It was Steptoe who discovered that the little back spare room was
empty, though William had informed him that he thought it strange that
madam didn't appear for breakfast. Steptoe knew then that what he had
expected had come to pass, and if earlier than he had looked for it,
perhaps it was just as well. Having tapped at madam's door and
received no answer he ventured within. Everything there confirming his
belief, he went to inform Mr. Rash.
As Mr. Rash was shaving in the bathroom Steptoe plodded round the
bedroom, picking up scattered articles of clothing, putting outside
the door the shoes which had been taken off on the previous night,
digging another pair of shoes from the shoe-cupboard, and otherwise
busying himself as usual. Even when Mr. Rash had re-entered the
bedroom the valet made no immediate reference to what had happened in
the house. He approached the subject indirectly by saying, as he laid
out an old velvet house-jacket on the bed:
"I suppose if Mr. Rash ain't goin' out for 'is breakfast 'e'll put
this on for 'ome."
Mr. Rash, who was buttoning his collar before the mirror said over his
shoulder: "But I am going out for my breakfast. Why shouldn't I? I
always do."
Steptoe carried the house-jacket back to the closet.
"I thought as Mr. Rash only did that so as madam could 'ave the dinin'
room to 'erself, private like."
As a way of expressing the fact that Allerton had never eaten a meal
with Letty the choice of words was neat.
"Well? What then?"
"Oh, nothink, sir. I was only thinkin' that, as madam was no longer
'ere----"
Allerton wheeled round, his fingers clawing at the collar-stud, his
face growing bloodless. "No longer here? What the deuce do you mean?"
"Oh, didn't Mr. Rash know? Madam seems to 'ave left us. I supposed
that after I'd gone upstairs last night Mr. Rash and 'er must 'ave 'ad
some sort of hunderstandin'--and she went."
"Went?" Allerton's tone was almost a scream. Leaping on the old man he
took him by the shoulders, snaking him. "Damn you! Get it out! What
are you trying to tell me?"
Steptoe quaked and cowered. "Why, nothink, sir. Only when William said
as madam didn't come down to 'er breakfast I went to 'er door and
tapped--and there wasn't no one in the room. Mr. Rash 'ad better go
and see for 'imself."
The young man not only released the older one, but pushed him aside
with a force which sent him staggering backwards. Over the stairs he
scrambled, he plunged. Though he had never entered the back spare room
since allotting it to Letty as her own he threw the door open now as
if the place was on fire.
But by the time Steptoe had followed and reached the threshold
Allerton had calmed suddenly. He stood in front of the open closet
vaguely examining its contents. He picked up the little gold band,
chucked it a few inches into the air, caught it, and put it down. He
looked into the little leather purse, poured out its notes and pennies
into his hand, replaced them, and put that also down again. He opened
the old red volume lying on the table by the bed, finding _The Little
Mermaid_ marked by two stiff dried sprays of dust flower, which more
than ever merited its name. When he turned round to where Steptoe,
white and scared by this time, was standing in the open doorway, his,
Allerton's, face was drawn, in mingled convulsion and bewilderment.
With two strides he was across the room.
"Tell me what you know about this, you confounded old schemer, before
I kick you out."
Shivering and shaking, Steptoe nevertheless held himself with dignity.
"I'll tell you what I know, Mr. Rash, though it ain't very much. I
know that madam 'as 'ad it in 'er mind for some time past that unless
she took steps Mr. Rash'd never be free to marry the young lydy what
'e was in love with."
"What did she mean by taking steps?"
"I don't know exactly, but I think it was the kind o' steps as'd give
Mr. Rash 'is release quicker nor any other."
Allerton's arm was raised as if to strike a blow. "And you let her?"
The old face was set steadily. "I didn't do nothin' but what Mr. Rash
'imself told me to do."
"Told you to do?"
"Yes, Mr. Rash; six months ago; the mornin' after you'd brought madam
into the 'ouse. I was to get you out of the marriage, you said; but I
think madam 'as done it all of 'er own haccord."
"But why? Why should she?"
Steptoe smiled, dimly. "Oh, don't Mr. Rash see? Madam 'ad give 'erself
to 'im 'eart and spirit and soul. If she couldn't go to the good for
'im, she'd go to the bad. So long as she served 'im, it didn't matter
to madam what she done. And if I was Mr. Rash----"
Allerton's spring was like that of a tiger. Before Steptoe felt that
he had been seized he was on his back on the floor, with Allerton
kneeling on his chest.
"You old reptile! I'm going to kill you."
"You may kill me, Mr. Rash, but it won't make no difference to madam
'avin' loved you----"
Two strong hands at his throat choked back more words, till the sound
of his strangling startled Allerton into a measure of self-control. He
scrambled to his feet again.
"Get up."
