by Gwen Bristow
“What beautiful earrings!”
Florinda smiled. “Nice, aren’t they? Gent gave them to me.” She opened her blue eyes again. “Gee, that lavender water feels good. You’re terribly sweet, Mrs. Hale.”
“My first name is Garnet. Why don’t you call me that?”
“I didn’t think I knew you well enough. But thanks, I will.”
Garnet put the stopper back into the flask. Florinda sat up and looked around at the two windows overlooking the street. She walked over to one of the windows, and sheltered by the curtain, she looked down. After studying the street she came back.
“Look, Garnet,” she said seriously. “I don’t want to start any trouble for you.”
“You’re not going to. This is my room and my husband’s, and we know our rights. Nobody can come into a private room without being invited. Nobody’s coming in here. So you can stay with me, just as I told you, until those men go away.”
“They’re not going away, sweetheart,” said Florinda. She took off her fur cape and hung it over her arm. “And there’s another angel-face down there by the front door. I think he’s waiting for me to come out.”
“Well, he can’t stay there forever,” Garnet insisted. “We have the parlor next door, and if you have to spend the night with us you can sleep on the sofa. Anyway, wherever it was you were going, you can’t go now, so just stay here.”
“Good Lord,” Florinda said softly, still incredulous. “I was going to rehearsal,” she added. She turned up the face of a little jeweled watch pinned to her bosom. “They’ll be wondering what’s become of me.”
“They’ll have to rehearse without you,” said Garnet, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “So forget about it.”
“Look here, baby,” Florinda said sharply. “Why are you hiding me? You don’t know me.”
“You didn’t know me either when you made those drunkards let me alone. And lots of people wouldn’t have been interested in that Negro waiter enough to care whether his little boy got well, or whether he got scolded for leaving the door unlocked. You’re in trouble, Florinda, and I don’t know why, but I don’t think you deserve it. You’re too kind and thoughtful.”
“You sweet kid,” Florinda said tenderly.
Garnet repeated, “You can stay here, Florinda.”
Florinda gave her a puzzled glance. “What’s that you keep calling me?”
“You told me last night your name was Florinda Grove,” said Garnet. She glanced down, running her finger along a crease in the counterpane. She half expected Florinda to tell her another name now, but Florinda only laughed a little, saying,
“Why yes, so I did.” Without more comment, she added, “Well, you’re wonderful to let me stay. I don’t know if we can hold ’em off forever, but at least it’s a break between acts. Gee, I’m still shaking. I was never so scared in my—”
There was a knock on the door. Florinda stiffened. Garnet opened the door to the parlor and gestured toward it. Snatching up her bonnet, Florinda slipped past her. The knock turned into an impatient pounding, and Oliver’s voice called,
“Garnet, it’s me! Let me in!”
“It’s my husband, but you’d better stay where you are,” Garnet whispered. She closed the parlor door and called back, “Yes, Oliver, I’ll be right there.”
She thanked heaven that it was only Oliver at the door, for she was panting so hard that anybody could have seen she was up to something. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him inside and locked the door after him.
“What’s the matter?” he exclaimed in alarm.
“I’ve got something to tell you. Sit down.”
To Oliver’s astonished questions, she answered, “No, nothing has happened to me. But do you remember the actress from the Flower Garden?”
Oliver laughed. “Oh Lord. I might have known you’d pick up that moonshine blond again. What is it now?”
She told him about finding Florinda hidden behind the cabinet, and about her coming here to hide in the parlor. Oliver was dubious. He was still more dubious when she admitted that she had no idea what the strange men wanted. But he shook his head with affectionate resignation. “All right, all right. If she can get away I’m not going to stop her. But that’s all I’m going to promise till I find out more about it.”
He went across the room and opened the parlor door. Florinda was standing just beyond it.
“Come in here,” said Oliver.
Florinda came back into the bedroom. She stood holding her bonnet and wrap, waiting as though ready to go away if he should tell her to. But though Oliver was not as readily moved by other people’s concerns as Garnet, he was not heartless. Besides, Florinda was exceedingly fair to look upon. He demanded,
“Now tell me what this is all about.”
