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diff --git a/42740-0.txt b/42740-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b19e1a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/42740-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10223 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42740 *** + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 42740-h.htm or 42740-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42740/42740-h/42740-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42740/42740-h.zip) + + + Images of the original pages are available through + the Google Books Library Project. See + http://www.google.com/books?id=q5lUAAAAYAAJ + + + + + +FIND THE WOMAN + + +[Illustration: _Clancy Dean, the heroine of "Find the Woman"---from the +painting by Dean Cornwell_] + + +FIND THE WOMAN + +by + +ARTHUR SOMERS ROCHE + +Author of "Uneasy Street," etc. + +With four illustrations by Dean Cornwell + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + +New York +Cosmopolitan Book Corporation +MCMXXI + +Copyright, 1921, by Cosmopolitan Book Corporation.--All rights +reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, +including the Scandinavian + + + + +_To ETHEL PETTIT ROCHE_ + + _Let Philip win his Clancy,_ + _As heroes always do;_ + _To each his own sweet fancy--_ + _My fancy is for you._ + + + + +The Illustrations by +DEAN CORNWELL + + + CLANCY DEANE, THE HEROINE OF FIND THE WOMAN _Frontispiece_ + CLANCY ROSE SLOWLY TO HER FEET--"UNLOCK THAT DOOR AND + LET ME OUT----" 44 + GRANNIS POINTED TO CLANCY--"ARREST HER, OFFICER," HE CRIED 146 + "WHO'S GOING TO BELIEVE THAT KIND OF YARN?" CAREY DEMANDED 232 + + + + +I + + +As the taxi stopped, Clancy leaned forward. Yes; she'd read the sign +aright! It was Fifth Avenue that she saw before her. + +Fifth Avenue! And she, Clancy Deane, of Zenith, Maine, was looking at it +with her own eyes! Dreams _did_ come true, after all. She, forty-eight +hours ago a resident of a sleepy Maine town, was in the city whence came +those gorgeous women who, in the summer-time, thrilled her as they +disembarked from their yachts in Zenith Harbor, to stroll around the +town, amusement in their eyes. + +She looked to the left. A limousine, driven by a liveried chauffeur, +beside whom sat another liveried man, was also stopped by the policeman +in the center of the avenue. Furtively, Clancy eyed the slim matron who +sat, leaning back, in the rear of the car. From the jaunty toque of blue +cloth trimmed with gold, down the chinchilla-collared seal coat, past +the edge of brown duveteen skirt to the short-vamped shoes that, +although Clancy could not know it, had just come from Paris, the woman +was everything that Clancy was not. + +As the policeman blew a whistle and the taxi moved forward and turned up +the avenue, Clancy sat more stiffly. Oh, well, give her six months-- +She knew well enough that her tailor-made was not the real thing. But it +was the best that Bangor, nearest city to Zenith, could provide. And it +would do. So would her hat that, by the presence of the woman in the +limousine, was made to seem coarse, bucolic. Even her shoes, which she +had been assured were the very latest thing, were, she suddenly knew, +altogether too long and narrow. But it didn't matter. In her pocketbook +she held the "Open Sesame" to New York. + +A few weeks, and Clancy Deane would be as well dressed as this woman to +whom a moment ago she had been so close. Clothes! They were all that +Clancy needed. She knew that. And it wasn't vanity that made her realize +that her faintly angular figure held all the elements that, ripening, +would give her shape that lissomness envied by women and admired by men. +It wasn't conceit that told her that her black hair, not lusterless but +with a satiny sheen, was rare in its soft luxuriousness. It wasn't +egotism that assured her that her face, with its broad mouth, whose red +lips could curve or pout exquisitely, its straight nose with the narrow +nostrils, its wide-set gray eyes, and low, broad forehead, was +beautiful. + +Conceit, vanity, egotism--these were not in the Clancy Deane make-up. +But she recognized her assets, and was prepared to realize from their +sale the highest possible price. She could not forbear to peep into her +pocketbook. Yes; it was still there--the card, oddly enough, quite +simply engraved, of "Mlle. Fanchon DeLisle." And, scrawled with a muddy +pen, were the mystic words: "Introducing my little friend, Florine +Ladue, to Mr. Morris Beiner." + +Carefully, as the taxi glided up the avenue, Clancy put the card back in +the side compartment of the rather bulky pocketbook. At Forty-fifth +Street, the driver turned to the left toward Times Square. She +recognized the Times Building from a photograph she had seen. The taxi +turned again at the north end of the square, and, a door away, stopped +before what seemed to be a row of modiste's shops. + +"This is the Napoli, ma'am," the driver said. "The office is up-stairs. +Help you with your bag, ma'am?" + +"Of course." It was with a quite careless air that she replied. + +She climbed the short and narrow flight of stairs that led to the office +of the Napoli with as much of an air as is possible for any human to +assume mounting stairs. + +A fat, jolly-seeming woman sat at a desk perched so that it commanded +not merely the long, narrow dining-room but the stairs to the street. +Although Clancy didn't know it, the Napoli, the best known theatrical +hotel in America, had been made by throwing several old dwelling-houses +together. + +"A room?" suggested Clancy. + +The stout woman nodded pleasantly. Whereupon Clancy paid and tipped her +taxi-man. The landlady, Madame Napoli, as Clancy was soon to learn, +shoved the register toward her. With a flourish Clancy signed "Florine +Ladue." To append the town of Zenith as her residence was too much of an +anticlimax after the "Florine Ladue." Portland was a bit more +cosmopolitan, and Portland, therefore, appeared on the register. + +"You have a trunk?" asked Madame Napoli. + +Clancy shook her head. + +"Then the terms, for a room by the week, will be fourteen dollars--in +advance," said _madame_. + +Clancy shrugged. Nonchalantly she opened her purse and drew forth a +twenty-dollar bill. _Madame_ beamed upon her. + +"You may sign checks for one week, Miss"--she consulted the +register--"Miss Ladue." + +"'Sign checks?'" Clancy was puzzled. + +_Madame_ beamed. Also, a smaller edition of _madame_, with the same +kindly smile, chuckled. + +"You see," said _madame_, "my children--these are all my children." And +she waved a fat hand toward the dining-room, where a few men and women +were gayly chattering incomprehensible badinage to each other between +mouthfuls. "But children are careless. And so--I let them sign checks +for one week. If they do not pay at the end of one week----" + +Clancy squared her shoulders haughtily. + +"I think you need have no apprehension about me," she said stiltedly. + +"Oh, I won't--not for one week," beamed _madame_. "Paul!" she called. A +'bus-boy emerged from the dining-room, wiping his hands upon a soiled +apron. + +"Take Miss--Ladue's bag to one hundred and eighteen," ordered _madame_. +She beamed again upon Clancy. "If you like chocolate-cake, Miss Ladue, +better come down early. My children gobble it up quickly." + +"Thank you," said Clancy, and followed the 'bus-boy porter up two +flights of stairs. Her room, fairly large, with a basin for running +water and an ample closet, and, as Paul pointed out, only two doors from +the bathroom, had two wide windows, and they looked out upon Times +Square. + +The afternoon was waning. Dots of light embellished the awesome Times +Building. Back, lower down Broadway, an automobile leaped into being, +poised high in the air, its wheels spinning realistically. A huge and +playful kitten chased a ball of twine. A petticoat flapped back and +forth in an electrically created gale. + +There was a wide seat before one window, and Clancy stretched out upon +it, elbows upon the sill and her cheeks pressed into her two palms. +Zenith was ten million miles away. She wondered why people had hoped +that she wouldn't be lonely. As if anyone _could_ be lonely in New York! + +Why, the city was crowded! There were scores of things to do, scores of +places to go. While, back home in Zenith, two days ago, she had finished +a day just like a hundred preceding, a thousand preceding days. She had +washed her hands in the women's dressing-room at Miller & Company's. She +had walked home, tired out after a hard day pounding a typewriter for +Mr. Frank Miller. Her aunt Hetty--she wasn't really Clancy's +aunt--Clancy was an orphan--but she'd lived at Mehitabel Baker's +boarding-house since her mother died, four years ago--had met her at the +door and said that there was apple pie for supper and she'd saved an +extra piece for her. After supper, there'd been a movie, then bed. Oh, +occasionally there was a dance, and sometimes a dramatic company, +fourth-rate, played at the opera-house. She thought of "Mlle. Fanchon +DeLisle," whose card she carried, whose card was the "Open Sesame." + +Mademoiselle DeLisle had been in the "New York Blondes." Clancy +remembered how, a year ago, when the "flu" first ravaged the country, +Mademoiselle DeLisle had been stricken, on the night the Blondes played +Zenith. She'd almost died, too. She said herself that, if it hadn't been +for Clancy, when nurses were so scarce and hard to get, that she sure +would have kicked in. She'd been mighty grateful to Clancy. And when she +left, a fortnight after her company, she'd given Clancy this card. + +"Morris Beiner ain't the biggest guy in the world, kid," she'd said, +"but he's big enough. And he can land you a job. He got me mine," she +stated. Then, as she caught a glint of pity in Clancy's eyes, she went +on: "Don't judge the stage by the Blondes, and don't judge actresses by +me. I'm an old-timer, kid. I never could _act_. But if the movies had +been in existence twenty years ago, I'd 'a' cleaned up, kid; hear me +tell it. It's a crime for a girl with your looks to be pounding the keys +in a two-by-four canning factory in a jerk Maine town. Why, with your +looks--a clean-up in the movies--you don't have to be an actress, you +know. Just look pretty and collect the salary. And a husband with +kale--that's what a girl like you _really_ wants. And you can get it. +Think it over, kid." + +Clancy had thought it over. But it had been one of those absurdly +hopeless dreams that could never be realized. And then, two months ago, +had come from California an inquiry as to her possible relationship to +the late Stephen Burgess. Aunt Hetty had visited the court-house, +looked up marriage records, with the result that, two days ago, Clancy +had received a draft for seven hundred and thirty-two dollars and +forty-one cents, one-eighth of the estate of Stephen Burgess, cousin of +Clancy's mother. + +It wasn't a fortune, but Clancy, after a shriek, and showing the +precious draft to aunt Hetty, had run up-stairs and found the card that +Fanchon DeLisle had given her. She stood before the mirror. She +pirouetted, turned, twisted. And made her decision. If she stayed in +Zenith, she might, if lucky, marry a traveling man. One hundred dollars +a week at the outside. + +Better to sink in New York than float in Zenith! And Fanchon DeLisle had +been so certain of Clancy's future, so roseate in her predictions, so +positive that Morris Beiner would place her! + +Not a regret could Clancy find in her heart for having, on the day after +the receipt of the draft, left Zenith. Forever! She repeated the word to +herself, gritting her teeth. + +"What's the matter, kid? Did he insult you?" + +Clancy looked up. In the doorway--she had left the door ajar--stood a +tall young woman, a blonde. She entered without invitation and smiled +cheerfully at Clancy. She whirled on one shapely foot. + +"Hook me up, will you, kid? I can't fix the darned thing to save my +life." + +Clancy leaped to her feet and began fastening the opened dress of the +woman. She worked silently, too overcome by embarrassment to speak. The +blonde wriggled in her dress, making it fit more smoothly over her +somewhat prominent hips. She faced Clancy. + +"My name's Fay Marston. What's yours?" + +"Cl--Florine Ladue," replied Clancy. + +"Y-e-s, it is," grinned the other. "But it don't matter a darn, kid. +It's what others call you, not what you call yourself. On the stage?" + +"I expect to enter the movies," said Clancy. + +"'_Enter_' them, eh? Wish I could crawl in! I'm too blamed big, they all +tell me. Still, I should worry, while Mr. Ziegfeld runs the 'Follies.'" + +"Are you in the 'Follies'?" asked Clancy. This was life! + +Fay winked. + +"Not when they're on the road, old thing. You got your job?" + +"Oh, I will!" said Clancy. + +Miss Marston eyed her. + +"I'll say you will. With a skin like that, you'll get anywhere +under God's blue canopy that you want to go. That's the secret, +Flo--Florine--skin. I tell you so. Oh, well, much obliged, kid. Do as +much for you sometime." + +She walked to the door but hesitated on the threshold. + +"Like wild parties, Florine?" she asked. + +"I--I don't know," said Clancy. + +"Nothing rough, you know. I never forget that I'm a lady and what's due +me from gentlemen," said Fay. "But--Ike Weber 'phoned me that his little +friend was laid up sick with somethin' or other, and if I could bring +another girl along, he'd be obliged. Dinner and dance--at the Château de +la Reine. Jazzy place, kid. You'd better come." + +Clancy was thrilled. If a momentary doubt assailed her, she dismissed +it at once. She could take care of herself. + +"I--I'd love to. If I have anything to wear----" She hesitated. + +"Well, unpack the old gripsack," grinned Fay, "and we'll soon find out." + +A moment later, she was shaking out the folds of an extremely simple +foulard. Another moment, and Clancy was in her knickers. Fay eyed her. + +"Dance? Stage-dances, I mean. No? You oughta learn. Some pretty shape, +kid. Here, lemme button this." + +For a moment, Clancy hesitated. Fay patted her on the shoulder. + +"Don't make any mistake about me, Florine. I'm the right kind of people +for a little girl to know, all right." + +"Why--why, of course you are!" said Clancy. Without further delay she +permitted Fay to return her service of a while ago and hook up the +pretty foulard. + + + + +II + + +Ike Weber was waiting for them in the foyer of the Château de la Reine. +During the brief taxi-ride up Broadway to the cabaret, Clancy had time +to suffer reaction from the momentary daring that had led her to +acceptance of Fay's invitation. It was this very sort of thing against +which young girls were warned by pulpit and press! She stole a searching +glance at her companion's large-featured face and was reassured. Vulgar, +Fay Marston might be--but vicious? "No," she decided. + +And Weber's pleasant greeting served to allay any lingering fears. A +good-natured, shrewd-eyed man, with uneven and slightly stained teeth, +his expensive-seeming dinner jacket of dark-gray cloth, his dark, +shining studs--Clancy could not tell of what jewels they were made--and +his whole well-fed air seemed to reek of money. He waved a fat hand at +Fay and immediately came toward them. + +"You're late, Fay," he announced. + +"But look what made me late!" laughed the blonde girl. + +Weber bowed to Clancy with an exaggerated gallantry which he had picked +up by much attendance at the theater. + +"You're forgiven, Fay." + +"Florine, meet Mr. Weber," pronounced Fay. "Miss--Miss--kid, I forget +your name." + +"'Florine' will do," said Weber. "It's a bear of a name. Call me 'Ike,' +girlie." + +He took Clancy's hand between his two fat palms and pressed it. He +grinned at Fay. + +"I'll let you do all my picking after this, Fay. Come on; check your +things." + +Up a heavily carpeted stairway he forced a path for them. Clancy would +have lingered. Pushing against her were women dressed as she had never +expected to see them dressed. There were necklaces of pearls and +diamonds, coats of sable and chinchilla, gowns that even her +inexperience knew cost in the hundreds, perhaps the thousands. + +In the dressing-room, where she surrendered her plain cloth coat of a +cheap dark-blue material to the maid, she voiced something of her +amazement to Fay. The blond girl laughed. + +"You'll have all they got, kid, if you take your time. At that, there +isn't one of them wouldn't give all her rags for that skin of yours. Did +you notice Ike's eyes? Like a cat lookin' at a plate of cream. You'll +do, kid. If Ike Weber likes your looks--and he does--you should worry +about fur coats." + +"Who is he?" demanded Clancy. + +"Broker," said Fay. "With a leanin' to the stage. They say he's got +money in half a dozen shows. I dunno about that, but he's a regular +feller. Nothin' fresh about Ike. Don't worry, Florine." + +Clancy smiled tremulously. She wasn't worried about the possible +"freshness" of a hundred Webers. She was worrying about her clothes. But +as they entered the dining-room and were escorted by a deferential +_maitre d'hôtel_ to a long, flower-laden table at one side, next the +dancing-space, worry left her. Her shoulders straightened and her head +poised confidently. For Clancy had an artistic eye. She knew that a +single daisy in a simple vase will sometimes attract great attention in +a conservatory filled with exotic blooms. She felt that she was that +daisy to-night. + +In somewhat of a daze, she let herself be presented to a dozen men and +women, without catching a single name, and then sank into a chair beside +Weber. He was busy talking at the moment to a petite brown-haired +beauty, and Clancy was free to look about her. It was a gorgeous room, +with a queer Japanesque effect to the ceiling, obtained by draperies +that were, as Clancy phrased it to herself, "accordion-plaited." At the +far end of the dancing-space was a broad flight of stairs that led to a +sort of curtained balcony, or stage. + +But it was the people at her own table who interested Clancy. The +complete absence of formality that had marked their entrance--Weber had +permitted them, after his escort to the dressing-room, to find their own +way to the table--continued now. One gathered from the conversation that +was bandied back and forth that these were the most intimate of friends, +separated for years and now come together again. + +A woman from another table, with a squeal of delight, rose, and, +crossing over, spoke to the brown-haired girl. They kissed each other +ecstatically, exchanged half a dozen sentences, and then the visitor +retired. Clancy heard Weber ask the visitor's name. + +"Hanged if I know! I seem to remember her faintly," said the +brown-haired one. + +Weber turned to Clancy. + +"Get that?" he chuckled. "It's a great lane--Broadway. It ain't a place +where you are _acquainted_ with people; you love 'em." + +"Or hate 'em?" suggested Clancy. + +Weber beamed upon her. + +"Don't tell me that you're clever as well as a bear for looks, Florine! +If you do, I'll be just bowled over completely." + +Clancy shrugged. + +"Was that clever?" + +Weber chuckled. + +"If you listen to the line of talk around this table--how I knocked 'em +for a goal in Philly, and how Branwyn's been after me for seven months +to get me to sign a contract, and how Bruce Fairchild got a company of +his own because he was jealous of the way I was stealing the film from +him--after a little of that, anything sounds clever. Dance, Florine?" + +Back in Zenith, Ike Weber, even if he'd been the biggest business man in +town, would have hesitated to ask Clancy Deane so casually to dance with +him. The Deanes were real people in Zenith, even though they'd never had +much money. But great-grandfather Deane had seen service in '47 in +Mexico, had been wounded at the storming of Chapultepec; and grandfather +Clancy had been Phil Sheridan's aide. That sort of thing mattered a +whole lot in Zenith, even to-day. + +But Clancy had come to New York, to Broadway, with no snobbery. All her +glorious ancestry hadn't prevented her from feeling mighty lucky when +Mr. Frank Miller made her his stenographer. She'd come to New York, to +Broadway, to make a success, to lift herself forever beyond the Mr. +Frank Millers and their factories. So it was not disinclination to +letting Ike Weber's arm encircle her that made Clancy hesitate. She +laughed, as he said, + +"Maybe you think, because I'm a little fat, that I can't shake a nasty +toe, Florine?" + +"I--I'm awfully hungry," she confessed. "And--what are these things?" + +She looked down at the plate before her, on which were placed almost a +dozen varieties of edibles, most of them unfamiliar. + +Weber laughed. + +"Florine, I _like_ you!" he declared. "Why, I don't believe you know +what a four-flusher is. This your first Broadway party?" + +"I never saw New York until this afternoon," she confessed. + +Weber eyed her closely. + +"How'd you meet Fay?" + +Clancy told him, told him all about the little legacy from the West, the +breaking of the home ties. She mentioned that she had a card of +introduction to an agent. + +"Well, that'll help--maybe," said Weber. "But it don't matter. You give +me a ring to-morrow afternoon, and I'll make a date with you. I know +about everybody in the picture game worth knowing, and I'll start you +off right." + +"You're awfully good," she told him. + +Weber smiled; Clancy noted, for the first time, that the merry eyes deep +set in flesh, could be very hard. + +"Maybe I am, and maybe I ain't. Anyway, you ring me--those are _hors +d'oeuvres_, Florine. Anchovy, _salami_--try 'em." + +Clancy did, and enjoyed them. Also, she liked the soup, which Weber +informed her was turtle, and the fish, a filet of sole. After that, she +danced with her mentor. + +They returned to the table and Weber promptly began singing her praises. +Thereafter, in quick succession, she danced with several men, among them +Zenda, a mop-haired man with large, dreamy eyes, who informed her +casually that he was giving the party. It was to celebrate, he said, the +releasing of his twenty-fifth film. + +"You a friend of the big blond girl that you came in with?" he asked. + +"Why, she invited me!" cried Clancy. "Miss Marston--don't you know her?" + +Zenda grinned. + +"Oh, yes; I know her. But I didn't know she was coming to-night. My +press-agent told me that I ought to give a party. He invited every one +he could think of. Forty accepted, and about a dozen and a half are +here. But that doesn't matter. I get the publicity just the same. Know +'em? I know every one. I ought to. I'm one of the biggest men in the +films. Listen to me tell you about it," he chuckled. "Florine, you sure +can dance." Like the rest, he called her by her first name. + +She was blushing with pride as he took her back to the table. But, to +her piqued surprise, Zenda promptly forgot all about her. However her +pique didn't last long. At about the salad course, the huge curtain at +the top of the wide staircase parted, and the cabaret began. For +forty-five minutes it lasted, and Clancy was thrilled at its +elaborateness. + +At its end, the dinner had been eaten, and the party began to break up. +Zenda came over to Weber. + +"Feel like a game?" he asked. + +"You know me," said Weber. + +Ensued a whispered colloquy between five of the men. Then came many loud +farewells and the making of many engagements. Clancy felt distinctly out +of it. Weber, who wished her to telephone him to-morrow, seemed to +forget her existence. So even did Fay, who moved toward the +dressing-room. Feeling oddly neglected, Clancy followed her. + +"What you doin' the rest of the evenin'?" asked Fay, as she was being +helped into her coat. + +"Why--I--nothing," said Clancy. + +"Of course not!" Fay laughed. "I wasn't thinkin'. Want to come along +with me?" + +"Where are you going?" demanded Clancy cautiously. She'd heard a lot +about the wickedness of New York, and to-night she had attended a +dinner-party where actresses and picture-directors and backers of shows +gathered. And it had been about as wicked as a church sociable in +Zenith. + +"Oh, Zenda and Ike and a few of the others are goin' up to Zenda's +apartment. They play stud." + +"'Stud?'" asked Clancy. + +"Poker. They play the steepest game you ever saw, kid. Still, that'd be +easy, you not havin' seen any game at all, wouldn't it? Want to come?" + +"To Mr. Zenda's apartment?" Clancy was distinctly shocked. + +"Well, why not?" Fay guffawed. "Why, you poor little simp, Mabel +Larkin'll be there, won't she?" Clancy's expression indicated +bewilderment. "Gosh! Didn't you meet her? She sat at Weber's left all +evening. She's Zenda's wife." + +Clancy demurred no longer. She was helped into her coat, that seemed to +have grown shrinkingly forlorn, and descended to the foyer with Fay. +There Weber met them, and expressed delight that Clancy was to continue +with the party. + +"You'll bring me luck, Florine," he declared. + +He ushered them into his own limousine, and sat in the rear seat between +the two girls. But he addressed no words to Clancy. In an undertone, he +conversed with Fay. Clancy grew slightly nervous. But the nervousness +vanished as they descended from the car before a garish apartment-house. +A question to Fay brought the information that they were on Park Avenue. + +They alighted from the elevator at the seventh floor. The Zendas and +five other people--two of whom were girls--had arrived before them, and +were already grouped about a table in a huge living-room. Zenda was in +his shirt-sleeves, sorting out chips from a mahogany case. Cigar smoke +made the air blue. A colored man, in livery--a most ornate livery, whose +main color was lemon, lending a sickly shade to his ebony skin--was +decanting liquor. + +No one paid any attention to Clancy. The same casualness that had served +to put her at her ease at the Château de la Reine had the same effect +now. She strolled round the room. She knew nothing of art, had never +seen an original masterpiece. But once, in the Zenith Public Library, +she had spent a rainy afternoon poring over a huge volume that contained +copies of the world's most famous paintings. One of them was on the +Zenda living-room wall. Fay, lighting a cigarette, heard her +exclamation of surprise. She joined her. + +"What's wrong?" she asked. + +Clancy pointed at the picture. + +"A Landseer," she said, breathlessly. "Of course, though, it's a copy." + +"Copy nothin'," said Fay indignantly. "Zenda bought it for the +publicity. Paid sixty-seven thousand for it." + +Clancy gasped. Fay smiled indulgently. + +"Sure. He makes about six hundred thousand a year. And his wife makes +three thousand a week whenever she needs a little pocket-money." + +"Not really?" + +"Oh, it's true, all right. Why, Penniman, there, the little gray-haired +man--he was an electrician in a Broadway theater five years ago. Griffin +used him for some lighting effects in one of his films. Now he does +nothin' _but_ plan lighting effects for his features, and he gets two +thousand a week. Grannis, that man shufflin' the cards"--and she pointed +to a tall, sallow-faced man--"was press-agent for another theater four +years ago. He's half-owner of the Zenda films to-day. Makes a quarter of +a million or so every year. Of course, Zenda gets most of it. Lallo, the +man drinkin' the Scotch, was a bankrupt eighteen months ago. He got some +Wall Street money behind him, and now he owns a big bit of the stock of +the Lallo Exchange, a big releasing organization. Worth a couple of +million, easy. Oh, yes; that Landseer is the real thing. 'Sh. Come over +and watch 'em play, kid." + +Weber reached out his fat hand as Clancy came near. He patted her arm. + +"Stay near me, and bring me luck, Florine." + +The game had begun. It was different from any game that Clancy had ever +seen. She watched eagerly. Zenda dealt five cards, one to each player, +face down. Then he dealt five more, face up. + +"You're high," he said to Weber. Clancy noted that Weber's exposed card +was a king. + +"I'll bet one berry," said Weber. He tossed a white chip toward the +center of the table. + +"How much is that?" whispered Clancy. + +Weber laughed. + +"A berry, Florine, is a buck, a seed--a dollar." + +"Oh!" said Clancy. Vaguely she felt admonished. + +Grannis sat next to Weber. He gingerly lifted the edge of the first card +dealt to him and peeked at it. Then he eyed the eight of diamonds that +lay face up before him. + +"We are here," he announced jovially, "for one purpose--to get the kale +in the middle of the table. I see your miserable berry, Ike, and on top +of it you will notice that I place four red chips, red being the color +of my heart." + +Penniman immediately turned over his exposed card. + +"I wouldn't like to win the first pot," he said. "It's unlucky." + +"How the lads do hate to admit the tingle of yellow!" Weber jeered. + +Lallo studied the jack before him. + +"Just to prove," he said, "that I am neither superstitious nor yellow, +I'll see your two hundred, Grannis." + +"I feel the way you do, Lallo," said Zenda. He put five chips, four red +and one white, in the middle of the table. + +Weber squeezed Florine's hand. + +"Breathe luck in my ear, kid," he whispered. Then, louder, he said: +"Fooled you with that little berry bet, eh? Well, suckers, we're here +for one purpose." He patted the king that lay face up before him with +his fat hand. "Did your royal highness think I didn't show the proper +respect to your high rank? Well, I was just teasing the boys along. Make +it an even five hundred," he said briskly. He pushed four red and three +blue chips toward the little pile. + +Clancy did some quick figuring. The blue chips must be worth one hundred +dollars apiece. It was incredible, ghastly, but--fascinating. Grannis +stared at Weber. + +"I think you mean it, Ike," he said gently. "But--so do I--I'm with +you." + +Lallo turned over his exposed card. With mock reproach, he said: + +"Why, I thought you fellows were playing. Now that I see you're in +_earnest_----" He winked merrily at Clancy. + +Zenda chuckled. + +"Didn't know we were playing for keeps, eh, Lal? Well, nobody deceived +me. I'm with you, Ike." + +He put in his chips and dealt again. When, finally, five cards had been +given each remaining player, Grannis had two eights, an ace and a king +showing. Weber dropped out on the last card but Zenda called Grannis' +bet of seven hundred and fifty dollars. Grannis turned over his "buried" +card. He had another king, and his two pair beat Zenda's pair of aces. +And Grannis drew in the chips. + +Clancy had kept count of the money. Forty-five hundred dollars in red +and blue chips, and four dollars in whites. It--it was criminal! + +The game now became more silent. Sitting in a big armchair, dreamily +wondering what the morrow and her card to Morris Beiner would bring +forth, Clancy was suddenly conscious of a harsh voice. She turned and +saw pretty Mabel Larkin, Zenda's wife, staring at Weber. Her eyes were +glaring. + +"I tell you, Zenda," she was saying, "he cheats. I've been telling you +so for weeks. Now I can prove it." + +Clancy stared at Weber. His fat face seemed suddenly to have grown thin. + +"Your wife had _better_ prove it, Zenda," he snarled. + +"She'll prove it if she says she will!" cried Zenda. "We've been laying +for you, Weber. Mabel, what did he do?" + +His wife answered, never taking her eyes from Weber. + +"He 'made' the cards for Penniman's next deal. He put two aces so that +he'd get them. Deal them, Mr. Penniman, and deal the first card face up. +Weber will get the ace of diamonds on the first round and the ace of +clubs on the second." + +Penniman picked up the deck of cards. For a moment, he hesitated. Then +Weber's fat hand shot across the table and tore the cards from +Penniman's grasp. There was a momentary silence. Then Zenda's voice, +sharp, icy, cut the air. + +"Weber, that's confession. You're a crook! You've made over a hundred +thousand in this game in the last six months. By God, you'll +settle----" + +Weber's fat fist crashed into Zenda's face, and the dreamy-eyed director +fell to the floor. Clancy leaped to her feet. She saw Grannis swing a +chair above her head, and then, incontinently, as Zenda's wife screamed, +Clancy fled from the room. She found her coat and put it on. With +trembling fingers she opened the door into the corridor and reached the +elevator. She rang the bell. + +It seemed hours before the lift arrived. She had no physical fear; it +was the fear of scandal. If the folks back home in Zenith should read +her name in the papers as one of the participants, or spectators, even, +in a filthy brawl like this, she could never hold her head up again. For +three hours she had been of Broadway; now, suddenly, she was of Zenith. + +"Taxi, miss?" asked the polite door-man down-stairs. + +She shook her head. At any moment they might miss her up-stairs. She had +no idea what might or might not happen. + +A block down the street, she discovered that not wearing a hat rendered +her conspicuous. A small closed car passed her. Clancy did not yet know +that two-passenger cars are never taxis. She hailed the driver. He drew +in to the curb. + +"Please take me to the Napoli," she begged. "Near Times Square." + +The driver stared at her. Then he touched his hat. + +"Certainly," he said courteously. + +Then Clancy drew back. + +"Oh, I thought you were a taxi-man!" + +"Well, I can at least take you home," smiled the driver. + +She looked at him. They were near an arc-light, and he looked honest, +clean. He was big, too. + +"Will you?" she asked. + +She entered the car. Not a word did either of them speak until he +stopped before the Napoli. Then, hesitantly, diffidently, he said, + +"I suppose you'd think me pretty fresh if--if I asked your name." + +She eyed him. + +"No," she said slowly. "But I wouldn't tell it to you." + +He accepted the rebuke smilingly. + +"All right. But I'll see you again, sometime. And so you'll know who it +is--my name's Randall, David Randall. Good-night." She flushed at his +smiling confidence. She forgot to thank him as she ran up the stairs +into the Napoli. + +Safe in her room, the door locked, she sat down on the window-seat and +began to search out her plan of action. Little by little, she began to +see that she had no plan of action to find. Accidentally she had been +present when a scandalous charge was made. She knew nothing of it, was +acquainted with none of the participants. Still, she was glad that she +had run away. Heaven alone knew what had happened. Suddenly she began to +weep. The conquering of Broadway, that had seemed so simple an +achievement a few hours ago, now, oddly, seemed a remote, an impossible +happening. + +Some one knocked on her door. Startled, afraid, she made no answer. The +door shook as some one tried the knob. Then Fay's voice sounded through +the thin partition. + +"Hey, Florine! You home?" + +Clancy opened the door reluctantly. Fay burst into the room. Her blond +hair had become string-seeming. Her make-up was streaked with +perspiration. + +"Kid, you're a wise one," she said. "You blew. Gosh, what a jam!" + +She sank down in a chair and mopped her large face. + +"What happened?" demanded Clancy. + +"'_Happened?_' Hell broke loose." + +"The police?" asked Clancy, shivering. + +"Lord, no! But they beat Weber up, and he smashed Zenda's nose. I told +Ike that he was a sucker to keep tryin' it forever. I knew they'd get +him. Now----" She stopped abruptly. "Forget anything you hear me beef +about, Florine," she advised harshly. "Say, none of them got your name, +did they? Your address?" + +"Why?" + +"Because Zenda swears he's goin' to have Ike arrested. Fine chance, +though. Ike and I are leavin' town----" + +"You?" + +The blond girl laughed harshly. + +"Sure. We been married for six months. That's why I said you weren't in +no danger comin' along with me. I'm a married woman, though nobody knows +it. But for that Larkin dame, we'd been gettin' away with it for years +to come. Cat! She's clever. Well, kid, I tried to get you off to a good +start, but my luck went blooey at the wrong moment. Night-night, +Florine! Ike and I are goin' to grab the midnight to Boston. Well, you +didn't bring Ike much luck, but that don't matter. New York is through +with us for a while. But we should worry. Be good, kid!" + +She left the room without another word. Through the thin wall, Clancy +could hear her dragging a trunk around, opening bureau drawers. This +most amazing town--where scandal broke suddenly, like a tornado, +uprooting lives, careers! And how cynically Fay Marston took it! + +Suddenly she began to see her own position. She'd been introduced as a +friend of Weber's. _She_ couldn't discover a six-months-old husband and +leave town casually. _She_ must stay here, meet the Zendas, perhaps work +for them---- On this, her first night in New York, Clancy cried herself +to sleep. + +And, like most of the tears that are shed in this sometimes +futile-seeming world, Clancy's were unnecessary. Only one of her vast +inexperience would have fled from Zenda's apartment. A sophisticated +person would have known that a simple explanation of her brief +acquaintance with Fay would have cleared her. But youth lacks +perspective. The tragedy of the moment looms fearsomely large. For all +its rashness, youth is ostrichlike. It thinks that refusal to see danger +eliminates danger. It thinks that departure has the same meaning as end. +It does not know that nothing is ever finished, that each apparently +isolated event is part of another apparently isolated event, and that no +human action can separate the twain. But it is youth's privilege to +think itself godlike. Clancy had fled. Reaction had brought tears, +appreciation of her position. + + + + +III + + +Clancy woke with a shiver. Consciousness was not, with her, an +achievement arrived at after yawning effort. She woke, always, +clear-eyed and clear-brained. It was with no effort that she remembered +every incident of yesterday, of last night. She trembled as, with her +shabby bathrobe round her, she pattered, in her slippered feet, the few +steps down the hall to the bathroom. + +The cold water did little to allay her nervous trembling. Zenda, last +night, had referred to having lost a hundred thousand dollars. That was +too much money to be lost cheerfully. Cheerfully? She'd seen the +beginning of a brawl, and from what Fay Marston had said to her, it had +progressed brutally. And the mere departure of Ike Weber with his +unsuspected wife would not tend to hush the matter up. + +Back in her room, dressing, Clancy wondered why Weber's marriage had +been kept quiet. Fay had said, last evening, that "Weber's little +friend" could not go to the party. Clancy had been asked to fill in. Why +had Fay Marston not merely kept her marriage secret but searched for +girls to entertain her own husband? For Fay, even though she was +apparently quite callously and frankly dishonest, was not immoral, +Clancy judged, in the ordinary sense with which that adjective is +applied to women. + +The whole thing was strange, incomprehensible. Clancy was too new to +Broadway to know many things. She did not guess that a girl only +casually acquainted, apparently, with Ike Weber could help in a card +game as his own publicly accepted wife could not. Miss Fay Marston could +glimpse a card and nothing would be thought of it. Mrs. Ike Weber could +not get away with the same thing. But Clancy had all of these matters +yet to learn. + +Down in the dining-room, presided over by Madame Napoli and her buxom +daughter, two shabby waiters stood idle. They looked surprised at +Clancy's entrance. _Madame_ ushered Clancy to a table. + +"It's easy seen you ain't been in the business long, Miss Ladue," +chuckled _madame_. "Gettin' down to breakfast is beginners' stuff, all +right. At that, it would help a lot of 'em if they did it. You stick to +it, Miss Ladue. The griddle-cakes is fine this morning." + +Clancy had a rural appetite. The suggestion of buckwheat cakes appealed +to her. She ordered them, and had them flanked with little sausages, and +she prepared for their reception with some sliced oranges, and she also +drank a cup of coffee. + +Her nervousness had vanished by the time she finished. What had she to +be concerned about? After all, she might as well look at last night's +happenings in a common-sense way. She could prove that she arrived in +New York only yesterday, that her acquaintance with Fay Marston--or +Weber--had begun only last night. How could she be blamed? Still--and +she twitched her shoulders--it was nasty and unpleasant, and she hoped +that she wouldn't be dragged into it. + +The waiter brought her check to her. Clancy drew a fifty-dollar bill +from her pocketbook. The waiter scurried off with it, and _madame_, in a +moment, came to the table with Clancy's change. + +"Carryin' much money?" she asked. + +"Quite a lot--for me," said Clancy. + +"Better bank it," suggested _madame_. + +Clancy looked blank. She hadn't thought of that. She'd never had a +bank-account in her life. But seven hundred dollars or so was a lot of +money. She took the name and address of a bank in the neighborhood, and +thanked _madame_ for her offer of herself as a reference. + +It was barely nine o'clock when she entered Times Square. The crowd +differed greatly from the throng that she had observed last night. Times +Square was a work-place now. Fascinated, Clancy watched the workers +diving into subway entrances, emerging from them, only to plunge, like +busy ants, into the office-buildings, hotels, and shops that bordered +the square. The shops fascinated her, too. She was too new to the city, +too unlearned in fashion's whimsicalities to know that the hats and +gowns and men's clothing shown in these windows were the last thing in +the bizarre. + +It was quite exciting being ushered into a private office in the +Thespian National Bank. But when it came to writing down the name: +"Florine Ladue," she hesitated for a moment. It seemed immoral, wrong. +But the hesitation was momentary. Firmly she wrote the _nom de théâtre_. +It was the name that she intended to make famous, to see emblazoned in +electric lights. It was the name of a person who had nothing in common +with one Clancy Deane, of Zenith, Maine. + +She deposited six hundred and fifty dollars, received a bank-book and a +leather-bound folding check-book, and strolled out upon Broadway with a +feeling of importance that had not been hers when she had had cash in +her pocketbook. The fact that she possessed the right to order the great +Thespian Bank to pay her bills seemed to confer upon her a financial +standing. She wished that she could pay a bill right now. + +She entered a drug store a block from the bank and looked in the +telephone-book. Mademoiselle DeLisle had neglected to write upon the +card of introduction Morris Beiner's address. For a moment, Clancy felt +a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach. A doubt that, up to now, had +never entered her head assailed her. Suppose that Mr. Beiner had gone +into some other business in some other city! Suppose he'd died! + +She sighed with relief when she found his name. There it was: "Beiner, +Morris, Theatrical Agt., Heberworth B'ld'g. Bryant, 99087." + +The condescending young gentleman at the soda-fountain affably told her +that the Heberworth Building was just round the corner, on Forty-fifth +Street. To it, Clancy made her way. + +The elevator took her to the fifth floor, where, the street bulletin had +informed her, Morris Beiner's office was located. There was his name, on +the door of room 506. For a moment, Clancy stood still, staring at the +name. It was a name, Fanchon DeLisle had assured her, with a certainty +that had dispelled all doubt, owned by a man who would unlock for +Clancy the doors to fame and fortune. + +Yet Clancy trembled. It had been all very well, tied to a typewriting +machine in Zenith, to visualize fame and fortune in far-off New York. It +took no great imagination. But to be in New York, about to take the +first step--that was different. + +She half turned back toward the elevator. Then across her mind flashed a +picture, a composite picture, of aunt Hetty, of Mr. Frank Miller, of a +score of other Zenith people who had known her since infancy. And the +composite face was grinning, and its brazen voice was saying, "I told +you so." + +She shook her head. She'd never go back to Zenith. That was the one +outstanding sure thing in a world of uncertainties. She tossed her head +now. What a silly little thing she was! Why, hadn't even Fay Marston +last night told her that her skin alone would make her a film success? +And didn't she herself _know_ that she had talent to back up her good +looks? This was a fine time to be nervous! She crossed the hall and +knocked upon the door. + +A harsh voice bade her enter. She opened the door and stepped inside. It +was a small office to which she had come. It contained a roll-top desk, +of an old-fashioned type, two chairs, a shabby leather couch, half +hidden beneath somewhat dusty theatrical magazines, and two +filing-cases, one at either end of the couch. The couch itself was +placed against the further wall, before a rather wide window that opened +upon a fire-escape. + +A man was seated in a swivel chair before the roll-top desk. He was +tilted back, and his feet were resting comfortably upon an open drawer. +He was almost entirely bald, and his scalp was red and shiny. His nose +was stubby and his lips, thick, gross-looking, were clamped over a moist +cigar. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and Clancy noticed that the noisily +striped shirt he wore, although there was an ornate monogram upon the +left sleeve, was of a flimsy and cheap grade of silk. + +"Welcome to our city, chicken!" was his greeting. "Sit down and take a +load off your feet." + +His huge chest, padded with fat, shook with merriment at his own +witticism. + +"Is this Mr. Beiner?" asked Clancy. From her face and voice she kept +disgust. + +"Not to you, dearie," said the man. "I'm 'Morris' to my friends, and +that's what you and I are goin' to be, eh?" + +She colored, hating herself for that too easy flow of blood to cheek and +throat. + +"Why--why--that's very kind of you," she stammered. + +Beiner waved his cigar grandiloquently. + +"Bein' kind to pretty fillies is the best thing I do. What can I do for +you?" + +"Mademoiselle"--Clancy painfully articulated each syllable of the French +word according to the best pronunciation taught in the Zenith High +School--"Fanchon DeLisle gave me a card to you." + +Beiner nodded. + +"Oh, yes. How is Fanchon? How'd you happen to meet her?" + +"In my home town in Maine," answered Clancy. "She was ill with the +'flu,' and we got right well acquainted. She told me that you'd get me +into the movies." + +Beiner eyed her appraisingly. + +"Well, I've done stranger things than that," he chuckled. "What's your +name, dearie?" + +Clancy had read quite a bit of New York, of Broadway. Also, she had had +an experience in the free-and-easy familiarity of Broadway's folk last +night. Although she colored again at the "dearie," she did not resent it +in speech. + +"Florine Ladue," she replied. + +Beiner laughed. + +"What's that? Spanish for Maggie Smith? It's all right, kid. Don't get +mad. I'm a great joker, I am. Florine Ladue you say it is, and Florine +Ladue it'll be. Well, Florine, what makes you want to go into the +movies?" + +Clancy looked bewildered. + +"Why--why does any one want to do anything?" + +"God knows!" said Beiner. "Especially if the 'any one' is a young, +pretty girl. But still, people do want to do something, and I'm one guy +that helps some of 'em do it. Ever been in the movies at all?" Clancy +shook her head. "Done any acting?" + +"I played in 'The Rivals' at the high-school graduation," she confessed. + +"Well, we'll keep that a dark secret," said Beiner. "You're an amachoor, +eh? And Fanchon DeLisle gave you a card to me." + +"Here it is," said Clancy. She produced the card from her pocketbook and +handed it to the agent. Her fingers shook. + +Beiner took the card, glanced at it carelessly, and dropped it upon his +desk. + +"From the country, eh? Ingénue, eh?" He pronounced it "anjenoo." He +tapped his stubby, broken-nailed fingers upon the edge of his desk. +"Well, I shouldn't wonder if I could place you," he said. "I know a +couple companies that are hot after a real anjenoo. That's nice skin you +have. Turn round." + +Clancy stifled an impulse to laugh hysterically. Tears were very close. +To be appraised by this gross man---- Nevertheless, she turned slowly +round, feeling the man's coarse eyes roving up and down the lines of her +figure. + +"You got the looks, and you got the shape," said Beiner. "You ain't too +big, and you ain't too small. 'Course, I can't tell how you'll +photograph. Only a test will show. Still----" He picked up the desk +telephone and asked for a number. + +"Hildebloom there? This is Beiner talking. Say, Frank, you wanted an +anjenoo, didn't you? I got a girl here in the office now that might +do.... Yes; she's a peach. Fresh stuff, too. Just in from the country, +with the bloom all on.... Bring her around? At six? You made a date, +feller." + +He hung up the receiver and turned to the furiously blushing Clancy. + +"You're lucky, kid. Frank Hildebloom, studio manager for Rosebush +Pictures, asked me to keep my eyes open for some new girls. He's a queer +bug, Frank. He don't want professionals. He wants amateurs. Claims most +of the professionals have learned so many tricks that it's impossible to +unlearn them. I'll take you over to him. Come back here at five." + +Somehow or other, Clancy found herself outside the office, found +herself in the elevator, in the street down-stairs. She'd expected much; +she had come to New York with every confidence of achieving a great +success. But doubts linger unbidden in the hearts of the most hopeful, +the most ambitious, the most confident. To have those recreant doubts +scattered on the very first day! Of course she'd photograph well. Hadn't +she always taken good pictures? Of course, moving pictures were +different; still---- She wished that there were some one whom she knew +intimately--to whom she could go and pour out the excitement that was +welling within her. What an angel Fanchon DeLisle had been! Poor +Fanchon--a soubrette in a cheap burlesque company! But she, Clancy +Deane--she was forgetting. She, Florine Ladue, would "do something" for +Fanchon DeLisle, who had set her feet upon the path to fortune. + +She didn't know what she'd do, but she'd do something. She beheld a +vision, in which Fanchon DeLisle embraced her with tears, thanked her. +She endowed a school for film-acting in Zenith, Maine. + +She walked through Forty-second Street to Fifth Avenue. She boarded a +passing 'bus and rode up-town. She did not know the names of the hotels +she passed, the great mansions, but--famous actresses were received +everywhere, had social position equal to the best. In a year or so, she +would ride up the avenue in her own limousine. At Grant's Tomb, she left +the 'bus. She walked along Riverside Drive, marveling at the Palisades. + +Hunger attacked her, and she lunched at Claremont, thrilling with +excitement, and careless of prices upon the menu. She was going into +the movies! What did a couple of dollars more or less matter to her? + +Still moving in a glowing haze, out of which her name in brilliant +electric lights thrust itself, she returned in mid-afternoon to the +Napoli. Carefully she bathed herself. As meticulously as though she were +going to her wedding, she dressed herself in fresh linen, in her best +pair of silk stockings. She buttoned herself into her prettiest waist, +brushed the last speck of lint from her blue suit, adjusted her hat to +the most fascinatingly coquettish angle, and set forth for the +Heberworth Building. + +At its doorway, she stepped aside just in time to avoid being knocked +down by a man leaving the building in great haste. The man turned to +apologize. He wore a bandage across one eye, and his hat was pulled down +over his face. Nevertheless, that mop of dark hair rendered him +recognizable anywhere. It was Zenda! + +For a moment, she feared recognition. But the movie director was +thinking of other things than pretty girls. Her hat shielded her face, +too. With a muttered, "Beg pardon," Zenda moved on. + +He had not seen her--this time. But another time? For years to come, she +was to be in a business where, necessarily, she must come into contact +with a person so eminent in that business as Zenda. Then, once again, +common sense reasserted itself. She had done nothing wrong. She could +prove her lack of knowledge of the character of Fay Marston and her +husband. Her pretty face was defiant as she entered the Heberworth +Building. + + + + +IV + + +It was an excited Beiner that threw open the door when she knocked at +his office a moment later. The cigar stuck between his thick lips was +unlighted; his silk shirt, although it was cold outside, with a hint of +snow in the tangy atmosphere, and there was none too much heat in the +Heberworth Building, clung to his chest, and perspiration stained it. + +"Come in," he said hoarsely. He stood aside, holding the handle of the +door. He closed it as Clancy entered, and she heard the click of the +latch. + +She wheeled like a flash. + +"Unlock it!" she commanded. + +Beiner waved a fat hand carelessly. + +"We got to talk business, kid. We don't want any interruption. You ain't +afraid of me, are you?" + +Clancy's heaving breast slowed down. She was not afraid of Beiner; she +had never seen any one, man or woman, in her brief life, of whom she was +afraid. Further, to allay her alarm, Beiner sat down in his swivel +chair. She sat down herself, in a chair nearer the locked door. + +"Quite a kidder, ain't you, Florine?" asked Beiner. + +"I don't understand you," she replied. + +He grinned, a touch of nervousness in the parting of the thick lips. +Then he closed them, rolling his wet cigar about in his mouth. + +"Well, you will pretty soon," he said. "Anjenoo, eh? I gotta hand it to +you, Florine. You had _me_ fooled. Amachoor, eh? Played in 'The Rivals' +once?" He took the cigar from his mouth and shook it at her. "Naughty, +naughty, Florine, not to play fair with old papa Beiner!" + +"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. + +"Oh, no; of course not. Little Florine, fresh from Maine, doesn't know a +soul on Broadway. Of course not! She gets a letter from Fanny DeLisle to +old papa Beiner, and wants a job in the movies, bless her dear, sweet +heart! Only"--and his voice lost its mocking tones and became +reproachful--"was that the square way to treat her friend Morris?" + +"I came here," said Clancy coldly, "to keep a business engagement, not +to answer puzzles. I don't know what you're talking about." + +"Now, be nice; be nice," said the agent. "I ain't mad, Florine. Didn't +Fanny DeLisle tell you I was a good old scout?" + +"She said that you were a very competent agent," said Clancy. + +"Oh, did she, now?" Beiner sneered. "Well, wasn't that sweet of old +Fanny? She didn't happen to say that anybody that tried to trim old +Morris was liable to get their hair cut, did she?" + +All fear had left Clancy now. She was exasperated. + +"Why don't you talk plain English?" she demanded. + +"Oh, you'd like it better that way, would you?" Beiner threw his cigar +upon the floor and ground his heel upon it. "'Plain English,' eh? All +right; you'll get it. Why did Ike Weber send you here?" + +Clancy's breath sucked in audibly. Her face, that had been colored with +nervous indignation, whitened. + +"'Ike Weber?'" she murmured. + +Beiner laughed harshly. + +"Now, nix on the rube stuff, Florine. I got your number, kid. Paul Zenda +just left my office. He wants to know where Weber is. He told me about +the jam last night. And he mentioned that there was a little girl at his +house that answered to the name of Florine. I got him to describe that +little girl." + +"Did you tell him," gasped Clancy, "that I was coming here this +afternoon?" + +"You understand me better, don't you?" sneered Beiner. "Oh, you and +me'll get along together fine, Florine, if you got the good sense you +look like you have. Did I tell Zenda that I knew you? Well, look me +over, Florine. Do I look like a guy that was just cuttin' his first +teeth? Of course I didn't tell him anything. I let him tell me. It's a +grand rule, Florine--let the other guy spill what's on _his_ chest. +'Course, there's exceptions to that rule, like just now. I'm spillin' +what I know to you, and willin' to wait for you to tell me what I want +to know. Suppose I put my cards right down where you can see 'em, +Florine?" + +She could only stare at him dumbly. Zenda was a big man in the picture +industry. He'd been robbed and beaten. Last night, he'd seemed to her +the sort of man who, for all his dreaminess, would not easily forget a +friend or a foe. He was important enough to ruin Clancy's picture career +before it began. + +Beiner took her silence for acquiescence. + +"Zenda gets trimmed last night in a stud game. He's been gettin' trimmed +for a long time, but he ain't really wise to the scheme. But last night +his wife watches close. She gets hep to what Ike Weber is doin'. There's +a grand row, and Zenda gets slugged, and Weber takes a lickin', too. But +they ain't got any real evidence on Weber. Not enough to have him +pinched, anyway, even if Zenda decides to go that far. But Zenda wants +his money back." Beiner chuckled. "I don't blame him. A hundred thousand +is a wad of kale, even in these days. So he comes to me. + +"Some time ago I had a little run-in with Ike Weber. I happen to know a +lot about Ike. For instance, that his brokerage business is a stall. He +ain't got any business that he couldn't close out in ten minutes. Well, +Ike and I have a little row. It don't matter what it's all about. But I +drop a hint to Paul Zenda that it wouldn't do any harm for him to be +careful who he plays stud with. Paul is mighty curious; but I don't tell +him any more than that. Why should I? There was nothing in it for me. +But Paul remembers last night what I'd told him--he'd been suspicious +for quite a while of Weber--and to-day he hot-foots it to me. So now, +you see, Florine, how you and me can do a little business." + +"How?" asked Clancy. + +"Oh, drop it!" snapped Beiner. "Quit the milk-maid stuff! You're a wise +little girl, or you wouldn't be trailin' round with Ike Weber. +Now--where's Ike? And why did Ike send you to me?" + +Clancy shook her head vehemently. + +"I don't know him. I never met him until last night. I don't know +anything at all about him." + +Beiner stared at her. For many years, he had dealt with actresses. He +knew feigned indignation when he heard it. He believed Clancy. Still, +even though he believed, he wanted proof. + +"How'd you meet him?" he asked. + +Clancy told him about her arrival in New York, her meeting with Fay +Marston, and what had followed, even to Fay's late visit and her +statement that she was married to Weber and was leaving town. + +"And that's every single thing I know about them," she said. Her voice +shook. The tears stood in her eyes. "I ran away because I was +frightened, and I'm going right to Mr. Zenda and explain to him." + +For a moment, Beiner did not speak. He took a cigar from the open case +on his desk and lighted it. He rolled it round in his mouth until +one-half its stubby length was wet. Then, from the corner of his mouth, +he spoke. + +"Why do that, kid? Why tell Zenda that Fay Marston practically confessed +to you?" + +"So that Mr. Zenda won't think that--that I'm dishonest!" cried Clancy. + +"Aw, fudge! Everybody's dishonest, more or less. And every one else +suspects them, even though they don't know anything against them. What +do you care what Zenda thinks?" + +"What do I care?" Clancy was amazed. + +"Sure. What do you care? Zenda can't do anything to you." + +"He can keep me out of pictures, can't he?" cried Clancy. + +Beiner shrugged. + +"Oh, maybe for a week or two, a few people would be down on you, +but--what did you come to New York for, Florine, to make friends or +money?" + +"What has that to do with it?" she asked. + +Beiner leaned over toward her. + +"A whole lot, Florine. I could 'a' told Zenda a whole lot about Ike +Weber to-day. I could 'a' told him a couple things that would 'a' put +Ike behind the bars. 