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THE BLUFF THAT WON
Justin O'Reilly had a modest suite in the magnificent Dietz. It adjoinedthe luxurious suite of Mr. and Mrs. John Heron, and consisted of a smallsitting-room, a bedroom, and bath. He was tying his necktie when thetelephone bell rang. He grabbed the receiver as if it were a snake thathad to be throttled, and gave it a grudging "Hello!"
"A lady to see you," a voice answered.
"She wasn't told I'm in, I hope? A nice thing for a well-regulated hotelif----"
"No, but she says it's important. She's Miss O'Reilly."
Miss O'Reilly! The man of that name was perplexed. The only MissO'Reilly who, as far as he knew, could possibly call on him, was thelast woman he would have expected to do so. He had come to New Yorklargely in the hope of seeing her. She had refused to see him.
"Tell her I'll be down in three minutes," he replied.
"She particularly doesn't want you to come down. She says she has someprivate news for you, and asks if you'll see her in your ownsitting-room."
"All right," he tried to answer calmly. "Have the lady shown up."
He rushed back into his bedroom to wrestle once more with the tie. Hemust be ready to receive Miss O'Reilly at the door, and his waistcoatand coat were yet to put on. But it could be managed. The suite was onthe fifteenth floor, and a full minute's walk from the lift for an oldperson like Miss O'Reilly. Bungling everything in his haste, he tried tothink what it might mean. It looked as if she must have changed hermind, and be ready to sell him her house, the dear old house on which hehad set his heart. Perhaps she would demand a higher price than he hadoffered. Well, he must pay it somehow. Heron would lend him themoney--but no, there were reasons why O'Reilly didn't wish to acceptfavours from Heron, often as they had been pressed upon him. As heslipped into his coat, he heard the expected rap at his sitting-roomdoor, and hurried to open it. A page-boy, acting as guide, had run aheadof the lady, to knock.
"Miss O'Reilly to see Mr. O'Reilly," he announced, with Irish relish ofthe Irish name. Then he erased himself. O'Reilly stood on the threshold,waiting for the right lady to appear, and meanwhile dodged back from thewrong one, a small, slim flapper in white, who for some reason hadpaused before his door. She stood quite still, and stared up at himunwinkingly, as a child stares.
"I beg your pardon," O'Reilly said, wanting to laugh. "May I pass? Imust look for a lady who----"
"I'm the lady," the creature in white intervened. "That is, I am if youare Mr. O'Reilly."
"O'Reilly's my name," he admitted. "But I was expecting--or--perhaps mycousin sent you?"
"Perhaps I am your cousin," suggested the girl who (Justin saw, now thathe looked her deliberately in the face) had the biggest, blackest eyes,and the whitest skin he had ever seen. She had, also, red hair under afetching hat. Although the child was no beauty, she had an amusing,elfin air.
"Delighted, I'm sure," he felt obliged to answer. "I thought I had onlyone cousin in the world, Theresa O'Reilly, of Gramercy Park. But----"
"It sounds like the chorus of a song; 'Theresa O'Reilly, of GramercyPark,'" Clo was unable to resist remarking, with her strongest brogue."Will you please ask me in?" she said. "My errand's very pressing."
Mechanically the man stepped aside and let her walk into the room. Hebegan to suspect that he had been "spoofed." He did not invite the youngperson to be seated, but looked at her expectantly. Her first move wasto shut the door. She did not speak.
"May I know your name?" he inquired, as they faced each other.
"The same as yours, but for a letter or two," said Clo, marking time."That's why I may be a cousin; one never knows. I didn't come to talkabout the family tree, though, Mr. O'Reilly. I came to beg--not formoney, so don't be frightened."
"I'm not conscious of fear," laughed O'Reilly. He couldn't helplaughing. He didn't believe the girl's name was the "same as his." "IfI'm not afraid, I am curious," he confessed. "What are you going to begfor, if not money? Is this a message from my cousin----?"
Clo ceased suddenly to be impish. She had got into the enemy's fastnessby her impishness, but she could go no further on that line. This man,being the exact opposite of the type expected, upset her plan. A bigdanger was that she might like this O'Reilly instead of hating him, hewas so pleasant and gallant-looking, more a protector than a persecutorof women. She might hesitate to cheat or trick him in whatever way camehandy, and thus fail the Angel on top of all her boasts. In her hotlittle heart Clo prayed for the wisdom of the serpent, and as her elfinface took on anxious lines, she became more interesting to O'Reilly. Herwhite face looked pinched and desperate. "If I were Marat, and sheCharlotte Corday," was the thought that jumped into his head, "she wouldstab me."
