CHAPTER V
The Wee Sma' Hours
Wilkins, in his official black, was a wonderfully self-contained person;roused from slumber in pink-rosed silk, his self-control was not soperfect, for as he struggled out of bed again Johnson Boller caught:
"God bless my soul, officer! What----"
"Hush!" interrupted an unfamiliar, horrified voice. "Come inside quicklyand close that door."
Anthony was in motion, too. Johnson Boller, stumbling out of hisCircassian apartment, met him just entering the living-room from his ownchamber, and for an instant they stared at one another as they knottedbathrobe cords about them.
"You see?" Johnson Boller said, with acid triumph. "I was right, eh?"
"What?"
"The cops have tracked the little devil down for his last job, whateverthat may have been, and they've found him _here_! Now you've got a nicescandal on your hands, haven't you? A tenth-rate kid crook found hidingin the flat of Mr. Anthony Fry, with the full knowledge and consentof----"
"Upon my word, Johnson, I think you've lost your senses to-night!"Anthony snapped. "Whatever is wrong, Wilkins?"
The silk-pajamaed one indicated their visitors with a hand that was nonetoo steady.
"It's Mr. Dodbury, the night manager, sir, and this policeman thatsays----"
"I'm afraid you have a burglar in here, Mr. Fry," the manager put inagitatedly. "I can't understand how it occurred; nothing of the kind hasever happened to us before, and the mouth of that alley is constantlyunder the eye of the firemen on that side of the boiler-room. Moreover,there is a high gate from the street and I cannot believe that anyone----"
The burly officer halted him.
"Well, however he got there, he was on the fire-escape and coming downwhen I see him from the street," he said energetically. "When he seen mehe turned into this north window and closed it after him, and mypartner'd have given me the whistle if he'd come out again. Which roomwill it be, now?"
Wilkins glanced significantly at his master.
"If it's the north room on the fire-escape, sir, it must be the roomyoung Mr. Prentiss has to-night."
"And the burglar is supposed to have gone in there?" Anthony saidcalmly.
"He ain't supposed--he went. I seen him!" stated the law. "And thelonger we stand here and talk about it, the more chance he has to killwhoever's in there!"
"Well, as it happens, he isn't killing any one, because he isn't there,"Mr. Fry said patiently and with just a touch of contempt. "Any oneentering that room must have wakened Mr. Prentiss, and he certainlyhasn't called for help. For that matter, I should have heard the windowmyself, because I sleep very lightly. Nevertheless, if you wish, we willgo in there."
Impressively dignified even in his bathrobe, Anthony led the way downthe side corridor, with the four trailing after him. They came to thedoor, and the officer pushed forward, club raised grimly over his rightshoulder as he laid his left hand on the knob.
"Where's the light-switch in there?" he whispered.
"Right by the door," Wilkins supplied.
"Duck in the second I turn the knob, throw on the light, and then dodgealong the wall," the law commanded briefly. "Are you ready?"
The invaluable one muttered his assent. The knob turned soundlessly andthe door flew open. Wilkins, with a distinctly terrified little wheeze,pushed in, jabbed at the button, and scurried down the room on his handsand knees, eyes shut to shield his brain from the horrible impression.
Yet there was no hint of anything horrible. With all four corners of theroom in plain sight, with the empty closet partly open and its interiorfully visible, no burglar crouched, pistol in hand--no masked malefactorleaped forward to stun the officer with his padded lead-pipe. Only DavidPrentiss was in the room, and David slumbered sweetly in the bed, thecovers pulled tight up around his young chin, a gentle dream-smile uponhis regular features.
"Well, wotter yuh know about----" the officer began.
"Hush!" Anthony said gently.
"What?"
"Don't wake the youngster!" Anthony whispered sharply. "There's no needfor that, officer. Look around if you like and then let us get out ofhere."
He folded his arms and waited, while the officer, visibly puzzled, pokedabout the room, and Wilkins, on his feet and smiling sheepishly,tip-toed to the door--while the night manager of the Lasande stepped inand looked about with a mixture of perplexity and relief, and JohnsonBoller stood and stared at the sleeping David.
