"First we must find quarters," said Jack. "We don't want to carry
these valises around all night."
To the chauffeur who opened the taxi door for them Jack said: "Hotel
Madagascar."
"My God!" murmured the still dazed Bobo.
As they entered the gorgeous lobby of the famous hotel Bobo was
overcome with self-consciousness. Bobo had always thought of the
Madagascar as the abiding place of remote and exalted aristocrats. He
slunk at Jack's heels with the yellow stick trailing limply.
"Buck up! Buck up!" whispered Jack. "Remember you are the cheese, and
I'm only the mite that lives off it."
"Sure! Sure!" murmured Bobo, moistening his lips.
He made an effort, but quailed again before the sharp-eyed bell-boys.
Jack reflected that since he was only supposed to be the millionaire of
a day, this would appear natural enough.
"Sign the register," he whispered. "Remember you are John Farrow
Norman, and I am John Robinson."
Bobo accomplished this all right. As the clerk nonchalantly spun the
card around and read the name, he caught his breath slightly, and a
wonderful silkiness crept into his voice.
"Very pleased to have you with us, sir. In a way I hope it's like
coming home."
The other men behind the desk, arrested by the note of exceeding
deference, made excuses to sidle past and glance at the register.
Instantly a kind of electric current charged the office, and was
presently communicated to the bell-boys' bench, whence it spread
throughout the lobby. "It's Jack Norman," the busy whisper went around.
"I hope you're going to remain with us permanently, Mr. Norman," added
the clerk. "What accommodations will you require?"
Bobo, child of nature, rebounded like a rubber ball, feeling the
immense respect conveyed by the whole surrounding atmosphere. Once
more the chest went out, and the yellow stick was elevated to the
ceiling.
"--Er--my secretary will arrange the details with you," he drawled,
turning away languidly. One could see his fingers absently feeling for
the monocle which ought to have been dangling against his waistcoat
button.
Jack stepped forward, modest and business-like. "Mr. Norman wishes to
know if the suite occupied by the late Mr. Gyde is available."
"It's empty, I suppose," was the deprecating reply, "but that is
outside my province. I assure you the rooms are very undesirable. Mr.
Gyde, you know, was most eccentric."
"But Mr. Norman has been told there was a steel vault in connection,
which he thought might be useful."
"Naturally. Naturally. Yes, Mr. Gyde had it installed when the hotel
was built. But there are only two rooms in the suite, and it does not
communicate directly with any other. Moreover the bedroom is quite
dark. It wouldn't do at all."
"Hm!" said Jack. "I suppose not."
"But on the same floor, practically adjoining you might say, there is a
magnificent corner-suite of six rooms--the finest in the house. People
call it the State suite. Prince Boris occupied it on his recent visit,
and the President of Managuay always reserves it."
The apparently indifferent Bobo's ears stretched at this.
"The famous Louis Quinze salon with ceilings by Guglielmetti is
included in this suite, and the Dutch dining-room decorated by Troward
Handler Misty. Each of the bedrooms is done in a different period. I
assure you there is nothing like it in New York. It extends all the
way down the south side of the building, and it is only a matter of
cutting diagonally across the corridor to reach the late Mr. Gyde's
suite, which occupies the back corner of that floor. Those rooms
belong to Mr. Norman anyway since they were exempted from our lease.
Together with the state suite they would make--but let me have the
pleasure of showing them to you."
"What do you think, Mr. Norman?" asked Jack respectfully.
"Oh, take them," said Bobo. "We can change later, if we're not
suited." He gave the yellow stick a twirl.
"Certainly, sir."
Having been shown up to their magnificent quarters, Jack firmly
dismissed the train of admiring clerks, bell boys and maids who
overwhelmed them with attentions. Bobo was bearing himself with
admirable nonchalance, but Jack thought he saw signs of a coming crack
under the strain. There was something comically disproportionate in
the relation of their two little selves and their two little valises to
that endless suite.
"Our baggage will come to-morrow," Jack casually remarked.
When they were left alone in the Louis Quinze salon panelled in blue
brocade, they looked around, and they looked at each other.
"Some li'l sittin'-room," said Jack.
"My God!" cried Bobo. "An hour ago I was sitting on a bench in Bryant
Square with my stomach deflated like a punctured tube!"
"Some rapid rise."
Bobo gravely butted his head against the blue satin brocade. "Sure if
I was asleep, that would wake me up."
"Oh, cheer up! We couldn't both be having the same dream together."
"That's true!" said Bobo, looking wonderfully relieved.
"Let's go into the next room," said Jack. "Louis Quinze isn't
homelike."
Entering the Dutch room, he said: "This is rather classy. We can have
some nice little parties in here."
"I wish it was time to eat again," said Bobo with sudden recollection.
"What a lot of time we waste digesting!"
They were presently informed over the telephone that Mr. Pope of the
_Sphere_ and Mr. Wallis of the _Constellation_ requested a word or two
with Mr. Norman.
"The news of our arrival wasted no time in leaking out," remarked Jack.
