almost breathless. + +"I say, Beatrice, steady!" the latter began good-naturedly. + +There followed the most wonderful silence in the world, a silence which +was filled with throbbing, indescribable emotions, a silence which meant +something different for every one of them. Beatrice, gripping her captive +by the wrist, was looking around, striving to understand. Elizabeth was +filled with blank wonder. Mr. Dane was puzzled. But Philip, who a moment +before had seemed perfectly composed, was the one who seemed torn by +indescribable, by horrible emotions. He was livid almost to the lips. His +hands were stretched out as though to keep from him some awful and +ghastly vision. His eyes, filled with the anguished light of supreme +terror, were fastened upon the newcomer. His lips shook as he tried to +speak. + +"Take him away!" he shrieked. "Oh, my God!" + +Beatrice, more coherent than any of them, scoffed at him. + +"Don't be a fool!" she cried. "Take him away, indeed! He's the most +wonderful thing that ever happened. He's the one man in life you want to +see! So you've come for him, eh?" she went on, turning almost like a +wild-cat on Dane. "You beast! You chose to-night, did you? Now get on +with it, then, and I'll give you the surprise of your life. What are you +here for?" + +"I am here to arrest that man, Philip Romilly, for the murder of his +cousin, Douglas Romilly, Miss Wenderley," Dane announced gravely. "I am +sorry." + +Beatrice threw her head back and laughed hysterically. + +"You'll never write a play like it, Philip!" she exclaimed. "There never +was anything like it before. Now, Mr. Dane, what is it you say in America +when you want to introduce anybody?--shake hands with Mr. Douglas +Romilly--that's it. Shake hands with the dead man here and then get on +with your arresting. He must be dead if you say so, but he doesn't look +it, does he?" + +Philip's face had become a more natural colour. His eyes had never left +the other man's. He swayed a little on his feet and his voice seemed to +him to come from a long way off. + +"Douglas! It isn't you, Douglas! ... It isn't you really?" + +"I wish you'd all leave off staring at me as though I were a ghost," the +other man answered, almost pettishly. "I'm Douglas Romilly, right enough. +You needn't look in such a blue funk, Philip," he went on, his fingers +mechanically rearranging his collar and tie, which Beatrice had +disarranged. "I served you a beastly trick and you went for me. I should +have done the same if I'd been in your place. On the other hand, I rather +turned the tables on you by keeping quiet. Perhaps it's up to me to +explain." + +Elizabeth, feeling her way by the mantelpiece, came to Philip's side. His +arm supported her, holding her as though in a vise. + +"Is that your cousin?" she whispered hoarsely. "Is that Douglas Romilly? +Is he alive, after all?" + +Philip had no words, but his face spoke for him. Then they both turned to +listen. The newcomer had dragged a chair towards him and was leaning over +the back of it. He addressed Philip. + +"We met, as you know, on the canal path that beastly afternoon," he +began. "I was jolly well ashamed of myself for having made love to +Beatrice, and all the rest of it, and you were mad with rage. We had a +sort of tussle and you threw me into the canal. It was a nasty dark spot +just underneath the bridge. I expect I was stunned for a moment, +but it was only for a moment. I came to long before I choked, and when I +remembered your grip upon my throat, I decided I was safer where I was. I +could swim like a duck, you know, and though it was filthy water I took a +long dive. When I came up again--gad, what disgusting water it was!--you +were tearing off like a creature possessed. That's the true history of +our little fracas." + +"But afterwards?" Philip asked wonderingly. "What happened afterwards?" + +"You just tell them all about it," Beatrice ordered him sternly. "Go on, +Douglas." + +"Well, you see," Douglas Romilly continued, "I was just going to scramble +out on to the bank when my brain began to work, and I swam slowly along +instead. You see, just then I was in a devil of a mess. I'd spent a lot +of money, and though I'd kept the credit of the firm good, I knew that +the business was bust, and the one thing I was anxious about was to get +off to America without being stopped. I've explained this all to +Beatrice, and why I didn't send for her before. Anyway, I swam along +until I met with an old barge. I climbed in and