BEATRICE BRUNSWICK'S PLOT
The chauffeur to whom the order was given that the taxicab be driven
to the Church of the Transfiguration, proved to be an adept and
skillful driver; one of those who can exceed the speed limit and then
slow down his machine so quickly and quietly at the sight of a
bluecoat that he inevitably escapes arrest for his transgression. As
a consequence, there was very little time for conversation between
these two apparently mad young persons during the journey between the
opera-house and the church.
Little as there was, the greater part of it was passed in silence. But
when they were quite near to their destination, Beatrice spoke up
quickly and rather sharply to her companion.
"Roderick, have you for a moment supposed that I have taken you
seriously in this mad proposition you have made to me, to-night?" she
demanded. "Surely, you don't think that, do you?"
Duncan stared at her, speechless. Then, with a vehemence that can
better be imagined than described he exclaimed, half-angrily,
half-resentfully:
"Then, in God's name, Beatrice, why are we here? and why should we go
to the church at all?"
"Were you serious about it?" she asked.
"I certainly was--and am, now!"
"Foolish boy!" she exclaimed, laughing with nervous apprehension. What
more she might have said on this point was interrupted by the skidding
of the taxicab as they were whirled around the corner of Twenty-ninth
street.
"Why, in heaven's name, are we here, then?" he demanded, just as they
were drawn swiftly to the curb, and the cab came to a stop in front of
the church.
"You requested my help, did you not?" she replied.
"I certainly did."
The chauffeur, in the meantime, had leaped to the pavement and thrown
open the door of the cab.
"You may close the door again, chauffeur, and wait where you are for
further orders," Beatrice told him, calmly. And when that was done,
she again addressed her companion. "You have called me a 'good fellow'
to-night," she said slowly, with quiet distinctness, "and I mean to
be one. I have always meant to be one, and to a great extent I think I
have succeeded. But I would have to be a much better fellow than I am
to go to the extent of marrying a man who does not love me, and who
does love another, simply to help him out of a mess in which his own
stupidity has involved him. Wouldn't I? Ask yourself the question!"
Duncan shrugged his shoulders and parted his lips to reply, but she
went on rapidly:
"That is asking me to go rather farther than I would care to venture,
my friend; or you, either, if you should stop to think about it. Your
proposition is utterly a selfish one. You must know that. You have
thought only of yourself and the mess you are in. You do not consider
me at all. You would cheerfully use me as a means of venting your
spite--or shall I call it, temper?--against Patricia. For the moment,
you are intensely angry at her. Not only that, you feel that you have
been out-done, at every point. That she has acted unreasonably, I will
not deny. But what a silly thing it would be for you and me to stand
together at the altar, and pledge ourselves to each other for life, or
until such time as the divorce-courts might intervene, just because of
the events of to-day!" She was smiling upon him now, as if he were,
indeed, a foolish boy who needed chiding.
Duncan pulled himself together. For the first time since their exit
from the opera-house, and for perhaps the first time since the moment
when Patricia discovered him in the private office of her father, he
was capable of acting and thinking quite naturally.
"Beatrice," he said, "if the sentiments you have just expressed are
the same as those you felt before you left the box at the opera-house,
would you mind telling me why in the world you have acted as you have
done? Why, in the name of all that's phenomenal and strange, are we
here?"
She turned her head away from him, and peered through the glass door
at the chauffeur, who was striding slowly up and down the pavement
outside, and who had taken the opportunity to indulge himself in a
smoke.
"I did it," she said, "because I thought I saw a way to help you and
Patricia out of your difficulties. I saw that we could leave the box
without her knowledge, and believed that neither she nor her
companions would discover our departure for some time afterward. I
remembered just then that Patricia had witnessed the tender and
somewhat touching scene in the box between you and me. My goodness,
Roderick! I hope you didn't think that I meant _that_! It was all done
for Patricia's benefit, you goose! Didn't you know that? Did you
suppose that I had suddenly fallen head over heels in love with you?
You're not very complimentary, are you? Or is it that you were
throwing bouquets at yourself?"
"Will you tell me why you did it?" he asked, flushing hotly under the
jibe.
"Because I wished Patricia to see it."
"Why?"
"I thought it might bring her to her senses."
"How, Beatrice?"
"Jealousy, you dunce!"
"But why the rest of your superb play-acting?"
"It all works out toward the same end. Don't you suppose that Patricia
is in hot water, by this time? When she realized that we had sneaked
away, to put it plainly, don't you think she would put two and two
together, and make four out of it?"
