The very next day there called at Butler’s office a long,
preternaturally solemn man of noticeable height and angularity,
dark-haired, dark-eyed, sallow, with a face that was long and leathery,
and particularly hawk-like, who talked with Butler for over an hour and
then departed. That evening he came to the Butler house around
dinner-time, and, being shown into Butler’s room, was given a look at
Aileen by a ruse. Butler sent for her, standing in the doorway just far
enough to one side to yield a good view of her. The detective stood
behind one of the heavy curtains which had already been put up for the
winter, pretending to look out into the street.
“Did any one drive Sissy this mornin’?” asked Butler of Aileen,
inquiring after a favorite family horse. Butler’s plan, in case the
detective was seen, was to give the impression that he was a horseman
who had come either to buy or to sell. His name was Jonas Alderson, and
be looked sufficiently like a horsetrader to be one.
“I don’t think so, father,” replied Aileen. “I didn’t. I’ll find out.”
“Never mind. What I want to know is did you intend using her
to-morrow?”
“No, not if you want her. Jerry suits me just as well.”
“Very well, then. Leave her in the stable.” Butler quietly closed the
door. Aileen concluded at once that it was a horse conference. She knew
he would not dispose of any horse in which she was interested without
first consulting her, and so she thought no more about it.
After she was gone Alderson stepped out and declared that he was
satisfied. “That’s all I need to know,” he said. “I’ll let you know in
a few days if I find out anything.”
He departed, and within thirty-six hours the house and office of
Cowperwood, the house of Butler, the office of Harper Steger,
Cowperwood’s lawyer, and Cowperwood and Aileen separately and
personally were under complete surveillance. It took six men to do it
at first, and eventually a seventh, when the second meeting-place,
which was located in South Sixth Street, was discovered. All the
detectives were from New York. In a week all was known to Alderson. It
bad been agreed between him and Butler that if Aileen and Cowperwood
were discovered to have any particular rendezvous Butler was to be
notified some time when she was there, so that he might go immediately
and confront her in person, if he wished. He did not intend to kill
Cowperwood—and Alderson would have seen to it that he did not in his
presence at least, but he would give him a good tongue-lashing, fell
him to the floor, in all likelihood, and march Aileen away. There would
be no more lying on her part as to whether she was or was not going
with Cowperwood. She would not be able to say after that what she would
or would not do. Butler would lay down the law to her. She would
reform, or he would send her to a reformatory. Think of her influence
on her sister, or on any good girl—knowing what she knew, or doing what
she was doing! She would go to Europe after this, or any place he chose
to send her.
In working out his plan of action it was necessary for Butler to take
Alderson into his confidence and the detective made plain his
determination to safeguard Cowperwood’s person.
“We couldn’t allow you to strike any blows or do any violence,”
Alderson told Butler, when they first talked about it. “It’s against
the rules. You can go in there on a search-warrant, if we have to have
one. I can get that for you without anybody’s knowing anything about
your connection with the case. We can say it’s for a girl from New
York. But you’ll have to go in in the presence of my men. They won’t
permit any trouble. You can get your daughter all right—we’ll bring her
away, and him, too, if you say so; but you’ll have to make some charge
against him, if we do. Then there’s the danger of the neighbors seeing.
You can’t always guarantee you won’t collect a crowd that way.” Butler
had many misgivings about the matter. It was fraught with great danger
of publicity. Still he wanted to know. He wanted to terrify Aileen if
he could—to reform her drastically.
Within a week Alderson learned that Aileen and Cowperwood were visiting
an apparently private residence, which was anything but that. The house
on South Sixth Street was one of assignation purely; but in its way it
was superior to the average establishment of its kind—of red brick,
white-stone trimmings, four stories high, and all the rooms, some
eighteen in number, furnished in a showy but cleanly way. It’s
patronage was highly exclusive, only those being admitted who were
known to the mistress, having been introduced by others. This
guaranteed that privacy which the illicit affairs of this world so
greatly required. The mere phrase, “I have an appointment,” was
sufficient, where either of the parties was known, to cause them to be
shown to a private suite. Cowperwood had known of the place from
previous experiences, and when it became necessary to abandon the North
Tenth Street house, he had directed Aileen to meet him here.
The matter of entering a place of this kind and trying to find any one
was, as Alderson informed Butler on hearing of its character,
exceedingly difficult. It involved the right of search, which was
difficult to get. To enter by sheer force was easy enough in most
instances where the business conducted was in contradistinction to the
moral sentiment of the community; but sometimes one encountered violent
opposition from the tenants themselves. It might be so in this case.
