THE THREAT
FROM their corner table Judith watched, with total lack of interest,
the gay throng which filled the public dining room at Rauscher’s,
although the scene was one to arrest attention. The smartly gowned
women, the foreign attachés in their gay uniforms in contrast to the
khaki-clad army officers and the somber evening dress of numerous
civilians, formed an attractive center for the mirrored walls and
shaded lights. Judith’s inattention was a source of displeasure to her
mother whose efforts to sustain the conversation had failed.
“Really, Judith,” she remonstrated, “it is very annoying of you to make
me repeat my remarks.”
“I beg your pardon, Mother.” Judith awoke from dreary thoughts. “I
did not mean to be rude, but our--our mourning”--glancing down at her
black dress--“seems so incongruous here. We should have found a less
conspicuous place to dine.”
“Tut! you are supersensitive; we must eat and why not here? We are not
giving a dinner.” Mrs. Hale paused to bow to an acquaintance. “Robert
and your husband went to the club so that we would not have even an
appearance of a party. Why, there is Frank Latimer. Wave to him,
Judith.”
Not waiting for her suggestion to be followed, Mrs. Hale signaled
vigorously with her fan and succeeded in catching the eye of the
attentive major-domo who, guessing her meaning, directed Latimer’s
attention to her table. Mrs. Hale greeted the stockbroker with a
cordial smile.
“Join us, Frank,” she exclaimed, as their waitress placed a chair for
him. Latimer cast a doubtful eye at an adjoining table.
“That is my habitual place,” he explained. “I dine here every night.”
“Fortunate man, with no domestic problems,” sighed Mrs. Hale.
“Really, Anna could not have selected a more unfortunate time to fall
downstairs--or was it upstairs, Judith?”
“I don’t know, Mother.” Judith had changed color at Latimer’s approach
as memory of her interview in his office, the conversation she had
overheard the night before, and her letter explaining the bond
transaction recurred to her. “Anna is so seldom ill that we can
forgive her this once.” She raised grave eyes to Latimer. “Do dine with
us, Frank.”
Latimer had only opportunity to murmur his thanks as Mrs. Hale took
possession of the situation and claimed his undivided attention.
As the meal progressed he stole a look now and then at Judith. Her
preoccupation was evident and the furtive glances she cast about the
big dining room were indicative of her nervous condition. Latimer’s
anxiety grew. Would Mrs. Hale never give him a chance for a private
word with Judith? After the receipt of her note that morning he had
tried to write an answer, but, after a vain attempt to crystallize his
thoughts into black ink, he had thrown down his pen and applied to that
mixed blessing, the telephone, only to be told that Judith was not at
home.
If Judith divined his desire to talk with her she gave no sign of it.
Latimer’s anxiety was tinged with vexation. Was Judith deliberately
avoiding every effort he made to drag her into the conversation? His
hot temper was gaining the upper hand when Mrs. Hale unconsciously gave
him the opening he had been hoping for.
“How is the stock market?” she asked, and not waiting for an answer,
added, “Did you purchase those Liberty Bonds Robert spoke of last
week?”
“Yes.” Latimer turned determinedly to Judith. “Your husband sold your
Troy Valve bonds at somewhat of a sacrifice.”
Mrs. Hale caught the words and looked at her daughter in open
consternation.
“Judith! You haven’t parted with the bonds your grandfather left you?”
she exclaimed.
“Yes.” Judith tossed down her napkin and pushed back her chair. “Joe
and I decided that this was the time to invest in Liberty Bonds.” Her
charming smile disarmed criticism. “Besides, industrials are dangerous
investments.”
“Fiddlesticks!” ejaculated Mrs. Hale with indignant emphasis. “You
know what General Hale thought of his Valve bonds and how carefully he
portioned them out among us in his will. Your father will be seriously
displeased, Judith.”
“Not when I tell him that the bonds are already depreciating in value,”
responded Judith quietly. “They are depreciating, Frank, are they not?”