"Are you quite sure it was this window, officer?" the manager asked.
"I am that, if this is the one next to the corner of the house."
"But are you quite sure that you didn't imagine it?" Anthony askedtartly.
The policeman looked him over gravely.
"Boss, when I can see a man in black clothes staring down at me, lettingoff a little howl of fright, and then turning around and going into awindow--when I can see that and it ain't there, I'll turn in my tin andgo back to the docks. The guy came in this window and----"
"Well, since it is quite evident that he didn't, he couldn't have comein," the manager of the faultless hotel said hastily, as he caughtAnthony's expression. "You've made a mistake in the window, officer.We'll go down and look up from the street again and see just what windowyou do mean."
"But----"
"We will not bother the gentlemen further," Mr. Dodbury said firmly.
Anthony nodded.
"Show them out, Wilkins. Come, Johnson."
"Wait a second," Johnson Boller said softly, as the others filed out ofsight.
"Wait for what?"
"I want to admire this little cherub, sleeping here so soundly," Mr.Boller muttered.
"Don't be absurd! Come and----"
This thing of losing sleep rendered Johnson Boller uglier than couldanything else in the world.
"Are they out of hearing?" he said. "All right. Somebody did close awindow in here. I heard it close!"
"When?"
"Five minutes before the last excitement," said Mr. Boller. "How manypair of pajamas did Wilkins give this kid?"
"What? One pair, I suppose. Why?"
Johnson Boller grinned almost wickedly.
"Because there's a pajama suit under that chair and it's been worn!"said he. "What's the kid wearing in bed there?"
He stepped forward suddenly and jerked back the covers, and Anthonystepped forward with a sharp little exclamation, for David Prentiss,although he seemed to slumber between the sheets, wore a suit of blackclothes and a pair of black shoes, and beside him a black felt hat wascrumpled!
"Maybe that cop wasn't the idiot he seemed, eh?" Johnson Boller asked.
"I don't understand it," Anthony said angrily. "I--David!"
The boy merely sighed in his sleep and turned on his back.
"_David!_" Johnson Boller snapped, thrusting a hard forefinger directlyinto the pit of David's stomach.
"Good gracious!" gasped David Prentiss, sitting up and staring aboutwith eyes wide open. "What--I must have been asleep and----"
Anthony's gaze was growing keener and angrier by the second.
"Never mind that artistic amazement, David," he said sourly. "What wereyou trying to do?"
"Trying?" echoed David. "To do?"
"Those are Wilkins's clothes. Where did you get them?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do!" Anthony snapped. "You must have found them in his room.Well?"
David gazed up at him with the same unfathomable look that had sodisturbed Johnson Boller in the taxicab.
"Very well--I did find them in his room," he said. "I put them onbecause I couldn't find my own clothes, and I--I wanted to get tofather."
"Yes, and now you're going to father!" Johnson Boller said decisively."Better let him go, Anthony."
David was on his feet with one swing.
"That's the only thing to do with me," he said heartily. "I'm too muchof a nuisance to keep around, Mr. Fry; I'm so worried about father thatI can't think of anything e
lse. So now I'll go and----"
"So now you'll stay right here!" Anthony said fiercely.
"Why?" Boller asked.
"Because I've undertaken to show this kid the opportunity of hislifetime, and I'll drive it into his infernal little skull if I have tochloroform him and have a surgeon drill a hole to let it through!" Mr.Fry said quite irresponsibly.
David collapsed hopelessly on the edge of the bed.
"I--I should think you'd be so out of patience with me----" he beganmournfully.
"I am, but I'm not going to drop the job on that account," Anthony saidgrimly. "Shed those clothes, David."
"I'll shed 'em when you go out," David said monotonously. "I--I'd ratherundress alone."
Johnson Boller's plump hands were on his plump hips and he surveyed hisold friend darkly.
"Are you actually going to keep the youngster here against his will?" hedemanded.
"I am!" snapped Anthony Fry.
Johnson Boller swallowed his wondering rage.
"I hope you get all that's coming to you!" he said. "I hope he sues youfor a million dollars and collects every penny of it!"
