Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: He went without a backward glance . . . and I knew what
the parting meant to him.]
JACQUELINE OF GOLDEN RIVER
BY
H. M. EGBERT
FRONTISPIECE
BY
RALPH PALLEN COLEMAN
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
GARDEN CITY ---------- NEW YORK
1920
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF
TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES
INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY
CONTENTS
I. A DOG AND A DAMSEL
II. BACK IN THE ROOM
III. COVERING THE TRACKS
IV. SIMON LEROUX
V. M. LE CURÉ
VI. AT THE FOOT OF THE CLIFF
VII. CAPTAIN DUBOIS
VIII. DREAMS OF THE NIGHT
IX. THE FUNGUS
X. SNOW BLINDNESS
XI. THE CHÂTEAU
XII. UNDER THE MOUNTAINS
XIII. THE ROULETTE-WHEEL
XIV. SOME PLAIN SPEAKING
XV. WON--AND LOST
XVI. THE OLD ANGEL
XVII. LOUIS D'EPERNAY
XVIII. THE LITTLE DAGGER
XIX. THE HIDDEN CHAMBER
XX. AT SWORDS' POINTS
XXI. THE BAIT THAT LURED
XXII. SURRENDER
XXIII. LEROUX'S DIABLE
XXIV. FULL CONFESSION
XXV. THE END OF THE CHÂTEAU
JACQUELINE OF GOLDEN RIVER
CHAPTER I
A DOG AND A DAMSEL
As I sat on a bench in Madison Square after half past eleven in the
evening, at the end of one of those mild days that sometimes occur in
New York even at the beginning of December, a dog came trotting up to
me, stopped at my feet, and whined.
There is nothing remarkable in having a strange dog run to one nor in
seeing the creature rise on its hind legs and paw at you for notice and
a caress. Only, this happened to be an Eskimo dog.
It might have been mistaken for a collie or a sheepdog by nearly
everybody who saw it, though most men would have turned to admire the
softness of its fur and to glance at the heavy collar with the silver
studs. But I knew the Eskimo breed, having spent a summer in Labrador.
I stroked the beast, which lay down at my feet, raising its head
sometimes to whine, and sometimes darting off a little way and coming
back to tug at the lower edge of my overcoat. But my mind was too much
occupied for me to take any but a perfunctory interest in its
manoeuvres. My eight years of thankless drudgery as a clerk, following
on a brief adventurous period after I ran away to sea from my English
home, had terminated three days before, upon receipt of a legacy, and I
had at once left Tom Carson's employment.
Six thousand guineas--thirty thousand dollars--the will said. I had
not seen my uncle since I was a boy. But he had been a bachelor, we
were both Hewletts, and I had been named Paul after him.
I had seen for some time that Carson meant to get rid of me. It had
been a satisfaction to me to get rid of him instead.
He had been alternately a prospector and a company promoter all the
working years of his rather shabby life. He had organized some dubious
concerns; but his new offices on Broadway were fitted so
unostentatiously that anyone could see the Northern Exploitation
Company was not trying to glitter for the benefit of the small investor.
Coal fields and timber-land somewhere in Canada, the concession was
supposed to be. But Tom was as secretive as a clam, except with Simon
Leroux.
Leroux was a parish politician from some place near Quebec, and his
clean-shaven, wrinkled face was as hard and mean as that of any city
boss in the United States. His vile Anglo-French expletives were as
nauseous as his cigars. He and old Tom used to be closeted together
for hours at a time.
I never liked the man, and I never cared for Carson's business ways. I
was glad to leave him the day after my legacy arrived.
He only snorted when I gave him notice, and told the cashier to pay me
my salary to date. He had long before summed me up as a spiritless
drudge. I don't believe he gave another thought to me after I left his
office.
My plans were vague. I had been occupying, at a low rental, a tiny
apartment consisting of two rooms, a bath, and what is called a
"kitchenette" at the top of an old building in Tenth Street which was
about to be pulled down. Part of the roof was gone already, and there
was a six-foot hole under the eaves.