'Smatter of fact, I could 'a' told him of a trick +that Ike done in Joliet. But what's the good? The good to me, I mean. +Ike knows that I put the flea in Zenda's ear that led to his wife +spottin' Ike's little game. If he's got sense, he knows it, for I saw +that my hint to Zenda reached Ike. Well, Ike will be reachin' round to +get hold of me. Why, I thought, when Zenda described you and mentioned +your first name, that Ike had sent you to me. Because Ike knows what I +could tell Zenda would be enough to give Zenda a hold on Ike that'd get +back that hundred thousand. But why be nasty? That's what I ask myself." +His face took on an expression of shrewd good humor, of benevolence, +almost. "You're just a chicken, Florine, a flapper from the mud roads +and the middle-of-the-day dinner. And a hick chicken don't have it any +too soft in New York at the best of it. I don't suppose that your +bank-roll would make a mosquito strain its larynx, eh? Well, Florine, +take a tip from old papa Beiner, that's been watchin' them come and +watchin' them go for twenty-five years along Broadway. + +"Why, Florine, I've seen them come to this town all hopped up with +ambition and talent and everything, and where do they land? Look the +list over, kid. Where are your stars of twenty years ago, of ten years +ago, of five, when you come right down to it? Darned few of them here +to-day, eh? You know why? Well, I'll tell you. Because they weren't +wise, Florine. + +"Lord, don't I know 'em! First or last, old papa Morris has got 'em +jobs. And I've heard their little tales. I know what pulled 'em back to +where they started from. It was because they didn't realize that friends +grow cold and enemies die, and that the only friend or enemy that +amounts to a darn is yourself. + +"I've seen girls worry because somebody loved 'em; and I've seen 'em +worry because somebody didn't love 'em. And those girls, most of them, +are mindin' the baby to-day, with a husband clerkin' it down-town, too +poor to afford a nurse-girl. But the girls that look out for the kale, +that never asked, 'What?' but always, 'How much?'--those are the girls +that amount to something. + +"Here's you--crazy to run right off to Paul Zenda and tell him that +you're a good little girl and don't know a darned thing about Ike Weber. +Well, suppose you do that. What happens? Zenda hears your little story, +decides you're tellin' the truth, and forgets all about you. Your bein' +a nice, honest little fool don't buy you no silk stockings, kid, and I'm +here to tell you so. + +"Now, suppose you don't run to Zenda. Sooner or later, he runs into you. +He bawls you out. Because you've kept away from him, he suspects that +you stood in with Ike. Maybe he tries to get you blacklisted at a few +studios. _All_ right. Let's suppose he does. Six months from now, +Zenda's makin' a picture out on the Coast, or in Europe, maybe. A +director wants a girl of your type. I send him you. He remembers that +Zenda's got it in for you, but--Zenda's away. And he hires you. Take it +from me, Florine, he'll hire you. Get me?" + +Her brows knitted, she had heard him through. + +"I've heard you, but I don't understand. You talk about being sensible, +but--why _shouldn't_ I go to Mr. Zenda?" + +"Because there's no money in it. And there's a bunch in not going to +him," said Beiner. + +"Who's going to give it to me?" demanded Clancy. + +"Weber." + +"He's left town." + +Beiner guffawed. + +"Maybe that fat blonde of his thought so last night. She had a scare in +her all right. But Ike ain't a rube. He knows Zenda's got no proof. +He'll lie low for a few days, but--that's all. He'll pay you well--to +keep quiet." + +"Pay me?" gasped Clancy. + +"Surest thing! Same as he'll be round to see me in a day or so, to shut +my mouth. I know too much. Listen: By this time, Ike has pumped Fay +Marston. He knows that she, all excited, blew the game to you. My God, +what a sucker a man is to get married! And if he _must_ do it, why does +he marry a Broadway doll that can't keep her face closed? Oh, well, it +don't matter to us, does it, Florine? What matters is that Ike will be +slippin' you a nice big roll of money, and you should worry whether you +go to work to-day or to-morrow or next month. I'll be gettin' mine, all +right, too. So now you see, don't you?" + +[Illustration] + +Clancy rose slowly to her feet. + +"Yes," she said deliberately; "I see. I see that you--why, you're no +better than a _thief_! Unlock that door and let me out!" + +Beiner stared at her. His fat face reddened, and the veins stood out on +his forehead. + +"So _that's_ the way you take it, eh? Now then, you little simp, you +listen to me!" + +He put his cigar down upon the edge of his desk, an edge scarred by +countless cigars and cigarettes of the past. Heavily he rose. Clancy +backed toward the door. + +"If you touch me," she cried, "I'll----" + +She had not dreamed that one so fat could move so quickly. Beiner's arms +were round her before the scream that she was about to give could leave +her lips. A fat palm, oily, greasy with perspiration, was clapped across +her mouth. + +"Now, don't be a little fool," he whispered harshly. "Why, Florine, I'm +givin' you wise advice. I've done nothin' to you. You don't want to go +to Zenda and tell him that Fay Marston admitted Ike was a crook, do you? +Because then the game will be blown, and Ike won't see his way to slip +me my share. You wouldn't be mean to old papa Beiner that wants to see +all little girls get along, would you? How about it, Florine?" + +He drew her closer to him as he spoke. Clancy, staring into his eyes, +saw something new spring into being there. It was something that, +mercifully, she had been spared seeing ever before. Fear overwhelmed +her, made her limp in Beiner's clasp. The agent chuckled hoarsely. + +"What a sweet kiddie you are, Florine! Say, I think you and me are goin' +to be swell little pals, Florine. How about giving old papa Beiner a +little kiss, just to show you didn't mean what you just said?" + +Her limpness deceived him. His grasp loosened as he bent his thick neck +to bring his gross mouth nearer hers. Clancy's strength came back to +her. Her body tautened. Every ounce of strength that she possessed she +put into a desperate effort for freedom. She broke clear, and whisked +across the room. + +"If you come near me, I'll scream," she said. + +Beiner glared at her. + +"All right," he said thickly. "Scream, you little devil! I'll give you +something to scream about!" + +He leaped for her, but she knew now how fast he could move. Swiftly she +stepped to one side, and, as she did so, she seized a chair, the one on +which she had been sitting, and thrust it toward the man. The chair-leg +jammed between his knees and unbalanced him. His own momentum carried +him forward and to one side. He grasped at the edge of the desk for +support. But his hand slipped. Twisting, trying desperately to right +himself, he pitched forward. His head struck upon the iron radiator +beside his desk. He lay quite still. + +For a moment, her mouth open, prepared to scream, Clancy stared down at +the man. As the seconds passed and Beiner failed to move, she became +alarmed. Then his huge chest lifted in a sigh. He was not killed, then. +She came near to him, and saw that a bruise, already swollen, marked +the top of his bald skull. She knew little of such injuries, but even +her amateur knowledge was sufficient to convince her that the man was +not seriously hurt. In a moment, he would revive. She knelt beside him. +She knew that he had put the door-key in his trousers pocket. She had +noticed the key-ring and chain. But her strength had deserted her. She +was trembling, almost physically ill. She could not turn the gross body +over. + +She heard footsteps outside, heard some one knock on the door. Bent +over, trying not to breathe, lest she be heard outside, she stared at +the door. The person outside shook the knob, pounded on the door. Then +she heard a muttered exclamation, and footsteps sounded, retreating, +down the hall. + +Beiner groaned; he moved. She straightened up, frightened. There had +been something in his eyes that appalled her. He would not be more +merciful when he recovered. She crossed the tiny office to the couch. +Outside the wide window was the fire-escape. It was her only way of +escape, and she took it. + +She opened the window and stepped upon the couch. A sort of court, +hemmed in by office-buildings, faced her. She stepped through the window +upon the iron grating-like landing of the fire-escape. The sheer drop +beneath her feet alarmed her. She hesitated. Why hadn't she called to +whoever had knocked upon the door and got him to break it down? Why had +she been afraid of the possible scandal? Last night, she had fled from +Zenda's through fear of scandal, and her fear had brought her into +unpleasant complications. Now she had done the same thing, practically, +again. + +But it was too late to worry. Beiner would revive any moment. She +descended the fire-escape. Luck was with her. On the next landing was a +window that opened, not into an office but into a hallway. And the latch +was unfastened. In a moment, Clancy had climbed through the window and +was ringing the elevator-bell. No one was in the hall. Her entrance +through the window was not challenged. + + + + +V + + +Clancy woke clear-brained. She knew exactly what she was to do. Last +night, after eating dinner in her room, she had tried to get Zenda on +the telephone. Not finding his number in the book, she had endeavored to +obtain it from "Information," only to learn that "it is a private wire, +and we can't tell it to you." So, disappointed, she went to bed. + +Her resolution had not changed over-night. She'd made a little idiot of +herself in running away from the Zenda apartment night before last. But +now that she found herself involved in a mass of nasty intrigue, she +would do the sensible thing, tell the truth, and let the consequences be +what they might. + +Consequences? She mustn't be absurd. Innocently she had become entangled +in something, but a few words would straighten the matter out. Of +course, she would incur the enmity of Ike Weber, but what difference did +that make? And Morris Beiner--she hoped, with a pardonable viciousness, +that his head would ache for a week. The nasty beast! + +In the tub, she scrubbed herself harshly, as though to remove from +herself any possible lingering taint of contact with Beiner. A little +later, she descended to the Napoli dining-room and ordered breakfast. It +was as substantial as yesterday's. Exciting though yesterday had been, +Clancy had not yet reached the age where we pay for yesterday's +deviation from the normal with to-day's lack of appetite. + +As at her previous breakfast, she had the dining-room to herself. Madame +Napoli waddled beamingly over to her and offered her a morning paper. +Clancy thanked her and put it aside until she should have finished her +omelet. But, finally, the keen edge of her appetite blunted, she picked +up the paper. It was a sheet devoted to matters theatrical, so that the +article which struck her eye was accorded greater space in this +newspaper than in any other in the city. + +For a moment, Clancy's eyes were blurred as the import of the words of a +head-line sunk into her understanding. It was impossible for her to hold +the paper steadily enough to read. She gulped her second cup of coffee, +put a bill on the table, and, without waiting for her change, left the +room. Madame Napoli uttered some pleasant word, and Clancy managed to +stammer something in reply. + +Up in her room, she locked the door and lay down upon the bed. Five +minutes, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, she stayed there. Then she +sat up and looked at the paper. She read: + + THEATRICAL MAN FOUND SLAIN + + MORRIS BEINER STABBED TO DEATH IN OWN OFFICE + + Morris Beiner, an old-time manager, more recently a theatrical + agent, was killed in his office some time yesterday afternoon under + mysterious circumstances. He was stabbed with a paper-knife, one + that has been identified as belonging to the dead man. + + The discovery was made by Lemuel Burkan, the watchman of the + Heberworth Building, in which Beiner had his office. According to + Burkan's statement, he has been in the habit of answering + telephone calls for many of the tenants during their temporary + absences. Last evening, at six-thirty, while making his first + night-round of the building, Burkan heard the telephone ringing in + Beiner's office. Although the light was on, the telephone was + unanswered. Burkan unlocked the door to answer the call and take + the message. He found Beiner lying upon the floor, the paper-knife + driven into his chest. + + Burkan did not lose his head, but answered the call. Frank + Hildebloom, of the Rosebush Film Company, was on the wire. On + being informed of the tragedy by the watchman, Hildebloom + immediately came over to the dead man's office. To the police, who + were immediately summoned by Burkan, Hildebloom stated that Beiner + had telephoned him in the morning, stating that he wished to make + an engagement for a young actress to make a film-test. Hildebloom + was telephoning because the engagement was overdue and he could + wait no longer. An old friend of the murdered man, he was overcome + by the tragedy. + + The police, investigating the murder, learned from the janitor of + the adjoining building, the Bellwood, that he had seen a young + woman emerge from a window on the fifth floor of the Heberworth + Building at shortly before six o'clock yesterday. She had + descended by the fire-escape to the fourth floor and climbed + through a window there. The janitor, who is named Fred Garbey, + said that, while the incident was unusual, he'd thought little of + it. He gave a description of the young woman to the police, who + express confidence in their ability to find her, and believe that + she must be the same woman for whom Beiner had made the engagement + with Hildebloom. + + None of the dead man's friends who could be reached last night + could advance any reason for the killing. Beiner was apparently + rather popular in the profession, having a wide acquaintance. + +There followed a brief _résumé_ of the dead man's career, but Clancy did +not read it. She dropped the paper and again stared at the ceiling. + +_She_ was the woman who had fled by the fire-escape from Beiner's +office, for whom the engagement had been made with Hildebloom! And the +police were looking for her! + +Beiner had been murdered! She had not killed him, but--who had? And +would the police believe her story? She'd heard of third degrees. Would +they believe her? Her whole story--if she admitted having been in +Beiner's office, she must admit her method of egress. That descent by +the fire-escape would have to be explained. She would have to tell the +police that Beiner had seized her, had held her. Having admitted that +much to the police, would they believe the rest of her story? + +She shook her head. Of course they wouldn't! Beiner had been killed with +his own paper-knife. The police would believe that she had picked it up +and used it in self-defense. + +She became unnaturally calm. Of course, she was a girl; her story might +win her acquittal, even though a jury were convinced that she was a +murderess. She knew of dozens of cases that had filled the newspapers +wherein women had been set free by sentimental juries. + +But the disgrace! The waiting in jail! Some one else had entered +Beiner's office, had, perhaps, found him still unconscious, and killed +him. But would that some one come forward and admit his or her guilt to +free Clancy Deane? + +She laughed harshly at the mere thought. Everything pointed to her, +Clancy Deane, as the murderess. Why, even at this very moment, the +police might be down-stairs, making inquiries of Madame Napoli about +her! + +She leaped from the bed. She stared out the window at the tall buildings +in Times Square. How harsh and forbidding they were! Yesterday they had +been different, had suggested romance, because in them were people who, +like herself, had come to New York to conquer it. + +But to-day these stone walls suggested the stone walls of jails. Jails! +She turned from the window, overwhelmed by the desire for instant +flight. She must get away! In a veritable frenzy of fear, she began to +pack her valise. + +Midway in the packing, she paused. The physical labor of opening +drawers, of taking dresses from the closet, had helped to clear her +brain. And it was a straight-thinking brain, most of the time. It became +keener now. She sat down on the floor and began to marshal the facts. + +Only one person in the world knew that Florine Ladue and Clancy Deane +were the same girl. That person was Fanchon DeLisle, and probably by +this time Fanchon DeLisle had forgotten the card of introduction. + +Morris Beiner had not mentioned to Hildebloom the name of Florine Ladue. +Hildebloom could not tell the police to search for the bearer of that +name. Fay Marston knew who Florine Ladue was, but Fay Marston didn't +know that Florine had been intending to call on Morris Beiner. Nor did +Madame Napoli or her daughter. Zenda and the members of his party had +never heard Florine's last name, and while the discovery of that card of +introduction in Morris Beiner's office _might_ lead the police to +suspect that Florine Ladue had been the woman who descended the +fire-escape, it couldn't be proved. + +Then she shook her head. If the police found that card of +introduction--and, of course, they would--they'd look up Florine Ladue. +The elevator-boy in the Heberworth Building would probably identify her +as a woman who had ridden in his car yesterday afternoon at five. + +The first name would attract the attention of Zenda and his friends. Her +acquaintance with Fay Marston and her card-sharp husband would come out. +_She wasn't thinking clearly._ The affair at Zenda's was unimportant +now. The only important thing in the world was the murder of Morris +Beiner. + +She got back to her first fact--only Fanchon DeLisle could know that +Florine Ladue and Clancy Deane were the same person. If, then, Fanchon +had forgotten that high-sounding name, had forgotten that she had given +a card of introduction to Clancy-- What difference would it make if +Fanchon had forgotten the incident of the card? The police would remind +her of it, wouldn't they? + +She put her palms to her eyes and rocked back and forth. She couldn't +_think_! For five minutes she sat thus, pressing against her eyes, +slowly, out of the reek of fearsome thoughts that crowded upon her +brain, she resolved the salient one. Until Fanchon DeLisle told the +police that Florine Ladue and Clancy Deane were one and the same +persons, she was safe. + +It would take time to locate Fanchon. Meanwhile, Clancy was safe. That +is, unless the police began to look up the hotels to find Florine Ladue +right away, without waiting to communicate with Fanchon. She leaped to +her feet. She'd decided, several minutes ago, that that was exactly +what the police would do. Therefore, she must get out of the Napoli. + +Now, with definite action decided upon, Clancy could think straightly. +She tilted her hat forward, so that it shielded her features, and +descended from her room to the street. Yesterday afternoon she had +noticed a telegraph office on Forty-second Street. To it she went now. + +She wrote out a telegram: "Florine Ladue, Hotel Napoli, Forty-seventh +Street, New York. Come home at once. Mother is ill." She signed it, +"Mary." + +The receiving clerk stared at her. + +"You could walk up there in five minutes and save money," he said. + +Clancy stared at him. The clerk lowered his eyes, and she walked out, +feeling a bit triumphant, not at her poor victory over the clerk but +because she had demonstrated to herself that she was mistress of +herself. + +Back in the Napoli, she packed her valise. She had almost finished when +Paul, the 'bus-boy porter, knocked at her door. He gave her the telegram +which she had written a little while ago. + +Clancy, holding the door partly shut, so that he could not see her +preparations for departure, read the wire. She gasped. + +"Bad news, miss?" asked Paul. + +"Oh, terrible!" she cried. "My mother is ill--I must go home--get me a +taxi--tell Madame Napoli to make up my bill----" + +The boy murmured something meant to be sympathetic, and disappeared down +the hall. Five minutes later, Madame Napoli came wheezing up the +stairs. She refused to permit Clancy to pack. Clancy was a good girl to +worry so about her mother. She must sit still and drink the coffee that +Paul was fetching. Madame Napoli would pack her bag. And _madame_ had +sent for a taxi. + +It was all very easy. Without arousing the slightest suspicion, Clancy +left the Napoli. + +She told the driver to take her to the Grand Central Station. There she +checked her valise. For she was not running back to Zenith. No, indeed! +She'd come to New York to succeed, and she _would_ succeed. Truth must +prevail, and, sooner or later, the murderer of Morris Beiner would be +apprehended. Then--Clancy would be free to go about the making of her +career. But now, safety was her only thought. But safety in Zenith was +not what she sought. + +In the waiting-room she purchased a newspaper. She found a list of +lodging-houses advertised there. Inquiry at the information-desk helped +her to orientate herself. She wished to be settled some distance from +Times Square. She learned that Washington Square was a couple of miles +from the Napoli. Two miles seemed a long distance to Clancy. + +She reacquired her valise, got another taxi, and shortly had engaged a +room in the lodging-house of Mrs. Simon Gerand, on Washington Square +South. Mrs. Gerand was not at all like Madame Napoli, save in one +respect--she demanded her rent in advance. Clancy paid her. She noted +that she had only seven dollars left in her purse. So, in her room, she +took out her check-book and wrote her first check, payable to "self," +for twenty-five dollars. She'd take a 'bus, one of those that she could +see from her tiny room on the square below, ride to Forty-second +Street, cross to the Thespian Bank. No, she wouldn't; she might be +seen. She'd ask Mrs. Gerand to cash her check. + +She sat suddenly down upon a shabby chair. She couldn't cash her check, +for Florine Ladue could be traced through her bank-account as well as +through any other way! + +She rose and walked to the window. It was a different view from that +which she had had at the Napoli. She might be in another country. Across +the park stood solid-looking mansions that even the untutored eyes of +Clancy knew were inhabited by a different class of people than lived at +Mrs. Gerand's. The well-keptness of the houses reminded her of a +well-dressed woman drawing aside her skirts as the wheel of a carriage, +spattering mud, approached too closely. She did not know that an +old-time aristocracy still held its ground on the north side of +Washington Square, against the encroachments of a colony of immigrants +from Italy, against the wave of a bohemia that, in recent years, had +become fashionable. + +Despite the chill of the winter day, scores of children of all ages +played in the park. Some were shabby, tattered, children of the slums +that lurked, though she did not yet know it, south of the square. Others +were carefully dressed, guarded by uniformed nurses. These came from the +mansions opposite, from the fashionable apartments on lower Fifth +Avenue. + +Girls in tams, accompanied by youths, carelessly though not too +inexpensively dressed, sauntered across the park. They were bound for +little coffee-houses, for strange little restaurants. They were of that +literary and artistic and musical set which had found the neighborhood +congenial for work and play. + +But, to Clancy, they were all just people. And people made laws, which +created policemen, who hunted girls who hadn't done anything. + +She had come to New York to achieve success. Here, within forty-eight +hours after her arrival, she had not only roused the suspicions of one +of the biggest men in the profession which she had hoped to adopt but +was wanted by the police on the charge of murder, and had only seven +dollars in the world. She stared at the greasy wall-paper of her +ill-kept room. Without friends, or money--in danger of arrest! And still +she did not think of going to the police, of confessing to circumstances +that really were innocent. She had not learned over-night. She was still +young. She still believed in the efficacy of flight. Queerly, she +thought of the young man who had taken her home from the Zendas' +apartment in the runabout. She remembered not merely his blue, kindly +eyes, and the cleft in his chin, and his bigness, but things about him +that she had not known, at the time, that she had noticed--his firm +mouth, his thick brown hair. And he'd had the kindest-seeming face she'd +ever seen. The only really kind face she'd seen in New York. All the +rest---- Clancy wept. + + + + +VI + + +Youth suffers more than age. No blow that comes to age can be more +severe than the happening to a child which, to its elders, seems most +trivial. Each passing year adds toughness to the human's spiritual skin. +But with toughness comes loss of resiliency. + +Clancy was neither seven nor seventy; she was twenty. She had not yet +acquired spiritual toughness, nor had she lost childhood's resiliency. +The blows that she had received in the forty-eight hours since she had +arrived in New York--the loss, as she believed, of her hoped-for career, +the fear of arrest on the hideous charge of murder, and, last, though by +no means least, the inability to draw upon the funds that she had so +proudly deposited in the Thespian Bank--all these were enough to bend +her. But not to break! + +Her tears finally ceased. She had thrown herself upon the bed with an +abandon that would have made an observer of the throwing think her one +entirely surrendered to despair. Yet, before this apparently desperate, +hysterical hurling of her slim body upon a not too soft couch, Clancy +had carefully removed her jacket and skirt. She was not unique in this +regard for her apparel; she was simply a woman. + +So, when, in the natural course of the passing hours, hunger attacked +Clancy, and she rose from the narrow bed that Mrs. Gerand provided for +the tenant of her "third-floor front" room, she had only to remove the +traces of tears, "fix" her hair, and don her waist and skirt to be +prepared to meet the public eye. + +She had been lying down for hours, alternating between impulses toward +panic and toward brazen defiance. She compromised, of course, as people +always compromise upon impulses, by a happy medium. She would neither +flee as far from New York as seven dollars would take her nor surrender +to the searching police. She would do as she had intended to do when she +came down, earlier in the day, to Washington Square. She would look for +a job to-morrow, and as soon as she found one, she'd go to work at +anything that would keep her alive until the police captured the +murderer of Morris Beiner and rendered her free to resume her career. +And just now she would eat. + +It was already dark. Somehow, although she was positive that she could +not have been traced to Washington Square, she had been timid about +venturing out in the daylight. But that very darkness which brings +disquiet to the normal person brought calmness and a sense of security +to Clancy. For she was now a different person from the girl who had +arrived in New York from Zenith two days before. She was now that social +abnormality--a person sought by the officers of justice. Her innocence +of any wrong-doing in no way restored her to normality. + +So, instead of a frank-eyed girl, fresh from the damp breezes of Zenith, +it was an almost furtive-eyed girl that entered the Trevor, shortly +after six o'clock, and, carrying an evening paper that she had acquired +at the news-stand, sat down at a table in the almost vacant dining-room. +Her step was faltering and her glance wary. It is fear that changes +character, not sin. + +She had entered the down-stairs dining-room of the Trevor, that hotel +which once catered to the French residents of New York, but that now is +the most prominent resort of the Greenwich Village bohemian or +near-bohemian. It held few guests now. It was the hour between tea and +dinner. + +Clancy looked hastily over the menu that the smiling, courteous captain +of waiters handed her. With dismay, she saw that the Trevor charged +prices that were staggering to a person with only seven dollars in the +world. Nevertheless, the streak of stubbornness in Clancy made her fight +down the impulse to leave the place. She would not confess, by +implication, to any waiter that she had not money enough to eat in his +restaurant. + +So she ordered the cheapest things on the menu. A veal cutlet, breaded, +cost ninety-five cents; a glass of milk, twenty; a baked potato, +twenty-five; bread and butter, ten. One dollar and a half for a meal +that could have been bought in Bangor for half the money. + +The evening paper had a column, surmounted by a scare-head half a page +wide, about the Beiner murder. Clancy shivered apprehensively. But there +was nothing in the feverish, highly adjectived account to indicate that +Florine Ladue had been identified as the woman for whom Beiner had made +the engagement with Hildebloom, of the Rosebush studios. Clancy threw +care from her shoulders. She would be cautious, yes; but fearful--no! +This, after she had eaten a few mouthfuls of the veal cutlet and drunk +half of her glass of milk. A full stomach brings courage. + +She turned the pages of the newspaper and found the "Help Wanted" page. +It was encouraging to note that scores of business firms needed +stenographers. She folded the paper carefully for later study and +resumed her dinner. Finished, finally, she reached for the paper. And, +for the first time, she became conscious that a couple across the room +was observing her closely. + +Courage fled from her. A glimmering of what her position would continue +to be until her relation to the Beiner murder was definitely and for all +time settled flashed through her brain. She would be always afraid. + +She had not paid her check. Otherwise, she would have fled the room. +Then she stiffened, while, mechanically, she returned David Randall's +bow. + +What ill fate had sent her to this place? Then, as Randall, having +flashed her a smile that showed a row of extremely white although rather +large teeth, turned to the woman with whom he was dining, Clancy's +courage raced back to her. + +What on earth was there to be nervous about? Why should this young man, +whose knowledge of her was confined to the fact that, two nights ago, he +had conveyed her in his runabout from somewhere on Park Avenue to the +Napoli, cause her alarm? She forced herself to glance again in Randall's +direction. + +But the woman interested Clancy more than the young man who had +introduced himself two nights ago as David Randall. A blonde, with +reddish brown hair, most carefully combed, with a slightly tilted nose +and a mouth that turned up at the corners, she was, Clancy conceded, far +above the average in good looks. She was dressed for the evening. Two +days ago, Clancy would have thought that only a woman of loose morals +would expose so much back. But an evening spent at the Château de la +Reine had taught her that New York women exposed their backs, if the +exposure were worth while. This one was. And the severe lines of her +black gown set off the milky whiteness of her back. + +Her eyes were envious as the woman, with a word to Randall, rose. She +lowered them as the woman approached her table. Then she started and +paled. For the woman had stopped before her. + +"This is Sophie Carey," she said. + +Clancy looked up at her blankly. Behind her blank expression, fear +rioted. The other woman smiled down upon her. + +"I have been dining," she said, "with a most impetuous young man. He has +told me of a somewhat unconventional meeting with you, and he wishes me +to expurgate from that meeting everything that is socially sinful. In +other words, he pays me the doubtful compliment of thinking me aged +enough to throw a halo of respectability about any action of his--or +mine--or yours. Will you let me present him to you?" + +Back in Zenith, no one had ever spoken to Clancy like this. She was +suddenly a little girl. New York was big and menacing. This woman seemed +friendly, gracious, charming. She had about her something that Clancy +could not define, and which was cosmopolitanism, worldliness. + +"Why--why--it's awfully kind of you----" + +The woman turned. One hand rested on the table--her left hand. A +wedding-ring was on it, and Clancy somehow felt relieved. With her right +hand, Mrs. Carey beckoned Randall. He was on his feet and at Clancy's +table in a moment. + +"This," said Mrs. Carey, "is David Randall. He is twenty-nine years old; +his father was for three terms congressman from Ohio. David is a broker; +he was worth, the last time he looked at the ticker, four hundred and +ninety thousand dollars. He plays a good game of golf and a poor game of +tennis. He claims that he is a good shot, but he can't ride a horse. He +_can_ run a motor-car, but he doesn't know anything about a catboat." + +"I could teach him that," laughed Clancy. Mrs. Carey's nonsense put her +at her ease. And all fear of Randall had vanished before he had reached +the table. How _could_ he know anything of her and her connection with +either Zenda or Beiner? + +Randall held out a very large hand. + +"You sail a boat, Miss--" He paused confusedly. + +"Deane," said Clancy. She had thought, when she left Zenith, to have +left forever behind her the name of Deane. Ladue was the name under +which she had intended to climb the heights. "Yes, indeed, I can sail a +boat." + +"You'll teach me?" asked Randall. + +Mrs. Carey laughed. + +"Lovely weather for boating, David. Where do you do your sailing, Miss +Deane?" + +"Zenith Harbor. It's in Maine," said Clancy. + +"But you don't live in Maine!" cried Randall. + +Mrs. Carey laughed again. + +"Don't be misled by his frank eyes and his general expression of innate +nobility and manliness, Miss Deane. That agony in his voice, which has +lured so many young girls to heartbreak, means nothing at all except +that he probably had an Irish grandmother. He really isn't worried about +your living in Maine. He feels that, no matter where you live, he can +persuade you to move to New York. And I hope he can." + +Her last five words were uttered with a cordiality that won Clancy's +heart. And then she colored for having, even for the minutest fraction +of a second, taken Mrs. Carey's words seriously. Was she, Clancy Deane, +lacking in a sense of humor? + +"Thank you," she said. Then, "I have an Irish grandfather myself," she +added slyly. + +Mrs. Carey's face assumed an expression of sorrow. + +"Oh, David, David! When you picked up a lone and lorn young lady in your +motor-car, mayhap you picked up revenge for a score of sad damsels who +were happy till they met you." She smiled down at Clancy. "If the high +gods of convention are wrathful at me, perhaps some other gods will +forgive me. Anyway, I'm sure that David will. And perhaps, after you've +had a cup of tea with me, you'll forgive me, too. For if you don't like +David, you're sure to like me." + +"I know that," said Clancy. + +Indeed, she already liked Mrs. Carey. Perhaps the sight of the +wedding-ring on Mrs. Carey's left hand made for part of the liking. +Still, that was ridiculous. She hardly knew this Randall person. + +"I leave you in better company, David," said Mrs. Carey. "No, my dear +boy; I wouldn't be so cruel as to make you take me to the door. The car +is outside. You stay here and improve upon the introduction that I, +without a jealous bone in my body--well, without jealousy I have +acquainted myself with Miss Deane, and then passed on the acquaintance +to you." She lifted her slim hand. "No; I insist that you remain here." +She smiled once more at Clancy. "Did you notice that I used the word +'insist'?" She leaned over and whispered. "To save my pride, my harsh +and bitter pride, Miss Deane, don't forget to come to tea." + +And then Clancy was left alone with Randall. + + + + +VII + + +For a moment, embarrassed silence fell upon them. At least, Clancy knew +that she was embarrassed, and she felt, from the slowly rising color on +Randall's face, that he was also what the girls in Zenith--and other +places--term "fussed." And when he spoke, it was haltingly. + +"I hope--of course, Miss Deane--Mrs. Carey was joking. She didn't mean +that I--" He paused helplessly. + +"She didn't mean that you were so--fatally attractive?" asked Clancy, +with wicked innocence. After all, she was beautiful, twenty, and talking +to a young man whom she had met under circumstances that to a Zenither +filled many of the requirements of romance. She forgot, with the +adaptable memory of youth, her troubles. Flirtation was not a habit with +Clancy Deane. It was an art. + +"Oh, now, Miss Deane!" protested Randall. + +"Then you haven't beguiled as many girls as Mrs. Carey says?" persisted +Clancy. + +"Why, I don't know any girls!" blurted Randall. + +"Not any? Impossible!" said Clancy. "Is there anything the matter with +you?" + +"Matter with me?" Randall stared at her. + +"I mean, your eyesight is perfectly good?" + +"I saw _you_," he said bluntly. It was Clancy's turn to color, and she +did so magnificently. Randall saw his advantage. "The very minute I saw +you," he said, "I knew--" He stopped. Clancy's chin had lifted a +trifle. + +"Yes," she said gently. "You knew?" + +"That we'd meet again," he said bravely. + +"I didn't know that brokers were romantic," she said. + +"I'm not," he retorted. + +She eyed him carefully. + +"No; I don't think you are. Still, not to know any girls--and it isn't +because you haven't seen any, either. Well, there must be something else +wrong with you. What is it?" + +Randall fumbled in his pocket and produced a leather cigarette-case. He +opened it, looking at Clancy. + +"Will you have one?" he asked. + +She shook her head. He lighted the cigarette; the smoke seemed to +restore his self-possession. + +"I've been too busy to meet girls," he declared. + +Clancy shrugged. + +"You weren't busy night before last." + +She was enjoying herself hugely. The night before last, when she had met +men at Zenda's party at the Château de la Reine, and, later, at Zenda's +home, she had been too awed by New York, too overcome by the reputations +of the people that she had met to think of any of the men as men. But +now she was talking to a young man whose eyes, almost from the moment +that she had accosted him on Park Avenue, had shown a definite interest +in her. Not the interest of any normal man in a pretty girl, but a +personal interest, and interest in _her_, Clancy Deane, not merely in +the face or figure of Clancy Deane. + +Randall was the sort of man, Clancy felt (still without knowing that +she felt it), in whom one could repose confidences without fear of +betrayal or, what is worse, misunderstanding. All of which unconscious, +or subconscious, analysis on Clancy's part accounted for her own feeling +of superiority toward him. For she had that feeling. A friendly enough +feeling, but one that inclined her toward poking fun at him. + +"No," admitted Randall; "I was kind of lonesome, and--I saw you, +and----" + +Clancy took the wheel and steered the bark of conversation deftly away +from herself. + +"Mrs. Carey must know many girls," she said. "And she seemed _quite_ an +intimate friend of yours." Clancy had in her make-up the due proportion +of cattishness. + +"She is," answered Randall promptly. "That is, she's been extremely kind +to me. But I haven't known her long. She returned from Europe last month +and was interested in French securities. She bought them through my +office, because an uncle of mine, who'd been on the boat with her, had +mentioned my name. That's all." + +The mention of Europe wakened some memory in Clancy. + +"She's not _the_ Mrs. Carey, is she? Not the artist who was decorated +for bravery----" + +Randall nodded. + +"I guess she is, but you'd never think it from her talk. She never +mentions it, or refers to her work----" + +"Have you seen it?" asked Clancy. + +"Her paintings? Oh, yes; I've been in her studio. The fact is"--and he +colored--"I happened to be the right size, or shape, or something, for +a male figure she wanted, and--well," he finished sheepishly, "I posed +for her." + +Clancy grinned. + +"You've never been in the chorus of a musical comedy, have you?" + +"No." Randall laughed. "And I won't unless you're in it." + +It was a perfectly innocent remark, as vapid as the remarks made by +young people in the process of getting acquainted always are. Yet, for a +second, Clancy felt a cold chill round her heart. A glance at Randall +assured her that there'd been no hidden meaning in the statement. Her +own remark had inspired his response. But the mere casual connection of +herself with any matter theatrical brought back the events of the past +two days. + +She beckoned to her waiter and asked for her check. Randall made an +involuntary movement toward his pocket, then thought better of it. +Clancy liked him for the perfectly natural movement, but liked him +better because he halted it. + +"You--I don't suppose--you'd care to go to the theater--or anything?" he +asked. + +She shook her head. + +"I must go home," she declared. + +"Well, I can, at least, take you up-town," he said, + +"I don't live up-town. I live----" + +"You've moved?" + +"Yes," she answered. All the fears that for ten minutes had been shoved +into the background now came back to her. To-morrow's papers might +contain the statement that the supposed murderess of Morris Beiner had +been traced to the Napoli, whence she had vanished. It wouldn't take a +very keen brain to draw a connection between that vanished girl and the +girl now talking with Randall. + +"Well, I can take you to wherever you've moved," he announced +cheerfully. + +"I--I'd rather you wouldn't," said Clancy. + +Randall's face reddened. He colored, Clancy thought, more easily and +frequently than any man she'd known. + +The waiter brought her change. She gave him fifteen cents, an exact ten +per cent. of her bill, and rose. Then she bent over to pick up her +evening paper. Randall forestalled her. He handed it to her, and his +eyes lighted on the "want ad" columns. + +"You aren't looking for work, are you?" he asked. "I mean--I don't want +to be rude, but----" + +"Well?" said Clancy coldly. + +"I--if you happened to know stenography--do you?" + +"Well?" she said again. + +"I need a--stenographer," he blurted. + +She eyed him. + +"You move rapidly, don't you?" + +"I'm fresh, you think? Well, I suppose it seems that way, but--I don't +mean to be, Miss Deane. Only--well, my name and address are in the +telephone-book. If you ever happened--to want to see me again--you could +reach me easily." + +"Thank you," said Clancy. "Good-night." For a moment, her fingers rested +in his huge hand; then, with a little nod, she left the restaurant. + +She did not look behind her as she walked down Fifth Avenue and across +Washington Square. Randall was not the sort to spy upon her, no matter +how anxious he was to know where she lived. And he was anxious--Clancy +felt sure of that. She didn't know whether to be pleased or alarmed over +that surety. + +She felt annoyed with herself that she was even interested in Randall's +attitude toward her. She had come to New York with a very definite +purpose, and that purpose contemplated no man in its foreground. +Entering Mrs. Gerand's lodging-house, she passed the telephone fastened +against the wall in the front hall. It was the idlest curiosity, +still--it wouldn't do any harm to know Randall's address. She looked it +up in the telephone directory. He had offices in the Guaranty Building +and lived in the Monarch apartment-house on Park Avenue. + +She was more exhausted than she realized. Not even fear could keep her +awake to-night, and fear did its utmost. For, alone in her room, she +felt her helplessness. She had avoided the police for a day--but how +much longer could she hope to do so? + +In the morning, courage came to her again. She asked Mrs. Gerand for +permission to look at the morning paper before she left the house. The +Beiner mystery was given less space this morning than yesterday +afternoon. The paper reported no new discoveries. + +And there were no suspicious police-looking persons loitering outside +Mrs. Gerand's house. Three rods from the front door and Clancy's +confidence in her own ability to thwart the whole New York detective +force had returned. + +Mrs. Gerand had recommended that she breakfast in a restaurant on Sixth +Avenue, praising the coffee and boiled eggs highly. Clancy found it +without difficulty. It was a sort of bakery, lunch-room, and pastry +shop. + +Blown by a brisk wind, Clancy stopped before a mirror to readjust her +hat and hair. In the mirror, she saw a friendly face smiling at her. She +turned. At a marble-topped table sat Mrs. Carey. She beckoned for +Clancy. Short of actual rudeness, there was nothing for Clancy to do but +to accept the invitation. + +"You look," Mrs. Carey greeted her, "as though you'd been out in your +catboat already. Sit down with me. Jennie!" she called to a waitress. +"Take Miss Deane's order." + +Clancy let Mrs. Carey order for her. She envied the older woman's air of +authority, her easiness of manner. + +"New York hasn't corrupted you as yet, Miss Deane, has it? You keep +Maine hours. Fancy meeting any one breakfasting at seven-thirty." + +"But I've met you, and you're a New Yorker," said Clancy. + +Mrs. Carey laughed. + +"I have to work." + +"So do I," said Clancy. + +"Whereabouts? At what?" asked Mrs. Carey. + +"I don't know," Clancy confessed. "I've made a list of firms that +advertise for stenographers." + +"'Stenographer?' With that skin? And those eyes? And your hair? Bless +your heart, Miss Deane, you ought to go on the stage--or into the +movies." + +Clancy lowered her eyes to the grapefruit which the waitress had +brought. + +"I--don't think I'd care for either of those," she answered. + +"Hm. Wouldn't care to do a little posing? Oh, of course not. No future +in that--" Mrs. Carey's brows wrinkled. She broke a roll and buttered +it. "Nothing," she said, "happens without good reason. I was alarmed +about my cook this morning. Laid up in bed. I think it's--'flu,' though +I hope not. Anyway, the doctor says it's not serious; she'll be well in +a day or so. But I hated to go out for my breakfast instead of eating in +bed. And I can't cook a thing!" + +"No?" said Clancy. Into her tones crept frigidity. Mrs. Carey laughed +suddenly. + +"Bless your sweet heart, did you think I was offering you a place as +cook? No; in my roundabout, verbose way, Miss Deane, I was explaining +that my cook's illness was a matter for congratulation. It sent me +outdoors, enabled me to meet you, and--after breakfast come over to my +studio. Sally Henderson needs an assistant, and spoke to me the other +day. You'll do." + +"What sort of work is it?" asked Clancy timidly. + +"Interior decorating--and renting apartments." + +"But I--don't know anything about that sort of thing." + +Mrs. Carey laughed. + +"Neither does Sally. Her father died five years ago. He was a doctor. +Lots of money, but spent it all. Sally had to do _something_. So she +became an interior decorator. Don't argue with me, my dear. I intend to +play Destiny for you. How are the buckwheat cakes?" + +"Fine!" Clancy murmured from a full mouth. + + + + +VIII + + +Clancy's ideas of studios had been gained from the perusal of fiction. +So the workmanlike appearance of the room on the top floor of Sophie +Carey's house on Waverly Place was somewhat of a surprise to her. + +Its roof was of glass, but curtains, cunningly manipulated by not too +sightly cords, barred or invited the overhead light as the artist +desired. The front was a series of huge windows, which were also +protected by curtains. It faced the north. + +About the room, faces to wall, were easels. Mrs. Carey turned one round +until the light fell upon it. + +It was a large canvas, which Clancy supposed was allegorical. Three +figures stood out against a background of rolling smoke above a scene of +desolation--a man, a woman, and a child, their garments torn and +stained, but their faces smiling. + +"Like it?" asked Mrs. Carey. + +"Why--it's wonderful!" cried Clancy. + +"I call it 'Hope,'" said Mrs. Carey. + +Clancy stared at it. She got the painter's idea. The man and his wife +and their child, looking smilingly forward into a future that-- She +turned to Mrs. Carey. She pointed to the foreground. + +"Isn't there more--smoke--trouble--there?" + +"There is--but they refuse to look at it. That, after all, is hope, +isn't it, Miss Deane? Hope founded on sheer blindness never has seemed +to me a particularly admirable quality. But hope founded on courage is +worth while. You really like it?" + +Clancy turned again to the picture. Suddenly she pointed to the figure +of the man. + +"Why, that's Mr. Randall!" she exclaimed. + +"Yes. Of course, it isn't really a likeness. I didn't want that. I +merely wanted the magnificence of his body. It is magnificent, isn't it? +Such a splendid waist-line above such slender but strong thighs. +Remarkable, in these days, when, outside of professional athletes, the +man with a strong upper body usually has huge, ungraceful hips." + +Mrs. Carey picked up a telephone as she spoke, and so did not observe +the blush that stole over Clancy's face. Of course, artists, even women +artists, spoke unconventionally, but to discuss in such detail the body +of a man, known to both of them was not mere unconventionality--it was +shocking. That is, it was shocking according to the standards of Zenith. + +Clancy listened while her hostess spoke to some one whom she called +"Sally," and who must be Miss Henderson. + +"You said you wanted some one, Sally. Well, I have the some one. +Prettiest thing you ever looked at.... The business? As much as you do, +probably. What difference does it make? She's pretty. She's lovely. No +man could refuse to rent an apartment or have his place done over if she +asked him.... Right away. Miss Deane, her name is.... Not at all, old +thing." + +She hung up and turned beamingly to Clancy. + +"Simple, isn't it? You are now, Miss Deane, an interior decorator. At +least, within an hour you will be." She wrote rapidly upon the pad by +the telephone. "Here's the address. You don't need a letter of +introduction." + +Dazed, Clancy took the slip of paper. She noted that the address written +down was a number on East Forty-seventh Street. Little as she yet knew +of the town's geography, she knew that Fifth Avenue was the great +dividing-line. Therefore, any place east of it must be quite a distance +from Times Square, which was two long blocks west of Fifth Avenue. She +would be safe from recognition at Miss Sally Henderson's--probably. But +she refused to think of probabilities. + +"I don't know how to thank you, Mrs. Carey," she said. + +Sophie Carey laughed carelessly. + +"Don't try, my dear. Don't ever learn. The really successful person--and +you're going to be a great success--never expresses gratitude. He--or +she--accepts whatever comes along." + +She crossed her knees and lighted a cigarette. + +"I couldn't follow that philosophy," said Clancy. "I wouldn't want to." + +"Why not?" demanded Sophie Carey. + +"It doesn't seem--right," said Clancy. "Besides," she added hastily, +"I'm not sure that I'll be a success." + +Mrs. Carey stared at her. + +"Why not?" she asked sharply. "God gives us brains; we use them. God +gives us strength; we use it. God gives us good looks; why shouldn't we +use them? As long as this is a man-ruled world, feminine good looks will +assay higher than feminine brains. If you don't believe it, compare the +incomes received by the greatest women novelists, artists, doctors, +lawyers, with the incomes received by women who have no brains at all, +but whose beauty makes them attractive in moving pictures or upon the +stage. Beauty is an asset that mustn't be ignored, my dear Miss Deane. +And you have it. Have it? Indeed you have! Didn't our hitherto immune +David become infected with the virus of love the moment he saw you?" + +Clancy looked prim. + +"I'm sure," she said, almost rebukingly, "that Mr. Randall couldn't have +done anything like that--so soon." + +Mrs. Carey