The only sure way of avoiding such opposition would be to take the
woman who ran the place into one’s confidence, and by paying her
sufficiently insure silence. “But I do not advise that in this
instance,” Alderson had told Butler, “for I believe this woman is
particularly friendly to your man. It might be better, in spite of the
risk, to take it by surprise.” To do that, he explained, it would be
necessary to have at least three men in addition to the leader—perhaps
four, who, once one man had been able to make his entrance into the
hallway, on the door being opened in response to a ring, would appear
quickly and enter with and sustain him. Quickness of search was the
next thing—the prompt opening of all doors. The servants, if any, would
have to be overpowered and silenced in some way. Money sometimes did
this; force accomplished it at other times. Then one of the detectives
simulating a servant could tap gently at the different doors—Butler and
the others standing by—and in case a face appeared identify it or not,
as the case might be. If the door was not opened and the room was not
empty, it could eventually be forced. The house was one of a solid
block, so that there was no chance of escape save by the front and rear
doors, which were to be safe-guarded. It was a daringly conceived
scheme. In spite of all this, secrecy in the matter of removing Aileen
was to be preserved.
When Butler heard of this he was nervous about the whole terrible
procedure. He thought once that without going to the house he would
merely talk to his daughter declaring that he knew and that she could
not possibly deny it. He would then give her her choice between going
to Europe or going to a reformatory. But a sense of the raw brutality
of Aileen’s disposition, and something essentially coarse in himself,
made him eventually adopt the other method. He ordered Alderson to
perfect his plan, and once he found Aileen or Cowperwood entering the
house to inform him quickly. He would then drive there, and with the
assistance of these men confront her.
It was a foolish scheme, a brutalizing thing to do, both from the point
of view of affection and any corrective theory he might have had. No
good ever springs from violence. But Butler did not see that. He wanted
to frighten Aileen, to bring her by shock to a realization of the
enormity of the offense she was committing. He waited fully a week
after his word had been given; and then, one afternoon, when his nerves
were worn almost thin from fretting, the climax came. Cowperwood had
already been indicted, and was now awaiting trial. Aileen had been
bringing him news, from time to time, of just how she thought her
father was feeling toward him. She did not get this evidence direct
from Butler, of course—he was too secretive, in so far as she was
concerned, to let her know how relentlessly he was engineering
Cowperwood’s final downfall—but from odd bits confided to Owen, who
confided them to Callum, who in turn, innocently enough, confided them
to Aileen. For one thing, she had learned in this way of the new
district attorney elect—his probable attitude—for he was a constant
caller at the Butler house or office. Owen had told Callum that he
thought Shannon was going to do his best to send Cowperwood “up”—that
the old man thought he deserved it.
In the next place she had learned that her father did not want
Cowperwood to resume business—did not feel he deserved to be allowed
to. “It would be a God’s blessing if the community were shut of him,”
he had said to Owen one morning, apropos of a notice in the papers of
Cowperwood’s legal struggles; and Owen had asked Callum why he thought
the old man was so bitter. The two sons could not understand it.
Cowperwood heard all this from her, and more—bits about Judge
Payderson, the judge who was to try him, who was a friend of
Butler’s—also about the fact that Stener might be sent up for the full
term of his crime, but that he would be pardoned soon afterward.
Apparently Cowperwood was not very much frightened. He told her that he
had powerful financial friends who would appeal to the governor to
pardon him in case he was convicted; and, anyhow, that he did not think
that the evidence was strong enough to convict him. He was merely a
political scapegoat through public clamor and her father’s influence;
since the latter’s receipt of the letter about them he had been the
victim of Butler’s enmity, and nothing more. “If it weren’t for your
father, honey,” he declared, “I could have this indictment quashed in
no time. Neither Mollenhauer nor Simpson has anything against me
personally, I am sure. They want me to get out of the street-railway
business here in Philadelphia, and, of course, they wanted to make
things look better for Stener at first; but depend upon it, if your
father hadn’t been against me they wouldn’t have gone to any such
length in making me the victim. Your father has this fellow Shannon and
these minor politicians just where he wants them, too. That’s where the
trouble lies. They have to go on.”
“Oh, I know,” replied Aileen. “It’s me, just me, that’s all. If it
weren’t for me and what he suspects he’d help you in a minute.
Sometimes, you know, I think I’ve been very bad for you. I don’t know
what I ought to do. If I thought it would help you any I’d not see you
any more for a while, though I don’t see what good that would do now.
Oh, I love you, love you, Frank! I would do anything for you. I don’t
care what people think or say. I love you.”