I had arranged to leave the next day, and a storage company was to call
in the morning for my few sticks of furniture. I had half planned to
take boat for Jamaica. I wanted to think and plan.
I had nobody dependent on me, and was resolved to invest my little
fortune in such a way that I might have a modest competence, so that
the dreadful spectre of poverty might never leer at me again.
The Eskimo dog was growing uneasy. It would run from me, looking round
and uttering a succession of short barks, then run back and tug at my
overcoat again. I began to become interested in its manoeuvres.
Evidently it wished me to accompany it, and I wondered who its master
was and how it came to be there.
I stooped and looked at the collar. There was no name on it, except
the maker's, scratched and illegible. I rose and followed the beast,
which showed its eager delight by running ahead of me, turning round at
times to bark, and then continuing on its way with a precision which
showed me that it was certain of its destination.
As I crossed Madison Square the light on the Metropolitan Tower flashed
the first quarter. Broadway was in full glare. The lure of electric
signs winked at me from every corner. The restaurants were disgorging
their patrons, and beautifully dressed women in fine furs, accompanied
by escorts in evening dress, stood on the pavements. Taxicabs whirled
through the slush.
I began to feel a renewal in me of the old, old thrill the city had
inspired when I entered it a younger and a more hopeful man.
The dog turned down a street in the Twenties, ran on a few yards,
bounded up a flight of stone steps, and began scratching at the door of
a house that was apparently empty.
I say apparently, because the shades were down at every window and the
interior was unlit, so far as could be seen from the street; but I knew
that at that hour it must contain from fifty to a hundred people.
This place I knew by reputation. It was Jim Daly's notorious but
decently conducted gambling establishment, which was running full blast
at a time when every other institution of this character had found it
convenient to shut down.
So the creature's master was inside Daly's, and it wished me to get him
out. This was evidence of unusual discernment in his best friend, but
it was hardly my prerogative to exercise moral supervision over this
adventurous explorer of a chillier country even than his northern
wastes. I looked in some disappointment at the closed doors and turned
away.
I meant to go home, and I had proceeded about three paces when the lock
clicked. I stopped. The front door opened cautiously, and the gray
head of Jim's negro butler appeared. Behind it was the famous grille
of cast-steel, capable, according to rumour, of defying the axes of any
number of raiding reformers.
Then emerged one of the most beautiful women that I had ever seen.
I should have called her a girl, for she could not have been more than
twenty years of age. Her hair was of a fair brown, the features
modelled splendidly, the head poised upon a flawless throat that
gleamed white beneath a neckpiece of magnificent sable.
She carried a sable muff, too, and under these furs was a dress of
unstylish fashion and cut that contrasted curiously with them. I
thought that those loose sleeves had passed away before the nineteenth
century died. In one hand she carried a bag, into which she was
stuffing a large roll of bills.
As she stepped down to the street the dog leaped up at her. A hand
fell caressingly upon the creature's head, and I knew that she had one
servant who would be faithful unto death.
She passed so close to me that her dress brushed my overcoat, and for
an instant her eyes met mine. There was a look in them that startled
me--terror and helplessness, as though she had suffered some benumbing
shock which made her actions more automatic than conscious.
This was no woman of the class that one might expect to find in Daly's.
There was innocence in the face and in the throat, uplifted, as one
sees it in young girls.
I was bewildered. What was a girl like that doing in Daly's at half
past twelve in the morning?
She began walking slowly and rather aimlessly, it seemed to me, along
the street in the direction of Sixth Avenue. My curiosity was
unbounded. I followed her at a decent interval to see what she was
going to do. But she did not seem to know.
The girl looked as if she had stepped out of a cloister into an unknown
world, and the dog added to the strangeness of the picture.
The street loafers stared after her, and two men began walking abreast
of her on the other side of the road. I followed more closely.
