"You're just the man I'm looking for," Bernie Dreux told Norvin, whom
he chanced to meet on the following morning. "I've made a discovery."
"Indeed! What is it?"
"Hist! The walls have ears." Bernie cast a glance over his shoulder at
the busy, sunlit street and the hurrying crowds. "Come!" With a
melodramatic air he led Blake into a coffee-house near by. "You can't
guess it!" he exclaimed, when they were seated.
"And what's more, I won't try. You're getting too mysterious, Bernie."
"I've found him."
"Whom?"
"The bell-cow; the boss dago; the chief head-hunter; Belisario Cardi!"
Blake started and the smile died from his lips. Dreux ran on with some
heat:
"Oh, don't look so skeptical. Any man with intelligence and courage can
become as good a detective as I am. I've found your Capo-Mafia, that's
all."
"Who is he?"
"You won't believe me; but he's well thought of. You know him; O'Neil
knows him. He's generally trusted."
Norvin began to suspect that by some freak of fortune his little friend
had indeed stumbled upon the truth. Dreux was leaning back in his chair
and beaming triumphantly.
"Come, come! What's his name?"
"Joe Poggi."
"Poggi? He's the owner of that fruit-stand you've been watching."
"Exactly! Chief Donnelly suspected him."
"Nonsense!" Norvin's face was twitching once more. "Poggi is on the
force; he's a detective, like you."
"Come off!" Bernie was shocked and incredulous.
"Have you shadowed him for months without learning that he's an
officer?"
"I--I--He's the fellow, just the same."
"Oh, Bernie, you'd better stick to the antique business."
Mr. Dreux flushed angrily. "If he isn't one of the gang," he cried,
"what was he doing with Salvatore di Marco and Frank Garcia the night
after Donnelly's murder? What's he doing now with Caesar Maruffi if he
isn't after him for money?"
Blake's amusement suddenly gave place to eagerness.
"Maruffi!" he exclaimed. "What's this?"
"Joe Poggi is blackmailing Caesar Maruffi out of the money to defend
his friends. He was at di Marco's house an hour before Salvatore's
arrest. I saw him with Garcia and Bolla and Cardoni more than once."
"Why didn't you tell this to O'Neil?"
"I tried to, but he wouldn't listen. When I said I was a detective he
laughed in my face, and we had a scene. He told me I couldn't find a
ham at a Hebrew picnic. Since then I've been working alone. Poggi has
been lying low lately, but--" Bernie hesitated, and a slight flush
stole into his cheeks. "I've become acquainted with his wife--we're
good friends."
"And what have you learned from her?"
"Nothing directly; but I think she's acting as her husband's agent,
collecting blackmail to hire lawyers for the defense. Poor Caesar! he's
rich, and Poggi is bleeding him. Since Joe is on the police force he
knows every thing that goes on. No wonder you can't break up the Mafia!"
"By Jove!" said Norvin. "I was warned of a leak in the department. But
it couldn't be Poggi!"
He began to question Bernie with a peremptoriness and rapidity that
made the little man blink. Mingled with much that was grotesque and
irrelevant, he drew out a fairly credible story of nocturnal meetings
between the Italian detective and Caesar Maruffi, which, taken in
connection with what he already knew, was most disturbing.
"How did you come to meet Mrs. Poggi?" he inquired, at last.
The question brought that same flush to Mr. Dreux's cheeks.
"She found I was following her one day," he explained, "so I told her I
was smitten by her beauty. I got away with it, too. Rather clever, for
an amateur, eh?"
"Is she good-looking?"
Bernie nodded. "She's an outrageous flirt, though, and--oh, what a
temper!" He shuddered nervously. "Why, she'd stick a knife into me or
bite my ears off if she suspected. She's insanely jealous."
"It's not a nice position for you."
"No. But I've something far worse than her on my hands--Felicite. She's
more to be feared than the Mafia."
"Surely Miss Delord isn't dangerous."
"Isn't she?" mocked the bachelor. "You ought to see--" He started, his
eyes fixed themselves upon the entrance to the cafe with a look of
horror, he paled and cast a hurried glance around as if in search of a
means of escape. "Here she is now!"
Norvin turned to behold Miss Delord approaching them like an arrow. She
was a tiny creature, but it was plain that she was out in all her
fighting strength. Her pretty face was dark with passion, her eyes were
flashing, and they pierced her lover with a terrible glance as she
paused before him, crying furiously:
"Well? Where is she?"
