In the sudden hush that spread through the room, only the stertorous
breathing of the angry young man who faced Templeton Druid could be
heard. For just a moment after Howard spoke, Teddy Martin, at the piano,
jangled out a bit of jazz, but it had the hollow sound that a popular
song might have at a funeral. He whirled about on the piano bench as
much astonished at the peculiar quiet as a man in different environment
might have been had a bomb exploded at his feet. Marie Shaw stopped
stock still, stunned into actual quietude for once, with skirt still
uplifted in her unfinished pirouette.
Gradually, unconsciously, Druid’s guests closed in about the two
belligerent men to form a half circle. In the tenseness, each waited
with bated breath for what next might happen. Howard Benton’s attitude
was unmistakable. He meant trouble.
Elinor was the first to gain control of herself. She ran to her brother
and grabbed him by the arm.
“Howard!” she shrieked, vixenishly. “How dare you come in here like
this! You’re drunk! Go home at once! You wait until Dad hears of
this——”
“You shut up!” He pushed her roughly aside. “You’re a fine one to tell
me I’m drunk! Look at you, with your hair hanging around you, and your
clothes almost falling off—God!” He buried his face in his hands. “I
never thought I should find my sister like this!”
Teddy Martin came forward quickly. “See here, Benton, you don’t know
what you’re talking about. This is Druid’s birthday, and we’re having a
little party. There isn’t a thing wrong——”
“You can’t make a fool of me!” he answered hotly. “Didn’t I see her in
his arms when I came in?”
“Well, supposing you did,” Druid interrupted. “At an informal party like
this, we don’t stand on ceremony. This doesn’t happen to be one of
your—society functions,” with deep sarcasm.
“Put on your things at once.” Howard turned commandingly to Elinor.
“I’ll send you home in a taxi and then I’ll come back and settle with
him.”
“But what if I don’t feel like going home?” Elinor faced him furiously.
“You’ve got your nerve to think you can humiliate me like this in front
of my friends.”
“Friends?” Howard sneered. “And I suppose this man,” pointing to
Templeton and trembling as a man with ague, so eager was he to fasten
his hands on the actor’s throat, “is your friend too?”
Elinor Benton drew herself up with all the dignity inherited from a
haughty parentage. She looked at her brother, squarely, then defiantly
about the half circle of watching silent people.
“He’s _more_ than my friend,” Elinor announced haughtily, but with a
touch of pride. “He is—my affianced husband!”
Living on sensation as most of her hearers did, proof against surprises
in usual matters, still the simply-worded announcement of Elinor Benton
was sufficient to cause jaws to drop, to cause glances to dart from one
to the other at a statement that, to say the least, to most of them was
startling. Then those glances came back to settle on the face of
Templeton Druid—the glances of these people who knew him. What they saw
was that his suave countenance had turned scarlet, and that his eyes
wavered unsteadily as he, too, glanced stealthily around the room.
“How wonderfully interesting!” Howard’s sarcastic laugh rang out, “but
don’t you think it would have been proper and more gentlemanly for him
to have waited until he had disposed of his present wife before honoring
you with his proposal?”
“His wife!” Elinor turned ghastly. “It isn’t true! Tell him it isn’t
true—Templeton?”
“Just look at him!” Howard blazed. “You can read his answer in his
face.”
“Well, I told you there was a matter of great importance I had to
settle—before I could marry you—didn’t I?” Druid turned to Elinor
almost fiercely.
“Yes—but a—wife—a wife!” Once more her wail turned to sobs, as her
slender body was shaken in a gale of emotion, of chagrin.
Howard took a menacing step nearer Druid.
“You’ve played fast and loose with my sister’s affections in order to
feed your disgusting vanity,” he began, chokingly. “You will——”
“Now you get out of here—you and your sister!” All of Druid’s polish
dropped from him like a cloak. “I’ve taken about all I care to stand
from you. If you think, for a moment, that you can come into my home and
insult me in front of my guests, you’re mistaken! Your sister isn’t a
baby—she’s capable of taking care of herself. In fact, I think she
knows considerably more than you think.” He was sneeringly insinuating.
“You—you cad!” Unable further to hold himself in check, Howard sprang
forward. “I’m going to give you the beating you so justly deserve.”
Westley took a step forward and turned aside the angry boy’s arm.
“Steady there, Benton,” Druid’s eyes flashed fire. “If you start
anything with me, you’ll find more than you bargained for! You’re not my
match in strength, and I don’t like to take advantage of a boy!”
