IN UNIFORM
"Is that a threat?" Elsie turned on Whiting, with sudden rage.
"Not unless you choose to take it so." But the man's steely grey eyes
were commanding rather than imploring, and his thin lips were set in a
straight line that bespoke determination. "Don't make me threaten you,
Elsie,--why should it be necessary? I love you and I want you,--but more
than that I want your promise to marry me at once to save yourself from
persecution and trouble. You were trapped here, you say,--you just
referred to some villains who have, I must infer, already annoyed you.
Why haven't you told me of it?"
"Why should I? I _can't_ marry you, Fenn, after all. I know I said I
would,--and you know what I said I'd do right afterward. But I can't do
that. Perhaps I'm too much of a coward, to take my own life,--perhaps it
would be a cowardly thing to do, anyway. But, I can't marry you--"
"You must, Elsie, you promised me--"
"Such promises have been broken before this! A consent to marry is not a
marriage contract! Sue me for breach of promise, if you choose,--I
refuse to marry you!"
Her voice rose at the last to an almost hysterical shriek. She was both
nervous and frightened. The knowledge that she had been abducted,--for
that was what it seemed to be,--scared her, and though grateful for
Whiting's rescue and his presence, yet she felt a strange fear of him,
too.
"Let me go," she said, at last, starting toward the door.
"No," and Fenn strode across the room, locked the door and pocketed the
key. "No, you shall not go until I have your promise,--and an
unbreakable one this time. In fact, Elsie, I want you to marry me right
now and here. I'll arrange all details,--I have arranged most of them.
Just consent, dearest, and then you'll be mine to love and care for and
to protect from those villains you speak of."
"Fenn, are you crazy?"
"No, I'm not, but you'll be, if you keep up this nervous tension you're
living under. Be guided by me, Elsie, darling; marry me out of hand, and
we'll go away to some beautiful, quiet spot, and all care shall be
lifted from your dear shoulders."
Elsie looked at him curiously.
"Suppose I agree to marry you the day _after_ my birthday," she said;
"will that do?"
"Do perfectly, as far as the loss of your fortune is concerned. I've
told you before I'm no fortune hunter. You _must_ believe it by now. I'd
rather marry you at once, for your sake, and for my own. But not for the
sake of the inheritance. So, promise me sacredly to marry me the day
after your birthday, and I'll take you home now."
"Oh, no, Fenn, don't you see, if I marry you, it must be before the
thirtieth, to get the money for Mother and Gerty. They'd never forgive
me otherwise. And, too, why should I wait? I'd like the money all
right,--if only I didn't have to marry to get it. What an awful will!
And yet, it all seemed so lovely when I had Kimball with me!"
"It will seem just as lovely when I'm with you. Let me try, dear; give
me a chance to make good! I'm not over conceited, but I'm sure I can
make you happy. If you choose to marry me in time to get the money, we
can do wonderful things! Take wonderful trips, see beautiful
places,--but beautiful to me, only because you are with me!"
There was a deep thrill in his tones that moved Elsie by its genuine
passion and devotion. She looked into his grey eyes,--their steely glint
softened now, and read there a great unconquerable love for herself.
Should she cast this aside for a chance, an uncertainty? She must get
the money for her people,--she had decided on that,--and she felt it her
duty to sacrifice herself for them. But, when she tried to say yes to
Whiting's pleas, the word would not come.
"I can't! Oh, Fenn, I can't!" she moaned. "I love Kimball,--oh, I love
him _desperately_! I can never marry any one else,--I can't--I can't do
it!"
"Hush, Elsie, don't sob so. Listen, dear; the time for that sort of
thing is past. There are only seven days now to your birthday; you can't
wait till the last minute to decide. And if Webb had been coming back he
would have been here before this. He will never come back,--I'm sure of
it!"