"Felicite," stammered Dreux, "d-don't cause a scene."
Miss Delord stamped a ridiculously small foot and cried again,
oblivious of all save her black jealousy:
"Where is she, I say? Eh? You fear to answer. You shield her, perhaps."
A plump brown hand darted forth and seized Bernie by the ear, giving it
a tweak like the bite of a parrot.
"Ouch!" he exclaimed, loudly. "Felicite, you'll ruin us!"
A waiter began to laugh in smothered tones.
"Tell me," stormed the diminutive fury. "It is time we had a
settlement, she and I. I will lead you to her by those ass's ears of
yours and let her hear the truth from your own mouth."
"Miss Delord, you do Bernie an injustice," Norvin said, placatingly.
She turned swiftly. "Injustice? Bah! He is a flirt, a loathsome
trifler. What could be more abominable?"
"Felicite! D-don't make a scene," groaned the unhappy Dreux, nursing
his ear and staring about the cafe with frightened, appealing eyes.
"Bernie was just--"
"You defend him, eh?" stormed the creole girl. "You are his friend.
Beware, M'sieu, that I do not pull your ears also. I came here to
unmask him."
"Please sit down. You're attracting attention."
"Attention! Yes! But this is nothing to what will follow. I shall make
known his depravity to the whole city, for he has sweethearts like that
King Solomon of old. It is his beauty, M'sieu! Listen! He loves a
married woman! Imagine it!"
"Felicite! For Heaven's sake--"
"A dago woman by the name of Piggy. But wait, I shall make her squeal.
Piggy! A suitable name, indeed! He follows her about; he meets her
secretly; he adores her, the scoundrel! Is it not disgusting? But I am
no fool. I, too, have watched; I have followed them both, and I shall
scratch her black face until it bleeds, then I shall tell her husband
the whole truth."
Miss Delord paused, out of breath for the moment, while Bernie pawed at
her in a futile manner. Beads of perspiration were gathering upon his
brow and he seemed upon the verge of swooning. As if from habit,
however, he reached forth a trembling hand and deftly replaced a loose
hairpin, then tucked in a stray lock which Felicite's vehemence had
disarranged.
"Y-your hat's on one side, my dear," he told her.
She tossed her head and drew away, saying, "Your touch contaminates
me--monster!"
Blake drew out a chair for her; his eyes were twinkling as he said,
"Won't you allow him to explain?"
"There is nothing to explain, since I know everything. See! His tongue
cleaves to the roof of his mouth. He quails! He cannot even lie! But
wait until I have told the Piggy's husband--that big, black
ruffian--then perhaps he will find his voice. Ah, if I had found that
woman here there would have been a scene, I promise you."
"Help me--out," gasped Mr. Dreux, and Norvin came willingly to his
friend's rescue.
"Bernie loves no one but you," he said.
"So? I glory in the fact that I loathe him."
"Please sit down."
"No!" Miss Delord plumped herself down upon the edge of the proffered
seat, her toes bardy touching the floor.
"I'm--working Mrs. Poggi," Bernie explained. "I'm a--detective."
"What new falsehood is this?"
"No falsehood at all," Norvin told her. "He is a detective--a very fine
one, too--and he has been working on the Mafia case for a long time. It
has been part of his work to follow the Poggis. Please don't allow your
jealousy to ruin everything."
"I am not jealous. I merely will not let him love another, that is
all--But what is this you say?" Her velvet eyes had lost a little of
their hardness; they were as round as buttons and fixed inquiringly
upon the speaker.
"You must believe me," he said, impressively, "though I can't tell you
more. Even of this you mustn't breathe a word to any one. Mr. Dreux has
had to permit this misunderstanding, much against his will, because of
the secrecy imposed upon him."
With wonderful quickness the anger died out of Felicite's face, to be
replaced by a look of sweetness.
"A detective!" she cried, turning to Bernie. "You work for the public
good, at the risk of your life? And that dago woman is one of the
Mafia? What a noble work! You forgive me?"
Instantly Mr. Dreux's embarrassment left him and he assumed a chilling
haughtiness.
"Forgive you? After such a scene? My dear girl, that's asking a good
deal."