laughed. + +"I'll forgive you because of your last two words, my dear. They prove +that you're not the little prig that you sound. Why, you _know_ that +David is extremely interested. And you are interested yourself. +Otherwise, you would not be jealous of me." + +"Jealous?" Clancy was indignant. + +Mrs. Carey smiled. + +"That's what I said. When you recognized him in the painting-- My dear, +I'm too old for David. I'm thirty-one. Besides, I have a husband living. +You need not worry." + +She rose, and before Clancy could frame any reply, threw an arm about +the girl's shoulders and led her from the studio. Descending the two +flights of stairs to the street door, Clancy caught a glimpse of a +lovely boudoir, and a drawing-room whose huge grand piano and subdued +coloring of decoration lived up to her ideals of what society knew as +correct. The studio on the top floor might be a workroom, but the rest +of the house was a place that, merely to own, thought Clancy, was to be +assured of happiness. + +Indeed, after having left Mrs. Carey and boarding a cross-town car at +Eighth Street, Clancy wondered that Mrs. Carey did not give the +impression of complete happiness. She was famous, rich, sought-after, +yet she seemed, to Clancy, dissatisfied. Probably, thought Clancy, some +trouble with her husband. Surely it must be the fault of Mr. Carey, for +no woman so sweet and generous as Sophie Carey could possibly be at +fault. + +For a moment, she had been indignant at Mrs. Carey's charge of jealousy. +But the one salient characteristic of Clancy Deane was honesty. It was a +characteristic that would bring to her unhappiness and happiness both. +Just now, that honesty hurt her pride. For she had felt a certain +restlessness, uneasiness, that had been indefinable until Mrs. Carey had +named it. It had been jealousy. She had resented that this rich, +beautiful, and famous woman should assume a slightly proprietary air +toward David Randall. Clairvoyantly, Clancy knew that she would never +_really_ love Sophie Carey. Still, she would try to. + +At Astor Place, she took the subway, riding, according to instructions +that Mrs. Carey had given her, to the Grand Central Station. Here she +alighted and, a block west, turned up Madison Avenue. + +If it had not occurred to her before that one found one's way about most +easily in New York, she would have learned it now. With its avenues +running north and south, and its cross-streets running east and west, +and with practically all of both, save in the far-down-town district, +numbered, it was almost impossible for any one who could read Arabic +numerals to become lost in this, the greatest city of the Western +hemisphere. + +She found the establishment of "Sally Henderson, Interior +Decorator--Apartments," a few doors east of Madison Avenue. + +A young gentleman, soft-voiced, cow-eyed, moved gracefully forward to +greet her. The cut of his sleeves, as narrow as a woman's, and fitting +at the shoulder with the same pucker, the appearance of the waist-line +as snug as her own, made Clancy realize that the art of dressing men has +reappeared in the world as pronouncedly as in the days when they wore +gorgeous laces and silken breeches, and bejeweled-buckled shoes. + +The young gentleman--Clancy later learned that he was named Guernsey, +and pronounced it "Garnsey"--ushered her into an inner office. This room +was furnished less primly than the outer office. The first room she had +entered seemed, with its filing-cases and busy stenographer pounding +away at a typewriter and its adding machine and maps upon the wall, a +place of business. But this inner room seemed like a boudoir. Clancy +discovered that the outer room was where persons who desired to rent +apartments were taken care of; this inner room was the spot where those +desirous of the services of an interior decorator were received. + +Miss Sally Henderson sat at a table upon which were samples of +wall-paper. She was tall, Clancy could tell, had what in Zenith would be +termed a "skinny" figure, and her hair, of a stringy mud-color, was +almost plastered, man-fashion, upon a narrow, high forehead. Upon her +nose were perched a pair of glasses. Her lips, surprisingly, were +well-formed, full, and red. It was the mouth of a sensuous, +beauty-loving, passionate woman, and the rest of her was the masculinity +of an old maid. + +She smiled as Clancy approached. + +"So Sophie sent you to my matrimonial bureau, eh?" she said. Clancy +stared. "Oh, yes," Miss Henderson went on; "three girls have been +married from this business in the last eight months. I think there's a +curse on the place. Tell me--are you engaged, in love, or anything?" +Clancy shook her head. "That's too bad," sighed Miss Henderson. + +"Why?" asked Clancy. + +"Oh, if you were already engaged, you'd not be husband-hunting the men +who come apartment-hunting." + +"I assure you that I'm not husband-hunting," said Clancy indignantly. + +Miss Henderson shrugged. + +"Of course you are, my dear. All of us are. Even myself. Though I've +given it up lately. My peculiar style of beauty doesn't lure the men, +I'm beginning to understand. Well, you can't help it if you're +beautiful, can you? And I can't help it if one of my clients runs away +with you. Just stay three months, and I'll give you, to start with, +fifty dollars a week." + +Clancy stared at her. + +"You'll give me fifty a week--right now?" + +"My dear, any musical-comedy manager would give you forty to stand in +the front row. You could earn a trifle more than that by not being +particular. I take it that you are particular. Should a particular girl +earn less than the other kind? Is it common justice? It is not. +Therefore, I will pay you fifty dollars a week. You ought to rent a +hundred per cent. of the apartments you show. Also, every third client +you deal with ought to be wheedled into having some interior decorating +done. I can afford to pay you that." + +Clancy gasped. Fifty dollars a week was not, of course, a tithe of what +she'd expect to earn in the moving pictures, but it was a big salary to +one who possessed about five dollars in the world. + +"But you'll have to buy yourself some decent clothes," continued Miss +Henderson. "That suit, if you'll pardon me, my dear, looks like the very +devil. I have a dressmaker, unique thing-- Oh, don't stare at the +clothes I have on; I have to dress this way during office-hours. It +makes me look business-like. But outside of business--it's different. +You may trust my dressmaker. Cheaper--much cheaper, too. What do you +know about interior decorating?" she asked suddenly. + +"Nothing," Clancy confessed frankly. + +"Excellent!" said Miss Henderson. "Interior decorators can design +theatrically beautiful rooms, but not homes. How can they? Home is the +expression of its owner. So the less you know the better." + +Clancy drew in a long breath. Feebly, she comprehended that she was in +the presence of a "character," a person unique in her experience. She +was glad that she did not have to talk, that her new employer's +verbosity covered up her own silence. She was grateful when, as Miss +Henderson paused, the young man, Guernsey, entered. + +"Mr. Grannis to see you, Miss Henderson," he said. + +Miss Henderson shrugged petulantly. She looked at Clancy. + +"Your first commission, Miss Deane," she said. "He wants to rent an +apartment. He has oodles of money. Here is a list of places. Mr. +Guernsey will order a car for you. You'll find the rental-rates on this +card. God be with you, my child!" + +She grinned, and Clancy started for the door. Her footsteps were +faltering and her face white. Grannis was an unusual name. And Grannis +had been one of the players in the Zenda poker game three nights ago! + + + + +IX + + +New as she was to New York, limited of observation and of ability to +digest her observations and draw from them sane conclusions, Clancy +realized that each business in the city was confined to certain +restricted districts. For instance, Times Square was the center of the +theatrical and night life of the city. A cursory glance at the women on +Fifth Avenue near Forty-second Street was enough to make her pretty +certain that this was the heart of the shopping-district. And, of +course, all the reading world knew that the financial district was +down-town. + +This knowledge had contributed to her feeling of security. She was a +single atom in a most enormous city. Even though the police, by reason +of the card bearing Fanchon DeLisle's introduction of Clancy to Morris +Beiner, might be investigating her, it seemed hardly probable to Clancy +that any chance meeting would betray her. She thought that one could +live years, decades in New York without meeting a single acquaintance. +Until the police should get in touch with Fanchon DeLisle and discover +that Florine Ladue and Clancy Deane were the same person, Clancy +believed that she was comparatively safe. + +But now, as she hesitated on the threshold of the outer office, it came +to her with a shock that New York was a small place. Later on, she would +learn that the whole world is a tiny hiding-place for a fugitive, but +just now it seemed to her that fate was treating her most unkindly in +bringing her into contact with Grannis to-day. But at the moment she +could only blame fate, not realizing that, from the very nature of its +geography, having so much north and south and so comparatively little +east and west, all New York, practically, must, at some time during its +working-day, be in the neighborhood of Times Square or the Grand Central +Station, and that shrewd men, realizing this fact, have centered certain +businesses, such as the retail-clothing trade, the jewelry and other +luxury-merchandising, the hotels and theaters in these neighborhoods. +The money may be made in other parts of the town, but it is spent here. + +So, had Clancy but realized it, it was not at all unusual that, within +the first hour of her employment by Sally Henderson, Grannis should +enter the offices. He needed an apartment; Sally Henderson, catering to +the class of persons who could afford expensive rentals, was naturally +located in a district contiguous to other places where cost was not +counted by the customer. + +It was only by a tremendous effort of will that Clancy forced herself +across the threshold. + +But Grannis's sallow face did not change its expression as she entered. +It so happened that he had a lot on his mind, of which the renting of an +apartment was but a minor detail. And young Guernsey and the +stenographer were not particularly observant; they merely saw that Miss +Henderson's new employee seemed a bit timid. + +"Miss Deane, this is Mr. Grannis," said Guernsey. "Miss Deane will show +you several apartments," he added. + +Grannis nodded absent-mindedly. He glanced at Clancy for a moment; then +his eyes dropped. Clancy drew a long breath. Something seemed about to +burst within her bosom. Relief is quite as violent in its physical +effects as fear, though not so permanent. Then her pulse slowed down. +But her eyes were filmily unseeing until they had entered the motor, a +closed car, that Guernsey ordered. + +Then they cleared. Unflattering as it might be to her vanity, it was +nevertheless a fact that Grannis had no recollection of having met her +before. It was natural enough, Clancy assured herself. She had simply +been an extra person at a dance, at a poker-party. Further, in her coat +suit and wearing a hat, she was not the same person that had accompanied +Fay Marston three nights ago to the Château de la Reine. + +Why, it was quite probable that even Zenda would not remember her if he +saw her again. Then her throat seemed to thicken up a trifle. That was +not so, because Morris Beiner had told her that not only had Zenda +remembered her first name but had been able to describe her so +accurately that Beiner had recognized her from the description. + +But, at the moment, she had nothing to fear. She looked at the card Miss +Henderson had given her. There were half a dozen addresses written on +it. The rentals placed opposite them ranged from five to twelve hundred. + +"How much did you wish to pay, Mr. Grannis?" she asked. + +Grannis started as she spoke. He stared at her; his brows furrowed. +Clancy felt herself growing pale. Then Grannis smiled. + +"I meet so many people--oh, thousands, Miss Deane--that I'm always +imagining that I've met my newest acquaintance before. I haven't met +you, have I?" + +The direct lie was something that Clancy abhorred, hardly ever in her +life had she uttered one. + +She compromised between the instinct for self-preservation and a rigid +upbringing by shaking her head. He accepted the quasi-denial with a +smile, then answered her question. + +"Oh, six or eight hundred a month--something like that," he said +carelessly. + +Clancy smothered a gasp. Miss Henderson had told her nothing of the +details of the business. That had been careless to an extreme of Miss +Henderson. Yet Clancy supposed that Miss Henderson felt that, if an +employee didn't have common sense, she wouldn't retain her. Still, not +to have told Clancy that these rentals marked on this card were by the +_month_, instead, as Clancy had assumed, by the year, was to have relied +not merely on Clancy's possession of common sense but on her experience +of New York. But Miss Henderson didn't know that Clancy had just come +from the country. Probably sending Clancy out offhand in this fashion +had been a test of Clancy's adaptability for the business. Well--and her +chin stuck forward a bit--she'd show that she had that adaptability. If +Grannis were willing to pay six or eight hundred dollars a month for an +apartment, she'd rent him one. + +She handed the card to Grannis. + +"You're a busy man," she said. "Which address looks best to you?" + +Grannis stared at her. + +"I congratulate you, Miss Deane. Most women would have taken me to the +least desirable first, tried to foist it upon me, then dragged me to +another. This one." + +He put his finger on the third apartment listed. The rental was eight +hundred and fifty dollars a month, and opposite it were the words: "six +months." Clancy interpreted this to mean that the tenant must sign a six +months' lease. She said as much to Grannis, who merely nodded +acquiescently. + +Clancy had never been in a limousine in her life before. But she picked +up the speaking-tube, which told its own purpose to her quick wit, and +spoke to the chauffeur. The car moved toward Park Avenue, turned north, +and stopped a dozen blocks above Forty-seventh Street. + + * * * * * + +One hour and a half later, Grannis left Miss Sally Henderson's offices. +Behind him, Miss Henderson fingered a lease, signed by Grannis, and a +check for eight hundred and fifty dollars, also signed by the +moving-picture man. + +"My dear," she said, "you're wonderful! You have passed the test." + +"'Test?'" echoed Clancy innocently. + +"I have only one," said Miss Henderson. "Results. You got them. How did +you do it?" + +Clancy shrugged carelessly. + +"I don't know. I showed him the apartment. He liked it. That's all." + +"You're engaged!" cried Miss Henderson. + +"'Engaged?'" + +"Yes--to work for me." + +"But you engaged me before I went out with Mr. Grannis," said Clancy. + +Miss Henderson smiled. Clancy discovered that those full lips could be +as acidulous as they were sensuous. + +"But not permanently, my dear. Oh, I may have talked about salaries and +employing you and all that sort of thing, but--that was to give you +confidence. If you'd failed in letting an apartment to Mr. Grannis--but +you didn't, my dear." She turned to Guernsey. "If you had the pep of +Miss Deane, Frank, you'd be running this business instead of working for +me. Why don't you show some jazz?" + +Guernsey shrugged. + +"I'm not a pretty girl," he replied. + +He left the office, and Miss Henderson looked Clancy over critically. + +"Better call it a day, my dear, and run over to Forty-fifth Street and +see my dressmaker. I'll 'phone her while you're on the way. Put yourself +entirely in her hands, and I'll attend to the bill. Only--you promise to +stay three months?" + +"I promise," said Clancy. + +Sally Henderson laughed. + +"Then run along. Miss Conover. Jennie Conover. Number Sixty-three A West +Forty-fifth. Take whatever she chooses for you. Good-by." + +Clancy was crossing Fifth Avenue a moment later. She was as dazed as +she'd been when Morris Beiner had made the engagement with Hildebloom, +of the Rosebush studios. This amazing town, where some starved and +others walked into fortune! This wondrous city that, when it smiled, +smiled most wondrously, and, when it frowned, frowned most horrendously! +But yesterday it had pursued her, threatened her with starvation, +perhaps. The day before, it had promised her fame and fortune. To-day, +it promised her, if neither fame nor fortune, at least more immediate +money than she had ever earned in her life, and a chance for success +that, while not dazzling, yet might be more permanent than anything that +the stage could offer her. + +She felt more safe, too, now that she had met one of the players in +Zenda's poker game. Doubtless she could meet any of the rest of them, +except Zenda himself, and escape recognition. The town no longer seemed +small to her; it seemed vast again. It was quite improbable that she +would ever again run across any of those few Broadwayites who knew her. +At any rate, sufficient time would have elapsed for the real murderer of +Morris Beiner to have been apprehended. Up to now, oddly enough, she had +not devoted much thought to the possible identity of the murderer. She +had been too greatly concerned with her own peril, with the new +interests that despite the peril, were so engrossing. Her meeting with +Randall, her acquaintance with Sophie Carey, her new position--these had +occupied most of her thoughts of the last twenty-four hours. Before +that, for eight hours or so, she had been concerned with her danger. +That danger had revived momentarily this afternoon; it had died away +almost immediately. But the only way to remove the cause of the danger +was to discover the identity of the person who had killed Morris Beiner. + +She drew a deep breath. She couldn't do any investigating, even if she +knew how, without subjecting herself to great risk. Still-- She refused +to think about the matter. Which is exactly what youth always does; it +will not face the disagreeable, the threatening. And who shall say that +it is not more sensible in this than age, which, knowing life's +inevitability of act and consequence, is without hope? + +She entered the establishment of Jennie Conover with that thrill which +comes to every woman at her modiste's or furrier's or jeweler's. Clothes +may not make the man, but they may mar the woman. Clancy knew that her +clothes marred her. Miss Sally Henderson, whose own garb was nothing +wonderful, but who apparently knew the things that were deemed +fashionable, had said for Clancy to trust entirely to the judgment of +Miss Conover. Clancy would do so. + +Care, that had hovered about her, now resting on her slim shoulders, now +apparently flying far off, suddenly seemed to have left her for good and +all. It was discarded even as she discarded her coat suit, petticoat, +and waist before the appraising eyes of Miss Conover, the plump, +good-humored dressmaker to whom Miss Henderson had sent her. + +But she donned these undistinguished garments an hour later. Also, she +donned Care, the lying jade who had seemed to leave her. For, walking +measuredly up and down, as though prepared to wait forever for her +reappearance, was Grannis, the man whom she had been so certain had not +recognized her earlier to-day. + +She hesitated a moment upon the stoop of the building that had once been +a private residence, then a boarding-house, and was now remodeled into +intimate shops and tiny apartments. But Grannis had seen her; flight +would merely postpone the inevitable. Bravely she descended the short +flight of steps, and, as Grannis approached, she forced a smile to her +white lips. + +He stopped a yard away from her, studying her carefully with eyes that +she suddenly sensed were near-sighted. His sallow, lean countenance was +wrinkled with puzzlement. + +"Miss Deane," he said slowly, "you told me this afternoon that we had +not met before." + +Clancy had not said anything of the sort. She had simply evaded a +question with a nod of the head. But now she merely shrugged her +shoulders. It was an almost despairing little shrug, pathetic, yet with +defiance in it, too. It expressed her mental attitude. She was +despairing; also she was defiant. + +Grannis studied her a moment longer. Then, abruptly, he said: + +"I haven't the best memory in the world, Miss Deane, but--from the +moment I heard your voice to-day, I've been sure that we've met before. +I know where, now. In fact, I'd hardly left you when I remembered. And I +waited outside Miss Henderson's office and followed you. Isn't there +some place where we can go and talk?" + +"You seem to be talking quite clearly here," said Clancy. She knew that +her cheeks were white and that her voice trembled, but her eyes never +left the eyes of Grannis. + +The tall, thin moving-picture magnate shrugged his narrow shoulders. But +his shrug was not like Clancy's. It was neither despairing, nor +pathetic, nor defiant. It was careless. + +"Just as you say, of course, Miss Deane. Only--there are pleasanter +places than a police station. Don't you think so?" + +Clancy gasped. She seemed to grow cold all over, then hot. Then she felt +as if about to faint. She gripped herself with an effort that would have +done credit to a woman ten years older. + +"All right," she said. "Where shall we go?" + + + + +X + + +Grannis turned abruptly to the east. It would have been quite easy, +Clancy thought, to slip away and lose herself in the crowd that swarmed +upon Fifth Avenue. But she had common sense. She knew that ahead of +every flight waits the moment of pause, and that when she paused, +Grannis or Zenda or the police would catch up with her; And--she had no +money. Unless she chose to starve, she must return to-morrow, or the +next day to Miss Sally Henderson's office. There, Grannis would be +waiting for her. Besides, he had already threatened, "Pleasanter places +than a police station!" + +A police station! + +What courage she had mustered to meet Grannis' first words had +evaporated as she followed him meekly up three steps and through the +revolving door of a restaurant. + +Within was a narrow hall, the further side of which was framed by glass +windows that ran to the ceiling, and through which was visible a +dining-room whose most conspicuous decorations were tubs of plants. At +one end of the hall was a grill, and at the other end was another +restaurant. + +Grannis turned to a check-boy and surrendered his hat and coat. He threw +a question at Clancy. + +"Powder your nose?" He took it for granted that she would, and said: +"I'll be up-stairs. Tea-room." + +He sauntered toward an elevator without a glance at her. A maid showed +Clancy to a dressing-room. She learned what she had not happened to +discover at the Château de la Reine three nights ago--that every +well-appointed New York restaurant has a complete supply of powder and +puffs and rouge and whatever other cosmetics may be required. + +She looked at herself in the mirror. She had never rouged in her life, +considering it one of those acts the commission of which definitely +establishes a woman as not being "good." So, even though her usually +brilliant skin was pale with apprehension, she refused the maid's offer +of artificial coloring. But she did use the powder. + +Up-stairs she hesitated timidly on the threshold of the tea-room. An +orchestra was playing, and a score of couples were dancing. This was +Fifth Avenue, and a word overheard in the dressing-room had informed her +that this restaurant was Ferroni's, one of the most famous, she +believed, in the world. In her unsophistication--for Clancy was +sophisticated only within certain definite limits; she could take care +of herself in any conflict with a man, but would be, just now, helpless +in the hands of a worldly woman--she supposed that Ferroni's patronage +was drawn from the most exclusive of New York's society. Yet the people +here seemed to be of about the same class as those who had been at the +Château de la Reine on Monday night. They were just as noisy, just as +quiet. The women were just as much painted, just as daring in the +display of their limbs. They smoked when they weren't dancing. + +Clancy would soon learn that the difference between Broadway and Fifth +Avenue is something that puzzles students of New York, and that most +students arrive at the conclusion that the only difference is that the +Avenue has more money and has had it longer. Arriving at that truth, it +is simple of comprehension that money makes society. There is a pleasant +fiction, to which Clancy in her Maine rearing had given credence, that +it takes generations to make that queer thing known as a "society" man +or woman. She did not realize that all the breeding in the world will +not make a cad anything but a cad, or a loose woman anything but a loose +woman. + +She had expected that persons who danced on Fifth Avenue would have +round them some visible, easily discernible aura of gentility. For, of +course, she thought that a "society man" must necessarily be a +gentleman. But, so far as she could see, the only difference between +this gathering and the gathering at Zenda's Broadway party was that the +latter contained more beautiful women, and that the men had been better +dancers. + +The music suddenly stopped, and at that instant she saw Grannis sitting +at a table across the room. Timidly she advanced toward him, but her +timidity was in no wise due to her association with him. It was a +shyness born of lack of confidence. She was certain that her shoes +clattered upon the waxed floor and that every woman who noticed her +smiled with amused contempt at her frock. These things, because Clancy +was young, were of more importance than the impending interview with +Grannis. + +"That rouge becomes you," said Grannis brusquely, as she sat down in the +chair beside him. + +Clancy stared at him. She did not know that embarrassment had restored +color to her cheeks. + +"I never rouge," she replied curtly. + +"Oh, well, don't get mad about it. I don't care a rap whether you do or +don't," he said. "Only, you're looking prettier than a while ago." He +eyed her closely. His near-sighted eyes took on an expression of +personal interest. Heretofore, his expression had been impersonal. But +now she felt that Grannis was conscious that she was a young girl, not +bad to look upon. She resented it. Perhaps Grannis caught that +resentment. He picked up a menu. + +"Eat?" he asked. + +He was a monosyllabic sort of person, Clancy decided, frugal of words. +Something inside her bade her be cautious. Those who are frugal of +speech force others to be wasteful, and Clancy, in so far as, in her +chaotic mental state, she had arrived at any decision, had decided to +commit herself as little as possible. If she was to be accused of the +murder of Morris Beiner, the less she said the better. + +But the one-word questions demanded an answer. She suddenly realized +that excitement had temporarily made her forget hunger. But hunger +forgotten is not hunger overcome. She hadn't eaten since breakfast. Yet, +because of the social timidity that had made her walk mincingly across +the room, she said she preferred that Grannis should order. Clancy was +only four days away from Maine, where it is still not considered too +well bred to declare that one is famished. + +Fortunately, however, Grannis was hungry. He ordered sandwiches--several +varieties--and a pot of tea. Then he looked at Clancy. She was +experiencing various emotions to-day, many of them survivals of age-old +instinct. Now she felt suddenly conscious that Grannis was dishonest. + +"Dance?" Grannis asked. She shook her head. "Been in the city long?" + +"Not very," she replied. + +"Not living at the Napoli any more, eh?" She shook her head again. "Seen +Fay to-day? Fay Marston?" Once more she shook her head. "Don't feel like +talking, eh?" She shrugged. "Oh, well, there's no hurry. I can wait----" + +She did not learn what Grannis would wait for, because the arrival of +the waiter stopped Grannis's speech. She hoped that her face did not +show her anxiety, not about his questioning, but about the food. The +instinct that told her that Grannis was dishonest also told her that one +need not fear greatly a dishonest person. She began, as the waiter +arranged the service, to analyze Grannis's actions. If he knew of her +visits to Beiner, why did he bring her here? Why didn't he denounce her +to the police? The question answered itself. He knew nothing of those +visits. + +Her hands were steady as she reached for the tea-pot. She poured it with +a grace that caught Grannis's attention. + +"Wish to God that was something you could teach a woman who never had +any real bringing-up. Trouble with pictures is the same trouble that's +the matter with everything else in this world--the people in them. How +can you teach a girl that ain't a lady to act like one? You could get +money just for that way you handle that tea. Never thought of trying +pictures, did you?" + +"Not--seriously," said Clancy. + +"Pretty good graft you got at Miss Henderson's, I suppose. Ike Weber +steer you against it?" + +Clancy bit into a sardine sandwich in a leisurely manner. She swallowed, +then drank some tea. Then, in a careless tone, she replied: + +"Mr. Weber never steered me against anything. I never met him until the +night of Mr. Zenda's party. And I haven't seen him since." + +"You'd stick to that--in a court-room?" + +Clancy laughed. "I'll never have to, will I?" + +Into Grannis's dull eyes crept admiration. + +"Kid, I'm for you," he said. Clancy shrugged again. Although no one had +ever commented on it, she knew that her shrug was a prettily provocative +thing. "Don't care whether I'm for you or not, eh?" + +Clancy stared at him. "You know," he said, "if I tipped off this Miss +Henderson that Weber planted you with her so's you could steer +suckers--wealthy folks that don't mind a little game--his way, how long +do you think your graft would last?" + +"You'd have to prove what you said, you know," Clancy reminded him. + +"Kid, why haven't you been round to see Zenda?" he asked. + +"Why should I go round to see him?" + +Grannis's eyes took on a cunning look. + +"Now you're talking business. We're getting down to cases. Listen, kid: +You were scared of me a while ago. You've forgotten that. Why?" Clancy +reached for another sandwich. She made no answer. "You're certainly +there, kid!" exclaimed her companion. "No one is running a blazer on +you, are they?" + +"No one is fooling me, if that's what you mean," said Clancy. + +"You've said it! Well, I won't try to bluff you, kid. I've found you. +It's a lucky chance, and I don't deserve any credit for it, but--I found +you--before Zenda did. Before Ike did, if it comes to that. And Ike's +the guy that wants you. I been feeling you out, to find out where you +stood. I know that Ike didn't plant you with Miss Henderson. I dunno how +you got in there. All Fay knows of you is that you were living at the +Napoli, and were going in the movies, she thought. But Fay's a +blab-mouth, and Ike and I know what she told you--about her and Ike +working together to gyp people in poker games. Well, Ike figures that, +as long as you disappear, he should worry, but when I run into you +to-day, I begin to wonder. Now I see that you're no boob. Well then, +take a look at that!" + +"That" was a bill. The denomination was the largest Clancy had ever seen +on a piece of money. One thousand dollars! And Grannis placed it on the +table by her plate. + +"Slip it into your kick, kid. There's more where it came from. Put it +away before the waiter sees it. Understand?" Clancy didn't understand, +and her face showed it. "Weber is coming back to town," said Grannis. +"He can't come back if there's real evidence against him. The only +_real_ evidence is what Fay Marston told you. Can you keep your mouth +shut?" + +Clancy stared at him. Grannis grinned. He entirely misunderstood her +bewilderment. He rose suddenly, placing a five-dollar bill on the table. + +"I'm in a hurry. That's for the tea. So long, kid." He walked away, +leaving Clancy staring at the thousand-dollar bill. + + + + +XI + + +It was more difficult to leave Ferroni's than it had been to enter it. +It was Clancy's first experience in a restaurant that, she assumed--and +correctly enough--was a fashionable one. And it was not merely the +paying of the obsequious waiter that flustered Clancy. She felt like a +wallflower at a college dance. Conscious that her clothing was not +modish, she had slipped timidly across the room to join Grannis. Now, +having tipped the waiter, she must walk lonesomely across the room to +the door, certain that everyone present was sneering inwardly at the +girl whose cavalier had deserted her. + +For Clancy was like most other girls--a mixture of timidity and conceit. +She knew that she was beautiful; likewise, she knew that she was ugly. +With a man along, admiration springing from his eyes--Clancy felt +assured. Alone, running the gantlet of observation--she felt +hobbledehoyish, deserted. + +As a matter of fact, people _were_ looking at her. Neither the cheap hat +nor her demoded coiffure could hide the satiny luster of her black hair. +Embarrassment lent added brilliance to her wonderful skin, and the +awkwardness that self-consciousness always brings in its train could not +rob her walk of its lissom grace. She almost ran the last few steps of +her journey across the room, and seeing a flight of stairs directly +before her, hastened down them, not waiting for the elevator. + +She walked rapidly the few steps from the entrance to Ferroni's to +Fifth Avenue, then turned south. The winter twilight, which is +practically no twilight at all, had ended. The darkness brought security +to Clancy. Also the chill air brought coolness to a forehead that had +been flushed by youth's petty alarms. + +It did more than that; it gave her perspective. She laughed, a somewhat +cynical note in her mirth, which Zenith had never heard from the pretty +lips of Clancy Deane. With a charge of murder in prospect, she had let +herself be concerned over such matters as the fit of a skirt, the +thickness of the soles of her shoes, the casual opinions of staring +persons whom she probably would never see again, much less know. + +She had placed Grannis's thousand-dollar bill in her pocketbook. She +clasped the receptacle tightly as she crossed Forty-second Street, +battling, upon the sidewalks and curbs, with the throng of commuters +headed for the Grand Central Station. For a moment she was occupied in +making her way through it, but another block down the avenue brought her +to a backwater in the six-o'clock throng. She sauntered more slowly now, +after the fashion of people who are engaged in thought. + +Her instinct had been correct--Grannis was dishonest. His gift of a +thousand dollars proved that. But why the gift? He knew, of course, that +she was aware of his partnership with Zenda. His statement that he +didn't want Zenda to know that he had seen her had been proof of his +assumption of her knowledge of the partnership that existed between +himself and the famous director. Then why did he dare do something that +indicated disloyalty to his associate? + +Why hadn't she made him take the money back? He had every right to +assume that she was as dishonest as she seemed. She had permitted him to +leave without protest. Further, with the five-dollar bill that he had +put upon the table, she had paid the check. She made a mental note of +the amount of the bill. Three dollars; and she had given the waiter +fifty cents. One dollar and seventy-five cents, then--an exact half of +the bill she owed to Grannis. She wouldn't let such a man buy her tea. +Also, the change from the five-dollar bill, one dollar and a half. Three +dollars and a quarter in all. Plus, of course, the thousand. + +She felt tears, vexatious tears, in her eyes. She was in a mood when it +would have been easy for her to slap a man's face. She had never done +such a thing in her life--at least, not since a little child, and then it +had been the face of a boy, not a man. But now, once again, minor things +assumed the ascendency in her thoughts. + +For even Grannis's attempt to bribe her--that was what it was--was a +minor matter compared to the Beiner murder. She wondered what the +evening papers would have to say further about that mystery. + +A newsboy crying an extra at Thirty-fourth Street sold her a paper. She +wanted to open it at once, but, somehow, she feared that reading a +newspaper on a cold wintry evening would be most conspicuous on Fifth +Avenue. + +Even when she had secured a seat on a down-town 'bus, she was half +afraid to open the paper. But, considering that practically everyone +else in the vehicle was reading, she might safely open hers. + +She found what she was looking for without difficulty. Her eyes were +keen and the name "Beiner" leaped at her from an inside page. But the +reporters had discovered nothing new to add to the morning account. A +theory, half-heartedly advanced by the police, that possibly Beiner had +killed himself was contradicted by the findings of the coroner, but if +the police had any inkling as to the identity of the murderer, they had +not confided in the reporters. + +That was all. She began to feel justified in her course. To have gone to +the police would have meant, even though the police had believed her +story, scandal of the most hideous sort. She would have been compelled +to tell that Beiner had embraced her, had tried to kiss, had-- She +remembered the look in the murdered man's eyes, and blushed hotly at the +recollection. She would never have been able to hold her head up again. +For she knew that the uncharitable world always says, when a man has +insulted a woman, "Well, she must have done _something herself_ to make +him act that way." + +But now she supposed, optimistically, that there must have been, in +Beiner's desk, scores of letters and cards of introduction. Why on earth +should she have worried herself by thinking that Fanchon DeLisle's card +of introduction would have assumed any importance to the police? No +matter what investigation the police set on foot, it would hardly be +based on the fact that they had found Fanchon's card. + +So then, as she had avoided discovery by the mere fact of not having +gone to the police, and had thus avoided scandal, and as there was no +prospect of discovery, she could congratulate herself on having shown +good sense. That she had lost a matter of six hundred and fifty dollars, +deposited in the Thespian Bank, was nothing. A good name is worth +considerably more than that. Further, she might reasonably dare to +withdraw that money--what of it she needed, at any rate--from the bank +now. If the police had not by this time discovered the connection +between Fanchon's card of introduction and the woman who had been +observed upon the fire-escape of the Heberworth Building, they surely +never would discover it. + +The pocketbook in her hand no longer burned her. There was now no +question about her returning Grannis's bribe. In fact, there never had +been any question of this. But Clancy was one of those singularly honest +persons who are given to self-analysis. Few of us are willing to do +that, and still fewer are capable of doing it. + +She wondered if it would not be best to do now what she should have done +last Tuesday morning. If she went to Zenda and told him what Fay Marston +had said to her, she would be doing Zenda a great favor. She was human. +She could not keep from her thoughts the possibility of Zenda's +returning that favor. And the only return of that favor for which she +would ask, the only one that she'd accept, would be an opportunity in +the films. The career which she had come to New York to adopt, and which +rude chance had torn away from her, was capable of restoration now. + +She had fled from Zenda's apartment because scandal had frightened her. +The presence of a graver scandal had almost obliterated her fear of the +first. She'd go to Zenda, tell him that his partner was deceiving him, +plotting against him. + +She could hardly wait to take off her coat when she reached her room in +Mrs. Gerund's lodging-house. Using some of the note-paper that sold in +Zenith as the last word in quiet luxury, she wrote to Zenda: + + MY DEAR MR. ZENDA: I was frightened Monday night at your apartment, + and so I ran away. But to-day Mr. Grannis saw me and talked to me + and gave me a thousand dollars. He said that Mr. Weber could not + return to New York while there was any real evidence against him, + and that, as I had been told by Miss Marston that she was really + Mr. Weber's wife and that she helped him in his card-cheating, I + must keep my mouth shut. He said that he didn't want you to know + that he had met me. I think you ought to know that Mr. Grannis is + on Mr. Weber's side, and if you wish me to, I will call and tell + you all that I know. + + Yours truly, + CLANCY DEANE. + +In the telephone book down-stairs, under "Zenda Films," she found the +address of his office on West Forty-fifth Street, and addressed the +letter there. + +Then she wrote to Grannis. She enclosed the thousand-dollar bill that he +had given her. Her letter was a model of simplicity. + + MY DEAR MR. GRANNIS: + + I think you made a mistake. + + Yours truly, CLANCY DEANE. + +She addressed the letter to Grannis in care of the Zenda Films and then +sealed them both. As she applied the stamps to the envelopes, she +wondered whether or not she should have signed her name in the Zenda +letter, "Florine Ladue." + +She had thoroughly convinced herself that she had nothing to fear from +the use of that name. The frights of yesterday and to-day were +vanished. + +Still, she had dropped the name of "Florine Ladue" as suddenly as she +had assumed it. Zenda would write or telephone for her. If she signed +herself as "Florine Ladue," she'd have to tell Mrs. Gerand about her +_nom de théâtre_. And Clancy was the kind that keeps its business +closely to itself. She was, despite her Irish strain, distinctly a New +England product in this respect--as canny as a Scotchman. + +So it was as "Clancy Deane" that she sent the letters. She walked to the +corner of Thompson Street, found a letter-box, and then returned to the +lodging-house. Up-stairs again, she heard the clang of the +telephone-bell below. Her door was open, and she heard Mrs. Gerand +answering. + +She heard her name called aloud. She leaped from the chair; her hand +went to her bosom. Then she laughed. She'd given Miss Sally Henderson +her address and Mrs. Gerand's 'phone-number to-day. She managed to still +the tumultuous beating of her heart before she reached the telephone. +Then she smiled at her alarms. It was Mrs. Carey. + +"Do be a dear thing, Miss Deane," she said. "I'm giving an impromptu +dance at the studio, and I want you to come over." + +Clancy was delighted. + +"What time?" she asked. + +"Oh, come along over now and dine with me. My guests won't arrive until +ten, but there's lots of fixing to be done, and you look just the sort +of girl that would be good at that. Sally Henderson's been telling me +what a wonder you are. Right away?" + +"As soon as I can dress," said Clancy. Her step was as light as her +heart as she ran up-stairs. + + + + +XII + + +On Monday night, Clancy had had her introduction to metropolitan night +life. She didn't know, of course, what sort of party Sophie Carey would +give. It probably would differ somewhat from Zenda's affair at the +Château de la Reine. Probably--because Mrs. Carey was a painter of great +distinction--there would be more of what Clancy chose to denominate as +"society" present. Wherefore she knew that her gray foulard was +distinctly not _au fait_. + +Having hastily donned the gown, she scrutinized herself distastefully in +the mirror, and was unhappy. + +For a moment, she thought of telephoning Mrs. Carey and offering some +hastily conceived excuse. Then she reflected. David Randall would +perhaps be at the party. Clancy had had a unique experience as regards +New York men thus far. They had proved inimical to her--all except +Randall. He had shown, in the unsubtle masculine ways which are so +legible to women, that he had conceived for her one of those sudden +attachments that are flattering to feminine vanity. She wanted to see +him. And she was honest enough to admit to herself that one of her +reasons for wishing to see him had nothing to do with herself. She +wanted to observe him with Sophie Carey, to watch his attitude toward +her. For, vaguely, she had sensed that Sophie Carey was interested in +young Randall. But she tried to put this idea, born of a strange +jealousy that she hated to admit, away from her. Mrs. Carey had been an +angel to her. + +She shrugged. If they didn't like her, they could leave her. About her +neck she fastened a thin gold chain, and carefully adjusted the little +gold locket that contained a lock of her mother's hair, upon her bosom. +She gave a last look at herself, picked up her cheap little blue coat, +turned off the electric light, and ran lightly down-stairs. + +Mrs. Gerand was in the front hall. Her sharp features softened as she +viewed Clancy. + +"Party?" she asked. + +"Dinner--and dance," said Clancy. + +Mrs. Gerand had come from the kitchen to answer the door-bell. She wore +an apron, on which she now wiped her hands. + +"It's snowing. You oughta have a taxi," she said. + +Clancy's jaw dropped in dismay. Even including the change from the +five-dollar bill that Grannis had left upon the table--she suddenly +realized that she hadn't sent Grannis this money--she had only about +seven dollars. Then her face brightened. She had convinced herself that +on the morrow it would be perfectly safe to withdraw some of the funds +that stood in the Thespian Bank to the credit of Florine Ladue. + +And, anyway, it would have been poor economy to ruin the only pair of +slippers fit for evening wear that she owned to save a taxi-fare. The +snow was swirling through the street as Clancy ran down the steps to the +waiting taxi-cab. It was, though she didn't know it, the beginning of a +blizzard that was to give the winter of Nineteen-twenty a special +prominence. In the cab Clancy wondered if the snow that had fallen upon +her hair would melt and disarrange her coiffure. And when Mrs. Carey +opened the door herself on Clancy's arrival at the studio-house in +Waverly Place, she noticed the girl's hands patting the black mass and +laughed. + +"Don't bother about it, my dear," she advised. "I want to fix it for you +myself after dinner." + +She took Clancy's coat from her and hung it in a closet. + +"Usually," she said, "I have a maid to attend to these things, but this +is Thursday, and she's off for the day." + +Clancy suddenly remembered Mrs. Carey's talk of the morning. + +"But your cook----" + +Mrs. Carey shrugged. They were shoulders well worth shrugging. And the +blue gown that her hostess wore this evening revealed even more than the +black gown of the Trevor last night. + +"Still sick," laughed Mrs. Carey. "That's why I'm giving a party. I like +to prove that I'm not dependent on my servants. And I'm not. Of +course"--and she chuckled--"I'm dependent upon caterers and that sort of +thing, but still--I deceive myself into thinking I'm independent. +Self-deception is God's kindest gift to humanity." + +She was even more beautiful than last night, Clancy thought. Then she +felt a sudden sinking of the heart. If Sophie Carey, with her genius, +her fame, her _savoir-faire_, her beauty, _wanted_ David Randall-- She +shook her head in angry self-rebuke as she followed Mrs. Carey to the +tiny dining-room. + +Clancy had never seen such china or silver. And the dinner was, from +grapefruit to coffee, quite the most delicious meal that Clancy had ever +eaten. Her hostess hardly spoke throughout the dinner, and Clancy was +ill at ease, thinking that Mrs. Carey's silence was due to her own +inability to talk. The older woman read her thoughts. + +"I'm frequently this way, Miss Deane," she laughed, as she poured coffee +from a silver pot that was as exquisite in its simplicity of design as +some ancient vase. "You mustn't blame yourself. Work went wrong +to-day--it often does. I can't talk. I felt blue; so I telephoned half +New York and invited it to dance with me to-night. And then I wanted +company for dinner, and I picked on you, because my intimate friends +won't permit me to be rude to them. And I knew you would. And I won't be +any more. Have a cigarette?" + +Clancy shook her head. + +"I never smoke," she admitted. + +"It's lost a lot of its fascination since it became proper," said Mrs. +Carey. "However, I like it. It does me good. Drink? I didn't offer you a +cocktail, because I ain't got none. I didn't believe it possible that +prohibition would really come, and I was fooled. But I have some +liqueurs?" Clancy shook her head. Mrs. Carey clapped her hands. "Don +will adore you!" she cried. "He loves simplicity, primeval innocence--I +hope you break his heart, Miss Deane." + +"I hope so, too, if it will please you," smiled Clancy. "Who is Don?" + +"My husband," said Mrs. Carey. "If I can't find some one new, fresh, for +him to fall in love with, he'll be insisting on returning to me, and I +can't have him around. I'm too busy." + +Clancy gasped. + +"You're joking, of course?" + +Mrs. Carey's eyebrows lifted. + +"Deed and deedy I'm _not_ joking," she said. "I haven't seen Don for +seven months. Last time, he promised me faithfully that he'd go to Reno +and charge me with desertion or something like that. I thought he'd done +it. I might have known better. He's been paying attentive court to a +young lady on Broadway. He telephoned me this afternoon, demanding my +sympathy because the young woman had eloped with her press-agent. He +insisted on coming down here and letting me hold his hand and place cold +cloths on his fevered brow." She laughed and rose from the table. "I'm +going to saw him off on you, Miss Deane." + +Clancy was like a peony. Mrs. Carey came round the table and threw an +arm about her. + +"Don't take me too seriously, Miss Deane. I talk and I talk, and when +one talks too much, one talks too wildly. Sometimes, when I think upon +the foolishness of youth-- Don't you marry too soon, Miss Deane." + +"I won't!" exclaimed Clancy. + +Mrs. Carey laughed. + +"Oh, but you will! But we won't argue about it." She stepped away a pace +from Clancy. Her eyes narrowed as she stared. "I wonder," she said, "if +you're a very--touchy--person." + +Clancy hoped that she wasn't, and said so. + +"Because," said Sophie Carey, "I've taken an--does it sound too +patronizing? Well, no matter. I'm interested in you, Miss Deane. I want +you to be a success. Will you let me dress you? Just for to-night? I +have a yellow gown up-stairs. Let me see your feet." + +Clancy surrendered to the mood of her hostess. She held out her +gray-clad foot. Mrs. Carey nodded. + +"The slipper will fit. Let's go up." + +"Let's!" said Clancy excitedly. + +Mrs. Carey's bedroom was furnished in a style that Clancy had never +dreamed of. But the impression of the furnishings, the curtains and rugs +and lacy pillows--this vanished before the display that the closet +afforded. Gown after gown, filmy, almost intangible in their exquisite +delicacy-- She offered no objection as Sophie Carey unhooked her gray +foulard. She slipped into the yellow-silk dress with her heart beating +in wild excitement. + +In the mirror, after yellow stockings and slippers to match, with bright +rhinestone buckles, had been put on, she looked at herself. She blushed +until her bosom, her back even, were stained. What _would_ they think in +Zenith? She turned, and, by the aid of a hand-mirror, saw her back. A V +ran down almost to the waist-line. + +"Satisfied?" asked Mrs. Carey. + +Clancy ran to her hostess. She threw her arms round Sophie Carey's neck +and kissed her. Mrs. Carey laughed. + +"That kiss, my dear, is for yourself. But I thank you just the same." + +Down-stairs, the door-bell tinkled. + +"You'll have to answer it," said Mrs. Carey. + + + + +XIII + + +The opened door admitted more than David Randall. It let in a snowy gust +that beat upon Clancy's bosom, rendering her more conscious than even a +masculine presence could that the dress she wore was new to her +experience. Randall was almost blown through the doorway. He turned and +forced the door closed. Turning again, he recognized Clancy, who had +retreated, a pink picture of embarrassment, to the foot of the +staircase. + +"Do I frighten you?" he asked dryly. + +Clancy recovered the self-possession that never deserted her for long. + +"No one does that," she retorted. + +"I believe you," said Randall. His good-humored face wore a slightly +pathetic expression. If no man is a hero to his valet, still less is he +to the woman for whom he has conceived a sudden devotion which is as yet +unreturned. + +Clancy dropped him a courtesy. + +"Thank you," she said, "for believing me." + +He moved toward her, holding out his big hands. Clancy permitted them to +envelop one of hers. Randall bowed over it. His face, when he lifted it, +was red. + +Blushes are as contagious as measles. Clancy was grateful for the cry +from above. + +"Miss Deane," called Sophie Carey, "who is it?" + +"Mr. Randall," Clancy called back. + +"Send him into the dining-room. Tell him that there are no cocktails, +but Scotch and soda are on the sideboard. Come up, won't you? And tell +David to answer the door-bell." + +Clancy turned to Randall. His mouth sagged open the least bit. He looked +disappointed. + +"Don't mind," she whispered. "We'll have it by and by." + +"Have what?" he asked blankly. + +"The _tête-à-tête_ you want." She laughed. Then she wheeled and ran up +the stairs, leaving him staring after her, wondering if she were the +sweetly simple country maiden that she had appeared last night, or a +wise coquette. + +Mrs. Carey, still in the bedroom, where she was, by twisting her lithe, +luscious figure, managing to hook up her dress in the back, smiled at +Clancy's entrance. + +"Is he overwhelmed?" she asked. + +Clancy grinned entrancingly. Then she became suddenly demure. + +"He--liked me," she admitted. + +"He would; they all would," said Mrs. Carey. + +She managed the last hook as Clancy offered her aid. She glanced at +herself in the mirror, wriggled until the blue frock set more evenly +over the waist-line, then turned to Clancy. + +"Your hair--I said I'd fix it. Come here," she commanded. + +Meekly, Clancy obeyed. + +Deftly, Mrs. Carey unfastened Clancy's hair. It was of a soft texture, +hung softly to her hips, and seemed, despite its softness, to have an +electric, flashing quality. Mrs. Carey's eyes lighted. She was, +primarily, an artist. Which means that people were rarely individuals to +her. They were subjects. Clancy was a subject now. And a satisfying +subject, Mrs. Carey thought, for if the girl had been transformed by the +low-cut evening gown, so, by the severe coiffure that her hostess +rearranged, was she even more transformed. Mrs. Carey looked at her and +shook her head. + +"The baby stare went out of fashion on the day that the baby vampire +came in," she said. "But you've achieved a combination, Miss Deane." + +"Vampires" were not popular in Zenith. Clancy did not know whether to be +shocked or pleased. She decided to be pleased. + +The door-bell had rung several times during the process of fixing +Clancy's hair, and from the down-stairs part of the house came +occasional gleeful shouts. Now Mrs. Carey and Clancy descended. They +entered the dining-room. A stout, bald gentleman, who, Clancy would +learn later, was a Supreme Court judge, lifted a glass and toasted Mrs. +Carey. + +"Our lovely hostess. May her eyes always be dry, but her cellar never!" + +Mrs. Carey laughed. + +"You are committing a crime, Judge," she said. + +"But not vandalism, Mrs. Carey," he retorted. "Some day, the seekers of +evil where there is none are coming to this house. They are going to +raid you, Mrs. Carey. And what liquor they find here they will pour into +the gutters." + +He beamed upon Clancy, set down his glass, and advanced to her. + +"Little