Her emphasis on the verb arrested Latimer’s attention and quickly he
caught his cue.
“Liberty Bonds are a better investment,” he stated, “especially just
now. You”--he smiled at Mrs. Hale--“are putting your money in Liberty
Bonds.”
But Mrs. Hale was not appeased. “I am not selling valuable bonds,” she
retorted. “The money I invest in Liberty Bonds is the income from other
sources. What did you realize on your bonds, Judith?”
Judith’s brow wrinkled in thought, then she turned to Frank. “I have a
poor head for figures,” she admitted softly. “What did Joe get for the
bonds, Frank?”
Latimer eyed her thoughtfully. “We paid Joe $1,275, less commission.
The bonds bring $125 each.”
“Is that all!” And Mrs. Hale’s eyebrows rose in displeasure. “What
a wretched time to sell. I shall remonstrate with your husband for
permitting you to part with the bonds.”
“You will do nothing of the sort.” The girl’s tone brought a hot flush
to her mother’s cheeks, but there was that in Judith’s expression
which checked her angry rejoinder. “Please, Mother, remember that I am
independent as far as my fortune is concerned, and am my own mistress.”
Mrs. Hale considered her for a minute, then to Latimer’s horror,
for he had a shy man’s distaste of scenes, her lower lip quivered
suggestively, while her pale blue eyes grew moist.
“What a way to address your mother, Judith,” she said reproachfully.
“I, who have your best interests at heart. It is most unkind.”
“I had no intention of being unkind.” Judith laid her hand for a second
gently on her mother’s shoulder. “Only, please do not discuss my
affairs with my husband; he also”--she looked squarely at Latimer--“has
my best interests at heart and I can rely upon his honest judgment.”
Latimer bowed. “Joe is no fool,” he remarked dryly. “Don’t worry,
Mrs. Hale, I guarantee that Judith is quite right in the stand she is
taking, and”--again he bowed--“I admire her for it.”
“You have always approved of woman suffrage,” grumbled Mrs. Hale, as
she rose and led the way down the aisle to the entrance to the dining
room. “But take a word of advice from an older woman, Judith; it is not
the wife who asserts her independence who gains her wishes, it is she
who concedes the little things of life who controls the big issues. To
rule, a woman must never show she rules.”
She paused to speak a complimentary word to the major-domo, and Judith,
striding ahead down the short staircase, discovered that Latimer was
keeping step with her. Before he could voice his thoughts, she had
formulated her line of action.
“If you have any stock deals,” she said in an undertone, “do tip me
off. Hush, not a word; I don’t wish Mother to know I am playing the
market, here she comes.”
His ideas in a whirl, Latimer assisted them into their limousine just
as a touring car drove up to the curb and stopped with a grinding of
brakes which echoed down the street. A second more and John Hale had
flung himself out of the car and dashed over to the limousine. A rapid
survey showed him that the only occupants of the car were Mrs. Hale and
Judith.
“Where have you left Polly?” he demanded.
“Left her?” Mrs. Hale’s voice showed her astonishment. “Nowhere; Polly
has not been with us.”
“Not with you?” Her brother-in-law stared at her. “Didn’t she dine with
you?”
“She did not,” tartly. “What gave you that impression?”
“Mrs. Davis told me that Polly telephoned she was with you.” Hale
turned almost savagely toward Judith. “Where is she?”
“I do not know.” Judith eyed him in wonderment. It was not often that
she saw him discomposed in manner. He moved slightly and the light
from the limousine’s lamps showed his features more clearly. “Surely,
Uncle John, you are not worried about her whereabouts?”
John Hale passed a nervous hand over his chin. “Polly was to dine
with me,” he explained. “I waited at her home, and finally her mother
returned from dining with a neighbor and gave me Polly’s message. I
remembered you were to dine here, so chased you up. You are sure you
don’t know where she is?”
