by Owen Johnson
*CHAPTER XVI*
The next day Beecher did not consider for a moment telephoning to NanCharters, despite her last request. He felt that it was a chapterclosed in his life--one of those innumerable false paths down which oneplunges, only the quicker to return. His own serenity did not evensurprise him. He went off for the morning to play rackets with BruceGunther, and lunched at the club with Tilton, who urged him to join hishunt, an invitation which he discussed with enthusiasm.
The news from the stock market was the same--ten point losses in theearly trading. Banks all over the country had suspended payments for aweek in order to weather the storm. The panic had ceased to be one ofspeculative concern only. Every one was anxiously asking if a permanentblow had not been dealt to the industries of the country. Many freelyprophesied that, if the downward rush were not checked within threedays, it would take the country ten years to restore its shatteredprosperity. There was a rumor that the big men of the Street had made upa fund, reaching to many millions, which would be brought on the morrowto the support of the market. The run on the Associated Trust stillcontinued, checked though it was by delay and technicalities. Yet thefall of Slade was hourly predicted.
Beecher lingered after luncheon, played a hundred points at billiardsand won, an hour's bridge and won again. Then he went off in highspirits to call on Emma Fornez, an appointment arranged over thetelephone.
"So, you bad boy, you and your little Charters have quarreled," said theprima donna, greeting him with an accusing smile, though in her voicewas the pitch of the nervous excitement which her coming debut thatnight had communicated.
"Not in the least," he said, a little surprised at the insinuation.
"Ta-ta-ta! Enough of your stuff and nonsense," she said, with a shrugof her shoulders. "You are too big a simpleton--a little woman likethat will always get the best of you."
"But there is no quarrel, and I am not in the least interested."
"Oh, _avec ca_--keep away--better keep away! You will burn your fingers.Just the kind of a little doll that is dangerous. Women like that arelike half colors between one thing and the other--very dangerous! Ayoung girl--_jeune fille_--would bore you now, and an old campaignerlike Emma Fornez would amuse you; but a little thing like that is toopuzzling for you. I see just how it is," she continued, placing herhands on her hips and bobbing her head energetically, while Beecher,very much pleased to be so lectured, listened with a mocking look."Yes, yes, I know very well! She gets you--how do you say?--going andcoming. When she is an actress you say she is different from therest--what a child! And when she is playing the child, you say what adifference--she is such an artist! You laugh--see!"
Beecher broke out laughing at this characterization which came so nearthe truth.
"What I have said is very good--very good," repeated Emma Fornez,pleased. "It's all studied, very carefully studied out, but it takeswith young simpletons, big geese, good-looking boys--don't I know?_Est-ce-que j'en ai joue de ces tours la_? Come, now, what did you fightabout?"
Beecher had an inclination to take her into his confidence; but heresisted the impulse, and to turn the conversation said artfully:
"By Jove, you look stunning! You won't have to sing a note."
She was in a filmy peignoir, and, as his glance showed an amusedadmiration, she said, with a look of apology which she did not feel atall, gathering the peignoir closer with a perfectly simulated modesty:
"It's very bad--my receiving you like this. I am going through mycostumes. They are dreams. Wait, you shall see--you wish to see them?Good!" All at once she stopped and, seizing his arm, cried: "Teddy, Iam in a cold fright--I shiver all over whenever I think of it. New Yorkaudiences are terrible. It will be a big, big failure, won't it?"
"There, I'll give you my lucky piece," he said, patting her shoulder ashe would a child's.
"Will you!" she cried, delighted; and; running into the bedroom, shecalled back: "I will show you the costume for the second act first. Youwill fall down and adore me. Keep me talking, Teddy--I shall go intohysterics. Oh, I am so frightened!"
She tried her voice, singing a scale, inquiring anxiously, her headpeering around the door: "That sounds bad, _hein_?"
"Marvelous!" said Beecher, who did not know one note from another.
Reassured, she entered radiantly, took two or three steps forward, and,lifting the castanets on her fingers, flung herself into the pose ofCarmen exulting in the return of her lover.
"Carmen, Teddy," she cried, with a toss of her head. "Carmen isdifferent from all other roles. To succeed in Carmen, one must be aCarmen one's self--_enfant de la Boheme_. You like this? Wait--wait amoment."
Back in her bedroom, she continued, pausing from time to time to shriekat her maid: "Teddy, you do me so much good--you take my mind off....Victorine, _tu m'assassine_! ... Teddy, they will think me beautiful,_hein_? You will stay--you will talk to me until I go?"
"Wish I could," said Beecher, to whom this peep behind the scenes wasnovel. "The deuce is, I'm dining with Mrs. Fontaine--going in her box."
"And Charters--she is going too?"
"I don't know."