stranger," he said, "there are many wicked, wicked men in this +room to-night. I don't know where Mrs. Carey finds them or why she +associates with them. Let us go into a corner while I explain to you why +you should know no one in this vile city but myself." + +A portly, good-humored-looking woman, who seemed to be bursting from her +corsage, tapped the judge on the shoulder. + +"Tom, you behave," she said. + +The judge sighed. He took Clancy's unresisting hand and lifted it to his +lips. His wife, the portly woman, snatched Clancy's hand away. + +"Don't pay any attention to him," she said. "He's really an old, old man +approaching senility. I know, because I'm married to him. I myself, when +a deluded young girl, decided to be a rich old man's darling instead of +a poor young man's slave. It was a mistake," she whispered hoarsely. +"Youth should never be tied to age." + +The judge inflated his huge chest. + +"Miss--Miss----" + +"Miss Deane," said Sophie Carey; "Judge and Mrs. Walbrough." + +Clancy, a bit fussed by the judge's heavy good humor, managed to bow. + +"Ah--Miss Deane!" said the judge. "Well, Miss Deane, if you are as +sensible as, despite your beauty, you seem to be, you will pay no +attention to the maunderings of the woman who calls herself my wife. As +a matter of fact, though she does not suspect it, I married her out of +pity. She was much older than myself, and possessed a large fortune, +which she did not know how to administer. And so I----" + +Mrs. Walbrough took Clancy's hand. She pushed her husband away. And +Clancy noticed that the hand that pushed lingered to caress. She +suddenly adored the judge and loved his wife. + +From up-stairs sounded now the barbaric strains of "Vamp." + +Randall, who had been hovering near, rushed to her. + +"The first dance? Please, Miss Deane!" + +Mrs. Walbrough smiled. + +"Don't forget to give one to Tom by and by," she said. + +"Indeed I won't," promised Clancy. + +She and Randall were the first couple to reach the studio. The easels +had been removed, and chairs were lined against the walls. At the far +end of the room, behind some hastily imported tubs of plants, was a +negro orchestra of four men. Into the steps of the fox-trot Randall +swung her. + +He was not an extremely good dancer. That is, he knew few steps. But he +had a sense of rhythm, the dancer's most valuable asset, and he was tall +enough, so that their figures blended well. Clancy enjoyed the dance. + +Before they had finished, the room was thronged. Mrs. Carey, Clancy +decided, must be extremely popular. For Randall knew many of the guests, +and their names were familiar, from newspaper reading, even to Clancy +Deane, from far-off Zenith. She was extremely interested in seeing +people who had been mere names to her. It was interesting to know that a +man who drew what Clancy thought were the most beautiful girls in the +world was an undistinguished-appearing bald man. It was thrilling to +look at a multimillionaire, even though he wore a rather stupid grin on +a rather stupid face; to see a great editor, a famous author, a woman +whose name was known on two continents for her gorgeous entertainments, +an ex-mayor of the city. A score of celebrities danced, laughed, and +made merry. And Sophie Carey had managed to summon this crowd upon +almost a moment's notice. She must be more than popular; she must be a +power. And this popular power had chosen to befriend Clancy Deane, the +undistinguished Clancy Deane, a nobody from Zenith, Maine! + +Randall surrendered her, after the first dance, to Judge Walbrough. Like +most fat men who can dance at all, he danced extremely well. And Clancy +found his flowery compliments amusing. + +Then Sophie Carey brought forward a young man of whose interested regard +Clancy had been conscious for several minutes. He was good-looking, with +a mouth whose firmness verged on stubbornness. His dinner jacket sat +snugly upon broad shoulders. He wore glasses that did not entirely +disguise the fact that his eyes were gray and keen. A most presentable +young man, it was not his youth or good looks that compared favorably +with Randall's similar qualities, that thrilled Clancy; it was the name +that he bore--Vandervent. + +"Our famous district attorney," Sophie Carey said, as she presented him. +All America had read of the appointment of Philip Vandervent to an +assistant district attorneyship. Scion of a family notable in financial +and social annals, the fact that he had chosen to adopt the legal +profession, instead of becoming the figurehead president of half a +dozen trust companies, had been a newspaper sensation five years ago. +And three months ago not a paper in the United States had failed to +carry the news that he had been appointed an assistant to the district +attorney of New York County. + +Almost any girl would have been thrilled at meeting Philip Vandervent. +And for Clancy Deane, from a little fishing-village in Maine, dancing +with him was a distinction that she had never dreamed of achieving. + +They slid easily into a one-step, and for one circuit of the room +Vandervent said nothing. Then, suddenly, he remarked that she danced +well, adding thereto his opinion that most girls didn't. + +He spoke nervously; an upward glance confirmed Clancy in an amazing +impression, an impression that, when she had observed him staring at her +as she danced, she had put down to her own vanity. But now she decided +that a Vandervent was as easily conquerable as a Randall. And the +thought was extremely agreeable. + +"I suppose," she said, "that the district attorney's office is an +interesting place." + +It was a banal remark, but his own nervousness confused her, and she +must say _something_. So she said this desperately. Usually she was at +home when flirtation began. But the Vandervent name awed her. + +"Not very," he said. "Not unless one _makes_ it interesting. That's what +I've decided to do. I started something to-day that ought to be +interesting. Very." + +"What is it?" asked Clancy. "Or shouldn't I ask?" + +Vandervent caught her eyes as he reversed. He looked swiftly away again. + +"Oh, I wouldn't mind telling _you_," he said. + +Clancy knew that Vandervent intended flirtation--in the way of all men, +using exactly the same words, the same emphasis on the objective +personal pronoun. + +"I'd love to hear it," she said. And she cast him an upward glance that +might have meant anything, but that really meant that Clancy Deane +enjoyed flirtation. + +"Difficulty in our office," said Vandervent jerkily, "is lack of +cooperation with us by the police. Different political parties. Police +lie down often. Doing it now on the Beiner murder." + +"On what?" Clancy almost shrieked the question. Luckily, the negro +musicians were blaring loudly. Vandervent didn't notice her excitement. + +"The Beiner mystery," he repeated. "They don't usually lie down on a +murder. Fact is, I don't really mean that now. But there's inefficiency. +We're going to show them up." + +"How?" asked Clancy. Her throat was dry; her lips seemed as though they +were cracked. + +"By catching the murderess," said Vandervent. + +"'Murderess?'" All the fears that had departed from Clancy returned to +her, magnified. + +Vandervent enjoyed the effect of his speech. + +"Yes; a woman did it. And we know her name." + +"You do?" Once again the young man thought her excitement due to +admiration. + +"Yes. I'm taking personal charge of the case. Discovered a card of +introduction to Beiner. Only one we could find in his desk. Right out on +top, too, as though he'd just placed it there. Of course, we may be all +wrong, but--we'll know better to-morrow." + +"So soon?" asked Clancy. Her feet were leaden. + +"I hope so. We've found out the company that the woman who gave the card +of introduction is playing in. We've sent a wire to her asking her to +tell us where we can find the woman, Florine Ladue." + +"Are--are you sure?" asked Clancy. + +"Sure of what? That the Ladue woman committed the murder? Well, no. But +a woman escaped through the window of Beiner's office--you've read the +case? Well, she ran down the fire-escape and then entered the Heberworth +Building by another window. Why did she do it? We want to ask her that. +Of course, this Ladue woman may not be the one, but if she isn't, she +can easily prove it." The music ceased. "I say, I shouldn't talk so +much. You understand that----" + +"Oh, I sha'n't repeat it," said Clancy. She marveled at the calm, the +lightness with which she spoke. + +Repeat it? If Vandervent could only know the grimness of the humor in +which she uttered the promise! If this young multimillionaire whom she +had been captivating by her grace and beauty only knew that the woman +whom he had sought had been in his arms these past ten minutes! In +cynicism, she forgot alarm. But only for a moment. It came racing back +to her. + +And she'd written to Zenda! He'd look her up to-morrow. What a fool +she'd been! Her face was haggard, almost old, as she surrendered herself +to the arms of Randall. + + + + +XIV + + +Not nearly enough admiration has been granted by the male human to the +most remarkable quality possessed by the human female--her ability to +recuperate. Man worships the heroic virtues in man. But in woman he +worships the intangible thing called charm, the fleeting thing called +beauty. Man hates to concede that woman is his superior in anything, +wherefore even that well-known ability of hers to endure suffering he +brushes aside as inconsequential, giving credit to Mother Nature. +Possibly Mother Nature does deserve the credit. Still, man has no +quality that he has bestowed upon himself. Yet that does not prevent him +from being proud of the physique that he inherited from his grandfather, +the brain that he inherited from his father, or the wit that descended +to him from some other ancestor. + +So may women justly be proud of their recuperative powers. For these +powers are more than physical. Thousands of years of child-bearing, of +undergoing an agony that in each successive generation, because of +corsets, because of silly notions of living, of too much work or too +little work, has become more poignant, have had their effect upon the +female character. + +If the baby dies, father is prostrated. It is mother who attends to all +the needful details, although her own sense of loss, of unbearable +grief, is greater, perhaps, than her husband's. If father loses his +job, he mopes in despair; it is mother who encourages him, who wears a +smiling face, even though the problem of existence seems more unsolvable +to her than to him. + +It does not do to attribute this quality to women's histrionic ability. +For the histrionism is due to the quality, not the obverse. It was not +acting that made Clancy smile coquettishly up into Randall's lowering +visage as he swept her away from Vandervent. It was courage--the +sheerest sort of courage. + +In the moment that Randall had come to claim her, her feet had suddenly +become leaden, her eyes had been shifting, frightened. Yet they had not +taken half a dozen steps before she was again the laughing heroine of +the party. For that she had been! Even a novice such as Clancy Deane +knew that more than courtesy to a hostess' _protégée_ was behind the +attentions of Judge Walbrough. And she was versed enough in masculine +admiration to realize that Vandervent's interest had been genuinely +roused. Flattery, success had made her eyes brilliant, her lips and +cheeks redder, her step lighter. Danger threatened her, but cringing +would not make the danger any less real. Therefore, why cringe? This, +though she did not express it, even to herself, inspired her gayety. + +The fact that Randall's brows were gathered together in a frown made her +excitement--her pleasurable excitement--greater. Knowing that he had +conceived a quick jealousy for Vandervent, she could not forbear asking, +after the immemorial fashion of women who know what is the matter, + +"What's the matter?" + +And Randall, like a million or so youths before him, who have known that +the questioner was well aware of the answer, said, + +"You know well enough." + +"No, I don't," said Clancy. + +"Yes, you do, too," asserted Randall. + +"Why"--and Clancy was wide-eyed--"how could I?" + +Randall stared down at her. He had made a great discovery. + +"You're a flirt," he declared bitterly. + +He could feel Clancy stiffen in his arms. Her face, quickly averted, +seemed to radiate chill, as an iceberg, though invisible, casts its cold +atmosphere ahead. He had offended beyond hope of forgiveness. Wherefore, +like the criminal who might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, +he plunged into newer and greater offenses. + +"Well, of course I'm not a multimillionaire, and I don't keep a +press-agent to tell the world what a great man I am, like Vandervent, +but still--" He paused, as though confronted by thoughts too terrible +for utterance. Clancy sniffed. + +"Running other men down doesn't run you up, Mr. Randall." + +She felt, as soon as she had uttered the words, that they were unworthy +of her. And because she felt that she had spoken in a common fashion, +she became angry at Randall, who had led her to this--well, +indiscretion. + +"I didn't mean to do that, Miss Deane," he said hastily; "only, I--I'm +sorry I spoke that way. Vandervent doesn't hire a press-agent--so far +as I know. And he's a good citizen and an able man. I'm sorry, Miss +Deane. I'm jealous!" he blurted. + +Clancy grinned. She twisted her head until she met Randall's eyes again. +For the moment, she had completely forgotten the deadly though +unconscious threat behind Vandervent's words of a few moments ago. + +"You mustn't be absurd, Mr. Randall," she said, with great severity. + +"I don't mean to be," he answered, "but I can't help it. You promised me +a _tête-à-tête_," he said plaintively. + +"Did I?" She laughed. Randall reversed as she spoke, and she faced the +door. Vandervent was eyeing her. Although his eyes were friendly, eager, +she saw him, not as a partner in flirtation but as an officer of the +law. Half a minute ago, engrossed in teasing Randall, she'd almost +forgotten him. Back and forth, up and down--thus the Clancy spirits. She +was, in certain emotional respects, far more Irish than American. She +pressed Randall's left hand. + +"Let's go down-stairs," she suggested. + +She caught the look of disappointment in Vandervent's eyes as she passed +him. For a moment, she hesitated. How simple it would be to exchange +_tête-à-tête_ partners, take Vandervent down-stairs, and, from the very +beginning, tell him the amazing history of her half-week in New York! He +_liked_ her. Possibly his feeling toward her might grow into something +warmer. Certainly, even though it remained merely liking, that was an +emotion strong enough to justify her in throwing herself upon his mercy. +And, of course, he'd _believe_ her. + +She wondered. She realized, as she had realized many times before in the +past few days, and would realize again in the days to come, that the +longer one delays in the frank course, the more difficult frankness +becomes. Even if Vandervent did believe her, think of the position in +which she would find herself! It came home to her that she liked the +affair that she was attending to-night. It was more fun than any kind of +work, she imagined--playing round with successful, fashionable, wealthy +people. Scandal, if she emerged from it with her innocence proved, might +not hurt her upon the stage or in the moving pictures, or even in Sally +Henderson's esteem. But it would ruin her socially. + +"A husband with the kale." That was what Fanchon DeLisle had said. No +such husband could be won by a girl who had been the central figure of a +murder trial. Clancy was the born gambler. It had taken the temperament +of a gambler to leave Zenith; it had taken the temperament of a gambler +to escape from the room that contained Beiner's dead body; it had taken +the temperament of a gambler to decide, with less than seven dollars in +the world, to brave the pursuit of the police, the wrath of Zenda, the +loneliness of New York, rather than surrender to the police, conscious +of her innocence. + +A gambler! A chance-taker! Thus she had been created, and thus, in the +fulfilment of her destiny, she would always be. The impulse to +surrender, to throw herself upon Vandervent's mercy, passed as instantly +as it had come. Yet, once out of the studio, she leaned heavily upon +Randall's arm. + +In the drawing-room, on the ground floor, Randall paused. Clancy +withdrew her hand from his arm. They faced each other a bit awkwardly. +Clancy always had courage when there were others present, but, when +alone with a man, a certain shyness became visible. Also, although there +had been boys in Zenith who had fancied themselves in love with her, she +had always held herself high. She had not encouraged their attentions. + +Randall was different. He was a grown man. And, after his confession of +jealousy, it was silly for her not to take him seriously. He was not the +flirtatious kind. He frightened her. + +"You're worried," he stated surprisingly. + +"'Worried?'" She tried to laugh, but something inside her seemed to warn +her to beware. + +"Yes--worried," repeated Randall. He came close to her. "Has Vandervent +annoyed you? You were happy--you seemed to be--until you danced with +him. Then----" + +"Mr. Randall, you talk like a little boy," she said. "First, you want +_tête-à-têtes_; then you are jealous; then you are sure that some one is +annoying me----" + +"You _are_ worried," he charged. + +He did not make the iteration stubbornly. He made it as one who was +certain of what he said. Also, there was a patience in his tone, as +though he were prepared for denial, and had discounted it in advance and +had no intention of changing his belief. + +For a moment, Clancy wavered. He was big and strong and +competent-seeming. He looked the sort of man who would understand. There +are some men who one knows will always be faithful to any trust imposed +in them, who can be counted upon always. Randall had the fortunate gift +of rousing this impression. He was, perhaps, not overbrilliant--not, at +least, in the social way; but he was the sort that always inspires, from +men and women both, not merely confidence but confidences. Had he not +been making love to her, Clancy would perhaps have confided in him. But +a lover is different from a friend. One hides from a lover the things +that one entrusts to a friend. It is not until people have been married +long enough to inspire faith that confidences result. Whoever heard of a +bride telling important secrets to her husband? + +Clancy's wavering stopped. Possible husbands could not be entrusted with +knowledge prejudicial to her chances as a possible wife. + +"If you're going to continue absurd, we'll go up-stairs again," she +announced. + +Her chin came slightly forward. Randall looked at her doubtfully, but he +was too full of himself, as all lovers are, to press the subject of +Clancy's worriment. He was tactful enough, after all. And he told her of +his boyhood in Ohio, of his decision to come to New York, of the +accident that had caused him to leave the bank which, on the strength of +his father's Congressional career, had offered him an opening. It had to +do with the discontinuance of the account of an apparently valuable +customer. Randall, acting temporarily as cashier, had, on his own +responsibility, refused further credit to the customer. He had done so +because a study of the man's market operations had convinced him that a +corner, which would send the customer into involuntary bankruptcy, had +been effected. There had ensued a week of disgrace; his job had hung in +the balance. Then the customer's firm suspended; the receiver stepped +in, and Randall had been offered a raise in salary because of the +money--from the refusal of worthless paper offered as security by the +bankrupt--that the bank had been saved. + +He had refused the increase in salary and left the bank, convinced--and +having convinced certain financiers--that his judgment of the +stock-market was worth something. His success had been achieved only in +the past two years, but he was worth some hundreds of thousands of +dollars, with every prospect, Clancy gathered, of entering the +millionaire class before he was much over thirty. + +He went farther back. Despite his apparently glowing health, he'd +suffered a bad knee at football. The army had rejected him in 1917. +Later on, when the need for men had forced the examiners to be less +stringent, he had been accepted, and had been detailed to a +training-camp. But he had won no glory, achieving a sergeancy shortly +before the armistice. He had not gone abroad. He was a graduate of the +University of Illinois, knew enough about farming to maintain a sort of +"ranch" in Connecticut, and was enthusiastic about motor-cars. + +This was about as far as he got when he insisted that Clancy supplement +his slight knowledge of her. She told him of the Zenith normal school, +which she had attended for two years, of the summer residents of Zenith, +of the fishing-weirs, of the stage that brought the mail from Bucksport, +of the baseball games played within the fort of Revolutionary times on +the top of the hill on which the town of Zenith was built. And this was +as far as she had reached when Vandervent found them. + +He was extremely polite, but extremely insistent in a way that admitted +of no refusal. + +"I say, Randall, you mustn't monopolize Miss Deane. It's not generous, +you know. You've been lucky enough. This is my dance." + +Clancy didn't remember the fact, but while she and Randall had rambled +on, she had been doing some close thinking. She couldn't confess to +Vandervent that she was Florine Ladue, but she could utilize the +heaven-sent opportunity to fascinate the man who might, within +twenty-four hours, hold her life in his hand--although it couldn't be as +serious as that, she insisted to herself. But, in the next breath, she +decided that it could easily be as serious as that, and even more +serious. Yet, with all her worry, she could repress a smile at Randall's +stiff courtesy to his rival. Clancy was young, and life was thrilling. + +But she had no chance to "vamp" Vandervent. A Paul Jones was in full +swing as they reached the studio, and Judge Walbrough took her from +Vandervent after a half-dozen bars had been played. From him she went to +Mortimer, the illustrator, and from him to Darnleigh, the poet, and from +him to Cavanagh, the millionaire oil-man, the richest bachelor in the +world, Judge Walbrough informed her, in a hoarse whisper meant to reach +the ears of Cavanagh. + +And then Mrs. Carey announced that the storm was increasing so savagely +that she feared to detain her guests any longer lest they be unable to +reach their homes. There was much excitement, and several offers to take +Clancy home. But Mrs. Carey came to her. + +"I want you to stay with me, Miss Deane. Please!" she added, in a +whisper. Clancy thought there was appeal in her voice. She said that she +would. Whereas Randall looked savage, and Vandervent downcast. Which +looks made Clancy's heart sing. In this laughing crowd, under these +lights, with the jazz band only a moment stilled, it was absurd to +suppose that she was really in danger from Vandervent or any one else. +Wasn't she innocent of any wrong-doing? + +Up and down, down and up! The Clancys of this world are always so. Which +is why they are the best beloved and the happiest, all things +considered. + +She was properly remote and cool to both her suitors, as she called them +to herself. Modesty was not her failing. + + + + +XV + + +The room into which Sophie Carey showed Clancy was smaller than her +hostess' bedroom, but, in its way, just as exquisite. It made Clancy +think--with its marvelous dressing-table, divided into two parts, the +mirror between them, its soft rugs, its lacy covers on the bed--of +pictures in magazines devoted to the home. It brought, somehow, to a +focus, certain uneasy thoughts of the past day. So that her face was +troubled when, having donned a wonderful nightgown that Mrs. Carey had +lent her, and having put over this a fleecy dressing-gown, she turned to +receive her hostess, who was similarly attired. Mrs. Carey pulled up a +chair and sank into it. + +"You're nervous," she announced. + +Clancy shrugged faintly. If Sophie Carey knew just what Clancy had to be +nervous about! + +"No; I've been wondering," she replied. + +"Wondering what?" asked Mrs. Carey. + +Clancy's forehead puckered. + +"About all this," she replied. + +She waved a hand vaguely about the little room. Sophie Carey laughed. + +"Like it?" she asked languidly. "Care to live here?" + +Clancy stared at her. + +"'Live here?'" she demanded incredulously. + +"Why not?" + +"Why should I?" countered Clancy. + +"I like you," Mrs. Carey said. "I think we'd get on well together." + +Clancy frowned. + +"Why, I couldn't begin to pay----" + +"No one said anything about paying," interrupted Mrs. Carey. + +"But I couldn't--I never accepted----" Clancy was prim. + +Mrs. Carey laughed. + +"You'll get over that, I fear. Now, as for the expense--if you feel that +way, we'll arrange what's fair." + +"You really want me?" said Clancy. + +"I told you earlier this evening that I liked success. Well, I like to +protégé success. You'll be a success. You're practically one already. +With Phil Vandervent interested and the Walbroughs enthusiastically +enlisted on your side--It was rather hard on David to-night, wasn't it?" + +Clancy blushed. + +"'Hard?'" + +Mrs. Carey smiled. + +"He had an open face, poor David! It tells what is in his heart quite +plainly. Oh, well, David is a remarkable youth in lots of ways, but Phil +Vandervent--he's a Vandervent." + +"You don't really think, can't imagine--" Clancy paused, dazed at the +possibilities. + +"Why not? Three Vandervents have married chorus-girls. You're a lady, my +dear. Phil could do a lot worse. And you could hardly hope to do +better." + +Clancy shook her head. + +"That isn't the career I came to New York to find." + +Mrs. Carey chuckled. + +"None of us find the career we were looking for. Half the bankers in the +world planned to be authors. Half the authors planned to be bankers. And +there you are! You'll live here?" + +The offer opened up opportunities undreamed of by Clancy. To be +chaperoned, guided, protégé'd by a woman like Sophie Carey! She had come +to New York intent on making financial and, secondarily, of +course--Clancy was young--artistic success. To have a vista of social +achievement placed before her enraptured eyes---- + +"It would be pretty hard," she said naïvely, "to give up a thing like +this, wouldn't it? I mean--pretty clothes, a place to live in that was +beautiful. I stayed to-night because you wanted me to. But I was +wondering. I can see why girls--slide down. And I don't think it's +because they want what they haven't got; it's more because they can't +give up what they have. Isn't it?" + +"It sounds convincing," admitted Mrs. Carey. She sighed. "Well, we're +going to be friends, anyway, my dear. It was good of you to spend the +night here. I--Donald didn't drop in as he'd threatened, and I'm +lonesome, and--blue." She rose suddenly. "I'm keeping you up. It isn't +fair." She walked toward the door and turned. "Do you know why I really +asked you to stay? Because I saw that something was on your mind, my +dear. And I didn't want you to do anything foolish." + +"'Foolish?'" Clancy stared at her. + +"David Randall would have insisted on taking you home. And--if he'd +proposed sudden marriage, what would you have done?" + +"'Marriage?'" + +"That's what I said," said Mrs. Carey. "You're nervous, a stranger, +and--I like you, little girl. I want you to have a fair chance to make +up your mind." + +"But I wouldn't have--why, it's absurd!" said Clancy. + +Her hostess shrugged. + +"My third night in New York, I went to a dance. I was terribly +depressed. And a boy had conceived the same sudden sort of attachment +for me that David has conceived for you. Only one thing saved me from +making a little idiot of myself--not a minister would marry us without a +license. I'm confessing a lot, my dear. Good-night," she ended abruptly. + +Alone, Clancy slipped out of the pretty dressing-gown and got into bed. +She could not doubt Sophie Carey's sincerity. Yet how absurd the woman +was in thinking that she and David-- She wondered. Suppose that Randall +_had_ proposed--in one of her reactions from bravado to fear. To have a +man to help her fight her battle, to extricate her from the predicament +into which her own frightened folly had hurried her! Sleepily, she +decided that Sophie Carey was a wonderful friend. Also, she decided that +Clancy Deane wasn't much of an actress. If _every one_ guessed that she +was worried---- + +Once, during the night, she half wakened. She thought that she'd heard +the door-bell ringing. But she slipped into unconsciousness again almost +at once. But in the morning she knew that she had not been mistaken. +For Sophie Carey woke her up, and Clancy saw a face that was like a +blush-rose. + +"Miss Deane, you must wake up and meet him before he goes." + +"Before who goes?" demanded Clancy. + +Sophie Carey's face was like fire. + +"Don. He came last night after all--late, and he isn't going to get a +divorce, because I won't let him." There was fiery pride and touchingly +soft self-abasement in her voice. "We've made it up. It was all my +fault, anyway." + +Clancy, as she bathed and dressed, shook her head wonderingly. Mrs. +Carey's life was almost as kaleidoscopic as her own. + +She put on the gray foulard and descended, shortly, to the dining-room. +There she met Donald Carey. Weak-mouthed, its selfishness was partly +hidden by a short mustache, blond. If Clancy hadn't heard something of +him, she'd not have known, at first, the essential meanness of his +nature. Undoubtedly he had helped himself from one of the decanters on +the sideboard, for his nerves were well under control, and Clancy +gathered, from his own somewhat boastful remarks, that he'd been +intoxicated for the better--or worse--part of the week. + +Last night, Sophie Carey had been so attracted by Clancy that not only +did she wish to protégé her but wished to support her. Her offer, last +night, had meant practically that. But events had transpired, Mrs. Carey +was no longer, in effect, a widow. She was a married woman +again--pridefully so. Her air of dependence half sickened Clancy. A +woman of prestige, ability, and charm, she was a plaything of the +momentary whim of the man whose name she bore. Last night independent, +mistress of her own destiny, this morning she was an appanage. And how +could Sophie Carey respect this weak sot? + +But she had more to think about than the affairs of Sophie Carey, no +matter how those affairs might affect herself. Few persons, no matter +how temperamentally constituted, are nervous on first waking in the +morning. They may be cranky and irritable, but not nervous. So Clancy, +who had no irritation in her system, was calm until after breakfast. +Then she began to fret. This was the day! Assistant District Attorney +Philip Vandervent would receive an answer to his telegram to Fanchon +DeLisle. He would learn that the real name of the woman who had borne +Fanchon's card of introduction to the office of Morris Beiner was Clancy +Deane. Her arrest was a matter of--hours, at the outside. + +She felt like one condemned, with the electric chair round a turn in the +corridor. Of course, she assured herself, the police must believe her +story. But even if they did, gone was her opportunity for success. She +would be the distasteful figure in a great scandal. Her breakfast was an +unsubstantial meal. But her hostess did not notice. She was too intent +on seeing that her husband's coy appetite was tempted. + +Suddenly, Clancy felt a distaste for herself--a distaste for being +protégé'd, for having a patroness. Sophie Carey had taken a liking to +her. Sophie Carey had wished to do this and that and the other thing for +her. Now Sophie Carey was by the way of forgetting her existence. She +accepted the offer of her hostess' car to take her home, but gave vague +replies to Sophie's almost equally vague remarks about when they must +see each other again. It had been kind of Mrs. Carey to invite her to +spend the evening, but it had been a little too much like playing +Destiny. Suppose that Randall had proposed and that Clancy had, in a +moment of fright, accepted him. It would have been her own business, +wouldn't it? + +She was almost sullen when she reached Washington Square. Up-stairs in +her dingy room, she fought against tears. She had voiced a great truth, +without being aware of it, last night, when she had said that what made +girls slide down-hill was the having to give up what they had, not the +desire for possession of those things which they'd never had. + +She almost wished that Sophie Carey had not weakly surrendered to her +husband's first advances. Clancy might have been installed in the studio +home on Waverly Place, half-mistress of its comforts, its charms--a +parasite! That's what she had been by way of becoming within a week of +her arrival in the city where she had hoped, by the hardest sort of +work, to make a place for herself. Well, that was ended. Why the fact +that Sophie Carey had taken back her errant husband should have affected +Clancy's attitude toward life and the part she must play in it is one of +the incomprehensible things of that strange thing which we call +"character." + +Yet it had done so. Perhaps, after all, because it had shown Clancy how +little dependence must be placed on other people. Not that she felt that +Sophie Carey would not be friendly to her, but that Sophie Carey's +interest would now be, for a while, at any rate, in the husband to whom +she surrendered so easily. And by the time that Sophie had rid herself +again of Donald Carey, Clancy would have been forgotten. + +Forgotten! As, clad in the storm-overshoes that were necessities in +Zenith, she braved the drifts of Washington Square on her way to the +'bus, she laughed wryly. Forgotten! Possibly, but not until her name had +been blazoned in the press as a murderess---- + +Sally Henderson was not at the office when Clancy arrived there. She +telephoned later on that the storm was too much for her, and that she +would remain at home all day. She told young Guernsey to instruct Clancy +in the routine matters of the office. + +By one o'clock, Clancy had begun to understand the office machinery. +Also, she was hungry, and when Guernsey announced that he was going out +to luncheon, Clancy welcomed the cessation of their activities. She had +been too apathetic to wonder why she had not heard from Zenda, and was +amazed when, just as she had buttoned her coat, the girl clerk summoned +her to the telephone. + +"Miss Deane? This is Zenda talking. I got your letter. Can I see you +right away?" + +Clancy vaguely wondered where Zenda had procured her working-address. +She had mentioned it this morning, after changing her dress, to Mrs. +Gerand, but Mrs. Gerand had been a bit frigid. Mrs. Gerand did not +approve of young lodgers of the female sex who spent the nights out. +Clancy didn't believe that Mrs. Gerand had heard her. However, inasmuch +as Zenda telephoned, the landlady must have heard her lodger's business +address. + +"Yes," she answered. + +It was the beginning of the end. Zenda would believe probably about her +connection with Fay Marston and Weber, but he'd perhaps know that +Florine Ladue had been in Beiner's office. She shook her head savagely. +As on Wednesday, when she'd read of Beiner's murder, she'd been unable +to think clearly, her brain now wandered off into absurdities. + +For it didn't matter about Zenda. Philip Vandervent had wired Fanchon +DeLisle. What did Zenda matter? What did anything matter? + +"Can you come over to my office, Miss Deane?" + +"Yes," she replied. + +"I'll be waiting for you," said Zenda. + +She hung up the receiver. She shrugged her shoulders, and, telling the +telephone clerk that she was going out to luncheon, left the office. + + + + +XVI + + +Zenda Films, Incorporated, occupied the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth +floors of the newly named--though Clancy didn't know it--Zenda Building. +In the lobby was a list of the building's tenants, and it stated that +the executive offices of Zenda Films were on the tenth floor. + +An office-boy heard her name, asked if she had an appointment, and +reluctantly, upon her stating that she had, turned toward an inner room, +casting over his shoulder the statement that he didn't think Mr. Zenda +was in. + +But from the room toward which he was making his sullen way--that sullen +way peculiar to office-boys--emerged a tall young man, garbed in the +height of Broadway fashion. He advanced beamingly to Clancy. + +"Miss Deane? Please come right in." + +Clancy followed him through the door, across an inner room, and into a +further chamber beyond. And the instant she was inside that second room, +Clancy knew that she had been a gullible fool, for instead of Zenda, she +beheld Grannis. + +But what was somehow more terrifying still, she saw beside Grannis, his +thick features not good-humored to-day, the face of Weber. She didn't +scream--Clancy was not the sort who would use valued and needed energy +in vocalities--she turned. But the tall youth had deftly locked the door +behind her. He faced her with a triumphant grin, then stepped quickly +to one side; the key which he had been holding in his hand he +transferred to the hand of Grannis, who put it, with an air of grim +finality, into his trousers pocket. + +Clancy knew when she was beaten, knew, at least, when the first round +had gone against her. She did the one thing that rendered uncertain the +mental attitudes of her captors. She walked coolly to a chair and sat. + +Grannis, expecting to see a girl reduced by fright to hysteria, eyed her +bewilderedly. He had intended to be calm, intending, by calm, to +convince Clancy that her danger was the greater. Now he lapsed, at the +start, into nervous irritation, the most certain sign of indecision. + +"Pretty cool about it, Miss Deane, aren't you?" + +Clancy knew, somehow, that her cool desperation had given her, in some +inexplicable fashion, an equally inexplicable advantage. + +"Why not?" she asked. + +Grannis' sallow face reddened. + +"Will you feel that way when you see a policeman?" he demanded. + +"You talked about policemen yesterday," said Clancy. "Don't talk about +them to-day. I want to see Mr. Zenda," she added. + +Weber interjected himself into the scene. + +"I suppose you do. But you see, Florine, my little dear, we're seeing +you first. And you're seeing us first." + +"Pretty clever of you, writing to Zenda," said Grannis. "Never occurred +to you that, getting a letter from you, I might run through Zenda's +mail, looking for a note in the same handwriting, eh?" + +"No-o, it didn't," said Clancy slowly. "Yet, I suppose I should have +known that one kind of crook is another kind, too." + +Grannis nodded his head. His underlip came forward a trifle. + +"I'll give you credit; you're game enough. If being a fool can be called +gameness. And any one that parts with a thousand dollars in this town is +certainly a fool. But _that's_ all right. You probably don't need money. +'Little Miss Millions' is your name, I suppose." + +Clancy yawned. + +"I don't want to hurt your feelings, Mr. Grannis, but if you're being +funny, I somehow can't get it." + +"You will!" snapped Grannis. "Look here, Miss Deane! You're breaking +into matters that don't concern you." + +"I suppose I am," said Clancy. + +She turned to Weber. + +"I understood that New York's climate was bad for you," she said. + +"Not half as unhealthy as it's going to be for you, Florine," he +retorted. "You can make up your mind this minute. Either out of town for +yours or the Tombs. Take your pick." + +He had advanced threateningly until he stood over Clancy. Grannis pushed +him aside. + +"Let me handle her," he said. "Now, let's get down to cases, Miss Deane. +Ike never done anything to you, did he?" Clancy shrugged. "'Course he +didn't," said Grannis. "Then why not be a regular feller and keep out of +things that don't concern you? Zenda never paid the rent for you, did +he? No. We're willing to pay the rent and the eats, too, for a long +while to come. That thousand is only a part. Listen: Ike got me on the +long-distance last night. I told him it's O. K. to come back to town, +that Zenda, with you keeping your face closed, couldn't do a thing to +him. And then I get your letter this morning, and grab your note to +Zenda. I find out that you're giving me the double cross. Well, we won't +quarrel about it. Maybe you think Zenda is a heavier payer than I'd be. +But you'd have to gamble on that, wouldn't you? You don't have to gamble +on me. You take ten thousand dollars and leave town for just six months. +That's all I ask. How about it?" + +"I thought that you were Zenda's partner," said Clancy. Her pretty lips +curled in the faintest contemptuous sneer. + +"Never mind about that," snapped Grannis. "You're not talking to any +one's partner, now. You're just talking to me." + +"And me," put in Weber. + +"And both of you want me to help you in swindling Mr. Zenda?" said +Clancy. + +Weber took a step toward her, his big fist clenched. Once again, Grannis +intervened. + +"Never mind the rough stuff, Ike!" he cried. "Let me handle her. Now, +Miss Deane, are you going to listen to sense? Ike is back in town. He +don't feel like skipping out every time you get a change of heart. And +listen to this: Ike is a good-hearted guy, at that. All you can tell +Zenda won't _prove_ anything. It'll just cause a lot of trouble--that's +all. It'll make a bunch of scandal, you claiming that Fay Marston told +you that Ike was gyping Zenda, but it won't _prove_ much." + +"I don't suppose that your offering me money to leave town will prove +anything, either," said Clancy. + +"I'll just say you lie," said Grannis. + +"I wonder which one of us Mr. Zenda will believe," retorted Clancy. + +"I've never been in jail. I've got no criminal record," said Grannis. + +"Neither have I!" cried Clancy. + +Grannis smiled. It was a nasty smile, a smile that chilled Clancy. The +advantage that she had felt was somehow hers seemed to have left her. +She became suddenly just what she always was, a young girl, unwise in +the ways of the metropolis. Courage, desperation made her forget this, +but when courage ebbed, though ever so slightly, she became fearful, +conscious of a mighty aloneness. She felt this way now. + +For Grannis turned and walked to a farther door, opposite the one which +the tall youth had locked. He opened it and cried out dramatically, + +"Come in, Mrs. Weber!" + +Clancy's fingers stopped drumming on the table. She eyed, wonderingly +and fearfully, the tall figure of Fay Marston, who was cloaked in a +short squirrel-skin jacket. Below that appeared the skirt of a dark-blue +dress. Her shoes, despite the inclement weather, were merely slippers. +Her blond hair was almost entirely hidden by a jaunty hat, also of a +squirrel-skin. Altogether, she was an amazingly prosperous-seeming +individual. And she was the sort of person to whom prosperity would +always bring insolence of manner. Her expression now was languidly +insulting as she looked at Clancy. + +"This the woman?" asked Grannis. + +Fay nodded. + +"She's the one." + +"No question about it, is there?" demanded Weber. + +"Why, you know there isn't," said Fay, in apparent surprise. "I took her +to Zenda's party at the Château de la Reine, and, later, up to his +apartment. You was with us all the time." + +"Yes," said Weber; "but two identifications are better than one, you +know." He turned to Grannis. "You might as well call him in," he said. + +Grannis had been standing by the door. He swung it wide, and called, + +"Come in, officer." + +Clancy's fingers clenched. It seemed to her like a scene in a play or a +moving picture--Fay's identification of her, Grannis' dramatic manner at +the door, and now the entrance of a policeman. + +[Illustration] + +Grannis pointed to Clancy. + +"Arrest her, officer!" he cried. + +The uniformed man moved toward Clancy. She shrunk away from him. + +"What for?" she cried. + +"You'll find out soon enough," said the policeman, with a grin. + +Fay Marston laughed shrilly. + +"Ain't that like a thief, though? Trust her kind to have nerve!" + +"'Thief!'" Clancy stared at her. + +"Thief's what I said, and it's what I mean, too." + +It was too absurd! Had the charge been that of murder, Clancy would not +have laughed. That charge would soon be made against her. But, until +it was---- + +"What am I supposed to have stolen?" Clancy asked. + +"You ain't _supposed_ to have stolen anything," said Weber. "You're +_known_ to have stolen a pearl necklace from my wife." + +"A pearl necklace," said Fay glibly. "She came into my room at the +Napoli. I was packin', officer, gettin' ready to take a little trip with +my husband. I asked her to pack the necklace and some other things for +me. She said she'd put them in a bag. The necklace was missin' when I +opened the bag next day." + +Clancy laughed. It was ridiculous. + +"You can't arrest me on a story like that!" she cried. + +"Not if we produce the pawnbroker where you pawned the pearls?" sneered +Weber. + +"You can't," said Clancy. + +Yet, as she looked from his sneering face to the threatening eyes of +Grannis, she wondered whether or not they could. She had read of +"frame-ups." Was it possible that she was to be the victim of one? + +"Like to talk it over a bit?" asked Grannis. She made no verbal answer, +but her expression was reply enough. "Wait in the next room, officer," +said Grannis. + +The policeman looked undecided. + +"It ain't regular," he muttered. + +"I know it isn't," said Grannis, "but--under the circumstances----" + +"All right," said the officer. + +He walked through the door, which Grannis closed after him. Then +Zenda's sallow-faced partner came close to Clancy. + +"I'm going to talk turkey," he declared. "You've butted in on a game +that's a whole lot bigger than you are, little girl. We don't want to +ride you, but we ain't going to let you ride us, neither. It's up to +you. Fay will swear that you took her necklace. We've got a pawnbroker +all lined up. He'll not only identify you but he'll produce his books +and the necklace that you stole. We're in earnest. Now--will you take +ten thousand and--get?" + +Clancy was beaten; she knew it; at least, she had lost the second round. +That it was the final round she could not believe. And yet, if she +refused their money, they'd not believe her. They would take her to +jail. By this time, Vandervent's men were doubtless searching for her. +With the ten thousand dollars she might flee. She wouldn't use a penny +of it. But she'd take it, merely in order that they'd believe her. She +let Grannis press the money into her hand. + +Head down, she heard Grannis call in the policeman and state that she +had promised to make restitution. The policeman, with some grumbling, +left. Clancy supposed that it was an ordinary sort of thing; the officer +was venal, would be unfaithful to his duty for the sake of a few +dollars. + +She listened apathetically to Grannis' threats. They didn't interest +her. New York had whipped her. + +Yet, when she left the building, she stopped before a hotel across the +street. There she tried to engage a taxi-cab to take her up to Park +Avenue. But the taximen were emulating their millionaire brethren. They +were profiteering. Inasmuch as the travel was difficult because of the +snow, the man wanted triple fare. Clancy couldn't afford it. + +She tramped across Forty-second Street to Fifth Avenue, fought her way, +buffeted by the wind, up to Forty-eighth, and then crossed over to Park +avenue. She didn't know exactly where Zenda lived, but she did know that +it was a corner apartment-building on the east side of the avenue. Her +fourth inquiry was rewarded with the information that Zenda lived there. +But when her name was telephoned up-stairs, word came back that Mr. +Zenda had been taken ill last night with influenza, and was unconscious +at the moment. + +She turned away. The Fates were against Clancy and with her enemies. + +Still--she had ten thousand dollars in her pocketbook. One could do a +great deal with ten thousand dollars. But she dismissed the temptation +as quickly as it had come to her. She'd go home and wait the certain +arrival of Vandervent's men. + +She shrugged, her lips curling in a self-amused smile. She'd been +frightened at arrest on a trumped-up charge, while imminent arrest on a +charge that would be supported by strong circumstantial evidence was +just round the corner. She was a funny person, this Clancy. Little +things scared her; big things-- But big things scared her, too. For when +Mrs. Gerand met her at the door of the lodging-house, after Clancy had +survived the perilous journey down Fifth Avenue on the 'bus, the +landlady's first words were that a gentleman awaited her. Not until +Randall had held her hand a full minute could Clancy realize that it +wasn't a detective from the district attorney's office. + + + + +XVII + + +Clancy had, on the other occasions on which she had met David Randall, +been cool, aloof, mildly flirtatious, fun-making. Even when fear had +swayed her and he had guessed at some worry eating at her heart, she had +managed to preserve a verbal self-command. + +But it was a Clancy whom he had never met before who faced him now. It +was an incoherent Clancy, who said brokenly, while his big hand still +held hers: + +"What a surprise! I expected--I'm _glad_-- What a terrible storm--so +much snow--in a few hours-- Wasn't it fun--last night?" + +Then the incoherence that, from a person who had heretofore been always +in complete possession of herself, was all the more charming, vanished. +She looked down at her hand, then demurely up at him. With Vandervent's +detectives ready to knock upon the front door--it is a peculiar thing +that one always thinks of detectives as knocking, never ringing--with +ten thousand dollars of venal money in her purse; with flight from the +city as her only escape--and that, her common sense told her, a +temporary one--from her amazing difficulties; with her career, not +merely the moving-picture ambitions but the new one of achieving success +with Miss Henderson, vanishing as the snow upon the streets would vanish +before the rain and sun; with more trouble than she could cope with, +Clancy became demure. She was thoroughly feminine. And a woman regards +a man as something to be swayed by her. So Clancy forgot her own +troubles for the moment in the pleasing task of making Randall's face +redder than it was. + +"You like it?" she asked. He didn't understand her. "My hand," she +explained. + +Randall dropped it at once. Her own incoherence communicated itself to +him. + +"I didn't mean-- I didn't realize----" + +"Oh, it's perfectly all right," said Clancy soothingly. "If I were you, +I'd probably like to hold my hand, too." + +She laughed. Randall discovered from the laugh that he had not offended +irreparably. Emboldened, he snatched at the hand again. But they were in +the hall, and Mrs. Gerand, disapproving of eye as she looked at this +young couple violating the austerity of her house by open and bold +flirtation, was only twenty feet away. + +"Let's go in the parlor," said Clancy. + +There was a sort of sofa near the old-fashioned marble mantel in the +parlor, and in the exact center of this Clancy sat. Randall was forced +to deposit himself upon a chair, a rickety affair which he drew as near +to Clancy as he dared. He coughed nervously. Then he smiled--a broad +smile, the smile, he thought, of large friendliness, of kindly +impersonality. Clancy was not deceived by it. + +"How'd you find me here?" she demanded. "Didn't I refuse to tell you my +address?" + +"Mrs. Carey told me this morning." + +"Oh, she did! Why did she do that?" + +"It wasn't a crime, was it?" asked Randall aggrievedly. "I guess that +she thought she owed it to me--after last night." + +"What do you mean?" + +Randall's eyes lowered. He fidgeted uneasily in his chair. Then he +lifted his eyes until they met hers. + +"Well, she wouldn't give me a chance last night." + +"'A chance?' What do you mean?" Clancy sat bolt upright on the sofa. + +"She was afraid that you might listen to me." The explanation didn't +quite explain. + +"I'm listening to you now," she said. + +"Yes; yes"--and Randall smiled rather wanly--"Mrs. Carey is a +mind-reader, I think. She knew that I intended--she knew what I intended +to say," he corrected his phrasing, "and she didn't want me to say it." + +Into Clancy's eyes came glints of merriment. + +"Oh, yes; she was afraid that you would propose to me." + +Somehow or other, without Clancy putting it into words, her manner +indicated an amused scorn. Randall was in love--in love in that terrific +and overwhelmingly passionate fashion that only love at first sight can +attain. But he was a grown man, who had proved, by his business success, +his right to walk among men. He was good-natured, would always be +good-natured. But he had self-respect. And now he hit back. + +"Oh, no," he said; "she was afraid that you would accept me." + +Not afraid to hit back, nevertheless, for a moment, he feared that he +had struck too hard. He misread, at first, the light in Clancy's eyes. +He thought it was anger. + +But, to his relieved amazement, she began to laugh. + +"Some one has a flattering conception of you, Mr. Randall," she told +him. + +He grinned cheerfully. + +"Not flattering, Miss Deane--correct." + +"Hm." Clancy pursed her lips. "You think well of Mr. David Randall, +don't you?" + +"I couldn't offer you goods of whose value I had any doubt, Miss Deane," +he retorted. + +Clancy's respect for him reached an amazing altitude. He could, after +all, then, be quick of speech. And Clancy liked a man who could find +ready verbal expression for his thoughts. + +"I take it, then, that you are definitely offering me your hand and +fifty per cent of all your worldly goods, Mr. Randall." + +"Do you accept them?" he asked. + +Clancy shook her head, smiling. + +"Not to-day, thank you." + +Randall frowned. + +"Mrs. Carey is altogether too ambitious," he said. "She couldn't play +Fate." + +Clancy made a _moue_. + +"Oh, then, last night--you think it might have been different?" + +"I have no thoughts, Miss Deane--merely hopes. But Mrs. Carey said that +you were worried-- I could see that, too--and she thought that it wasn't +fair----" + +Clancy felt a sudden resentment at Sophie Carey. After all, even though +Mrs. Carey had been ever so kind, it had all been voluntary. Clancy +hadn't dreamed of asking anything of her. And even involuntary kindness, +grudging kindness, doesn't bestow upon the donor the right to direct +the affairs of the donee. Once again, she was rather certain that she +and Sophie Carey would never be real friends. She would always owe the +older woman gratitude, but---- + +"Not fair, eh? You didn't mind that, though." + +The humor left Randall's eyes. He was deadly serious as he answered, + +"Miss Deane, any way that I could get you would be fair enough for me." + +"But why hurry matters?" smiled Clancy. + +"'Hurry?'" His smile was a little bit uneasy. "You--you're destined to a +great success, Miss Deane, and pretty soon I'm afraid that you'll be way +beyond my reach." + +"I suppose that I should courtesy," said Clancy. "But I won't. I'll +simply tell you that----" + +"Don't tell me anything unless it's something I want to hear," he +interposed. + +"You'll like this, I'm sure," she said naïvely. "Because I was going to +tell you that I like you immensely, and--well, I like you." + +"And you won't marry me?" + +"Well, not now, at any rate," she replied. + +He rose abruptly. + +"I'm sorry--awfully sorry. You see--last night--it's altogether +ridiculous, I suppose, my expecting, daring to hope, even, that a girl +like you would fall in love with me so soon. But--you're so lovely! +Vandervent--last night--please don't be offended--and I'm leaving town +to-day." + +"'Leaving town?'" Clancy was shocked. + +"That's why. I'll be gone a month. And I've never met a girl like you. +Never will again; I know that. I--didn't want to tell you last night. +It wasn't absolutely decided. If I'd taken you home--well, I'd have told +you. Because I'd have