Seven Keys to Baldpate

by Earl Derr Biggers

  CHAPTER VII

  THE MAYOR BEGINS A VIGIL

  One summer evening, in dim dead days gone by, an inexperienced headwaiter at Baldpate Inn had attempted to seat Mrs. J. Sanderson Clark, ofPittsburgh, at the same table with the unassuming Smiths, of Tiffin,Ohio. The remarks of Mrs. Clark, who was at the time busily engaged intrying to found a first family, lingered long in the memory of those whoheard them. So long, in fact, that Miss Norton, standing with Mr. Mageein the hotel office awaiting the signal from Peters that dinner wasready, could repeat them almost verbatim. Mr. Magee cast a humorous lookabout.

  "Lucky the manners and customs of the summer folks aren't carried overinto the winter," he said. "Imagine a Mrs. Clark asked to sit at tablewith the mayor of Reuton and his picturesque but somewhat soiled friend,Mr. Max. I hope the dinner is a huge success."

  The girl laughed.

  "The natural nervousness of a host," she remarked. "Don't worry. Thehermit and his tins won't fail you."

  "It's not the culinary end that worries me," smiled Magee. "It's therepartee and wit. I want the mayor to feel at home. Do you know any goodstories ascribed to Congressman Jones, of the Asquewan district?"

  Together they strolled to a window. The snow had begun to fall again,and the lights of the little hamlet below showed but dimly through thewhite blur.

  "I want you to know," said the girl, "that I trust you now. And when thetime comes, as it will soon--to-night--I am going to ask you to help me.I may ask a rather big thing, and ask you to do it blindly, justtrusting in me, as I refused to trust in you." She stopped and lookedvery seriously into Mr. Magee's face.

  "I'm mighty glad," he answered in a low tone. "From the moment I saw youweeping in the station I've wanted to be of help to you. The stationagent advised me not to interfere. He said to become involved with aweeping woman meant trouble. The fool. As though any trouble--"

  "He was right," put in the girl, "it probably will mean trouble."

  "As though any storm," finished Mr. Magee "would not be worth therainbow of your smile at the end."

  "A very fancy figure," laughed she. "But storms aren't nice."

  "There are a few of us," replied Magee, "who can be merry through theworst of them because of the rainbow to come."

  For answer, she flattened her finely-modeled nose into shapelessnessagainst the cold pane. Back of them in the candle-lighted room, themotley crew of Baldpate's winter guests stood about in various attitudesof waiting. In front of the fire the holder of the Chair of ComparativeLiterature quoted poetry to Mrs. Norton, and probably it never occurredto the old man that the woman to whom he talked was that nightmare ofhis life--a peroxide blonde. Ten feet away in the flickering half-light,the immense bulk of the mayor of Reuton reposed on the arm of a leathercouch, and before him stood his lithe unpleasant companion, Lou Max,side by side with Mr. Bland, whose talk of haberdashery was foreverstilled. The candles sputtered, the storm angrily rattled the windows;Mr. Peters flitted like a hairy wraith about the table. So the strangegame that was being played at Baldpate Inn followed the example of gooddigestion and waited on appetite.

  What Mr. Magee flippantly termed his dinner party was seated at last,and there began a meal destined to linger long in the memories of thosewho partook if it. Puzzled beyond words, the host took stock of hisguests. Opposite him, at the foot of the table, he could see the linedtired face of Mrs. Norton, dazed, uncomprehending, a little frightened.At his right the great red acreage of Cargan's face held defiance andsome amusement; beside it sneered the cruel face of Max; beyond that Mr.Bland's countenance told a story of worry and impotent anger. And on Mr.Magee's left sat the professor, bearded, spectacled, calm, seeminglyundisturbed by this queer flurry of events, beside the fair girl of thestation who trusted Magee at last. In the first few moments of silenceMr. Magee compared her delicate features with the coarse knowing face ofthe woman at the table's foot, and inwardly answered "No."

  Without the genial complement of talk the dinner began. Mr. Petersappeared with another variety of his canned soup, whereupon the silencewas broken by the gastronomic endeavors of Mr. Max and the mayor. Mr.Magee was reflecting that conversation must be encouraged, when Cargansuddenly spoke.