With only the memory of Druid’s words to “get out,—you and your sister”
ringing in her ears, and hurt unbelievably that they should have come
from the man who but a moment before was softly voicing undying devotion
to her, Elinor Benton attempted to interfere, to put an end to the
sordid scene. She put her hand on Howard’s arm which he was still waving
threateningly.
“Come on, Howard. Mr.—Mr. Druid is right. We have created enough
disturbance here. I—I’m ready to go home with you,” she said with
dignity.
“You—keep out of this!” Howard shook off her hand. His eyes blazed fire
as he advanced on his enemy. “So I’m a boy, am I?” he sneered. “Well at
least, I’m not a _coward_ and I don’t make play-things of women.”
“Get out!” Druid thundered.
Howard’s answer was to pull off his coat, fling it on the floor and
lunge forward with closed fists. Elinor screamed hysterically and fled
to the corner of the room, covering her eyes with both trembling hands.
But Druid was not caught off his defense. He caught Howard’s fists in
his hands and there was a triumphant light in his eyes as he hissed
between closed teeth: “Very well, you damned fool! If you’re bound on
fighting, I’ll give you a thrashing you’ll not forget in a hurry.”
Men guests, less befuddled, sprang forward protestingly, but he waved
them back dramatically, as he pulled off his coat.
“All of you keep out of this. My patience has been tried beyond all
endurance, and this child,” he paused just the right length of time for
his dramatic taunt, “must be taught a lesson!” The sneer accompanying
the words curled back his lips over the perfect teeth.
It only took Druid a few seconds to discover that he was up against
anything but a novice. Howard had taken a special course of pugilistic
training besides being a born athlete. In college he had carried off
first honors in every contest. Druid was no mean athlete himself and not
loth to exploit his prowess, but he depended too much on brute strength,
a strength his evening’s debauch had much weakened. He found himself no
match for Howard’s cleverness—taught him by one of the most scientific
men in the ring.
Templeton Druid was getting the worst of it. That was plain. He had been
down twice and was terribly groggy. Both men were bleeding profusely and
indiscriminately over the room which looked as if a cyclone had struck
it.
A half stifled, hysterical shriek at some telling bloody blow from one
of the women, a groan, or muffled mumble of admiration from the men
guests who were watching as eagerly as at any mill in the padded ring
was all that could be heard above the labored breathing of the battlers,
save the steady hysterical sobbing of Elinor Benton from her corner.
Rugs were torn up, furniture overturned, priceless bric-a-brac fell with
a crash that added to the general ensemble; the grinning Buddha toppled
from his pedestal and crashed into a thousand pieces, his grin alone
looking up from the floor in the midst of his shattered features.
Templeton Druid dropped to the floor with finality. Men sprang forward,
thinking it was the end, when slowly he began to pull himself up again.
His hand went to his hip-pocket, and he pulled forth a small revolver.
Howard saw it at the moment its shine appeared and leapt for it.
A struggle—more furious than ever for a moment. A shot rang out.
Templeton Druid staggered, threw his hands in the air, and fell, face
downward on the torn, blood-stained Persian rug.
Howard Benton stood over the crumpled figure on the rug with the shining
revolver in his hand. He looked at it half understandingly, as though it
were a strange thing he had never seen before—that he could not
recognize. Then it dropped from his nerveless fingers with a clatter
among the pieces of the broken Buddha. His eyes shifted aimlessly about,
to fix themselves once more on the huddled figure at his feet.
“My God!” he gasped. “I’ve killed him!”
In the speechless pause, Elinor Benton’s shrieks rent the air wildly.
She staggered from her corner, throwing aside hands that with kindly
intent sought to restrain her, to fall prone on the still form on the
floor, her gown drinking in the crimson that flowed out darkly across
the polished floor.
“Oh, my darling! Speak to me!” she moaned and pleaded. “I don’t care for
anyone in the world! I love you! Oh—speak to me! Speak to me!”
The quiet that had reigned during the encounter became turmoil.
Trembling, wild-eyed, Druid’s valet’s white face appeared at the door.
Westley rushed to him.
“Is there a doctor in the building?” he howled.
The man’s teeth chattered as his shuddering glance took in the scene.
“Yes, sir,” he stuttered. “On the ground floor.”
“Get him!” commanded the movie actor.
