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diff --git a/42740.txt b/42740.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4c6b5b6..0000000 --- a/42740.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10614 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Find the Woman, by Arthur Somers Roche, -Illustrated by Dean Cornwell - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: Find the Woman - - -Author: Arthur Somers Roche - - - -Release Date: May 19, 2013 [eBook #42740] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIND THE WOMAN*** - - -E-text prepared by Annie R. McGuire from page images generously made -available by the Google Books Library Project (http://books.google.com) - - - -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 Chateau 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 Chateau 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'hotel_ 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 Chateau 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 theatre_. -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? Ingenue, 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 _resume_ 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 Chateau 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 Chateau 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 Chateau 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 Chateau 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 -Chateau 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 theatre_. 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 -Chateau 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 _tete-a-tete_ 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' _protegee_ 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 _tete-a-tete_," 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 -_tete-a-tete_ 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 -_tete-a-tetes_; 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 -protege 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, protege'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 naively, "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 protege 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 -protege'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 Chateau 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 naively. "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 denouement, 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 roles. 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 matinee 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 attache 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 toupees 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 _menage_, 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 reentered 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 protegee, 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 _fiancee_!" - -"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. 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