The interlacing of destinies is such that you will not be surprised to
learn that the further careers of Letty Gravely, of Barbara Walbrook,
of Rashleigh Allerton now turned on Mademoiselle Odette Coucoul, whose
name not one of the three was ever destined to hear.
On his couch in the library Allerton slept till after nine, waking in
a confusion which did not preclude a sense of refreshment. At the same
minute Madame Simone was finishing her explanations to Mademoiselle
Coucoul as to what was to be done to the seal-brown costume, which
Steptoe had added to Letty's wardrobe, in order to conceal the fact
that it was a model of a season old, and not the new creation its
purchasers supposed. Taking in her instructions with Gallic precision
mademoiselle was already at work when Miss Tina Vanzetti paused at her
door. The door was that of a small French-paneled room, once the
boudoir of the owner of the Flemish chateau, but set apart now by
Madame Simone for jobs requiring deftness.
Miss Vanzetti, whose Neapolitan grandfather had begun his American
career as a boot-black in Brooklyn, was of the Americanized type of
her race. She could not, of course, eliminate her Latinity of eye and
tress nor her wild luxuriance of bust, but English was her
mother-tongue, and the chewing of gum her national pastime. She
chewed it now, slowly, thoughtfully, as she stood looking in on
Mademoiselle Odette, who was turning the skirt this way and that,
searching out the almost invisible traces of use which were to be
removed.
"So she's give you that to do, has she? Some stunt, I'll say. Gee,
she's got her gall with her, old Simone, puttin' that off on the
public as something new. If I had a dollar for every time Mamie Gunn
has walked in and out to show it to customers I'd buy a set of silver
fox."
Mademoiselle's smile was radiant, not because she had radiance to
shed, but because her lips and teeth framed themselves that way. She
too was of her race, alert, vivacious, and as neat as a trivet, as
became a former midinette of the rue de la Paix and a daughter of
Batignolles.
"Madame she t'ink it all in de beezeness," she contented herself with
saying.
With her left hand Miss Vanzetti put soft touches to the big black
coils of her back hair. "See that kid that all these things is goin'
to? Gee, but she's beginnin' to step out. I know her. Spotted her the
minute she come in to try on. Me and she went to the same school.
Lived in the same street. Name of Letty Gravely."
Seeing that she was expected to make a response mademoiselle could
think of nothing better than to repeat in her pretty staccato English:
"Name of Let-ty Grav-el-ly."
"Stepfather's name was Judson Flack. Company-promoter he called
himself. Mother croaked three or four years ago, just before we moved
to Harlem. Never saw no more of her till she walked in here with the
old white slaver what's payin' for the outfit. Gee, you needn't tell
me! S'pose she'll hit the pace till some fella chucks her. Gee, I'm
sorry. Awful slim chance a girl'll get when some guy with a wad blows
along and wants her." The theme exhausted Miss Vanzetti asked
suddenly: "Why don't you never come to the Lantern?"
In her broken English mademoiselle explained that she didn't know the
American dances, but that a fella had promised to teach her the steps.
She had met him at the house of a cousin who was married to a waiter
chez Bouquin. Ver' beautiful fella, he was, and had invited her to a
chop suey dinner that evening, with the dance at the Lantern to wind
up with. Most ver' beautiful fella, single, and a detective.
"Good for you," Miss Vanzetti commanded. "If you don't dance you might
as well be dead, I'll say. Keeps you thin, too; and the music at the
Lantern is swell."
The incident is so slight that to get its significance you must link
it up with the sound of the telephone which, as a simultaneous
happening, was waking Judson Flack from his first real sleep after an
uncomfortable night. Nothing but the fear lest by ignoring the call
the great North Dakota Oil Company whose shares would soon be on the
market, would be definitely launched without his assistance dragged
him from his bed.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice inquired: "Is this Hudson 283-J?"
"You bet."
"Is Miss Gravely in?"
"Just gone out. Only round the corner. Back in a few minutes. Say,
sister, I'm her stepfather, and 'll take the message."
"Tell her to come right over to the Excelsior Studio. Castin'
director's got a part for her. Real part. Small but a stunner. Outcast
girl. I s'pose she's got some old duds to dress it in?"