"It strikes me," he interrupted her, with a light laugh, "that this is
a case where two are supposed to make one."
"We won't joke about it, if you please. Still, that isn't a bad idea.
But, at all events, I wish Patricia to believe that we left the
opera-house because, for the moment at least, you preferred my society
to hers. If we can convince her that we ran away to be married, so
much the better!"
"You are deeper than I am, Bee. I confess that you've got me up a
tree. I haven't the least idea what you are driving at, but I am quite
willing to be taught. What is to be the next play in this little game
of yours?"
"You need not be nasty about it, when I'm trying to help you," she
retorted.
"What's the next move, Bee? I couldn't induce you to give me another
hug, could I? There, now--don't get angry. I liked it, whether you
did, or not. You put a lot of ginger into it, too. Oh, yes, I liked
it!"
For a moment, it seemed as if she would resent his bantering tone;
then she shrugged her shoulders, and smiled.
"I did it to help you--to make Patricia jealous." She laughed lightly,
still keeping her face turned away from him. "I saw the curtains part,
and recognized Patricia. With the recognition, there came also a
revelation as to how I could best help you both. If I had dreamed that
you would suppose for a moment I was in earnest, do you think I would
have done it? And when I told you that I would come here, to this
church, and would marry you like this--good heavens!--did you flatter
yourself I meant _that_?"
"Of course, I did."
"Are you in earnest, Roderick Duncan? If I thought your selfishness,
your egotism, was as great as that, I--I don't know what I'd do! Have
you so little regard for me that you think I would become your wife,
in this manner, knowing as I do that you love another--and when that
other is my best friend--when I know that Patricia Langdon loves you?
For I do know it. Do you--did you think that of me--did you think that
of me?" She was a-tremble with indignation, now.
"By Jove, Bee, I acted like a brute, didn't I? I didn't consider you;
I was selfish enough to think of no one but myself. But, all the same,
my girl, I was in dead earnest. If you've got the pluck and the spirit
to go through with it, now, we'll see the thing out, side by side,
just as we started, and I will make you, perhaps, a better husband
than if the circumstances were different. You say that Patricia loves
me: I doubt it. I thought so once, but I don't now. It doesn't matter,
anyhow. I shall ask you again calmly, with all humility and respect;
with all seriousness, too: will you be my wife, and will you marry me,
now?"
"I will reply with equal seriousness, Roderick," she retorted,
mockingly. "No."
He uttered a sigh, and there was so much satisfied relief in it that
she laughed aloud, but without bitterness.
"Then, what shall we do? Sit here in this cab, in front of the Church
of the Transfiguration, for the balance of the night? Or shall we go
around to Delmonico's and have some supper?" he asked her.
"I think that last suggestion of yours is a very excellent one," she
replied, naively. "But we will wait yet a few moments before we start.
We haven't been at the Church of the Transfiguration quite long enough
to have been married, and to have come out of it again."
Duncan stared at her. Then, slowly, a smile lighted up his eyes and
relaxed the lines of his face, so that after a moment he chuckled.
Presently, he laughed.
"By Jove, Bee, you're a corker!" he said. "You can give me cards and
spades, and beat me hands down, when it comes to a matter of finesse.
Is it your idea to play out the other part of the game? What will it
avail, if we do?"
"Never mind that," she replied. "In order to carry out the scheme, and
to make it work itself out, as it should, one thing more is necessary.
It will be great fun, too--if we don't carry it too far."
"What is that?" he asked her. "What more is necessary?"
"I want you to tell the chauffeur to stop for a moment at the
side-entrance to the Hotel Breslin; there I wish you to leave me alone
in the cab, while you go inside, and telephone to the opera-house, to
have Jack Gardner and his wife meet us as soon as they can, at
Delmonico's for supper. You may not have noticed, but they occupied
their box, which is directly opposite the Langdon's. One of the ushers
will carry the message to him, and Jack will come, if he has no
previous engagement."
"But what in the name of--what in the world do you want of Jack
Gardner and his wife? what have they to do with it?"
"I want them to take supper with us, that is all; and then I want a
few moments' conversation with Jack, while you talk with Sally."
They were driven to the Breslin, and the telephone-message was sent.
Duncan waited for a reply, and received one, to the effect that Mr.
and Mrs. Gardner would come at once. And so, not long afterward, the
four occupied a conspicuous table of Beatrice's selection, at the
famous restaurant.
Recalling the injunction put upon him to occupy himself with Sally
Gardner, Duncan began to get a glimmer of understanding regarding the
plot that Beatrice had concocted. He, therefore, gave all of his
attention to the spirited and charming wife of the young copper-king.