Florinda lifted her shoulders and lowered them in a graceful shrug. “Well, to be brief, sir, I need to get out of here. I need to get out of town. If I don’t get out of town without being seen by certain people, I’ll go to New York in a pair of handcuffs.”
Garnet winced at the words “handcuffs.” Oliver stood looking thoughtfully at his unexpected guest. Florinda bore his scrutiny without flinching.
“You’re taking it very calmly,” Oliver commented at length. Garnet could tell by the way he spoke that Florinda had begun to win his liking. Oliver was used to danger, and he liked people who kept their heads. He would have had no patience with tears and fainting fits.
“I’m pretty scared,” Florinda said frankly. “But I don’t get hysterics, Mr. Hale.”
Oliver nodded with approval.
Florinda spoke again. “By the way, I might tell you that if you do help me get out of town, it’s not going to cost you anything. I’ve got money, and I’ve got it where I can get it.”
“We weren’t thinking of that!” Garnet protested.
Florinda smiled at her. “Maybe not, dearie. But I’m used to paying my way.”
Oliver was considering. “Candidly, Miss Grove,” he said, “I’d like more details.”
Florinda gave him an ironic little smile.
“Of course,” she reminded him, “you’ve got no reason on God’s earth to believe me.”
There was another sound of knocking on the door.
SEVEN
THIS WAS NOT THE tap of a caller requesting friendly admission. It was a series of whacks that shook the door on its hinges.
Garnet felt her pulses jump. Florinda jammed her fist against her mouth. Oliver jerked around toward the door.
At that instant, somebody outside tried the doorknob, rattling it as though he had a right to be angry because the door was locked. He began to pound again, shouting, “Open in the name of the law!”
The parlor was no safe hiding-place this time. Garnet sprang over and flung open the door of the wardrobe, pointing violently toward the inside. Florinda was trembling, but she scrambled in, pulling her skirts after her. Oliver exclaimed toward the racket outside,
“You needn’t break down the door. I’ll let you in.”
By this time he was angry. If Florinda’s pursuers had wanted to turn him into her champion, they could have chosen no better way to do it. Oliver had spent eight years leading pack-trains, and he was not impressed by yells and bluster. He flung open the door.
“What is the meaning of this?” he inquired.
A couple of men stood there. One of them was the big red-faced fellow Garnet had passed in the hall. The other was not his former companion, but Mr. Maury, the hotel manager. The ruddy stranger was pompous; evidently he was the one who had been pounding. But Mr. Maury was unhappy and apologetic.
“I’m sorry this intrusion has been necessary, Mr. Hale!” the hotel manager exclaimed wretchedly. “But this officer is looking for an escaped criminal—he has a warrant.”
Poor Mr. Maury spoke as if he were in pain. He was not accustomed to disturbing his guests with warrants.
Oliver gave him no help. He stood there like a man secure in his own righteousness
, who was indignant at not being also secure in his own bedroom. Mr. Maury floundered in misery.
“He thought—I assured him he must be mistaken—but he was sure—”
“You better let me handle this,” cut in Mr. Maury’s ruddy companion, giving him a shove with his elbow. He was not miserable at all. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying himself. “My name is Kimball,” he announced. “I seen her come in here. Room 23, ain’t it?” Mr. Kimball satisfied himself with a significant look at the number on the door. “Room 23 it is, I seen her with my own eyes. Now you,” he demanded, glaring at Oliver, “you got a woman in here with you?”
“Certainly I have,” Oliver returned. He made a gesture toward Garnet, who was standing at one side. “This lady,” Oliver continued, “is my wife. Have you something to say to her?”
The two visitors looked at Garnet. Mr. Maury was suffering agonies. But Mr. Kimball gazed unabashed, his eyes going up and down her figure with a fleshly interest that would have roused her fury even if Florinda had not been hiding in the wardrobe. With Oliver at her side, she was not frightened as she had been in the supper-room last night. She gave him the stare Miss Wayne had taught her. It was a gaze of insulted dignity, calculated to reduce its victim to ashes.
