XVIII
Clancy came out of her faint mentally alert, although physically weak.It took her but the smallest fraction of time after she recoveredconsciousness to remember all that had led up to her collapse. And shekept her eyes closed long enough to marshal to her aid all thosedefensive instincts inherent in the human species. So, when she did openher eyes, that consummate courage which is mistaken for histrionism madeher wreathe her lips in a smile. She was lying on a leather-coveredcouch in what she learned, in a moment, was Vandervent's private office.Her eyes rested on the tenant of that office. His broad shoulders wereslightly stooped as he bent toward her. In his hand, he held a glass ofwater. She noted immediately that his hand shook, that water sloppedover the edge of the glass.
"You--feel better?" he asked breathlessly.
Clancy sat upright, her hand straying to her hair. She looked beyondVandervent to where stood a man in a badly cut blue suit. His blackmustache was gray at the roots, and the vanity that this use of dyeindicated was proved by the outthrust of his lower lip. A shrewderobserver than Clancy--one versed in the study of physiognomy--would haveknown that the jutting lip had been trained to come forward, that theaggressiveness it denoted was the aggressiveness of the bully, not of aman of character. His round chin was belligerent enough, as were hislittle round blue eyes, but there was that lack of coordination in hisfeatures that is found in all weak souls.
But, to Clancy, he was terrifying. His small eyes were filled withsuspicion, filled with more than that--with a menace that was personal.
Clancy reached for the glass of water; she drank it thirstily, yet in aleisurely manner. She watched the blue-suited man closely. She put backthe glass into Vandervent's outstretched hand.
"Thank you--so much," she said. "It's a wonder that you didn't let melie where I fell, after my playing such a silly joke."
She saw Vandervent cast a glance over his shoulder at the blue-suitedman. His head nodded slightly. Had he phrased it in words, he could notmore clearly have said, "I told you so."
And if the blue-suited man had replied verbally, he could not have saidmore 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 sheisn't."
It was a swift byplay, but need sharpens one's wits. Not that Clancy'sever were dull, for, indeed, a lesser character, even in such danger ashers, might have been too concerned with her physical well-being, herappearance, to notice anything else. But she caught the byplay, and itbrought a silent sigh of relief up from her chest. She was on her ownground now, the ground of sex. Had Vandervent been a woman, such a womanas Sophie Carey or Sally Henderson, Clancy would have surrenderedimmediately, would have known that she had not a chance in the world ofpersuading any woman that she had played a joke when she announcedherself as Florine Ladue. But with a man--with Philip Vandervent, whosehand shook as he held a glass of water for her, whose eyes expressed aflattering anxiety--Clancy's smile would have been scornful had notscorn been a bit out of place at the moment. Instead, it was shylyconfident.
"A--er--a joke, of course, Miss Deane," said Vandervent.
"Not so very funny, though, after all," said Clancy, with just enoughtimidity 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 nameFlorine 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 norVandervent. Then it died away; his eyes became shrewd, although hisvoice was drawling. "And the faintin'--that was part of the joke, eh,lady?"
Clancy felt a little chill of nervous apprehension run between hershoulder-blades. Confidence left her. This man Spofford, she seemed toforesee, might be dangerous. She was not out of the woods yet. ButVandervent'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'svoice. Spofford recognized it.
"Sure not, Mr. Vandervent. Certainly she don't. Only--" He paused; heturned, 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 shefaints when you come out to see her. I meant that, if there was any ofthe newspaper boys hangin' around----"
"There weren't," said Vandervent. "And if the papers should mention MissDeane'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 toldher that in his eyes she was a suspicious character--no better than sheshould be, to put it mildly.
And Vandervent's expression, as he turned toward her, drove away whatfears Spofford's expression had aroused. For, despite his effort to seemcasual, the young man was excited. And not excited because of the namethat she had sent in, or because she had fainted, but excited simplybecause Clancy Deane was alone in the room with him. He moved towardher. Quite calmly she assumed control of the situation, and did it by sosimple a method as extending her hand for the glass which he still heldand 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 todeceive Vandervent.
