intention of locking her out. He did not know what he would do until
they were in the presence of his crying wife, who fell upon Theresa,
weeping. Then he decided to be reasonably lenient.
“She vass like you,” said the old mother to the wandering Theresa,
ignorant of the seeming lesson brought to their very door. “She vass
loog like you.”
“I vill not vip you now,” said the old butcher solemnly, too delighted
to think of punishment after having feared every horror under the sun,
“aber, go not oudt any more. Keep off de streads so late. I von’t haf
it. Dot loafer, aber--let him yussed come here some more! I fix him!”
“No, no,” said the fat mother tearfully, smoothing her daughter’s hair.
“She vouldn’t run avay no more yet, no, no.” Old Mrs. Rogaum was all
mother.
“Well, you wouldn’t let me in,” insisted Theresa, “and I didn’t have
any place to go. What do you want me to do? I’m not going to stay in
the house all the time.”
“I fix him!” roared Rogaum, unloading all his rage now on the recreant
lover freely. “Yussed let him come some more! Der penitentiary he
should haf!”
“Oh, he’s not so bad,” Theresa told her mother, almost a heroine now
that she was home and safe. “He’s Mr. Almerting, the stationer’s boy.
They live here in the next block.”
“Don’t you ever bother that girl again,” the sergeant was saying to
young Almerting as he turned him loose an hour later. “If you do, we’ll
get you, and you won’t get off under six months. Y’ hear me, do you?”
“Aw, I don’t want ’er,” replied the boy truculently and cynically. “Let
him have his old daughter. What’d he want to lock ’er out for? They’d
better not lock ’er out again though, that’s all I say. I don’t want
’er.”
“Beat it!” replied the sergeant, and away he went.
WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR?
It was a sweltering noon in July. Gregory, after several months of
meditation on the warning given him by his political friend, during
which time nothing to substantiate it had occurred, was making ready to
return to the seaside hotel to which his present prosperity entitled
him. It was a great affair, the Triton, about sixty minutes from his
office, facing the sea and amid the pines and sands of the Island.
His wife, ‘the girl,’ as he conventionally referred to her, had been
compelled, in spite of the plot which had been revealed or suggested,
owing to the ailing state of their child, to go up to the mountains to
her mother for advice and comfort. Owing to the imminence of the fall
campaign, however, he could not possibly leave. Weekdays and Sundays,
and occasionally nights, he was busy ferreting out and substantiating
one fact and another in regard to the mismanagement of the city, which
was to be used as ammunition a little later on. The mayor and his
“ring,” as it was called, was to be ousted at all costs. He, Gregory,
was certain to be rewarded if that came to pass. In spite of that he
was eminently sincere as to the value and even the necessity of what he
was doing. The city was being grossly mismanaged. What greater labor
than to worm out the details and expose them to the gaze of an abused
and irritated citizenship?
But the enemy itself was not helpless. A gentleman in the publishing
business of whom he had never even heard called to offer him a position
in the Middle West which would take him out of the city for four or
five years at the least, and pay him six or seven thousand dollars
a year. On his failure to be interested some of his mail began to
disappear, and it seemed to him as though divers strange characters
were taking a peculiar and undue interest in his movements. Lastly, one
of the politicians connected with his own party called to see him at
his office.
“You see, Gregory, it’s this way,” he said after a short preamble, “you
have got a line as to what’s going on in connection with that South
Penyank land transfer. The mayor is in on that, but he is absolutely
determined that the public is not going to find it out, and so is
his partner, Tilney--not until after the election, anyhow. They are
prepared to use some pretty rough methods, so look out for yourself.
You’re fond of your wife, are you? Well, keep her close beside you, and
the kid. Don’t let them get you away from her, even for a moment, where
you shouldn’t be. You saw what happened to Crothers two or three years
ago, didn’t you? He was about to expose that Yellow Point Ferry deal,
but of course no one knew anything about that--and then, zip!--all at
once he was arrested on an old charge of desertion, an old debt that he
had failed to pay was produced and his furniture seized, and his wife
was induced to leave him. Don’t let them catch you in the same way. If
you have any debts bring them to us and let us see what we can do about
them. And if you are interested in any other woman, break it off, send
her away, get rid of her.”
