Children of the Whirlwind

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Children of the Whirlwind Page 34

by Leroy Scott


  CHAPTER XXXII

  When Maggie drove away with Dick from Cedar Crest--this was an hourbefore Gavegan descended out of the blue upon Larry and two hours beforehe rode triumphantly away with his captive--she was the most dazed anddisillusioned young creature who had ever set out confidently to conquerthe world. Courage, confidence, quickness of wit, all the qualities onwhich she had prided herself, were now entirely gone, and she was justa white, limp figure that wanted to run away: a weak figure in whichswirled thoughts almost too spasmodically powerful for so weakened avessel not to be shattered under their wild strain: thoughts of heramazingly discovered real father--of how she was the very contradictionof her father's dream--of Larry--of the cunning Jimmie Carlisle whomtill this day she had believed her father--of Barney Palmer.

  So agitated was she with these gyrating thoughts that she was notconscious that Dick had stopped the car on the green roadside untilhe had taken her hand and had begun to speak. The happy, garrulous,unobservant Dick had not noticed anything out of the way with her morethan a pallor which she had explained away as being due to nothing morethan a bit of temporary dizziness. And so for the second time Dick nowpoured out his love to her and asked her to marry him.

  "Don't, Dick--please!" she interrupted him. "I can't marry you! Never!"

  "What!" cried the astounded Dick. "Maggie--why not?"

  "I can't. That's final. And don't make me talk to you now, Dick--please!I cannot!"

  His face, so fresh and happy the moment before, became gray and linedwith pain. But he silently swung the car back into the road.

  She forgot him utterly in what was happening within her. As they rodeon, she forced herself to think of what she should do. She saw herselfas the victim of much, and as guilty of much. And then inspiration cameupon her, or perhaps it was merely a high frenzy of desperation, and shesaw that the responsibility for the whole situation was upon her alone;she saw it as her duty, the role assigned her, to try to untangle alonethis tangled situation, to try to measure out justice to every one.

  First of all, as she had told Larry, her father's dream of her mustremain unbroken. Whatever she did, she must do nothing that mightpossibly be a sharp blow to the conception of his daughter which werethe roots and trunk and flowering branches of his present happiness.. ..And then came a real inspiration! She would, in time, make herself intothe girl he believed her--make his dream the truth! She would get rid ofOld Jimmie and Barney--would cut loose from everything pertaining to herformer life--would disappear and live for a year or two in the kind ofenvironment in which he believed he had placed her--and would reappearand claim him for her father! And for his own sake, he should never knowthe truth. Two years more and he should have the actuality, where he nowhad only the dream!

  But before she was free to enter upon this plan, before she could vanishout of the knowledge of all who had known her, there was a great duty toLarry Brainard which she must discharge. He was hunted by the police,he was hunted by his former pals. And he was in his predicamentfundamentally because of her. Therefore, it was her foremost duty toclear Larry Brainard.

  Yes, she would do that first! Somehow!...

  She was considering this problem of how she was to clear Larry, whohad tried to awaken her, who had shielded her, who loved her, when Dickslowed his car down in front of the Grantham and helped her out. As hesaid a subdued good-bye and was stepping back into his car, an impulsesurged up into her--an impulse of this different Maggie whose birth wasbeing attended by such bewildering emotions and decisions.

  "Dick, won't you please come up for just a little while?"

  Three minutes later they were in her sitting-room. Cap in hand Dickawaited her words in the misery of silence. Her look was drawn, butdirect.

  "Back in the road, Dick, you asked me why I couldn't marry you. I askedyou up here to tell you."

  "Yes?" he queried dully.

  "One reason is that, though I like you, I don't like you that way. Themore important reason to you is that I am a fraud."

  "A fraud!" he exclaimed incredulously.

  It had come to her, as she was leaving the car, that the place to starther new life was to start right, or quit right, with Dick. "A fraud,"she repeated--"an impostor. There is no Maggie Cameron. I am born of nogood family from the West. I have no money. I have always lived in NewYork--most of the time down on the East Side. I used to work in a FifthAvenue millinery shop. Till three months ago I sold cigarettes in one ofthe big hotels."

  "What of that!" cried Dick.

  "That is the nicest part of what I have to tell you," she continuedrelentlessly. "My supposed relatives, Jimmie Carlisle and Barney Palmer,are no relatives at all, but are two clever confidence men. I have beenin with them, working on a scheme they have framed. Everything I haveseemed to be, everything I have done, even this expensive apartment,have all been parts of that scheme. The idea of that scheme was toswindle some rich man out of a lot of money--through my playing on hissusceptibilities."

  "Maggie!" he gasped.

  "More concretely, the idea was to trick some rich man into falling inlove with me, to get him to propose, then to have me confess that I wasalready married, but to a man who would give me a divorce if he werepaid enough. The rich man would then drive a bargain with my supposedhusband, pay over a lot of money--after which Barney, Old Jimmie, and Iwould disappear with our profits."

  "Maggie!" he repeated, stupefied with his incredulous amazement. But theunflinching gaze she held upon him convinced him she was speaking thetruth. "Then, if that was your game, why are you telling me now? Whydidn't you say 'yes' when I proposed a week ago? I would have fallen forthe game; you would have succeeded."

  Not till that moment did Maggie realize the full truth; not till thendid she realize the solid influence Larry Brainard had been in thebackground of her life all these months.

  "I didn't go through with it because of Larry Brainard."