And he turned and thumped out of David's chamber, down the corridor, andinto the living-room, across the living-room, and into his ownbedchamber--and there for a little he sat on the edge of the bed andswore aloud.
Presently he heard Anthony come through from David's room, muttering tohimself; he heard the switch snap, and the streak of light under hisdoor vanished.
With a long, weary groan, Johnson Boller slipped back to slumberland,and presently he was again in Montreal. It was still winter, and theywere holding a skiing contest. Beatrice was there at the top of theslide, and beside her stood a tall, foppish youth with a little blondmustache. He leaned very close to Beatrice as he spoke, and devoured herbeauty with his hungry eyes.
In the east the first gray light of dawn was streaking the skies.
In Anthony Fry's living-room, ever so faintly, objects just took shapein the gloom, coming foggily out of the inky blackness that had been,even ten minutes ago. Down the corridor a door creaked, and for a minuteor more after the creak the stillness was even more pronounced.
Then, had one been awake and listening, the softest, lightest shufflecame from the corridor--paused--moved on again. There was a sharp intakeof breath and the almost inaudible sound of a hand feeling along thecorridor wall, feeling along and feeling along, until it touched thecurtains of the living-room.
In the wide doorway of the dusky place an indefinite, strange figureappeared and stopped. It wore slippers, several sizes too large. It worea bathrobe of gray, so long that its owner held it up from the floor toavoid tripping. It wore pajamas, too, and of these the legs wereupturned almost one foot--for they were Anthony's pajamas.
Warily the figure gazed about, squinting through the gloom for half aminute, listening intently. Its frowzy brown head nodded then and thebathrobed one tip-toed on, now with a definite idea of direction. PastAnthony's door it went and past Johnson Boller's without a sound,without a slip--stopped to listen again, and then scuffed on toward thefar corner, where stood the little telephone table.
And now, trembling, the figure settled on the stool, and shaky handsgripped the instrument itself. The receiver went to its ear and thefigure whispered into the transmitter--trembled the harder and waitedthrough minutes that were hours, while from behind Johnson Boller's doorcame an irregular snore and an occasional groan, as some new fiendsought to capture Beatrice's slender hand.
Suddenly a visible shock ran through the stealthy figure at thetelephone. The trembling ceased abruptly and the figure stiffened,leaning forward eagerly and cupping a hand about the transmitter. Thriceit whispered shrilly, nodding desperately at the uncomprehendinginstrument; and at last the listener at the other end seemed tounderstand, for the figure pressed lips even closer and spoke swiftly.
A full two minutes of sharp whispering and it waited--listened andnodded animatedly--spoke again, enunciating each word clearly and stillso softly that one across the living-room could not have heard.
Without the suggestion of a click, the receiver was returned to itshook. The figure rose cautiously and peered all about, through theshadows, getting its bearings once more. Again the bathrobe was gatheredhigh above the grotesquely slippered feet; again the figure shuffledalong, moving toward the doorway.
Without a stumble it threaded its mysterious way between chairs andlittle tables, divans and cases and pedestals, until it came safely tothe corridor. There it paused for an instant, and in the gloom thefaintest, excited giggle issued from beside the curtains. Then thecorridor doorway was empty, and Johnson Boller snored on and groaned.
At the end of the corridor David Prentiss's door closed and utterstillness rested upon the apartment again.
* * * * *
After the skiing contest, although Johnson Boller did not seem to bepresent at the end, all hands trooped off to a clubhouse of some kindand there was a general jollification. Lovely women, handsome mengrouped about a long table, and waiters rushed hither and thither,bearing viands and wine--although mostly wine.
He of the little blond mustache sat beside Beatrice, and as thechampagne came around for the second or third time he leaped from hischair. Glass high held, he pointed to Johnson Boller's lovely wife withthe other hand; he was beginning a toast, the temperature and intimacyof which caused Johnson Boller's fists to clench, and--he woke with aviolent jerk and stared at the ceiling.
It was daylight--had been daylight for some time, apparently, because anearly sun was reflected from the high building on the other side of thestreet. Wilkins seemed to be moving around, too, which indicated that itwas at least six o'clock.