"You can't be sure of it, Fenn; but will you arrange it this way,--you
said you would, once. Let the wedding take place the day before my
birthday, and if Kim comes home, let him be the bridegroom, and if not,
I'll marry you."
"No! I'll not do that! You've played fast and loose with me long enough!
I've stood for it because I love you so, and I want you so. But I won't
be that sort of a cat's-paw! You'll say right now you'll marry me, or
I'll drop out of it all, and you can marry anybody you choose to get
your precious legacy!"
Whiting's face was distorted by passion and by rage at the idea of being
baffled at the last. "I do not think for a minute that Webb would show
up, but if he did, I'd not stand having my bride snatched from me at the
very altar! No!"
"Then, you _may_ drop out!" Elsie's determination was as great as his
own. "I refuse to promise. I'd rather marry Joe Allison, at the last
minute, and so keep a chance for Kim, than to promise _you_, and have no
chance at all!"
"Allison! You would, would you? We'll see about that!"
Whiting quite lost control of himself and flew into a veritable frenzy.
"You'll marry me now, and here,--get that?"
Elsie was horror-stricken. Fenn's teeth were set together and his
expression was that of a hungry, wild animal. She wasn't afraid that he
could force her to marry him, but she was afraid of what he might say or
do if he were further defied.
"Fenn," she said, gently, "Fenn, dear--"
"Don't 'Fenn, dear' me unless you mean it! Don't think you can placate
me by soft words that mean nothing! Will you marry me, _now_?"
"I will not," Elsie's hauteur was the last straw.
"Then, you'll stay here until you will!"
Whiting flung himself into a chair, and looked at her as if he held the
whip-hand.
"What do you mean?" Elsie said, icily.
"These are my rooms. You are locked in here with me, alone. How long
must you stay here before you decide it's wiser to be my wife than--"
The look the girl gave him made him quail.
"Elsie," he said, more gently.
"Hush! Don't dare to speak to me again. Let me out!"
She flew to the door, but it was locked, the key in Whiting's pocket, or
the spring catch holding it, she didn't know which. She pounded on the
door, with her soft hands, but made little commotion that way.
"Useless, my dear," Whiting said, calmly. "These rooms are on a wing
containing but few guests. Nobody will hear you. Pound away, if you
like."
This wasn't true; as a matter of fact, Whiting was very much afraid
somebody would hear her, but he deemed this the best way to stop
her,--and it was.
Elsie believed him and quit pounding. Nor did she scream. An idea had
come to her. Whiting had said rooms. Therefore there was more to the
suite than the one they were in. Covertly she glanced at the doors, and
decided that while one rather narrow one was doubtless a closet, the
wide one, the other side of the room, probably opened into an adjoining
room, which was likely to give on the hall.
At any rate, it was worth trying.
Cleverly, she seemed not to be noticing these details, but sat, her
handkerchief to her eyes, apparently subdued and dismayed. And, in fact
she was both, but not to the point of surrender, as she appeared to
Whiting's anxious watchfulness.
Cautiously looking about, with seemingly a vacant stare, she saw many
little personal belongings, that convinced her the room was Whiting's
sitting room. Doubtless the next was his bedroom. All the same, she
determined to dash through it in an attempt at freedom. If she were
quick, and the other hall door not locked, she could get to the
hall,--while if she were trapped in the other room, her plight would be
no worse than it was at present.
She rose and walked disconsolately about,--looked from the windows,
stared, unseeing, at a picture on the wall,--and generally appeared to
be aimlessly wandering, while she thought matters over.
Whiting watched her, but so cannily did Elsie mislead his thoughts, that
he didn't notice she drew nearer and nearer the bedroom door.
At last, she was almost against it, her eyes fastened on a small clock
which stood on a table at the opposite side of the room.
"What time is it?" she said, dully, as if her decision depended on the
flight of the hours.
The ruse succeeded. He followed the direction of her straining eyes, and
looked at the little clock instead of taking out his own watch.
