"I shouldn't be surprised if part of it was actually for the purpose of
settling with the man who helped you to disobey my orders."
"Miriam fixed that up by wireless."
"Then I might suggest that it's up to her to settle with the man. You
told me Miriam was well-fixed, you know."
"Something has happened," said Bobo. "We went to the Bienvenu before
coming here. Some one called her up there. She wouldn't let me hear
what she said. She was sore afterwards. Seems her income is cut off
or something."
"That's not hard to guess," said Jack. "The old man told her that now
she's got you, she can afford to dispense with his weekly contribution."
"Do you really think she's in his pay?"
"Oh, let's don't go into that again."
"Good Lord! What will become of me!" groaned Bobo. "I've got to show
her the color of my money, or she'll worm the truth out of me!"
"You'll never tell her the truth. She'd kill you."
"She'll guess the truth, if I don't keep her supplied!"
"You should have thought of that yesterday."
"Don't be so hard on me!" whined Bobo. "What's the money to you!"
Jack felt slightly disgusted. "I'm going to keep you supplied," he
said, "within reason. But you'll have to keep that young lady inside
the limits that I set. I've no intention of maintaining her like the
Queen of Sheba. Tell her your money's in the hands of trustees. Tell
her anything you like."
"How much?" said Bobo anxiously.
"Five thousand for the honeymoon. After that a thousand weekly. Not
another cent."
"I've got to have the limousine," whined Bobo.
Jack's lip curled. "You're not exactly in a position to make demands.
However, you can have the car. It's no good to me."
Bobo commenced to stammer his thanks.
"Cut it out!" said Jack. "I'm only doing it, because it happens to
suit my plans. You have disobeyed my orders, and forfeited all claims
on me. I reserve the right of course, to show you up whenever it suits
me."
Bobo lived in the present. Seeing his immediate needs relieved, he
refused to consider the unpleasant future. His eye brightened as Jack
went to write him a check.
31
This was the night of the weekly meeting of the Friends of Freedom,
Barbarossa's circle, of which Jack was now a full member. On his way
to the meeting-place he stopped in at Harmon Evers' place according to
custom, to be metamorphosed from Jack Robinson into Henry Cassels, the
wild-haired young anarchist.
Jack enjoyed these visits to the wig-maker. Evers was an original.
His philosophy never failed him--nor his common-sense. He was so
conspicuous for the latter quality that Jack more than once had been
tempted to confide in him fully, with the idea of profiting by his
advice. It was only the general rule he had laid down for himself, not
to tell a soul of his affairs, that had restrained him. As it was, he
and Evers had talked over the situation in hypothetical terms. Evers
never allowed himself to betray a vulgar curiosity.
Evers' wit and wisdom were usually expressed in terms of hair. His
special knowledge was astonishing. He could tell you offhand the style
of hairdressing favored by a great man at any stage of his career, and
drew ingenious parallels between his hair and his policy. Napoleon's
downfall he ascribed to the atrophy of his follicles.
As it was after shop-hours the work was done in Evers' apartment
up-stairs, a model of neatness and comfort. Clearly Mrs. Evers' past
triumphs on the boards had not unfitted her for the soberer business of
housekeeping. Though they showed every evidence of being well-to-do
they kept no servant.
"So to-night is lodge-night," said Evers facetiously, as he worked over
Jack's hair. "Odd isn't it, how grown men love to club together and
surround themselves with all manner of solemn nonsense. The original
lodges were in the African jungle. The high officers in secret
societies are nearly always bald. Yet hair plays a large part in many
rituals. Consider the goat!"
"This is not exactly a lodge that I belong to," said Jack.
"I understand," said Evers. "That was just my little joke. I guess
the risks you take, my young friend, and I admire your courage. You
have the hair of a brave man. I am always delighted when you return to
me in safety to have the make-up removed. It is a valuable work you
are engaged on, too. These people are the weeds of our fertile soil;
they should be rooted up."