Johnson Boller stretched and snarled; he had had a wretched night of it!He was tired all through, as he was always tired when his rest had beenbroken. He was ugly as sin, too, and almost at once he found hisugliness focusing on young David Prentiss.
If Anthony Fry had carried his obsession over into the daylight, if hestill persisted in poking his idiotic opportunity at David and the endof it did not seem to be in sight, Johnson Boller decided that the emptyflat on Riverside should know its master's presence hereafterand--Boller sat up in bed, listening.
That was certainly Wilkins's voice, raised in horror--ah, and Wilkinswas hurrying, too. Or no, it couldn't be Wilkins; that was somebody agood deal lighter, rushing along the corridor. And now the oddest babelof voices had risen, with Wilkins thrusting in an incoherent word hereand there--and now the voices were growing fainter, all of a sudden, andhe could hear Anthony Fry stirring in the next room.
Something new had happened! Johnson Boller, swinging out of bed, jammedhis feet into his slippers and snatched up his bathrobe. Another nightlike this, and he'd be ready for emergency drill with a fire company.
Not that there was any need for haste, though. By the time he had openedthe door and stepped into the living-room the little excitement seemedto have quieted down again. Anthony, bathrobed also, was just issuingfrom his bedroom, and again, for a moment, they gazed at one another.
"What was it that time?" Johnson Boller asked.
"I've no idea. Did you hear it, too?"
"Naturally. I----"
"Why, Wilkins!" Anthony Fry all but gasped, as his servitor appeared inthe doorway. "What under the sun's the matter with you?"
"My--my eye, sir!" choked the faithful one. "It's downright scandalous,Mr. Fry!"
"What is?"
"The--the woman, sir! The woman that's come to see him!"
His jaw sagged senselessly and his blank eyes regarded his master quitefishily; and Anthony, after a wondering second or so, scuffed over tohim and snapped:
"What's wrong with you, Wilkins? What woman came?"
"A--a young Frenchwoman, I should judge, sir," Wilkins stammered. "Shecame to the door here, getting past the office I don't know how. At anyrate, she came, sir, and said some gibberish about Mr. David Prentiss,and with
that she was past me and inside, Mr. Fry."
"Where is she now?"
"Well, she--she's in his bedroom, sir!" Wilkins stated. "The young chapcame flying out like a madman, Mr. Fry, and threw his arms around her,speaking French as I suppose. And she--she threw her arms around Mr.Prentiss, sir, and with that they--well, they're in there now, sir."
Johnson Boller laughed unpleasantly.
"Picked off a live one, didn't you, Anthony?" said he. "There's nothingslow about David. He comes here and settles down at midnight, and hislady friends are calling by six the next morning. When you----"
Anthony had passed him, chin set and lips rather white.
There are some places where the questionable may be passed over quitelightly. The Hotel Lasande is not one of these places. There arethousands upon thousands of bachelors who would merely have grinnedinterestedly at the news; Anthony, being impeccable and a genuinewoman-hater at heart, was not of these thousands. Hence, even his leanand aristocratic cheeks were white as he rattled at the knob of David'sdoor.
He had expected to find it locked, and in that he was disappointed. Thedoor gave quite readily, admitting Anthony and Johnson Boller aswell--and for a matter of seconds they stood transfixed before thepicture.
Beyond question, the woman was there!
She was little and very dark, decidedly pretty, for that matter, andobviously fond of David Prentiss; she sat at David's side on the edge ofthe bed and her arms were about David--while young Mr. Prentiss himselfheld her fast and seemed in a high state of excitement.
Even as the door opened, they had been speaking, both at the same timeand both in French, in itself rather an astonishing phenomenon; but asthe bathrobed gentlemen stopped beside them they ceased speaking. Theymerely clutched each other the tighter and looked at Anthony.
"Well?" Anthony Fry said slowly, and his voice was a terrible thing tohear.
"Well?" David said faintly.
