The Sixty-First Second

by Owen Johnson

  *CHAPTER XXII*

  Half an hour later Gunther and Beecher, leaving McKenna's office with apromise to return that evening, went up town. In Beecher's pocket was acheck on McKenna representing the amount of Miss Charters' account.Garraboy remained in the custody of the detective.

  "Well, what do you think of it?" said Gunther.

  "I think Garraboy lied," said Beecher.

  "Oh, about the reason he tried to take the ring--yes, naturally. Hecould make a plausible reason for that--you'd hardly expect him to sayin so many words that he was a thief, if he really didn't get the ring,as he says."

  "I think he cooked up the lie right there," said Beecher obstinately."I don't believe a word of it."

  "I don't know--I sort of think he told the truth."

  "Do you think any woman would have the nerve to go on after she had felta hand on hers and knew that some one had a clue, not absolutelydefinite but almost so?"

  "But, Ted, if any one denounced her, wouldn't he have to acknowledge thefact of his own motive? That would be enough to shut any one up."

  "I think Garraboy lied," persisted Beecher. "I think he had a part inthe theft and at least I am sure he knows all about it."

  "Listen to reason," said Gunther warmly. "If Garraboy signed aconfession like McKenna handed him, he wouldn't stop at returning aring--particularly when he knows that McKenna will keep hold of him tillthe affair is closed up. No, no; Garraboy says he's cleared$200,000--you may be sure he's got considerably more. He's satisfied.He wants to get away from here quick. McKenna's not the only one on histrack, you may be sure of that. No, it doesn't stand to reason he'dbalk at a little matter like the ring."

  Beecher was silent, digesting the argument.

  "There may be one explanation," he said at length. "You noticed that thefellow was particularly anxious to know if Mrs. Kildair was behind us?"

  "Yes, I noticed all that."

  "Now McKenna thinks, and I do too, that Mrs. Kildair all along has knownwho took the ring and has only been held up before this from prosecutingon account of a possible scandal."

  "But, that's over now--nothing can be said--it was an engagement ring,of course."

  "Exactly; and that's the reason why I'm going to make this guess--thatGarraboy, knowing the game was up, returned the ring this morning."

  "By George!"

  "And that's the reason he told the lie he did--knowing that everythingwill blow over in twenty-four hours."

  "Ted, by the Lord Harry, I believe you've hit it!" said Guntherexcitedly. "I say--"

  "What?"

  "Let's go up to your rooms--there may be a letter from Mrs. Kildair."

  Full of eagerness they went to Beecher's rooms--only to returnempty-handed and disappointed. Then they hurried to the club andsearched the letter-boxes without success.

  Disappointed and impatient they went in to a late lunch.

  "What are you going to do about that check of Miss Charters'?" saidGunther in an aggressive tone.

  "Take it round to her," said Beecher, looking at him out of the cornerof his eye.

  "Mail it."

  "Why?"

  "Gratitude and a pretty woman are a dangerous combination," said Gunthergruffly; "especially for something soft like you."

  "You damned, impertinent cuss," said Beecher acridly.

  "Fact. Better let me call a messenger boy and send it around."

  But in the pleased state of mind in which he was, Beecher had not theslightest intention of surrendering the delightful opportunity which thevisit promised. Likewise, he was indignant at hearing from Gunther thesame implications which amused him from the lips of a fascinating womanlike Emma Fornez.

  "You've got a fine idea of me," he answered hotly.

  "I have."

  "According to you, I oughtn't to be allowed to roam the streets withouta keeper."

  "Exactly expressed."

  "Don't alarm yourself," said Beecher in a lofty, superior tone, and,believing every word, he added, "I'm quite able to take care of myself.I know how to amuse myself--and I know it is amusing myself, thank you.You think I don't know anything about women--well, I know better thansome people how to keep my head straight."

  "So you're going around?" said Gunther with a grin.

  "I am."

  "I thought you said you had never met any one who could make you soangry?"

  "Come and get me at five o'clock," said Beecher, with a trifling wave ofhis hand.

  "I begin to have my doubts," said Gunther slowly, with the air of onesteeling himself against a great calamity.

