FRIDAY FOR LUCK
THE "drawing-room" that evening lacked not only distinction but
animation as well. To begin with, the attendance was small. The
Marchioness, after the usual collaboration with Julia in advance of the
gathering, received a paltry half-dozen during the course of the
evening. The Princess was there, and Count Antonio,--(he rarely missed
coming), and the Hon. Mrs. Priestley-Duff. Lord Eric Temple and Lady
Jane Thorne were missing, as were Prince Waldemar de Bosky, Count
Wilhelm von Blitzen and the Countess du Bara. Extreme dulness prevailed.
The Princess fell asleep, and, on being roused at a seasonable hour,
declared that her eyes had been troubling her of late, so she kept them
closed as much as possible on account of the lights.
Mrs. Priestley-Duff, being greatly out-of-sorts, caustically remarked
that the proper way to treat bothersome eyes is to put them to bed in a
sound-proof room.
Cricklewick yawned in the foyer, Moody yawned in the outer hall, and
McFaddan in the pantry. The latter did not yawn luxuriously. There was
something half-way about it.
"Why don't you 'ave it out?" inquired Moody, sympathetically, after
solicitous inquiry. "They say the bloomin' things are the cause of all
the rheumatism we're 'aving nowadays. Is it a wisdom tooth?"
"No," said McFaddan, with a suddenness that startled Moody; "it ain't.
It's a whole jaw. It's a dam' fool jaw at that."
"Now that I look at you closer," said Moody critically, "it seems to be
a bit discoloured. Looks as though mortification had set in."
"Ye never said a truer thing," said McFaddan. "It set in last night."
The man from Scotland Yard waited across the street until he saw the
lights in the windows of the third, fourth and fifth floors go out, and
then strolled patiently away. Queer looking men and women came under his
observation during the long and lonely vigil, entering and emerging from
the darkened doorway across the street, but none of them, by any chance,
bore the slightest resemblance to the elusive Lord Temple, or "her
ladyship," the secretary. He made the quite natural error of putting the
queer looking folk down as tailors and seamstresses who worked far into
the night for the prosperous Deborah.
Two days went by. He sat at a window in the hotel opposite and waited
for the young lady to appear. On three separate occasions he followed
her to Central Park and back. She was a brisk walker. She had the free
stride of the healthy English girl. He experienced some difficulty in
keeping her in sight, but even as he puffed laboriously behind, he was
conscious of a sort of elation. It was good to see some one who walked
as if she were in Hyde Park.
For obvious reasons, his trailing was in vain. Jane did not meet Lord
Temple for the excellent reason that Thomas Trotter was down on Long
Island with the beautiful Mrs. Millidew. And while both Jane and Mrs.
Sparflight kept a sharp lookout for Mr. Chambers, they failed to
discover any sign of him. He seemed to have abandoned the quest. They
were not lured into security, however. He would bob up, like
Jack-in-the-box, when least expected.
If they could only get word to Trotter! If they could only warn him of
the peril that stalked him!
Jane was in the depths. She had tumbled swiftly from the great height to
which joy had wafted her; her hopes and dreams, and the castles they had
built so deftly, shrunk up and vanished in the cloud that hung like a
pall about her. Her faith in the man she loved was stronger than ever;
nothing could shatter that. No matter what Scotland Yard might say or
do, actuated by enemy injustice, she would never believe evil of him.
And she would not give him up!
"Marchioness," she said at the close of the second day, her blue eyes
clouded with the agony of suspense, "is there not some way to resist
extradition? Can't we fight it? Surely it isn't possible to take an
innocent man out of this great, generous country--"
"My dear child," said the Marchioness, putting down her coffee cup with
so little precision that it clattered in the saucer, "there isn't
_anything_ that Scotland Yard cannot do." She spoke with an air of
finality.
"I have been thinking," began Jane, haltingly. She paused for a moment.
An appealing, wistful note was in her voice when she resumed, and her
eyes were tenderly resolute. "He hasn't very much money, you know, poor
boy. I have been thinking,--oh, I've been thinking of so many things,"
she broke off confusedly.
"Well, what have you been thinking?" inquired the other, helpfully.
"It has occurred to me that I can get along very nicely on half of what
you are paying me,--or even less. If it were not for the fact that my
poor brother depends solely upon me for support, I could spare
practically all of my salary to--for--"
"Go on," said the Marchioness gently.
"In any case, I can give Eric half of my salary if it will be of any
assistance to him,--yes, a little more than half," said Jane, a warm,
lovely flush in her cheeks.