The man was used to out-yelling opponents, but he had never tried to out-stare the graduate of a young ladies’ academy. He bore Garnet’s eyes a moment, then he began to get even redder than he naturally was. He cleared his throat, looked down at his shoes, flicked his toe at a speck of dust on the carpet, and looked up again.
“Well, I seen skirts!” he declared defiantly.
Oliver did not reply. Garnet did not shift her eyes.
But as though the sound of his own voice had given him courage, Mr. Kimball went on. “I seen skirts, and I seen ’em come in here. And I seen ’em to be green skirts.” He nodded solemnly. “Green they was.”
Oliver glanced around at Garnet’s plain navy blue dress. He smiled slightly.
“I hardly think,” he said, “that we men can be blamed for making mistakes about ladies’ apparel. If you have passed this door during the morning, you may have seen Mrs. Hale entering the room.”
“There now,” exclaimed Mr. Maury, “I told you! Mrs. Hale, I do beg your pardon.”
“There ain’t nobody else in here, is there?” demanded Mr. Kimball, stepping across the threshold and peering around.
Her success with her eyes gave Garnet courage to use her voice. “Will you kindly get out of my bedroom?” she requested coldly.
“He’s not going to trouble you, my dear,” Oliver assured her. He came over and put his arm around her shoulders. Standing thus he turned his head toward the red-faced man. “Step back to the other side of that door,” he ordered.
Oliver was used to dealing with men of tougher makeup than this. The intruder obeyed him.
“Come on away!” Mr. Maury begged. “That woman’s not here. She can’t be. I told you!”
The burly man did not obey Mr. Maury. Standing just beyond the doorway, hands in his pockets, he surveyed the room. Garnet moved to sit down in a chair facing the door. Her teachers had prepared her for parlors and ballrooms; they had not dreamed, nor had she, how useful this same preparation would be in outwitting the law. She leaned back, drooping gracefully, like a helpless female trembling before big rude men.
Mr. Kimball began to speak to Oliver, uncomfortably.
“Well, maybe I’m wrong, sir. But we’re on the track of a desperate character. She lives in this here hotel, and I sure thought I seen her going in here.” He shuffled his feet. “Must have been one of the other rooms along here, likely.”
“Would you care to look in the other room of this suite?” Oliver asked. He brought the key from the bureau.
They waited while Mr. Kimball unlocked the hall door of the parlor. After a minute or two he came back.
“Ain’t nobody in there. Thank you, sir. Mighty good of you, co-operating like this. Sorry to have troubled you. But we got to do our duty, you understand.”
“Are you sure this woman is still in the building?” Oliver asked.
“Oh, she’s here, sir, no mistake. She came in last night, and she ain’t been out this morning. We’ve got men at all the doors. And one of our men’s gone into her room to wait, in case she should come back in there. She can’t get away,” he assured them. “Don’t you worry about that.”
Oliver addressed Mr. Maury. “Would you mind telling me,” he asked with dignity, “how this respectable hotel happens to be harboring a criminal?”
Mr. Maury wrung his hands. “Now Mr. Hale, how could I know who she was? She came and went like anybody else and paid her rent on time. How could I tell she was wanted for murder?”
“Murder!” gasped Garnet. This time she was not acting. She sat forward, wide-eyed with horror.
Mr. Kimball nodded solemnly. “Yes ma’am, murder.” He went on, to let them know he was only acting like a good citizen when he came to their room. “You can see that in a case like this we got to look out for everything. Desperate character she is,” he repeated.
Garnet had never seen a desperate character. But she remembered Florinda’s gaiety, her easy friendliness; the description simply did not fit. “Are you sure?” she begged.
“Yes ma’am,” the big man returned with emphasis. “Shot up a gambling house right in the middle of New York city, she did, shot it all to pieces, killed two men, two of them.”
Garnet gave a little gasp. Of course. The Selkirk murder. Somebody had shot Mr. Selkirk and another man in a gambling house. But not Florinda! No, no, no. She heard Oliver ask,
“But who on earth is this woman?”