Gregory viewed him with an irritated, half-pitying smile.
“There isn’t any other woman,” he said simply. Think of his being
faithless to “the girl” and the kid--the blue-eyed, pink-toed kid!
“Don’t think I’m trying to pry into your affairs,” went on the
politician. “I’m just telling you. If you need any further advice or
help, come to me. But whatever you do, look out for yourself,” and with
that he put on his high silk hat and departed.
Gregory stood in the center of his office after his visitor had gone,
and gazed intently at the floor. Certainly, from what he had discovered
so far, he could readily believe that the mayor would do just what
his friend had said. And as for the mayor’s friend, the real estate
plunger, it was plain from his whispered history that no tricks or
brutalities were beneath him. Another politician had once said in
describing him that he would not stop short of murder, but that one
would never catch him red-handed or in any other way, and certainly
that appeared to be true. He was wealthier, more powerful, than he had
ever been, much more so than the mayor.
Since he and his wife had come to this seaside hotel several things
had occurred which caused him to think that something might happen,
although there was no evidence as yet that his suspicions were
well-founded. An unctuous, over-dressed, bejeweled, semi-sporty widow
of forty had arrived, a business woman, she indicated herself to
be, conducting a highly successful theatrical agency in the great
city, and consequently weltering in what one of Gregory’s friends
was wont to describe as “the sinews of war.” She abounded in brown
and wine-colored silks, brown slippers and stockings, a wealth of
suspiciously lustrous auburn hair. Her car, for she had one, was of
respectable reputation. Her skill and willingness to risk at whist of
good report. She was, in the parlance of the hotel clerks and idlers
of the Triton veranda, a cheerful and liberal spender. Even while
Mrs. Gregory was at Triton Hall, Mrs. Skelton had arrived, making
herself comfortable in two rooms and bath on the sea front, and
finding familiar friends in the manager and several stalwart idlers
who appeared to be brokers and real estate dealers, and who took a
respectable interest in golf, tennis, and the Triton Grill. She was
unctuous, hearty, optimistic, and neither Gregory nor his wife could
help liking her a little. But before leaving, his wife had casually
wondered whether Mrs. Skelton would be one to engage in such a plot.
Her friendliness, while possible of any interpretation, was still
general enough to be free of suspicion. She might be looking for just
such a situation as this, though--to find Gregory alone.
“Do be careful, dear,” his wife cautioned. “If you become too doubtful,
leave and go to another place. At least that will compel them to
provide another set of people.” And off she went, fairly serene in her
faith in her husband’s ability to manage the matter.
Thus, much against his will, at first, Gregory found himself alone. He
began to wonder if he should leave, or weather it out, as he expressed
it to himself. Why should he be driven from the one comfortable hotel
on this nearest beach, and that when he most needed it, away from
a region where he was regularly encountering most of his political
friends, particularly at week-ends? For so near a place it had many
advantages: a delightful golf course, several tennis courts, food and
rooms reasonably well above complaint, and a refreshing and delightful
view of the sea over a broad lawn. Besides it was absolutely necessary
for him to be in the nearby city the greater portion of every single
working day. His peculiar and pressing investigation demanded it and a
comfortable place to rest and recuperate at night was also imperative.
“It’s beautiful here,” he said to himself finally, “and here is where
I stick. I haven’t a car, and where is there any other place as
convenient? Besides, if they’re going to follow me, they’re going to
follow me.”
In consequence, he traveled meditatively back and forth between this
place and the city, thinking of what might happen. Becoming a little
doubtful, he decided to call on Frank Blount and talk it over with
him. Blount was an old newspaper man who had first turned lawyer and
then broker. Seemingly clientless the major portion of the time, he
still prospered mightily. A lorn bachelor, he had three clubs, several
hotels, and a dozen country homes to visit, to say nothing of a high
power car. Just now he was held unduly close to his work, and so was
frequenting this coast. He liked golf and tennis, and, incidentally,
Gregory, whom he wished to see prosper though he could not quite direct
him in the proper way. Reaching the city one morning, Gregory betook
him to Blount’s office, and there laid the whole case before him.