  Beecher had no such anticipation as he went lightly out of the club andtook his way up the Avenue. For the last day he had thought much more ofthe possible feelings of Nan Charters toward his own receptive personthan of analyzing the impregnability of his own position. He had nottelephoned, desiring to effect a little surprise. But as he neared hisdestination he remembered that she might possibly be out.

  "In that case I'll leave a little note--just a line with the check--asthough it were a casual affair," he said to himself.

  But Miss Charters was in. An automobile was at the curb which hethought he recognized.

  Miss Charters herself answered the door, detaining him a moment in theanteroom.

  "I am so glad you came," she said in a low voice, but one in which itwas impossible to mistake the pleasure. "I wanted you to know that. Afriend of yours is here--but he won't stay long," she added softly, withthat gentle appeal in her voice against which he knew no defense."You'll stay--I want you to."

  "Who is it?" he asked.

  "Mr. Lorraine." And as she saw the instant stiffening that went throughhim, she said quickly, with that subtle, merciless flattery of whichonly women have the command, "Shall I send him away--if you wish?"

  "No."

  The two men greeted each other boisterously, but underneath theirheartiness was a sudden sense of invaded territory.

  "Is he interested?" thought Lorraine, with an uneasy glance. "And whydid she go out into the hall?"

  "What's his right here? Was he here to lunch, I wonder?" thoughtBeecher, and for the first time he felt something hot surging inside ofhimself.

  Each with an extra show of cordiality began to talk, addressing theirremarks to the other. Only Lorraine, whose tenancy was thus threatened,continued to prolong his stay, anxiously watching the effect on thewoman. At the end of half an hour, he no longer doubted, she was onlywaiting for him to go, uneasy and resentful at his delay.

  He rose, heavy of heart, and shook hands with Beecher, whom he wouldhave liked to throttle, and nodding to Miss Charters, went toward thehall, hoping that she would follow him. But women in love match thewordless surrender and tenderness they show to the man to whom theyyield with an equal cruelty toward those whose misfortune is to haveloved them. She did not move, waiting impatiently until she heard thetardy click of the door. Then she went to him directly, standing quiteclose, looking up at him like a penitent schoolgirl.

  "I thought he'd never go," she said impatiently, and then with anuneasy, searching look in her eyes, she said contritely: "Do you think Iam very terrible?"

  He smiled and shook his head, but without profiting by the opportunityher attitude invited.

  "You were engaged to Charlie once, weren't you?" he said, trying to givethe question an accent of natural curiosity.

  "No, never."

  "Almost?"

  She shook her head impatiently at the introduction of this topic.

  "People said so."

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  "But he is in love with you," he said positively.

  What she did not like was the quiet, inconsequential way he spoke, forin her own mood she did not detect the jealousy underneath.

  "Please don't let us talk of Mr. Lorraine," she said quickly. "I havenever been engaged to Mr. Lorraine and never could; first, because Idon't intend to marry, and, second, because if I did, Mr. Lorraine co
uldnever appeal to me."

  She broke off and going to the telephone said to him over her shoulder:

  "You're not in a hurry?"

  "No."

  "Good--then we need not be interrupted."

  She called the office and left word that she would not be at home.Then, rising, she came slowly back, very subdued, still alarmed at theundisturbed friendship in his look.

  "I was afraid you wouldn't come to see such a little virago," she saidsoftly.

  "I came to see you on a matter of business," he said, without thinkingof his words.

  Her face fell.

  "Oh, indeed."

  He drew out his pocketbook and took out the check.

  "Mr. Garraboy is leaving very suddenly for Europe," he said, turningover the bit of paper. "He has decided to wind up his affairs. Hewished me to give you this check in settlement of your account," withhim.

  She stood quite still, her arms behind her back, but her eyesdangerously brilliant.

  "If it's only on business you came," she said, breathing deep, "you cankeep your check."

  "But--"

  "Is it only on business you go to see other women?"

  He extended the check, and the jealousy Lorraine's presence had broughthim made him seek to hurt her a little more.

  "Don't be unreasonable," he said.

  "If you don't answer," she said, stamping her foot, "I will tear it intopieces!"

  A quick, impulsive joy went through him at this revealing anger.

  "I came because I wanted to see you," he said with a provoking delightin his eyes. "This is of no importance."

  She took the check, still looking at him, became calmer, smiled, andthen with a determined bob of her head, went to place it on herwriting-desk. All at once she turned quickly:

  "But this is signed McKenna!"