Steptoe dragged himself up, and after dusting himself with his fingers
stood once more passive and respectful, as if nothing violent had
occurred.
"If I was Mr. Rash," he went on, imperturbably, "I'd let well enough
alone."
It was Allerton who was breathless. "Wha--what do you mean by well
enough alone?"
"Well the wye I see it, it's this wye. Mr. Rash is married to one
young lydy and wants to marry another." He broke off to ask,
significantly: "I suppose that'd be so, Mr. Rash?"
"Well, what then?"
"Why, then, 'e can't marry the other young lydy till the young lydy
what 'e's married to sets 'im free. Now that young lydy what 'e's
married to 'as started out to set 'im free, and if I was Mr. Rash I'd
let 'er."
"You'd let her throw herself away for me?"
"I'd let 'er do anythink what'd show I knowed my own mind, Mr. Rash.
If it wouldn't be steppin' out of my place to sye so, I wish Mr. Rash
could tell which of these two young lydies 'e wanted, and which 'e'd
be willin' for to----"
"How can I tell that when--when both have a claim on me?"
"Yes, but only one 'as a clyme on Mr. Rash now. Madam 'as given up 'er
clyme, so as to myke things easier for _'im_. There's only one clyme
now for Mr. Rash to think about, and that mykes everythink simple."
An embarrassed cough drew Steptoe's attention to the fact that someone
was standing in the hall outside. It was William with a note on a
silver tray. Beside the note stood a small square package, tied with a
white ribbon, which looked as if it contained a piece of wedding cake.
His whisper of explanation was the word, "Wildgoose," but a cocking of
his eye gave Steptoe to understand that William was quite aware of
wading in the current of his employer's love-affairs. Moreover, the
fact that Steptoe and his master should be making so free with the
little back spare room was in William's judgment evidence of drama.
"What's this?"
Glancing at the hand-writing on the envelope, and taking in the fact
that a small square package, looking like a bit of wedding cake stood
beside it, Allerton jumped back. Steptoe might have been presenting
him with a snake.
"I don't know, Mr. Rash. William 'as just brought it up. Someone seems
to 'ave left it at the door."
As Steptoe continued to stand with his offering held out Allerton had
no choice but to take up the letter and break the seal. He read it
with little grunts intended to signify ironic laughter, but which
betrayed no more than bitterness of soul.
"DEAR RASH:
I have come to see that we shall never get out of the impasse
in which we seem to have been caught unless someone takes a
stand. I have therefore decided to take one. Of the three of
us it is apparently easiest for me, so that I am definitely
breaking our engagement and sending you back your ring. Any
claim I may have had on you I give up of my own accord, so
that as far as I am concerned you are free. This will simplify
your situation, and enable you to act according to the
dictates of your heart. Believe me, dear Rash, affectionately
yours
BARBARA WALBROOK."
Though it was not his practice to take his valet into the secret of
his correspondence the circumstances were exceptional. Allerton handed
the letter to Steptoe without a word. As the old man was feeling for
his glasses and adjusting them to his nose Mr. Rash turned absently
away, picking up the volume of Hans Andersen, from which the sprays
of dust flower tumbled out. On putting them back his eyes fell upon
the words, which someone had marked with a pencil:
"Day by day she grew dearer to the prince; but he loved her as one
loves a child. The thought of making her his queen never crossed his
mind."
A spasm passed over his face. He turned the page impatiently. Here he
caught the words which had been underlined:
"I am with him every day. I will watch over him--love him--and
sacrifice my life for him."
Shutting the book with a bang, and throwing it on the table, he
wheeled round to where Steptoe, having folded the letter, was taking
off his spectacles.
"Well, what do you say to that?"
"What I'd sye to that, Mr. Rash, is that it's as good as a legal
document. If any young lydy what wrote that letter was to bring a
haction for breach, this 'ere pyper'd nyle 'er."
"So where am I now?"
"Free as a lark, Mr. Rash. One young lydy 'as turned you down, and the
other 'as gone to the bad for you; so if you was to begin agyne with a
third you'd 'ave a clean sheet."
He groaned aloud. "Ah, go to ----"
But without stating the place to which Steptoe was to go he marched
out of the room, and back to his dressing upstairs.
* * * * *
More dispassionate was the early morning scene in the little basement
eating house in which the stunted Hebrew maid of Polish culture was
serving breakfast to two gentlemen who had plainly met by
appointment. Beside the one was an oblong packet, of which some of the
contents, half displayed, had the opulent engraved decorations of
stock certificates.
The other gentleman, resembling an operatic brigand a little the worse
for wear, was saying with conviction: "Oil! Don't talk to me! No, sir!