“Now, that’s the way it is,” he concluded, staring at the pink cheeks
and partially bald head of his friend, “and I would like to know what
you would do if you were in my place.”
Blount gazed thoughtfully out through the high towers of the city to
the blue sky beyond, while he drummed with his fingers on the glass top
of his desk.
“Well,” he replied, after a time, scratching his cheekbone
thoughtfully, “I’d stick it out if I were you. If there is to be
a woman, and she is attractive, you might have some fun out of it
without getting yourself in any trouble. It looks like a sporty summer
proposition to me. Of course, you’ll have to be on your guard. I’d take
out a permit to carry a revolver if I were you. They’ll hear of it if
they’re up to anything, and it won’t cheer them any. In the next place,
you ought to make out a day-to-day statement of your exact movements,
and swear to it before a notary. If they hear of that it won’t cheer
them any either, and it may make them try to think up something really
original.
“Besides,” he went on, “I haven’t so very much to do evenings and
week-ends, and if you want me to I’ll just be around most of the time
in case of trouble. If we’re together they can’t turn much of anything
without one of us knowing something about it, and then, too, you’ll
have an eye-witness.” He was wondering whether the lady might not be
interesting to him also. “I’m over at Sunset Point, just beyond you
there, and if you want me I’ll come over every evening and see how
you’re making out. If any trick is turned, I’d like to see how it is
done,” and he smiled in a winsome, helpful manner.
“That’s just the thing,” echoed Gregory thoughtfully. “I don’t want any
trick turned. I can’t afford it. If anything should happen to me just
now I’d never get on my feet again politically, and then there’s the
wife and kid, and I’m sick of the newspaper business,” and he stared
out of the window.
“Well, don’t be worrying about it,” Blount insisted soothingly. “Just
be on your guard, and if you have to stay in town late any night,
let me know and I’ll come and pick you up. Or, if I can’t do that,
stay in town yourself. Go to one of the big hotels, where you’ll feel
thoroughly safe.”
For several days Gregory, to avoid being a nuisance, returned to the
hotel early. Also he secured a permit, and weighted his hip pocket with
an unwieldy weapon which he resented, but which he nevertheless kept
under his pillow at night. His uncertainty worked on his imagination
to such an extent that he began to note suspicious moves on the part
of nearly everybody. Any new character about the hotel annoyed him.
He felt certain that there was a group of people connected with Mrs.
Skelton who were watching him, though he could not prove it, even to
himself.
“This is ridiculous,” he finally told himself. “I’m acting like a
five-year-old in the dark. Who’s going to hurt me?” And he wrote
laughing letters to his wife about it, and tried to resume his old-time
nonchalance.
It wasn’t quite possible, however, for not long after that something
happened which disturbed him greatly. At least he persuaded himself to
that effect, for that was a characteristic of these incidents--their
openness to another interpretation than the one he might fix on. In
spite of Blount’s advice, one night about nine he decided to return to
Triton Hall, and that without calling his friend to his aid.
“What’s the use?” he asked himself. “He’ll be thinking I’m the biggest
coward ever, and after all, nothing has happened yet, and I doubt
whether they’d go that far, anyhow.” He consoled himself with the idea
that perhaps humanity was better than he thought.
But just the same, as he left the train at Triton and saw it glimmering
away over the meadows eastward, he felt a little uncertain as to his
wisdom in this matter. Triton Station was a lonely one at nearly all
times save in the morning and around seven at night, and to-night it
seemed especially so. Only he alighted from the train. Most people went
to and fro in their cars by another road. Why should he not have done
as Blount had suggested, he now asked himself as he surveyed the flat
country about;--called him to his aid, or stayed in the city? After
all, hiring a car would not have been much better either, as Blount
had pointed out, giving a possible lurking enemy a much sought point
of attack. No, he should have stayed in town or returned with Blount
in his car, and telling himself this, he struck out along the lonely,
albeit short, stretch of road which led to the hotel and which was
lighted by only a half dozen small incandescent globes strung at a
considerable distance apart.