Looking Bobo over thoughtfully, he decided that further coaching was
necessary before the pseudo-millionaire could safely be thrown to the
reporters. So he sent down word that Mr. Norman was out, and to avoid
possible encounters in the lobby, he and Bobo made their way out by the
rear door of the state suite and thence by Silas Gyde's private stair
to the entrance on the side street.
At the Broadway corner they paused. The sight of the double procession
of automobiles started a new train of desires.
"They ought to keep the automobile show-rooms open all night," said
Jack. "A fellow wants to buy a car most after dinner. I shan't really
believe I am a millionaire--I mean that you are, until we have a snaky
red roadster with twelve cylinders and a searchlight."
"I'd rather have a limousine with blue upholstery and a chauffeur in
blue livery to take the responsibility," said Bobo.
"Oh, go as far as you like! Where will we go now?"
"How about the Alpine Heights?"
"Lead me to it!"
This place of entertainment was on the roof of one of the theaters. A
discreet privacy shrouded the street entrance. They were whirled aloft
in an elevator, and a small army of silver-buttoned boys and
lace-capped maids relieved them of their outer wear. The restaurant
opened before them like a dream, warm with perfume and color and
softened light. It was arranged like a shallow bowl. The bottom of it
was a velvety dancing-floor, and all around were low terraces of
tables. Overhead was a balcony, and one end of the place was closed by
a great curtain. When this was lifted a sheet of glittering ice was
revealed. The whole place exhaled luxury like the palace of a satrap.
"What a background for the lovely girls!" said Jack. "But the black
coats and pants are out of place here."
"Oh, I don't know!" said Bobo, strutting a little.
Jack's sharp eyes perceived that the first and lowest row of tables was
by a process of judicious selection on the part of the head-waiter,
filled with the elite of the "Broadway crowd," the women exquisite with
their bare shoulders and jewels, the men looking bored and superior as
is expected of super-men. These people, as the cunning management of
the restaurant well knew, formed the real attraction to the soberer
folk from out of town, who sat further back drinking it all in with
innocent big eyes. They thought these fine folk must be Astorbilts or
Vandergelds, whereas they were more likely Follies of the Circus and
Handsome Harries in funds.
The headwaiter with a shrewd glance at the two young men started to
lead them to an obscure corner (young men unaccompanied do not spend
much) but Jack with a cough attracted his attention and with discreet
motion effected a transfer to his ready hand. Whereupon after heavy
study, the majordomo affected to discover a vacant table in the second
row. The rail of the balcony was over their heads.
Bobo seized on the bill-of-fare. "I'm hungry again!" he cried in the
tone of one making an unexpected and delightful discovery. "Can I
order anything I want?"
"Go to it, son!"
"How about champagne? I never tasted it," he added naïvely.
"What! Never tasted champagne!"
Bobo blushed painfully.
"Well, I never did either," said Jack, grinning. "One bottle because
this is a party. But mind you, the limit is always one bottle. We've
got head work to do."
"Sure, that's right," said Bobo, but without any great conviction, and
Jack reflected that along with his other pre-occupations he would have
to keep an eye on his partner's potations.
Bobo went into conference with the waiter, and in due course a little
Lucullan feast was spread before them. It may be remarked in passing,
that where his stomach was concerned Bobo proved to be an astonishingly
apt scholar. Within a week he was a menu-card-sharp, and within a
month the intimate friend of every head-waiter on Broadway.
Meanwhile the great curtain was lifted, and enchanting slender-legged
damsels, in chiffons and furs, performed amazing and graceful
evolutions on the ice. Between times, the diners danced on the waxed
floor. The teasing music made Jack think of Kate. He looked across
the table with distaste.
"What wouldn't I give to have her there instead of that greedy Bobo,"
he thought. "Lord! I suppose I'm saddled with him now, by day and by
night!"
During a pause in the music a small object dropped on their table,
bounced and lay still. It was a piece of paper folded into a pellet.
"A note!" said Bobo excitedly. "We've made a hit with somebody. Is it
for you or me do you think?"
"You can have my share," said Jack indifferently.
Bobo eagerly opened the paper, while Jack's attention strayed over the
crowd. He wasn't going to allow the writer of the note to see that the
receipt of it excited him at all, like the foolish Bobo, whose hands
actually were trembling.
Jack's glance was sharply recalled by an odd little sound from his
partner. Bobo's ruddy cheeks had paled, and his mouth was hanging open
stupidly.
"Read it," he gasped, handing the note over.
It was not what Jack expected. There was no salutation.
"We have picked up your trail now, and don't you think we'll ever let
it go. When one of us drops it, there will be another handy to pick it
up. When the time comes we'll strike, and there will be another rotten
millionaire the less to sweat the poor. You will offer a good-size
mark. You needn't think your skinny secretary will be any protection.
A hundred like him wouldn't save you.
"The Red Gang."
While the tone of the note was the same as the other, this had been
written by an educated hand. Jack looked sharply around the nearby
tables. No face betrayed any self-consciousness. Behind them sat an
honest couple from the suburbs; in front was a party of eight in
evening dress, the men silly from too much champagne, the women bored
and listless; at their right was a young couple, wholly and completely
absorbed in each other; at their left, across an aisle, a gay old
gentleman and a languid lady of the chorus--it seemed hard to credit
that the note could have come from any of these.