got two of the choicest +blackguards you ever saw to let me spend an hour or two in their filthy +cabin and to keep their mouths closed about it. Fortunately, I had +another pocketbook, with sufficient to satisfy them and keep me going. +Then I borrowed some clothes and came out to America, steerage. I had no +difficulty in getting my money, as I had a couple of pals in Lynn whom I +had fixed things up with before I started. They came and identified me as +Merton Ware, and we all three started in business together as the Ford +Boot and Shoe Manufacturing Company at Lynn in Massachusetts. +Incidentally, we've done all right. Heaps more, of course, but that's the +pith of it. As for the body that was fished out of the canal, if you make +enquiries, you'll find there was a tramp missing, a month or so before." + +Elizabeth had begun to sob quietly. Philip, who was holding her tenderly +in his arms, whispered unheard things into her ears. It was Beatrice who +remained in charge of the situation. + +"So now, Mr. Dane," she jeered, "what about your little errand? I hope +this will be a lesson to you not to come meddling in other people's +affairs." + +Dane turned to the man who had brought this bombshell into their midst. + +"Do you swear that you are Douglas Romilly?" he asked. + +"I not only swear it but I can prove it, if you'll come along with me to +Murray's," he answered. "My partner's there, waiting supper, and another +man who has known me all his life." + +The detective glanced interrogatively towards Philip. + +"That is my cousin, Douglas Romilly," the latter pronounced. + +Dane took up his hat. + +"Mr. Merton Ware," he said, "or Mr. Philip Romilly, whichever you may in +future elect to call yourself, you may not believe it, but the end of +this affairs is an immense relief to me. I offer you my heartiest +congratulations. You need fear no more annoyance. Good night!" + +He passed out. They heard the sound of his footsteps and his companion's, +as they crossed the corridor and rang for the lift. Speech was a little +difficult. It was still Beatrice who imposed conviction upon them. + +"I was seated in the box," she explained, "when Philip went round to see +you, Elizabeth. I had looking down into the stalls to find Martha, and +all of a sudden I saw Douglas there. He, too, was staring at me. Of +course, I thought it was some extraordinary likeness, but, whilst I was +clutching at the curtain, he stood up and waved his hand. You should have +seen me tear from the box! You know, ever since they showed me that +signature at the bank I have had a queer idea at the back of my head. +Luckily for him," she went, patting his arm, "he sent home for me a +fortnight ago, and sent a draft for my expenses out. You won't mind, will +you, if I take him off now?" she concluded, turning to Elizabeth. "They +are waiting supper for us, but I wasn't going to let Philip--" + +"Did you know that Dane was going to be here?" Elizabeth asked. + +"Not an idea," Beatrice declared. "I simply dragged Douglas along here, +as soon as we'd talked things out, because I knew that it would be the +one thing wanting to complete Philip's happiness. We'll leave you now. +Douglas will bring me back, and we are going to be married in a few +days." + +Philip held out his hand a little diffidently. + +"You wouldn't--" + +"My dear fellow," Douglas interrupted, grasping it, "wouldn't I! I'm +thundering sorry for all you've been through. I suppose I ought to have +let you know that I was still in the land of the living, but I was +waiting until things blew over in England. That's all right now, though," +he went on. "I've turned over a new leaf and I am making money--making +it after a style they don't understand in England. I am going to pay my +creditors twenty shillings in the pound before a couple of years have +gone, and do pretty well for Beatrice and myself as well. You wouldn't +care, I suppose," he added, as they stood there with locked hands, "to +offer us just a glass of wine before we start out? Beatrice has been +riddling me with questions and dragging me through the streets till I +scarcely know whether I am on my head or my heels." + +Philip emptied the contents of the champagne bottle into the glasses. +Never was wine poured out more gladly. + +"Douglas," he explained, "this is Miss Elizabeth Dalstan, whom you saw +act this evening. We were married this afternoon. You can understand, +can't you, just what your coming has meant for us?" + +Douglas shook Elizabeth by