Women rushed to get wraps, looking about with anxious eyes for the
opportunity of making cautious exits. Only Elinor Benton seemed not to
think of escape as she wept over the still figure of the man on the
floor. But that escape was out of the question was obvious in but a
moment when the apartment began to fill with excited, curious tenants
who had heard the shot and crowded forward morbidly to see what was
going on.
Orders, suggestions, flew backward and forward. Apparently the only calm
person in the apartment was Howard Benton. He had walked unseeingly to a
bench at one side of the room and dropped on it. He was too stunned to
speak. Attempts to speak to him were met with a dazed incomprehension.
Teddy Martin touched him on the shoulder and offered: “I’m sorry,
Benton. Is there anything I can do for you?”
The not unkindly touch helped to bring him out of himself.
“Is he—is he—dead—or only wounded?” he asked quietly.
“We don’t know yet,” Martin answered. “The doctor will be here in a
minute, and then we will find out. Here he is now.”
Doctor Adams looked on in surprise while one of the girls pulled Elinor
away from Druid, trying to make the hysterical girl understand that the
doctor had arrived.
“What’s happened here?” the medical man inquired brusquely.
Harold Westley stepped forward. “Two men had a quarrel,” he informed,
“and one of them was shot—accidentally.”
“Humph! Looks more like a free-for-all fight,” the doctor answered,
glancing around the room. He bent over the still form; turned him over.
His examination lasted but a few seconds.
“Dead,” he announced solemnly. “A clean shot through the heart—died
instantaneously.”
“No! No!” Elinor moaned, attempting to rush forward again.
“Are you his wife?” the doctor inquired more gently.
Elinor shook her head, but sobs wracked her.
“Oh—well—it is my duty to inform the authorities. Of course, you know
no one must leave before their arrival?” He rose from beside the body.
Howard reached for the only friendly hand outheld to him and gripped it.
“Martin,” he asked, “will you try to locate my father? Call the club,
and if he isn’t there, try our home. If you get him, give him an idea of
what had happened, and ask him to come to me.”
“I’ll do all that I can,” Teddy assured him, and hurried out to the
telephone.
He was fortunate in locating Hugh Benton at the Club, catching him just
as he was leaving for home. In a very few moments, he gave him a brief
outline of the tragic affair.
“I—I’ll be over at once,” said the father in a choked voice. The
catastrophe stunned him. He could barely make himself understood, but he
added, as assurance for Howard: “I’m going to try to reach my attorney
and have him go with me.”
But it was an old and broken man who hung up the telephone and clung to
the table for support as he swayed, fighting for courage to carry him
through the ordeal he was called on to face—fighting for immediate
strength to telephone the man on whom he must rely for present aid.
Howard was pacing nervously up and down, when his father and John
Hammond, the celebrated attorney, arrived at the scene of the tragedy.
He went to his father manfully.
“I’m terribly sorry, Dad, to have caused this trouble,” he apologized,
“but I—I couldn’t help it. The revolver was discharged accidentally.
He—he was a coward to the end—he couldn’t even—fight fair.”
“Tell me the entire thing, Howard; just what brought you here, and how
it happened.” Mr. Hammond said quietly.
Howard told it all as clearly as he could remember. Once or twice the
lawyer interrupted him to ask a question, or to have him make some point
a little more definite. At the conclusion, he turned to Hugh.
“This looks like a simple case of self-defense, Benton,” he said, and
his tone and off-hand manner gave rising hope to father and son. “The
boy came here to protect his sister’s good name—a fight ensued, Druid
pulled his revolver—there are witnesses enough here to attest that,”
looking about at the sadly morose lot who so short a time before had
been merry-makers. “The boy secured possession of it—it was discharged
accidentally, or at the worst, discharged in self-defense.”
“Yes—but think of the scandal—” Hugh was not altogether appeased.
“That is something we cannot help,” the lawyer replied as his jaws
snapped shut. “Be grateful to think you can save the boy! There are a
certain amount of preliminaries necessary to go through, and then he can
go home with you. Just a moment, before we go—I want to speak to these
men,” indicating a couple of officers and detectives who had entered the
room.
“I must arrange to send Elinor home.” Hugh mentioned his daughter for
the first time, although the sight of her, when he had come into the
room had almost taken the breath from his body.