  "I hope I ain't putting you folks out none," he remarked with obvioussarcasm. "It ain't my habit to drop in unexpected like this. Butbusiness--"

  "We're delighted, I'm sure," said Mr. Magee politely.

  "I suppose you want to know why I'm here," the mayor went on."Well--" he hesitated--"it's like this--"

  "Dear Mr. Cargan," Magee broke in, "spare us, I pray. And spareyourself. We have had explanations until we are weary. We have decidedto drop them altogether, and just to take it for granted that, in thewords of the song, we're here because we're here."

  "All right," replied Cargan, evidently relieved. "That suits me. I'mtired explaining, anyhow. There's a bunch of reformers rose up lately inReuton--maybe you've heard about 'em. A lovely bunch. A white necktieand a half-portion of brains apiece. They say they're going to do for meat the next election."

  Mr. Max laughed harshly from the vicinity of his soup.

  "They wrote the first joke book, them people," he said.

  "Well," went on Cargan, "there ain't nobody so insignificant andpiffling that people won't listen to 'em when they attack a man inpublic life. So I've had to reply to this comic opera bunch, and as Isay, I'm about wore out explaining. I've had to explain that I neverstole the town I used to live in in Indiana, and that I didn't stick upmy father with a knife. It gets monotonous. So I'm much obliged to youfor passing the explanations up. We won't bother you long, me and Lou. Igot a little business here, and then we'll mosey along. We'll clear outabout nine o'clock."

  "No," protested Magee. "So soon? We must make it pleasant for you whileyou stay. I always hate hosts who talk about their servants--I have afriend who bores me to death because he has a Jap butler he believes wasat Mukden. But I think I am justified in calling your attention toours--Mr. Peters, the Hermit of Baldpate Mountain. Cooking is merely hisavocation. He is writing a book."

  "That guy," remarked Cargan, incredulous.

  "What do you know about that?" asked Mr. Bland. "It certainly will get alot of hot advertising if it ever appears. It's meant to prove that allthe trouble in the world has been caused by woman."

  The mayor considered.

  "He's off--he's nutty, that fellow," he announced. "It ain't women thatcause all of the trouble."

  "Thank you, Mr. Cargan," said Miss Norton, smiling.

  "Anybody'd know it to look at you, miss," replied the mayor in his mostgallant manner. Then he added hastily: "And you, ma'am," with a nod inthe other woman's direction.

  "I don't know as I got the evidence in my face," responded Mrs. Nortoneasily, "but women don't make no trouble, I know that. I think the man'scrazy, myself, and I'd tell him so if he wasn't the cook." She paused,for Peters had entered the room. There was silence while he changed thecourses. "It's getting so now you can't say the things to a cook you canto a king," she finished, after the hermit had retired.

  "Ahem--Mr. Cargan," put in Professor Bolton, "you give it as youropinion that woman is no trouble-maker, and I must admit that I agreewith your premise in general, although occasionally she may cause a--aslight annoyance. Undeniably, there is a lot of trouble in the world. Towhose efforts do you ascribe it?"

  The mayor ran his thick fingers through his hair.

  "I got you," he said, "and I got your answer, too. Who makes thetrouble? Who's made it from the beginning of time? The reformers, Doc.Yes, sir. Who was the first reformer? The snake in the garden of Eden.This hermit guy probably has that affair laid down at woman's door. Notmuch. Everything was running all right around the garden, and then thesnake came along. It's a twenty to one shot he'd just finished a seriesof articles on 'The Shame of Eden' for a magazine. 'What d'ye mean?' hesays to the woman, 'by letting well enough alone? Things are all wronghere. The present administration is running everything into the ground.I ca
n tell you a few things that will open your eyes. What's that? Whatyou don't know won't hurt you? The old cry', he says, 'the old cryagainst which progressives got to fight,' he says. 'Wake up. You need achange here. Try this nice red apple, and you'll see things the way Ido.' And the woman fell for it. You know what happened."

  "An original point of view," said the dazed professor.