"It's a good thing for me you have a cousin, or maybe you wouldn't havelet me in. I know now why God gave me the name of Riley. I guess he'llforgive me for borrowing the 'O.' I was obliged to get to you somehow.That was the one way I could think of."
"It was a pretty smart way," O'Reilly flattered her. "But you haven'ttold me----"
"I will. Only--I think I'll have to sit down. I feel rather--queer----"
"Good lord! You can't faint here!"
"I won't, unless you make me, I'll promise that!" She had her cue now.
"Sit down, for heaven's sake!" said O'Reilly, pulling up the biggestchair in the room. Clo sank into it. Closing her eyes, she drew in agasping breath which made her girlish bosom heave.
The man stood by, feeling absurdly helpless.
"Shall I ring for brandy?" he suggested.
"No--please!" She opened her great eyes again. "Only listen. I've comefrom Mrs. Roger Sands--to beg you for those papers of hers."
"Mrs. Roger Sands! Her papers? I know nothing of any papers belonging toMrs. Roger Sands," O'Reilly exclaimed. "What papers are you talkingabout?"
"The ones you hired a man to steal when the train got to Chicago."
O'Reilly started. "Whose accusation is that?" he asked sharply.
"Not hers; it's mine."
"Yours! Once again, who are you? What are you in this?"
"I'm nobody! I'm only--a lion's mouse."
O'Reilly did not ask what it meant to be a lion's mouse. He understood.His mind was not less quick than hers.
"And I'm the net you hope to gnaw! Miss Mouse, your little teeth willfind me tough. I may say I'm a patent, ungnawable net. The best thingfor you is to go home as fast as you can and tell those who sentyou----"
"I sent myself," Clo explained, with tired obstinacy. "I told you I hadto see you somehow. Oh, Mr. O'Reilly, you don't look the sort of cruelpig I thought you would be. If you dreamed what Mrs. Sands is goingthrough you'd give her back the papers. Don't pretend not to know what Imean."
"I won't pretend anything," O'Reilly said. "I do know what you mean, andI got the documents (which were not the property of Mrs. Sands) more orless as you think I got them. But no mouse, no mastodon could induce meto hand them over to your friend."
Clo's eyes travelled over his person. He looked slim and soldierly inhis well-made evening clothes. There could be nothing thicker than awatch, and that a thin one, in his pockets.
"If you would see Mrs. Sands, maybe you'd change your mind," shepleaded, in her creamiest Irish voice. "Take me back to her, and takethe papers along. Then, if you----"
"I can't do either," was O'Reilly's ultimatum. "I'll take you downstairsand put you in your car if you've got one, or a taxi if you haven't.But----"
"You'll have to take me home," said Clo. "I won't try to start withoutyou. I've gone through enough. I'll just let myself collapse. I promisednot to faint unless you made me. Now you are making me."
"You deserve to be thrown out of the window!"
"I have been, once," the pale girl announced. "It was four storeys up,and all my ribs were smashed. This is my first day out of bed. I thoughtI could manage it, if you were kind. I'd gladly die for Mrs. Sands. Andif I do----"
"Brace up!" O'Reilly cried. "I'll take you home. I know where the h
ouseis. I passed it this afternoon. There was a man who----But no matter.Have you got a car below?"
Clo was almost past answering; almost, not quite. But weakness was her"cue," as well as the line of least resistance. Having now an incentiveto let herself go rather than "brace up" as O'Reilly urged, she enjoyedcollapsing. Yet something within was on guard, and knew that O'Reillyhad to be watched.
He dashed to the telephone and ordered a taxi. Then he returned to thegirl in the chair. Her eyes were half shut, a rim of white showingbetween the lashes. The man could not help believing the queer story shehad gasped out, about the fall, and the broken ribs, and this being thefirst day she had left her bed. That would account for her thinness andpaleness. He touched her hand, which hung over the arm of the chair.There was no glove on it, and the pathetically small thing was icy cold.
"She's fainted, fast enough," he growled. Clo heard the words dimly, asthough she had cotton wool in her ears. Her duty was to trick the man,but she didn't like doing that duty.
O'Reilly gently laid down the tiny paw he had taken in his. It was limpas the hand of a dead girl. Clo would have felt less compunction if hehad dropped it roughly. He took a few brisk steps, as though he had cometo some decision. She forced herself back from the brink ofunconsciousness to realize that he was going toward the door--not theouter door, through which she had entered, but another. He opened this,and Clo saw that beyond was a bedroom. Quickly he went to a table wherestood a tall glass jug filled with crushed ice and water. His back wasturned to the girl as he began pouring the jug's contents into atumbler, but suddenly, as if on a strong impulse, he turned. Clo did noteven quiver. Something told her that the thing she had prayed for wasabout to happen.
The Lion's Mouse Page 10