"As to rooting them up I leave that to the police," said Jack
carelessly. "I have a special object in view. There are worse things
in the world than a lot of spouting anarchists."
"What could be worse?"
"Well, murder as a business proposition."
"Good Heavens! Can such things be possible!"
The meeting-place of the Friends of Freedom was very ingeniously
contrived. You entered by the front door of a big double-decker
tenement on Orchard street. So many people came and went by this door,
that the arrival of the Reds singly and in couples was entirely
unnoticed. You passed through the hall of the double-decker into a
narrow paved court where a smaller rear tenement faced you.
Entering the latter building, you gave the password at a door on the
left of the hall, and assembled with your fellow-members in a large
bare room. But this was not the meeting-place. When all were present,
and the scrutineers were satisfied, that all had a right to be present,
the hall door was locked, a trap in the floor was lifted, and all
present silently descended into the cellar. The last man let the trap
fall behind him.
Though damp and moldy-smelling, the place was otherwise admirably
fitted for its purpose. The walls were of thick rough stone without
any openings. A special ceiling had been constructed to keep sounds
from rising. In such a vault the speakers could shout themselves
hoarse without any danger of giving anything away to the outside world.
It is no easy task to find a safe meeting-place for anarchists. In
this case the landlord was a member of the circle.
There was another stairway at the rear by which Barbarossa alone was
privileged to enter. Jack understood that this stair led to a room in
an adjoining house, whence you could gain the next street. It provided
a means of escape in case of a surprise from the police.
It was a wild-looking crowd that gathered in the cellar. They
specialized in original hirsute effects. Evers the wig-maker could
have obtained many new ideas there. But Jack had not attended many
meetings before he began to suspect that their wildness did not extend
much further than hair. They were noisy, but not particularly
dangerous. They seemed to Jack like a parcel of children making
believe to be enemies of society. Some of the younger men spoke with a
genuine fire, but they were generally squelched by their elders. These
elders stood as pat on their formulas as an old guard Republican on his.
This was particularly true of Barbarossa their leader. Anarchy was
Barbarossa's meal-ticket, and he worked it for all there was in it.
Barbarossa's superb red beard and flaming aureole of hair were his
principal stock in trade. He made a magnificent passionate figure on
the rostrum. Every word he uttered was received as gospel, for loyalty
to him had become a tradition. But to Jack who came to the meetings
with a cool brain, Barbarossa's eloquence seemed a pumped-up affair.
To-night the proceedings were held up for ten minutes by the tardy
arrival of a member Jack had not seen before, who had sent word in
advance of his coming. This was an important man, Jack was told, too
busy to attend every meeting. He proved to be a man in his forties,
somewhat corpulent, with smooth jetty black hair and small moustache
and the clear, pallid skin that goes with such hair. Unlike the others
he affected the neat style of a business man. He was addressed as
Comrade Wilde.
Jack apprehended a new quality in this man, a more dangerous quality
than in any of the others. He watched him closely. Unfortunately the
place was none too well lighted. Comrade Wilde held whispered
conferences with different members, but took no part in the
speechmaking.
Barbarossa harangued the gathering in fiery style on the subject of the
iniquities of the Federal Reserve Banking system. Comrade Rado then
arose and proposed that the New York branch be blown up as a protest.
Barbarossa rebuked him for making such a suggestion in open meeting.
It appeared there was a committee to act on such matters. Somebody
said something about a "Star Chamber" and a violent dispute was
engendered. It was thus at every meeting. Jack suspected Barbarossa
of purposely throwing the meeting into disorder. Acts of violence
threatened his livelihood. Comrade Wilde listened to the uproar with
an ill-disguised sneer.
It was stilled by the speech of Comrade Berg, a mere slip of a youth
whom Jack had not noticed before. He rose with trembling hands and
ecstatic eyes, and spoke in a voice of soft intensity. His subject was
the necessity of purifying themselves for the great sacrifice. The
words were not extraordinary; it was the self-forgetfulness, the
strange half-insane passion of the speaker that quieted the noisy,
ordinary crowd.
