"I believe I once remarked to you, Mrs. Peter V., that I needed you,"
said Flomerfelt, his fingers stealthily groping into the depth of his
sleeves for his cuffs, and when they were arranged to his satisfaction,
he added: "to manage Peter V. It seems that I was mistaken."
"And you don't need me?" asked Mrs. Wilkinson anxiously. For the lady
feared Flomerfelt, and realised that he was a dangerous man. In some
way or other she considered him responsible for the attempt on her
husband's life, which ended in the killing of Roy Pallister. She had
never lost confidence in Flomerfelt's ability to win the battle that
he and she were waging against her husband. There had been a time, it
must be acknowledged, when she had looked up to and admired Wilkinson,
but that feeling had long since passed off and had been replaced by one
of tolerance and fear. Now she despised the man--despised him the more
because she believed that Flomerfelt would circumvent him. A poor judge
of character, as she was--a woman whose only end and aim in life was
to feed her own desires--she saw nothing save unsuccessful clumsiness
in Wilkinson's move at this time, and had naught but admiration for
Flomerfelt's promised finesse.
"You do need me?" she asked, taking refuge in tears. And she was
rewarded by a sudden half-reluctant change in his manner, for he said
soothingly:
"I suppose I do, but not as far as your husband is concerned. Peter V.,
in or out of prison, is sewed up, done up; he's in our hands. Our fight
is with a woman." And even before the last word was spoken he noted
that she seemed to be impressing upon herself the possibility of such a
contingency. "I suppose you know," he went on, "did Peter V. tell you
that Leslie had refused Governor Beekman?"
"The girl's a fool!" exclaimed her step-mother. "If she halts at
marrying a governor--I'd marry Beekman--I'd marry any governor in the
land! I've been all wrong in thinking that money will do everything in
New York! A millionaire's wife is nobody, unless.... Now if I were a
statesman's wife, they'd have to recognise me--I'd show them!"
"You don't suppose that she wants _me_, do you?" Flomerfelt said,
putting into his voice as much tenderness as he dared.
Mrs. Peter V. shook her head, laughing scornfully in spite of herself.
"Some day, perhaps, we can make her like you, when I'm through liking
you myself," she replied.
"You?" scowled Flomerfelt.
The woman shivered at his tone.
"What reason does she give?" she asked, wisely changing the subject.
Then Flomerfelt went on to explain with a grim smile what he thought of
the deep-laid plans of Colonel Morehead, the schemes of Wilkinson and
how they had all gone for naught, ending with:
"She's a born fighter, that Leslie, and it's she that we're up against,
and not Wilkinson. Now the sooner Peter V. wins his fight, the better
for us; but this minx is blocking him, though I admire her for it, I
must say."
"We'll make her marry Beekman," declared Mrs. Peter V.
The woman's confidence in her own powers brought a sarcastic smile to
his lips.
"It isn't a part of my game that she shall marry him," he argued. "The
essential thing is that she shall engage herself to him. I say that she
will never marry him."
"But Beekman can't be put out of the way as easily as----"
"There has been too much blundering already," said Flomerfelt,
gloatingly, for the look of fear in her eyes had not escaped him. For
a moment that seemed minutes they were silent. Finally Flomerfelt
announced: "The long and short of it is that I don't intend that this
Beekman shall marry her, and you've got to help me."
"Of course," said the lady, rejoicing that at last her services would
be brought into play. "But how? What would you suggest?"
" ... That you go and see him secretly," he told her, and then
proceeded to unfold his plan of what she should say to him.
"You'll go now?" he asked, observing the readiness in which she lent
herself to his scheme, "and I'll go with you, that is, part way."
And in no way concerned as to the outcome of her dishonourable
action--so confident was she of Flomerfelt's ability to carry out any
project that he might undertake--Mrs. Peter V., without the slightest
compunction, swept out of the room to make ready for their little
excursion to Beekman's apartments. In a surprisingly short space of
time she came back arrayed in a long fur motor-coat and a hat perched
upon her head with a rakishness that she thought quite smart, but
which, in reality, had not the remotest chance of success unless worn
by a very young and pretty girl. And notwithstanding the fact that
her eyes were over-bright, as were her cheeks, there was no lack
of self-satisfaction in the manner in which she carried herself as
together they passed out through the entrance door, stepped into her
limousine, and were off.