  "Yes, Doc," went on Mr. Cargan, evidently on a favorite topic, "it's thereformers that have caused all the trouble, from that snake down. Thingsare running smooth, folks all prosperous and satisfied--then they comealong in their gum shoes and white neckties. And they knock away at theexisting order until the public begins to believe 'em and gives 'em achance to run things. What's the result? The world's in a worse tanglethan ever before."

  "You feel deeply on the subject, Mr. Cargan," remarked Magee.

  "I ought to," the mayor replied. "I ain't no writer, but if I was, I'dturn out a book that would drive this whiskered hermit's argument to thewall. Woman--bah! The only way women make trouble is by falling for thereform gag."

  Mr. Peters here interrupted with the dessert, and through that courseMr. Cargan elaborated on his theory. He pointed out how, in many states,reform had interrupted the smooth flow of life, set everything awhirl,and cruelly sent "the boys" who had always been faithful out into thecold world seeking the stranger, work. While he talked, the eyes of LouMax looked out at him from behind the incongruous gold-rimmed glasses,with the devotion of the dog to its master clearly written in them. Mr.Magee had read many articles about this picturesque Cargan who hadfought his way with his fists to the position of practical dictator inthe city of Reuton. The story was seldom told without a mention of hisman Max--Lou Max who kept the south end of Reuton in line for the mayor,and in that low neighborhood of dives and squalor made Cargan's a nameto conjure with. Watching him now, Mr. Magee marveled at this cheapcreature's evident capacity for loyalty.

  "It was the reformers got Napoleon," the mayor finished. "Yes, they sentNapoleon to an island at the end. And him without an equal since theworld began."

  "Is your--begging your pardon--is your history just straight?" demurredProfessor Bolton timidly.

  "Is it?" frowned Cargan. "You can bet it is. I know Napoleon from thecradle to the grave. I ain't an educated man, Doc--I can hire all theeducated men I want for eighteen dollars a week--but I'm up onBonaparte."

  "It seems to me," Miss Norton put in, "I have heard--did I read it in apaper?--that a picture of Napoleon hangs above your desk. They say thatyou see in your own career, a similarity to his. May I ask--is it true?"

  "No, miss," replied Cargan. "That's a joking story some newspaper guywrote up. It ain't got no more truth in it than most newspaper yarn. No,I ain't no Napoleon. There's lots of differences between us--one inparticular." He raised his voice, and glared at the company around thetable. "One in particular. The reformers got Napoleon at the end."

  "But the end is not yet," suggested Mr. Magee, smiling.

  Mr. Cargan gave him a sudden and interested look.

  "I ain't worrying," he replied. "And don't you, young fellow."

  Mr. Magee responded that he was not one to indulge in needless worry,and a silence fell upon the group. Peters entered with coffee, and wasengaged in pouring it when Mr. Bland started up wildly from the tablewith an expression of alarm on his face.

  "What's that?" he cried.

  The others looked at him in wonder.

  "I heard steps up-stairs," he declared.

  "Nonsense," said Mr. Cargan, "you're dreaming. This peace and quiet hasgot to you, Bland."

  Without replying, Mr. Bland rose and ran up the stair. In his absencethe Hermit of Baldpate spoke into Magee's ear.

  "I ain't one to complain," he said; "livin' alone as much as I do I'vesort of got out of the habit, having nobody to complain to. But if folkskeep coming and coming to this hotel, I've got to resign as cook. Seemsas though every few minutes there's a new face at the table, and it's avital matter to me."

  "Cheer up, Peters," whispered Mr. Magee. "There are only two more keysto the inn. There will be a limit to our guests."

  "What I'm getting at is," replied Mr. Peters, "there's a limit to myendurance."

  Mr. Bland came down-stairs. His face was very pale as he took his seat,but in reply to Cargan's question he remarked that he must have beenmistaken.

  "It was the wind, I guess," he said.

  The mayor made facetious comment on Mr. Bland's "skittishness", and Mr.Max also indulged in a gibe or two. These the haberdasher met with a wansmile. So the dinner came to an end, and the guests of Baldpate satabout while Mr. Peters removed all traces of it from the table. Mr.Magee sought to talk to Miss Norton, but found her nervous and distrait.

  "Has Mr. Bland frightened you?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "I have other things to think of," she replied.

