_In The Open_
In New Orleans the carnival season is always opened by the ball of the
Twelfth Night Revellers soon after Christmas, and is closed by that of
the Krewe of Comus on Mardi Gras night. Upon this evening of "Fat
Tuesday," indeed, both Rex and Comus hold forth. Rex is the popular
ball, the affair of the people, and is held in the Athenaeum. From here,
about midnight, the king and queen proceed to Comus ball.
Comus is an assembly of such rigid exclusiveness that even the tickets
to the galleries are considered social prizes. The _personae_ of the
Krewe, on this particular year as in all previous ones, would remain
unknown; there is no unmasking at Comus. This institution, a tremendous
social power and potentially a financial power also, during decades of
the city's life, is held absolutely above any taint of favouritism or
commercialism. Even the families of those concerned might not always be
certain whether their sons and brothers belonged to the Krewe of Comus.
Henry Gramont did not attend the ball of Proteus on Monday night.
Instead, he sat in his own room, while through the streets of the
French quarter outside was raging the carnival at its height. Before
him were maps and reports upon the gas and oil fields about Bayou
Terrebonne--fields where great domes of natural gas were already
located and in use, and where oil was being found in some quantity.
Early on Wednesday morning Gramont intended to set forth to his work.
He had been engaged to make a report to Bob Maillard's company, and he
would make it. Then he would resign his advisory job, and be free. A
smile curled his lips as he thought of young Maillard and the company.
"The young gentleman will be sadly surprised to discover that I've
gotten out from under--and that his respected father holds my stock!" he
reflected. "That was a good deal; I lost a thousand to old Maillard in
order to save the balance of thirty thousand!"
A knock at his door interrupted the thread of this thought. Gramont
opened, to find the concierge with a note which had been left at the
door below by a masked Harlequin, who had then disappeared without
awaiting any reply.
Gramont recognized the writing on the envelope, and hastened to the note
inside. His face changed, however, as he read it:
Please call promptly at eleven to-morrow morning. I wish to see
you upon a matter of business.
LUCIE LEDANOIS.
Gramont gazed long at this note, his brows drawn down into a harsh line.
It was not like Lucie in its tone, somehow; he sensed something amiss,
something vaguely but most decidedly out of tune. Certainly it was not
her way to write thus curtly and harshly--the words disquieted him. What
could have turned up now? Then, with a shrug, he tossed the note on the
table.
"Eleven to-morrow morning, eh?" he murmured. "That's queer, too, for
she's to be at the Proteus ball to-night. Most girls would not be
conducting business affairs at eleven in the morning, after being up all
night at Proteus! It must be something important. Besides, she's not in
the class with any one else. She's a rare girl; no nonsense in her--full
of a deep, strong sense of things----"
He forced himself from thoughts of Lucie, forced himself from her
personality, and returned to his reports with an effort of
concentration.
Gramont wanted to look over her Terrebonne land with a full knowledge of
its geology and situation. Oil drilling is a gamble in any case, yet
Gramont took a scholar's solid satisfaction in getting his subject
thoroughly in hand before he went to work at it. Then, he reflected, he
would get his task finished as rapidly as might be, turn in his report,
and resign from the company. After that--freedom! He regretted sadly
enough that he had ever gone into any relations with Maillard's company.
"Yet, what's to hinder my going ahead, in the meantime?" he considered.
"What's to hinder getting my own company on its feet? Nothing! All I
need is backing. I'll put in twenty-five thousand, and that much more
added to it will give us plenty of capital to start in drilling with. If
I could find someone who had a positive faith in my judgment and whom I
could trust in turn----"
He checked himself suddenly, and stared at the papers before him with
widening eyes. A slow whistle came from his lips, and then he smiled and
pulled the papers to him. Yet, as he worked he could not keep down the
thought that had forced itself upon him. It was altogether absurd, of
course--yet why not?
When Gramont went to bed that night it was with a startling and
audacious scheme well defined in his brain; a scheme whose first
conception seemed ludicrous and impossible, yet which, on second
consideration, appeared in a very different light. It deserved serious
thought--and Gramont had made his decision before he went to sleep.
