In the middle of the square, Achilles stopped--a lighted sign had caught
his eye. He hurried the child across the blur of tracks to the sign, and
opened a door softly. A sleepy exchange-girl looked up and waited
while Achilles’s dark fingers searched the page and turned to
her--“Main--four-four-seven--”
She drawled sleepily after him--“Go in there--number four.”
Achilles, with the child’s hand in his, entered the booth and closed the
door. Little noises clicked about them--queer meanings whispered--and
waited--and moved off--the whole night-life of the great city stirred in
the little cage.... “Go ahead--four!” called the girl lazily.
Achilles lifted the black tube. The child beside him pressed close, her
eyes fixed on the tube. Achilles’s words ran swift on the wire, and her
eager face held them--other words came back--sharp--swift. And the child
heard them crackle, and leap, and break and crackle again in the misty
depths--and she touched Achilles’s arm softly--“They must not hurt Mrs.
Seabury--?” she said. “You tell them not to hurt Mrs. Seabury!”
Achilles’s hand pressed her shoulder gently. “Yes--I tell--they know.”
It was a swift aside--and his voice had taken up the tale--“That
woman--you not take that woman.... You hear? Yes--she good woman!”
“Tell them to look in the cellar!” said Betty. She had pressed closer,
on tiptoe. “There is a hole there--under a barrel--and a barrel in the
garden. You tell them--”
His eye dropped to her. “In cellar? You say that?”
“Yes--yes--” Her hands were clasped. “They took me there! You tell
them!”
Achilles’s eye smiled. “Hallo--_you look in cellar_!... What you
say?--no--I don’t see it. But you look in cellar--yes! They make
tunnel--yes!” He hung up the receiver and took her hand. “Now we go
home,” he said.
They passed swiftly out, dropping payment--into a sleepy, unseeing
palm--and crossing the square to the car that should carry them home.
There were no delays now--only swift-running wheels... a few jolts and
stops--and they were out again, beneath the stars, hurrying along the
great breakwater of the lake--hurrying home.... The big, red-brown house
thrust itself up--its gables reaching to thin blackness--and, suddenly,
as they looked, it was touched lightly, as with a great finger, and the
dawn glowed mistily up the walls.
They crossed swiftly and mounted the steps, between the lions, the
child’s feet stumbling a little as they went, but Achilles’s hand held
fast and his touch on the bell summoned hurrying feet... there was a
fumbling at the chains--a swift, cautious creak, and the door swung
back. “Who is it?” said a voice that peered out. The dawn touched his
face grotesquely.
“It’s me!” said the child. “It’s Betty Harris, Conner.”
The man’s face fell back. Then he darted forward and glared at the
child--through the mysterious, dawning light--on the dark, tender face
and the little lip that trembled--looking up--“My God!” he said. He had
darted from them.
The door was open wide and the two glided in silently, and stood in the
emptiness. Achilles led the child to a great divan across the hall and
placed her beside him--her little feet were crossed in the rough shoes
and her hands hung listless.
Behind a velvet curtain, the butler’s voice called frantic words--a
telephone bell rang sharply and whirred and rang a long fierce call and
the butler’s voice took it up and flung it back--“Yes, sir. She’s
here! Yes, sir--that’s what I said--she’s a-settin’ here, sir--on the
sofa--with the furriner--yes, sir!” He put his head around the velvet
curtain. “Will you speak to your father, Miss?”
His awe-struck hand held the receiver and he helped the strange, little
figure to its seat in front of the ’phone. She put the tube to her lips.
“Hallo, Daddy. Yes, it’s Betty.... Mr. Achilles brought me, father....
Yes--yes--your little Betty--yes--and I’m all ri-i-ght....” The receiver
dropped from her fingers. She had buried her face in her arms and was
sobbing softly.