It was a brilliant commentary on Hugh Benton’s attitude of mind that, as
he sat before the telephone at this crisis in his life, maneuvering to
save both son and daughter as well as to drown out as much as possible
of the scandal that must ensue, that not even for one moment did he
think of calling his wife to his aid. As he sat there nervously jangling
the hook up and down, it was Geraldine DeLacy who was going through his
mind. Geraldine! She loved him! She would come to him—would help him
through. Only for a moment did the vision of Marjorie cross his mind,
and then he dismissed her with a queer wry smile. In this, his time of
trouble, he wanted Geraldine. To the woman he loved, and to her only,
would he entrust his foolish daughter.
The sleeping butler at the Thurston home was not easily roused to answer
the telephone. Even then, Benton had a difficult time in persuading him
his business was of the most vital importance, and that he must awaken
Mrs. DeLacy.
It seemed ages before a sleepy voice answered him. “Why—Hugh! What on
earth do you mean at this hour in the morning. Why——”
“Geraldine, a _terrible_ thing has happened!” The man’s voice trembled
with earnestness. “I cannot tell you over the ’phone,” he went on, “but
I want you to dress as quickly as you can, jump in a taxi and come here
at once.” He gave her the address of the apartment.
“What place is that—and what do you want me for—what has happened?”
she inquired in one breath.
“I can’t go into details now—all I can tell you is that Howard has
killed—Templeton Druid. Don’t ask any questions—just come to me,
dear—I need you.” His voice quivered more unmistakably.
“Great heavens!” For once Geraldine was all but speechless as she
gasped. “I—I’ll come to you at once, dear.”
She never remembered how she dressed, ordered the taxi, or hurried to
the apartment. She knew she accomplished it all in a remarkably short
space of time, because Hugh met her at the door and said gratefully:
“You certainly came quickly, dear—thank you so much.” He told her as
rapidly as possible just what had transpired. “And now,” he urged, “I
want you to take Elinor home. There wasn’t anyone here I felt I could
entrust her to. She is in a frightfully hysterical condition and should
be put to bed at once.”
“I shall be glad to take her, dear, and oh—you don’t know how I am
suffering with you. Shall I take Elinor home with me—or——”
“No, no—take her to her own home. My lawyer will have to talk with her
to-morrow, and besides,” he continued, “she may want her—mother.”
“Don’t you think Marjorie will resent my entering her home?”
“Marjorie has doubtless been in bed for hours—there is no need to
awaken her. She will have to be told everything in the morning, but that
is time enough.”
“I will do just as you wish, my dear. My only desire is to serve you, as
you know. Nothing else matters,” and she patted his arm lovingly.
She went to Elinor and put her arms protectingly about her.
“Oh—oh—Geraldine!” Elinor began sobbing anew. “What are you doing
here? Do you know what has happened? Oh—I just want to die—I want to
die!”
“There, there, darling,” Geraldine soothed, helping her on with her wrap
she had brought. “I am going to take you home. You can tell me
everything in the taxi. You must pull yourself together, dear, and be
brave.”
“How can I be—brave—when—when—my heart is breaking! Just—just
think! A little while ago, I—I was in his arms—and—and—now—I
shall-nev-er—see him again!”
“Come, dear, we will go now. Your father is anxious for you to go home.”
And Geraldine led her to the door, where Hugh joined them.
Elinor fell into his arms. “Daddy! Daddy!” she cried, heart-brokeningly.
“What shall I do? I—I can’t stand this.”
Hugh held her closely in his arms as he tenderly murmured: “Never mind,
darling, your Daddy will always stand by you—no—no matter what
happens. Mrs. DeLacy will take you home. Howard and I will have to wait
awhile, but we’ll follow you.”
“Howard!” Elinor turned like a tigress. “He is to blame for all this—I
hate him! Do you understand? I hate him! And I hope he is made to suffer
for his crime!”
Geraldine DeLacy put her arm protectingly about the girl whose whole
body shook with the fury and fervor of the hate with which she denounced
the brother who had killed the man she believed she loved. Hugh Benton’s
surprised shocked countenance gave proof of his little understanding of
the side of his daughter’s character she was showing. But Geraldine only
drew her more closely into protecting arms.
“Come with me, darling,” she soothed. “You’re all unnerved.” She shook
her head protestingly at Hugh Benton as his mouth opened to speak.
Without a word, he helped the woman and girl into the waiting cab and
turned back toward the apartment entrance. But his head hung low as he
walked, and there was a sense of unrealness, a sense of bewilderment,
wonder, annoyance at the complexity of life as he went slowly back to
the son who had sought only to do as his conscience bade.