The following day was Tuesday--Mardi Gras, Shrove Tuesday, the last day
before Lent began, and the final culminating day of carnival. Henry
Gramont, however, was destined to find little in its beginning of much
personal pleasure.
At eleven in the morning Hammond drove him to the Ledanois home, where
Gramont was admitted by one of the coloured servants and shown into the
parlour. A moment later Lucie herself appeared. At first glance her
smiling greeting removed the half-sensed apprehensions of Gramont.
Almost immediately afterward, however, he noted a perceptible change in
her manner, as she led him toward the rear of the room, and gestured
toward a mahogany tilt-top table which stood in a corner.
"Come over here, please. I have something which I wish to show you."
She needed to say no more. Gramont, following her, found himself staring
blankly down at the symbol of consternation which overwhelmed him. For
upon that table, lay all those self-same boxes which he himself had
packed with the loot of the Midnight Masquer--the identical boxes,
apparently unopened, which had been stolen from his automobile by the
supposed thief Chacherre!
For a moment Gramont found himself unable to speak. He was thunderstruck
by the sight of those unmistakeable boxes. A glance at the calm features
of the girl showed him that there was nothing to be concealed from her,
even had he wished it. He was further stunned by this realization. He
could not understand how the packages had come here. Recovering his
voice with an effort, he managed to break the heavy silence.
"Well? I suppose you know what is in those parcels?"
She nodded. "Yes. One of them was opened, and the note inside was
discovered. Of course, it gave a general explanation. Will you sit down,
please? I think that we had better talk it over quietly and calmly."
Gramont obeyed, and dropped into a chair.
He was absurdly conscious of his own confusion. He tried to speak, but
words and thoughts failed him. Torn between pride and chagrin, he found
himself able to say nothing. Explanations, at any time, came to him with
difficulty; now, at least, he felt that he could not lie to this girl.
And how was he to tell her the truth?
And how had Lucie come into the affair? This staggered him above all
else. Was she behind the theft of the loot? It must be. How long had
she suspected him, then? He had thought Jachin Fell the sole
danger-point--he had never dreamed that this gray-eyed Athene could be
tracing down the Masquer! He tried to visualize the situation more
clearly and his brain whirled. He knew, of course, that she was fairly
intimate with Fell, but he was not aware of any particular
connection----
He glanced up at her suddenly, and surprised a glint of laughter in her
eyes as she watched him.
"You seem to be rather astonished," she observed.
"I am." Gramont drew a deep breath. "You--do you know that those boxes
were taken from my car?"
She nodded again. "Certainly. They were brought to me."
"Then you had someone on my trail?" Gramont flushed a little as he put
the question to her.
"No. I have been chosen to settle affairs with you, that is all. It has
been learned from the note in the opened box that you were not criminal
in what you did."
She leaned forward, her deep eyes searching him with a steady scrutiny.
"Tell me, Henry Gramont, what mad impulse brought you to all this? Was
it a silly, boyish effort to be romantic--was it a mere outburst of
bravado? It was not for the sake of robbery, as the note explained very
clearly. But why, then? Why? There must have been a definite reason in
your mind. You would not have taken such dangerous chances unless you
had something to gain!"
Gramont nodded slightly, then flushed again and bit his lip. For a
moment he made no response to her query.
He might, of course, say that he had been the Midnight Masquer because
of her alone; which would be decidedly untrue. He might tell her, as he
had told Hammond, that all his efforts had led up to that scene in the
Maillard library, when without suspicion by any concerned he might
verify his own surmise as to who had been defrauding Lucie Ledanois. It
would sound very well--but it would be a lie. That had been far from his
only reason for playing the Midnight Masquer's game.
But why tell her anything?
A slight smile touched his lips. "You're not going to send me to prison,
I trust?"
"I ought to!" The girl broke into a laugh. "Why, I can hardly yet
believe that it was really you who were guilty of those things! It
mortified me, it stunned me--until I realized the truth from the note.
Even the fact that you did not do it for criminal ends does not relieve
the sheer folly of the act. Why did you do it? Come, tell me the truth!"
