by Leroy Scott
CHAPTER XVI
All this while Maggie, and what he was to do about her, and how do it,was in Larry's mind. Even this work he was doing for Miss Sherwood, hewas doing also for Maggie in the hope that in some unseen way it mightlead him to her and help lead her to herself. There were difficultiesenough between them, God knew; but of them all two were foreverpresenting themselves as foremost: first, he did not dare go openly tosee her; and, second, even if he so dared he did not know where she was.
When he had been with the Sherwoods some three weeks Larry determinedupon a preliminary measure. By this time he knew that the letters mailedfrom Chicago, according to the plan he had arranged with Miss Sherwood,had had their contemplated effect. He knew that he was supposed by hisenemies to be in Chicago or some other Western point, and that New Yorkwas off its guard as far as he was concerned.
His preliminary measure was to discover, if possible, Maggie'swhereabouts. The Duchess seemed to him the most likely source ofinformation. He dared not write asking her for this, for he was certainher mail was still being scrutinized. The safest method would be tocall at the pawnshop in person; the police, and his old friends, and theGinger Bucks would expect anything else before they would expect him toreturn to his grandmother's. Of course he must use all precautions.
Incidentally he was prompted to this method by his desire to see hisgrandmother and Hunt. He had an idea or two which he had been mullingover that concerned the artist.
He chose a night when a steady, blowing rain had driven all butlimousined and most necessitous traffic from the streets. The rain wasexcuse for a long raincoat with high collar which buttoned under hisnose, and a cap which pulled down to his eyes, and an umbrella whichmasked him from every direct glance. Thus abetted and equipped he came,after a taxi ride and a walk, into his grandmother's street. It was asseemingly deserted as on that tumultuous night when he had left it; andon this occasion no figures sprang out of the cover of shadows, shootingand cursing. He had calculated correctly and unmolested he gained thepawnshop door, passed the solemn-eyed, incurious Isaac, and entered theroom behind.
His grandmother sat over her accounts at her desk in a corner among hercurios. Hunt, smoking a black pipe, was using his tireless right handin a rapid sketch of her: another of those swift, few-stroked, vividcharacter notes which were about his studio by the hundreds. TheDuchess saw Larry first; and she greeted him in the same unsurprised,emotionless manner as on the night he had come back from Sing Sing.
"Good-evening, Larry," said she.
"Good-evening, grandmother," he returned.
Hunt came to his feet, knocking over a chair in so doing, and grippedLarry's hand. "Hello--here's our wandering boy to-night! How are you,son?"
"First-rate, you old paint-slinger. And you?"
"Hitting all twelve cylinders and taking everything on high! But say,listen, youngster: how about your copper friends and those gun-totingschoolmates of yours?"
"Missed them so far."
"Better keep on missing 'em." Hunt regarded him intently for a moment,then asked abruptly: "Never heard one way or another--but did you usethat telephone number I gave you?"
"Yes."
"Miss Sherwood take care of you?"
"Yes."
"Still there?"
"Yes."
Again Hunt was silent for a moment. Larry expected questions about MissSherwood, for he knew the quality of the painter's interest. But Huntseemed quite as determined to avoid any personal question relating toMiss Sherwood as she had been about personal questions relating to him;for his next remark was:
"Young fellow, still keeping all those commandments you wrote foryourself?"
"So far, my bucko."
"Keep on keeping 'em, and write yourself a few more, and you'll have abrand-new decalogue. And we'll have a little Moses of our own. But inthe meantime, son, what's the great idea of coming down here?"
"For one thing, I came to ask for a couple of your paintings."
"My paintings!" Hunt regarded the other suspiciously. "What the hell youwant my paintings for?"
"They might make good towels if I can scrape the paint off."
"Aw, cut out the vaudeville stuff! I asked you what you wanted mypaintings for? Give me a straight answer!"
"All right--here's your straight answer: I want your paintings to sellthem."