En route, and as he was saying to himself that it was a blessed thing
that it was only a few hundred yards and that he was well-armed and
fairly well constructed physically for a contest, a car swerved about
a bend in the road a short distance ahead and stopped. Two men got out
and, in the shadow back of the lights, which were less flaring than was
usual, began to examine a wheel. It seemed odd to him on the instant
that its headlights were so dim. Why should they be so dim at this time
of night and why should this strange car stop just here at this lonely
bend just as he was approaching it? Also why should he feel so queer
about it or them, for at once his flesh began to creep and his hair
to tingle. As he neared the car he moved to give it as wide a berth
as the road would permit. But now one of the men left the wheel and
approached him. Instantly, with almost an involuntary urge, he brought
the revolver out of his hip pocket and stuffed it in his coat pocket.
At the same time he stopped and called to the stranger:
“Stay right where you are, Mister. I’m armed, and I don’t want you
to come near me. If you do I’ll shoot. I don’t know who you are, or
whether you’re a friend or not, but I don’t want you to move. Now, if
there’s anything you want, ask it from where you are.”
The stranger stopped where he stood, seemingly surprised.
“I was going to ask you for a match,” he said, “and the way to Trager’s
Point.”
“Well, I haven’t a match,” returned Gregory savagely, “and Trager’s
Point is out that way. There’s the hotel ... if you’re coming from
there, why didn’t you ask for directions there, and for matches, too?”
He paused, while the man in the shadow seemed to examine him curiously.
“Oh, all right,” he returned indifferently. “I don’t want anything you
don’t want to give,” but instead of returning to the car, he stood
where he was, following Gregory with his eyes.
Gregory’s skin seemed to rise on the back of his neck like the fur of
a cat. He fairly tingled as he drew his revolver from his pocket and
waved it ominously before him.
“Now, I’m going to walk around you two,” he called, “and I want you to
stand right where you are. I have you covered, and at the first move
I’ll shoot. You won’t have any trouble out of me if you’re not looking
for it, but don’t move,” and he began orienting his own position so as
to keep them directly in range of his eyes and weapon.
“Don’t move!” he kept calling until he was well up the road, and then
suddenly, while the men, possibly in astonishment, were still looking
at him, turned and ran as fast as he could, reaching the hotel steps
breathless and wet.
“That’s the last lone trip for me,” he said solemnly to himself.
When he spoke to Blount about it the latter seemed inclined to
pooh-pooh his fears. Why should any one want to choose any such open
place to kill or waylay another? There might have been other passengers
on the train. A stray auto might be coming along there at any time. The
men might have wanted a match, and not have been coming from the hotel
at all. There was another road there which did not turn in at the hotel.
Still Gregory was inclined to believe that harm had been intended
him--he could scarcely say why to himself--just plain intuition, he
contended.
And then a day or two later--all the more significant now because
of this other incident--Mrs. Skelton seemed to become more and more
thoughtful as to his comfort and well-being. She took her meals at one
of the tables commanding a view of the sea, and with (most frequently)
one or the other, or both, broker friends as companions, to say nothing
of occasional outside friends. But usually there was a fourth empty
chair, and Gregory was soon invited to occupy that, and whenever Blount
was present, a fifth was added. At first he hesitated, but urged
on by Blount, who was amused by her, he accepted. Blount insisted
that she was a comic character. She was so dressy, sporty, unctuous,
good-natured--the very best kind of a seaside companion.
“Why, man, she’s interesting,” the latter insisted one night as they
were taking a ride after dinner. “Quite a sporty ‘fair and forty,’
that. I like her. I really do. She’s probably a crook, but she plays
bridge well, and she’s good at golf. Does she try to get anything out
of you?”
“Not a thing, that I can see,” replied Gregory. “She seems to be simple
enough. She’s only been here about three weeks.”