"Sure thing!"
"Well, tell her to bring 'em along. And say, listen! I don't mind
passing you the tip that the castin' director has his eye on that girl
for doin' the pathetic stunt; so see she ain't late."
"Y'betcha."
That an ambitious man, growing anxious about his future, was thus
placed in a trying situation will be seen at once. The chance of a
lifetime was there and he was unable to seize it. Everyone knew that
by these small condensations of nebular promise stars were eventually
evolved, and to have at his disposal the earnings of a star....
It seemed providential then that on dropping into the basement eating
place at which he had begun to take his breakfasts he should fall in
with Gorry Larrabin. They were not friends, or rather they were better
than friends; they were enemies who found each other useful. Mutually
antipathetic, they quarrelled, but could not afford to quarrel long. A
few days or a few weeks having gone by, they met with a nod, as if no
hot words had been passed.
It was such an occasion now. Ten days earlier Judson had called Gorry
to his teeth "no detective, but a hired sneak." Gorry had retorted
that, hired sneak as he was, he would have Judson Flack "in the jug"
as a promoter of faked companies before the year was out. One word had
led to another, and only the intervention of friends to both parties
had kept the high-spirited fellows from exchanging blows. But the
moment had come round again when each had an axe to grind, so that as
Judson hung up his hat near the table at which Gorry, having finished
his breakfast, was smoking and picking his teeth, the nod of
reconciliation was given and returned.
"Say, why don't you sit down here?"
Politely Gorry indicated the unoccupied side of his own table. It was
a small table covered with a white oil-cloth, and tolerably clean.
"Don't mind if I do," was the other's return of courtesy, friendly
relations being thus re-established.
Having given his order to a stunted Hebrew maid of Polish culture,
Judson Flack launched at once into the subject of Letty. He did this
for a two-fold reason. First, his grievance made the expression of
itself imperative, and next, Gorry being a hanger-on of that
profession which lives by knowing what other people don't might be in
a position to throw light on Letty's disappearance. If he was he gave
no sign of it. As a matter of fact he was not, but he meant to be. He
remembered the girl; had admired her; had pointed out to several of
his friends that she had only to doll herself up in order to knock
spots out of a lot of good lookers of recognized supremacy.
Odette Coucoul's description of him as "most ver' beautiful fella"
was not without some justification. Regular, clean-cut features, long
and thin, were the complement of a slight well-knit figure, of which
the only criticism one could make was that it looked slippery.
Slipperiness was perhaps his ruling characteristic, a softness of
movement suggesting a cat, and a habit of putting out and drawing back
a long, supple, snake-like hand which made you think of a pickpocket.
Eyes that looked at you steadily enough impressed you as untrustworthy
chiefly because of a dropping of the pupil of the left, through
muscular inability.
"Awful sorry, Judson," was his summing up of sympathy with his
companion's narrative. "Any dope I get I'll pass along to you."
Between gentlemen, however, there are understandings which need not be
put into words, the principle of nothing for nothing being one of
them. The conversation had not progressed much further before Gorry
felt at liberty to say:
"Now, about this North Dakota Oil, Judson. I'd like awful well to get
in on the ground floor of that. I've got a little something to blow
in; and there's a lot of suckers ready to snap up that stock before
you print the certificates."
Diplomacy being necessary here Judson practiced it. Gorry might indeed
be seeking a way of turning an honest penny; but then again he might
mean to sell out the whole show. On the one hand you couldn't trust
him, and on the other it wouldn't do to offend him so long as there
was a chance of his getting news of the girl. Judson could only
temporize, pleading his lack of influence with the bunch who were
getting up the company. At the same time he would do his utmost to
work Gorry in, on the tacit understanding that nothing would be done
for nothing.
* * * * *
Allerton too had breakfasted late, at the New Netherlands Club, and
was now with Miss Barbara Walbrook, who received him in the same room,
and wearing the same hydrangea-colored robe, as on the previous
morning. He had called her up from the Club, asking to be allowed to
come once more at this unconventional hour in order to communicate
good news.
"She's willing to do anything," he stated at once, making the
announcement with the glee of evident relief. "In fact, it was by pure
main force that I kept her from running away from the house this
morning."