the hand. Then he held up his glass. + +"Here's the best of luck to you both!" he said heartily. "Very soon +Beatrice and I will ask you to wish us the same. Philip, old chap," he +added, as he set his glass down and without the slightest protest watched +it replenished, "that's a thundering good play of yours I've seen this +evening, but you'll never write one to beat this!" + +Soon Beatrice and Douglas also took their departure. Elizabeth held out +her arms almost as the door closed. The tear-stains were still on her +cheeks. Her lips quivered a little, but her voice was clear and sweet and +passionate. + +"Philip," she cried, "it's all over--it's all finished with--the dread, +the awful days! I am not going to be hysterical any more, and you--you +are just going to remember that we have everything we want in the world. +Sit down opposite to me, if you please, and fill my glass. I have only +one emotion left. I am hungry--desperately hungry. Move your chair nearer +so that I can reach your hand. There! Now you and I will drink our little +toast." + +It was an hour before they thought of leaving the table. A very perplexed +waiter brought them coffee and watched them light cigarettes. Then the +telephone bell rang. They both stared at the instrument. Philip would +have taken off the receiver, but Elizabeth held out her hand. + +"I have an idea," she said. "I believe it is from Sylvanus Power. Let me +answer it." + +She held the receiver to her ear and listened. + +"Yes?" she murmured. "Yes?... At what time?" + +Her face grew more puzzled. She listened for a moment longer. + +"But, Sylvanus," she expostulated, "what do you mean?... Sylvanus?... Mr. +Power?" + +The telephone had become a dumb thing. She replaced the receiver. + +"I don't understand," she told Philip. "All that he said was--'You will +receive my present at five o'clock this morning!'" + +"Does he think we are going to sit up for it?" Philip asked. + +"He is the strangest man," she sighed.... + + * * * * * + +After all, some queer fancy awoke Philip at a little before five that +morning and drew him to the window. He sat looking out over the still +sleeping city. All sound now was hushed. It was the brief breathing space +before the dawn. In the clear morning spring light, the buildings of the +city seemed to stand out with a new and marvellous distinctness. Now and +then from the harbour came the shriek of a siren. A few pale lights were +still burning along the river way. From one of the city clocks the hour +was slowly tolled. Philip counted the strokes--one, two, three, four, +five. Then, almost as he was preparing to leave his post, there came a +terrific roar. The window against which he leaned shook. Some of the +buildings in the distance trembled. One, with its familiar white cupola, +seemed for a moment to be lifted from the ground and then split through +by some unseen hand. The roar of the explosion was followed by the +crashing of falling masonry. Long fingers of fire suddenly leapt up into +the quiet, cool air. Fragments of masonry, a portion, even, of that +wonderful cupola, came crashing down into the street. He heard +Elizabeth's voice behind him, felt her fingers upon his shoulder. + +"What is it? Philip, what is it?" + +He pointed with steady finger. The truth seemed to come to him by +inspiration. + +"It is Sylvanus Power's message to you," he replied. "The theatre!" + +There were flames now, leaping up to the sky. Together they watched them +and listened to the shrieking of sirens and whistles as the fire engines +galloped by from every section of the city. There was a strange look in +Elizabeth's face as she watched the curling flames. + +"Philip," she whispered, "thank God! There it goes, all his great +offering to me! It's like the man and his motto--'A man may do what he +will with his own.' Only last night I felt as though I would give +anything in the world never to stand upon the stage of that theatre +again. He doesn't know it, Philip, but his is a precious gift." + +He passed his arm around her and drew her from the window. + +"'A man may do what he will with his own,'" he repeated. "Well, it isn't +such a bad motto. Sylvanus Power may destroy a million-dollar theatre +for a whim, but so far as you and I are concerned--" + +She sighed with content. + +"We do both need a holiday," she murmured. "Somewhere in Europe, I +think." + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Cinema Murder, by E. 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