Gramont shrugged. "The truth? Well, my chauffeur, Hammond, was the
original Masquer. I caught him in the act--you remember I told you about
him? After taking him into my employ, I became the Masquer. Poor Hammond
was some time in realizing that my motives were altruistic and not
criminal. He was quite distressed about it until he found that I meant
to return all the loot intact."
"Why did you do it, then?" persisted the girl.
"Call it bravado, my dear Lucie. Call it anything you like--I can't lie
to you! I had a motive, and I refuse to admit what it was; that's all."
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"
"Not particularly." He smiled. "I had a good end in view, and I
accomplished it. Also, I flatter myself that I accomplished it very
decently; there's nothing like being a good workman, you know. Now that
I'm all through, now that I've finished playing my little game, you
happened to discover it. I am ashamed on that point, Lucie--ashamed
because the discovery has very naturally made you think harshly of
me----"
"I think you've been very silly," she said with a disconcerting
calmness. He regarded her for a moment, steadily. "And you have
displayed a fearful lack of judgment!"
"Silly? Well--perhaps. What are you going to do with those boxes?"
"I'll put them in the mail. I'm going downtown for luncheon, and will do
it then. They'll be delivered this afternoon."
He nodded. "I had meant to have them delivered to-morrow; it makes no
difference. You're the boss. It will give the good people a little more
reason for jubilation to-night, eh?"
A sudden laugh broke upon his lips. "I'm beginning to see the humour of
it, Lucie--and I know who put you next to me. It was Jachin Fell, the
old fox! I suspected that he was on my trail, and I thought that he had
managed the theft of those boxes. In fact, I was preparing to give him a
big surprise this afternoon. But tell me, Lucie--are you angry?"
She looked at him steadily for a space, then a swift smile leaped to her
lips and she extended a pardoning hand. Her gesture and words were
impulsive, sincere.
"Angry? No. I think you've some good reason behind it all, which you
won't confide to me. I can read you pretty clearly, Henry Gramont; I
think I can understand some things in you. You're no weakling, no
romantic, filibustering crackbrain! And I like you because you won't lie
to me. You've a motive and you refuse to tell it--very well! I'll be
just as frank and say that I'm not a bit angry. So, that's settled!
"Now what was the big surprise that you just mentioned you were going to
give poor Mr. Fell this afternoon?"
Gramont's eyes twinkled. "You remember that I thought he suspected me of
being the Masquer? Well, I was going to him and propose that we enter
business together."
"Oh! As bandits?"
"No, as oil promotors. I'm out of Maillard's company, or shall be out of
it soon. The minute I'm out, I'll be free to go into business for
myself. It occurred to me that if Jachin Fell had brains enough to run
down the Midnight Masquer, he would be a mighty good business partner;
because I'm poor on business detail. Also, I think Fell is to be
trusted. The things you've told me and written me about him prove that
much. He's very strong politically, I have found--although few people
know it."
"But he's not interested in oil is he?"
"I don't know; I take for granted that he's interested in making money.
Most men are. The only way to make money in oil is to have money--and he
has some! I have a little. I can put in twenty-five thousand. With an
equal amount from him, we can sink a couple of wells, perhaps three. If
we go broke, all right. If we find oil, we're rich!"
"But, my dear Henry, if he knew you to be the Midnight Masquer, do you
think he'd want to go into business with you?" Her gray eyes were
dancing with amusement as she put the query.
"Why not?" Gramont laughed. "If he knew that I had brains enough to pull
off that stunt and keep all New Orleans up in the air--wouldn't I make a
good partner? Besides, I believe that I have some notion where to go
after oil; I'm going to examine your land first----"
"My good prince, you surely have no lack of audacity!" She broke into a
peal of laughter. "Your argument about inducing Mr. Fell to go into
business with you is naïve----"
"But, as an argument, isn't it quite sound?"
"Possibly. Since it is Lucie Ledanois and not Jachin Fell who has
brought you to a confession of your crimes against society--aren't you
going to propose that she go into business with you? Doesn't the
argument hold good with her?"
Although Gramont was taken aback, he met her gaze squarely.