He was dashed that she did not take these tidings with his own
buoyancy. "What made you stop her?" she asked, in some wonder. "Sit
down, Rash. Tell me the whole thing."
Though she took a chair he was unable to do so. His excitement now was
over the ease with which the difficulty was going to be met. He could
only talk about it in a standing position, leaning on the mantelpiece,
or stroking the head of the Manship terra cotta child, while she gazed
up at him, nervously beating her left palm with the black and gold
fringe of her girdle.
"I stopped her because--well, because it wouldn't have done."
"Why wouldn't it have done? I should think that it's just what would
have done."
"Let her slip away penniless, and--and without friends?"
"She'd be no more penniless and without friends than she was
when--when you--" she sought for the right word--"when you picked her
up."
"No, of course not; only now the--the situation is different."
"I don't see that it is--much. Besides, if you were to let her run
away first, so that you get--whatever the law wants you to get, you
could see that she wasn't penniless and without friends afterwards.
Most likely that's what she was expecting."
His countenance fell. "I--I don't think so."
"Oh, you wouldn't think so as long as she could bamboozle you. I was
simply thinking of your getting what she probably wants to give
you--for a price."
"I don't think you do her justice, Barbe. If you'd seen her----"
"Very well; I shall see her. But seeing her won't make any difference
in my opinion."
"She'll not strike you as anything wonderful of course; but I know
she's as straight as they make 'em. And so long as she is----"
"Well, what then?"
"Why, then, it seems to me, we must be straight on our side."
"We'll be straight enough if we pay her her price."
"There's more to it than that."
"Oh, there is? Then how much more?"
"I don't know that I can explain it." He lifted one of the Stiegel
candlesticks and put it back in its place. "I simply feel that we
can't--that we can't let all the magnanimity be on her side. If she
plays high, we've got to play higher."
"I see. So she's got you there, has she?"
"I wish you wouldn't be disagreeable about it, Barbe."
"My dear Rash," she expostulated, "it isn't being disagreeable to have
common sense. It's all the more necessary for me not to abnegate that,
for the simple reason that you do."
He hurled himself to the other end of the mantelpiece, picking up the
second candlestick and putting it down with force. "It's surely not
abnegating common sense just to--to recognize honesty."
"Please don't fiddle with those candlesticks. They're the rarest
American workmanship, and if you were to break one of them Aunt Marion
would kill me. I'll feel safer about you if you sit down."
"All right. I'll sit down." He drew to him a small frail chair,
sitting astride on it. "Only please don't fidget me."
"Would you mind taking _that_ chair?" She pointed to something solid
and masculine by Phyffe. "That little thing is one of Aunt Marion's
pet pieces of old Dutch colonial. If anything were to happen to
it--But you were talking about recognizing honesty," she continued, as
he moved obediently. "That's exactly what I should like you to do,
Rash, dear--with your eyes open. If I'm not looking anyone can pull
the wool over them, whether it's this girl or someone else."
"In other words I'm a fool, as you were good enough to say----"
"Oh, do forget that. I couldn't help saying it, as I think you ought
to admit; but don't keep bringing it up every time I do my best to
meet you pleasantly. I'm not going to quarrel with you any more, Rash.
I've made a vow to that effect and I'm going to keep it. But if I'm to
keep it on my side you mustn't badger me on yours. It doesn't do me
any good, and it does yourself a lot of harm." Having delivered this
homily she took a tone of brisk cheerfulness. "Now, you said over the
phone that you were coming to tell me good news."
"Well, that was it."
"What was it?"
"That she was ready to do anything--even to disappear."
"And you wouldn't let her."
"That I couldn't let her--with nothing to show for it."
"But she will have something to show for it--in the end. She knows
that as well as I do. Do you suppose for a minute that she doesn't
understand the kind of man she's dealing with?"
"You mean that----?"
"Rash, dear, no girl who knows as much as this girl knows could help
seeing at a glance that she's got a pigeon to pluck, as the French
say, and of course she means to pluck it. You can't blame her for
that, being what she is; but for heaven's sake let her pluck it in her
own way. Don't be a simpleton. Angels shouldn't rush in where fools
would fear to tread--and you _are_ an angel, Rash, though I suppose
I'm the only one in the world who sees it."