“Oh, you just think you do,” he replied, jestingly. “You’ll get over
it. There are others.”
“Others!” echoed Aileen, resentfully and contemptuously. “After you
there aren’t any others. I just want one man, my Frank. If you ever
desert me, I’ll go to hell. You’ll see.”
“Don’t talk like that, Aileen,” he replied, almost irritated. “I don’t
like to hear you. You wouldn’t do anything of the sort. I love you. You
know I’m not going to desert you. It would pay you to desert me just
now.”
“Oh, how you talk!” she exclaimed. “Desert you! It’s likely, isn’t it?
But if ever you desert me, I’ll do just what I say. I swear it.”
“Don’t talk like that. Don’t talk nonsense.”
“I swear it. I swear by my love. I swear by your success—my own
happiness. I’ll do just what I say. I’ll go to hell.”
Cowperwood got up. He was a little afraid now of this deep-seated
passion he had aroused. It was dangerous. He could not tell where it
would lead.
It was a cheerless afternoon in November, when Alderson, duly informed
of the presence of Aileen and Cowperwood in the South Sixth Street
house by the detective on guard drove rapidly up to Butler’s office and
invited him to come with him. Yet even now Butler could scarcely
believe that he was to find his daughter there. The shame of it. The
horror. What would he say to her? How reproach her? What would he do to
Cowperwood? His large hands shook as he thought. They drove rapidly to
within a few doors of the place, where a second detective on guard
across the street approached. Butler and Alderson descended from the
vehicle, and together they approached the door. It was now almost
four-thirty in the afternoon. In a room within the house, Cowperwood,
his coat and vest off, was listening to Aileen’s account of her
troubles.
The room in which they were sitting at the time was typical of the
rather commonplace idea of luxury which then prevailed. Most of the
“sets” of furniture put on the market for general sale by the furniture
companies were, when they approached in any way the correct idea of
luxury, imitations of one of the Louis periods. The curtains were
always heavy, frequently brocaded, and not infrequently red. The
carpets were richly flowered in high colors with a thick, velvet nap.
The furniture, of whatever wood it might be made, was almost invariably
heavy, floriated, and cumbersome. This room contained a heavily
constructed bed of walnut, with washstand, bureau, and wardrobe to
match. A large, square mirror in a gold frame was hung over the
washstand. Some poor engravings of landscapes and several nude figures
were hung in gold frames on the wall. The gilt-framed chairs were
upholstered in pink-and-white-flowered brocade, with polished brass
tacks. The carpet was of thick Brussels, pale cream and pink in hue,
with large blue jardinieres containing flowers woven in as ornaments.
The general effect was light, rich, and a little stuffy.
“You know I get desperately frightened, sometimes,” said Aileen.
“Father might be watching us, you know. I’ve often wondered what I’d do
if he caught us. I couldn’t lie out of this, could I?”
“You certainly couldn’t,” said Cowperwood, who never failed to respond
to the incitement of her charms. She had such lovely smooth arms, a
full, luxuriously tapering throat and neck; her golden-red hair floated
like an aureole about her head, and her large eyes sparkled. The
wondrous vigor of a full womanhood was hers—errant, ill-balanced,
romantic, but exquisite, “but you might as well not cross that bridge
until you come to it,” he continued. “I myself have been thinking that
we had better not go on with this for the present. That letter ought to
have been enough to stop us for the time.”
He came over to where she stood by the dressing-table, adjusting her
hair.
“You’re such a pretty minx,” he said. He slipped his arm about her and
kissed her pretty mouth. “Nothing sweeter than you this side of
Paradise,” he whispered in her ear.
While this was enacting, Butler and the extra detective had stepped out
of sight, to one side of the front door of the house, while Alderson,
taking the lead, rang the bell. A negro servant appeared.
“Is Mrs. Davis in?” he asked, genially, using the name of the woman in
control. “I’d like to see her.”
“Just come in,” said the maid, unsuspectingly, and indicated a
reception-room on the right. Alderson took off his soft, wide-brimmed
hat and entered. When the maid went up-stairs he immediately returned
to the door and let in Butler and two detectives. The four stepped into
the reception-room unseen. In a few moments the “madam” as the current
word characterized this type of woman, appeared. She was tall, fair,
rugged, and not at all unpleasant to look upon. She had light-blue eyes
and a genial smile. Long contact with the police and the brutalities of
sex in her early life had made her wary, a little afraid of how the
world would use her. This particular method of making a living being
illicit, and she having no other practical knowledge at her command,
she was as anxious to get along peacefully with the police and the
public generally as any struggling tradesman in any walk of life might
have been. She had on a loose, blue-flowered peignoir, or
dressing-gown, open at the front, tied with blue ribbons and showing a
little of her expensive underwear beneath. A large opal ring graced her
left middle finger, and turquoises of vivid blue were pendent from her
ears. She wore yellow silk slippers with bronze buckles; and altogether
her appearance was not out of keeping with the character of the
reception-room itself, which was a composite of gold-flowered
wall-paper, blue and cream-colored Brussels carpet, heavily gold-framed
engravings of reclining nudes, and a gilt-framed pier-glass, which rose
from the floor to the ceiling. Needless to say, Butler was shocked to
the soul of him by this suggestive atmosphere which was supposed to
include his daughter in its destructive reaches.