“If you mean what’s her name, sir, I can’t say I rightly know. Don’t guess anybody knows for sure. She changes her name every year or two, and with good reason, no doubt about it. Past few months she’s been performing at a place downtown called the Jardeen dess Flowers, under the name of Juliette La Tour.” He took a notebook from his pocket and began turning the leaves importantly. “Before that, she was doing her stuff at the Jewel Box in New York.”
“The Jewel Box!” Garnet echoed.
“Yes ma’am. Not a place you’d ever go to if you was in New York. At that time she was calling herself Charline Evans.”
“And her crimes have been so dangerous,” said Oliver, “that the New York police had to send a small army after her?”
“Oh, we ain’t the regular police, sir. Wouldn’t trust the police for this,” he boasted. “You know how stupid them fellows are, can’t see what’s in the same room with them.” Enjoying his spot as the center of attention, he elaborated with gusto. “Truth is, we was hired private.”
“Private?” Oliver repeated with a puzzled frown.
“Yes sir. You see, one of these men she killed was a fine gentleman, yes indeed, had a beautiful home and just the sweetest young wife you ever saw, heartbroken the poor lady is. Name of Selkirk.”
Garnet did not hear Oliver’s answer. The big man’s words had scalded her mind. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.
The big man was still talking. “Yes sir, I’ll tell you how it was. She shot Mr. Selkirk because, well, to be frank, he’d been keeping her when he was a bachelor. You know how some of them rich men are with actresses. But when he got married, he told this fancy woman he was done with her, just like a high-minded man ought to do. But she wouldn’t let him go. He was her last chance, you see. She was through at the Jewel Box. Not that them girls at the Jewel Box are supposed to be angels, but she’d got too drunk and disorderly even for them.”
Garnet felt a stab of wrath. Florinda was not drunk and disorderly. Last night she had ordered milk with her supper, and this morning she had refused a glass of wine. Garnet looked anxiously at Oliver. He was not looking at her, but she saw a tiny crinkling at the corner of his eye. She had seen it before. It meant that Oliver was being very polite, but that he was faintly, privately amused.
The big man we
nt on. “She pestered poor Mr. Selkirk and pestered him, but he told her as plain as he could that he was through. So finally, when she found out he meant what he said, she followed him to the Alhambra Gambling Palace one night. The Alhambra Gambling Palace on Park Row. She followed him there, and shot him dead.” Mr. Kimball gave a slow nod. “Now ain’t that a terrible thing?”
“Terrible,” Oliver agreed virtuously. The little crinkles were fairly quivering now. “But you said she shot two men. Who was the other one?”
“Name of Mallory, sir. He was another fellow happened to be gambling there that night, sort of a bum. I guess one of her shots went wild.” Mr. Kimball shook his untidy head regretfully. “Well now, after all this, would you believe it, the police let this woman get away. Yes sir, she got right out of town. She disappeared. I guess she thought she was safe.” He paused for his climax. “But guess what happened then.”
“I can’t imagine,” Oliver said dryly.
“Well sir, poor Mr. Selkirk had a friend. Fine gentleman named Mr. Reese. And this friend, he couldn’t stand the idea of this disgraceful woman going free. So he hired us to look her up. And finally we traced her to New Orleans. It took quite a while, New Orleans being two weeks from New York and it taking such a long time for letters to go back and forth. But we found her,” he assured them complacently. “And when we found her, here was this shameless creature, flaunting herself right out on a public stage just like she didn’t have a thing on her conscience.” He shook his head again, saddened by the thought of such depravity. “Ain’t it dreadful what a woman can do? Yes sir, sometimes I think when they’re thoroughly abandoned, they can carry on worse than us men.”
But now that he had heard the story, Oliver was not interested in Mr. Kimball’s philosophy. As though he had just remembered Garnet, he said,
“Thank you for your explanation, Mr. Kimball. But frankly, sir, I must ask you to withdraw. I believe my wife has heard about all she cares to.”