Felicite's lips trembled, her eyes, as they turned to Norvin, held such
an appeal that he hastened to reassure her.
"Of course he forgives you. He's delighted that you care enough to be
jealous."
Bernie grinned, whereupon his peppery sweetheart exploded angrily:
"You delight in my unhappiness, villain! You enjoy my sufferings! Very
well! You have flirted; I shall flirt You drive me to distraction; I
shall behave accordingly. That Antoine Giroux worships me and would buy
a ring for me to-morrow if I would consent."
"I'll murder him!" exclaimed Dreux, with more savagery than his friend
believed was in him.
"Now, don't start all over again," Blake cautioned them. "You are mad
about each other--"
"Nothing of the sort," declared Felicite.
"At least Bernie worships you."
The girl fell silent and beamed openly upon her lover.
"Why don't you two end this sort of misunderstanding and--marry?"
Miss Delord paled at this bold question. Dreux gasped and flushed
dully, but seemed to find no words.
"That is impossible," he said, finally.
"It's nothing of the sort," urged Blake. "You think you're happy this
way, but you're not and never will be. You're letting the best years of
your lives escape. Why care what people say if you're happy with each
other and unhappy when apart?"
To his surprise, the girl turned upon him fiercely. "Do not torture
Bernie so," she cried. "There are reasons why he cannot marry. I love
him, he adores me; that is enough." Two tears gathered and stole down
her smooth cheeks. "You are cruel to hurt him so, M'sieu."
"Bernie, you're a coward!" Blake said, with some degree of feeling, but
the girl flew once more to her lover's defense.
"Coward, indeed! His bravery is unbelievable. Does he not risk his life
for this miserable Committee of yours? He has the courage of a thousand
lions."
"I admire your loyalty--and of course it's really not my affair,
although--Why don't you go out to the park where the birds are singing,
and talk it all over? Those birds are always glad to welcome lovers.
Meanwhile I'll look into the Poggi matter."
Bernie was glad enough to end the scene, and he arose with alacrity;
but his face was very red and he avoided the eye of his friend. As for
Miss Delord, now that her doubts were quelled, she was as sparkling and
as cheerful as an April morning.
If Bernie Dreux supposed that his troubles for the day had ended with
that stormy scene in the cafe, he was greatly mistaken. He had promised
Felicite that he would fly to her with the coming of dusk, and that
neither the claims of duty nor of family should keep him from her side.
But that evening Myra Nell seized upon him as he was cautiously
tiptoeing past her door on his way out. The tone of her greeting gave
him an unpleasant start.
"I want to talk with you, young man," she said.
Now nobody, save Myra Nell, ever assumed the poetic license of calling
Bernie "young man," and even she did so only upon momentous occasions.
A quick glance at her face confirmed his premonition of an
uncomfortable half-hour.
"I haven't a cent, really," he said, desperately.
"This isn't about money." She was very grave. "It is something far more
serious."
"Then what can it be?" he inquired, in a tone of mild surprise.
But she deigned no explanation until she had led him into the library,
waved him imperiously to a seat upon the hair-cloth sofa, and composed
herself on a chair facing him. Reflecting that he was already late for
his appointment, he wriggled uncomfortably under her gaze.
"Well?" she said, after a pause. Something in her bearing caused his
spirits to continue their downward course. Her brow was furrowed with a
somber portent.
"Yes'm," he said, nervously, quite like a small schoolboy whose eyes
are fixed upon the sunshine outside.
"I've heard the truth."
"Yes'm," he repeated, vaguely.
"Needless to say I'm crushed,"
Bernie slowly whitened as the meaning of his sister's words sank in. He
seemed to melt, to settle together, and his eyes filled with a strange,
hunted expression.
"What are you talking about?" he demanded, thickly.
"You know, very well."
"Do I?"
She nodded her head.
"This is the first disgrace which has ever fallen upon us, and I'm
heartbroken."
"I don't understand," he protested, in a voice so faint she could
scarcely hear him. But his pallor increased; he sat upon the edge of
the couch, clutching it nervously as if it had begun to move under him.
He really felt dizzy. Myra Nell had a bottle of smelling-salts in her
room, and he thought of asking her to fetch it.