Alderson motioned one of his detectives to get behind the woman—between
her and the door—which he did.
“Sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Davis,” he said, “but we are looking for a
couple who are in your house here. We’re after a runaway girl. We don’t
want to make any disturbance—merely to get her and take her away.” Mrs.
Davis paled and opened her mouth. “Now don’t make any noise or try to
scream, or we’ll have to stop you. My men are all around the house.
Nobody can get out. Do you know anybody by the name of Cowperwood?”
Mrs. Davis, fortunately from one point of view, was not of a
particularly nervous nor yet contentious type. She was more or less
philosophic. She was not in touch with the police here in Philadelphia,
hence subject to exposure. What good would it do to cry out? she
thought. The place was surrounded. There was no one in the house at the
time to save Cowperwood and Aileen. She did not know Cowperwood by his
name, nor Aileen by hers. They were a Mr. and Mrs. Montague to her.
“I don’t know anybody by that name,” she replied nervously.
“Isn’t there a girl here with red hair?” asked one of Alderson’s
assistants. “And a man with a gray suit and a light-brown mustache?
They came in here half an hour ago. You remember them, don’t you?”
“There’s just one couple in the house, but I’m not sure whether they’re
the ones you want. I’ll ask them to come down if you wish. Oh, I wish
you wouldn’t make any disturbance. This is terrible.”
“We’ll not make any disturbance,” replied Alderson, “if you don’t. Just
you be quiet. We merely want to see the girl and take her away. Now,
you stay where you are. What room are they in?”
“In the second one in the rear up-stairs. Won’t you let me go, though?
It will be so much better. I’ll just tap and ask them to come out.”
“No. We’ll tend to that. You stay where you are. You’re not going to
get into any trouble. You just stay where you are,” insisted Alderson.
He motioned to Butler, who, however, now that he had embarked on his
grim task, was thinking that he had made a mistake. What good would it
do him to force his way in and make her come out, unless he intended to
kill Cowperwood? If she were made to come down here, that would be
enough. She would then know that he knew all. He did not care to
quarrel with Cowperwood, in any public way, he now decided. He was
afraid to. He was afraid of himself.
“Let her go,” he said grimly, doggedly referring to Mrs. Davis, “But
watch her. Tell the girl to come down-stairs to me.”
Mrs. Davis, realizing on the moment that this was some family tragedy,
and hoping in an agonized way that she could slip out of it peacefully,
started upstairs at once with Alderson and his assistants who were
close at his heels. Reaching the door of the room occupied by
Cowperwood and Aileen, she tapped lightly. At the time Aileen and
Cowperwood were sitting in a big arm-chair. At the first knock Aileen
blanched and leaped to her feet. Usually not nervous, to-day, for some
reason, she anticipated trouble. Cowperwood’s eyes instantly hardened.
“Don’t be nervous,” he said, “no doubt it’s only the servant. I’ll go.”
He started, but Aileen interfered. “Wait,” she said. Somewhat
reassured, she went to the closet, and taking down a dressing-gown,
slipped it on. Meanwhile the tap came again. Then she went to the door
and opened it the least bit.
“Mrs. Montague,” exclaimed Mrs. Davis, in an obviously nervous, forced
voice, “there’s a gentleman downstairs who wishes to see you.”
“A gentleman to see me!” exclaimed Aileen, astonished and paling. “Are
you sure?”
“Yes; he says he wants to see you. There are several other men with
him. I think it’s some one who belongs to you, maybe.”
Aileen realized on the instant, as did Cowperwood, what had in all
likelihood happened. Butler or Mrs. Cowperwood had trailed them—in all
probability her father. He wondered now what he should do to protect
her, not himself. He was in no way deeply concerned for himself, even
here. Where any woman was concerned he was too chivalrous to permit
fear. It was not at all improbable that Butler might want to kill him;
but that did not disturb him. He really did not pay any attention to
that thought, and he was not armed.