proposed then. But not at Mrs. Carey's. I hoped +to--sort of surprise you in the taxi. But that chance went. You spent +the night at her house. And I'm leaving to-day." + +"Where for?" she asked. She didn't know how dull her voice had suddenly +become. She wasn't in love with Randall. Clancy Deane was not the kind +to surrender her heart at the first request. Her head would not rule her +heart, yet it would guide it. Under normal conditions, even had she +fallen in love with Randall, she would not have married him offhand, as +he suggested. She would demand time in which to think the matter over. + +But these were abnormal conditions. She was in danger. In the rare +moments, when she could force her mind to analyze the situation, she +believed that her danger was not great, that the police _must_ believe +her story. But she was a young and somewhat headstrong girl; fear +triumphed over reason most of the time. + +If she loved Randall, she might have accepted him. Of course, she would +have told him her predicament. She was enough of a character-reader to +know that Randall would believe her and marry her. But she didn't love +him. + +"California," he said. "A moving-picture combination. They've asked me +to handle the flotation of stock and the placing of the bonds. It's a +big thing, and I want to look the proposition over." He leaned suddenly +near to her. "Oh, don't you think that you can come with me? If you +knew how much I cared!" + +She shook her head. + +"I don't love you," she said. + +He managed a smile. The nicest thing about him, Clancy decided, was his +sportsmanship. + +"Well, I _have_ rushed matters, Miss Deane. But--don't forget me, +please." + +"I won't," she promised. "And I hope you have a fine trip and make a +great success." + +"Thank you," he said. "Good-by." + +They touched hands for a moment, and then he was gone. Thus banal, +almost always, are the moments that follow upon the ones that have +reached for the height of emotion. + +Clancy was left alone almost before she realized it. Up-stairs, in her +shabby bedroom, she wondered if any other girl had ever crowded so much +of differing experience into a few days. Truth was stranger than +fiction--save in this: in fiction, all difficulties were finally +surmounted, all problems solved. + +But her own case-- One who flees always prejudices his case. Fanchon +DeLisle's reply to Vandervent's telegram would arrive by the morrow, +anyway. The only reason that Clancy had not been called upon by +Vandervent's men that she could conceive was that the storm had delayed +the transmission of telegrams. A thin reed on which to lean! She +suddenly wished with all her heart that she loved Randall. If she did +love him, she could demand his protection. That protection suddenly +loomed large before her frightened eyes. + +Well, there was only one thing to do. Accepting defeat bravely is +better than running away from it eternally. Also, in her mind lived the +idea that Vandervent might possibly-- Absurd! He'd only met her last +night. And he was an officer of the law, sworn to do his duty. + +She had no preconceived idea of what she'd do. She felt dull, +bewildered, dazed. + +Surrender! It was the only thing to do. Better by far that than being +rudely taken to the Tombs. She'd read of the Tombs prison. What a +horrible name! How it suggested the gruesome things! Lesser characters +than Clancy for much less reason have had recourse to poison, to other +things-- It never even entered her head. + +Mrs. Gerand, amazed at the question, told her where to find the district +attorney's office. Clancy fought her way to the Astor Place subway +station. She got off at Brooklyn Bridge. From there, a policeman +directed her to the Criminal Courts Building. In the lobby, an attendant +told her that Mr. Vandervent's office was on the third floor. She took +an elevator, and, after entering two offices, was correctly directed. To +a clerk who asked her business, she merely replied: + +"Tell Mr. Vandervent that Florine Ladue wishes to see him." + +The clerk showed no surprise. That was natural. Vandervent's underlings, +of course, knew nothing of the clue which Vandervent possessed to the +identity of the Beiner murderer. He departed toward an inner office. + +Clancy sank down upon a wooden bench. Well, this was the end. She +supposed that she'd be handcuffed, locked in a cell. She picked up a +newspaper, a paper largely devoted to theatrical doings. Idly she read +the dramatic gossip. She turned a page, and glanced a second time at a +portrait displayed there. + +It was a picture of Fanchon DeLisle. Her bosom rose; in her excitement +she did not breathe. For beneath the picture was a head-line reading: + + FAMOUS SOUBRETTE DIES OF INFLUENZA + +She read the brief paragraph that followed. Fanchon DeLisle, leading +woman of the New York Blondes Company, had died of the "flu" in Belknap, +Ohio, on Wednesday afternoon. It was her second attack of the disease. +Clancy's eyes blurred. She read no more. She looked about her. She must +escape. Fanchon DeLisle was the only person who could tell Vandervent +that Florine Ladue was Clancy Deane. Of course, Fay Marston knew, but +Fay Marston's knowledge was not known to the police. Only Fanchon +DeLisle could, just now, at any rate, tell that Clancy-- She had sent in +the name, Florine Ladue! + +She must escape before Vandervent-- But even as she rose tremblingly to +her feet, Vandervent entered the outer reception-room. He stopped short +at sight of Clancy. His mouth opened. But Clancy didn't hear what he +said, because she fainted. + + + + +XVIII + + +Clancy came out of her faint mentally alert, although physically weak. +It took her but the smallest fraction of time after she recovered +consciousness to remember all that had led up to her collapse. And she +kept her eyes closed long enough to marshal to her aid all those +defensive instincts inherent in the human species. So, when she did open +her eyes, that consummate courage which is mistaken for histrionism made +her wreathe her lips in a smile. She was lying on a leather-covered +couch in what she learned, in a moment, was Vandervent's private office. +Her eyes rested on the tenant of that office. His broad shoulders were +slightly stooped as he bent toward her. In his hand, he held a glass of +water. She noted immediately that his hand shook, that water slopped +over the edge of the glass. + +"You--feel better?" he asked breathlessly. + +Clancy sat upright, her hand straying to her hair. She looked beyond +Vandervent to where stood a man in a badly cut blue suit. His black +mustache was gray at the roots, and the vanity that this use of dye +indicated was proved by the outthrust of his lower lip. A shrewder +observer than Clancy--one versed in the study of physiognomy--would have +known that the jutting lip had been trained to come forward, that the +aggressiveness it denoted was the aggressiveness of the bully, not of a +man of character. His round chin was belligerent enough, as were his +little round blue eyes, but there was that lack of coordination in his +features that is found in all weak souls. + +But, to Clancy, he was terrifying. His small eyes were filled with +suspicion, filled with more than that--with a menace that was personal. + +Clancy reached for the glass of water; she drank it thirstily, yet in a +leisurely manner. She watched the blue-suited man closely. She put back +the glass into Vandervent's outstretched hand. + +"Thank you--so much," she said. "It's a wonder that you didn't let me +lie where I fell, after my playing such a silly joke." + +She saw Vandervent cast a glance over his shoulder at the blue-suited +man. His head nodded slightly. Had he phrased it in words, he could not +more clearly have said, "I told you so." + +And if the blue-suited man had replied verbally, he could not have said +more clearly than he did by the expression of his eyes, "She's lying." + +Vandervent's shoulders shrugged slightly; his keen gray eyes gleamed. +Once again it was as though he spoke and said, "I'll show you that she +isn't." + +It was a swift byplay, but need sharpens one's wits. Not that Clancy's +ever were dull, for, indeed, a lesser character, even in such danger as +hers, might have been too concerned with her physical well-being, her +appearance, to notice anything else. But she caught the byplay, and it +brought a silent sigh of relief up from her chest. She was on her own +ground now, the ground of sex. Had Vandervent been a woman, such a woman +as Sophie Carey or Sally Henderson, Clancy would have surrendered +immediately, would have known that she had not a chance in the world of +persuading any woman that she had played a joke when she announced +herself as Florine Ladue. But with a man--with Philip Vandervent, whose +hand shook as he held a glass of water for her, whose eyes expressed a +flattering anxiety--Clancy's smile would have been scornful had not +scorn been a bit out of place at the moment. Instead, it was shyly +confident. + +"A--er--a joke, of course, Miss Deane," said Vandervent. + +"Not so very funny, though, after all," said Clancy, with just enough +timidity in her manner to flatter Vandervent. + +The blue-coated man snorted. + +"'Joke!' 'Funny!' Excuse me, lady; but where do you get your humor?" + +Vandervent wheeled and glared at the man. + +"That'll be about all, Spofford!" he snapped. + +Spofford shrugged. + +"You're the boss," he said. "Only--how does she happen to know the name +Florine Ladue? Answer me that, will you?" + +"I told her," said Vandervent shortly. + +Spofford caressed his mustache. + +"Oh, I getcha. Oh-h!" His grin was complimentary neither to Clancy nor +Vandervent. Then it died away; his eyes became shrewd, although his +voice was drawling. "And the faintin'--that was part of the joke, eh, +lady?" + +Clancy felt a little chill of nervous apprehension run between her +shoulder-blades. Confidence left her. This man Spofford, she seemed to +foresee, might be dangerous. She was not out of the woods yet. But +Vandervent's words reassured her. + +"Miss Deane doesn't need to explain anything to you, Spofford." + +There was a touch of petulance in the assistant district attorney's +voice. Spofford recognized it. + +"Sure not, Mr. Vandervent. Certainly she don't. Only--" He paused; he +turned, and started for the door. + +Vandervent recalled him sharply. + +"What do you mean by 'only,' Spofford?" + +"Well, she come in here and said she was Florine Ladue--and then she +faints when you come out to see her. I meant that, if there was any of +the newspaper boys hangin' around----" + +"There weren't," said Vandervent. "And if the papers should mention Miss +Deane's joke--" The threat was quite patent. + +"They won't," said Spofford. + +He cast a glance at Clancy. It was a peculiar glance, a glance that told +her that in his eyes she was a suspicious character--no better than she +should be, to put it mildly. + +And Vandervent's expression, as he turned toward her, drove away what +fears Spofford's expression had aroused. For, despite his effort to seem +casual, the young man was excited. And not excited because of the name +that she had sent in, or because she had fainted, but excited simply +because Clancy Deane was alone in the room with him. He moved toward +her. Quite calmly she assumed control of the situation, and did it by so +simple a method as extending her hand for the glass which he still held +and uttering the single word: "Please." + +She held the glass to her lips for a full minute, sipping slowly. +Falsehood was repugnant to her. Yet she must think of how best to +deceive Vandervent. + +"I suppose I've made you very angry," she said, putting the glass down +upon the couch beside her. + +"'Angry?' How could you make me angry--by coming to see me?" + +Vandervent, with an acquaintance that comprised the flower of American +and European society, was no different from any other young and normal +male. His attitude now was that of the young man from Zenith or any +other town in America. He was embarrassed and flattered. And he was so +because a pretty girl was showing a certain interest in him. + +"But to--fool you! I--you'll forgive me?" She was conscious that she was +pleading prettily. + +"Forgive you? Why--" Vandervent had difficulty in finding words. He was +not a particularly impressionable young man. Had he been so, he could +not, with his name and fortune, have remained a bachelor until his +thirtieth birthday. + +Clancy took up the not easily rolling ball of conversation. + +"Because it was a terrible impertinence. I--you see----" + +She paused in her turn. + +"Jolly good joke!" said Vandervent, finally finding, apparently to +oblige his guest, humor in the situation. "You can't imagine my +excitement. Just had a wire from the chief of police in Belknap, Ohio, +that Fanchon DeLisle was dead. Didn't see how we could locate this Ladue +woman, when in comes a clerk saying that she's outside. I tell you, I +never was so excited. Then I saw you, and you--tell me: why did you +faint?" He put the question suddenly. + +"Why did I faint?" She tried to laugh, and succeeded admirably. "I'm +used to cold weather and blizzards. In Zenith, sometimes, it is thirty +below, and the snow is piled ten feet high in the big drifts. But one +dresses for it, or doesn't go outdoors. And, to-day, I wanted to see New +York so much. I've only been here since Monday. The cars aren't running +very regularly, so I walked down-town. And I guess I grew cold and +tired. I feel ever so much better now," she ended chirpily. + +"I'm glad of that," he smiled. + +"And some one told me that this was the Criminal Courts Building, and I +thought--I thought of--" She paused at exactly the right moment. + +"Of me?" asked Vandervent. He colored faintly. + +"I'm here," said Clancy. "And I thought that perhaps you wouldn't +remember my name; so I--thought I'd play a joke. You _will_ forgive me, +won't you?" + +He laughed. + +"I'm afraid that Spofford won't, but I will." + +"'Spofford?' The man who was here?" asked Clancy. + +"One of the detectives attached to the staff. Hasn't much sense of +humor, I'm afraid. But it doesn't matter." + +He sat down, pulling up a chair opposite her. + +"I think it's mighty nice of you to call down here, Miss Deane." + +"You don't think it's bold of me?" she asked. + +"Hardly. Would you like to go over the Tombs?" + +Clancy shuddered. + +"Indeed I wouldn't!" + +"No morbid curiosity? I'm glad of that." + +"'Glad?' Why?" + +"Oh, well, just because," he blurted. + +Clancy looked demurely downward, fixing a button on her glove. For a +moment, there was silence. Then Clancy rose to her feet. She held out +her hand to Vandervent. + +"You've been so kind," she said. "If you'd arrested me for my silly +joke, you'd have done to me what I deserved to have happen." + +"Not at all," he said. "I feel that--that maybe I scared you when I came +in----" + +"Not a bit. I was--tired." + +"You must let me take you home," he said. + +She shook her head. + +"I've troubled you enough. _Please!_"--as he seemed about to insist. +"I'm _really_ all right." + +He eyed her doubtfully. + +"You're sure?" + +"Positive." + +"All right, then; but--I'd _like_ to." + +She became mockingly stern. + +"I've interrupted the course of justice enough for one day. Some other +time, perhaps." + +"There'll be another time?" he asked eagerly. + +"Well"--she was doubtful--"I can't promise." + +"But we might have luncheon together. Or tea? Or dinner?" He was +flatteringly eager. + +"I'll see," said Clancy. + +Down-stairs, in the great lobby of the building, she marveled that she +had escaped so easily. To have announced herself as Florine Ladue, the +woman wanted for Beiner's murder, to have fainted when Vandervent came +out, and still to have avoided, by a puerile explanation, all penalties +was a piece of good luck that was incredible. She blessed the person +unknown who had left the newspaper on the bench. The luckiest of chances +had saved her from betrayal. Had she not read of Fanchon's death-- She +shuddered. + +Then her eyes clouded. She had been fighting, with all the wit she +owned, for liberty. She had not yet had opportunity to pay to Fanchon's +death the tribute of sorrow that it demanded. She had known Fanchon but +slightly; the woman was of a class to which Clancy could never belong--a +coarse but good-hearted vulgarian. And she had tried to help Clancy in +return for little kindnesses that Clancy had shown her when she lay ill +with the "flu" in Zenith. + +And now this same disease had finally killed the kindly soubrette. Her +death had saved Clancy from disgrace--from worse, perhaps, if there is +anything worse than disgrace-- She suddenly realized how lucky she had +been. + +She stopped outside to adjust her veil. And she noticed that Spofford, +the dyed-mustached gentleman of Vandervent's office, also emerged from +the building. She shuddered. If her wit had not been quick, if she had +not remembered, on, coming out of her faint, that the item in the paper +had removed all danger, his hand might now be clasped about her wrist. +Instead of walking toward the subway, she might now be on her way to the +Tombs. + +Spofford turned south toward the Brooklyn Bridge. She would never, thank +God, see him again. For nothing would ever tempt her to the Criminal +Courts Building another time. Its shadow would hang over her soul as +long as she lived. She had had the narrowest escape that was possible, +and she would not tempt fate again. + +She would never learn. As her mind ceased to dwell upon the problem of +her connection with Beiner's mysterious fate and moved on to consider +what she should do with Grannis's ten thousand dollars, it was as though +the Beiner incident were forever closed. Clancy had too much Irish in +her for trouble to bear down upon her very long. She would never learn +that issues are never avoided but must always be met. She was in a +congratulatory mood toward herself because Vandervent had not suspected +the grim truth behind what she called a jest. She had conquered this +difficulty by the aid of fate; fate would help her again to handle the +Grannis-Zenda-Weber matter. So she reasoned. It would straighten itself +out, she assured herself. + + + + +XIX + + +There was a lunch-room on Broadway, just below Eighth Street. Clancy, +walking westward from Astor Place, the station at which she emerged from +the subway, saw its window-display of not too appetizing appeal, and +paused. To-day was Friday; it was quite possible that Sally Henderson +would to-morrow give her new employee an advance upon salary. But Clancy +had learned something. That something was that New York is not a place +in which to reveal one's pecuniary embarrassment. It was not that New +York was hard-hearted, Clancy decided. It was that it was a busy place, +and had no time to listen to whines. To ask an advance on salary was, in +a way, to whine. Clancy was not going to begin her relationship with +Sally Henderson on anything but a basis of independence. + +So her pause before the lunch-room was only momentary. She entered it +immediately. The Trevor was only two hundred yards away, but Clancy had +only a pitiful amount of money in her pocket. That is, money that +belonged to her. Grannis's ten thousand was not hers. To whom she would +give it, she did not yet know, but she did know that she would starve +before she used any of it. It might be that Sally Henderson would pay +her a half-week's salary to-morrow. She must hope for that. But she must +not rely on it. Hence she must live leanly. + +This was only her fifth day in New York. It had been her fortune to eat +at restaurants of the better class, at a private home. Now, for the +first time since her arrival from Zenith, she had opportunity to find +out what might have been, what might still be, her lot. Not that the +food in the lunch-room was particularly bad. Of its kind, it was rather +good. But there was the stain of egg upon the table-cloth; the waiter +who served her was unshaven. The dishes in which the food was served +were of the heaviest of china. And Clancy was of the sort that prefers +indifferent food well served to good food execrably presented. + +She paid her check--considering that she had had only corned-beef hash +and tea and bread, she thought that sixty cents was an exorbitant +charge--tipped the waiter a dime, and trudged out into the storm again. + +The snow had ceased falling, but only one so weather-wise as the +Maine-bred Clancy would have known that. For the flurries blown by the +gale had all the appearance of a continuing blizzard. Bending forward, +she made her way to Fifth Avenue, and thence south across Washington +Square. Twice, feeling very much alone in the gloom, she made detours to +avoid coming too near men whom she observed moving her way. She was yet +to learn that, considering its enormous heterogeneous population, New +York holds few dangers for the unescorted girl. And so she ran the last +few yards, and breathed with relief when the latch-key that Mrs. Gerand +had given her admitted her to the lodging-house on the south side of the +square. + +In her room, her outer clothing removed, she pulled a shabby +rocking-chair to the window and looked out upon the dimly descried +trees, ghostly in their snowy habiliments. Chin on elbow, she pondered. + +The wraith of Florine Ladue was laid. So she believed. And she could +find no reason to fear a resurrection. Beiner, who knew her, could +recognize her as Florine Ladue, was dead. So was Fanchon DeLisle. Zenda, +Grannis, Weber, and the others of the poker-party at Zenda's knew that +she called herself "Florine." But it was quite a distance from knowing +that a young woman had named herself Florine to proof that the same +young woman's last name was Ladue, and that she had visited Morris +Beiner's office. Of course--and Clancy's brows knitted at the +thought--if there were any legal trouble over the Weber-Zenda-Grannis +matter and she testified in court, and Vandervent or Spofford or some +other of the district attorney's office heard or saw testimony which +involved the fact that she'd used the name "Florine," that person would +do some thinking, would wonder how much jesting had been behind her +announcement of herself under the name of the woman wanted for the +Beiner murder. In that case---- + +What about that case? Oddly enough--yet not so oddly, after all, when +one considers that Clancy was only twenty years of age--up to now she +had given a great deal of thought to her predicament and practically +none to the real way out of it. She marveled at herself. + +Why in that case, she'd be in desperate danger, as great danger as she +had been in just before she picked up the paper in Vandervent's +anteroom, and the only way out of that danger, without lasting disgrace +at the least, would be the production of the real murderer of Morris +Beiner. + +The real murderer! She drew in her breath with a whistle. + +Beiner had been killed; she was suspected. These were facts, and the +only facts that she had reckoned with. But the greater fact, though up +to now ignored by her, was that _somebody_ had killed Beiner. Some one +had entered the man's office and slain him, probably as he lay +unconscious on the floor. That _somebody_ was foot-loose now, perhaps in +New York, free from suspicion. + +She straightened up, alert, nervous. Suddenly, horror--a horror which +fear had managed to keep from her till now--assailed her. _A murderer!_ +And free! Free to commit other murders! She started as a knock sounded +upon the door. And, queerly, she didn't think of the police; she thought +of the murderer of Beiner. It was with difficulty that she mastered +herself sufficiently to answer the knock. + +It was Mrs. Gerand. Miss Deane was wanted on the telephone. It was not a +moment when Clancy wished to talk to any one. She wished to be alone, to +study upon this new problem--the problem that should have been in her +mind these past three days but that had only popped into it now. But the +telephone issued commands that just now she dared not disobey. It might +be Grannis or Vandervent. She ran down-stairs ahead of Mrs. Gerand. A +booming voice, recognition of which came to her at once, greeted her. + +"Hello!" + +"Miss Deane? This is Judge Walbrough speaking." + +"Oh, how do you do?" said Clancy. In her relief, she was extremely +enthusiastic. + +The deep voice at the other end of the wire chuckled. + +"You know the meaning of the word 'palaver,' don't you, young woman? The +happy way you speak, any one'd think I was a gay young blade like David +Randall or Vandervent instead of an old fogy." + +"'Old fogy!' Why, Judge Walbrough!" + +Clancy's tone was rebuking, politely incredulous, amused--everything, in +short, that a young girl's voice should be when a man just passing +middle age terms himself "old." Walbrough chuckled again. + +"Oh, it's a great gift. Miss Deane; never lose it. The young men don't +matter. Any girl can catch one of them. But to catch the oldsters like +myself--oldsters who know that they can't catch you--that takes genius, +Miss Deane." + +Clancy laughed. + +"Please don't flatter me, Judge. Because, you know, I _believe_ you, +and----" + +"Sh," said Walbrough. As he uttered the warning, his voice became almost +a roar. "The jealous woman might overhear us; she is listening in the +next room now----" + +There was the sound of a scuffle; then came to Clancy's ears the softer +voice of Mrs. Walbrough. + +"Miss Deane, the senile person who just spoke to you is absurd enough to +think that if an old couple--I mean an old man and his young wife--asked +you, you'd probably break an engagement with some dashing bachelor and +sit with us at the opera." + +"I don't know the senile person to whom you refer," retorted Clancy, +"but if you and the judge would like me to go, I'd love to, even though +I have no engagement to break." + +"We won't insist on the breaking, then. Will you run over and dine with +us?" + +Clancy was astonished. Then she remembered that she had dined rather +early at the Broadway lunch-room. It really wasn't more than six-thirty +now. People like the Walbroughs, of course, didn't dine until after +seven, possibly until eight. + +"I won't do that," she answered. "I'd intended to go to bed--it's such a +terrible night. And I ate before I came home--but I'd love to come and +sit with you," she finished impulsively. + +There was something warm, motherly in the older woman's reply. + +"And we'd love to have you, Miss Deane. I'll send the car around right +away." + +Clancy shrugged as she surveyed again her meager wardrobe. But the +Walbroughs must know that she lived in a lodging-house--she supposed +that they'd obtained her telephone-number and address from Sophie +Carey--and the fact that she didn't possess a gorgeous evening gown +wouldn't mean much to them, she hoped. And believed, too. For they were +most human persons, even if they did, according to Sophie Carey, matter +a lot in New York. + +Mrs. Gerand was quite breathless when she announced to Clancy, half an +hour after the telephone-call, that a big limousine was calling for the +newest Gerand lodger. Clancy was already dressed in the pretty foulard +that was her only evening frock. Mrs. Gerand solicitously helped her on +with her shabby blue coat. Her voice was lowered in awe as she asked: + +"It ain't _the_ Walbroughs, is it? The chauffeur said, 'Judge +Walbrough's car;' but not _the_ judge, is it?" + +"Are there two of them?" laughed Clancy. + +Mrs. Gerand shook her head. + +"Not that I ever heard of, Miss Deane. But--gee, you got swell friends, +ain't you?" + +Clancy laughed again. + +"Have I?" + +"I'll say you have," said Mrs. Gerand. + + * * * * * + +The Walbrough home was on Murray Hill, though Clancy didn't know at the +time that the section of the city directly south of the Grand Central +Station was so named. It was not a new house, and it looked as though it +was lived in--something that cannot always be said of New York homes, +whether in apartment-buildings or in single houses. It was homey in the +sense that the houses in Zenith were homey. And, even though a colored +man in evening clothes opened the front door, and though a colored maid +relieved Clancy of her coat, Clancy felt, from the moment that she +passed the threshold, that she was in a _home_. + +Her host met her at the top of a flight of stairs. His great hands +enveloped hers. They drew her toward him. Before she knew it, he had +kissed her. And Clancy did the thing that made two admiring +acquaintances adoring friends for life. She kissed the judge warmly in +return. For Mrs. Walbrough was standing a trifle behind the judge, +although Clancy hadn't seen her. She came forward now, wringing her +hands with a would-be pathetic expression on her face. + +"I can't trust the man a moment, Miss Deane. And, to make it worse, I +find that I can't trust you." She drew Clancy close to her. She, too, +kissed the girl, and found the kiss returned. + +"Why shouldn't I kiss him?" demanded Clancy. "He brags so much, I wanted +to find out if he knew how." + +"Does he?" asked Mrs. Walbrough. + +Clancy's eyes twinkled. + +"Well, you see," she answered, "I'm not really a judge myself." + +The judge exploded in a huge guffaw. + +"With eyes like hers, Irish gray eyes, why shouldn't she have wit? Tell +me, Miss Deane: You have Irish blood in you?" + +"My first name is Clancy," replied the girl. + +"Enough," said the judge. He heaved a great mock sigh. "Now, if only +Martha would catch a convenient cold or headache----" + +Mrs. Walbrough tapped him with an ostrich-plume fan. + +"Tom, Miss Deane is our guest. Please stop annoying her. The suggestion +that she should spend an hour alone with you must be horrifying to any +young lady. Come." + +The judge gave an arm to each of the ladies, and they walked, with much +stateliness on the part of the judge, to a dining-room that opened off +the landing at the head of the stairs. + +Clancy felt happier than she had deemed it possible for her to be. +Perhaps the judge's humor was a little crude; perhaps it was even +stupid. But to be with two people who so evidently liked her, and who +so patently adored each other, was to partake of their happiness, no +matter how desperate her own fears. + +Dinner passed quickly enough, and Clancy found out that she had an +appetite, after all. The judge and his wife showed no undue interest in +her. Clancy would have sworn that they knew nothing about her when +dinner ended and they started for the opera. She did not know that, +before he went upon the bench, Judge Walbrough had been the cleverest +cross-examiner at the bar, and that all through dinner he had been +verifying his first estimate of her character. For the Walbroughs, as +she was later to learn, did not "pick up" every lovely young female whom +they chanced to meet and admire. A happy couple, they still were lonely +at times--lonely for the sound of younger voices. + +And the significant glance that the judge cast at his wife at the end of +the dinner went unnoticed by Clancy. She did not know that they had +passed upon her and found her worth while. + +And with this friendly couple she heard her first opera. It was "Manon," +and Farrar sang. From the beginning to the tragic dénouement, Clancy was +held enthralled. She was different from the average country girl who +attends the opera. She was not at all interested in the persons, though +they were personages, who were in the boxes. She was interested in the +singers, and in them only. She had never heard great music before, save +from a phonograph. She made a mental vow that she would hear more +again--soon. + + + + +XX + + +The judge and his wife were true music-lovers and didn't attend the +opera for social reasons. Nevertheless, they knew, seemingly, every one +of importance in the artistic, financial, professional, and social +world. During the entr'actes, the judge pointed out to Clancy persons +with whom he was acquainted. Ordinarily, Clancy would have been thrilled +at the mere sight of the demi-gods and goddesses. To-night, they left +her cold. Yet, out of courtesy, she professed interest. + +"And there's my little friend Darcy," she heard the judge say. + +She roused herself from abstraction, an abstraction in which she was +mentally reviewing the acting and singing of the superb Farrar. + +"Who is he?" she asked. + +The judge smiled. + +"Munitions. Used to live in Pennsylvania. Now he dwelleth in the Land of +Easy Come." + +For a second, her thoughts far away, Clancy did not get the implication. +Then she replied. + +"But I thought that the munitions millionaires made so much that they +found it hard to get rid of it." + +"This is a wonderful town, Miss Deane. It affords opportunity for +everyone and everything. No man ever made money so fast that New York +couldn't take it away from him. If the ordinary methods are not +sufficient, some brilliant New Yorker will invent something new. And +they're inventing them for Darcy--and ten thousand other Darcys, too." + +Clancy stared at the squat little millionaire a few seats away. + +"He doesn't look very brilliant," she announced. + +"He isn't," said the judge. + +"But he's worth millions," protested Clancy. + +"That doesn't prove brilliance. It proves knack and tenacity, that's +all," said her host. "Some of the most brilliant men I know are paupers; +some of the most stupid are millionaires." + +"And vice versa?" suggested Clancy. + +The judge shrugged. + +"The brilliant millionaires are wealthy despite their brilliance. My +child, money was never so easy to make--or so easy to spend. And those +who make it are spending it." + +"But isn't every one spending, not only the millionaires?" demanded +Clancy. + +"It's the fashion," said the judge. "But fashions change. I'm not +worried about America." + +The curtain rose, cutting short Walbrough's disquisition. But, for a +moment, Clancy pondered on what he had said. "The Land of Easy Come." +The people that she had met, the moving-picture millionaires--theirs had +come easily-- Would it go as easily? Even David Randall, worth +approximately half a million before his thirtieth birthday--she'd read +enough to know that brokers went bankrupt over-night. The hotels that +she knew were crowded almost beyond capacity with people who were +willing to pay any price for any sort of accommodation. The outrageous +prices charged--and paid--in the restaurants. The gorgeous motor-cars. +The marvelous costly clothing that the women wore. Some one must produce +these luxuries. Who were paying for them? Surely not persons who had +toiled and sweated to amass a few dollars. Easy come! Her own little +nest-egg, bequeathed to her by a distant relative--it had come easily; +it had gone as easily. Of course, she hadn't spent it, but--it was gone. +But she was too young to philosophize; she forgot herself in the +performance. + +She was throbbing with gratitude to the Walbroughs as, the opera over, +they slowly made their way through the chattering thousands toward the +lobby. They had given her the most wonderful evening of her life. + +She was about to say something to this effect when some one accosted the +judge. For the moment, he was separated from the two women, and verbal +expression of Clancy's feelings was postponed. For when the judge joined +them, he was accompanied by a man whose mop of hair would have rendered +him noticeable without the fading bruise upon his face. It was Zenda! + +His recognition was as quick as Clancy's. His dreamy brown eyes--one of +them still discolored--lighted keenly. But he had been an actor before +he had become one of the most famous directors in Screendom. He held out +his hand quite casually. + +"Hello, Florine!" he said. + +Walbrough stared from one to the other. + +"You know each other? 'Florine?'" + +"A name," said Clancy quickly, "that I called myself when--when I hoped +to get work upon the screen." + +She breathed deeply. Of course, Judge Walbrough and Zenda didn't know +that a woman named Florine Ladue was wanted for Beiner's murder; but +still---- + +"'On the screen?' That's funny," said the judge. "Sophie Carey told us +that you were thinking of stenography until she put you in touch with +Sally Henderson. Huh! No fool like an old fool! I was thinking I would +put a new idea in your head, and you have it already. Darcy stopped me +and introduced his friend Mr. Zenda, and I immediately thought that a +girl like you with your beauty--" He interrupted himself a moment while +he presented Zenda to his wife. Then he turned to Clancy. "Couldn't you +get work?" he asked, abruptly. + +They were on the sidewalk now, and the starter was signaling, by +electrically lighted numbers, for the judge's car. It was a clear, +crisp, wonderful night, and the stars vied with the lights of Broadway. + +Clancy looked up and down the street. She had no intention of running +away. She'd tried to reach Zenda to-day, and had been told that he was +too ill to receive visitors. Nevertheless, the impulse to flee was +roused in her again. Then, listening to reason, she conquered it. + +She answered the judge. + +"'Get work?' I didn't try very long." + +"And she didn't come to me," said Zenda. He put into his words a meaning +that the Walbroughs could not suspect. Clancy got it. + +"Oh, but I did!" she said. "I've tried to get you on the telephone. +Central wouldn't give me your number. I wrote you a letter in care of +Zenda Films. Your partner, Mr. Grannis, opened it. And to-day I called +at your apartment and was told that you were ill." + +Zenda's face, which had been stern, softened. + +"Is that so?" he asked. + +The judge, a trifle mystified, broke into the conversation. + +"Well, she seems to have proved that she didn't neglect you, Mr. Zenda. +Don't see why she should go to such pains, unless"--and he +laughed--"Miss Deane wants to prove that she played fair;--didn't give +any one else a prior opportunity to make a million dollars out of her +pretty face." + +"Miss Deane can easily prove that she is playing fair," said Zenda. + +"I want to," said Clancy quickly. + +Walbrough was a clever man. It was pardonable in him not to have +suspected earlier that there was some byplay of talk to whose meaning he +was not privy. But now he knew that there was some meaning not +understood by him in this talk. + +"Here's the car," he said. "Suppose you ride home with us, Zenda?" + +"I have some friends. If you'll wait a moment--" And Zenda was off. + +In silence, Clancy entered the judge's limousine. Then Mrs. Walbrough, +settling herself comfortably, suddenly patted the girl upon the hand. +She was a keen woman, was Mrs. Walbrough; she sensed that something was +troubling Clancy. And the judge cleared his throat portentously. + +"Miss Deane," he said, "I don't know your relation to Mr. Zenda. But, if +you'd care to consider yourself my client----" + +"Thank you," said Clancy. + +Then Zenda reappeared. He crowded himself into the car. + +"I just telephoned my apartment, Miss Deane. The door-man went on at +noon and stays until midnight. He says that a young lady answering your +description called on me to-day." + +"Did you need verification, Zenda?" asked the judge angrily. + +Zenda shrugged. + +"In a matter involving a hundred thousand and more, corroboration does +no harm, and my obtaining it should not be offensive to Miss Deane." + +"Oh, it isn't, it isn't!" said Clancy tremulously. + +The judge's eyes narrowed. + +"I must inform you, Zenda, that Miss Deane is my client," he said. + +Zenda bowed. + +"I couldn't wish a better adviser for Miss Deane. Farrar was in +excellent voice to-night, didn't you think?" + +No one challenged the change of subject, and until they were settled in +the Walbrough library, the opera was the only subject of discussion. +But, once there, Zenda came to business with celerity. + +"Judge Walbrough, I have been swindled in a poker game, in a series of +poker games, out of thousands of dollars. Last Monday night, we caught +the man who did the cheating. There was trouble. Miss Deane was present +at the game, in my apartment. She came as the guest of one Ike Weber. +She disappeared during the quarrel. It has been my assumption that she +was present as the aide of Weber. At the Star Club, on Tuesday, I +stated, to associates of Weber, that the man was a swindler. Yesterday, +I was told that he intended bringing suit against me. So I have denied +myself to all possible process-servers on the plea of illness." + +"Why? If the man is a swindler----" + +But Zenda cut the judge short. + +"I can't prove it. I don't want scandal. Suit would precipitate it. If I +could get proof against Weber, I'd confront him with it, and the suit +would be dropped. Also, I would recover my money. Not that that matters +much. Miss Deane, why did you come to see me?" + +Clancy drew a long breath; then she began to talk. Carefully avoiding +all reference to Morris Beiner, she told everything else that had to do +with Zenda, Weber, and Grannis. The judge spoke first after she ceased. + +"I don't get Grannis's connection." + +"I do!" snapped Zenda. "He's been trying to get control of the company-- +I'm not nearly so rich as people think I am. The company has a contract +with me for a term of years at no very huge salary. I expected to make +my money out of the profits. But now we've quarreled over business +methods. If he could get me entirely out, use my name--the company has +the right to--increase the capitalization, and sell stock to the public +on the strength of my reputation, Grannis would become rich more quickly +that way than by making pictures. And the quicker Grannis broke me, so +that I'd have to sell my stock--every little bit helps. If Weber won a +million from me----" + +"'A million!'" gasped Walbrough. + +Zenda's voice was self-contemptuous. + +"Easy come, Judge," he said. "I'm an easy mark. Weber had a good start +toward the million, would have had a better if it hadn't been for Mrs. +Zenda." + +"It's an incredible story!" cried the judge. + +"What's incredible? That I should gamble, and that some one should +swindle me? What's strange about that in this town, Judge? In any town, +for that matter?" + +Clancy, eyes half closed, hardly heard what they were saying. How easy +it would be to confess! For, what had she to confess? Nothing whatever +of wrong-doing. Then why had it not been easy to call on Zenda the first +thing on Tuesday morning and tell him of Fay Marston's involuntary +confession? Because she had been afraid of scandal? Her lips curled in +contempt for herself. To avoid doing right because of possible scandal? +She was overly harsh with herself. Yet, to balance too much harshness, +she became too lenient in her self-judgment when it occurred to her that +only fear of scandal kept her from confessing to Vandervent that she +_was_ Florine Ladue. That was a _different_ sort of scandal; also, there +was danger in it. No; she could not blame herself because she kept that +matter quiet. + +"And you'd advise me to keep it out of the courts, Judge?" she heard +Zenda asking. + +"If possible," replied the judge. "It will do you no good. The mere +threat of it will be enough. Offer Grannis a fair price for his stock, +deducting, of course, from that price whatever have been your poker +losses to Weber. For the two are partners, unquestionably. Tell Grannis +that, if he doesn't accept your offer, you will prosecute both Weber and +himself for swindling. That's much the better way." + +"I agree," said Zenda. "But I haven't the cash to swing Grannis's +stock." + +"Plenty of people have," said the judge. "In fact, I have a client who +will take that stock." + +"It's a bet," said Zenda. He rose briskly. "Can't thank you enough, Miss +Deane. Will you be at the offices of Zenda Films to-morrow morning with +Judge Walbrough?" + +He turned to the judge and arranged the hour, then turned back to +Clancy. + +"And as soon as _that's_ settled, we'll make a test of you, Miss Deane." + +He was gone in another moment. The judge stared at Clancy. + +"Little girl," he said, "if it weren't so late, I'd give you a long, +long lecture." + +"You'll lecture her no lectures, Tom Walbrough," said his wife firmly. +"Hasn't she put you in the way of an investment for a client? You'll +thank her, instead of scolding her." + +The judge laughed. + +"Right enough! But I _will_ give her advice." + +"And I'll follow it," said Clancy earnestly. + +And she did. But not to the extent of doing as age, or proven +experience, or ability advised her. She would always act upon the +impulse, would follow her own way--a way which, because she was the +lovely Clancy Deane, might honestly be termed her own sweet way. + + + + +XXI + + +When she and Judge Walbrough--the Walbroughs sent their car for her at +nine-thirty--arrived in the offices of Zenda Films, they were ushered +into an inner office by the same overdressed youth who had shown Clancy +in there yesterday. + +The meeting that loomed ahead of her was fraught, she believed, with +tremendous dramatic possibilities. Of course, none of the people who +would take part in it knew that she had visited the office of Morris +Beiner, yet she might be called again by the name "Florine" in the +presence of some one who knew. + +Zenda was already there, seated at the large table. At the far end of it +were Weber and Grannis. There were no introductions. Zenda greeted the +new arrivals, and merely stated: + +"Judge Walbrough will act as my attorney. If you want a lawyer, Grannis, +you, of course, are entitled to one." + +Grannis grunted unintelligibly. Zenda drummed a moment on the table with +his slender fingers. Then he spoke. + +"I won't go over everything again, Grannis. I've the goods on you. I've +plenty on Weber, too. Judge Walbrough is prepared to offer you, on +behalf of a client, seventy-five for your stock." + +Here the judge nodded acquiescently. He opened an important-seeming +wallet and withdrew a check. + +"I went to the bank first thing this morning, Zenda," he said. "It's +certified. Three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars for half the +stock--five thousand shares." + +"That's correct," said Zenda. "It doesn't take account of my poker +losses, but"--he leaned toward Weber--"I'm not going to slug you, Ike. +I'm not going to sue you. I'm not going to do anything. Not now. But, so +surely as you stay in this town, so surely as you mix into the film +business _anywhere_, I'm going to land you in jail." He turned to his +erstwhile partner. "I haven't much to say to you, Grannis. The judge is +offering you a price that's fair, considering that he's deducted about +what you and Ike trimmed me of from his offer. That's O.K. I'm willing +to let his client in, sort of at my expense, in order to get rid of you. +Now, do you accept?" + +Clancy held her breath. But Zenda and Grannis must have held some +earlier conversation this morning or last night. For Grannis produced a +sheaf of engraved documents. He put them on the table. Zenda reached for +them and handed them to the judge. The latter examined them carefully, +then nodded in acceptance. + +"The certificates are properly endorsed in blank, Zenda. It's all +right." He pushed across the table his certified check. Grannis took it. +He rose and looked uncertainly at Zenda. + +The film-director met his glance fairly. + +"You're a pretty wise bird, Grannis," he said slowly. "But it isn't +_really_ wise to double-cross your friend and partner." + +That was all that was said. Grannis and Weber had left the room when +Clancy suddenly remembered something. + +"The ten thousand dollars they gave me!" she cried. "Have you returned +it?" + +She had given it, for safe-keeping, into Walbrough's hands last night. + +Zenda laughed. + +"My dear Miss Deane," he said, "I've lost scores of thousands at stud to +Grannis and Weber. That ten thousand dollars is my money. That is, it +_was_ my money." + +Clancy stared at him. The judge chuckled. + +"Considering that your evidence saved Zenda from a nasty lawsuit, that +it ridded him of a crooked partner, that it gave him a chance to +continue his business with a partner who will not interfere with him, +both he and myself agree that you are entitled to that ten thousand +dollars." + +Clancy had been pale as wax. But now the color surged into her cheeks. + +"For simply doing what I ought to do? No, indeed!" she cried. + +Nor could their united protests move her. Zenda finally ceased. An idea +struck him. He beamed upon her. + +"You said, last night, that you had film ambitions. Well, Miss Deane, +here's my chance to repay you." + +Her eyes lighted. + +"Oh, I don't want you to feel that----" + +Zenda scribbled upon a card. + +"Take this to the studio. Johansen will make a test of you. He'll do it +right away. On Monday, you telephone----" + +"And then begins the big career!" cried the judge. "Well, well, Miss +Deane; I shall expect to see Zenda Films advertising the newest star +all over the city. Eh, Zenda?" + +Zenda smiled. + +"I can always use a pretty girl with intelligence," he said. "Miss Deane +is certainly pretty and just as certainly intelligent. If she screens as +well as I hope----" + +His unuttered promise seemed to open the gates of Fortune to Clancy. She +hardly knew afterward what she said by way of thanks. She only knew that +Judge Walbrough insisted that she use his limousine--stating that he +himself was going to take the subway down-town--and that Zenda wrung her +hand warmly, and that, a moment later, she had descended in the elevator +and was in the big motor, on her way to the East-Side studio of Zenda +Films, Incorporated. + +In the car, she managed to collect herself. Once again she saw herself +the peer of the famous women of the screen; she saw herself famous, +rich. Oddly enough, she thought of David Randall. She wondered how he +would feel if he knew that she was on the threshold of international +fame. For she never doubted it. She knew that all she needed was +opportunity. + +Johansen, a thin, bald, worried-seeming Swede, eyed her keenly with +deep-set blue eyes. He was in his shirt-sleeves, superintending the +erection of a "set." But he ceased that work and summoned a camera-man. +The Zenda command caused all to put themselves at her service. Johansen +even superintended her making-up process, of which she was abysmally +ignorant. Also, he rearranged her hair. Then he conducted her to the +"set" which he was erecting. + +There was a table in the middle of the scene. Johansen instructed her. +He put a letter on the table. + +"Now, Miss Deane, you enter from the left there, you're kinda blue, +downhearted--see? Then you spy this letter. You pick it up. It's for +you, and you recognize the handwriting. It's from your sweetie--get me? +You smile. You open the letter. Then your smile fades away and you weep. +Get me? Try it. Now, mind, it don't really matter if you can act or not. +Zenda wouldn't care about that. He could teach a wooden image to act. +It's just your registering--that's all. Ready? Camera!" + +In Zenith, when she had played in the high-school shows, Clancy had been +self-conscious, she knew. And here, with only a bored assistant director +and an equally bored camera-man to observe her, she was even more +self-conscious. So she was agreeably surprised when Johansen +complimented her after the scene had been taken. + +"You done fine!" he said. "Now let's try another. This time, you come in +from the right, happy-like. You see the letter and get blue. You read it +and get happy. Got it? Shoot!" + +She went through the little scene, this time with less +self-consciousness. Johansen smiled kindly upon her. + +"I think you got something," he told her. "Can't tell, of course, yet. +The screen is funny. Prettiest girl in the world may be a lemon on the +screen. Same goes both ways. But we'll hope." + +But he couldn't dash her sense of success. She rode on air to Sally +Henderson's office. Her employer was not there, Clancy had telephoned +before meeting Walbrough, asking permission to be late, and also +apologizing for not having returned to the office the afternoon before. + +"Miss Henderson's gone out of town for the week-end," young Guernsey, +the too foppishly-dressed office-manager, told her. "She left this for +you." + +"This" was an envelope which Clancy quickly opened. It contained, not +her discharge, which she had vaguely expected--why should her employer +write to her otherwise?--but twenty-five dollars, half a week's salary. +And Clancy was down to her last dollar! + +"We close at one on Saturdays," Guernsey informed her. He himself was +beating the closing-time by three-quarters of an hour, but Clancy waited +until one o'clock. Then she left. She called upon Miss Conover, but the +plump, merry little dressmaker had nothing ready to try on her newest +customer. + +It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Zenda had caused a test to be made +of her--and Clancy Deane would be upon the screen. + +She wondered just what sort of parts Zenda would give her. Of course, +she'd have to begin with little "bits," as Fanchon had called them. But +soon--oh, very soon!