Jack Gardner was everybody's friend. He loved a joke better than
anyone else in the world, and a practical joke better than any other
kind. He was especially fond of Roderick Duncan, and both he and his
wife were intimate friends of Beatrice. Duncan noticed, while talking
with Sally, that Jack and Beatrice had drawn their chairs more closely
together, toward a corner of the table, and were now whispering
together with low-toned eagerness. He could hear no word of what
Beatrice said, but an occasional exclamation of Gardner's came to him.
He saw that Beatrice was talking rapidly, with intense earnestness,
and that Gardner seemed to be highly amused, even elated, by what she
was saying. Such expressions as, "By Jove, that's the best, ever!"
"Sure, I can do it!" and, "You just leave it to me!" came to his
ears, from Gardner; and presently the latter excused himself and left
the table.
If they had followed him, they would have seen that he went to the
telephone, where he called up several numbers before he obtained the
person he sought; but he presently returned, apparently in the best of
spirits, and with intense satisfaction written upon every line of his
smiling features.
As he seated himself at the table, other guests were just assuming
places at another one, quite near to them, and he bent forward toward
Beatrice, saying in a tone which their companion could not hear:
"I say, Beatrice, it's all working out to the queen's taste! When you
get a chance, look over your left shoulder. Gee! but this is funny!
All the same, though, I expect I'll get myself into a very devil of a
stew. When that reporter discovers that I've given him an out-and-out
fake, he'll go gunning for me as sure as you are alive."
"Is he coming here to see you?" she asked him.
"Sure. He will be here in about twenty minutes."
"Now, tell me who it is at the table behind me. I don't care to look
around, to discover for myself."
"Why, Old Steve and his Juno; and they've got Malcolm Melvin with
them." He leaned back in his chair, and laughed; then, he emptied the
champagne-glass he had been playing with. Presently, he chuckled
again.
"Tell you what, Beatrice," he said, in an undertone, "I almost wish
that you had taken Duncan at his word, and married him. You should
have called that bluff. Sure thing! Think of the millions he's got,
and--"
"Hush!"
"Oh, all right. All the same--"
"Hush, I tell you! Don't you see that Sally is trying to talk to you?"
After that, the conversation became general among the four. During it,
Jack Gardner sought and found an opportunity to wave a greeting to the
late arrivals, whose names he had just mentioned to Beatrice. Duncan,
observing him, glanced also in that direction, and, meeting Patricia's
eyes fixed directly upon him, flushed hotly as he, also, bowed to her.
Then, Sally and Beatrice turned their heads and nodded, as another
course of the service was placed upon the table before them.
It was not yet finished when the head-waiter brought a card to Jack
Gardner, who instantly left his seat for the second time that evening,
and, with a curt, "I'll be back in a moment," departed, without
further excuse. The person whose card he had received, was awaiting
him in one of the reception-rooms; and the two shook hands cordially,
for they were old acquaintances and on excellent terms with each
other. It was not the first time they had got their heads together
concerning matters for publication, although, in this instance, the
newspaper man was to be made a wholly innocent party in the affair.
Burke Radnor was a newspaper man of prominence in New York. He was one
of the few men of his profession who have succeeded in attaining
sufficient distinction to establish themselves independently, and his
"stories" were eagerly sought by all of the great dailies.
The two seated themselves in a corner of the room, and talked together
earnestly, although in whispers, for a considerable time. It was
Gardner who did most of the talking; Radnor only occasionally
interjected a questioning remark. When they parted, it was with a
hearty hand-clasp, and this remark from Radnor:
"I'll fix it up all right, old man; don't you worry. Nobody shall know
that I got the story from you. But it is a jim dandy, and no mistake!"
"Which of the papers will you use it in, do you think?" asked
Gardner.
"I am not sure as to that. To the one that will pay the best price for
a first-class 'beat,' for that's what it is. Anyhow, that part of it
is none of your business. Now that I've got the story, I shall handle
it as I think best, and you can bet your sweet life it will be used
for all it's worth!"
Gardner returned to the dining-room, with vague misgivings concerning
what he had done; his smile was a bit less self-satisfied. Radnor,
apparently, left the building. But the shrewd news-gatherer went no
farther than the entrance, where he wheeled about and returned; and
this time he sent his card to Roderick Duncan. Having "nailed the
story," the proper thing now was to obtain an interview with one of
the principals concerned in it; with both, if possible.