The Marchioness hastily pressed the serviette to her lips. She seemed to
be choking. It was some time before she could trust herself to say:
"Bless your heart, my dear, he wouldn't take it. Of course," she went
on, after a moment, "it would please him beyond words if you were to
suggest it to him."
"I shall do more," said Jane, resolutely. "I shall insist."
"It will tickle him almost to death," said the Marchioness, again
raising the napkin to her lips.
At twelve o'clock the next day, Trotter's voice came blithely over the
telephone.
"Are you there, darling? Lord, it seems like a century since I--"
"Listen, Eric," she broke in. "I have something very important to tell
you. Now, _do_ listen--are you there?"
"Right-o! Whisper it, dear. The telephone has a million ears. I want to
hear you say it,--oh, I've been wanting--"
"It isn't that," she said. "You know I do, Eric. But this is something
perfectly terrible."
"Oh, I say, Jane, you haven't changed your mind about--about--"
"As if I _could_," she cried. "I love you more than ever, Eric. Oh, what
a silly thing to say over the telephone. I am blushing,--I hope no one
heard--"
"Listen!" said he promptly, music in his voice. "I'm just in from the
country. I'll be down to see you about five this afternoon. Tell you all
about the trip. Lived like a lord,--homelike sort of feeling,
eh?--and--"
"I don't care to hear about it," said Jane stiffly. "Besides, you must
not come here today, Eric. It is the very worst thing you could do. He
would be sure to see you."
"He? What he?" he demanded quickly.
"I can't explain. Listen, dear. Mrs. Sparflight and I have talked it all
over and we've decided on the best thing to do."
And she poured into the puzzled young man's ear the result of prolonged
deliberations. He was to go to Bramble's Bookshop at half-past four, and
proceed at once to the workshop of M. Mirabeau upstairs. She had
explained the situation to Mr. Bramble in a letter. At five o'clock she
would join him there. In the meantime, he was to keep off of the
downtown streets as much as possible.
"In the name of heaven, what's up?" he cried for the third time,--with
variations.
"A--a detective from Scotland Yard," she replied in a voice so low and
cautious that he barely caught the words. "I--I can't say anything more
now," she went on rapidly. "Something tells me he is just outside the
door, listening to every word I utter."
"Wait!" he ordered. "A detective? Has that beastly Smith-Parvis crowd
dared to insinuate that you--that you--Oh, Lord, I can't even say it!"
"I said 'Scotland Yard,' Eric," she said. "Don't you understand?"
"No, I'm hanged if I do. But don't worry, dear. I'll be at Bramble's
and, by the lord Harry, if they're trying to put up any sort of
a--Hello! Are you there?"
There was no answer.
Needless to say, he was at Bramble's Bookshop on the minute, vastly
perturbed and eager for enlightenment.
"Don't stop down here an instant," commanded Mr. Bramble, glancing
warily at the front door. "Do as I tell you. Don't ask questions. Go
upstairs and wait,--and don't show yourself under any circumstance. Did
you happen to catch a glimpse of him anywhere outside?"
"The street is full of 'hims,'" retorted Mr. Trotter in exasperation.
"What the devil is all this about, Bramby?"
"She will be here at five. There's nothing suspicious in her coming in
to buy a book. It's all been thought out. Most natural thing in the
world that she should buy a book, don't you see? Only you must not be
buying one at the same time. Now, run along,--lively. Prince de Bosky is
with Mirabeau. And don't come down till I give you the word."
"See here, Bramble, if you let anything happen to her I'll--" Mr.
Bramble relentlessly urged him up the steps.
Long before Jane arrived, Trotter was in possession of the details. He
was vastly perplexed.
"I daresay one of those beastly cousins of mine has trumped up some
charge that he figures will put me out of the running for ever," he said
gloomily. He sat, slack and dejected, in a corner of the shop farthest
removed from the windows. "I shouldn't mind so much if it weren't for
Lady Jane. She--you see, M'sieur, she has promised to be my wife. This
will hurt her terribly. The beastly curs!"
"Sit down!" commanded M. Mirabeau. "You must not go raging up and down
past those windows."
"Confound you, Mirabeau, he doesn't know this place exists. He never
will know unless he follows Lady Jane. I'll do as I jolly well please."
De Bosky, inspired, produced a letter he had just received from his
friend, the cracksman. He had read it to the bookseller and clockmaker,
and now re-read it, with soulful fervour, for the benefit of the new
arrival. He interrupted himself to beg M. Mirabeau to unlock the safe
and bring forth the treasure.