"What--you don't know?" she said, emerging, a shawl of shaded luminousgreens flung over the shoulder of a russet taffeta. She seized him bythe chin with the savage gesture of the Bohemian. "You lie to me! Youlove her--and you know!" Then, slipping on the sofa beside him, halfplayful, half feline, she pleaded: "Tell me, Teddy--tell me just todistract me. Be a nice boy--you see how nervous I am--please!"
Beecher did not resist. He recounted lightly, making little of the fewpassages at arms between him and Nan Charters, ending with a drollreproduction of his laughing exit, cured and disillusionized.
"Ah, my poor Teddy!" said Emma Fornez, shaking her head. "Everythingyou say proves what I feared."
"What?"
"You are in love; you are beyond hope!
"What, after I've told you this?"
"Exactly. She asked you to telephone, you didn't. Why? Because youare in love--you are afraid."
"Emma, I will tell you the truth," he said, with an excusing shrug.
"Aha!"
"I was attracted--"
"Good!"
"But I saw what an idiot I would be."
"Very good!"
"I am completely cured, and if I didn't telephone, it is--"
"Because you are in love," said Emma promptly.
"Nonsense!"
"You will see her tomorrow; if not, day after tomorrow. And the longeryou stay away, the worse for you."
The arrival of Spinetti, the conductor, to run over a last few points,broke in upon this interesting discussion. Beecher departed, after apromise to come behind after the second act with a budget of news. Hereturned to his rooms, undisturbed by the charges of Emma Fornez.
"I haven't thought of her the whole day," he said contentedly. "If Ididn't telephone, it's because--well, because--what's the use? I haveother things more interesting to do."
In his apartment he found McKenna waiting for him, in company withGunther, who was already dressed for dinner at Mrs. Fontaine's.
"Hello, McKenna," he said, surprised. "What's up?"
The two had been discussing energetically, and the little difficulthesitation told him that he himself had been the subject ofconversation.
"I'm called off on an important case," said McKenna. "Thought I'dbetter have an understanding with you first."
"What understanding?" he said. His eye was attracted by the heaped-upmail on a side table, and he moved over to examine it, with a curiosity,utterly illogical, to see if Miss Charters had written him.
"Mr. Beecher, I have a request to make of you," said McKenna quickly.
"What's that?"
"Don't open any letters or answer the telephone until I am gone."
"Why, yes; but--" He cut off with a look of interrogation.
"Pump it into him, Mac," said Gunther, throwing himself
back and puffingforth great volumes of smoke.
"The truth is, Mr. Beecher," said McKenna, smiling, "Mrs. Kildair playedus both to the queen's fashion."
"What was I to do?" said Beecher warmly. "Whom does the ring belong to,anyway? Is there any reason I should do what she doesn't want me to?"
"No--no," said McKenna slowly.
"Could I have refused a direct demand from her like that? And whatreason could I give if I had?"
"You couldn't," said McKenna, eying the end of his cigar. "She did thejob neatly. I admire that woman--don't know when I've met one of thatsex who's caught my fancy so."
"I suppose you're sick of the case and want to get out," said Beecher,believing he had divined the errand. "Don't know as I blame you."
"No, I don't want to quit," said McKenna slowly, while Gunther smiled tohimself. "I should say, rather, there are things in this case that makeme particularly interested--interested for my own curiosity to go alittle deeper. Only, I want to be sure we understand things the sameway. You don't understand from anything Mrs. Kildair said, do you, thatI am prevented from going on working on my own hook?"
"Why, no; of course not," said Beecher, reflecting. "I understand twothings: one, that Mrs. Kildair wishes to keep in confidence what shesaid to you, which I should say was the explanation of certain factsconnected with her having the ring."
"Second?" said McKenna.
"Second, that she believes the ring will be returned, and until she issure it is she doesn't wish to give us certain suspicions or knowledgethat she has."
"First rate--just right," said McKenna, rising quickly, showingsatisfaction in the instant alertness of his movements. "That's what Iunderstand; we understand each other." As he spoke, the telephone rang.He made a quick gesture of opposition as Beecher started, saying: "Notnow, sir; I'd rather you wouldn't answer--not just now."
Beecher looked at Gunther, who nodded and said:
"McKenna's got a good reason. You'll understand later."
"Now, Mr. Beecher, I've just one thing to say before I go," saidMcKenna, while the insistent bell continued its querulous summons. "I'dprefer you wouldn't mention to any one that you saw me. At any rate, asMrs. Kildair evidently isn't anxious for quick results, there's nothingto be done now. Perhaps by tomorrow there may be a different turn to thecase."
"What do you mean?" said Beecher. "Why don't you tell me what youknow?"
"You forget, Mr. Beecher; you yourself have stopped me there," saidMcKenna, with a slightly malicious smile. "However, there's going to bea little meeting tonight that may have a whole lot to do with thefortunes of a good many people; and when it's over it may, or may not,throw a new light on this case."