Like a flash, Elsie tore open the door, found that it opened into a
bedroom, with a hall door, and crossing the room in the fewest possible
steps, wrenched open the hall door. It was not locked, and she flew
through it and down the corridor toward the elevators, of which there
were two side by side.
Elsie pushed the bell so violently, that the car came up immediately and
she sprang into it, just as Whiting came racing down the hall after her.
He rang, a long steady ring, and though Elsie's prayers persuaded the
girl in the car with her not to go up again, the other car shot past
them flying upward.
And now Elsie achieved a master-stroke. Thinking swiftly, she knew
Whiting would make the other car drop without a stop, and would await
her on the ground floor.
Determined to outwit him, she ordered the girl to stop between floors
and change gowns with her.
Willing enough, when Elsie offered her all the money in her bag, and
also told her she would be aiding a crime if she refused, the little
elevator girl slipped out of her uniform, Elsie dropped off her own gown
and in two minutes they were transformed, even the cap of the girl in
place of Elsie's pretty hat, and the hat on the other's head.
A little bewildered the girl then ran her car on down, without stop.
At the ground floor, acting at Elsie's orders, the other girl stepped
from the car in a furtive, hunted manner, and ran swiftly down a long
cross hall,--Whiting, full tilt after her.
Elsie, meanwhile, stepped briskly out the front door, sprang into a
taxicab and was whirled away.
Elsie's spirits rose. She had outwitted Fenn Whiting, and she had
escaped from a situation more dangerous than that of the deserted
taxicab of a few days before.
She went straight back to the hotel where she and the nurse had been
staying. Here the desk clerk told her that the nurse had packed up
everything and had returned to New York.
Elsie was amazed. She trusted the nurse absolutely, but she now began to
fear her sincerity. To the poor girl it seemed as if there were nobody
in whom she could place confidence. And there was the ever dreadful
question of the fortune. Had it not been for her insistent family, she
would have given up all thought of the money and would have run away to
hide by herself until her birthday had passed.
But, she argued, this was not the way to feel. For she must be at home,
in case Kimball should somehow miraculously appear.
Unable to fathom the meaning of the nurse's departure, though since she
had taken all their luggage, Elsie couldn't think she was honest, she
concluded to go right back to New York herself.
She couldn't hope to escape Fenn Whiting's presence much longer, for
having learned the trick played on him, he would of course come at once
to The Turrets.
Moreover, Elsie was attracting curious looks, and even disapproving ones
by reason of her standing about in the hall, dressed in the uniform of
an elevator girl! She wondered what the poor girl was doing, who now
wore her clothes. Perhaps she would lose her position! Elsie determined
to look after her as soon as she could secure and count on her own
safety.
And now a new dilemma presented itself. She had no money!
All she had carried with her, in her handbag, she had given to the girl
in the elevator, thinking she would go back to the hotel where she had
her check book.
But that was gone with her trunks. Even the unpaid cabman was already
clamouring for his fare!
"Why did Miss Loring say she left?" she asked the clerk.
"She said you had sent her word you had already gone home, and she was
to follow at once," he returned, glancing at her severely. "She packed
quickly and caught the first train she could get."
"She paid the bill?"
"Yes, in full to the time of her leaving."
"I will ask you then, to pay this cabman, and let me have money enough
to get to New York. I will send you a check from there."
But the desk clerk didn't seem to care for this plan at all. He paid the
cabman, who was becoming a nuisance, but he declined to advance money to
such an erratic person as the lady before him seemed to be.
She had made no explanation of her strange garb, and his manner had so
roused her indignation that she kept her own counsel.
But she was at her wits' end. It was after four in the afternoon and a
hotel who wouldn't lend a few dollars, would doubtless object to her
re-registering there, with no money, and in most eccentric costume.
As she thought it over a man approached and asked if he might be of
assistance.
It was the man of the gold-filled teeth!