"You see what he says?" cried he, shaking the letter in front of
Trotter's eyes. "And here is the money! See! Touch it, my friend. It is
real. I thought I was also dreaming. Count them. Begin with this one.
Now,--one hundred, two hundred--"
"I haven't the remotest idea what you're talking about," said Trotter,
staring blankly at the money.
"What a fool I am!" cried de Bosky. "I begin at the back-end of the
story. How could you know? Have you ever known such a fool as I,
Mirabeau?"
"Never," said M. Mirabeau, who had his ear cocked for sounds on the
stairway.
"And so," said the Prince, at the end of the hastily told story of the
banknotes and the man up the river, "you see how it is. He replies to my
carefully worded letter. Shall I read it again? No? But, I ask you, my
dear Trotter, how am I to carry out his instructions? Naturally he is
vague. All letters are read at the prison, I am informed. He says: 'And
anything you may have come acrosst among my effects is so piffling that
I hereby instructs you to burn it up, sos I won't have to be bothered
with it when I come out, which ain't fer some time yet, and when I do
get out I certainly am not coming to New York, anyhow. I am going west
and start all over again. A feller has got a better chance out there.'
That is all he has to say about this money, Trotter. I cannot burn it.
What am I to do?"
Trotter had an inspiration.
"Put it into American Tobacco," he said.
De Bosky stared. "Tobacco?"
"Simplest way in the world to obey instructions. The easiest way to burn
money is to convert it into tobacco. Slip down to Wall Street tomorrow
and invest every cent of this money in American Tobacco, register the
stock in the name of Henry Loveless and put it away for him. Save out
enough for a round-trip ticket to Sing Sing, and run up there some day
and tell him what you've done."
"By Jove!" exclaimed de Bosky, his eyes dancing. "But," he added,
doubtfully, "what am I to do if he doesn't approve?"
"Tell him put it in his pipe and smoke it," said the resourceful Mr.
Trotter.
"You know," said the other admiringly, "I have never been one of those
misguided persons who claim that the English have no sense of humour.
I--"
"Sh!" warned M. Mirabeau from the top of the steps. And then, like a
true Frenchman, he bustled de Bosky out of the shop ahead of him and
closed the door, leaving Trotter alone among the ticking clocks.
Jane came swiftly up the steps, hurrying as if pursued. Mr. Bramble was
pledging something, in a squeaky undertone, from the store below.
"He may not have followed me," Jane called back in guarded tones, "but
if he has, Mr. Bramble, you must be sure to throw him off the trail."
"Trust me,--trust me implicitly," came in a strangled sort of voice from
the faithful ex-tutor.
"Oh,--Eric, dearest! How you startled me!" cried Lady Jane a moment
later. She gasped the words, for she was almost smothered in the arms of
her lover.
"Forgive me," he murmured, without releasing her,--an oversight which
she apparently had no immediate intention of resenting.
A little later on, she suddenly drew away from him, with a quick,
embarrassed glance around the noisy little shop. He laughed.
"We are quite alone, Jane dear,--unless you count the clocks. They're
all looking at us, but they never tell anything more than the time of
day. And now, dear, what is this beastly business?"
She closed the door to the stairway, very cautiously, and then came back
to him. The frown deepened in his eyes as he listened to the story she
told.
"But why should I go into hiding?" he exclaimed, as she stopped to get
her breath. "I haven't done anything wrong. What if they have trumped up
some rotten charge against me? All the more reason why I should stand
out and defend--"
"But, dear, Scotland Yard is such a dreadful place," she cried,
blanching. "They--"
"Rubbish! I'm not afraid of Scotland Yard."
"You--you're not?" she gasped, blankly. "But, Eric dear, you _must_ be
afraid of Scotland Yard. You don't know what you are saying."
"Oh, yes, I do. And as for this chap they've sent after me,--where is
he? In two seconds I can tell him what's what. He'll go humping back to
London--"
"I knew you would say something like that," she declared, greatly
perturbed. "But I sha'n't let you. Do you hear, Eric? I sha'n't let you.
You _must_ hide. You must go away from New York,--tonight."
"And leave you?" he scoffed. "What can you be thinking of, darling? Am
I--Sit down, dear,--here beside me. You are frightened. That infernal
brute has scared you almost out of--"
"I _am_ frightened,--terribly frightened. So is the Marchioness,--and
Mr. Bramble." She sat beside him on the bench. He took her cold hands in
his own and pressed them gently, encouragingly. His eyes were very soft
and tender.
"Poor little girl!" For a long time he sat there looking at her white,
averted face. A slow smile slowly struggled to the corners of his mouth.