"Hello!" thought Jack. "This is the real thing! This will bear
watching." Out of the corner of his eyes he observed that Comrade
Wilde was likewise attending sharply to the youth.
His speech bore no relation to what had gone before. He had reached
such a state of exaltation as to be unaware of what was going on around
him.
"We must give up father, mother, dear ones, friends; we must learn to
do without love and affection; we must cast out all that makes life
sweet to live, so that when the time comes to leave it there may be no
unmanly hanging back. We must eat and drink no more than enough to
keep life in the body. The world will never be saved by guzzlers.
Gross eating obscures the finer spirit of man. In abstemiousness and
solitude the true inspiration comes.
"I am young. I have no right to tell men older in the Cause what to
do. I am speaking for myself only. I lived alone until the message
came to me. I am ready now to give all. When you want an instrument I
ask you to use me first."
Barbarossa had been growing more and more uneasy. He now interrupted
the youth. "One moment, Comrade. You are out of order. There is some
unfinished business from the last meeting. Afterwards we will be glad
to hear you. The question that was held over to be put to the vote at
this meeting is: Shall we take political action at the next election."
This was a favorite subject of controversy, and the meeting was
instantly convulsed again. Berg sat down dazed. He was not allowed to
speak again.
"Poor young devil!" thought Jack. "Looks half starved. I'll ask him
out to supper."
When they were completely talked out the meeting broke up. The
comrades mounted the stairs in amity all controversies forgotten. With
their bosoms relieved of much perilous stuff, they yawned comfortably,
and began to think of supper.
Jack attached himself to young Berg as they gained the street. "Say,
that was a great speech," he said by way of ingratiating himself.
The youth pushed the lank hair out of his eyes and looked at Jack
wildly. The light of incipient madness was in his eyes.
"Poor devil! Poor devil!" thought Jack. The sight hurt him. Aloud he
said: "Let's go and have a bite of supper."
Berg shook his head.
"Oh, _come on_!" said Jack thrusting his arm through the other youth's.
The tone of genuine friendliness must have reached the cold breast.
Berg gave in without further objection.
They entered one of the big bakery-restaurants on Grand street, and
ordered coffee and hamburgers. The smell of cooking brought a faint
color into Berg's livid cheeks, and his nostrils dilated.
But the hamburgers were not destined to be eaten by them. When he had
given the order Jack went into a booth to telephone Evers not to wait
up for him, as he could lodge outside in his disguise and come in to
change in the morning. Mrs. Evers took the message. When he came out
of the booth Berg had left their table.
"Where did my friend go?" Jack asked the waiter.
"I dunno. Guy come in and spoke to him private, and he took his hat
and went with him."
"What kind of looking guy?"
"Fat. Real black hair, black moustache, pale face. Dressed neat.
Derby and black Melton overcoat."
This was a good description of Comrade Wilde.
"Oh, Damn!" muttered Jack.
He put down the money for what he had ordered and left the place. He
spent three hours wandering about the East Side, looking into such
places as were still open, on the bare chance of running into his man.
All in vain of course. Finally he sought out a cheap lodging and threw
himself down exhausted. He was tormented by the sense of an impending
disaster.
32
In the morning Jack called up the Madagascar to see if there was any
message for him. It appeared that some one had telephoned him several
times since the night before. No name had been left, but the telephone
number was given.
The number suggested nothing to Jack. He called it, and a voice
strange to him answered. He asked if there was anyone there who wished
to speak to Mr. Robinson, and after a pause he heard another voice, a
squeaky treble.
"This Mr. Robinson? Gee! I thought I'd never get hold of you!"
"Who is it?"
"Whitcomb. You know."
"Whitcomb? I don't know," said Jack perplexed.
"You know, your confidential agent that you gave orders to yesterday."