--she'd work up to great rôles. She wanted emotional +parts; she felt that she could bring to the screen something new in the +way of interpretation. All the Clancys of the world, whether it is +acting or writing or singing that they wish to do, feel the same. + +She took in a matinée in the afternoon. She supped, in lonely splendor, +at the Trevor. And, equipped with a novel, she went to bed early. But +she could not concentrate. Her mind wandered; and it didn't wander to +the mystery of Morris Beiner's death, or to the possibility that some +one in Vandervent's office would definitely decide that she _was_ +Florine Ladue, nearly so often as it wandered to the Zenda studios. + +She had fooled Philip Vandervent yesterday. Grannis and Weber had +passed, so she believed, out of her life. Why should she worry? She had +done no wrong. Resolutely, she refused to fret. Instead, she went off to +sleep, prepared for roseate dreams. She had them, but the awakening was +not so roseate. + +Mrs. Gerand, who, by request, roused all her lodgers on week-days, +permitted them to slumber as late as they chose on Sundays. The +lodging-house, usually from seven o'clock until nine a noisy place, +filled with the bustle of departing men and women, was silent as the +tomb on Sunday morning. And Clancy slept until eleven o'clock, to be +awakened by the landlady. + +"I hate to do it, Miss Deane," she apologized, "but when letters come by +special messenger, they're important as telegrams, I think. So I brought +this up." + +Clancy, sitting up in bed, took the note from Mrs. Gerand's hand. After +the landlady had gone, she opened it. And then she put her head upon the +pillow and wept. For Zenda had written: + + DEAR MISS DEANE: + + I am at the studio, where I had them run off your test of + yesterday morning. You see, I didn't waste any time. And I'm sorry + to tell you that you won't do for the screen. One cannot explain + it. Your skin, your features, your hair--everything about you is + beautiful. And you have brains. But the camera is a tricky and + unreasonable thing. All of that beauty and charm which is yours + fails to register upon the screen. I cannot tell you how sorry I + am, and I shall be only too glad to let you see the test yourself, + so that you will not possibly doubt my good faith. If, in any + other way, I can be of service to you, please command. + + Yours faithfully, + ZENDA. + +All her illusions were shattered. She didn't wish to see the test. She +believed Zenda. + +Slowly her sobs ceased. She had no lack of courage. Also, she was young, +and youth turns from defeat to future victory in a moment's time. + +Carefully, as she bathed, she removed the traces of tears. Dressed, she +breakfasted at the Trevor. Then, feeling more lonely than she had ever +felt in her life, she went out upon Fifth Avenue. Groups of people were +entering a church a block away. She was not a particularly devout young +person, but she had been a regular churchgoer at Zenith. She walked up +the avenue and into the church. She expected no consolation there; a +girl or boy of twenty who can acquire consolation from religion is not +exactly normal. Age turns to religion; youth away from it. But she did +manage to forget herself in the solemn service, the mellow music. + +Emerging, she envied the groups that paused to chat with each other. In +Zenith, she knew everybody, would have also stopped to exchange comment +and gossip. But here--she had failed in her great ambition. The rest was +makeshift, a stop-gap until--until what? She didn't know. Vaguely she +wondered where Randall was. Probably hundreds of miles beyond Chicago +now. + +And then, as she crossed the square, her heart leaped. For she saw him +reluctantly descending the steps of her lodging house. She quickened her +pace. He saw her. His reluctant tread also quickened. Unmindful of the +drifts, Randall plowed across the street and joined her. She wondered +why he had not started on his Western trip. + +And then Clancy's heart, which had been beating joyously with a gladness +that she did not quite understand, seemed to drop to some region inches +below where it belonged. For, coming round the corner of Thompson +Street--no, not coming, but stopping as he perceived her--was Spofford, +the dyed-mustached detective of Vandervent's office. And with him was a +shorter slighter person. Fear aided recognition. He was the elevator-man +of the Heberworth Building, who had taken her up to Beiner's office last +Tuesday afternoon. + + + + +XXII + + +Randall released Clancy's hand. He laughed embarrassedly. + +"You _looked_ glad," he said. + +Clancy's hand fell limply to her side. A moment ago, her hand-clasp +would have been firm, vital, a thing to thrill the young man. But now, +although that protection he might give was most desirable, she could not +respond to its presence. + +For she was caught. Spofford, across the street, staring menacingly over +at her, had been too swift for her. Yet, trapped though she was, she +managed to look away from the attaché of the district attorney's office. +She met Randall's eyes. + +"I _am_ glad," she said. As though to prove her words, she raised her +hand and offered it again to Randall. + +He took it. Holding it, he turned and stared over his shoulder. Spofford +was still standing across the street; his companion was nodding his +head. It seemed as though, sensing some threat in Randall's stare, they +stood a little closer together. Something of that surly defiance that is +the city detective's most outstanding trait seeped across the street. +Clancy felt it. She wondered whether or not Randall did. + +But he said nothing. With an air of proprietorship that was comforting, +he drew her hand through his bended arm and started guiding her through +the drifts. + +Dully, Clancy permitted herself to be led. She wondered, almost +apathetically, if Spofford would halt them. Well, what difference would +it make? For a moment, she was vaguely interested in Randall's possible +attitude. Would he knock the man down? + +Then, as they reached the two men, Randall stopped. His big right arm +moved backward; Clancy almost swung with it, back out of a possible +fracas. + +"I thought summer-time was your hunting-season," said Randall. + +Spofford eyed him sullenly. + +"Who you talkin' to?" he demanded. + +"Why, to you," said Randall. "I thought that all you old gentlemen with +dyed whiskers and toupées did your work in the pleasant months." He +half-wheeled and pointed west. "Know what's over that way? I'll tell +you--Jefferson Market. And the least that they give a masher is ten days +on the Island. That is, after he gets out of the hospital." He paused, +stared at Spofford a moment, then added "It's your move." + +Spofford's red face bore a deeper color. But he met Randall's stare +calmly. Slowly he turned back the lapel of his jacket, affording a +glimpse of a nickel badge. + +"Take a slant at that, friend," he advised. "I ain't mashin'; I'm +'tendin' to my business. Suppose," he finished truculently, "you 'tend +to yours." + +Clancy, hanging on Randall's arm, felt his biceps tighten. But her +precarious position would not be improved by an attack upon Spofford. +She made her gripping fingers dig deeper. She felt the biceps soften. + +Then, as she waited for Spofford to announce that she was under arrest, +the blue-coated man with the outthrust lower lip moved aside. She gave +Randall no time for digestion of the queer situation. Her fingers now +impelled him forward, and in a moment they were in the hall of Mrs. +Gerand's lodging-house. + +She left him there while she went up-stairs. Clancy would have stopped +the procession to the death-house to powder her nose. And why not? Men +light a cigarette; women arrange their hair. Either act, calling for a +certain concentration, settles the nerves. + +But Clancy's nerves were not to be settled this morning. Even though +Spofford had not arrested her, his presence with the elevator-man from +the Heberworth Building meant only one thing. He had not believed her +explanation of her visit to Philip Vandervent's office, and, acting upon +that disbelief, had produced, for purposes of identification, a man who +had seen Beiner's mysterious woman visitor last Tuesday afternoon. +Arrest was a mere matter of time, Clancy supposed. + +Panicky, she peeped through the window, flattening her nose against the +pane. Outside, across the street now, was Spofford. She was quite +certain that his roving eyes sought her out, found her, and that his +mean mouth opened in an exultant laugh. + +She shrugged--the hopeless shrug of the condemned. She could only wait. +Flight was useless. If Spofford suspected flight, he would not hesitate, +she felt, to arrest her. She could visualize what had happened since she +had entered the house. Spofford had told his witness to telephone for +instructions. She knew vaguely that warrants were necessary, that +certain informations and beliefs must be sworn to. How soon before a +uniformed man-- She almost ran down-stairs to Randall. + +He was not in the hall, but she found him in the parlor. He was sitting +down, his wide shoulders hunched together, his forehead frowning. She +knew that he was thinking of the man outside, the man with the truculent +lower lip, who wore a detective's shield pinned inside his coat lapel. +Somehow, although, he had been willing to strike a blow for her a few +minutes ago, it seemed to her that he had lost his combativeness, that +the eyes which he lifted to her were uneasy. + +Yet the smile that came to his lips was cheering. He moved over slightly +on the old-fashioned sofa on which he was sitting. Clancy took the hint; +she sat down beside him. + +"Suppose you were surprised to see me so soon again?" he asked. The +banal question told Clancy that he intended to ignore the incident of +Spofford. She was surprised--and vaguely indignant. Yet the indignation +was not noticeable as she returned his smile. + +"'Surprised?' I was thinking of you when I met you," she told him. "Of +course I was surprised, but----" + +"You were thinking of me?" He seemed to forget Spofford. + +"Why not? Does one forget in twenty-four hours a man who has proposed?" + +"There are degrees of forgetfulness," he said. + +Clancy held her right hand before her. She spread its fingers wide. With +the index-finger of her left hand, she began counting off, beginning +with the right thumb. + +"Absolute zero of forgetfulness. M-m-m--no; not that." She touched her +right forefinger. "Freezing-point--no; not that." She completely forgot, +in the always delightful tactics of flirtation, the man lurking outside. +She paused. + +"Please continue," pleaded Randall. + +"Oh, I wouldn't want to," she told him. "You see, one finally reaches +the boiling-point, which isn't forgetfulness at all, and--why are you in +New York?" she suddenly demanded. + +"Train reached Albany hours late--account of the snow. I had time to +think it over, and--what's business when a lady beckons." + +"Did I beckon?" she asked demurely. "I thought that I pointed." + +"You did," he agreed. "But pointing is vulgar, and I knew that you +couldn't be that." + +She grinned--the irrepressible Clancy grin that told of the merry heart +within her. + +"Did you return to New York to apologize for thinking me vulgar," she +inquired. Randall had never been so near to winning her admiration. She +liked him, of course, thought him trustworthy, dependable, and safe, the +possessor of all those qualities which women respect in sons, fathers, +brothers, and husbands, but not in suitors. But, for the first time +since she had met him--not so long ago, as age reckons, but long enough +as youth knows time--he was showing a lightness of touch. He wasn't +witty, but, to Clancy, he seemed so, and the soul of wit is not so much +its brevity as it is its audience. He seemed witty, for the moment, to +Clancy. And so, admirable. + +But the lightness left him as quickly as it had come. He shook his head +gravely. + +"I had time to think it over," he said again. "And--Miss Deane, if I +could fall in love with you in a week, so could other men." + +"Are you proposing again?" she demanded. + +His shoulders were broad; they could carry for two. He was kindly; she +forgot that, a moment ago, he hadn't seemed combative. She liked him +better than she had. And then, even as she was admiring and liking him, +she became conscious that he was restless, uneasy. Instinctively, she +knew that it was not because of his love for her; it was because of the +man outside. + +That she could let Randall leave this house without some sort of +explanation of Spofford's queer manner had never been in her thoughts. +She knew that Randall would demand an explanation. She knew that he had +been conscious of her fright at sight of Spofford. + +"'Proposing again,'" echoed Randall. "Why--you know----" + +She cut into his speech. She wasted no time. + +"That man outside! Do you know why he's watching me?" + +"_Is_ he watching you?" Randall's surprise was palpably assumed. It +annoyed Clancy. + +"You know that he is!" she cried. "Aren't you curious?" + +Randall breathed heavily. He sat bolt upright. + +"I want you to know, Miss Deane, that it doesn't matter a bit to me. +Whatever you may have done, I am sure that you can explain." + +At any other time, Clancy would have flamed fire at his tone. Into his +speech had entered a certain stiltedness, a priggishness, almost, that +would have roused all the rage of which she was capable. And as she +would be able to love greatly, so would she be able--temporarily--to +hate. But now she was intent on self; she had no thought to spare for +Randall--save in so far as he might aid her. + +"'Explain?'" Her voice almost broke. "It's--it's pretty hard to explain +murder, isn't it?" + +Randall's lower jaw hung down. + +"'Murder!' You--you're joking, Miss Deane!" Yet, somehow, Clancy knew +that he knew that she was not joking. + +"I'm not joking. He--he thinks that I killed Morris Beiner." + +"Murder! Morris Beiner!" he gasped. + +"You've read about it. I'm the woman! The one that ran down the +fire-escape, that the police want!" + +Slowly Randall digested it. Once again he gasped the word: + +"Murder!" + +"Goodness me!" Clancy became New England in her expression. "What else +did you think it was?" + +"Why--I supposed--something--I didn't know--murder! That's absurd!" + +"You seem relieved," she said. He puzzled her. + +"Well, of course," he said. + +"I don't see why." + +"Well, you _couldn't_ have committed murder," he replied, with an air of +having uttered explanation of his relief. + +"I wish the police could think so!" she cried. + +"'Think so?' I'll make them think so. I'll tell that chap out there----" + +"But it won't do any good!" cried Clancy. Her cry was almost a wail. +Once before she had practically confessed, then withdrawn her +confession. Now she could not withdraw. Words rushed from her as from a +broken water-main. But, because she was Clancy Deane, they were not +words of exculpation, or of apology. They were the facts. Silently +Randall heard them through. Then he spoke slowly. + +"Any jury in the world would believe you," he said. + +"But I don't want to tell it to any jury!" screamed Clancy. +"Why--why--the disgrace--I--I----" + +Confession is always dramatic, and the dramatic is emotional. The tears +welled in her eyes. Through the blur of tears, Randall seemed bigger, +sturdier than ever. She reached out her arms toward him. + +"You asked me to marry you!" she cried. "I--I--would you want to marry +me now?" + +Randall smiled. + +"You know it," he said. "Just as soon as this affair is fixed up, we'll +be married, and----" He rose and took her hands in his. Quite +unaccountably, Clancy released her hands. + +"Fix it up? It _can't_ be fixed up," she said. + +"Well, we can try," said Randall. "I'll call in this man outside----" He +hesitated. "Judge Walbrough has been mighty nice to you, hasn't he? +Suppose I get him on the telephone?" + +He didn't wait for Clancy to reply. He walked briskly from the room and +she heard him at the telephone. She didn't listen to what he said. She +walked to the window. Spofford was still outside. What right had he to +act upon his own responsibility? Why hadn't the word of Philip +Vandervent been enough for him? + +She turned as Randall entered the room. + +"The telephone is out of order," he said. "I think I'd better run up to +the Walbroughs' house and get him." + +"And leave me here!" cried Clancy. + +Randall shrugged. + +"I'm afraid that man wouldn't let you go with me." + +"He may come in here and arrest me," she said. + +He shook his head. + +"I don't think so. And, if he does, Walbrough and I'll be right down +after you. You'd better let me go." + +She made no further protest. Suddenly, unaccountably, she wanted him to +go. + + + + +XXIII + + +Up in her room, alternating between moments of almost hysterical +defiance when she would stare through the window-panes at Spofford, and +moments when she would hurl herself upon the narrow bed, she waited for +Randall's return. + +Somewhere she had read, or heard, that murder was not a bailable +offense. That meant that she would be detained in prison, awaiting +trial. With a curious detachment, she studied herself. As though she +were some formless spirit, remote, yet infinitely near, she looked at +Clancy Deane. How silly it all was--how futile! Billions of humans had +conspired together, had laid down for themselves millions of queer +rules, transgression of which was so simple a matter that she wondered +that any one avoided it. + +For a moment she had that odd clairvoyance that comes to persons who, by +some quirk of fate, are compelled to think for themselves. She might +escape from the present net, but what nets would the demon set for her +in the years to come? Would she avoid them all? A horror of the future, +a future in which she saw herself eternally attempting extrication from +the inextricable, loomed before her. + +And then that queer, blurry clairvoyance left her. She came back to the +present. Mrs. Gerand, knocking at her door, announced that two gentlemen +wished to see her. She ran to the window. Spofford was still there. + +Down-stairs she ran. Mrs. Gerand had not told her that three persons +were calling. And it was the third to whom Clancy ran, upon whose +capacious bosom she let loose a flood of tears. + +Mrs. Walbrough patted her head, drew her close to her, kissed her; with +her own handkerchief wiped Clancy's eyes, from her own little vanity +case offered Clancy those replenishments of the toilet without which the +modern woman is more helpless than a man lost in the jungle without food +or arms. + +The judge noisily cleared his throat. Though he ever afterward disputed +Mrs. Walbrough's testimony, it is nevertheless the fact that he used his +own handkerchief upon his eyes. As for Randall, Clancy, lifting her head +from Mrs. Walbrough's breast, was subtly aware that his reddened face +bore an expression that was not merely embarrassment. He appeared once +again uneasy. It almost seemed to her that he avoided her eyes. + +Judge Walbrough cleared his throat a second time. + +"Mr. Randall has told us a lot, Miss Deane. Suppose you tell us the +whole story." + +It was easy to talk to Walbrough. He possessed the art of asking the +question that illuminated the speaker's mind, made him, or her, see +clearly things that had seemed of little relevance. Not until she had +finished did Clancy wonder if she had dropped in the Walbrough regard, +if she had lost a patronage, a friendship that, in so brief a time, had +come to mean so much. + +"What must you think of me?" she cried, as Walbrough tapped his cheek +with his fingers. + +The judge smiled. + +"I think that you've been a sensible young woman." + +Clancy gasped. Her eyes widened with amazement. + +"Why, I was sure that you'd blame me----" + +"What for?" demanded the judge. + +"For running away--hiding--everything," said Clancy. + +The judge's voice was grim. + +"If you'd voluntarily surrendered yourself to the indignities of arrest, +I'd have thought you an idiot." + +"But won't the fact that she remained in hiding go against her, Judge +Walbrough?" asked Randall. + +Walbrough surveyed the younger man frowningly. + +"'Go against her?' Where? You certainly don't imagine that any jury +would _convict_ Miss Deane?" + +"Of course not," stammered Randall. + +"And public opinion will certainly not condemn an innocent girl for +trying to avoid scandal, will it?" insisted the judge. + +"No," admitted Randall. + +"Then Miss Deane did the proper thing. Of course, the police will try to +make it seem that flight was the admission of guilt, but we won't worry +about them." + +Clancy seized his hand. + +"Do you mean that I won't be arrested?" she cried. + +"Exactly what I mean," said the judge. Yet, had Clancy been in a calmer +frame of mind, she would have observed that the judge's kindly smile was +of the lips, not of the eyes. She was not old enough in the world's +experiences to realize that a good lawyer is like a good doctor--he +cheers up his client. But, for that matter, it took not merely an older +person to know always what lay behind Judge Walbrough's smile; it took +an extremely keen analyst of human nature. Even his wife, who knew him +quite as well as any wife knows a husband, was deceived by his +confidence. Her hug was more reassuring to Clancy than even the judge's +words. + +"Bring that man in," the judge said to Randall, who went out to the +street to tell Spofford that Judge Walbrough wished to see him. + +The judge walked up and down the room while Randall was gone. Clancy, +watching him, was content to ask no questions, to beg for no more +reassurances. She felt as might a little child toward a parent. Nor did +her faith in him lessen as Randall, accompanied by Spofford, returned. +The judge ceased his pacing up and down the floor. He held the detective +with an eye from which all kindliness had vanished. + +"You know who I am?" he demanded. + +Spofford jerked a thumb at Randall. + +"This man told me that Judge Walbrough wanted to see me." + +"I'm Walbrough," said the judge. "I want to know why you're annoying +this young lady?" + +"Me?" Spofford's mean eyes widened. His surprise was overdone. "Annoyin' +her?" + +"We want to know why you are watching her." + +Spofford's eyes were cunning. + +"Ask her," he said. + +Judge Walbrough drew closer to the man. + +"Spofford, you know, of course, that I am no longer on the bench. You +also, I presume, know how long you will remain on the force if I want +you put off." + +Spofford thrust out his lower lip. + +"And I guess you know, too, that there's somethin' comin' to the man +who interferes with an officer in the performance of his duty. I don't +care who you are. Threaten me, and see what you get." + +The judge laughed. + +"A fine spirit, Spofford! Thoroughly admirable! Only, my man, I'll not +stop at putting you off the force. I'll run you out of town." His voice +suddenly rose. "Answer me, or I'll knock you down." + +The truculence of Spofford was always assumed. He knew, as did every New +Yorker, that, ex-judge though he might be, the power of Walbrough was no +inconsiderable thing. + +"Aw, there's no need gettin' huffy about it. I'll tell you, if the young +lady won't. She murdered Morris Beiner." + +The judge's laugh was exquisitely rendered. He didn't guffaw; he merely +chuckled. It was a marvelous bit of acting. Clancy, her heart beating +and throat choky with fear, was nevertheless sufficient mistress of +herself to be able to appreciate it. For the chuckle held mirth; it also +held appreciation of the seriousness of the charge. Before it, the +assumption of truculence on Spofford's features faded. He looked +abashed, frightened. To have offended Judge Walbrough without any +evidence was to have invited trouble. Spofford was not the sort that +issues such invitations. He suddenly grew desperate. + +"That's all right with me. Laugh if you want to. But I tell you we been +lookin' for a dame that was in Beiner's office just before he was +killed. And the elevator-boy at the Heberworth Building just took a +slant at this dame and identified her as a woman he let off on the +fourth floor round five o'clock on last Tuesday afternoon. And this +woman was in Mr. Vandervent's office yesterday, and she sent in the +name of Florine Ladue--the woman we been lookin' for, and----" + +"Miss Deane has explained that. Wasn't Mr. Vandervent satisfied with her +explanation?" demanded the judge. + +"He was; but he ain't me!" cried Spofford. "I don't fall for them easy +explanations. And, say--how did Miss Deane happen to guess what I was +hangin' around for? If you know that she _explained_ things to Mr. +Vandervent, why'd you ask me why I was watchin'?" + +Judge Walbrough chuckled again. + +"Stupid people always think in grooves, don't they, Spofford? Don't you +suppose that Miss Deane might have told me an amusing practical joke +that she had played upon Mr. Vandervent?" + +"Yes; she might have," sneered Spofford. "It was funny, at that. So +funny that she fainted when she played it. Perhaps that was part of the +joke, though." + +Judge Walbrough now became the alert lawyer. + +"Spofford, does Mr. Vandervent know of this--er--independent +investigation of yours?" he asked. + +The detective shook his head. + +"He'll know in the mornin', though. And if he won't listen, there's +others that will." + +"Certainly," said the judge. "If you have something to say. But, before +you say it, you'd like to be quite certain of your facts, wouldn't you?" + +Spofford nodded; his forehead wrinkled. Himself cunning, he was the sort +that always is trying to figure out what lies behind another's +statement. And that sort always thinks that it will do something +cunning. He wasn't so far wrong in this particular instance. + +"And, as I understand it, you make the charge of murder against Miss +Deane because she played a joke upon Mr. Vandervent, and because an +elevator-man claims to recognize her. His recognition doesn't justify an +accusation of murder, you know." + +"No; but it'll entitle her to a chance to do some more explainin'." + +"Perhaps," said the judge. "Where is this elevator-man now?" + +"He's where I can get hold of him," said Spofford. + +"Excellent!" said the judge. "Because the police will want him +to-morrow. And not for the reason that you imagine, Spofford. They'll +want him for criminal slander and, possibly, if he sticks to the absurd +story that he told, you, for perjury, also. At the time when this +elevator-man claims to have seen Miss Deane in the Heberworth Building, +she was having tea with me and my wife at our home." + +It was a magnificent lie. But even as it was uttered, Clancy wondered at +the judge. Why? He surely wouldn't, for a mere acquaintance, commit +perjury. And if he would, surely his wife could not be expected to join +him in the crime. + +But its effect upon Spofford was remarkable. His lower lip lost its +artificially pugnacious expression. It sunk in as though his lower teeth +had been suddenly removed. It never occurred to him--not then, at any +rate--to doubt the judge's statement. And if it had, his doubts would +have been dissipated by Mrs. Walbrough's immediate corroboration. + +"Tuesday afternoon, yes. I think, Tom, that Miss Deane didn't leave +until a quarter after six." + +Clancy's eyes dropped to the floor. Terrific had been the accusation, +menacing had been the threat; and now both seemed to vanish, as though +they had never been. For Spofford tried a grin. It was feeble, but it +had the correct intention behind it. + +"'Scuse me, lady--Miss Deane. I been locked out, and all the time +thinkin' I had the key in my pocket. Well, I guess I'll be moseyin' +along, ladies and gents. No hard feelin's, I hope. A guy sees his dooty, +and he likes to do it, y' know. I'll sure wear out a knuckle or two on +this elevator-man." He waited a moment. He had made grave charges. +Walbrough was a power; he wanted to read his fate if he could. He felt +assured, for Walbrough smiled and inclined his head. Sheepishly he +shuffled from the room. + +There was silence until the outer door had crashed behind him. Then the +judge leaped into activity. + +"The Heberworth Building. Part of the Vandervent estate, isn't it, +Randall?" + +Randall shook his head. He was a clever business man, doubtless, thought +Clancy, but his mind seemed not nearly so quick as the judge's. + +"I don't know," he answered. + +"Well, I do," said the judge. "It's a shame; it's tough on Phil to make +him suborn perjury, but I don't see any other way out of it. Where's the +telephone, Miss Deane?" + +"It's out of order," Clancy gasped. + +The judge frowned. + +"Well, it doesn't matter. Half an hour from now will do as well as +earlier, I guess. Run up-stairs and pack your things." He turned to his +wife. "Better help her," he suggested. + +"'Pack?'" gasped Clancy. + +"Of course. You're coming home with us. That chap Spofford is not an +_absolute_ fool, even if he is a plain-clothes man. By the time he's +thought over two or three little things, he'll be back again. And he +might get somebody to swear out a warrant. Might even take a chance and +arrest without it. But if you're in my house, there'll be lots of +hesitation about warrants and things like that until there's been more +evidence brought forward. And there won't be. Hurry along, young lady." + +Clancy stared at him. + +"Do you know," she said slowly, "I want to cry." + +"Certainly you do. Perfectly correct. Cry away, my dear!" + +Clancy suddenly grinned. + +"I want to laugh even more," she said. "Judge Walbrough, you're the +dearest, kindest-- I can't let you do it." + +"Do what?" demanded the judge. + +"Why, tell lies for me. They'll jail you, and----" + +Judge Walbrough winked broadly at Randall. + +"I guess that wouldn't bother you, would it, Mr. Randall? Jail for a +girl like Miss Deane? Then I think an old-timer like myself has a right +to do something that a young man would be wild to do--even if he has a +jealous wife who hates every woman who looks at him." + +It was heavy, as most of Walbrough's humor was apt to be, Clancy +couldn't be sure that it was even in good taste. But it cleared the +atmosphere of tears. Her laugh that followed the threat of weeping had +been a bit hysterical. Now, as she went up-stairs with Mrs. Walbrough, +it was normal. She could climb up as quickly as she could descend. + + + + +XXIV + + +Vandervent entered the Walbrough living-room with a jerky stride that +testified to his excitement. A dozen questions were crowded against his +teeth. But, though the swift motor-ride down-town had not been too brief +for him to marshal them in the order of their importance, he forgot them +as he met Clancy's eyes. + +They should have been penitent eyes; and they were not. They should have +been frightened eyes; and they were not. They should have been pleading +eyes; and they were not. Instead, they were mischievous, mocking, +almost. Also, they were deep, fathomless. Looking into them, the +reproach died out in Vandervent's own. The pleading that should have +been in Clancy's appeared in Vandervent's, although he undoubtedly was +unconscious of the fact. + +On the way there, he had been aware of himself as a trained lawyer +confronted with a desperate, a possibly tragic situation. Now he was +aware of himself only as a man confronting a woman. + +He acknowledged the presence of the Walbroughs and of Randall with a +carelessness that seemed quite natural to the older people but which +made Randall eye the newcomer curiously. In love himself, Randall was +quick to suspect its existence in the heart of another man. + +"So," said Vandervent, "you weren't joking with me Friday, eh, Miss +Deane?" + +She shook her head slowly. There was something in her manner that seemed +to say to him that she had transferred her difficulties to him, and +that, if he were half the man she believed him to be, he'd accept them +ungrudgingly. + +"Suppose I hear the whole story," suggested Vandervent. + +Intently, he listened as, prompted by the judge when she slid over +matters that seemed unimportant to her, she retold the tale of the past +week. The judge took up the burden of speech as soon as she relinquished +it. + +"So you see, Vandervent, your job is to get hold of this elevator-man +and persuade him that his identification is all wrong." + +Vandervent pursed his lips; he whistled softly. + +"I haven't as good a memory as I ought to have, Judge. I can't recall +the exact penalty for interference with the course of justice." + +Clancy's eyes blazed. + +"Judge, please don't ask Mr. Vandervent to do anything wrong. I wouldn't +have him take any risk. I----" + +Vandervent colored. + +"Please, Miss Deane! You should know that I intend--that I will do +anything--I was intending to be a little humorous." + +"No time for humor," grunted the judge. + +Vandervent looked at Mrs. Walbrough. Her glance was uncompromisingly +hostile. Only in Randall's eyes did he read anything approximating +sympathy. And he resented finding it there. + +"The--er--difficulties----" he began. + +"Not much difficulty in shutting an elevator-boy's mouth, is there?" +demanded the judge. "It isn't as though we were asking you really to +interfere with the course of justice, Vandervent. You realize that Miss +Deane is innocent, don't you?" + +"Certainly," said Vandervent. "But--I'm an officer of the law, Judge." + +"Does that mean that you won't help Miss Deane? Good God! You aren't +going to let a young woman's name be dragged through a filthy mess like +this, are you?" + +"Not if I can help it," said Vandervent. + +"That's better," grunted the judge. "But how do you expect to help it, +though?" + +"By finding the real murderer." + +"When?" roared Walbrough. "To-day?" + +Vandervent colored again. + +"As soon as possible. I don't know when. But to shut up the boy--think +it over, Judge. He works for the Vandervent estate, it's true. But I +don't own his soul, you know. Think of the opportunities for blackmail +we give him. It's impossible, Judge--and unnecessary. If Spofford goes +to him again, it's the elevator-boy's word against yours. Worthless!" + +"And you, of course, knowing that I lied, would feel compelled, as an +officer of the law----" + +"I'd feel compelled to do nothing!" snapped Vandervent. "Your word would +be taken unreservedly by the district attorney's office. The matter ends +right there." + +"Unless," said the judge softly, "the boy goes to a newspaper. In which +case, his charge and my alibi would be printed. And five directors of +the Metals and Textiles Bank would immediately recollect that I had been +present at a meeting on Tuesday afternoon between the hours of one and +six. Likewise, thirty-odd ladies, all present at Mrs. Rayburn's bridge, +would remember that my wife had been at Mrs. Rayburn's house all of +Tuesday afternoon." He groaned. "I had to think of something, +Vandervent. I told the first lie that popped into my head. Our alibi for +Miss Deane will go crashing into bits once it's examined, once there's +the least publicity. Publicity! That's all that Miss Deane fears, all +that we fear for her. Scandal! We've got to stop that." + +"Exactly; we _will_ stop it," said Vandervent. "There's a way." Oddly, +he blushed vividly as he spoke. "I know of one way--but we won't dwell +on that just now. I--I have a right--to suppress information that--that +I don't think is essential to the enforcing of justice. I--I--if the +suppressing of the elevator-man would work good for Miss Deane, I would +see to his suppression. Because I know her to be innocent." + +"Well, what are you going to do?" demanded the judge. + +Vandervent shrugged. + +"It's not an offhand matter, Judge. We must think." + +They thought. But Clancy's thoughts traveled far afield from the +tremendous issue that confronted her. Mentally, she was comparing +Randall and Vandervent, trying to find out what it was in Randall that, +during the past few hours, had depressed her, aroused her resentment. + +"You see," said Vandervent finally, "the relations between the Police +Department and the district attorney's office are rather strained at the +moment. If the police should happen to learn, in any way, that we've +been conducting an independent investigation into the Beiner murder and +that we'd dropped it----" + +"Where would they learn it?" asked the judge. His brusqueness had left +him. With a little thrill that might have been amazement, Clancy noted +that the few minutes' silence had somehow caused Judge Walbrough to drop +into a secondary place; Vandervent now seemed to have taken command of +the situation. + +"Spofford," answered Vandervent. + +"Would he dare?" asked the judge. + +Vandervent laughed. + +"Even the lowly plain-clothes man plays politics. There'll be glory of a +sort for the man who solves the Beiner mystery. If Spofford finally +decides that he is by way of being close to the solution, I don't +believe that he can be stopped from telling it to the police or the +newspapers." + +"And you don't see any way of stopping Spofford?" asked the judge. + +"He may have been convinced by your story," Vandervent suggested. + +The judge shook his head. + +"His conviction won't last." + +Vandervent shrugged. + +"In that case-- Well, we can wait." + +Clancy interjected herself into the conversation. + +"You won't really just simply wait? You'll be trying to find out who +really killed Mr. Beiner?" + +"You may be sure of that," said Vandervent. "You see"--and he shrugged +again--"we become one-idea'd a bit too easily in the district attorney's +office. It's a police habit, too. We know that a young woman had been +in Beiner's office, that Beiner had had an engagement to take a young +woman over to a film-studio. We discovered a card introducing a Miss +Ladue to Beiner. From its position on Beiner's desk, we dared assume +that the young woman of the studio appointment was this Miss Ladue. Our +assumptions were correct, it seems. But we didn't stop at that +assumption; we assumed that she was the murderess. We were wrong there." + +Clancy's bosom lifted at his matter-of-fact statement. With so much +evidence against her, and with this evidence apparently corroborated by +her flight, it was wonderful to realize that not a single person to whom +she had told her story doubted it. + +"And, because we believed that we had hit upon the correct theory, we +dropped all other ends of the case," continued Vandervent. "Now, with +the case almost a week old--oh, we'll get him--or her--all right," he +added hastily. "Only--the notoriety that may occur first----" He broke +off abruptly. + +Clancy's bosom fell; her hopes also. The palms of her hands became +moist. In the presence of Vandervent, she realized more fully than ever +what notoriety might mean. Vandervent sensed her horror. + +"But I assure you, Miss Deane, that we'll avoid that notoriety. I know a +way----" + +"What?" demanded the judge. + +"Well, we'll wait a bit," said Vandervent. "Meanwhile, I'm going to the +office." + +"On Sunday?" asked Mrs. Walbrough. Vandervent smiled faintly. + +"I think I'll be forgiven--considering the cause for which I labor," he +finished. He was rewarded by a smile from Clancy that brought the color +to his cheeks. + +And then, the blush still lingering, he left them. Walbrough escorted +him to the door. He returned, a puzzled look upon his face. + +"Well, I wonder what he means by saying that he knows a way to keep the +thing out of the papers." + +"You're an idiot!" snapped his wife "Why--any one ought to know what he +means." + +The judge ran his fingers across the top of his head. + +"'Any one ought to know,' eh? Well, I'm one person that doesn't." + +"You'll find out soon enough," retorted Mrs. Walbrough. She turned to +Clancy. "Come along, dear; you must lie down." + +Randall, whose silence during the past half-hour had been conspicuous, +opened his mouth. + +"Why--er----," he began. + +But Mrs. Walbrough cut him off. + +"You'll forgive Miss Deane, won't you?" she pleaded. "She's exhausted, +poor thing, though she doesn't know it." + +Indeed, Clancy didn't know it, hadn't even suspected it. But she could +offer no protest. Mrs. Walbrough was dominating the situation as +Vandervent had been doing a few moments ago. She found herself shaking +hands with Randall, thanking him, telling him that her plans necessarily +were uncertain, but adding, with the irrepressible Clancy grin, that, if +she weren't here, she'd certainly be in jail where any one could find +her, and bidding him good-by. All this without knowing exactly why. +Randall deserved better treatment. Yet, queerly enough, she didn't want +to accord it to him. + +A little later, she was uncorseted and lying down in a Walbrough guest +bedroom, a charming room in soft grays that soothed her and made her +yearn for night and sleep. Just now she wasn't the least bit sleepy, but +she yielded to Mrs. Walbrough's insistence that she should rest. + +Mrs. Walbrough, leaving her guest, found her husband in his study; he +was gravely mixing himself a cocktail. She surveyed him with contempt. +Mildly he looked at her. + +"What have I done now?" he demanded. + +"Almost rushed that poor girl into a marriage," she replied. + +"'Marriage?' God bless me--what do you mean?" + +"Asking again and again what Phil Vandervent meant when he said that he +knew a way to avoid publicity. And then you didn't have sense enough to +edge young Randall out of the house. You let me be almost rude to him." + +"Well, why should I have been the one to be rude? Why be rude, anyway? +He's been darned nice to the girl." + +"That's just it! Do you want her to keep thinking how nice he is?" + +"Well, in the name of heaven, why not?" demanded her exasperated +husband. + +"Because he's not good enough for her." + +"Why isn't he?" + +"Because she can do better." + +The judge drained his cocktail. + +"Mrs. Walbrough, do you know I haven't the faintest idea what you're +talking about?" + +"Of course you haven't! You'd have let her stay here and listen, maybe, +to a proposal from that young man, and perhaps accept it, and +possibly----" + +"Peace!" thundered the judge. "No more supposes,' please. I'll not be +henpecked in my own house." + +She came close to him and put her arm about him. + +"Where shall I henpeck you then, Tommy boy?" she asked. + +"'Tommy boy! Tommy boy?' O my good Lord, what talk!" sputtered the +judge. But he kissed her as she lifted her mouth to his. + + + + +XXV + + +Familiarity breeds endurance as well as contempt. Clancy ate as hearty a +breakfast on Monday morning as any criminal that ever lived, and, +according to what one reads, condemned criminals on the morning of +execution have most rapacious appetites. Which is not so odd as people +think; how can they know when they're going to eat again? + +She had been in New York one week, lacking a few hours, and in that week +she had run the scale of sensation. She did not believe that she could +ever be excited again. No matter what came, she believed that she would +have fortitude to endure it. + +The judge and his wife seemed to have banished alarm. Indeed, they had +seemed to do that last night, for when Mrs. Walbrough had permitted +Clancy to rise for dinner, she had conducted her to a meal at which no +talk of Clancy's plight had been permitted to take place. Later, the +three had played draw-pitch, a card game at which Clancy had shown what +the judge was pleased to term a "genuine talent." + +Then had come bed. And now, having disposed of a breakfast that would +have met the approval of any resident of Zenith, she announced that she +was going out. + +"Better stay indoors," said the judge. "Just as well, you know, if +people don't see you too much." + +Clancy laughed. + +"I've been outdoors right along," she said. "It's rather a late date to +hide indoors. Besides, I mustn't lose my job." + +"Job!" The judge snorted disgustedly. + +"Why, you mustn't think of work until this matter is all settled!" cried +Mrs. Walbrough. + +Clancy smiled. + +"I must live, you know." + +"'Live! Live!'" The judge lifted an empty coffee-cup to his mouth, then +set it down with a crash that should have broken it. "Don't be absurd, +my dear girl. Mrs. Walbrough and I----" + +"Please!" begged Clancy. She fought against tears of gratitude--of +affection. "You've been so dear, so--so--'angelic' is the only word that +fits it. Both of you. I'll adore you--always. But you mustn't--I didn't +come to New York to let other people, no matter how sweet and generous +they might be, do for me." + +The judge cleared his throat. + +"Quite right, my dear; quite right." + +"Of course she is," said Mrs. Walbrough. + +Clancy hid her mirth. It is a wonderful thing to realize that in the +eyes of certain people we may do no wrong, that, whatever we do, even +though these certain people have advised against it, becomes suddenly +the only correct, the only possible course. And to think that she had +known the Walbroughs only a few days! + +Fate had been brutal to her these past seven days; but Fate had also +been kindly. + +"But you'll continue to make this your home--for the present, at +least," said the judge. "Until this affair is closed." + +To have refused would have been an unkindness. They wanted her. Clancy +was one of those persons who would always be wanted. + +The judge, as she was leaving, wrote on a card his private-office +telephone-number. + +"If you got the listed one, you might have difficulty in speaking with +me. But this wire ends on my desk. I answer it myself." + +Clancy thanked him. Mrs. Walbrough kissed her, and the judge assumed a +forlorn, abused expression. So Clancy kissed him also. + +A servant stopped her in the hall. + +"Just arrived, Miss Deane," she said, putting in Clancy's hand a long +box, from one end of which protruded flower-stems. Clancy had never been +presented with "store" flowers before. In Zenith, people patronize a +florist only on sorrowful occasions. + +And now, gazing at the glorious red roses that filled the box, Clancy +knew that she would never go back to Zenith. She had known it several +times during the past week, but to-day she knew it definitely, finally. +With scandal hovering in a black cloud over her, she still knew it. +These roses were emblematic of the things for which she had come to New +York. They stood for the little luxuries, the refinements of living that +one couldn't have in a country town. Had the greatest sage in the world +come to Clancy now and told her of what little worth these things were +in comparison with the simpler, truer things of the country, Clancy +would have laughed at him. How could a man be expected to understand? +Further, she wouldn't have believed him. She had seen meannesses in +Zenith that its gorgeous sunsets and its tonic air could not eradicate +from memory. + +She turned back, and up-stairs found Mrs. Walbrough. + +"I'll fix them for you," said the judge's wife. + +But Clancy hugged the opened box to her bosom. + +"These are the first flowers _from a florist's_ that I ever received," +she said. + +"Bless your heart!" said Mrs. Walbrough. "I'll even let you fill the +vases." Mrs. Walbrough could remember the first flowers sent her by her +first beau. "But you haven't read the card!" she cried. + +Clancy colored. She hadn't thought of that. She picked up the envelope. + +"Oh!" she gasped, when she had torn the envelope open and read the +sender's name. And there were scribbled words below the engraved script: +"To a brave young lady." + +Mutely she handed the card to her hostess. Mrs. Walbrough smiled. + +"He isn't as brave as you, my dear. Or else," she explained, "he'd have +written, 'To a beautiful young lady.' Why," she cried, "that's what he +started to write! Look! There's a blot, and it's scratched----" + +Clancy's color was fiery. + +"He wouldn't have!" she protested. + +"Well, he didn't; but he wanted to," retorted Mrs. Walbrough. + +Clancy gathered the roses in her arms. She could say nothing. Of course, +it was absurd. Mrs. Walbrough had acquired a sudden and great fondness +for her, and therefore was colored in her views. Still, there was the +evidence. There is no letter "t" in brave, and undeniably there had been +a "t" in the word that had preceded "young." She saw visions; she saw +herself--she dismissed them. Mr. Philip Vandervent was a kindly, +chivalrous young man and had done a thoughtful thing. That's all there +was to it. She would be an idiot to read more into the incident. And +yet, there had been a "t" in "brave" until he had scratched it out! + +Her heart was singing as she left the Walbrough house. A score of +Spoffords might have been lurking near and she would never have seen +them. + +Suddenly she thought of Randall. Why hadn't he thought of sending her +roses? He had come back from Albany, cut short his trip to California to +see her, to plead once more his cause. Her eyes hardened. He hadn't +pleaded it very strongly. Suddenly she knew why she had been resentful +yesterday--because she had sensed his refusal of her. Refusal! She +offered to marry him, and--he'd said, "Wait." + +But she could not keep her mind on him long enough to realize that she +was unjust. The glamour of Vandervent overwhelmed her. + +She walked slowly, and it was after nine when she arrived at Sally +Henderson's office. + +Her employer greeted her cordially. + +"Easy job--though tiresome--for you to-day, Miss Deane," she said. +"Sophie Carey has made another lightning change. Wants to rent her house +furnished as quick as we can get a client. You've got to check her +inventory. Hurry along, will you? Here!" She thrust into Clancy's hands +printed slips of paper and almost pushed her employee toward the door. + +Clancy caught a 'bus and rode as far as Eighth Street. On the way, she +glanced at the printed slips. They were lists of about everything, she +imagined, that could possibly be crowded into a house. The task had +frightened her at first, but now it seemed simple. + +Mrs. Carey's maid had evidently recovered from the indisposition of the +other day, or else she had engaged a new one. Anyway, a young woman in +apron and cap opened the door. + +Yes; Mrs. Carey was in. In a moment, Clancy had verbal evidence of the +fact, for she heard Sophie's voice calling to her. She entered the +dining-room. Mrs. Carey was at breakfast. Her husband was with her, but +that his breakfast was the ordinary sort Clancy was inclined to doubt. +For by his apparently untouched plate stood a tall glass. + +He rose, not too easily, as Clancy entered. + +"Welcome to our city, little stranger!" he cried. + +Clancy shot a glance at Sophie Carey. She was sorry for her. Mrs. +Carey's face was white; she looked old. + +"Going to find me a tenant?" she asked. Her attempt at joviality was +rather pathetic. + +"Take the house herself. Why not?" demanded Carey. "Nice person to leave +it with. Take good care ev'rything. Make it pleasant for me when I run +into town for a day or so. Nice, friendly li'l brunette to talk to. +'Scuse me," he suddenly added. "Sorry! Did I say anything I shouldn't, +Sophie darling? I ask you, Miss Deane, did I say a single thing +shouldn't've said. Tell me." + +"No, indeed," said Clancy. + +Her heart ached for Sophie Carey. A brilliant, charming, beautiful woman +tied to a thing like this! Not that she judged Don Carey because of his +intoxication. She was not too rigorous in her judgment of other +people's weaknesses. She knew that men can become intoxicated and still +be men of genius and strength. But Carey's weak mouth, too small for +virility, his mean eyes, disgusted her. What a woman Mrs. Carey would +make if the right man---- And yet she was drawn to her husband in some +way or another. Possibly, Clancy decided, sheer loneliness made her +endure him on those occasions when he returned from his wanderings. + +Mrs. Carey rose. + +"You'll excuse us, Don? Miss Deane must go over the house, you know." + +"Surest thing! Go right 'long. 