As she stood upon the curb on the east side of Sixth Avenue I saw her
glance timidly up and down before venturing to cross. There was little
traffic, and the cars were running at wide intervals, but it was quite
half a minute before she summoned resolution to plunge beneath the
structure of the elevated railroad. When she had reached the other
side she stood still again before continuing westward.
The two men crossed the street and planted themselves behind her. They
were speaking in a tongue that sounded like French, and one had a patch
over his eye. A taxicab was crawling up behind them. I was sure that
they were in pursuit of her.
The four of us were almost abreast in the middle of the long block
between Sixth and Seventh Avenues. We were passing a dead wall, and
the street was almost empty.
Suddenly the man with the patch turned on me, lowered his head, and
butted me off my feet. I fell into the roadway, and at that instant
the second fellow grasped the girl by the arm and the taxicab whirled
up and stopped.
The girl's assailants seemed to be trying to force her into the cab.
One caught at her arm, the other seized her waist. The bag flew open,
scattering a shower of gold pieces upon the pavement.
And then, before I could get upon my feet again, the dog had leaped at
the throat of the man with the patch and sent him stumbling backward.
Before he recovered his balance I was at the other man, striking out
right and left.
It was all the act of an instant, and in an instant the two men had
jumped into the taxicab and were being driven swiftly away. I was
standing beside the terrified girl, while an ill-looking crowd,
gathering from God knows where, surrounded us and fought like harpies
for the coins which lay scattered about.
I laid my hands on one who had grabbed a gold piece from between my
feet, but the girl pulled at my arm distractedly. She was white and
trembling, and her big grey eyes were full of fear.
"Help me!" she pleaded, clinging to my sleeve with her little gloved
hands. "The money is nothing. I have eight thousand dollars more in
my bag. Help me away!"
She spoke in a foreign, bookish accent, as though she had learned
English at school. Fortunately for us the mob was too busily engrossed
in its search to hear her words.
So I drew her arm through mine and we hurried toward Sixth Avenue,
where we took an up-town car.
We had reached Herald Square when it occurred to me that my companion
did not seem to know her destination. So we descended there. I
intended to order a taxicab for her, had forgotten the dog, but now the
beautiful creature came bounding up to us.
"Where are you going?" I asked the girl. "I will take you to your
home--or hotel," I added with a slight upward intonation on the last
word.
"I do not know where I am going," she answered slowly. "I have never
been in New York until to-day."
"But you have friends here?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"But are you really carrying eight thousand dollars about with you in
New York at night?" I asked in amazement. "Don't you know this city is
full of thieves, and that you are in the worst district?"
For a moment it occurred to me that she might have been decoyed into
Daly's. And yet I knew it was not that sort of place; indeed, Daly's
chief desire was to remain as inconspicuous as possible. It was very
difficult to get into Daly's.
"Do you know the character of the place you came out of?" I asked,
trying to find some clue to her actions.
"The character?" she repeated, apparently puzzled at first. "Oh, yes.
That is Mr. Daly's gaming-house. I came to New York to play at
roulette there."
She was looking at me so frankly that I was sure she was wholly
ignorant of evil.
"My father is too ill to play himself," she explained, "so I must find
a hotel near Mr. Daly's house, and then I shall play every night until
our fortune is made. Tonight I lost nearly two thousand dollars. But
I was nervous in that strange place. And the system expressly says
that one may lose at first. To-morrow I raise the stakes and we shall
begin to win. See?"
She pulled a little pad from her bag covered with a maze of figuring.
"But where do you come from?" I asked. "Where is your father?"
Again I saw that look of terror come into her eyes. She glanced
quickly about her, and I was sure she was thinking of escaping from me.
I hastened to reassure her.
"Forgive me," I said. "It is no business of mine. And now, if you
will trust me a little further I will try to find a hotel for you."
It would have disarmed the worst man to feel her little hand slipped
into his arm in that docile manner of hers. I took her to the Seward,
the Grand, the Cornhil, and the Merrimac--each in turn.