But scarcely had the limousine passed out of sight of the house than
Jeffries was summoned to the door once more.
"It's Mr. Beekman back again, Miss Leslie," were the words with which
the butler interrupted Wilkinson's insistence that Leslie should listen
to his final command; "and he says that he must see you at once."
Wilkinson's eyes gleamed as he snapped out:
"See him again, Leslie, and patch things up. Mind you, if you don't
take him, I'll drag you to him and make you."
Frightened lest he should see Beekman before she saw him herself, for
she realised that her father was desperate for some unknown reason and
quite capable of carrying out his threat, Leslie swept on past Jeffries
and into the room where Beekman was waiting, his eyes bright with a new
hope.
"Idiot that I was, Leslie," he began breathlessly, "I was half way home
before I came to my senses. Then in a flash I saw it all--no, you can't
fool me this time. The whole trouble is your father's troubles. Come,
confess!"
"But I've already confessed," she said. And so she had, though not in
the way she intended, for her eyes told the story.
It was, therefore, with no uncertain tread, but rather with a sudden
warmth and force that seemed to take possession of him, body and soul,
that he continued:
"Look here, little one, this is a matter between you and me and no
one else. You must consider no one, but remember only that I represent
to you the one man in all the world for you, as you stand for the only
woman in the world for me: for I love you, Leslie, and I know that you
love me."
There had been times when Eliot Beekman had stood before and pleaded
with reluctant juries and judges whose faces were dead set against
him, but his task then had been nothing compared with the one now. And
yet so well did he plead his case, that when he had finished it was as
he had told her: she forgot her father's sentence, forgot everything,
except that she loved him, and that he was the one man in all the world
for her.
"I believe you," she confessed to him in a whisper; "I believe you are
right. Would to heaven that you had given me the chance to say this to
you months ago."
"You've loved me all the time?" he asked, his pulse beating fast.
"Yes," she answered, "and I knew that you loved me."
The next instant he had brought out the ring which she had refused to
accept, a little while before, and holding out her hand impulsively
Leslie let him put it on.
There was a pause in which she looked first at the ring and then at the
man before her, the meaning of it all slowly dawning upon her. And
then in some sudden outburst of rapture she let herself be held in his
arms as their lips met in one long kiss. In that moment her heart went
out to him, and she knew that there could never be anyone else for her.
After a time she gently drew herself away from him, and said:
"My senses are coming back, Eliot, and this surrender is only on one
condition, which is that there shall be no--no wedding--until, until
father is cleared.... Of course, if you will not consent to this," and
she toyed with the gem that sparkled on her finger, "then----"
"Hold on there, hold on!" cried Beekman. "I'll consent to anything so
long as you're mine...."
"All over, is it, Eliot?" came in a big voice from somewhere behind
them.
The pair of lovers sprang apart like two persons caught in the act of
concocting some conspiracy. The interloper was the girl's father.
"I thought," went on Wilkinson, more gently now, "that I'd drop in
before the news went over the wire. Leslie's been opening up her heart
to me--letting me in on her troubles, and I agree with her, though it's
your own affair, of course. I'd keep the engagement quiet, for the
present."
"That is precisely what I want; in fact I insist upon it," said Leslie,
tugging at the ring on her finger.
Beekman watched her struggles in alarm.
"I consent to anything, just so long as I am sure you're mine, that you
belong to me," he repeated.
Wilkinson held out his hand, saying:
"I'll make myself scarce and let you make sure in your own way that
she does belong to you, Governor Beekman. Clinch the bargain, my boy;
strike while the iron's hot; make hay while the sun shines."
A moment more and Wilkinson had ambled off to smoke another black cigar
and to pat himself upon the back, while the happy pair, heedful of his
advice, in the dim light of the music-room proceeded to make hay while
the sun shone, even though without the November storm raged above the
Hudson.
It was a night to be marked with a white stone for them, a happy memory
in the days to come. For the time was not far distant when the sun for
them would cease to shine, when the storm was to rage within these two
as it now raged without the big house on the Drive.