"I suppose I've made you very angry," she said, putting the glass downupon 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 Americanand European society, was no different from any other young and normalmale. His attitude now was that of the young man from Zenith or anyother town in America. He was embarrassed and flattered. And he was sobecause a pretty girl was showing a certain interest in him.
"But to--fool you! I--you'll forgive me?" She was conscious that she waspleading prettily.
"Forgive you? Why--" Vandervent had difficulty in finding words. He wasnot a particularly impressionable young man. Had he been so, he couldnot, with his name and fortune, have remained a bachelor until histhirtieth 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 tooblige his guest, humor in the situation. "You can't imagine myexcitement. 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 Laduewoman, when in comes a clerk saying that she's outside. I tell you, Inever was so excited. Then I saw you, and you--tell me: why did youfaint?" He put the question suddenly.
"Why did I faint?" She tried to laugh, and succeeded admirably. "I'mused to cold weather and blizzards. In Zenith, sometimes, it is thirtybelow, and the snow is piled ten feet high in the big drifts. But onedresses for it, or doesn't go outdoors. And, to-day, I wanted to see NewYork so much. I've only been here since Monday. The cars aren't runningvery regularly, so I walked down-town. And I guess I grew cold andtired. 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 Ithought--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'tremember my name; so I--thought I'd play a joke. You _will_ forgive me,won't you?"<
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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 ofhumor, 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 amoment, there was silence. Then Clancy rose to her feet. She held outher hand to Vandervent.
"You've been so kind," she said. "If you'd arrested me for my sillyjoke, 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 camein----"
"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 othertime, 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 wasflatteringly eager.
"I'll see," said Clancy.
Down-stairs, in the great lobby of the building, she marveled that shehad escaped so easily. To have announced herself as Florine Ladue, thewoman wanted for Beiner's murder, to have fainted when Vandervent cameout, and still to have avoided, by a puerile explanation, all penaltieswas a piece of good luck that was incredible. She blessed the personunknown who had left the newspaper on the bench. The luckiest of chanceshad saved her from betrayal. Had she not read of Fanchon's death-- Sheshuddered.
Then her eyes clouded. She had been fighting, with all the wit sheowned, for liberty. She had not yet had opportunity to pay to Fanchon'sdeath the tribute of sorrow that it demanded. She had known Fanchon butslightly; the woman was of a class to which Clancy could never belong--acoarse but good-hearted vulgarian. And she had tried to help Clancy inreturn for little kindnesses that Clancy had shown her when she lay illwith the "flu" in Zenith.
And now this same disease had finally killed the kindly soubrette. Herdeath had saved Clancy from disgrace--from worse, perhaps, if there isanything worse than disgrace-- She suddenly realized how lucky she hadbeen.
She stopped outside to adjust her veil. And she noticed that Spofford,the dyed-mustached gentleman of Vandervent's office, also emerged fromthe building. She shuddered. If her wit had not been quick, if she hadnot remembered, on, coming out of her faint, that the item in the paperhad 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 theTombs.
Spofford turned south toward the Brooklyn Bridge. She would never, thankGod, see him again. For nothing would ever tempt her to the CriminalCourts Building another time. Its shadow would hang over her soul aslong 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 ofher connection with Beiner's mysterious fate and moved on to considerwhat she should do with Grannis's ten thousand dollars, it was as thoughthe Beiner incident were forever closed. Clancy had too much Irish inher for trouble to bear down upon her very long. She would never learnthat issues are never avoided but must always be met. She was in acongratulatory mood toward herself because Vandervent had not suspectedthe grim truth behind what she called a jest. She had conquered thisdifficulty by the aid of fate; fate would help her again to handle theGrannis-Zenda-Weber matter. So she reasoned. It would straighten itselfout, she assured herself.
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