"What shall we do?" murmured Bobo tremulously.
"Laugh at it, and let the sender see us laughing," said Jack, suiting
the action to the word.
"It seemed to drop straight down," thought Bobo.
"The balcony!" thought Jack. He rose without any appearance of haste
and made his way up-stairs. He had no difficulty in picking out the
table that was just over their heads. It was now empty. The napkins
lay where they had been dropped. He summoned the waiter.
"Who sat at that table?"
The man cringed to the authoritative air. "An elderly couple, sir.
Never saw them before."
"Describe them."
"Plain people, sir. Quietly dressed. But very genteel and liberal."
This seemed to be about the best the waiter could do, even with the
stimulus of a generous tip. He did add that the old gentleman wore a
heavy gray mustache and small imperial.
"They have just gone?" said Jack.
"Just took the elevator, sir."
Jack returned to Bobo.
"What shall we do?" said the fat youth again.
"Oh, cheer up! Everything's going fine! Don't you see they've
swallowed my bait whole. They think _you're_ the millionaire!"
"That's fine for you," said Bobo, looking around nervously, "but where
do I get off at?"
9
Next morning the delights of purchasing automobiles had to be put off a
while longer to allow of some necessary business to be transacted.
Jack wanted to secure Mr. Delamare's approval for his new plans. For
obvious reasons he did not care to take Bobo to the bank, so he called
up the financier, and asked him respectfully if he would mind coming to
the hotel.
A laugh answered him over the wire. "Would I mind! My dear boy! A
banker would go to Tallapoosa to oblige a customer with an account like
yours!"
While they waited for him they breakfasted in the Dutch room. Bobo's
appetite showed no evil effects resulting from his scare of the night
before. During the meal the card of a visitor was brought them.
H. J. WHIGHAM
_The Eureka Protective Association_
"Ha!" cried Jack. "Exactly according to schedule!"
"What's that?" asked Bobo.
"Last night we got the rough stuff, to-day the smooth."
"I don't understand."
"Keep your ears open, and you'll see. Just let your little secretary
deal with this gent for you."
Jack asked that Mr. Whigham be sent up. A old-young man was shown into
them, a starched and ironed little fellow with an air of
self-importance like a cock-sparrow's.
"If this is a dangerous crook," thought Jack, "he's got a dam clever
line of comedy. Looks like a neck-tie clerk."
"Mr. Norman?" inquired the newcomer with a bird-like quirk of the head
from one to another.
Jack waved his hand in Bobo's direction.
"Mr. Norman, I have a proposition to make to you."
"My secretary will talk to you," said Bobo with the drawl he now
affected.
He went on with his breakfast and the reading of the newspaper--but
missed nothing of what was said. Jack had been well-advised in keeping
from him that there was any connection between Mr. Whigham and the Red
Gang. Bobo could scarcely have maintained that air of nonchalance, had
he known it.
"What can we do for you?" asked Jack politely "Excuse me if I go on
with my breakfast. We were up late last night."
"Don't mention it," said Mr. Whigham. "I am early. I came early on
purpose, because I thought later you would be besieged by cranks and
triflers of all kinds. I have a genuine proposition to make Mr.
Norman. It is one I felt ought to get to him without a moment's delay."
"Open it."
Mr. Whigham talked smoothly, and at considerable length. It had the
effect of something well-rehearsed. Jack, as we know, had it all
beforehand. Only the essential parts of his spiel need be given.
"Both of you gentlemen are no doubt aware of the great increase of
anarchistic activity in this country of recent years."
At the word "anarchistic" Bobo started, and let the newspaper sink to
the table.
"The police of this and other cities have worked hard to check this
evil. They watch the Reds as well as they are able; close up their
meeting-places--when they find them; arrest them on the least shadow of
evidence. This is all right as far as it goes--understand, gentlemen,
I am not knocking the police; but the fact remains that the horrible
outrages continue. I need not speak of the latest one which concerns
Mr. Norman so closely."
"The police method is like treating an ulcer with external applications
only. You may heal it up, but it will only break out in another place.
Now the Eureka Association was formed three years ago to deal with the
matter from another angle. Not in opposition to the police, nor in
alliance with them, but quite independently. We never inform on the
Reds nor prosecute them."
"You make friends with them?" suggested Jack.
"In a way, yes. Our agents become Reds; join their circles, watch
them, and report to the main office as to the plots they hatch. Our
organization has now been brought to such a point of perfection that we
are in a position to guarantee our subscribers absolute immunity from
the attacks of anarchists."
"Was the late Mr. Gyde a member?" Jack asked slyly.
"He was not," said Mr. Whigham significantly. "He had rejected our
respectful solicitations from time to time. Nevertheless out of pure
humanity we warned him of what was about to occur. With characteristic
obstinacy he ignored the warning--well, you know what happened."
"But they say that Emil Jansen, his assailant, was not a member of any
regular circle."
"'They say!'" said Mr. Whigham sarcastically. "What do 'they' know!"
"What's the damage?" asked Jack.
"Hey?" said Mr. Whigham.
"What does the service cost?"
"Five hundred dollars a month."