  "That's a detail."

  "Your friend McKenna, the detective? Then you forced this out of him?"

  "It wasn't very hard."

  She let the check flutter from her fingers to the desk, thoughtfullyconsidering it, divining slowly what it meant.

  "I am unreasonable," she said quietly, returning and holding out herhand. "Thank you. Why did you bother--after the way I acted?"

  "Well, just because," he answered, looking down into her eyes.

  "So, Garraboy is a defaulter," she said slowly.

  "I cannot tell you any more."

  All at once a thought came to her and an anxious frown passed over herforehead.

  "None of this is your money?" she said quickly.

  "No."

  "On your honor?"

  "Yes."

  "It is a great thing you have done for me," she said solemnly. "I amvery grateful."

  "Nonsense," he said lightly. "It was no trouble. I would have done itfor any one."

  They were near the great dormer-windows, high above the threaded smokeand gray roofs of the city, now blending into fuzzy masses with theclosing of the day.

  "Well, now that your business is over," she said, but with a newlightness, "I suppose you must be going?"

  "What do you want me to say?" he said, smiling with a growing feeling ofwell-being.

  "Why did you come?" she repeated maliciously, and, half-laughing,half-determined, she took the lapel of his coat in a gesture which, inher fingers, was almost a caress. She stood looking up at him, sohappy, so brimming with the satisfaction of having him back, ofregaining what she had feared to lose, that he could not resist thedesire in her eyes.

  "Because I like you," he said.

  "Despite my tantrums and my moods?"

  "On account of them."

  "And would you have done what you did--for any one?"

  "Come to think of it--no."

  She was not content. She would rather that he had answered moresentimentally. She felt that he was stronger than she was, morecontrolled.

  "Are you interested in Emma Fornez?" she said, looking away from him.

  "Oh,--interested."

  "You like her?"

  "Yes, very much."

  "I shouldn't like to have you talked about."

  He did not answer.

  "What have I done that displeases you, Teddy?" she said all at once.

  But before he could answer, the room behind them dropped suddenly backinto darkness.

  "The light's gone out," she said, startled, her hand on his arm.

  "The current's cut--that's all," he answered.

  "I'll light a lamp."

  "No. It's good here. Wait. It'll only be a moment."

  They remained in the dark, turning their glances out of the window,suddenly conscious of the panorama of the evening, the stir of departingmultitudes, the end of labor and the evening of rest.

  "How plainly you can see," he said. "That's Brooklyn Bridge, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  At the east three giant spans stood out across the unreal gray view thathad neither banks nor green approaches, that cut its way like aninvading flood through the cities. Innumerable, cottony puffs of steam,busy, hurrying, restless, rose from unseen hulls across the fadingsilhouettes of tangled spans. High to the south from a cyclopean tower asingle ball of fire was shining. Below, in the long, straight avenues,the city was putting on its necklaces of brilliants; and from the blackdotted masses that must be there somewhere in the growing obscurity,rushing home over the backs of the waters, high above housetops or deepthrough the bowels of the city, a great sigh seemed to rise with thesudden freshening of the twilight breeze, and the two human beings wholooked down, as God looks down on this spectacle of a moving world,found nothing to express the sudden melancholy that troubled them,awakening vague desires, stirring them with the feeling of their ownlittleness.

  "Come," she said, turning away the first, and, lingering, looking back,placed a hand on his arm, repeating, "Come."

  He did not reply, looking beyond, deeply penetrated by all this humanitythat each moment receded farther from them, isolating them, lifting themabove the world into the loneliness of the skies. Her hand remained onhis arm unconsciously, but this weight so soft but yet so imperiousrecalled him to himself. He thought no longer of what lay without. Helooked at her. She was trembling. He too felt the subtle, disturbingrestlessness of this dark that closed in about them, shutting out thepeopled world--this mood of the day that exerts over human beings such acompelling desire.

  She turned and looked at him. He could not see her face distinctly,only the eyes--that seemed incapable of seeing all but this. Thenabruptly, brusquely, by the same mutual impulse, they were in eachother's arms, straining to each other, their lips irresistibly closedover each other, feeling themselves more and more wrapped around by thissoft darkness that had cast them up, enfolding their loneliness in thegreat protective instinct of human love.