“Well, we’d better see what we can find out about her. I have a hunch
that she’s in on this, but I can’t be sure. It looks as though she
might be one of Tilney’s stool pigeons. But let’s play the game and see
how it comes out. I’ll be nice to her for your sake, and you do the
same for mine.”
Under the warming influence of this companionship, things seemed to
develop fairly rapidly. It was only a day or two later, and after
Gregory had seated himself at Mrs. Skelton’s table, that she announced
with a great air of secrecy and as though it were hidden and rather
important information, that a friend of hers, a very clever Western
girl of some position and money, one Imogene Carle of Cincinnati, no
less, a daughter of the very wealthy Brayton Carle’s of that city,
was coming to this place to stay for a little while. Mrs. Skelton, it
appeared, had known her parents in that city fifteen years before.
Imogene was her owny ownest pet. She was now visiting the Wilson
Fletchers at Gray’s Cove, on the Sound, but Mrs. Skelton had prevailed
upon her parents to let her visit her here for a while. She was only
twenty, and from now on she, Mrs. Skelton, was to be a really, truly
chaperone. Didn’t they sympathize with her? And if they were all very
nice--and with this a sweeping glance included them all--they might
help entertain her. Wouldn’t that be fine? She was a darling of a girl,
clever, magnetic, a good dancer, a pianist--in short, various and
sundry things almost too good to be true. But, above all other things,
she was really very beautiful, with a wealth of brown hair, brown eyes,
a perfect skin, and the like. Neither Blount nor Gregory offered the
other a single look during this recital, but later on, meeting on the
great veranda which faced the sea, Blount said to him, “Well, what do
you think?”
“Yes, I suppose it’s the one. Well, she tells it well. It’s interesting
to think that she is to be so perfect, isn’t it?” he laughed.
A few days later the fair visitor put in an appearance, and she was all
that Mrs. Skelton had promised, and more. She was beautiful. Gregory
saw her for the first time as he entered the large dining room at
seven. She was, as Mrs. Skelton had described her, young, certainly
not more than twenty-one at most. Her eyes were a light gray-brown,
and her hair and skin and hands were full of light. She seemed simple
and unpretentious, laughing, gay, not altogether fine or perfect,
but fairly intelligent, and good to look at--very. She was at Mrs.
Skelton’s table, the brokers paying her marked attention, and, at
sight, Blount liked her, too.
“Say,” he began, “some beauty, eh? I’ll have to save you from yourself,
I fancy. I’ll tell you how we’ll work it. You save me, and I’ll save
you. The old lady certainly knows how to select ’em, apparently, and so
does Tilney. Well now, my boy, look out!” and he approached with the
air of one who was anxious to be a poor stricken victim himself.
Gregory had to laugh. However much he might be on his guard, he was
interested, and as if to heighten this she paid more attention to Mrs.
Skelton and her two friends than she did to Gregory or Blount. She was,
or pretended to be absolutely sincere, and ignorant of her possible
rôle as a siren, and they in turn pretended to accept her at her own
valuation, only Blount announced after dinner very gaily that she might
siren him all she blanked pleased. He was ready. By degrees, however,
even during this first and second evening, Gregory began to feel that
he was the one. He caught her looking at him slyly or shyly, or both,
and he insisted to himself stubbornly and even vainly enough that he
was her intended victim. When he suggested as much to Blount the other
merely laughed.
“Don’t be so vain,” he said. “You may not be. I wish I were in your
place. I’ll see if I can’t help take her attention from you,” and he
paid as much attention to her as any one.
However, Gregory’s mind was not to be disabused. He watched her
narrowly, while she on her part chattered gaily of many things--her
life the winter before in Cincinnati, the bathing at Beachampton where
she had recently been, a yachting trip she had been promised, tennis,
golf. She was an expert at tennis, as she later proved, putting Gregory
in a heavy perspiration whenever he played with her, and keeping him on
the jump. He tried to decide for himself at this time whether she was
making any advances, but could not detect any. She was very equitable
in the distribution of her favors, and whenever the dancing began in
the East room took as her first choice one of the brokers, and then
Blount.