"Even yet I can't believe it of you," she continued. "The idea that
you, my protector, the one man upon whom I've always looked with
reverence and respect; you, my sole remaining relative.... The idea
that you should be entangled in a miserable intrigue.... Why, it's
appalling!" Her lips quivered, tears welled into her eyes, seeing which
the little man felt himself strangling.
"Don't!" he cried, miserably. "I didn't think you'd ever find it out."
"I seem to be the only one who doesn't know all about it." Myra Nell
shuddered.
"I simply couldn't help it," he told her. "I'm human and I've been in
love for years."
"But think what people are saying."
He passed a shaking hand over his forehead, which had grown damp. "One
never realizes the outcome of these things until too late. I hoped
you'd never discover it. I've done everything I could to conceal it."
"That's the terrible part--your double life. Don't you know it's wrong,
wicked, vile? I can't really believe it of you. Why, you're my own
brother! The honor of our name rests upon you. The--the idea that you
should fall a victim to the wiles of a low, vulgar--"
Bernie stiffened his back and his colorless eyes flashed.
"Myra Nell, she's nothing like that!" he declared. "You don't know her."
"Perhaps. But didn't you think of me?" He nodded his head. "Didn't you
realize it meant my social ruin?" Again he nodded, his mind in a whirl
of doubts and fears and furious regrets. "Nobody'll care to marry me
now. What do you think Lecompte will say?"
"What the devil has Lecompte to do with it? You're engaged to Norvin
Blake."
"Oh, yes, among the others."
Bernie was too miserable to voice the indignation which such flippancy
evoked in him. He merely said:
"Norvin isn't like the others. It's different with him; he compromised
you."
"Yes. It was rather nice of him, but do you think he'll care to
continue our engagement after this?"
"Oh, he's known about Felicite for a long time. Most of the fellows
know. That's what makes it so hard."
This intelligence entirely robbed Myra Nell of words; she stared at her
half-brother as if trying to realize that the man who had made this
shocking admission was he.
"Do you mean to tell me that your friends have known of this disgrace?"
she asked at length.
Bernie nodded. "Of course it seems terrible to you, Myra Nell, for
you're innocent and unworldly, and I'm rather a dissipated old chap.
But I'm awfully lonely. The men of my own age are successful and busy
and they've all left me behind; the young ones don't find me
interesting. You see, I don't know anything, I can't do anything, I'm a
failure. Nobody cares anything about me, except you and Felicite I
found a haven in her society; her faith in me is splendid. To her I'm
all that's heroic and fine and manly, so when I'm with her I begin to
feel that I'm really all she believes, all that I hoped to be once upon
a time. She shares my dreams and I allow myself to believe in her
beliefs."
"And yet you must realize that your conduct is shocking?"
"I suppose I do."
"You must know that you're an utterly immoral person?" He nodded.
"You're my protector, Bernie; you're all I have. I'm a poor motherless
girl and I lean upon you. But you must appreciate now that you're quite
unfit to act as my guardian."
The little man wailed his miserable assent. His half-sister's
reproachful eyes distracted him; the mention of her defenseless
position before the world touched his sorest feeling. It was almost
more than he could stand, He was upon the verge of hysterical
breakdown, when her manner suddenly changed.
Her eyes brightened, and, rising swiftly, she flung herself down beside
him upon the sofa, where he still sat clutching it as if it were a
bucking horse. Then, curling one foot under her, she bent toward him,
all eagerness, all impulsiveness. With breathless intensity she
inquired:
"Tell me, Bunnie, is she pretty?"
"Very pretty, indeed," he said, lamely.
"What's she like? Quick! Tell me all about her. This is the wickedest
thing I ever heard of and I'm _perfectly_ delighted."
It was Bernie's turn to look shocked. He arose indignantly. "Myra Nell!
You paralyze me. Have you no moral--"
"Rats!" interrupted Miss Warren, inelegantly. "I've let you preach to
me in the past, but never again. We've the same blood in us, Bunnie. If
I were a man I dare say I'd do the most terrible things--although I've
never dreamed of anything so fiercely awful as this."
"I should hope not," he gasped.
"So come now, tell me everything. Does she pet you and call you funny
names and ruffle your hair the way I do?"
Bernie assumed an attitude of military erectness. "It's bad enough for
me to be a reprobate in secret," he said, stiffly, "but I sha'n't allow
my own flesh and blood to share my shame and gloat over it."