'F I can help, don't hes'tate t' call on +me. Love help li'l brunette." + +How they got out of the room, Clancy didn't know. She thought that +Sophie Carey would faint, but she didn't. As for herself, the feeling +that Don Carey's drunken eyes were appraising her figure nauseated her. +She was so pitifully inclined toward Sophie that her eyes were blurry. + +Up-stairs in her bedroom, Mrs. Carey met Clancy's eyes. She had been +calm, self-controlled up to now. But the sympathy that she read in +Clancy weakened her resolution. She sat heavily down upon the edge of +the bed and hid her face in her hands. + +"O my God, what shall I do?" she moaned. + +Awkwardly, Clancy advanced to her. She put an arm about the older +woman's shoulders. + +"Please," she said, "you mustn't!" + +Mrs. Carey's hands dropped to her side. Her eyes seemed to grow dry, as +though she were controlling her tears by an effort of her will. + +"I won't. The beast!" she cried. She rose, flinging off, though not +rudely, Clancy's sympathetic embrace. "Miss Deane, don't you ever marry. +Beasts--all of them!" + +Clancy, with the memory of Vandervent's roses in her mind, shook her +head. + +"He--he just isn't himself, Mrs. Carey." + +The other woman shrugged. + +"'Not himself?' He _is_ himself. When he's sober, he's worse, because +then one can make no excuses for him. To insult a guest in my house----" + +"I don't mind," stammered Clancy. "I--I make allowances----" + +"So have I. So have all my friends. But now--I'm through with him. +I----" Suddenly she sat down again, before a dressing-table. "That isn't +true. I've promised him his chance, Miss Deane. He shall have it. We're +going to the country. He has a little place up in the Dutchess County. +We're going there to-day. The good Lord only knows how we'll reach it +over the roads, but--it's his only chance. It's his last. And I'm a fool +to give it to him. He'll be sober, but--worse then. And still-- Hear +him," she sneered. + +Clancy listened. At first, she thought that it was mere maudlin speech, +but as Don Carey's voice died away, she heard another voice--a mean, +snarling voice. + +"You think so, hey? Lemme tell you different. All I gotta do is to +'phone a cop, and----" + +"Go ahead--'phone 'em," she heard Carey's voice interrupt. + +The other's changed to a whine. + +"Aw, be sensible, Carey! You're soused now, or you wouldn't be such a +fool. Why not slip me a li'l jack and let it go at that? You don't want +the bulls comin' in on this." + +Clancy stared at Sophie. The wife walked to the door. + +"Don!" she called. "Who's down-stairs?" + +"You 'tend to your own affairs," came her husband's answer. "Shut your +door, and your mouth, too." + +Mrs. Carey seemed to stagger under the retort. She sat down again. She +turned to Clancy, licking her lips with her tongue. + +"Please--please----" she gasped, "see--who it is--with Don." + +Down-stairs Clancy tiptoed. Voices were raised again in altercation. + +"Why the deuce _should_ I give you money?" demanded Carey. "Suppose I +did run a fake agency for the pictures? Suppose I did promise a few +girls jobs that they never got? What about it? You can't dig any of +those girls up. Run tell the police." + +"Yes; that's all right," said the other voice. "But suppose that I tell +'em that you had a key to Morris Beiner's office, hey? Suppose I tell +'em that, hey?" + +Something seemed to rise from Clancy's chest right up through her throat +and into her mouth. Once again on tiptoe, wanting to scream, yet +determined to keep silent, she edged her way to the dining-room door. +Don Carey had made no answer to this last speech of his visitor. Peering +through the door, Clancy knew why. He was lying back in a chair, his +mouth wide open, his eyes equally wide with fright. And the man at whom +he stared was the man who had been with Spofford yesterday, the +elevator-man from the Heberworth Building! + + + + +XXVI + + +Hand pressed against her bosom, Clancy stared into the dining-room. She +could not breathe as she waited for Carey's reply to his visitor's +charge. So Don Carey had possessed a key to the office of Morris Beiner! +The theatrical man had been locked in his office when Clancy had made +her escape from the room by way of the window. The door had not been +forced. And Don Carey had possessed a key! + +For a moment, she thought, with pity, of the woman up-stairs, the woman +who had befriended her, whose life had been shadowed by her husband. But +only for a moment. She herself was wanted for this murder; her eyes were +hard as she stared into the room. + +Carey's fingers reached out aimlessly. They fastened finally upon a +half-drained glass. + +[Illustration: _"Who's going to believe that kind of yarn?" Carey +demanded_] + +"Who's going to believe that kind of yarn?" he demanded. + +"I can prove it all right," said the other. + +"Well, even if you can prove it, what then?" + +His visitor shrugged. + +"You seemed worried about it a minute ago," he said. "Oh, there ain't no +use tryin' to kid me, I know what I know. It all depends on you who I +tell it to. I ain't a mean guy." His voice became whining. "I ain't a +trouble-maker. I can keep my trap closed as well as any one. When," he +added significantly, "there's enough in it for me." + +"And you think you can blackmail me?" demanded Carey. His attempt at +righteous indignation sounded rather flat. The elevator-man lost his +whine; his voice became sulkily hard. + +"Sticks and stones won't break no bones," he said. "Call it what you +please. I don't care--so long as I get mine." + +Carey dropped his pretense of indignation. + +"Well, there's no need of you shouting," he said. He rose to his feet, +assisting himself with a hand on the edge of the table. + +"My wife's up-stairs," he said. "No need of screaming so she'll be +butting in again. Shut that door." + +Clancy leaped back. She gained the stairs in a bound. She crouched down +upon them, hoping that the banisters would shield her. But no prying +eyes sought her out. One of the two men in the room closed the +dining-room door. + +For a minute after it was shut, Clancy remained crouching. She had to +_think_. A dozen impulses raced through her mind. To telephone +Vandervent, the judge? To run out upon the street and call for a +policeman? As swiftly as they came to her, she discarded them. She had +begun to glean in recent days something of what was meant by the word +"evidence." And she had none against Carey. Not yet! + +But she could get it! She _must_ get it! Sitting on the stairs, +trembling--with excitement now, not fear--Clancy fought for clarity of +thought. What to do? There must be some one correct thing, some action +demanded by the situation that later on would cause her to marvel +because it had been overlooked. But what was it? + +She could not think of the correct thing to do. The elevator-man knew +something. He was the same man who had identified her to Spofford, the +plain-clothes man. The man assuredly knew the motive that lay behind the +request for identification. And now, having told a detective things that +made Clancy Deane an object of grave suspicion, the man was blandly--he +was mentally bland, if not orally so--blackmailing Don Carey. + +Yet Clancy did not disbelieve her ears merely because what she heard +sounded incredible. Nor did she, because she believed that the +elevator-man had proof of another's guilt, delude herself with the idea +that her own innocence was thereby indisputably shown. Her first +impulse--to telephone Vandervent--returned to her now. But she dismissed +it at once, this time finally. + +For a man who brazenly pointed out one person to the police while +endeavoring to blackmail another was not the sort of person tamely to +blurt out confession when accused of his double-dealing. She had nothing +on which to base her accusation of Carey save an overheard threat. The +man who had uttered it had only to deny the utterance. Up-stairs was +Sophie Carey, torn with anguish, beaten by life and its injustices. The +hardness left her eyes again. If she could only be sure that she herself +would escape, she would be willing, for Sophie's sake, to forget what +she had overheard. + +She heard Sophie's voice whispering hoarsely to her from the landing +above. + +"Miss Deane, Miss Deane!" Then she saw Clancy. Her voice rose, in +alarm, above a whisper. "Has he--did he--dare----" + +Clancy rose; she ran up the stairs. + +"No, no; of course not!" she answered. "I--I twisted my ankle." It was a +kindly lie. + +It was, Clancy thought, characteristic of Sophie Carey that she forgot +her own unhappiness in sympathy for Clancy. The older woman threw an arm +about the girl. + +"Oh, my dear! You poor thing----" + +"It's all right," said Clancy. She withdrew, almost hastily, from the +embrace. Postpone it though she might, she was going to bring disgrace +upon the name of Carey. She _had_ to--to save herself. She could not +endure the other's caress now. + +"Who was it?" asked Mrs. Carey. + +Clancy averted her eyes. + +"I don't know," she said. "I---- The door was closed." + +"It doesn't matter," said the older woman. "I--I--I'm nervous. Don is +so----" Her speech trailed away into a long sigh. The deep respiration +seemed to give her strength. She straightened up. "I'm getting old, I'm +afraid. I can't bear my troubles as easily as I used to. I want to force +some one to share them with me. You are very kind, Miss Deane. Now----" + +She had preceded Clancy into her bedroom. From a desk, she took a slip +of paper and a ring from which dangled several keys. + +"We're all ready to go," she said. "It only remains to check up my +inventory. But I'm quite sure that we can trust you and Sally +Henderson"--her smile was apparently quite unforced--"not to cheat us. +If there are any errors in my list, Sally can notify me." + +She handed Clancy the paper and key-ring. As she did so, the door-bell +rang. + +Almost simultaneously the door to the dining-room could be heard +opening. A moment later, Carey called. + +"Ragan's here," he shouted. His voice was surly, like that of a petulant +child forced to do something undesirable. Clancy thought that there was +more than that in it, that there was the quaver that indicates panic. +But Mrs. Carey, who should have been sensitive to any vocal discords in +her husband's voice, showed no signs of such sensitiveness. + +"Ready in a moment. Send him up," she called. + +Ragan was a burly, good-natured Irishman. He grinned at Mrs. Carey's +greeting. Here was a servant who adored his mistress, Clancy felt. + +"Ready to go to the country, Ragan?" asked Mrs. Carey. + +The big man's grin was sufficient answer. + +"Ragan," said Mrs. Carey to Clancy, "is the most remarkable man in the +world. He can drive a car along Riverside Drive at forty-five miles an +hour without being arrested, and he can wait on table like no one else +in the world. How's Maria?" she asked him. + +"Sure, she's fine," said Ragan. "She's at the station now." + +"Where we'll be in ten minutes," said his mistress. She indicated +several bags, already packed. Ragan shouldered them. He started +down-stairs. Mrs. Carey turned to Clancy. "Hope an empty house doesn't +make you nervous," she smiled. + +Clancy shook her head. "I'll not be here long, anyway. And isn't your +maid here?" + +"I think she's gone by now," said Mrs. Carey. "But she'll sleep each +night here--until you've found me a tenant. For that matter, she'll be +back early this afternoon--to wash dishes and such matters." She was not +a person to linger over departures. Her husband had sulkily donned hat +and coat and was standing in the hall down-stairs, waiting for her. + +So Mrs. Carey held out her hand to Clancy. + +"Wish I could ask you to week-end with us sometime, but I don't suppose +that the country, in winter-time, means anything in your young life." +She seemed to put the statement as a question, almost pleadingly. +Impulsively, Clancy answered her. + +"Ask me sometime, and find out if it does." + +"I'll do that," said Mrs. Carey. "Coming, Don," she called. Her hand +clasped Clancy's a moment, and then she trotted down the stairs. The +door banged behind them. + +A thought came to Clancy. She raised her voice and called. But the door +was thick. The Careys could not hear. Frightened, she raced down-stairs. +As she passed the dining-room door, she glanced through the opening. +Then fear died from her. She had been afraid that the elevator-man from +the Heberworth Building still remained in the house. But, when she had +seen him talking to Don Carey, his hat and coat were lying on a chair. +They were gone now. + +Still---- Sudden anger swept over her. This lying, blackmailing thing to +frighten Clancy Deane? Anger made her brave to rashness. From the +fireplace in the dining-room she picked up a short heavy poker. If he +were lurking anywhere in this house, if Don Carey, fearful lest his wife +note the sort of person who paid him morning visits, had hidden the man +away, she, Clancy Deane, would rout him out. She'd make him tell the +_truth_! + +Through the dining-room, into the butler's pantry beyond, through the +kitchen, to the head of the cellar stairs she marched, holding the poker +before her. Her fingers found a switch: the cellar was flooded with +light. Without the least timidity, Clancy descended. + +But the elevator-man was not there. And as in this tiny house there was +but one flight of stairs leading to the upper stories, Clancy knew that +the man was not in the house. She suffered reaction. What might have +been her fate had she found the man hiding here? + +Like all women, Clancy feared the past more than the future. She feared +it more than the present. She sank down upon the stairs outside the +dining-room. Why, the man might have _shot_ her! What good would her +poker have been, pitted against a revolver? And, with the Careys up in +the country somewhere, she might have lain here, weltering in her +gore--she'd read that somewhere, and grinned as she mentally said it. + +Well, she might as well begin the inventory of Mrs. Carey's household +effects. But she was not to begin it yet. Some one rang the door-bell. + +No weakness assailed Clancy's knees now. Indeed, it never occurred to +her that the caller might be any other than the post-man. And so she +opened the front door and met the lowering gaze of Spofford, +Vandervent's plain-clothes man. + + + + +XXVII + + +Clancy felt no impulse to slam the door in Spofford's face. Instead, she +opened it wider. + +"Come in," she said. + +He stepped across the threshold. Just beyond, he paused uncertainly. And +now his lips, which had been sullen, Clancy thought, shaped themselves +into a smile that was deprecatory, apologetic. + +"I hope I ain't disturbin' you, Miss Deane," he said. + +Clancy stared at him. She had never felt so completely in command of a +situation. + +"That depends," she said curtly. "If you are to annoy me further----" + +Spofford's grin was extremely conciliating. + +"Aw, don't hit a man when he's down, Miss Deane. Every one has to be a +sucker once in a while. It ain't every guy that's willin' to admit it, +apologize, and ask for a new deal. Now, if I go that far, don't you +think you ought to come a little way and meet me?" + +Clancy's eyes widened. + +"Suppose," she said, "we sit down." + +"Thank you, Miss Deane." Spofford's tone was as properly humble as +Clancy could possibly have wished. "A nice little friendly talk, me +tryin' to show you I'm a regular guy, and you, maybe, bein, a little +helpful. That's it--helpful." + +He followed her as she led the way into the drawing-room and he seated +himself carefully upon the edge of a chair whose slim legs justified his +caution. + +Clancy sat down opposite him. She leaned the poker against the wall. +Spofford laughed. + +"I'll just bet you'd 'a' beaned me one with that as soon as not, eh, +Miss Deane?" + +Clancy suddenly grew cautious. Perhaps this was an attempt to make her +admit that she would not shrink from violence. Detectives were uncanny +creatures. + +"I should hate to do anything like that," she said. + +Spofford guffawed heartily. + +"I'd sure hate to have you, Miss Deane. But you don't need to be afraid +of me." + +"I'm not," said Clancy. + +Spofford's nod was the acme of appreciation of a remark that held no +particular humor, so far as Clancy could see. He slipped a trifle +further back in the chair. He crossed his legs, assisting one fat knee +with his hands. He leaned back. From his upper waistcoat pocket he took +a cigar. + +"You wouldn't mind, would you, Miss Deane? I can talk easier." + +The downward and inward jerk of Clancy's chin gave him consent. From his +lower waistcoat pocket, attached to the same heavy chain that Clancy +assumed secured his watch, Spofford produced a cigar-clipper. +Deliberately he clipped the end from the cigar, lighted it, tilted it +upward from one corner of his mouth, and leaned toward Clancy. + +"Miss Deane, you gotta right to point the door to me; I know it. +But--you'd like to know who killed this Beiner guy, wouldn't you? Bein' +sort of mixed up in it--bein' involved, so to speak----" His voice died +away questioningly. + +Despite herself, Clancy sighed with relief. Spofford was really the only +man she had to fear. And if he believed in her innocence---- + +"How do you know I didn't do it?" she demanded. + +"Well, it's this way, Miss Deane: When you come into Mr. Vandervent's +office and fainted away after announcin' yourself as Florine Ladue, I +couldn't quite swallow what you said about playin' a joke. You don't +look like the sort of lady that would play that kind of a joke. Anyway, +I have a hunch, and I play it. I get this elevator-man from the +Heberworth Building to come down to your living-place----" + +"How did you know where I lived?" demanded Clancy. + +Spofford grinned. + +"Same way I found out that you were down here to-day, Miss Deane. I had +a guy follow you. You can't blame me, now, can you?" he asked +apologetically. + +Clancy hid a grin at her own magnanimous wave of her hand. + +"Well, this elevator-man tells me that he took you up to the fourth +floor of the Heberworth Building on Tuesday afternoon. I think I have +something. But, then, Judge Walbrough butts in. Well, I begin to figure +that I'm _goin'_ a trifle fast. Judge Walbrough ain't the sort of man to +monkey with the law. And nobody ain't goin' to fool him, either. So, if +Walbrough strings along with you, maybe I'm a sucker to think you got +anything to do with this Beiner affair. + +"And when the guy I have watching the house tells me that you've gone up +to Walbrough's, and when I learn that Mr. Vandervent is down at +Walbrough's house--well, I do some more figurin'. There's lots of +influence in this town; but a pull that will make a man like Walbrough +and a man like Vandervent hide a murderess--there ain't that pull here. +'Course, I figure that Walbrough is sendin' for Vandervent to help you +out, not to pinch you. + +"Anyway, what I'm guessin' is that maybe I'd better examine my take-off +before I do too much leapin'. And my take-off is that the elevator-man +says he saw you in the Heberworth Building. That ain't a hangin' matter, +exactly, I tells myself. Suppose I get a little more. + +"What sort of a lady is this Florine Ladue, I asks myself. An actress, +or somebody that wants to be an actress; well, where would she be +livin'? Somewhere in the Tenderloin, most likely. So, last evenin', I +get busy. And I find at the Napoli that Miss Florine Ladue registered +there last Monday and beat it away after breakfast Wednesday mornin'. +And that's proof to me that Florine Ladue didn't do the killing. + +"Now, I'm pretty sure that you're Florine Ladue all right. Madame Napoli +described you pretty thoroughly. Even told me that you was readin' a +paper, at breakfast, what paper it was, how you got a telegram supposed +to be from your mother that called you away. Now, I figure it out to +myself: If Miss Ladue's mother wired her, and the wire made Miss Ladue +pack her stuff and beat it, why didn't she go home? Because the wire's a +fake, most likely. Then why, the next question is, did Miss Ladue put +over that fake? The answer's easy. Because she'd just read in the +mornin' paper about Beiner's murder. She's read about a young woman +climbin' down the fire-escape, thinks she'll be pinched as that young +woman, and--beats it. Pretty good?" + +Clancy nodded. She looked at the man with narrowed eyes. + +"Still," she said, "I don't understand why you're sure that Miss Ladue +didn't kill him." + +Spofford's smile was complacent. + +"I'll tell you why, Miss Deane. This Ladue lady is no fool. The way she +beat it from the Napoli proves that she was clever. But a clever woman, +if she'd murdered Beiner, would have beat it Tuesday afternoon! Miss +Deane, if you'd left the Napoli on Tuesday, I'd stake my life that you +killed Beiner. No woman, leastwise a young girl like you, would have had +the nerve to sit tight like you did on Tuesday night. I may be all +wrong, but you gotta show me if I am," he went on emphatically. "Suppose +you had killed Beiner, but didn't know that any one had seen you on the +fire-escape! Even then, you'd have moved away from the Napoli. I tell +you I been twenty-seven years on the force. I know what regular +criminals do, and amachures, too. And even if you'd killed Beiner, I'd +put you in the amachure class, Miss Deane." + +"Let's go a little farther," suggested Clancy. "Why did I announce +myself to Mr. Vandervent as Florine Ladue and then deny it?" + +"You was scared," said Spofford. "Then, after you'd sent in that name, +you read a paper sayin' Fanchon DeLisle was dead. You knew no one could +identify you as Florine. You see, I picked up the paper on the bench +where you'd been sittin'." + +"Mr. Spofford," said Clancy slowly, "I think that you are a very able +detective." + +"'Able?'" Spofford grinned ingenuously. "I'm a _great_ detective, Miss +Deane. I got ideas, I have. Now, listen: I've put my cards on the table, +I'm goin' to tell the chief that I've been barkin' up the wrong tree. +Now, you be helpful." + +"Just how?" Clancy inquired. + +"Tell me all that happened that afternoon in Beiner's office," said +Spofford. "You see, I _got_ to land the guy that killed Beiner. It'll +make me. Miss Deane, I want an agency of my own. I want some jack. If I +land this guy, I can get clients enough to make my fortune in ten years. +Will you come through?" + +Clancy "came through." Calmly, conscious of the flattering attention of +Spofford, she told of her adventures in Beiner's office; and when he put +it in a pertinent question, she hesitated only momentarily before +telling him of the part that Ike Weber and Fay Marston had played in her +brief career in New York. + +Spofford stared at her a full minute after she had finished. She brought +her story down to her presence in the Carey house and the reason +thereof. Then he puffed at his cigar. + +"Be helpful, Miss Deane, be helpful y' know; somebody else is liable to +tumble onto what I tumbled to; he's liable to have his own suspicions. +'S long as you live, you'll have a queer feelin' every time you spot a +bull unless the _guy that killed Beiner is caught_. Finish your spiel, +eh?" He raised his pudgy hand quickly. "Now, wait a minute. I wouldn't +for the world have you say anything that you'd have to take back a +minute later. What's the use of stallin'? Tell me, what did Garland say +to you?" + +"'Garland?'" Clancy echoed the name. + +"Sure, the elevator-man from Beiner's building. Listen, Miss Deane: I +get the tip from one of the boys that you've left this Miss Henderson's +place and come down here. I beat it down to have a little talk with you, +same as we been havin'. And whiles I'm hangin' around, out comes +Garland. Why'd you send for him?" + +"I didn't," said Clancy. + +Spofford shot a glance at her. + +"You didn't?" His lips pursed over the end of his cigar. "Then who did +send for him? Say, isn't this the Carey house? Mrs. Sophie Carey, the +artist? Wife of Don Carey? Wasn't it them that just left the house?" + +"Yes," said Clancy. + +"Well, I'm a boob. Don Carey, eh? And him bein' the gossip of Times +Square because of the agency he run. Hm; that _might_ be it." + +"What might be it?" asked Clancy. + +"A li'l bit of jack to Garland for keepin' his face closed about what +went on in Carey's fake office," explained Spofford. "Still---- I dunno. +Say, look here, Miss Deane: Loosen up, won'tcha? I been a square guy +with you. I come right down and put my cards on the table. I admit I got +my reasons; I don't want a bad stand-in with Mr. Vandervent. But still I +could 'a' been nasty, and I ain't tried to. Are you tellin' me all you +know? Y' know, coppin' off the murderer would put--put a lot of pennies +in my pocket." + +For a moment, Clancy hesitated. Then she seemed to see Sophie Carey's +pleading face. Her smile was apparently genuinely bewildered as she +replied, + +"Why, I'd like to help you, Mr. Spofford, but I really don't know any +more than I've told you." + +It was another falsehood. It was the sort of falsehood that might +interfere with the execution of justice, and so be frowned upon by good +citizens. But it is hard to believe that the recording angel frowned. + + + + +XXVIII + + +Clancy was prepared to hear Spofford plead, argue, even threaten. Such +action would have been quite consistent with his character as she +understood it. But to her relief he accepted the situation. He rose +stiffly from the chair. + +"Well, I'll be moseyin' along. I'm gonna look into a coupla leads that +may not mean anything. But y' never can tell in this business. Much +obliged to you, Miss Deane. No hard feelings?" + +"None at all," said Clancy. "I think--why I think it's _wonderful_ of +you, Mr. Spofford, to be so--so friendly!" + +Spofford blushed. It was probably the first time that a woman had +brought the color to his cheeks--in anything save anger--for many years. + +"Aw, now--why, Miss Deane--you know I--glad to meetcha," stammered +Spofford. He made a stumbling, confused, and extremely light-hearted +departure from the house. Somehow, he felt deeply obligated to Clancy +Deane. + +The door closed behind him, and Clancy sat down once again upon the +stairs. She felt safe at last. Now that the danger was past, she did not +know whether to laugh or cry. Was it past? Before yielding to either +emotional impulse, why not analyze the situation? What had Spofford +said? That until the murderer was captured, she would always be +apprehensive. Until the murderer was caught---- + +She tapped her foot upon the lower stair. There was no questioning +Spofford's sincerity. He did not believe her guilty. But---- The +telephone-bell rang. It was Sally Henderson. + +"Miss Deane?... Oh, is this you? This is Miss Henderson. Man named +Randall telephoned a few minutes ago. Very urgent, he said. I don't like +giving out telephone-numbers. Thought I'd call you. Want to talk with +him?" + +Like a flash Clancy replied, + +"No." + +No pique inspired her reply. Randall had not measured up. That the +standard of measurement she applied was tremendously high made no +difference to Clancy, abated no whit her judgment. + +A week ago, she had met Randall. She had thought him kind. She had liked +him. She had even debated within herself the advisability, the +possibility of yielding to his evident regard. More than that, she had +practically offered to marry him. And he had been cautious, had not +leaped at the opportunity that, for one golden moment, had been his. +Clancy did not phrase it exactly this way, but her failure to do so was +not due to modesty. For never a woman walked to the altar but believed, +in her heart of hearts, that she was giving infinitely more than she +received. + +"Probably," said Clancy, half aloud, "he's found out that the Walbroughs +are still with me, and that Philip Vandervent isn't afraid of me----" + +She thought of Vandervent's flowers, and the card that had accompanied +them. + +"What did you say?" demanded Sally Henderson. Clancy blushed furiously. +She realized that she'd been holding on to the receiver. "I thought +that you said something about Judge Walbrough." + +"Lines must have been crossed," suggested Clancy. + +"Rotten telephone service," said Miss Henderson. "Oh, and another man!" + +Clancy felt pleasurably excited. Philip Vandervent---- + +"I didn't see him. Guernsey told him where you were. Guernsey is an ass! +As if you'd have a brother almost fifty." + +"What? I haven't any brother," cried Clancy. + +"Lucky girl. When they weren't borrowing your money, they'd be getting +you to help them out of scrapes or mind your sister-in-law's babies. +Sorry. If you're frightened----" + +"'Frightened?' Why?" demanded Clancy. + +"Well, Guernsey told him where you were, and the man left here +apparently headed for you." + +Clancy's forehead wrinkled. + +"What did he look like?" she asked. + +"Oh, Guernsey couldn't describe him very well. Said he wore a mustache +that looked dyed, and was short and stocky. That's all." + +"Some mistake," said Clancy. + +"Perhaps," said Miss Henderson dryly. "Anyway, you needn't let him in. +Might be somebody from Zenith who wanted to borrow money." + +"Probably," said Clancy. + +"Getting ahead with the work?" + +"Checking up the inventory now," said Clancy. + +"All right; take your time." + +And Miss Henderson hung up. + +Once again, Clancy sat upon the stairs. Spofford had distinctly said +that one of his men had followed Clancy down to this house. The +description that Guernsey had given fitted Spofford exactly. + +Spofford, then, not one of his men, had trailed Clancy down here. Why +did he lie? Also, he must have known quite clearly who were the +occupants of this house. Why had he expressed a certain surprise when +Clancy had told him? He had said that, while he had been waiting +outside, Garland had come out. But why had Spofford been waiting +outside? Why hadn't he come right up and rung the door-bell? Could this +delay have been because he knew that Garland was inside the house, and +because he did not wish to encounter him? But how could he have known +that Garland was inside with Carey? Well, that was easily answered. He +might have arrived just as Garland was entering the house. + +But there were other puzzling matters. Why had Spofford been so long in +recollecting that Don Carey had roused the suspicions of the police +because of the office he had maintained in the Heberworth Building? +Apparently, it had only occurred to him at the end of his rather long +conversation with Clancy. + +Hadn't Spofford been a little too ingenuous? Could it be that he had +some slight suspicion of Don Carey? As a matter of fact, looking at the +matter as dispassionately as she could, hadn't Spofford dropped a strong +circumstantial case against Clancy Deane on rather slight cause? Against +the evidence of her presence in Beiner's office and her flight from the +Napoli, Spofford had pitted his own alleged knowledge of human nature. +Because Clancy had delayed flight until Wednesday, Spofford had decided +that she was innocent. She didn't believe it. + +It had all been convincing when Spofford had said it. But now, in view +of the fact that she had detected in his apparent sincerity one untruth, +she wondered how many others there might be. + +Would fear of the Vandervent and Walbrough influence cause him to drop +the trail of a woman whom he believed to be a murderess? No, she +decided; it would not. Then why had he dropped the belief in her guilt +that had animated his actions yesterday? + +The answer came clearly to her. Because he felt that he had evidence +against some one else. Against Carey? She wondered. If against Carey, +why had he gone in search of Clancy at Sally Henderson's office? + +But she could answer that. He wanted to hear her story. Finding that she +was at the very moment in Don Carey's house had been chance, +coincidence. He had known that Garland had not come here to see her; he +had known that Garland had come to see Carey. How much did he know? What +_was_ there to know? + +Her brain became dizzy. Spofford had certainly not ceased to question +the Heberworth Building elevator-man when the man had identified Clancy. +Spofford had cunning, at the very lowest estimate of his mental ability. +He would have cross-examined Garland. The man might have dropped some +hint tying up Carey to the murder. She began to feel that Spofford was +not entirely through with her. + +There was a way, an almost certain way, now, though, to end her +connection with the affair. If she told Philip Vandervent or Judge +Walbrough the threat that she had heard Garland utter, the elevator-man +would be under examination within a few hours. + +Did she want that? Certainly not, just yet. She knew what scandal meant. +She doubted if even Sophie Carey, with her apparently unchallenged +artistic and social position, could live down the scandal of being the +wife of a man accused of murder. She must be fair to Sophie. Indeed, if +she were to live up to her own code--it was a code that demanded much +but gave more--she must be more than fair to her. Sophie had gotten her +work, had dressed her up. She did not like being under obligation to +Mrs. Carey. But, having accepted so much, repayment must be made. It +would be a shoddy requital of Sophie's generosity for Clancy Deane to +run to the police and repeat the threats of a blackmailer. + +How did she know that those threats were founded upon any truth? She had +heard Garland say that Carey had possessed a key to Beiner's office; she +had seen the expression of fright upon Carey's face as Garland made the +charge. But fear didn't necessarily imply guilt. Clancy Deane had been a +pretty scared young lady several times during the past week, and she was +innocent. Don Carey might be just as guiltless. + +Of course, Judge Walbrough and his wife had been unbelievably friendly, +Vandervent had shown a chivalry that--Clancy sighed slightly--might mask +something more personal. _Noblesse oblige._ But her first obligation was +to Sophie Carey. Until her debts were settled to Sophie she need not +consider the payment of others. Especially if the payment of those +others meant betrayal of Sophie. And an accusation against her husband +was, according to Clancy's lights, no less than that. + +And so she couldn't make it. There was nothing to prevent her, though, +from endeavoring to discover whether or not Don Carey were guilty. If he +were--Clancy would pass that bridge when she came to it. + +Meantime, she was supposed to be earning a salary of fifty dollars a +week. A few minutes ago, she had told Sally Henderson that she had begun +checking up the Carey household effects. She had not meant to deceive +her employer. She'd work very hard to make up for the delay that her own +affairs had caused. + +The Careys' house was not "cluttered up," despite the artistic nature of +its mistress. Clancy, who knew what good housekeeping meant--in Zenith, +a dusty room means a soiled soul--pursed her lips with admiration as she +passed from room to room. Two hours she spent, checking Sophie Carey's +list. Then she let herself out of the house, locked the front door +carefully behind her, and walked over to Sixth Avenue, into the +restaurant where she had met Sophie Carey last Thursday morning. + +Only that long ago! It was incredible. Whimsically ordering chicken +salad, rolls, tea, and pastry, Clancy considered the past few days. It +was the first time that she had been able to dwell upon them with any +feeling of humor. Now, her analysis of Spofford's words, more than the +words themselves, having given her confidence, she looked backward. + +She wondered, had always wondered, exactly what was meant by the +statement that certain people had "lived." She knew that many summer +visitors from the great cities looked down upon the natives of Zenith +and were not chary of their opinions to the effect that people merely +existed in Zenith. + +Yet she wondered if any of these supercilious ones had "lived" as much +as had Clancy Deane in the last week. She doubted it. Life, in the +_argot_ of the cosmopolitan, meant more than breathing, eating, +drinking, and sleeping. It meant experiencing sensation. Well, she had +experienced a-plenty, as a Zenither would have said. + +From what had meant wealth to her she had dropped to real poverty, to a +bewilderment as to the source of to-morrow's dinner. From the quiet of a +country town she had been tossed into a moving maze of metropolitan +mystery. She, who had envied boys who dared to raid orchards, jealous of +their fearlessness of pursuing farmers, had defied a police force, the +press---- + +And she'd _liked_ it! This was the amazing thing that she discovered +about herself. Not once could she remember having regretted her +ambitions that had brought her to New York; not a single time had she +wished herself back in Zenith. With scandal, jail, even worse, perhaps, +waiting her, she'd not weakened. + +Once only had she been tempted to flee the city, and then she'd not even +thought of going back to Zenith. And she knew perfectly well that had +Spofford failed to visit her this morning, and had some super-person +guaranteed her against all molestation if she would but return to her +Maine home, she would have refused scornfully. + +Perhaps, she argued with herself, it was too much to say that she'd +enjoyed these experiences, but--she was glad she'd had them. Life +hereafter might become a monotonous round of renting furnished +apartments and houses; she'd have this week of thrills to look back +upon. + +She ate her salad hungrily. Paying her check, she walked to Eighth +Street and took the street car to Sally Henderson's office. She learned +that Judge Walbrough had telephoned once during the forenoon and left a +message--which must have been cryptic to Sally Henderson--to the effect +that he had met the enemy and they were his. + +Clancy assumed that Philip Vandervent had seen Spofford and that the man +had told of his visit to Clancy. She wished that Vandervent hadn't told +the judge; she'd have liked to surprise him with the news that Spofford, +the one person of all the police whom she dreaded, had called off the +chase. Oddly, she assumed that the judge and his wife would be as +thrilled over anything happening to her as if it had happened to +themselves. This very assumption that people were interested in her, +loved her, might have been one of the reasons that they were and did. +But it is futile to attempt analysis of charm. + +She spent the afternoon with Miss Conover, the dressmaker. Business was +temporarily slack with Sally Henderson. Until the effects of the +blizzard had worn off, not so many persons would go house-hunting. And +the kindly interior decorator insisted that Clancy yield herself to Miss +Conover's ministrations. + +Clancy had an eye for clothes. Although nothing had been completed, of +course, she could tell, even in their unfinished state, that she was +going to be dressed as she had never, in Zenith, dreamed. Heaven alone +knew what it would all cost, but what woman cares what clothing cost? +Clancy would have starved to obtain these garments. It is fashionable to +jibe at the girl who lunches on a chocolate soda in order that she may +dine in a silk dress. "She puts everything on her back," her plain +sisters say. But understanding persons respect the girl. While marriage, +for the mass, remains a market-place, she does well who best displays +the thing she has for sale. + +It was a delightful afternoon, even though Miss Conover lost her good +nature as her back began to ache from so much bending and kneeling. +Clancy went down Fifth Avenue toward the Walbroughs' home walking, not +on snow, but on air. + +Philip Vandervent had been attracted to her when he saw her in a +borrowed frock. When he beheld her in one that fitted her perfectly, +without the adventitious aid of pins---- Her smile was most adorable as +she looked up at the judge, waiting for her at the head of the stairs. +Quite naturally she held up her mouth to be kissed. Clancy unconsciously +knew how to win and retain love. It is not done by kisses alone, but +kisses play their delightful part. She had never granted them to young +men; she had rarely withheld them from dear old men. + + + + +XXIX + + +Behind the judge stood his wife. Clancy immediately sensed a tenseness +in the atmosphere. As she gently released herself from the judge's +embrace and slipped into the arms of Mrs. Walbrough, what she sensed +became absolute knowledge. For the lips that touched her cheek trembled, +and in the eyes of Mrs. Walbrough stood tears. + +Clancy drew away from her hostess. She looked at the judge, then back +again at Mrs. Walbrough, and then once again at the judge. + +"Well?" she demanded. + +"It isn't well," said the judge. + +"But I thought you knew," said Clancy. "Miss Henderson gave me your +message. And that Spofford man saw me to-day, and told me that he didn't +believe I had anything to do----" She paused, eyeing the judge keenly. +She refused to be frightened. She wasn't going to be frightened again. + +"Of course he doesn't! Spofford went to Vandervent this forenoon. +But--the newspapers," said the judge. + +Clancy's lips rounded with an unuttered "Oh." She sank down upon a +chair; her hands dropped limply in her lap. + +"What do they know?" she demanded. + +The judge's reply was bitter. + +"'Know?' Nothing! But a newspaper doesn't have to _know_ anything to +make trouble! If it merely suspects, that's enough. Look!" + +He unfolded an evening newspaper and handed it to Clancy. There, black +as ink could make it, spreading the full length of the page, stood the +damnable statement, + + WOMAN SOUGHT IN BEINER MYSTERY + +Her eyes closed. She leaned back in her chair. The full meaning of the +head-line, its terrific import, seeped slowly into her consciousness. +She knew that any scandal involving a woman is, from a newspaper +standpoint, worth treble one without her. One needs to be no analyst to +discover this--the fact presents itself too patently in every page of +every newspaper. She knew, too, that newspapers relinquish spicy stories +regretfully. + +Her eyes opened slowly. It was with a physical effort that she lifted +the paper in order that she might read. The story was brief. It merely +stated that the _Courier_ had learned, through authentic sources, that +the district attorney's office suspected that a woman had killed Beiner, +and that it was running down the clues that had aroused its suspicions. + +But it was a bold-face paragraph, set to the left of the main article, +that drove the color from her cheeks. It was an editorial, transplanted, +for greater effect, to the first page. Clancy read it through. + + FIND THE WOMAN + + Another murder engages the attention of police, the press, and the + public. The _Courier_, as set forth in another column, has learned + that the authorities possess evidence justifying the arrest of a + woman as the Beiner murderess. How long must the people of the + greatest city in the world feel that their Police Department is + incompetent? It has been New York's proudest boast that its police + are the most efficient in the world. That boast is flat and stale + now. Too many crimes of violence have been unsolved during the past + six months. Too many criminals wander at large. How long must this + continue? + +It was, quite obviously, a partisan political appeal to the prejudices +of the _Courier_'s readers. But Clancy did not care about that. The fact +of publication, not its reason, interested her. She looked dully up at +the judge. + +"How did they find out?" she asked. + +The judge shrugged. + +"That's what Vandervent is trying to find out now. He's quizzing his +staff this minute. He meant to be up here this evening. He was to dine +with us. He just telephoned. Some one will be 'broken' for giving the +paper the tip. But--that doesn't help us, does it?" + +Clancy's lips tightened. Her eyes grew thoughtful. + +"Still, if that's all the paper knows----" + +"We can't be sure of that," interrupted Walbrough. "Suppose that whoever +told the _Courier_ reporter what he's printed had happened to tell him a +little more. The _Courier_ may want a 'beat.' It might withhold the fact +that it knew the name of the woman in order that other newspapers might +not find her first." + +Slowly the color flowed back into Clancy's cheeks. She would not be +frightened. + +"But Spofford could never have found me if I hadn't gone to Mr. +Vandervent's office," she said. + +"Spofford may be the man who gave the paper the tip," said the judge. + +Clancy sat bolt upright. + +"Would he dare?" + +The judge shrugged. + +"He might. We don't know. The elevator-man might have told a +reporter--papers pay well for tips like that, you know. It's not safe +here." + +The bottom fell out of the earth for Clancy. It was years since she'd +had a home. One couldn't term aunt Hetty's boarding-house in Zenith a +_home_, kindly and affectionate as aunt Hetty had been. She'd only been +one night in the Walbroughs' house, had only known them four days. Yet, +somehow, she had begun to feel a part of their _ménage_, had known in +her heart, though of course nothing had been said about the matter, that +the Walbroughs would argue against almost any reason she might advance +for leaving them save one--marriage. + +Security had enfolded her. And now she was to be torn from this +security. Her mouth opened for argument. It closed without speech. For, +after all, scandal didn't threaten her alone; it threatened the +Walbroughs. If she were found here by a reporter, the gossip of tongue +and print would smirch her benefactors. + +"You're right. I'll go," she said. "I'll find a place----" + +"'_Find_ a place!'" There was amazement in Mrs. Walbrough's voice; there +was more, a hint of indignation. "Why, you're going to our place up in +Hinsdale. And _I'm_ going with you." + +Youth is rarely ashamed of its judgments. Youth is conceited, and +conceit and shame are rarely companions. But Clancy reddened now with +shame. She had thought the Walbroughs capable of deserting her, or +letting her shift for herself, when common decency should have made her +await explanation. They would never know her momentary doubt of them, +but she could never live long enough, to make up for it. + +Yet she protested. + +"I--I can't. You--you'll be involved." + +The judge chuckled. + +"Seems to me, young lady, that it's rather late for the Walbroughs to +worry about being involved. We're in, my dear, up to our slim, proud +throats. And if we were certain of open scandal, surely you don't think +that would matter?" he asked, suddenly reproachful. + +Clancy dissembled. + +"I think that you both are the most wonderful, dearest---- You make me +want to cry," she finished. + +The judge squared his shoulders. A twinkle stood in his eye. + +"It's a way I have. The women always weep over me." + +His wife sniffed. She spoke to Clancy. + +"The man never can remember his waist-measurement." + +The judge fought hard against a grin. + +"My wife marvels so at her good luck in catching me that she tries to +make it appear that she didn't catch much, after all." + +Mrs. Walbrough sniffed again. + +"'Luck?' In catching you!" + +The judge became urbane, bland, deprecatory. + +"I beg pardon, my dear. Not luck--skill." + +Mrs. Walbrough's assumption of scorn left her. Her laugh joined +Clancy's. Clancy didn't realize just then how deftly the judge had +steered her away from possible tears, and how superbly Mrs. Walbrough +had played up to her husband's acting. + +She put one hand in the big palm of the judge and let her other arm +encircle Mrs. Walbrough's waist. + +"If I should say, 'Thank you,'" she said, "it would sound so pitifully +little----" + +"So you'll just say nothing, young woman," thundered the judge. "You'll +eat some dinner, pack a bag, and you and Maria'll catch the eight-twenty +to Hinsdale. You won't be buried there. Lots of people winter there. +Maria and I used to spend lots of time there before she grew too old to +enjoy tobogganing. But I'm not too old. I'll be up to-morrow or the next +day, to bring you home. For the real murderer _will_ be found. He _must_ +be!" + +Not merely then, but half a dozen times through the meal that followed, +Clancy resisted the almost overpowering temptation to tell what she had +overheard being said in the Carey dining-room. It wasn't fair to the +Walbroughs to withhold information. On the other hand, she must be more +than fair to Sophie. Before she spoke, she must know more. + +But how, immured in some country home, was she to learn more? Yet she +could not refuse flight without an explanation. And the only explanation +would involve Don Carey, the husband of the woman who had been first in +New York to befriend her. + +She couldn't tell--yet. She must have time to think, to plan. And so she +kept silence. Had she been able to read the future, perhaps she would +have broken the seal of silence; perhaps not. One is inclined to believe +that she would have been sensible enough to realize that even knowledge +of the future cannot change it. + +For millions of us can in a measure read the future, yet it is +unchanged. We know that certain consequences inevitably follow certain +actions. Yet we commit the actions. We know that result follows cause, +yet we do not eliminate the cause. If we could be more specific in our +reading than this, would our lives be much different? One is permitted +doubts. + +The train, due to the traffic disturbances caused by the blizzard, left +the Grand Central several minutes behind its scheduled time. It lost +more time _en route_, and the hour was close to midnight when Clancy and +Mrs. Walbrough emerged from the Hinsdale station and entered a sleigh, +driven by a sleepy countryman who, it transpired, was the Walbrough +caretaker. It was after midnight, and after a bumpy ride, that the two +women descended from the sleigh and tumbled up the stairs that led to a +wide veranda. The house was ablaze in honor of their coming. It was +warm, too, not merely from a furnace, but from huge open fires that +burned down-stairs and in the bedroom to which Clancy was assigned. + +The motherly wife of the caretaker had warm food and hot drink waiting +them, but Clancy hardly tasted them. She was sleepy, and soon she left +Mrs. Walbrough to gossip with her housekeeper while she tumbled into +bed. + +Sleep came instantly. Hardly, it seemed, had her eyes closed before they +opened. Through the raised window streamed sunlight. But Clancy was +more conscious of the cold air that accompanied it. It was as cold here +as it was in Maine. At least, it seemed so this morning. She was quite +normal. She was not the sort of person who leaps gayly from bed and +performs calisthenics before an opened window in zero weather. Instead, +she snuggled down under the bedclothes until her eyes and the tip of her +nose were all that showed. One glimpse of her breath, smoky in the +frosty air, had made a coward of her. + +But sometimes hopes are realized. Just as she had made up her mind to +brave the ordeal and arise and close the window, she heard a knock upon +the door. + +"Come in. Oh, _pul-lease_ come in!" she cried. + +Mrs. Walbrough entered, followed by the housekeeper, who, Clancy had +learned last night, was named Mrs. Hebron. Mrs. Walbrough closed the +window, chaffing Clancy because a Maine girl should mind the cold, and +Mrs. Hebron piled wood in the fireplace. By the time that Clancy emerged +from the bathroom--she hated to leave it; the hot water in the tub made +the whole room pleasantly steamy--her bedroom was warm. And Mrs. +Walbrough had found somewhere a huge bath robe of the judge's which +swamped Clancy in its woolen folds. + +There were orange juice and toast and soft-boiled eggs and coffee made +as only country people can make it. It had been made, Clancy could tell +from the taste, by putting _plenty_ of coffee in the bottom of a pot, by +filling the pot with cold water, by letting it come to a boil, removing +it after it had bubbled one minute, and serving it about ten seconds +after that. All this was set upon a table drawn close to the fire. + +"Why," said Clancy aloud, "did I ever imagine that I didn't care for the +country in the winter?" + +Mrs. Walbrough laughed. + +"You're a little animal, Clancy Deane," she accused. + +"I'll tell the world I am," said Clancy. She laughed at Mrs. Walbrough's +expression of mock horror. "Oh, we can be slangy in Zenith," she said. + +"What else can you be in Zenith?" asked Mrs. Walbrough. + +Clancy drained her cup of coffee. She refused a second cup and pushed +her chair away from the table. She put her feet, ridiculous in a huge +pair of slippers that also belonged to the judge, upon the dogs in the +fireplace. Luxuriously she inhaled the warmth of the room. + +"What else can we be?" she said. + +She had talked only, it seemed, about her troubles these past few days. +Now, under the stimulus of an interested listener, she poured forth her +history, her hopes, her ambitions. And, in return, Mrs. Walbrough told +of her own life, of her husband's failure to inherit the vast fortune +that he had expected, how, learning that speculation had taken it all +from his father, he had buckled down to the law; how he had achieved +tremendous standing; how he had served upon the bench; how he had +resigned to accept a nomination for the Senate; how, having been +defeated--it was not his party's year--he had resumed the practise of +law, piling up a fortune that, though not vast to the sophisticated, +loomed large to Clancy. They were still talking at luncheon, and +through it. After the meal Hebron announced that there would be good +tobogganing outside after the course had been worn down a little. To +Clancy's delighted surprise, Mrs. Walbrough declared that she had been +looking forward to it. Together, wrapped in sweaters and with their feet +encased in high moccasins--they were much too large for Clancy--they +tried out the slide. + +The Walbrough house was perched upon the top of a wind-swept hill. The +view was gorgeous. On all sides hills that could not be termed mountains +but that, nevertheless, were some hundreds of feet high, surrounded the +Walbrough hill. A hundred yards from the front veranda, at the foot of a +steep slope, was a good-sized pond. Across this the toboggan course +ended. And because the wind had prevented the snow from piling too +deeply, the toboggan, after a few trials, slid smoothly, and at a great +pace, clear across the pond. + +It was dusk before they were too tired to continue. Breathlessly, Mrs. +Walbrough announced that she would give a house-party as soon as---- She +paused. It was the first reference to the cause of their being there +that had passed the lips of either to-day. Both had tacitly agreed not +to talk about it. + +"Let's hope it won't be long," said Clancy. "To drag you away from the +city----" + +"Tush, tush, my child," said Mrs. Walbrough. + +Clancy tushed. + +It was at their early dinner that the telephone-bell rang. Clancy +answered it. It was Vandervent. He was brisk to the point of terseness. + +"Got to see you. Want to ask a few questions. I'll take the +eight-twenty. Ask Mrs. Walbrough if she can put me up?" + +Mrs. Walbrough, smiling, agreed that she could. Clancy told Vandervent +so. He thanked her. His voice lost its briskness. + +"Are you--eh--enjoying yourself?" + +Clancy demurely replied that she was. "I wish you had time for some +tobogganing," she ventured. + +"Do you really?" Vandervent was eager. "I'll make time--I--I'll see you +to-night, Miss Deane." + +Clancy smiled with happy confidence at the things that Vandervent had +not said. She played double solitaire with her hostess until eleven +o'clock. Then Mrs. Hebron entered with the information that her husband +had developed a sudden chest-cold, accompanied by fever, and that she +really dreaded letting him meet the train. + +Clancy leaped to the occasion. She pooh-poohed Mrs. Walbrough's +protests. As if, even in these motorful days, a Zenith girl couldn't +hitch an old nag to a sleigh and drive a few rods. And she wouldn't +permit Mrs. Walbrough to accompany her, either. Alone, save for a +brilliant moon, a most benignant moon, she drove down the hill and over +the snow-piled road to the Hinsdale station. + +It was a dreamy ride; she was going to meet a man whose voice trembled +as he spoke to her, a man who was doing all in his power to save her +from dangers, a man who was a Vandervent, one of the great _partis_ of +America. Yet it was as a man, rather than as a Vandervent, that she +thought of him. + +So, engrossed with thoughts of him, thoughts that submerged the memory +of yesterday's paper, that made her forget that she had seen no paper +to-day, she gave the old horse his head, and let him choose his own +path. Had she been alert, she would have seen the men step out from the +roadside, would have been able to whip up her horse and escape their +clutch. As it was, one of them seized the bridle. The other advanced to +her side. + +"So you've followed me up here," he said. "Spying on me, eh?" + +The moonlight fell upon the face of the man who held the horse's head. +It was Garland. The man who spoke to her was Donald Carey. She had not +known before that Hinsdale was in Dutchess County. + + + + +XXX + + +Clancy was afraid--like every one else--of the forces of law and order. +She was afraid of that menacing thing which we call "society." To feel +that society has turned against one, and is hunting one down--that is +the most terrible fear of all. Clancy had undergone that fear during the +past week. Panic had time and again assailed her. + +But the panic that gripped her now was different. It was the fear of +bodily injury. And, because Clancy had real courage, the color came back +into her cheeks as swiftly as it had departed. More swiftly, because, +with returning courage, came anger. + +Clancy was not a snob; she would never be one. Yet there is a feeling, +born of legitimate pride, that makes one consciously superior to others. +Clancy held herself highly. A moment ago, she had been dreaming, +triumphantly, of a man immeasurably superior in all ways to these two +men who detained her. That this man should anticipate seeing her--and +she knew that he did--raised her in her own self-esteem. That these two +men here dared stop her progress, for any reason whatsoever, lowered +her. + +She was decent. These two men were not. Yet one of them held her horse's +head, and the other hand was stretched out toward her. They dared, by +deed and verbal implication, to threaten her. Her pride, just and well +founded, though based on no record of material achievement, would have +made her brave, even though she had lacked real courage. Although, as a +matter of fact, it is hard to conceive of real courage in a character +that has no pride. + +Carey's left hand was closing over her right forearm. With the edge of +her right hand, Clancy struck the contaminating touch away. She was a +healthy girl. Hours of tobogganing to-day had not exhausted her. The +blow had vigor behind it. Carey's hand dropped away from her. With her +left hand, Clancy jerked the reins taut. A blow of the whip would have +made Garland relinquish his grasp of the animal. But Clancy did not +deliver it then. + +No man, save Beiner, had ever really frightened her. And it had not been +fear of hurt that had animated her sudden resistance toward the +theatrical agent; it had been dread of contamination. She had been born +and bred in the country. In Zenith, the kerosene street-lamps were not +lighted on nights when the moon was full. Sometimes it rained, and then +the town was dark. Yet Clancy had never been afraid to walk home from a +neighbor's house. + +So now, indignant, and growing more indignant with each passing second, +she made no move toward flight. Instead, she asked the immemorial +question of the woman whose pride is outraged. + +"How dare you?" she demanded. + +Carey stared at her. He rubbed his forearm where the hard edge of her +palm had descended upon it. His forehead, Clancy could vaguely discern, +in the light that the snow reflected from a pale moon, was wrinkled, as +though with worry. + +"Some wallop you have!" he said. "No need of getting mad, is there?" + +Had Clancy been standing, she would have stamped her foot. + +"'Mad?' What do you mean by stopping me?" she cried. + +"'Mean?'" Behind his blond mustache the weakness of Carey's mouth was +patent. "'Mean?' Why--" He drew himself up with sudden dignity. "Any +reason," he asked, "why I shouldn't stop and speak to a friend of my +wife's?" + +Suddenly Clancy wished that she had lashed Garland with the whip, struck +the horse with it, and fled away. She realized that Carey was drunk. He +was worse than drunk; he was poisoned by alcohol. The eyes that finally +met hers were not the eyes of a drunkard temporarily debauched; they +were the eyes of a maniac. + +Her impulse to indignation died away. She knew that she must temporize, +must outwit the man who stood so close to where she sat. For she +realized that she was in as great danger as probably she would ever be +again. + +Danger dulls the mind of the coward. It quickens the wit of the brave. +The most consummate actress would have envied Clancy the laugh that rang +as merrily true as though Carey, in a ballroom, had reminded her of +their acquaintance and had begged a dance. + +"Why, it's _you_, Mr. Carey! How silly of me!" + +Carey stepped back a trifle. His hat swung down in his right hand, and +he bowed, exaggeratedly. + +"'Course it is. Didn't you know me?" + +Clancy laughed again. + +"Why should I? I never expected to find you walking along a road like +this." + +"Why shouldn't you?" Carey's voice was suddenly suspicious. "Y' knew I +was coming up here, didn't you?" + +"Why, no," Clancy assured him. "You see Dutchess County doesn't mean +anything to me. Mrs. Carey said that you were going to Dutchess County, +but that might as well have been Idaho for all it meant to me. Where is +Mrs. Carey?" he asked. + +"Oh, she's all right. Nev' min' about her." He swayed a trifle, and +seized the edge of the sleigh for support. "Point is"--and he brought +his face nearer to hers, staring at her with inflamed eyes--"what are +you doin' up here if you didn't know I was here?" + +"Visiting the Walbroughs," said Clancy. She pretended to ignore his +tone. + +"Huh! Tell me somethin' I don't know," said Carey. "Don't you suppose I +know _that_? Ain't Sam and I been watchin' you tobogganing with that fat +old Walbrough dame all afternoon?" + +"Why didn't you join us?" asked Clancy. + +"Join you? Join you?" Carey's eyes attempted cunning; they succeeded in +crossing. "Thass just _it_! Didn't want to join you. Didn't want you to +sus--suspect--" His hand shook the sleigh. "You come right now and tell +me what you doin' here?" + +"Why, I've told you!" said Clancy. + +"Yes; you've _told_ me," said Carey scornfully. "But that doesn't mean +that I believe you. Where you going now?" + +"To the railroad station," Clancy answered. + +"What for?" demanded Carey. + +Clancy's muscles tightened; she sat bolt upright. No _grande dame_'s +tones could have been icier. + +"You are impertinent, Mr. Carey." + +"'Impertinent!'" cried Carey. "I asked you a question; answer it!" + +"To meet Mr. Vandervent," Clancy told him. She could have bitten her +tongue for the error of her judgment. + +Carey's hand let go of the side of the seat. He stepped uncertainly back +a pace. + +"What's he doing up here? What you meeting him for? D'ye hear that, +Garland?" he cried. + +The elevator-man of the Heberworth Building still stood at the horse's +head. He was smoking a cigarette now, and Clancy could see his crafty +eyes as he sucked his breath inward and the tip of the cigarette glowed. + +"Ain't that what I been tellin' you?" he retorted. "Didn't Spofford go +into your house yesterday and stay there with her an hour or so? Wasn't +I watchin' outside? And ain't he laid off her? Didn't he tell me to keep +my trap closed about seein' her go to Beiner's office? Ain't he workin' +hand in glove with her?" + +Carey wheeled toward Clancy. + +"You hear that?" he demanded shrilly. "And still you try to fool me. You +think I killed Beiner, and--" His voice ceased. He licked his lips a +moment. When he spoke again, there was infinite cunning in his tone. + +"You don't think anything foolish like that, now, do you?" He came a +little closer to the sleigh. His left hand groped, almost blindly, it +seemed to Clancy, for the edge of the seat again. "Why, even if Morris +and I did have a little row, any one that knows me knows I'm a gentleman +and wouldn't kill him for a little thing like his saying he----" + +"Lay off what he said and you said," came the snarling voice of Garland. +"Stick to what you intended saying." + +"Don't use that tone, Garland," snapped Carey. "Don't you forget, +either, that I'm a--I'm a--gentleman. I don't want any gutter-scum +dicta--dictating to me." He spoke again to Clancy. "You're a friend of +my wife," he said. "Just wanted to tell you, in friendly way, that +friend of my wife don't mean a single thing to me. I want to be friendly +with every one, but any one tries to put anything over on me going to +get theirs. 