"No. Oil is no woman's game, unless she can well afford to lose. I
imagine that you cannot, Lucie. Once I get my company formed,
however----"
"You're right, I can't put in any money. I'm land poor. Unless I were to
sell that Bayou Terrebonne land--it's an old farm, abandoned since
before father died----"
"Don't sell it!" he exclaimed, quickly. "Don't consider any dealings
with it until I have looked it over, will you?"
"Since you ask it, no. If there's gas near by, there must be oil."
"Who knows?" he shrugged. "No one can predict oil."
"Then you still mean to go to Jachin Fell with your scheme?"
Gramont nodded. "Yes. See here, Lucie--it's about noon! Suppose you come
along and lunch with me at the Louisiane, if you've no engagement. We
can put those boxes in the mail en route, and after luncheon I'll try
and get hold of Fell."
She put her head on one side and studied him reflectively.
"You're sure you'll not kidnap me or anything like that? It's risky to
become a friend of hardened criminals, even if one is trying to uplift
them."
"Good! You'll come?"
"If you can give me ten minutes----"
"My dear Lucie, you are the most charming object in New Orleans at this
minute! Why attempt to make yourself still more attractive? Gilding the
lily is an impossible task."
"Well, wait for me. Is your car here? Good! I want to see Hammond's face
when he sees us carrying out those boxes."
Laughing, the girl started toward the stairs. At the doorway she paused.
"One thing, M. le prince! Do you solemnly promise, upon your honour,
that the Midnight Masquer is dead for ever?"
"Upon my honour!" said Gramont, seriously. "The farce is ended, Lucie."
"All right. I'll be right down. Smoke if you like----"
In her own room upstairs Lucie closed the door and sat down before her
dressing table. She made no move toward the array of toilet articles,
however. Instead, she took a desk telephone from the table, and called a
number. In a moment she received a response.
"Uncle Jachin!" she exclaimed. "Yes--it's just as we thought; it's all a
joke. No, it was not a joke, either, because he had some motive behind
it, but he won't tell me what it was. I'm terribly glad that you opened
one of those boxes and found the letter--if you had gone to the police
it would have been perfectly dreadful----"
"I never go to the police," said Jachin Fell with his dry chuckle. "You
are quite satisfied that there is nothing serious in the affair, then?"
"Absolutely! He told me that he had accomplished his purpose, whatever
it was, and that it's all ended. He just gave me his word that the
Masquer was dead for ever. Now, aren't you glad that you confided in
me?"
"Very," said Jachin Fell. "Very glad, indeed!"
"Now you're laughing at me--never mind! We're going to lunch downtown,
and we'll mail those boxes on the way, by parcels post. Is that all
right?"
"Quite all right, my dear. It is the method adopted by the most
exclusive and elusive criminals in the country, I assure you. Every
handbag snatcher gets rid of his empty bags by mailing them back to the
owner--unless first caught. It pays to follow professional examples, as
Eliza said when she crossed the ice. Did your gown come for to-night?"
"It's to come this afternoon."
"Very well. Do not plan to wear any jewels, Lucie. I have a set to lend
you for the occasion--no, not a gift, merely a loan for the sake of
Comus. They are very nice pearls; a little old fashioned, because they
were mounted for the Princesses de Lamballe, but you will find that they
fit in excellently with your gown. I'll bring them with me when I call
for you----"
"And I'll tender fitting thanks then. One thing more: Henry Gramont is
going to see you after luncheon, I think--on business. And I want you to
be nice to him, Uncle Jachin."
"Most assuredly," said the other, drily. "I should like to be associated
in business with that young man. The firm would prosper."
"Will you stop laughing at me? Then I'll ring off--good-bye!"
And, smiling, she hung up the receiver.
Ten minutes later, when Gramont and Miss Ledanois entered the waiting
car, Hammond saw the boxes that they carried. He stood beside the open
door, paralyzed, his eyes fastened on the boxes, his mouth agape.
"To the postoffice, sergeant," said Gramont, then affected to observe
his stupefaction. "Why, what's the matter?"
Hammond met his twinkling eyes, saw the laughter of Lucie, and swallowed
hard.
"I--er--nothing at all, cap'n," he answered, hoarsely. "A--a little
chokin' spell, that's all. Postoffice? Yes, sir."