The girl's essential innocence, her child-like capacity for seeing only
the romance of a situation in which he himself recognized real
dishonor, made him feel ashamed, yet he was grateful that she took the
matter, after all, so lightly. His respite, however, was of short
duration. Failing to draw him out on the subject which held her
interest for the moment, Myra Nell followed the beckoning of a new
thought. Fixing her eyes meditatively upon him, she said, with mellow
satisfaction:
"It seems we're both being gossiped about, dear."
"You? What have _you_ been doing?" he demanded, in despair.
"Oh, I really haven't done anything, but it's nearly as bad. There's a
report that Norvin Blake is paying all my Carnival bills, and naturally
it has occasioned talk. Of course I denied it; the idea is too
preposterous."
Bernie, who had in a measure recovered his composure, felt himself
paling once more.
"Amy Cline told me she'd heard that he actually bought my _dresses_,
but Amy is a catty creature. She's mad over Lecompte, you know; that's
why I encourage him; and she wanted to be Queen, too, but la, la, she's
so skinny! Well, I was furious, naturally--" Miss Warren paused, quick
to note the telltale signs in her brother's face. "Bernie!" she said.
"Look me in the eye!" Then--"It is true!"
Her own eyes were round and horrified, her rosy cheeks lost something
of their healthy glow; for once in her capricious life she was not
acting.
"I never dreamed you'd learn about it," her brother protested. "When
Norvin asked me if you'd like to be Queen I forbade him to mention it
to you, for I couldn't afford the expense. But he told you in spite of
me, and when I saw your heart was set on it--I--I just couldn't refuse.
I allowed him to loan me the money."
"Bernie! Bernie!" Myra Nell rose and, turning her back upon him, stared
out of the window into the dusk of the evening. At length she said,
with a strange catch in her voice, "You're an anxious comfort, Bernie,
for an orphan girl." Another moment passed in silence before he
ventured:
"You see, I knew he'd marry you sooner or later, so it wasn't really a
loan." He saw the color flood her neck and cheek at his words, but he
was unprepared for her reply.
"I'll never marry him now; I'll never speak to him again."
"Why not?"
"Can't you understand? Do you think I'm entirely lacking in pride? What
kind of man can he be to _tell_ of his loan, to make it public that the
very dresses which cover me were bought with his money?" She turned
upon her half-brother with clenched hands and eyes which were gleaming
through tears of indignation. "I could _kill_ him for that."
"He didn't tell," Bernie blurted out.
"He must have. Nobody knew it except you--" Her eyes widened; she
hesitated. "You?" she gasped.
It was indeed, the hour of Bernie's discomfiture. Myra Nell was his
divinity, and to confess his personal offense against her, to destroy
her faith in him, was the hardest thing he had ever done. But he was
gentleman enough not to spare himself. At the cost of an effort which
left him colorless he told her the truth.
"I'd been drinking, that day of the quarantine. I thought I'd fix it so
he couldn't back out."
Myra Nell's lips were white as she said, slowly, measuring him
meanwhile with a curious glance:
"Well, I reckon you fixed it right enough; I reckon you fixed it so
that neither of us can back out." She turned and went slowly up-stairs,
past the badly done portraits of her people which stared down at her in
all their ancient pride. She carried her head high before them, but,
once in her room, she flung herself upon her bed and wept as if her
heart were breaking.
Fortunately for Norvin Blake's peace of mind, he had no inkling of
Bernie's indiscretion nor of any change in Myra Nell. His work now
occupied his mind to the exclusion of everything else. While anxiously
waiting for some word from Oliveta he took up, with O'Neil, the
investigation of Joe Poggi, the Italian detective. Before definite
results had been obtained he was delighted to receive a visit from
Vittoria Fabrizi, who explained that she had risked coming to see him
because she dared not trust the mails and feared to bring him into the
foreign quarter.
"Then Oliveta has made some progress?" he asked, eagerly.
"Yes."
"Good! Poor girl, it must be terribly hard for her to play such a part."
"No one knows how hard it has been. You would not recognize her, she
has changed so. Her love, for which we were so deeply thankful, has
turned into bitter hate. It was a long time before she dared trust
herself with Maruffi, for always she saw the blood of her father upon
his hands. But she is Sicilian, she turned to stone and finally
welcomed his caresses. Ah! that man will suffer for what he has made
her endure."