  The room flared up brilliantly. She recovered herself the first,drawing herself out of his arms, covering her face with fingers thatstill throbbed with the agony of their embrace.

  They could not look at each other, bewildered by the suddenness of whathad happened. She went past him hurriedly to the fireplace, sittingdown. He followed irresolutely, feeling his feet unsteady beneath him,all the intellectual forces within him submerged, drunk, overthrown bythe sudden, delirious awakening of his senses, suddenly aroused by thisrevelation of woman.

  "What have we done? What was it?" she said breathlessly, without facinghim. "We are crazy, Teddy,--crazy!"

  He came heavily to the other end of the fireplace, leaning on themantel, looking down at the woman who was no longer an indefinitemystery of silks and colors, but a moving, living body that had stirredin his arms.

  "Teddy, we are crazy," she repeated. "What possessed us?"

  "It is you who are crazy now," he said abruptly. "What is the use ofarguing? Those things are beyond us. It is over--it is settled. Wehad nothing to do with it."

  "No, no," she cried vigorously, jumping up. "It is not right. It isn'tfair to you. We were swept off our f
eet."

  "Thank Heaven, yes."

  "But it's impossible, it's crazy--it's senseless. I don't want tomarry, I don't want to fall in love. I want to be free--I must befree--I know that--you know that. So what then?"

  "What's the use of arguing? It's been settled for us."

  "But it isn't settled. I lost my head--you lost your head. We didn'tknow what we were doing. Marriage is impossible, absurd. I'm not awoman to marry--you would be unhappy--don't you see how ridiculous itis? I think only of myself--my career--"

  "What's all that amount to--you love me and I love you. It's alwaysbeen so--we've been fools and I didn't know it."

  "But I don't know it," she cried; but at the same breath she knew thatit was so. But this knowledge only roused in her the spirit to combat,to remit, to put away from her the threatening obstacle.

  "Nonsense. Why didn't you let me go? You wouldn't; you brought meback; you couldn't help it--and I came. I would have come if you hadcalled me. I've said all that you say myself--what good did it do me?Here I am!"

  "Well, then--yes, we may love each other," she said desperately. "Idon't know. I cannot reason it out--it may be so, perhaps--but eventhen? Teddy, it can't go on. Don't you see how wicked it would be--howwrong? Your wife can't be on the stage, and I can't give it up. It'severything--it's been my whole life. We must be strong--we must stopit. It's absurd--it's wrong."

  She came to him, seized with the two contrary impulses: an instinctiverevolt, a desire to force him from her life, and something just asinstinctive and irresistible that drew her back to him; and at themoment she said the most firmly, "No, no, it's absurd, it's wrong," sheput out her hand and caught her fingers in his coat collar, just behindhis ear, under the masses of his hair.

  He caught her to him, wrapping his arms around her; she continued toprotest but, without resisting, her head dropped on his shoulder, hereyes closed, her lips breathlessly open.

  All at once from the hall came the sound of a key in the latch. Theydisengaged themselves hurriedly, arranging their disordered hair,standing ridiculously apart.

  From the antechamber came the voice of Miss Tilbury, the chaperon,discreetly remaining without:

  "Nan, dear, Mr. Hargrave is below. He has come for his manuscript."

  "But I'm not at home," she said in a muffled voice.

  "You ought to send it down to him, really."

  "Mr. Beecher is here--aren't you coming in?"

  "In a moment."

  The steps died out going to the back. Beecher, who had looked at theclock, uttered an exclamation. She came to him quickly, with the motionsof the alert feline, and seizing his wrist said quickly:

  "Listen, Teddy, I will not hold you to what has happened. We are out ofour senses, you and I. We are crazy--crazy. You must not see me for awhile--two days at least--until we know what we are doing. Go, now,please--"

  Then, suddenly remembering that the same Hargrave had been the innocentcause of a little pain to him, she went quickly to the table and took upthe offending play, and with that fine instinct of a woman to give eventhe smallest revenge to the man she loves, said:

  "Take this. Give it to Hargrave yourself. Say I cannot see him."

  "I shall see you tomorrow."

  "No, no; but telephone tonight."

  She listened a moment, her ear toward the hall like a child, and thensprang into his arms, and this time it seemed to him that it was she,not he, who dominated the embrace.