Duncan received the card, wonderingly. He knew Radnor, and liked him;
but he could not imagine what the newspaper man could want with him at
that particular time. The truth about it, did not even vaguely occur
to him.
Excusing himself, he left the table and presently found Radnor in the
same room where the recent interview with Jack Gardner had taken
place.
"Hello, Radnor," said Duncan, cordially, extending his hand. "There
must be something doing when you call me away from a supper table, at
Del's. Make it as brief as possible--won't you?--because I am dining,
and--"
"Oh, I won't keep you but a moment, Mr. Duncan," was the quick reply.
"I just want to ask you a question or two about the interesting
ceremony that took place this evening--that is all."
"Eh? What's that? Ceremony? What the devil are you talking about?"
"Look here, Mr. Duncan, you know perfectly well that I am your friend,
and that I'll use you as handsomely as possible in the columns of any
paper that gets this story. But I've got the straight tip, and I know
what I am talking about. I thought, possibly, you might wish to say a
few words in explanation--just to tone the thing down, to give it the
mark of authenticity, you know. I thought you'd like to be quoted, and
to know, from me, that the story'll be all right. On the level, now,
isn't that better?"
Duncan laughed. He did not in the least understand. He had the idea
that Radnor had been drinking.
"Burke," he said; "upon my life, this is the first time I ever saw you
when you had taken too much to drink."
"Is that the way you are going to reply to me?" asked Radnor, with all
the insistence of a thoroughly trained newspaper man. "You'd best use
me right, you know. It's a great 'beat,' and I want all of it. I'd
like to talk with the bride, too, if you can fix--"
"But I don't know what the blazes you are talking about, man."
"I am talking about the little ceremony that took place this evening
at the Little Church Around the Corner, and was indulged in between
you and the former Miss Brunswick; as a sort of _entr'acte_ to the
opera of Salome," said Radnor, with slow distinctness.
Duncan stiffened where he stood. The smile left his face, and his eyes
narrowed, while his clean-cut features seemed to harden in every line
of them.
"Radnor," he said with a slow drawl, which to those who knew him best
betrayed intense anger, "you will be good enough to explain to me,
here and now, in plain English and in as few words as possible,
exactly what you mean."
"I mean," was the ready retort, "that you and Miss Beatrice Brunswick
were married to-night at the Little Church Around the Corner, between
two of the acts of Salome. I mean that I've got the straight tip, and
I know it to be true. I wish to quote you, if possible, in what I
shall write about it for the morning papers. I'd like to get a
statement from the bride, too."
"Are you crazy, Radnor?" asked Duncan, bending forward, his face white
and set, and his eyes hard and cold; for Roderick Duncan, with all his
apparent quietude, was a man whom it was not safe to try too far.
"No, I'm not crazy. I'm just telling you what's what. I'll get the
whole story, and what's more, I'll print it in the morning papers! If
you wish to say anything in explanation of the incident, I shall be
glad to quote you; but, otherwise, I shall take the liberty of drawing
my own inferences, and assuming my own conclusions, from the story I
have heard. I tell you, Mr. Duncan, I've got it straight, and I know
it to be true."
"It is not true," said Duncan, quietly. "The person who told you such
a story as that lied."
Radnor shrugged his shoulders, and laughed, ironically.
"I don't know that I blame you for denying it," he said, "but I happen
to know differently. If you choose to deny it, I'll send my card
inside to Mrs. Duncan, and we'll see, then, what we shall see. You
can't bluff me, Mr. Duncan. I'm not that sort. If you won't talk,
perhaps the former Miss Brunswick, will, and--"
Radnor got no further than that. Duncan's rage, the moment he
understood the situation and fully realized the possible consequences
of it in the hands of this ubiquitous newspaper man, overcame him,
utterly. His right arm shot out with terrific force, his clenched fist
caught Radnor squarely on the point of the chin, and the latter was
knocked half-senseless to the floor. Waiters, and attendants about the
place rushed toward them; but Duncan slowly drew a handkerchief from
one of his pockets, and, calmly wiping his hands upon it, said to the
manager:
"Kick the dog into the street; that is what he deserves. He probably
followed me when I came away from the opera-house, and now he is
trying to make capital out of a meaningless incident. Put him out, and
don't permit him to pass the door again to-night; otherwise, he will
seek to annoy a lady who is here."
Then, he turned calmly about, and, although his features were still
pale, reentered the dining-room as if nothing had happened. Duncan
confidently believed that he had correctly estimated the cause of
Radnor's quest for news. It never occurred to him that Beatrice
Brunswick was herself, through the agency of Jack Gardner, the cause
of it.