“Of course we don’t,” chimed in Mrs. Hale. “Bless me, John, why worry?
Polly is quite old enough to take care of herself, and she is not
likely to get lost in Washington.”
“Lost? Of course not,” with rough emphasis. “I have a message for Polly
which must be delivered. Have you any idea where she is dining, Judith?”
Judith thought a moment before replying. “Possibly she is with the
Wards in Chevy Chase,” she suggested. “I recall Polly had a telephone
talk with Kate this afternoon.”
“Thanks.” John Hale swung around and caught Latimer by the shoulder.
Until that moment he had ignored the presence of the little
stockbroker.
“Drive out to Chevy Chase, Frank,” he urged. “Come, man, don’t keep
me waiting,” and, not heeding Latimer’s remonstrances, he hurried him
toward his car. Then, as the latter hung back with the reiterated
statement that he had an important business engagement, he interrupted
him with an oath.
“Cut it out, Frank,” John Hale spoke between clenched teeth. “I’ll
explain later; jump in.” Scarcely waiting for Latimer to do so, he
climbed in behind the wheel and, turning the car up Connecticut Avenue,
he speeded up that thoroughfare.
Latimer rode in perturbed silence, occasionally stealing a glance at
his companion’s set, stern features. He had followed John Hale in his
college days with doglike fidelity, and the habit had clung through
their years of faithful friendship. As the car left the city limits
behind and tore along the road leading to the fashionable suburb of
Chevy Chase, Latimer broke the protracted silence.
“What’s to pay, John?” he asked.
John Hale waited until they had overtaken a trolley, then slowed down
the car’s speed almost to a crawl.
“God knows!” he responded, and his voice was not quite steady. “Frank,
I--I’m miserable--miserable,” and Frank, after one glance at his face,
forebore to question further.
* * * * *
Mrs. Hale, from the window of her limousine, watched John Hale’s abrupt
departure with astonishment not unmixed with resentment.
“Upon my word, Judith, your uncle grows more impossible every day,” she
remarked, and, meeting with no comment from her daughter, she picked up
the speaking tube and called to her chauffeur, “Home.”
On reaching there, Mrs. Hale changed her mind with characteristic
suddenness.
“I’ll run down to the club and pick up your father,” she said as she
hopped back into the limousine. “I remember now that he left word we
were to call for him. Won’t you come, Judith?”
Judith, halfway up the steps leading to the front door, shook her head.
“No thanks, Mother, I have several letters to write,” and with a wave
of her hand she hurried inside the house. Maud, who had waited in some
uncertainty until she saw the limousine drive off with Mrs. Hale seated
in it, closed the front door.
“Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Richards?” she asked, as Judith paused
to look at several notes lying on the hall table. None was addressed
to her and she laid them back again.
“No, Maud, not a thing,” she replied. “Has Major Richards returned?”
“Not yet, ma’am.” Maud, catching a furtive look at herself in the long
mirror on the wall, rearranged her cap to a more becoming angle. “Is
it too early to take your pitcher of ice water to your boudoir, ma’am?
Anna said you had one generally.”
“It is not too early.” Judith turned toward the circular staircase.
“How is Anna?”
“Much better, ma’am; she practiced walking around after dinner and got
on first rate,”--Maud lingered a moment--“not but what I warned her to
be careful; ’tain’t any use of taking chances with a banged-up ankle.”
“True,” agreed Judith absently, and, unloosening her coat, she went
upstairs. Instead of going at once to her boudoir she hurried down the
hall to her father’s den, and as she entered it Polly Davis looked up
from the manuscript she was copying and stopped her machine.
“You--here!” Judith halted abruptly.
“Yes.” Polly pushed her chair away from the typewriter. “Why not?” The
question was put with studied insolence and Judith’s eyes widened. “I
am working on your father’s manuscript.”
“But at this hour--”
“I am working overtime.” Polly flipped a note in her direction. “Your
father here asks me to give him ‘additional service.’” She smiled and
shrugged her shoulders. “Any objections?”