  Mr. Peters shortly bade the company good-by for the night, with thewarmly expressed hope in Mr. Magee's ear that there would be no furtheradditions to the circle in the near future. When he had started offthrough the snow for his shack, Mr. Cargan took out his watch.

  "You've been pretty kind to us poor wanderers already," he said. "I gotone more favor to ask. I come up here to see Mr. Bland. We got somebusiness to transact, and we'd consider it a great kindness if you wasto leave us alone here in the office."

  Mr. Magee hesitated. He saw the girl nod her head slightly, and movetoward the stairs.

  "Certainly, if you wish," he said. "I hope you won't go without sayinggood-by, Mr. Cargan."

  "That all depends," replied the mayor. "I've enjoyed knowing you, oneand all. Good night."

  The women, the professor and Mr. Magee moved up the broad stairway. Onthe landing Mr. Magee heard the voice of Mrs. Norton, somewhere in thedarkness ahead.

  "I'm worried, dearie--real worried."

  "Hush," came the girl's voice. "Mr. Magee-we'll meet again--soon."

  Mr. Magee seized the professor's arm, and together they stood in theshadows.

  "I don't like the looks of things," came Bland's hoarse complaint frombelow. "What time is it?"

  "Seven-thirty." Cargan answered. "A good half-hour yet."

  "There was somebody on the second floor when I went up," Blandcontinued. "I saw him run into one of the rooms and lock the door."

  "I've got charge now," the mayor reassured him, "don't you worry."

  "There's something doing." This seemed to be Max's voice.

  "There sure is," laughed Cargan. "But what do I care? I own youngDrayton. I put him where he is. I ain't afraid. Let them gumshoe roundas much as they want to. They can't touch me."

  "Maybe not," said Bland. "But Baldpate Inn ain't the grand idea itlooked at first, is it?"

  "It's a hell of an idea," answered Cargan. "There wasn't any need of allthis folderol. I told Hayden so. Does that phone ring?"

  "No--it'll just flash a light, when they want us," Bland told him.

  Mr. Magee and Professor Bolton continued softly up the stairs, and inanswer to the former's invitation, the old man entered number seven andtook a chair by the fire.

  "It is an amazing tangle," he remarked, "in which we are involved. Ihave no idea what your place is in the scheme of things up here. But Iassume you grasp what is going on, if I do not. I am not so keen of witas I once was."

  "If you think," answered Mr. Magee, proffering a cigar, "that I am in onthis little game of 'Who's Who', then you are vastly mistaken. As amatter of fact, I am as much in the dark as you are."

  The professor smiled.

  "Indeed," he said in a tone that showed his unbelief. "Indeed."

  He was deep in a discussion of the meters of the poet Chaucer when therecame a knock at the door, and Mr. Lou Max's unpleasant head was thrustinside.

  "I been assigned," he said, "to sit up here in the hall and keep an eyeout for the ghost Bland heard tramping about. And being of a sociablenature, I'd like to sit in your doorway, if you don't mind."

  "By all me
ans," replied Magee. "Here's a chair. Do you smoke?"

  "Thanks." Mr. Max placed the chair sidewise in the doorway of numberseven, and sat down. From his place he commanded a view of Mr. Magee'sapartments and of the head of the stairs. With his yellow teeth heviciously bit the end from the cigar. "Don't let me interrupt theconversation, gentlemen," he pleaded.

  "We were speaking," said the professor calmly, "of the versification ofChaucer. Mr. Magee--"

  He continued his discussion in an even voice, Mr. Magee leaned back inhis chair and smiled in a pleased way at the settings of the stage: Mr.Max in a cloud of smoke on guard at his door; the mayor and Mr. Blandkeeping vigil by a telephone switchboard in the office below, watchingfor the flash of light that should tell them some one in the outsideworld wanted to speak to Baldpate Inn; a mysterious figure who flittedabout in the dark; a beautiful girl who was going to ask Mr. Magee to doher a service, blindly trusting her.

  The professor droned on monotonously. Once Mr. Magee interrupted toengage Lou Max in spirited conversation. For, through the squares oflight outside the windows, he had seen the girl of the station passhurriedly down the balcony, the snowflakes falling white on her yellowhair.