"I can't afford to run away," he said at last. "I've just got to stick
by my job. It means a lot to me now, Jane dear."
She looked up quickly, her face clearing.
"I love you, Eric. I know you are innocent of anything they may charge
you with. I _know_ it. And I would give all I have in the world to help
you in your hour of trouble. Listen, dear. I want you to accept this in
the right spirit. Don't let pride stand in the way. It is really
something I want to do,--something that will make me--oh, so happy, if
you will just let me do it. I am earning five guineas a week. It is more
than I need. Now, dear, just for a little while,--until you have found
another place in some city far away from New York,--you must let me
share my--What is there to laugh at, Eric?" she cried in a hurt voice.
He grew sober at once.
"I'm--I'm sorry," he said. "Thank you,--and God bless you, Jane. It's
fine. You're a brick. But,--but I can't accept it. Please don't say
anything more about it, dear. I just _can't_,--that's all."
"Oh, dear," she sighed. "And--and you refuse to go away? You will not
escape while there is yet--"
"See here, dear," he began, his jaw setting, "I am not underrating the
seriousness of this affair. They may have put up a beast of a job on me.
They fixed it so that I hadn't a chance three years ago. Perhaps they've
decided to finish the job and have done with me for ever. I don't put it
above them, curse them. Here's the story in a nutshell. I have two
cousins in the Army, sons of my mother's sisters. They're a pair of
rotters. It was they who hatched up the scheme to disgrace me in the
service,--and, by gad, they did it to the queen's taste. I had to get
out. There wasn't a chance for me to square myself. I--I sha'n't go into
that, dear. You'll understand why. It--it hurts. Cheating at cards.
That's enough, isn't it? Well, they got me. My grandfather and I--he is
theirs as well as mine,--we never hit it off very well at best. My
mother married Lord Temple. Grandfather was opposed to the match. Her
sisters did everything in their power to widen the breach that followed
the marriage. It may make it easier for you to understand when I remind
you that my grandfather is one of the wealthiest peers in England.
"Odd things happen in life. When my father died, I went to Fenlew Hall
with my mother to live. Grandfather's heart had softened a little, you
see. I was Lord Eric Temple before I was six years old. My mother died
when I was ten. For fifteen years I lived on with Lord Fenlew, and,
while we rowed a good deal,--he is a crotchety old tyrant, bless
him!--he undoubtedly preferred me to either of my cousins. God bless him
for that! He showed his good sense, if I do say it who shouldn't.
"So they set to work. That's why I am here,--without going into details.
That's why I am out of the Army. And I loved the Army, Jane,--God bless
it! I used to pray for another war, horrible as it may sound, so that I
could go out and fight for England as those lads did who went down to
the bottom of Africa. I would cry myself to sleep because I was so young
then, and so useless. I am not ashamed of the tears you see in my eyes
now. You can't understand what it means to me, Jane."
He drew a deep breath, cleared his throat, and then went on.
"Lord Fenlew turned me out,--disowned me. Don't blame the old boy. They
made out a good enough case against me. I was given the choice of
resigning from the regiment or--well, the other thing. My father was
practically penniless when he died. I had nothing of my own. It was up
to me to earn an honest living,--or go to the devil. I thought I'd try
out the former first. One can always go to the devil, you know. So off
into the far places of the earth I wandered,--and I've steered pretty
clear of the devil up to date.
"It's easy to earn a living, dear, if you just half try.
"And now for this new complication. For the three years that I have been
away from England, not a single word have I sent home. I daresay they
know that I am alive, and that I'll turn up some day like the bad penny.
I was named in my grandfather's will. He once told me he intended to
leave the bulk of the unentailed property to me,--not because he loved
me well but because he loved my two cousins not at all. For all I know,
he may never have altered his will. In that case, I still remain the
chief legatee and a source of tremendous uneasiness to my precious aunts
and their blackguard sons. It is possible, even probable, that they have
decided the safest place to have me is behind the bars,--at least until
Lord Fenlew has changed his will for the last time and lies securely in
the family vault. I can think of no other explanation for the action of
Scotland Yard. But, don't worry, dear. I haven't done anything wrong,
and they can't stow me away in--"
"The beasts!" cried Jane, furiously.
He stroked her clenched fingers.
"I wouldn't call 'em names, dear," he protested. "They're honest
fellows, and simply doing--"
"They are the most despicable wretches on earth."
"You must be referring to my cousins. I thought--"
"Now, Eric," she broke in firmly, "I sha'n't let you give yourself up.