"They're going to put Slade through the same initiation they gaveMajendie," said Gunther, at a look from Beecher. "There's a meeting ofthe big fellows at the governor's tonight--a sort ofsheep-shearing--though Slade's not much of a lamb."
"And his wool grows close to the hide," said McKenna, with one of hisrare laughs. "However, I can tell you this much: whatever happens Idon't believe there'll be any exit by the bullet route--not if I knowJohn G. Slade. Now, sir, I've got to disappear for a while on my owntroubles."
"Where can I get you?" asked Beecher.
"You can't get me," said McKenna, with one of his sudden contractions ofthe eyelids. "That's the whole point--not till I get you. I'm off, andyou don't know where," he added, offering his hand. "Maybe two days;maybe a week."
"I don't understand," said Beecher, with a puzzled expression.
"I do," said Gunther, pulling his sleeve.
"Now, there are two little points may interest you gentlemen as expertdeducers," said McKenna, with his hat on his head. "One is, I've foundout who those detectives were that night--they're crooks. Second--anddon't forget this--I share Mrs. Kildair's opinion that the ring is goingto be returned."
"Then you know who took it!" exclaimed Beecher, while Gunther looked upsuddenly.
"I don't know a single thing," said McKenna, "but I'm getting to thesuspicious stage. So long."
The telephone had stopped. Beecher, left open-mouthed by the exit ofMcKenna, turned to Gunther, who had resumed his easy lounge.
"What the deuce is going on, Bruce? What's all this mystery?"
"Look over your mail," said Gunther irrelevantly.
Beecher obeyed the suggestion. At the end of a moment he exclaimed:
"Hello! Why, here's a note from Mrs. Kildair--sent by messenger,evidently."
"Read it."
Beecher glanced at it hurriedly.
DEAR TEDDY:
Have been trying all day to get hold of McKenna, but they tell me at hisoffice he's out of town. I want to see him very much. If you knowwhere he is, please have him call me up. Shall see you at Mrs.Fontaine's tonight.
RITA.
P.S. Please find McKenna if you possibly can.
"By Jove--McKenna!" he exclaimed, and hastened toward the door, only tobe stopped by Gunther.
"Ted, you blockhead, what are you doing?"
"Going after McKenna."
"Just what he doesn't want."
Beecher stopped short, suddenly comprehending.
"That's it, is it?" he said, returning. "He wants to keep clear of Mrs.Kildair's, then?"
"You see," said Gunther, "it is not often that McKenna getsdouble-crossed. When he does, he doesn't particularly relish it. Mrs.Kildair may be perfectly right in bottling up the whole affair; but,after what happened yesterday, Mac isn't going to stop until he gets tothe bottom."
"But why disappear?"
"Because, you little white fluffy toy donkey, the last thing in theworld Mrs. Kildair wants is to have him do anything at all, and, as youare putty in the hands of any pretty woman, he doesn't intend to haveyou call him off."
"I'll see Mrs. Kildair at Louise's. What am I to say?"
Gunther shrugged his shoulders.
"Wonder if she's really playing to be Mrs. Slade," he said grimly. "Ifshe is, she'll give that up after tonight."
"What's going to happen to him, Bruce?"
"He'll come out with so little left that a Committee on Virtue willarrest him for indecent exposure--and the country will be saved."
Beecher stopped before the telephone.
"Wonder if Mrs. Kildair really was on the 'phone?" he said meditatively.The thought recalled Miss Charters, but without disturbing hisequanimity.
"Bruce," he said joyfully, rushing to dress, "Tilton's crazy to have mego to Africa with him. By Jove, I've half made up my mind! Give me aman's life; a life with men, out in the open--dogs and horses, andnothing but a few lions and fat elephants to bother you!"
When they arrived at Mrs. Fontaine's, they found, to their surprise,that Mrs. Kildair had been delayed by an automobile breaking down, andwould only join them later at the opera.
Not one of them had the faintest suspicion, when later Mrs. Kildaircalmly entered the box, that she had passed through two hours of supremeagitation that had left her torn between hope and dread--her wholefuture staked on one turn. Slade, face to face with the crisis thatwould determine whether he would survive as one of the figures of thefinancial world, or return staggering into the oblivion of thecommonplace, had gone to see her in the afternoon.
Confronted, too, by the imminent outcome of a gamble that had absorbedall her ambitions and her hopes, she had recklessly thrown aside all therestraints which she had interposed between them; and by an impulse ofdaring which makes such women irresistible to men, having invented anexcuse for Mrs. Fontaine, had kept him to dinner, trusting to hisprotection, insisting on his confidence.
Afterward she had driven him to the gray, prison-like structure whichGunther called a home, and seen him, defiant with a defiance she hadbreathed into him, with the scorn of the gambler who comes at length tothe ultimate stake walk up the steps past the group of newspaper men,who, suddenly ceasing their chatter, huddled together and watched himwith a unanimous craning of their heads.