“Objections? No.” Judith’s manner retained its old friendliness, and
she ignored the girl’s manifest hostility.
“Then why question my presence here?”
“I do not question your right to be here.” Judith chose a chair near
Polly. “I have just seen Uncle John--”
“Well?” as Judith stopped.
“Uncle John was told by your mother that you were dining with us.”
“Pardon me,”--Polly’s interruption was curtly spoken, although the
words chosen were politeness itself--“Mr. Hale was informed that I was
with you.”
“But you were not.”
“In one sense, yes; in another I am with you while working in this
household.” Again Polly shrugged her shoulders. “Of course I am not
responsible for whatever interpretation you and he put on my message to
my mother.”
Judith regarded her for a moment in silence.
“What is your object in splitting straws?” she inquired. “Wait--Uncle
John understood you were to dine with him, then thought you were with
us, and he now believes you are with the Wards in Chevy Chase and is
motoring there, and--on returning home, I find you here.”
“Your uncle asked me to dine with him, but I never accepted his
invitation,” replied Polly. “Frankly, I preferred to wait here and see
you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Polly, and I would have remained at home,”
exclaimed Judith. “Have you had any dinner?” with a hasty glance about
in quest of a tray.
“I dined at the Pastry Shop.” Polly leaned back in her chair and
watched Judith. “I asked for you before I left this afternoon, but you
had not returned from your drive, and so I came back an hour ago. What
was your object in writing this note?” and leaning forward Polly placed
Judith’s note and check in her lap.
Judith did not touch the papers.
“The note is self-explanatory,” she stated. “I hope the vacation will
restore your health.”
“My health is quite robust, thank you,” dryly. “Let us have done with
camouflage, Judith, and be honest with each other. What is your object
in wishing to get rid of me?”
“I have no such desire.”
Polly’s lip curled in scorn. “You wish to get me away from Washington,
away from this house,” she charged. “Why?”
The two girls contemplated each other, but while Judith was pale, a
feverish color heightened the sparkle in Polly’s over-bright eyes. When
Judith spoke it was with deliberation.
“I suggested that you go on a vacation,” she said, “for your own good.”
“Indeed!” Polly’s laugh ended in a sneer. “Are you quite sure your
consideration is not misdirected?”
“Quite sure.” Judith’s temper was gaining the upper hand in spite of
her endeavor to keep it under control. “Once before you ignored my
advice; you know with what results.” She paused. “Austin’s death--”
“Well?” Polly leaned forward, both hands on the arms of her chair.
Instead of completing her sentence Judith placed the note and her check
on Polly’s typewriter.
“You had better arrange to leave to-morrow,” she said softly.
“I won’t.” Polly’s voice rang out clearly. “I don’t know whom you are
trying to shield, but you shan’t drive me away--you shan’t--you shan’t!”
“Polly,”--Judith’s manner compelled the hysterical girl to gain some
hold on the remnant of her self-control--“you have forced this scene; I
have tried to avoid it by supplying you with a way out.” She pointed to
the check. “I was the first person to find Austin’s body--”
“Ah! You admit it.” Polly’s voice rose almost to a scream. “Why haven’t
you told that to the police?”
“Because of my desire to shield you,” Judith stated calmly.
“To shield me!” Polly half rose, resting her weight on the arms of her
chair.
“Exactly.” Judith stood up and pulled her coat about her shoulders. “In
addition to my silence, I took from Austin’s body a trinket--”
“Yes, go on”--Polly watched her fascinated, as she took a step toward
the door.
“Your conduct to-night forces me to use a threat.” Judith spoke in a
monotone and slowly the color ebbed from Polly’s cheeks. “Unless you
leave Washington within twenty-four hours, I shall give the trinket to
the police.”
“What--” Polly moistened her parched lips. “What is the trinket?”
“A Mizpah locket. Good-night,” and without a backward glance Judith
hurried away.