There's enough oil in Milligan Center alone to run every car in Europe
and America at this present time; while if you include North Milligan,
where it's beginnin' to shoot like the Old Faithful geyser----"
"Awful obliged to you, Judson," the other took up, humbly. "I thought
that bunch o' nuts 'd never----"
"So did I, Gorry. I've sweated blood over this job all winter. Queer
the way men are made. Now you'd hardly believe the work I've had to
show that lot of boneheads that because a guy's a detective in one
line, he ain't a detective in every line. Homicide, I said, was Gorry
Larrabin's specialty, and where there's no homicide he's no more a
detective than a busted rubber tire."
"You've said it," Gorry corroborated, earnestly. "One of the cussed
things about detectin' is that fellas gets afraid of you. Think
because you're keepin' up your end you must be down on every little
thing, and that you ain't a sport."
"Must be hard," Judson said, sympathetically.
"I'll tell you it's hard. Lots of fun I'd like to be let in on--but
you're kept outside."
The drawbacks of the detective profession not being what Judson
chiefly had on his mind he allowed the subject to drop. An interval of
silence for the consumption of a plateful of golden toasties
permitted Gorry to begin again reminiscently.
"By the way, Judson, do you remember that about six months ago you was
chewin' over that girl of yours, and what had become of her?"
To himself Judson said: "That's the talk; now we're comin' to
business." Aloud he made it: "Why, yes. Seems to me I do. She's been
gone so long I'd almost forgot her."
"Well, what d'ye know? Last night--lemme see, was it last night?--no,
night before last--I kind o' got wind of her."
"Heaven's sake!"
"Guy I know was comin' through East Sixty-seventh Street, and there
was my lady, dressed to beat the band, leadin' one of them little toy
dogs, and talkin' to a swell toff that lives in one of them houses.
Got the number here in my pocket-book."
While he was searching his pocket-book Judson asked, breathlessly:
"Couldn't be no mistake?"
"It's nix on mistakes. That guy don't make 'em. Surest thing on the
force. He said, 'Good afternoon, Miss Gravely'; and she said, 'Good
afternoon' back to him--just like that. The guy walked on and turned a
corner; but when he peeped back, there was the couple goin' into the
house just like husband and wife. What d'ye know?"
"What do I know? I know I'll spill his claret for him before the week
is out."
"Ah, here it is! Knew I had that address on me somewheres." He handed
the scrap of paper across the table. "That's his name and number.
Seems to me you may have a good thing there, Judson, if you know how
to work it."
* * * * *
In another early morning scene the ermine was cleaning her nest; and
you know how fastidious she is supposed to be as to personal
spotlessness. The ermine in question did not belie her reputation, as
you would have seen by a glance at the three or four rooms which made
up what she called her "flat."
Nothing was ever whiter than the wood-work of the "flat" and its
furnishings. Nothing was ever whiter than the little lady's dress. The
hair was white, and even the complexion, the one like silver, the
other like the camelia. Having breakfasted from white dishes placed on
a white napkin, she was busy with a carpet-sweeper sweeping up
possible crumbs. In an interval of the carpet-sweeper's buzz she heard
the telephone.
"Hello!" The male voice was commanding.
"Yes?" The response was sweetly precise.
"Is this Red Point 3284-W?"
"It is."
"Can I speak to Miss Henrietta Towell?"
"This is Miss Henrietta Towell."
"This is the Brooklyn Bridge Emergency Hospital. Do you know a girl
named Letitia Rashleigh?"
There was a second's hesitation. "I was once a lady's maid to a lady
whose maiden name was Rashleigh. I think there may be a connection
somewhere."
"She was found unconscious on a car in the subway last night and
brought in here."
"And has she mentioned me?"
"She hasn't mentioned anyone since she came to; but we find your
address on a paper in her pocket."
"That seems singular, but I expect there's a purpose behind it. Is
that everything she had?"
"No; she had forty-five cents and a thimble."
"A thimble! Just an ordinary thimble."
"Yes, an ordinary thimble, except that it has initials on the edge.
'H.T. from H.S.' Does that mean anything to you?"
"Yes; that means something to me. May I ask how to reach the
hospital?"
This being explained Miss Towell promised to appear without delay,
begging that in the meantime everything be done for Miss Rashleigh's
comfort.
She was not perturbed. She was not surprised. She did not wonder who
Letitia Rashleigh could be, or why her address should be found in the
girl's pocket. She was as quiet and serene as if such incidents
belonged to every day's work.
Dressed for the street she was all in black. A mantua covered with
bugles and braid dropped from her shoulders, while a bonnet which rose
to a pointed arch above her brow, and allowed the silver knob of her
hair to escape behind, gave her a late nineteenth century dignity.
Before leaving the house she took two volumes from her shelves--read
first in one, then in the other--sat pensive for a while, with head
bent and eyes shaded--after which she replaced her books, turned the
key in her door, and set forth for Brooklyn Bridge.