  "Larry Brainard!" His astonishment increased. "You know Larry Brainard,then?"

  "I've known him for several years."

  "And you've been coming out, and he's been pretending not to know you!Of course I knew what Larry Brainard has been. But is he in this, too?"

  "No. He's exactly what you think him. From the start he's been trying tokeep me out of this. He was behind my coming to your house; he's told meso. His reason for getting me there was his belief that my being treatedby you and your sister as I was would make me ashamed of myself andmake me want to quit what I was doing. And I think--I think he wasright--partly."

  "And Larry--he's the reason you're telling me now?"

  "I think so. But there are other reasons." Making a clean breast ofthings though she was, she felt she dared not trust Dick with thesecret of her father. "I--I wanted to clear things up as far as I wasresponsible. That's one reason I'm telling you. There was the chanceyou might sometime find out that Larry had known me and suspect him; Iwanted you to know the truth of what he'd really done. And I wanted totell you the truth about myself, so you'd despise and forget me, insteadof perhaps carrying around romantic delusions about me after I'vegone. And there's another reason. I'd like to tell you--for you've beeneverything that's fine to me--if it won't offend you."

  "Go on," he said huskily.

  "Barney Palmer picked you out as the victim--you didn't know you werebeing picked out--because he said that you were an easy mark. That youtook things for exactly what they pretended to be, and didn't carewhat you did with your money. That you never would settle down into aresponsible person. I'm telling you all this, Dick, because I don't wantyou to be what Barney said."

  Dick slumped into a chair, at last beaten down by this cumulativerevelation. He buried his face in his hands and his panting breath wasconvulsive with unuttered sobs. Maggie looked down upon the young boy,with pity, remorse, and an increasing recognition of the wide-spreadsuffering she had wrought.

  "To think that this has all been horrible make-believe!" he at lastgroaned. "That all the while I've been looked on as
just a young foolwho would always remain a fool!"

  Maggie, in her sense of guilt, was helpless to make any reply that wouldsoften his agony; and for a space neither spoke.

  Presently Dick stood suddenly up. His face was still marked bysuffering, but somehow it seemed to have grown older without losing itsyouth. There was a new blaze of determination in the direct look he heldon Maggie.

  "You say you have never loved me?" he demanded.

  She shook her head. "But I've told you that I've always liked you."

  "Larry Brainard's doing what he has kept on doing for you--that meansthat he loves you, doesn't it?" he pressed on.

  "He has told me so."

  "And you love him?"

  "What difference does that make?--since I am going away as soon as I geteverything I'm wholly or partly responsible for cleared up."

  "If Larry Brainard has known you for a long while, then how about BarneyPalmer and Jimmie Carlisle?"

  "They've known me as long, or longer."

  "Then you must have all known each other?"

  "Yes. Years ago Larry worked with Barney and Jimmie Carlisle."

  "What was the attitude of those two toward Larry, when he was trying tobalk them by making you give up the plan?"

  "They hated him. They are the cause--especially Barney--of all ofLarry's trouble with the police and with the old crowd he's quit. To tryto clear Larry, that's the most important thing I'm going to try to do."

  "And that's where you've got to let me help you!" Dick cried with suddenenergy. "Larry's been a mighty good friend to me--he's tried to head meright--and I owe him a lot. And I'd like a chance to show that BarneyPalmer I'm not going to keep on being the eternal fool he sized me up tobe!"

  Maggie was startled by this swift transformation. "Why--why, Dick!" shebreathed.

  "What's your plan to clear Larry?"

  "I hadn't got so far as to have a clear plan. I had only just realizedthat there had to be a plan. But since they have set the police onLarry, it came to me that the idea behind any plan would be for thepolice to really capture Barney and Jimmie Carlisle--get them out ofLarry's way."

  "That's it!" Dick Sherwood had a mind which, given an interestingstimulus, could work swiftly; and it worked swiftly now. "They wereplanning to trim me. Let's use that plan you outlined to me--use itto-night. You can tell them some story which will make immediate actionseem necessary and we'll all get together this evening. I'll play mypart all right--don't you worry about me! I'll come with a roll ofmoney that I'll dig up somewhere, and it'll be marked money. When it'spassed--bingo!--a couple of detectives that we'll have planted to watchthe proceedings will step right up and nab the two!"

  She was taken aback by the very idea of him, the victim, afterher confession, throwing his lot in with her. "Why, Dick"--shestammered--"to think of you offering to do such a thing!"

  "I owe that much to Larry Brainard," he declared. "And--and I owe thatmuch to your desire to help set him straight. Well, what about my plan?"

  Since he seemed eager to lend himself to it, it seemed to her altogetherwonderful, and she told him so. They discussed details for severalminutes, for there was much to be done and it had all to be done mostadroitly. It was agreed that he should come at ten o'clock, when thestage would all be set.

  As he was leaving to attend to his part of the play, a precautionaryidea flashed upon Maggie.

  "Better telephone me just before you come. Something may have happenedto change our plans."

  "All right--I'll telephone. Just keep your nerve."

  With that he hurried out. At about the time he left, Larry was leavingCedar Crest in handcuffs beside the burly and triumphant Gavegan, andbelieving that the power he had sought to exercise was now effectuallyat an end. He was out of it. In his despondency it was not granted himto see that the greatest thing which he could do was already done; thathe had set in motion all the machinery of what had taken place andwhat was about to take place; that all the figures in the action of thefurther drama of that night were to act as they were to do primarilybecause of promptings which came from him.

 

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