You owe something to me. I love you with all my soul. If they were to
take you back to London and--and put you in prison,--I'd--I'd die. I
could not endure--" She suddenly broke down and, burying her face on his
shoulder, sobbed chokingly.
He was deeply distressed.
"Oh, I say, dearest, don't--don't go under like this. I--I can't stand
it. Don't cry, darling. It breaks my heart to see you--"
"I--I can't help it," she sobbed. "Give--give me a little--time. I'll be
all right in a--minute."
He whispered consolingly: "That's right. Take your time, dear. I never
dreamed you cared so much."
She looked up quickly, her eyes flashing through the tears.
"And do you care less for me, now that you see what a weak, silly--"
"Good Lord, no! I adore you more than ever. I--
Who's there?"
M. Mirabeau, coughing considerately, was rattling the latch of the door
that separated the shop from the store-room beyond. A moment later he
opened the door slowly and stuck his head through the aperture. Then,
satisfied that his warning cough had been properly received, he entered
the shop. The lovers were sitting bolt upright and some distance apart.
Lady Jane was arranging a hat that had been somehow forgotten up to that
instant.
"A thousand pardons," said the old Frenchman, his voice lowered. "We
must act at once. Follow me,--quickly, but as quietly as possible. He is
downstairs. I have listened from the top of the steps. Poor old Bramble
is doing his best to divert him. I have just this instant heard the
villain announce that his watch needs looking into, and from that I draw
a conclusion. He will come to my shop in spite of all that Bramble can
do. Come! I know the way to safety."
"But I'm not going to hide," began Trotter.
Jane seized his arm and dragged him toward the door.
"Yes, you are," she whispered fiercely. "You belong to me, Eric Temple.
I shall do what I like with you. Don't be mulish, dear. I sha'n't leave
you,--not for anything in the world."
"Bravo!" whispered M. Mirabeau.
Swiftly they stole through the door and past the landing. Scraps of
conversation from below reached their ears. Jane's clutch tightened on
her lover's arm. She recognized the voice of Mr. Alfred Chambers.
"De Bosky will do the rest," whispered the clockmaker, as they were
joined by the musician at the far end of the stock-room. "I must return
to the shop. He will suspect at once if I am not at work when he
appears,--for appear he will, you may be sure."
He was gone in a second. De Bosky led them into the adjoining room and
pointed to a tall step-ladder over in the corner. A trap-door in the
ceiling was open, and blackness loomed beyond.
"Go up!" commanded the agitated musician, addressing Trotter. "It is an
air-chamber. Don't break your head on the rafters. Follow close behind,
Lady Jane. I will hold the ladder. Close the trap after you,--and do not
make a sound after you are once up there. This is the jolliest moment of
my life! I was never so thrilled. It is beautiful! It is ravishing! Sh!
Don't utter a word, I command you! We will foil him,--we will foil old
Scotland Yard. Be quick! Splendid! You are wonderful, Mademoiselle. Such
courage,--such grace,--such--Sh! I take the ladder away! Ha, he will
never suspect. He--"
"But how the deuce are we to get down from here?" groaned Trotter in a
penetrating whisper from aloft.
"You can't get down,--but as he can't get up, why bother your head about
that? Close the trap!"
"Oh-h!" shuddered Jane, in an ecstasy of excitement. She was kneeling
behind her companion, peering down through the square little opening
into which he had drawn her a moment before.
Trotter cautiously lowered the trap-door,--and they were in Stygian
darkness. She repeated the exclamation, but this time it was a sharp,
quick gasp of dismay.
For a long time they were silent, listening for sounds from below. At
last he arose to his feet. His head came in contact with something
solid. A smothered groan escaped his lips.
"Good Lord!--
Be careful, dear! There's not more than four feet
head-room. Sit still till I find a match."
"Are you hurt? What a dreadful bump it was. I wonder if he could have
heard?"
"They heard it in heaven," he replied, feeling his head.
"How dark it is," she shuddered. "Don't you dare move an inch from my
side, Eric. I'll scream."
He laughed softly. "By Jove, it's rather a jolly lark, after all. A
wonderful place this is for sweethearts." He dropped down beside her.
After a time, she whispered: "You mentioned a match, Eric."
"So I did," said he, and proceeded to go through the pocket in which he
was accustomed to carry matches. "Thunderation! The box is empty."
She was silent for a moment. "I really don't mind, dear."
"I remember saying this morning that I never have any luck on Friday,"
said he resignedly. "But," he added, a happy note in his voice, "I never
dreamed there was such luck as this in store for me."