“I’ll dress and go down,” he said, when he saw Aileen’s pale face. “You
stay here. And don’t you worry in any way for I’ll get you out of
this—now, don’t worry. This is my affair. I got you in it and I’ll get
you out of it.” He went for his hat and coat and added, as he did so,
“You go ahead and dress; but let me go first.”
Aileen, the moment the door closed, had begun to put on her clothes
swiftly and nervously. Her mind was working like a rapidly moving
machine. She was wondering whether this really could be her father.
Perhaps it was not. Might there be some other Mrs. Montague—a real one?
Supposing it was her father—he had been so nice to her in not telling
the family, in keeping her secret thus far. He loved her—she knew that.
It makes all the difference in the world in a child’s attitude on an
occasion like this whether she has been loved and petted and spoiled,
or the reverse. Aileen had been loved and petted and spoiled. She could
not think of her father doing anything terrible physically to her or to
any one else. But it was so hard to confront him—to look into his eyes.
When she had attained a proper memory of him, her fluttering wits told
her what to do.
“No, Frank,” she whispered, excitedly; “if it’s father, you’d better
let me go. I know how to talk to him. He won’t say anything to me. You
stay here. I’m not afraid—really, I’m not. If I want you, I’ll call
you.”
He had come over and taken her pretty chin in his hands, and was
looking solemnly into her eyes.
“You mustn’t be afraid,” he said. “I’ll go down. If it’s your father,
you can go away with him. I don’t think he’ll do anything either to you
or to me. If it is he, write me something at the office. I’ll be there.
If I can help you in any way, I will. We can fix up something. There’s
no use trying to explain this. Say nothing at all.”
He had on his coat and overcoat, and was standing with his hat in his
hand. Aileen was nearly dressed, struggling with the row of red
current-colored buttons which fastened her dress in the back.
Cowperwood helped her. When she was ready—hat, gloves, and all—he said:
“Now let me go first. I want to see.”
“No; please, Frank,” she begged, courageously. “Let me, I know it’s
father. Who else could it be?” She wondered at the moment whether her
father had brought her two brothers but would not now believe it. He
would not do that, she knew. “You can come if I call.” She went on.
“Nothing’s going to happen, though. I understand him. He won’t do
anything to me. If you go it will only make him angry. Let me go. You
stand in the door here. If I don’t call, it’s all right. Will you?”
She put her two pretty hands on his shoulders, and he weighed the
matter very carefully. “Very well,” he said, “only I’ll go to the foot
of the stairs with you.”
They went to the door and he opened it. Outside were Alderson with two
other detectives and Mrs. Davis, standing perhaps five feet away.
“Well,” said Cowperwood, commandingly, looking at Alderson.
“There’s a gentleman down-stairs wishes to see the lady,” said
Alderson. “It’s her father, I think,” he added quietly.
Cowperwood made way for Aileen, who swept by, furious at the presence
of men and this exposure. Her courage had entirely returned. She was
angry now to think her father would make a public spectacle of her.
Cowperwood started to follow.
“I’d advise you not to go down there right away,” cautioned Alderson,
sagely. “That’s her father. Butler’s her name, isn’t it? He don’t want
you so much as he wants her.”
Cowperwood nevertheless walked slowly toward the head of the stairs,
listening.
“What made you come here, father?” he heard Aileen ask.
Butler’s reply he could not hear, but he was now at ease for he knew
how much Butler loved his daughter.
Confronted by her father, Aileen was now attempting to stare defiantly,
to look reproachful, but Butler’s deep gray eyes beneath their shaggy
brows revealed such a weight of weariness and despair as even she, in
her anger and defiance, could not openly flaunt. It was all too sad.
“I never expected to find you in a place like this, daughter,” he said.
“I should have thought you would have thought better of yourself.” His
voice choked and he stopped.
“I know who you’re here with,” he continued, shaking his head sadly.
“The dog! I’ll get him yet. I’ve had men watchin’ you all the time. Oh,
the shame of this day! The shame of this day! You’ll be comin’ home
with me now.”
“That’s just it, father,” began Aileen. “You’ve had men watching me. I
should have thought—” She stopped, because he put up his hand in a
strange, agonized, and yet dominating way.
“None of that! none of that!” he said, glowering under his strange,
sad, gray brows. “I can’t stand it! Don’t tempt me! We’re not out of
this place yet. He’s not! You’ll come home with me now.”
Aileen understood. It was Cowperwood he was referring to. That
frightened her.
“I’m ready,” she replied, nervously.
The old man led the way broken-heartedly. He felt he would never live
to forget the agony of this hour.