Vain hope! You know what the New York hotels are. When I asked for a
room for her the clerk would eye her furs dubiously, look over his book
in pretense, and then inform me that the hotel was full.
At the Merrimac I sat down in the lobby and sent her to the clerk's
desk alone, but that was equally useless. I realized pretty soon that
no reputable hotel in New York City would accommodate her at that hour.
We were standing presently in front of the _Herald_ office. Her hand
still touched my arm, and I was conscious of an absurd desire to keep
it there as long as possible.
My curiosity had given place to deep anxiety on her account. What was
this child doing in New York alone, what sort of father had let her
come, if her story were true? What was she? A European? Too
unconventional for that. An Argentine? A runaway from some South
American convent?
Her skin was too fair for Spanish blood to flow beneath it. She looked
French and had something of the French frankness.
Canadian? I dared not ask her any more questions. There was only one
thing to do, and, though I shrank from the suggestion, it had to be
made.
"It is evident that you must go somewhere to-night," I said. "I have
two rooms on Tenth Street which I am vacating to-morrow. They are
poorly furnished, but there is clean linen; and if you will occupy them
for the night I can go elsewhere, and I will call for you at nine in
the morning."
She smiled at me gratefully--she did not seem surprised at all.
"You have some baggage?" I asked.
"No, _monsieur_," she answered.
She _was_ French, then--Canadian-French, I had no doubt. I was hardly
surprised at her answer. I had ceased to be surprised at anything she
told me.
"To-morrow I shall show you where to make some purchases, then," I
said. "And now, _mademoiselle_, suppose we take a taxicab."
As her hand tightened upon my arm I saw a man standing on the west side
of Broadway and staring intently at us.
He was of a singular appearance. He wore a fur coat with a collar of
Persian lamb, and on his head was a black lambskin cap such as is worn
in colder climates, but it seldom seen in New York. He looked about
thirty years of age, he had an aspect decidedly foreign, and I imagined
that he was scowling at us malignantly.
I was not sure that this surmise was not due to an over-active
imagination, but I was determined to get away from the man's scrutiny,
so I called a taxicab and gave the driver my address.
"Go through some side streets and go fast," I said.
The fellow nodded. He understood my motive, though I fear he may have
misinterpreted the circumstances. We entered, and the girl nestled
back against the comfortable cushions, and we drove at a furious speed,
dodging down side streets at a rate that should have defied pursuit.
During the drive I instructed my companion emphatically.
"Since you have no friends here, you must have confidence in me,
_mademoiselle_," I said.
"And you are my friend? Well, _monsieur_, be sure I trust you," she
answered.
"You must listen to me attentively, then," I continued. "You must not
admit anybody to the apartment until I ring to-morrow. I have the key,
and I shall arrive at nine and ring, and then unlock the door. But
take no notice of the bell. You understand?"
"Yes, _monsieur_," she answered wearily. Her eyelids drooped; I saw
that she was very sleepy.
When the taxicab deposited us in front of the house, I glanced hastily
up and down the road. There was another cab at the east end of the
street, but I could not discern if it were approaching me or
stationary. I opened the front door quickly and admitted my companion,
then preceded her up the uncarpeted stairs to my little apartment on
the top floor. I was the only tenant in the house, and therefore there
would be no cause for embarrassment.
As I opened the door of my apartment the dog pushed past me. Again I
had forgotten it; but it had not forgotten its mistress.
I looked inside my bare little rooms. It was hard to say good-by.
"Till to-morrow, _mademoiselle_," I said. "And won't you tell me your
name?"
She drew off her glove and put one hand in mine.
"Jacqueline," she answered. "And yours?"
"Paul," I said.
"_Au revoir_, Monsieur Paul, then, and take my gratitude with you for
your goodness."
I let her hand fall and hurried down the stairs, confused and choking,
for there was a wedding-ring upon her finger.