"Sell my paintings! Say, are you trying to say something still funnier?"
"I want them to sell them. Remember I once told you that I could sellthem--that I could sell anything. Let me have them, and then just see."
"You'd sure have to be able to sell anything to sell them!" Achallenging glint had come into Hunt's eyes. "Young fellow, you're sodamned fresh that if you had any dough I'd bet you five thousand, anyodds you like, that you couldn't even GIVE one of the things away!"
"Loan me five thousand," Larry returned evenly, "and I'll cover the betwith even money--it being understood that I'm to sell the picture at aprice not less than the highest price you ever received for one ofyour 'pretty pictures' which you delight to curse and which made yourfortune. Now bring down your pictures--or shut up!"
Hunt's jaw set. "Young fellow, I take that bet! And I'll not let youoff, either--you'll have to pay it! Which pictures do you want?"
"That young Italian woman sitting on the curb nursing her baby--and anyother picture you want to put with it."
Hunt went clumping up the stairway. When he was out of earshot, theDuchess remarked quietly:
"What did you really come for, Larry?"
Larry was somewhat taken aback by his grandmother's penetration, but hedid not try to evade the question nor the steady gaze of the old eyes.
"I thought you might know where Maggie is, and I came to ask."
"That's what I thought."
"Do you know where she is?"
"Yes."
"Where is she?"
The old eyes were still steady upon him. "I don't know that I shouldtell you. I want you to get on--and the less you have to do with Maggie,the better for you."
"I'd like to know, grandmother."
The Duchess considered for a long space. "After all, you're of age--andyou've got to decide what's best for yourself. I'll tell you. Maggie washere the other day--dressed simple--to get some letters she'd forgottento take and which I couldn't find. We had a talk. Maggie is living atthe Grantham under the name of Margaret Cameron. She has a suite there."
"A suite at the Grantham!" exclaimed Larry, astounded. "Why, theGrantham is in the same class with the Ritzmore, where she used towork--or the Plaza! A suite at the Grantham!"
And then Larry gave a twitching start. "At the Grantham--alone?"
"Not alone--no. But it's not what just came into your mind. It's a womanthat's with her; a hired companion. And they're doing everything on aswell scale."
"What's Maggie up to?"
"She didn't tell me, except to say that the plan was a big one. She wasall excited over it. If you want to know just what it is, ask BarneyPalmer and Old Jimmie."
"Barney and Old Jimmie!" ejaculated Larry. And then: "Barney and OldJimmie--and a suite at the Grantham!"
At that moment Hunt came back down the stairway, carrying a roll wrappedin brown paper.
"Here you are, young fellow," he announced. "De-mounted 'em so the junkwould be easier to handle. The Dago mother you asked for--the secondpainting may be one you'd like to have for your own private gallery.I'm not going to let you get away with your bluff--and don't you forgetit!... Duchess, don't you think he'd better beat it before Gaveganand his loving friends take a tumble to his presence and mess up theneighborhood?"
"Yes," said the Duchess. "Good-night, Larry."
"Good-night," said he.
Mechanically he took the roll of paintings and slipped it under hisraincoat; mechanically he shook hands; mechanically he got out of thepawnshop; mechanically he took all precautions in getting out ofthe little rain-driven street and in getting into a taxicab which hecaptured over near Coope
r Institute. All his mind was upon what theDuchess had told him and upon a new idea which was throbbingly growinginto a purpose. Maggie and Barney and Old Jimmie! Maggie in a suite atthe Grantham!
What Larry now did, as he got into the taxi, he would have calledfootless and foolhardy an hour before, and at any other hour hisjudgment might have restrained him. But just now he seemed controlledby a force greater than smooth-running judgment--a composite of manyforces: by sudden jealousy, by a sudden desire to shield Maggie, by asudden desire to see her. So as he stepped into the taxi, he said:
"The Grantham--quick!"