'Member that!" + +"Aw, get down to cases!" snarled Garland. There was something strange in +the voice of the man at the horse's head. There was a snarling quaver in +it that was not like the drunken menace of Carey. + +Suddenly Clancy knew; she had never met a drug fiend in her life--and +yet she knew. Also, she knew that what Don Carey, even maniacally drunk, +might not think of doing, the undersized elevator-man from the +Heberworth Building would not hesitate to attempt. + +Common sense told her that these two men had stopped her only for a +purpose. They had watched her to-day. They knew that she was on her way +to meet Philip Vandervent. They were reading into that meeting +verification of their suspicions. + +And they were suspicious, because--she knew why. Carey had killed +Beiner. Garland knew of the crime. Garland had blackmailed Carey; +Garland feared that exposure of Carey would also expose himself as +cognizant of the crime. So they were crazed, one from drink, the other +from some more evil cause. No thought of risk would deter them. It was +incredible that they would attack her, and yet---- + +"Now, listen, lady," came the voice of Garland: "We don't mean no harm +to you. Get me?" + +Incredibly, crazed though the man's voice was, Clancy believed him. + +"What do you mean?" she demanded. + +"We just want a little time, Carey and me. We want you to promise to +keep your mouth shut for a week or so; that's all. Your word'll be good +with us." + +Again Clancy believed him. But now she was able to reason. She believed +Garland, because he meant what he said. But--would he mean what he said +five minutes from now? And, then, it didn't matter to her whether or not +the man would mean it five years from now. He was attempting to dictate +to her, Clancy Deane, who was on her way to meet Philip Vandervent, she +who had received flowers from Philip Vandervent only yesterday. + +Vandervent was a gentleman. Would he temporize? Would he give a promise +that in honor he should not give? + +Where there had been only suspicion, there was now certainty. She _knew_ +that Don Carey had killed Morris Beiner. On some remote day, she would +ponder on the queer ways of fate, on the strange coincidences that make +for what we call "inevitability." With, so far as she knew, no evidence +against him, Don Carey had convicted himself. + +He was a murderer. By all possible implication, Carey had confessed, and +Garland had corroborated the confession. And they asked her to become +party to a murder! + +She would never again be as angry as she was now. It seemed to her +inflamed senses that they were insulting not merely herself but +Vandervent also. They were suggesting that she was venal, capable of +putting bodily safety above honesty. And, in belittling her, they +belittled the man who had, of all the women in the world, selected her. +For now, in the stress of the moment, it was as though Vandervent's +flowers had been a proposal. She fought not merely for herself, but, by +some queer quirk of reasoning, for the man that she loved. + +Her left hand held whip and reins. She dropped the reins, she rose to +her feet and lashed savagely at Garland's head. She heard him scream as +the knotted leather cut across his face. She saw him stagger back, +relinquishing his hold of the bridle. She turned. Carey's two hands +sought for her; his face was but a yard away, and into it she drove the +butt of the whip. He, too, reeled back. + +Her hand went above her head and the lash descended, swishingly, upon +the side of the horse. There was a jerk forward that sat her heavily +down upon the seat. A sidewise twist, as the animal leaped ahead, almost +threw her out of the sleigh. She gripped at the dashboard and managed to +right herself. And then the sleigh went round a bend in the road. + +The snow was piled on the left-hand side. The horse, urged into the +first display of spirits that, probably, he had shown in years, bore to +the left. The left runner shot into the air. Clancy picked herself out +of a snow-drift on the right-hand side as the horse and sleigh careened +round another turn. + +For a moment, she was too bewildered to move. Then she heard behind her +the curses of the two men. She heard them plunging along the heavy +roadway, calling to each other to make haste. + +She was not panicky. Before her was a narrow roadway, branching away +from the main highway. Up it she ran, as swiftly as her heavily-shod +feet--she wore overshoes that Mrs. Hebron had pressed upon her--could +carry her over the rough track. + +Round a corner she glimpsed lights. A house stood before her. She raced +toward it, her pace slackening as a backward glance assured her that +Garland and Carey must be pursuing the empty sleigh, for they certainly +were not following her. + +But the horse might stop at any moment. He was an aged animal, probably +tired of his freedom already. Then the two men would turn, would find +her tracks leading up this road. She refused to consider what might +happen then. One thing only she knew--that she had justified herself by +refusing to treat with them. It was an amazingly triumphant heart that +she held within her bosom. She felt strangely proud of herself. + +Across a wide veranda she made her way. She rang a door-bell, visible +under the veranda-light. She heard footsteps. Now she breathed easily. +She was safe. Carey and Garland, even though they discovered her tracks, +would hardly follow her into this house. + +Then the door opened and she stood face to face with Sophie Carey. + +For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Mrs. Carey held out her hand. + +"Why, Miss Deane!" she gasped. + +Perfunctorily Clancy took the extended fingers. She stepped inside. + +"Lock the door!" she ordered. + +Sophie Carey stared at her. Mechanically she obeyed. She stared at her +guest. + +"Why--why--what's wrong?" she demanded. Her voice shook, and her eyes +were frightened. + +Clancy's eyes clouded. She wanted to weep. Not because of any danger +that had menaced her--that might still menace her--not because of any +physical reaction. But Sophie Carey had befriended her, and Sophie Carey +was in the shadow of disgrace. And she, Clancy Deane, _must_ tell the +authorities. + +"Your husband----" she began. + +Mrs. Carey's face hardened. Into her eyes came a flame. + +"He--he's dared to----" + +There was a step on the veranda outside. Before Clancy could interfere, +Sophie had strode by her and thrown open the door. Through the entrance +came Carey, his bloodshot eyes roving. In his hand he held a revolver. + + + + +XXXI + + +Until she died, Clancy would hold vividly, in memory, the recollection +of this scene. Just beyond the threshold Carey stopped. His wife, +wild-eyed, leaned against the door which she had closed, her hand still +on the knob. + +For a full minute, there was silence. Clancy forgot her own danger. She +was looking upon the most dramatic thing in life, the casting-off by a +woman of a man whom she had loved, because she has found him unworthy. + +Not that Sophie Carey, just now--or later on, for that matter--stooped +to any melodramatic utterance. But her eyes were as expressive as spoken +sentences. Into them first crept fear--a fear that was different from +the alarm that she had shown when Clancy had mentioned her husband. But +the fear vanished, was banished by the fulness of her contempt. Her +eyes, that had been wide, now narrowed, hardened, seemed to emit sparks +of ice. + +Contemptuous anger heightened her beauty. Rather, it restored it. For, +when Clancy had staggered into the house, the beauty of Sophie Carey, +always a matter of coloring and spirits rather than of feature, had been +a memory. She had been haggard, wan, sunken of cheek, so pale that her +rouge had made her ghastly by contrast. + +But now a normal color crept into her face. Not really normal, but, +induced by the emotions that swayed her, it was the color that should +always have been hers. It took years from her age. Her figure had +seemed heavy, matronly, a moment ago. But now, as her muscles stiffened, +it took on again that litheness which, despite her plumpness, made her +seem more youthful than she was. + +But it was the face of her husband that fascinated Clancy. Below his +left eye, a bruise stood out, crimson. Clancy knew that it was from the +blow that she had struck with the butt of the whip. She felt a certain +vindictive pleasure at the sight of it. Carey's mouth twitched. His +blond mustache looked more like straw than anything else. Ordinarily, it +was carefully combed, but now the hairs that should have been trained to +the right stuck over toward the left, rendering him almost grotesque. +Below it, his mouth was twisted in a sort of sneer that made its +weakness more apparent than ever. + +His hat was missing; snow was on his shoulders, as though, in his +pursuit, he had stumbled headlong into the drifts. And his tie was +undone, his collar opened, as though he had found difficulty in +breathing. The hand that held the revolver shook. + +Before the gaze of the two women, his air of menace vanished. The +intoxication that, combined with fear, had made him almost insane, left +him. + +"Why--why--musta scared you," he stammered. + +Sophie Carey stepped close to him. Her fingers touched the revolver in +his hand. Her husband jerked it away. Its muzzle, for a wavering moment, +pointed at Clancy. She did not move. She was not frightened; she was +fascinated. She marveled at Sophie's cool courage. For Mrs. Carey +reached again for the weapon. This time, Carey did not resist; he +surrendered it to her. Then Clancy understood how tremendous had been +the strain, not merely for her but for Sophie. The older woman would +have fallen but for the wall against which her shoulders struck. But her +voice was steady when she spoke. + +"I suppose that there's some explanation, Don?" + +Clancy wondered if she would ever achieve Sophie's perfect poise. She +wondered if it could be acquired, or if people were born with it. It was +not pretense in Sophie Carey's case, at any rate. The casualness of her +tone was not assumed. Somehow, she made Clancy think of those _grandes +dames_ of the French Revolution who played cards as the summons to the +tumbrils came, and who left the game as jauntily as though they went to +the play. + +For Clancy knew that Sophie Carey had forgiven her husband the other day +for the last time; that hope, so far as he was concerned, was now ashes +in her bosom forever. To a woman of Mrs. Carey's type, this present +humiliation must make her suffer as nothing else in the world could do. +Yet, because she was herself, her voice held no trace of pain. + +"'Explanation?'" Carey was mastered by her self-control. "Why--course +there is! Why----" He took the refuge of the weak. He burst into temper. +"'Course there is!" he cried again. "Dirty little spy! Trying to get me +in bad. Stopped her--wanted to scare her----" + +"Don!" His wife's voice stopped his shrill utterance. + +She straightened up, no longer leaning against the wall for support. +"You stopped her? Why?" She raised her hand, quelling his reply. "No +lies, Don; I want the truth." + +Carey's mouth opened; it shut again. He looked hastily about him, as +though seeking some road for flight. He glanced toward the revolver that +his wife held. For a moment Clancy thought that he would spring for it. +But if he held such thought, he let it go, conquered by his wife's +spirit. + +"'The truth?'" He tried to laugh. "Why--why, Miss Deane's got some fool +idea that I killed Morris Beiner, and I wanted to--I wanted to----" + +"'Beiner?' 'Morris Beiner?'" Sophie was bewildered. + +"Theatrical man. You read about it in the papers." Again Carey tried to +laugh, to seem nonchalantly amused. "Because I had an office in the same +building, she got the idea that I killed him. I just wanted her to quit +telling people about me. Just a friendly little talk--that's all I +wanted with her." + +"'Friendly?' With this?" Mrs. Carey glanced down at the weapon in her +hand. + +"Well, I just thought maybe that she'd scare easy, and----" + +"Don!" The name burst explosively from his wife's lips. Her breath +sucked in audibly through her parted lips. + +Carey stepped back, away from her. + +"Why--why----" + +"A murderer," cried Mrs. Carey. + +"It's a lie!" said Carey. "We had a li'l fight, but----" + +Mrs. Carey glanced at Clancy. + +"How did you know?" she whispered. + +Clancy shook her head. She made no reply. Sophie Carey didn't want one. +She spoke only as one who has seen the universe shattered might utter +some question. + +"Why?" demanded Mrs. Carey. + +"He butted in on some business of----" + +"I don't mean that," she interrupted. "I mean--isn't there anything of a +man left in you, Donald? I don't care why you killed this man Beiner. +But why, having done something for which a price must be paid, you +attack a woman----" + +She slumped against the wall again. The hand holding the revolver +dangled limply at her side. So it was that it was easily snatched from +her hand. + +Clancy had been too absorbed in the scene to remember Garland. Sophie +Carey, apparently, knew nothing of the man. The snow had been swept from +the veranda only in front of the door. It muffled the elevator-man's +approach to one of the French windows in the living-room, off the hall, +in which the three stood. Garland crept to the door, sized up the +situation, and, with a bound, was at Sophie's side. He leaped away from +her, flourishing the weapon. + +"'S all right, Carey! We got 'em!" he shouted. + +Clancy had become used to the unexpected. Yet Carey's action surprised +her. In a moment when danger menaced as never before, danger passed +away. Carey had been born a gentleman. He had spent his life trying to +forget the fact. But instinct is stronger than our will. He could lie, +could murder even, could kill a woman. But a gutter-rat like Garland +could not lay a hand on his wife. + +The elevator-man, never having known the spark of breeding, could not +have anticipated Carey's move. The revolver was wrested from him, and he +was on hands and knees, hurled there by Carey's punch, without quite +knowing what had happened, or why. + +Carey handed the revolver to his wife. She accepted it silently. The +husband turned to Garland. + +"Get out," he said. + +His voice was quiet. All the hysteria, all the madness had disappeared +from it. It had the ring of command that might always have been there +had the man run true to his creed. He was a weakling, but weakness might +have been conquered. + +Garland scrambled to his feet. Sidewise, fearful lest Carey strike him +again, his opened mouth expressing more bewilderment than anger, he +sidled past Carey to the door, which the latter opened. He bounded +swiftly through, and Carey closed the door. The patter of the man's feet +was heard for a moment on the veranda. Then he was gone. + +"Thank you, Don," said Sophie quietly. + +It was, Clancy felt, like a scene from some play. It was unreal, +unbelievable, only--it was also dreadfully real. + +"Don't suppose the details interest you, Sophie?" said Carey. + +She shook her head. + +"I'm sorry, Don." + +He shrugged. "That's more than I have any right to expect from you, +Sophie." + +His enunciation was no longer thick; it was extremely clear. His wife's +lower lip trembled slightly. + +"There--there isn't any way----" + +He shook his head. + +"I've been drinking like a fish, and thought there was. I--I'm not a +murderer, Sophie. I almost was--a few minutes ago. But Beiner--just a +rat who interfered with me. I--I--you deserved something decent, +Sophie. You got me. I deserved something rotten, and--I got you. And +didn't appreciate-- Oh, well, you aren't interested. And it's too late, +anyway." + +He smiled debonairly. His lips, Clancy noticed, did not tremble in the +least. Though she only vaguely comprehended what was going on, less she +realized that, in some incomprehensible fashion, Don Carey was coming +into his own, that whatever indecencies, wickednesses, had been in the +man, they were leaving him now. Later on, when she analyzed the scene, +she would understand that Carey had spiritually groveled before his +wife, and that, though she could not love him, could not respect him, +despite all the shame he had inflicted upon her, she had forgiven him. +But of this there was no verbal hint. Carey turned to her. + +"Insanity covers many things, Miss Deane. It would be kind of you, if +you are able, to think of me as insane." + +He stepped toward his wife. She shrank away from him. + +"I'm not going to be banal, Sophie," he told her. "Just let me have +this." From her unresisting fingers he took the revolver. He put it in +his coat pocket. He shrugged his shoulders. "I've had lucid moments, +even in the past week," he said, "and in one of them I knew what lay +ahead. It's all written down--in the steel box up-stairs, Sophie. It--it +will save any one else--from being suspected." He turned and his hand +was on the door-knob. + +"Don!" Sophie's voice rose in a scream. The aplomb that had been hers +deserted her. Strangely, Carey seemed the dominating figure of the two, +and this despite the fact that he was beaten--beaten by his wife's own +sheer stark courage. + +He turned back. The smile that he gave to his wife was reminiscent of +charm. Clancy could understand how, some years ago, the brilliant and +charming Sophie Carey had succumbed to that smile. Slowly he shook his +head. + +"Sophie, you've been the bravest thing in the world. You aren't going to +be a coward now." + +He was through the door, and it slammed behind him before his wife +moved. Then she started for the door. She made only one stride, and then +she slumped, to lie, a huddled heap, upon the hallway floor. + +How long Clancy stood there she couldn't have told. Probably not more +than a few seconds, yet, in her numbed state, it seemed hours before she +moved toward the unconscious woman. For she thought that Sophie Carey +was dead. It was a ridiculous thought, nevertheless it was with dread +that she finally bent over the prostrate figure. Then, seeing the bosom +move she screamed. + +From up-stairs Ragan, the chauffeur, Jack-of-all-trades whom she had +seen at the Carey house in New York the other day, came running. His +wife followed. Together they lifted Mrs. Carey and bore her to a couch +in the living-room. But no restoratives were needed. Her eyes opened +almost immediately. They cleared swiftly and she sat up. + +"Ragan!" + +"Yes, ma'am?" + +"Mr. Don!" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"He--he--has a revolver. He's--outside--somewhere----" + +"I'll find him, ma'am." + +There seemed to be no need for explanation. Ragan's white face showed +that he understood. And now Clancy, amazed that she had not comprehended +before, also understood. Her hands went swiftly up over her eyes as +though to shut out some horrible sight. The fact that Don Carey had +pursued her half an hour ago with murderous intent was of no importance +now. + +She heard Ragan's heavy feet racing across the room and out of the +house. She heard the piteous wail from Mrs. Ragan's mouth. Then, amazed, +as she removed her hands from her eyes, she saw Sophie Carey, mistress +of herself again, leap from the couch and race to a window, throwing it +open. + +"Ragan," she called. "Ragan!" + +"Ma'am?" faintly, from the darkness, Ragan answered. + +"Come here." Firm, commanding, Sophie Carey's voice brooked no refusal. + +"Coming, ma'am," called Ragan. + +A moment later he was in the living-room again. + +"Ragan, go up-stairs," commanded his mistress. + +The man looked his surprise. + +"But, ma'am, Mr. Donald----" + +"Must be given his chance, Ragan," she interrupted. + +"'His chance,' ma'am? Him carryin' a revolver?" + +"There are worse things than revolvers, Ragan," said his mistress. + +"Oh, my darlin' Miss Sophie," cried his wife. + +She turned on them both. + +"They'll capture him. They'll put him in jail. They'll sentence him-- +It's his way out. It mustn't--it _mustn't_ be taken from him!" Her voice +rose to a scream. She held out her arms to Clancy. "Don't let +them--don't let them--" She could not finish; once again she tumbled to +the floor. + +Uncertainly, the servants looked at Clancy. It was the first time in her +life that Clancy had come face to face with a great problem. Her own +problem of the past week seemed a minor thing compared with this. + +She knew that what Don Carey purposed doing was wrong, hideously wrong. +It was the act of a coward. Yet, in this particular case, was there not +something of heroism in it? To save his wife from the long-drawn-out +humiliation of a trial-- Sophie Carey had appealed to her. Yet Sophie +Carey had not appealed because of cowardice, because she feared +humiliation; Sophie appealed to her because she wished to spare her +husband a felon's fate. + +Exquisitely she suffered during the few seconds that she faced the +servants. Right or wrong? Yet what was right and what was wrong? Are +there times when the end justifies the means? Does right sometimes +masquerade in the guise of wrong? Does wrong sometimes impersonate +right? Nice problems in ethics are not solved when one is at high +emotional pitch. It takes the philosopher, secluded in his study, to +classify those abstractions which are solved, in real life, on impulse. + +And then decision was taken from her. In later life, when faced with +problems difficult of solution, she would remember this moment, not +merely because of its tragic associations, but because she had not been +forced to decide a question involving right and wrong. Life would not +always be so easy for her. + +But now-- Somewhere out in the darkness sounded a revolver shot. Whether +or not it was right to take one's life to save another added shame no +longer mattered. Whether or not it was right to stand by and permit the +taking of that life no longer mattered. The problem had been solved, for +right or wrong, by Carey himself. + +For the second time in a week, for the second time in her life, Clancy +Deane fainted. + + + + +XXXII + + +She was still in the living-room when she came to her senses. Sophie +Carey was gone; the Ragans were also gone. Clancy guessed that they were +attending to their mistress. As for herself, she felt the need of no +attention. For her first conscious thought was that the cloud that had +hung over her so steadily for the past week, which had descended so low +that its foggy breath had chilled her heart, was forever lifted. + +She was not selfish--merely human. Not to have drawn in her breath in a +great sigh of relief would have indicated that Clancy Deane was too +angelic for this world. And she was not; she was better than an angel +because she was warmly human. + +And so her first thought was of herself. But her second was of the woman +up-stairs--the woman who had shown her, in so brief a time, so many +kindnesses, and who now lay stricken. What a dreadful culmination to a +life of humiliation! She closed her eyes a moment, as though to shut out +the horror of it all. + +When she opened them, it was to look gravely at the two men in the room. +Randall she looked at first; her eyes swept him coolly, but she was not +cool. She was fighting against something that she did not wish to show +upon her countenance. When she thought that it was under control, she +transferred her grave glance to Vandervent. + +As on that day last week when she had fainted in his office he held a +glass of water in his hand. Also, his hand shook, and the water slopped +over the rim of the tumbler. + +She was sitting in a chair. She wondered which one of these two men had +carried her there. She wanted to know at once. And so, because she was a +woman, she set herself to find out. + +"Mrs. Carey--she's--all right?" + +She addressed the question to both. And it was Randall who replied. + +"I think so--I hope so. I helped Mrs. Ragan carry her up-stairs, while +Ragan waited--outside." + +Clancy shuddered. She knew why Ragan waited outside, and over what he +kept watch. Nevertheless, if Randall had carried Sophie up-stairs, +Vandervent must have deposited herself, Clancy Deane, in this chair. An +unimportant matter, perhaps, but--it had been Vandervent who picked her +up. She looked at Vandervent. + +"I--couldn't meet you at the train," she said. + +Vandervent colored. + +"I--so I see," he said. That his remark was banal meant nothing to +Clancy. She was versed enough in the ways of a man with a maid to be +glad that Vandervent was not too glib of speech with her. + +Vandervent set down the glass. He looked at her. + +"If you don't care to talk, Miss Deane----" + +"I do," said Clancy. + +Vandervent glanced toward the window. + +"Then----" + +"He killed Morris Beiner," said Clancy. Vandervent started. "He +confessed," said Clancy, "and then----" + +There was no need to finish. Vandervent nodded. Carey had done the only +possible thing. + +"But you--how does it happen you're here?" + +Swiftly Clancy told them. Silently they listened, although she could +tell, by his expression, that, time and again, Vandervent wanted to +burst into speech, that only the fact that Carey lay dead in the snow +outside prevented him from characterizing the actions of the man who had +killed Morris Beiner. + +"And Garland?" he asked finally. + +Clancy shrugged. + +"I don't know. He left, as I've told you." + +Vandervent's jaws set tightly. Then they parted as he spoke. + +"He'll explain it all. He'll be caught," he said. + +"Mr.--Mr. Carey said that it was all written down. It's up-stairs," said +Clancy. + +Vandervent nodded. + +"That simplifies it." He rose and walked uncertainly across the room. +"If we could catch Garland right away and--shut his mouth----" + +Clancy knew what he meant. He was thinking of how to protect her from +possible scandal. + +"How did you happen to know that I was here?" asked Clancy. After all, +murder was murder and death was death. But love was life, and Clancy was +in love. The most insignificant actions of a loved one are of more +importance, in the first flush of love's discovery, than the fall of +empires. + +"We came upon the horse, down by the station. I--I guessed that it must +be yours." Vandervent colored. So did Clancy. He could not have more +clearly confessed that he feared for her; and people frequently love +those for whom they are fearful. + +"So Randall and I-- We met in the train---- + +"Mrs. Carey 'phoned me this afternoon. She--said that she was +frightened," said Randall. + +"I see," said Clancy. Despite herself, she could not keep her tone from +being dry. How quickly, and how easily, Randall had returned to Sophie +Carey! Safety first! It was his motto, undoubtedly. And now, of course, +that Mrs. Carey was a widow-- Months from now, Clancy would find that +her attitude toward Randall was slightly acidulous. She'd always be +friendly, but with reservations. And as for Sophie Carey, she'd come to +the final conclusion that she didn't really want Sophie as her dearest +and closest friend. But just now she put from her, ashamed, the slight +feeling of contempt that she had for Randall. After all, there are +degrees in love. Some men will pay a woman's bills but refuse to die for +her. Others would cheerfully die for her rather than pay her bills. +Randall would never feel any ecstasy of devotion. He would love with his +head more than with his heart. He was well out of her scheme of things. + +"So," continued Vandervent, "inasmuch as there was no one around, we +took the horse and sleigh. I turned in at this drive, intending to leave +Randall. We saw a man run across the snow, stop--we heard the shot. We +ran to him. We couldn't help him. It--it was too late. We came into the +house and sent Ragan out to watch the--to watch him. You and Mrs. Carey +had fainted. I ought to telephone the coroner," he said abruptly. Yet he +made no move toward the telephone. "You see," he went on, "what you've +told me about Garland--if we could find him----" + +He stopped short; there were steps upon the veranda outside; and then +the bell rang. Vandervent moved swiftly from the room. Clancy heard him +exclaim in amazement. A moment later, she understood, for Spofford +entered the room, and by the wrist he dragged after him Garland. + +"Got one of 'em," he announced triumphantly. "Now--the other guy. +Where's Carey?" he demanded. + +"Dead," said Vandervent crisply. + +Spofford's mouth opened. He dropped into a chair, loosing his grasp on +Garland. + +"Beat me to it!" he said bitterly. "Had him dead to rights--came up here +all alone." He looked up surlily. "Listen here, Mr. Vandervent; I ran +this case down all by myself. You're here, and I suppose you'll grab all +the glory; but I wanta tell you that I'm entitled to my share." His gaze +was truculent now. + +"You may have it," said Vandervent quietly. + +"Eh? I don't get you," said Spofford. "Where's the string tied to it?" + +"Perhaps not any--perhaps just one," was Vandervent's reply. + +"Huh!" Spofford grunted noncommittally. "Where is Carey?" + +Vandervent pointed out the window. + +"Sent for the coroner?" demanded the plain-clothesman. + +"Not--yet," admitted Vandervent. + +"Why not?" + +Vandervent stared at Garland. + +"What's this man to do with it?" he asked. + +"Material witness," said Spofford. + +"But, if Carey left a written confession, you wouldn't need a witness," +said Vandervent. + +"H'm--no," conceded Spofford. "Only--an accessory after the fact--that's +what this guy is----" + +Vandervent turned to Randall. + +"Take this man outside--and watch him," he ordered. + +Garland's mouth opened in a whine. + +"I didn't have a thing to do with it," he said. "It's a frame-up." + +"Take him out, Randall," ordered Vandervent. Randall obeyed. Of course, +Vandervent was an assistant district-attorney of New York and his +position, though outside his jurisdiction now, was an important one. +Nevertheless, Clancy knew that it was the man whom Randall obeyed, not +the official. It gave her added proof that her judgment of the two men +had been correct. Clancy loved with her head, too, though not so much as +with her heart. + +"Spofford," said Vandervent. "I've promised you all the glory--on one +condition. Now tell me how you discovered that Carey was the murderer." + +Spofford hesitated for a moment. + +"Well, first I got the idea that Miss Deane was the one. When I found +that you and Judge Walbrough was interested in protectin' her, I began +to wonder. I rounded up all the tenants in the Heberworth Building. And +one of them said he had a vague recollection of having seen a man enter +Beiner's office sometime after five o'clock, last Tuesday. He described +the man pretty well. I looked over the tenants. I found that Carey +looked like the man. I got the other tenant to look at Carey. He +couldn't swear to him, but thought he was the one. + +"Now Carey'd been skirting the edges of the law for some time. There was +a pretty little scandal brewing about the fake theatrical agency Carey +was running. One or two of the girls that had been in that office had +been talking. Find the woman! That's my motto when a man's been killed. +I looked up those girls! One of them told me of another girl. I went to +see her. She was an old sweetie of Beiner's. Carey had taken her away. +It looked like something, eh? She admitted Carey had quarreled with +Beiner over her. Name of Henty. Promised to keep her out of it if I +could." He drew a long breath. + +"That didn't make the man a murderer, but it might tie him up with +Beiner. Somehow, I ain't entirely satisfied with the way that Garland +talks. He's pretty ready to identify Miss Deane, but still-- I keep my +eye on Garland. I watch him pretty closely. Monday, I think I'll have +another talk with Miss Deane. I find out from the place she works that +she's down at Carey's house." He glanced at Clancy. "You'll excuse me, +Miss Deane, if I didn't tip all my mitt to you the other day." He +resumed his story. "I go down to Carey's. Just as I get there, Garland +comes out. He don't see me, but I see him all right. A few minutes later +out comes Carey and a lady that I take to be his wife. Well, I don't +worry about them then. They're too well known to get very far away. + +"But Garland was in the house with them. Naturally, I began to do a +whole lot of thinkin'. I ring the bell, on the chance that Miss Deane is +inside. I have a talk with her, and tell her that I'm convinced she +don't have anything to do with the murder. I am, all right. I have a +hunch that maybe she can tell me something if she wants, but I figure I +can wait. + +"I leave her and go up to the Heberworth Building. Garland ain't +reported for work. I go up-stairs. I do some quick thinkin'. If I let +any one else in on this, I lose my chance." He glared defiantly at +Vandervent. "It's a big chance," he exclaimed. "I'm gettin' on. I'll +never be a day younger than I am to-day. I don't look forward to +existin' on a measly pension. I want some jack. And the only way I can +get it is by startin' a detective agency. And before I can do that, with +any chance of makin' a clean-up, I got to pull somethin' spectacular. + +"Well, you never win a bet without riskin' some money. I'm standin' in +the hall outside Carey's office. Nobody's lookin'. I ain't been pinchin' +guys all my life without pickin' up a trick or two. It takes me ten +seconds to open that door and close it behind me. + +"It may put me in the pen, burglarizin' Carey's office, but--it may put +him in the chair. So I don't delay. He sure was flooey in the dome--this +guy Carey. Booze has certainly wrecked his common sense. For I find +papers around that show that him and Beiner been tied up in several +little deals. I even find letters from Beiner threatenin' Carey unless +he comes through with some coin. Motive, eh? I'll say so." He chuckled +complacently. "But I find more than that. I find a bunch of keys. And +one of them unlocks the door to Beiner's office. I've got opportunity +now--motive and opportunity. Also a witness who _thinks_ he saw Carey at +the door of Beiner's office. + +"It ain't everything, but--I got to Garland's house. I learn from his +landlady that Garland's packed a bag, paid his rent and skipped. That +was yesterday. To-day I did a bit of scoutin' around and find out that +the Careys own a country place up here. Of course, that don't prove +they've gone there in the middle of a winter like this, but I telephone +their house. A servant answers. I ask for Mr. Carey. The servant says +that he's out. I hang up the 'phone. I knew that Carey's up there. And I +just decide to come up and get him. In the road outside I meet +Garland--and grab him." + +"Have you a warrant?" asked Vandervent. + +"I'll say I have," grinned Spofford. "But it ain't no use. He beat me to +it." He looked ghoulishly regretful that he didn't have a live prisoner +instead of a dead man. And not regretful that death had occurred, but +that it had interfered with his plans. "And now--that little condition?" +he asked. + +"Carey has confessed," said Vandervent. "A written confession. Suppose +that I hand you that confession?" + +"Well?" Spofford didn't understand. + +"Garland, I take it, has committed blackmail." + +"_And_ been accessory after the fact, Mr. Vandervent," said Spofford. + +Vandervent nodded. + +"Of course. Only, if Garland testifies, he may mention Miss Deane. In +which case I shall feel compelled to maintain that it was I who traced +the murderer, who won from him his confession." + +"You can't prove it," blustered Spofford. + +"Think not?" Vandervent smiled. + +Spofford's forehead wrinkled in thought. "The idea, of course, is that +you want Miss Deane's name left completely out of this affair," he said. + +"You grasp it completely," smiled Vandervent. + +"Well, worse guys than Garland are takin' the air when they feel like +it," said Spofford. + +"He's a scoundrel," said Vandervent, "but if punishing him means +smirching Miss Deane's name, he'd better go free." + +Spofford rose to his feet. + +"You'd better 'phone the coroner," he said. + +Vandervent shook his head. + +"You're the genius who discovered the murderer. You do the telephoning, +Spofford." + +Spofford grinned. + +"Much obliged, Mr. Vandervent. There won't be a yip outa me." He bowed +toward Clancy. "It ain't hard for me to agree to something that saves a +lady like you from bein' annoyed, Miss Deane. I may have sounded nasty, +but it means something to me--this advertisin' I'll get." + +He left the room before Clancy could answer. But she spoke to +Vandervent. + +"Have you the right to let a man like Garland go free?" she asked. + +"Certainly not," he replied. "But there are occasions when one considers +the greater good." + +It was no time for Clancy to be hypersensitive about Vandervent's honor. +He'd have been something less than a man if he had not made his bargain +with Spofford. Yet, to Clancy, it seemed that he had done the most +wonderful thing in the world. + +There are women who would place a meticulous point of honor above love, +but Clancy Deane had never been one of those bloodless persons intended +for the cloister. Perhaps her eyes showed her gratitude. For Vandervent +stepped nearer. + +But the speech that Clancy believed trembled on the tip of his tongue +was not uttered then. For Spofford reëntered the room. + +"I've got the coroner, Mr. Vandervent. He'll be over in five minutes." + +"What about Garland?" demanded Vandervent. + +"There's a train for New York at midnight. I took the cuffs off him, and +he'll be on that train. He'll keep his mouth shut. Leastwise, if he does +talk, no one'll believe him. He's a hop-head, that guy. But not so far +gone but that he may not come back. The fear of God is in him to-night, +sir. Maybe he'll straighten up." He shuffled his feet. "Please, sir, I +think Miss Deane ought to be gettin' out of sight. The coroner'll ask +questions, and the fewer lies need be told him----" + +"Mrs. Carey? May she talk?" asked Vandervent. + +Spofford shook his head. + +"We'll keep him away from her until to-morrow. By that time, I'll have +her coached--Miss Deane won't be in it, sir." + +"Fair enough," said Vandervent. + +Spofford moved toward the door. But, suddenly, Clancy didn't wish to be +alone with Vandervent. She wanted time, as a woman always does. And so, +because Vandervent must remain and see the coroner, Clancy drove home to +the anxious Mrs. Walbrough alone. Physically alone, but in spirit +accompanied by the roseate dreams of youth. + + + + +XXXIII + + +Mrs. Walbrough was one of those women who are happiest when trouble +impends or is at hand. She had fallen in love with Clancy almost at +sight; but her affection had been rendered durable and lasting as soon +as she had discovered that Clancy was in danger. Wives who are not +mothers but who have always craved children furnish the majority of this +kind of woman. + +And now, when Clancy's story had been told to her, and she had +exclaimed, and colored in rage and grown white with apprehension, and +after she had tucked Clancy securely in bed, so that there was no more +to be done for her protégée, the thoughts of the motherly woman turned +to Sophie Carey. + +"Would you be afraid," she asked, "if I went over to the Carey place? +Poor thing! I never forgave her for marrying Don Carey; I don't think +I've been kind enough to her." + +The remark caused Clancy to remember that not, during the entire day, +had Mrs. Walbrough mentioned the fact that the Careys were such near +neighbors. Of course, that might be accounted for by the fact that Mrs. +Walbrough had no idea that Sophie and her husband were at their country +place. But she realized that Mrs. Walbrough imagined that her attitude +toward Sophie had not been as generous as she now wished. So, even if +she had feared being left alone in the house, she would have denied it. +Mrs. Walbrough, Clancy readily understood, was like all whose natural +affections have not sufficient outlet. They wonder if "So-and-So" will +misinterpret their remarks, if "Such-and-Such" has been offended. + +"I don't believe," she said, "that you've ever been anything but sweet +and good to every one. But, of course, I don't mind your going. +'Afraid?'" She laughed heartily at the idea. + +And so, with many motherly injunctions about the hot-water bottle at her +feet and the heavy woolen blankets drawn up about her shoulders, Mrs. +Walbrough departed. + +Clancy reached for the electric button at the head of her bed. She +turned off the lights. She was not sleepy, yet she felt that she could +think better in the dark. But it was a long time before her mental +processes were coherent. She was more tired than she knew. To-day's +exertions upon the snow-covered hill would ordinarily have been no tax +at all upon her youthful strength. But excitement saps vitality. And +when one combines too much exercise with too much mental strain, one +becomes bewildered. + +So, as she lay there, her thoughts were chaotic, nightmarish. Like one +in an audience, she seemed to detach herself, not merely from her body +but from her brain. She found amusement in her own mental wanderings. +For from some incident of childhood her mind leaped to the studio-dance +at Mrs. Carey's city house. From there it went to her motion-picture +ambitions, thence to Vandervent's flowers with their somewhat illegible +card. She thought of Randall's conveyance of her to the Napoli on that +night, so shortly ago, when she had mistaken him for a taxi-man. She +thought of her entrance into Vandervent's office, with confession +trembling on her lips. + +Always, her mind came back to Vandervent. And finally, her mental +gyrations ceased. Steadily she thought of him. She wondered at the thing +we call "attraction." For she was sure that neither his great name nor +his wealth had anything to do with this irresistible something that drew +her to him. + +Not that she would ever delude herself with the idea that wealth and +position meant nothing to her. They did. They meant a great deal, as is +right and proper. But had Philip Vandervent been poor, had his prospects +been inconsiderable, she would still have been ready, aye, anxious to +yield herself to him. + +She wondered why. Of course, she knew that he was decent, kindly, +possessor of all those virtues which are considered ordinary, but are +really uncommon. But it is none of these things, unhappily, that make +for love. Combined with love, they make for happiness, but alone they +never won the fickle heart of woman. + +He was intelligent; she knew that. He was, perhaps, brilliant. She had +no proof of that. Their conversations could hardly afford evidence +either way, they had been interchanges of almost monosyllabic +utterances. So, at any rate, reviewing them, it seemed to Clancy. + +What was it, then, that drew her to him? Not his looks; she had known +many handsomer men. She smiled whimsically. Highly as she appraised her +own beauty, she supposed that somewhere was a more lovely woman. And +Vandervent might have seen her. Why did he reserve his love for Clancy? + +Then, for the first time, doubt came to her. She sat bolt-upright in +bed. Suppose that she'd been deluding herself? She smiled, shaking her +head. She knew. She didn't know why she knew, but--she knew. Women +almost always do. And slowly she took less interest in the problem. +Sleep descended lightly upon her. So lightly that whisperings outside +her door woke her. + +"Who is it?" she called. + +"Sophie Carey. May I come in?" + +Clancy switched on the light. + +"Of course," she said. + +Sophie entered. She sat immediately down upon the edge of the bed. Her +face was deathly pale and wore no rouge. Her cheeks were sunken. She +looked forty. Rather, she would have looked forty but for her eyes. For +they were softened, somehow; yet through their softness shone a +brilliance that spoke of youth. It was as though some heavy burden had +been lifted from her. Clancy could not censure her. Sophie would have +been less than human if she had not responded, in some expression, to +the hidden relief that must have come to her, even though through +tragedy and scandal. + +She put her arms quickly round Clancy. + +"I think," she said, "that you are the sweetest, bravest person I have +ever met." + +"Why--why--" stammered Clancy. + +"You had every reason to suspect that Don had--done what he did. Mr. +Vandervent has told me all that you told him. And yet--you didn't say +anything." + +"I would have," said Clancy, honestly, "had I been sure." + +Sophie nodded gravely. + +"But most persons, on the faintest of suspicions, to clear themselves-- +Oh, I can't talk about it." Suddenly she kissed Clancy. "Miss Deane, I +hope--I know--that you are going to be very happy." + +She was gone at once. Clancy didn't ponder long over her last remark. +She went to sleep, this time in earnest. + +It was bright day when she awoke. Mrs. Walbrough entered a moment after +Clancy had thrown the coverlets from her and was on her way to the +windows, to shut them. + +"I wondered if you could still be sleeping," said her hostess. "Do you +know the time, young lady?" + +Clancy shivered and yawned. "Eight o'clock?" + +"Eleven-thirty," said Mrs. Walbrough. "And in the country we have +luncheon early, as you know. Would you like your coffee here, or will +you wait?" + +"I want to eat with you," said Clancy. + +"And with Tom and Philip Vandervent, too, I suppose." + +"Are they here?" + +Mrs. Walbrough nodded gravely. + +"I got Tom on the 'phone after you went to bed last night. He came on +the first train this morning. He wanted, of course, to do anything for +Mrs. Carey that he could. But Mr. Randall is attending to everything. He +and Mrs. Carey left on an early train for New York." + +"And Mr. Vandervent?" Timidly, Clancy asked the question. + +Mrs. Walbrough smiled. + +"There were certain matters that had to be gone over with the Dutchess +County authorities. He stayed. That's why he _said_ he stayed." + +Clancy's expression was innocence personified. + +"What other reason could there be?" + +Mrs. Walbrough hugged her. + +"Don't you dare attempt to deceive me, young lady." She slapped her +gently. + +In something less than half an hour Clancy was down-stairs, in the +dining-room, attacking healthily a meal that Mrs. Walbrough described, +because it was really neither breakfast nor lunch, as "brunch." + +During the meal, in response to Walbrough's questions, Vandervent told +the gist of the written confession that Don Carey had left behind him. +It was a sordid tale. Carey, in that pursuit of pleasure which kills, +had started an alleged office where young women applied for theatrical +positions. Beiner, more legitimately engaged in the same business, had +become acquainted with Carey. Spofford's discoveries were verified in +Carey's own handwriting. Beiner had introduced Carey to a young woman. +Carey, retaining some decency, did not mention the girl's name. He said, +however, that Beiner had become jealous of his attentions to the young +woman, and friendship between the two men had ceased. Learning what +Carey was doing, Beiner had attempted blackmail. Carey, intending to +have it out with Beiner, had knocked on Beiner's door. During the +intimacy that had existed previous to Beiner's blackmailing attempts, +Beiner had given Carey a key to his office. + +Carey had heard a groan coming from behind the locked door. He had +entered, with Beiner's key, and found the man lying, half-conscious, +upon the floor. The scene, to Carey's drink-inflamed mind, spelled +opportunity. He had snatched the paper-knife from Beiner's desk and +stabbed the man to death. Then he had quietly left the office, locking +it after him. + +And that was all. Although the newspapers, naturally enough, "played it +up" to the extent of columns, it was a crime in what is known as "high +life," and they do not come too often for the public. Judge Walbrough +had brought the early editions of the afternoon papers with him and +permitted Clancy to look at them. + +Spofford had not missed his chance. He was hailed as the greatest +detective genius of the day. + +"Poor Mrs. Carey!" said Clancy. + +The others nodded gravely. "Not another woman in New York could live it +down," said the judge. + +"Why not?" demanded Clancy. "She did nothing wrong." + +The judge shrugged. + +"Scandal has touched her intimately. That is enough--for any other +woman, but not for Sophie Carey. She has too many friends, is too great +an artist--let's hope she finds happiness now." + +The judge pushed back his chair and left the room, ostensibly in search +of a pipe. The others drifted into the living-room. Clancy, staring out +at the snow, was suddenly conscious that Vandervent stood at her elbow. +She turned, to find that Mrs. Walbrough was no longer with them. + +"Nice--nice view--" stammered Vandervent. + +Clancy colored. She felt her heart beating. + +"Isn't it?" she agreed. + +Vandervent's trembling nervousness communicated itself to her. She half +turned toward him, ready to yield herself. But his eyes, that, a moment +ago, she had known were fixed upon the back of her head now stared out +the window, over her shoulder. She turned again. + +Up the Walbrough drive was coming a sleigh, an open affair. Besides the +driver there was only one man. She looked up at Vandervent; His brows +were knitted; behind his glasses his eyes gleamed angrily. Involuntarily +she drew near to him. + +"I--I'll have to see him," he exclaimed. "Reporter from the _Era_. +Thought that I was all through with him. I wonder----" + +The man descended from the sleigh. They saw him advance up the veranda +steps, and then they heard his ring. A moment later, Mrs. Hebron entered +the room. + +"A gentleman to see Miss Deane," she announced. + +And now Clancy understood why Vandervent had withheld the speech that +she knew he wanted to utter, why he had seemed alarmed. She gasped. Then +she grew reassured as she felt Vandervent's fingers on her own. + +"Show him in here," said Vandervent. + +Mrs. Hebron left the room. + +"Just--say nothing," whispered Vandervent. "Leave him to me." + +Clancy knew. The scandal that she had thought forever averted was about +to break again. Her fingers were limp in Vandervent's clasp. She +released them as Mrs. Hebron returned, followed by the young man who had +descended from the sleigh. + +"Miss Deane? Ah, how do, Mr. Vandervent?" he said. + +"How do, Penwell? Miss Deane, let me present my good friend Roscoe +Penwell, the _Era_'s greatest reporter." + +Penwell laughed. + +"Why limit yourself when you're paying compliments? Why not the +_world's_ greatest reporter?" he asked. + +"I amend my statement," smiled Vandervent. + +Clancy held out her hand. Penwell bowed over it. He was a good-looking +youngster, not so very many years older than herself, Clancy judged. + +"Penwell," said Vandervent, "will publish his memoirs some day. Be nice +to him, Miss Deane, and you'll receive a gift-copy." + +Penwell colored. + +"Quit it!" he grumbled. The mirth went out of his voice. "Miss Deane, +the _Era_ wants a statement from you." + +Before she could reply, Vandervent spoke. "Then we _weren't_ mistaken. +The maid said you asked for Miss Deane, but----" + +Penwell shook his head. + +"Naughty, naughty, Mr. Vandervent! You can't fool me." + +"Then I won't try," said Vandervent crisply. "What is it that you want?" +His tone was business-like. + +Penwell's reply was equally so. + +"The _Era_ has learned, from an authoritative source, that Miss Deane +was in the office of Morris Beiner shortly before he was murdered; that, +in short, she was sought by the police on suspicion of having committed +the crime." + +"Carey's dead, and left a confession," said Vandervent. + +Penwell shrugged. "Even so." + +"Authoritative source, you said?" questioned Vandervent. "I suppose that +means a drug fiend named Garland." + +Penwell nodded. + +"You should have locked that bird up, Mr. Vandervent, until he lost his +love for talk." + +"And money," amended Vandervent. + +"Not much. Fifty dollars." + +"Cheap at the price. Still," said Vandervent, "rather expensive when you +can't use what he told you." + +"No?" Penwell was politely interested. For all his youth, one would have +judged him a good poker player. + +"Miss Deane was unfortunate; a victim of circumstances. The _Era_ +wouldn't drag her into a nasty scandal, would it?" demanded Vandervent. + +"News is news," stated Penwell. + +"Listen to a trade?" asked Vandervent. + +"Always willing to," smiled Penwell. + +Vandervent blushed. + +"Unfortunately, sometimes, a Vandervent is always a Vandervent." + +"Thou speakest truth, O Sage!" laughed the young man. + +"And what a Vandervent eats for breakfast makes snappy reading, I think +you'd call it, for _hoi polloi_, eh?" + +"Continue. You interest me strangely," said Penwell. + +"My engagement--its announcement rather--would be a 'beat' of some +value?" + +Penwell bowed to Clancy. + +"Miss Deane, gaze upon a man so sinful that he takes a bribe." He turned +to Vandervent. "The _Era_ won't print a word about Miss Deane. Who's the +lady?" + +"Miss Deane," said Vandervent. + +For a moment Penwell stared at the young girl. Then, slowly, he spoke. + +"Miss Deane, I didn't want this assignment. But a reporter does what +he's told. I can't tell you how glad I am that I can turn in something +bigger for the paper. Why, Mr. Vandervent, the paper wouldn't dare take +a chance on printing something that Garland said about your _fiancée_!" + +"It might prove rather expensive for the _Era_," said Vandervent. + +But Penwell didn't hear him. He was staring at Clancy. And smiling. + +"Miss Deane, I don't know anything about you. I hope you'll tell me +something for the paper. But whoever you may be, you've done well in +your engagement. You're going to marry one of the whitest--tell me, when +was the engagement contracted?" + +Clancy colored to the roots of her hair. Vandervent gently pushed the +reporter toward the door. + +"Come back," he said, "in five minutes and we'll answer that question." + +Penwell looked from one to the other. Then he grinned. Then he backed +out of the room. For a moment, there was silence between the girl and +the man. Vandervent spoke first. + +"Was I--impertinent? Do I--assume too much?" + +Slowly Clancy turned until she faced him. The heart of her stood in her +eyes. Yet, because she was a woman, she must ask. + +"Did you--is it because you want to save me--or do you really----" + +He didn't answer. He crushed her in his arms. She had not known that he +was so strong. And within his arms she found the answer to her +question. She owned the "Open, Sesame"--youth. Her challenging gray eyes +might some day grow dim; the satiny luster of her black hair might give +way to silver, but the heart of her would ever be young, and so the +world would be hers. For it is only the young in spirit who win life's +battles; youth cannot comprehend defeat, and so it knows only victory. + +And she had come to New York, which jibes at age, but bends a supple +knee to youth. And because she was young, would always be young, Clancy +Deane would be bound by no rules, no mental timetables would fetter her. +For the old, on learning that the train has gone, surrender to despair. +The young take another train. Neither road nor the destination matters +to youth, and so--it always arrives. + +She had come to work, to win a career. She would, instead, be a wife. +For the present, happily, willingly, she surrendered ambition. But it +would come back to her. Whether it would speak to her in terms of her +husband's career, or of her own--that was on the knees of the gods. + +For the moment, she was beaten--beaten by love. But the Clancy Deanes +are never beaten by circumstances. If they bow to love, it is because +from love they build a greater triumph than from ambition. Youth always +is triumphant when it surrenders to youth. + +She found the answer in his arms. And nestled there, she vowed that she +would keep the answer there. And because age would never touch her, she +could fulfil her vow if she chose. Clairvoyantly, she looked ahead; +suddenly she knew that she would always choose. Her lips went up to his. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42740 *** |