His pretty little friend broke into a torrent of French, of which,unfortunately, neither Anthony nor Johnson Boller could make anything atall. David, with a long, gasping intake of his breath, mutteredsomething to her, and that proving futile, put a gentle hand over hermouth. The girl, looking at Anthony, burst suddenly into loud andhysterical weeping!
"For Heaven's sake, shut her up!" gasped the master of the apartment.
"You started her--it was the way you looked at her!" David said thickly.
"Well, you stop her or I'll wring your neck!" Anthony panted. "You canhear that over half the house."
He turned his eye back to the unfortunate and froze her into suddensilence. Shaking, the girl crouched closer to David Prentiss, andAnthony drew breath once more.
It was a horrible thing that had happened, of course--this coming of astrange woman into his apartment. It was likely to take a good deal ofexplaining to the management of the Lasande, too, later on. But he hadbrought it upon himself, and the realization caused Anthony's white furyto glow.
"This--this woman is a friend of yours?" he choked.
"One of the--best friends I have!" David faltered.
"How does she come to be here?"
"I--I sent for her," David confessed. "I telephoned and----"
"All right. That's enough," Anthony Fry said, composure returning insome degree. "Can she speak English?"
"Not one word."
"Positively," the master of the apartment said slowly, "the thing to dois to have you both arrested, David. Don't start like that and don'tspeak! There is a certain presumption that this woman is some sort ofaccomplice, David--not much, perhaps, but one strong enough to hold youuntil both of you had learned a lesson!"
David, himself, white to the lips, was beyond words.
"Nevertheless," Anthony pursued, only a trifle more gently, "I shall goto no such length, because of the character of the house and thepersonal reflection such a mess would cast upon myself. Tell the womanto go, David, and then you and I will have a little chat."
"But----" David whispered.
"Tell her to go this instant!" Anthony thundered.
The boy in the oversize bathrobe looked at his girl friend with strickeneyes--looked at Anthony for an instant, and turned away as swiftly. Heswallowed, and, lips trembling, addressed the little French girl; andshe started from him and threw out her hands in horror, pouring out atorrent of words. David spoke again, however, and she rose, swaying.
"Show the woman to the door, Wilkins, and to the back stairs," Anthonyordered, restraining himself with a considerable effort. "Be sure shedoesn't go near the elevators. Quick!"
David spoke again, in French and in a strange, low, forlorn wail. Thegirl, as if at an eternal parting, thrust out the expressive hands oncemore and gurgled hysterical Gallic snatches; and then Wilkins had laid ahand on her shoulder, turned her about, and she was gone.
Johnson Boller looked after them and at his old friend.
"Aren't you going to send the youngster after her?" he asked with thesuperior air of a man who has proved his case beyond a doubt.
"Quite possibly," Anthony said, smiling a dangerous little smile. "But Imean to have a chat with David first."
Johnson Boller gazed at David for a moment and smiled himself, almosthappily. Unless indications were highly deceptive, Anthony, with hisprecious reputation all mussed up by the pretty little French girl, wasmad enough to beat up David.
But Johnson Boller had no idea of sitting around and watching it, laterto waste days in a police court for David's wretched sake. Hence hethumped out of David's room and back to his own.
Alone with his find, Anthony said not a word for a full minute, nor didDavid. The boy, hunched on the edge of his bed, had passed thecapability of motion and even of thought; he merely stared at Anthonywith dazed, thunder-struck eyes that were very far from beingintelligent.
"David," Anthony said savagely, "however slightly unusual thecircumstances may have been, I brought you to this apartment for yourown good."
"Um," David said numbly.
"And last night I laid down for you the rule that you were to have nowomen here."
David said nothing at all.
"Yet even before we've dressed this morning, you manage to worm aninfernal woman in here and--what the devil do you mean by it, anyway,you infernal little whelp?" Anthony cried, as his temper snapped. "Don'tsit there and shiver! Answer me!"
Still David said nothing.
"Answer or I'll shake some wits into you!" Anthony cried.
And by way of doing this he seized David's thick brown hair and gave afirst, threatening shake.
And having shaken--Anthony Fry, the chilly and self-contained, emittedone rattling, half-shrieking gasp and reeled backward!
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