"Thank you, Barbe. I know you feel kindly toward me, and that, as you
say, you're the only one in the world who does. That's all right, I
acknowledge it, and I'm grateful. What I don't like is to see you
taking it for granted that this girl is merely playing a game----"
"Rash, do you remember those two winters I worked in the Bleary Street
Settlement? and do you remember that the third winter I said that I'd
rather enlist in the Navy that go back to it again? You all thought
that I was cynical and hard-hearted, but I'll tell you now what the
trouble was. I went down there thinking I could teach those
girls--that I could do them good--and raise them up--and have them
call me blessed--and all that. Well, there wasn't one of them who
hadn't forgotten more than I ever knew--who wasn't working me when I
supposed she was hanging on my wisdom--who wasn't laughing at me
behind my back when I was under the delusion that she was following my
good example. And if you've got one of them on your hands she'll fool
the eyes out of your head."
"You think so," he said, drily. "Then I don't."
"In that case there's no use discussing it any further."
"There may be after you've seen her."
"How can I see her?"
"You can go to the house."
"And tell her I know everything?"
"If you like. You could say I told you in confidence--that you're an
old friend of mine."
"And nothing else?"
"Since you only want to size her up I should think that would be
enough."
She nodded, slowly. "Yes, I think you're right. Better not give
anything away we can keep to ourselves. Now tell me what happened this
morning. You haven't done it yet."
He told her everything--how he had been waked by hearing someone
fumbling with the lock of the door, whether inside or outside the
house he couldn't tell--how he had gone to the head of the stairs and
switched on the lower hall light--how she had flung herself against
the door as a little gray bird might dash itself against its cage in
its passion to escape.
"She staged it well, didn't she? She must have brains."
"She has brains all right, but I don't think----"
"She knew of course that if she made enough noise someone would come,
and she'd get the credit for good intentions."
"I really don't think, Barbe.... Now let me tell you. You'll _see_
what she's like. I felt very much as you do. I was right on the jump.
Got all worked up. Would have gone clean off the hooks if----"
There followed the narrative of his loss of temper, of his wild talk,
of her clever strategy in counting ten--"just like a cold douche it
was"--and the faint turn he so often had after spells of emotion. To
convince Miss Walbrook of the queer little thing's ingenuousness he
told how she had made him lie down on the library couch, covered him
up, rubbed his brow with Florida water, and induced the best sleep he
had had in months.
She surprised him by springing to her feet, her arms outspread. "You
great big idiot! Really there's no other name for you!"
He gazed up at her in amazement. "What's the matter now?"
Flinging her hands about she made inarticulate sounds of exasperation
beyond words.
"There, there; that'll do," she threw off, when he jumped to her side,
to calm her by taking her in his arms. "_I'm_ not off the hooks. _I_
don't want anyone to rub Florida water on my brow--and hold my
hand--and cradle me to sleep----"
"She didn't," he exclaimed, with indignation. "She never touched my
hand. She just----"
"Oh, I know what she did--and of course I'm grateful. I'm delighted
that she was there to do it--_delighted._ I quite see now why you
couldn't let her go, when you knew your fit was coming on. I've seen
you pretty bad, but I've never seen you as bad as that; and I must say
I never should have thought of counting ten as a cure for it."
"Well, _she_ did."
"Quite so! And if I were you I'd never go anywhere without her. I'd
keep her on hand in case I took a turn----"
He was looking more and more reproachful. "I must say, Barbe, I don't
think you're very reasonable."
She pushed him from her with both hands against his shoulders. "Go
away, for heaven's sake! You'll drive me crazy. I'm _not_ going to
lose my temper with you. I'll never do it again. I've got you to bear
with, and I'm going to bear with you. But go! No, go now! Don't stop
to make explanations. You can do that later. I'll lay in a supply of
Florida water and an afghan...."
He went with that look on his face which a well meaning dog will wear
when his good intentions are being misinterpreted. On his way to the
office he kept saying to himself: "Well _I_ don't know what to do.
Whatever I say she takes me up the wrong way. All I wanted was for her
to understand that the little thing is a _good_ little thing...."