Any fear of him she might have felt vanished in a strange sense of
seeing an old friend! For so helpless and friendless was the poor child
that even this man, presumably one of the "villains," seemed a godsend!
And he was polite and deferential.
"Well," she said, her poise returning, "all things considered, I think I
am privileged to ask you for the loan of a few dollars."
"I'll do better than that," he said, with a really cordial smile, "I'll
escort you back to New York. I'm going myself, on the four-forty-five.
And you need have no fear," he said, coming nearer. "I've no reason to
wish you any harm. I'll deliver you safe and sound at your own home on
Park Avenue."
There was something about him that inspired confidence. And Elsie was
tired, faint and exhausted. She thought this plan offered her, however
it might turn out, a lesser evil than to stay alone at The Turrets, even
if this new friend gave her money, for there she was still in the
vicinity of Fenn Whiting. Indeed, he was liable to appear at any minute.
She made up her mind, quickly.
"I'll go with you," she said. "Will you lend me enough money to buy some
sort of a large cloak or cape, and a hat?"
"Yes," he said, and he looked at her uniform with the queerest glance.
But it was not to be wondered at, doubtless he was striving to keep from
bursting into laughter. The cocky little cap, above Elsie's lovely
troubled face was a picture!
So, the strangely assorted pair took a cab, stopped at a goods emporium
and Elsie procured a decent hat and a large full cape, and then they
reached the station just in time to take the desired train.
In the car he left her to herself, and went away to the smoker.
He was most deferential, most polite.
"And why shouldn't he be?" Elsie asked herself. "I've paid him,--or his
gang fifty thousand dollars,--surely they owe me something! I've a mind
to ask him something about Kim,--he seems so nice."
But thoughts of Coley Coe kept her silent on any save the most casual
subjects.
She felt, during the ride to New York, as if she ought to plan some way
of trailing the gold-toothed man after he left her. But how could she do
it? Vague thoughts of telegraphing from the moving train,--of having
policemen meet her at the station,--all sorts of plans went through her
mind, but none were practicable.
So she determined to talk more with the man and find out anything she
might, that way, and then do the best she could to get Coe quickly, as
soon as she was safely at home.
For she dreaded any further abduction or trapping,--and she longed only
to be at home once more and safe from impending danger.
As they neared the big station the gold-tooth man returned.
"Sure," he replied to her request, "I'll tell you my name. It's Pike.
Richard Pike. And now, miss, you're bound for home?"
"Yes, as soon as I can get there. Please leave me at the platform, I can
get a taxi myself."
"Desert you at the last post? No indeed, ma'am. Don't be afraid,--I'm
not going to carry you off!" He laughed good-naturedly, and again
Elsie's fears were drowned in a sense of his honest intention to treat
her with courtesy.
So they walked to the taxicab, and after she got into one he followed.
So amazed was she at this, that she made a protest.
"Oh, it's right on my way," he said, "so why pay two fares?"
The ride was not long, but when the cab stopped, it was not at Elsie's
home.
It was at a house, a fine-looking brownstone house, that had the
appearance of being closed for the summer. The windows were boarded up,
the front door likewise, and all was silent and still.
"Where's this?" Elsie asked, refusing to get out.
"Hush!" and Pike put his finger to his lip. "The taxi driver is a bad
one! Get out, miss, quick!"
Scared at his serious tone, and secret manner, Elsie got out, through
sheer force of the other's will, and in a moment the fare was paid and
the cab had disappeared down the street.
"Now, miss," and the hitherto kind voice had a hard note in it, "you'll
stop in here for a minute on your way home. Don't refuse, now, it
wouldn't be healthy!"
The cold little ring of an automatic pressed against Elsie's temple, and
with a glance at Pike's face, she knew in an instant she was trapped
again!
Almost without volition, for this new terror seemed to deprive her of
her senses, Elsie stumbled along, through the gate the man opened, and
which led to the area entrance.
Through the basement door, they entered the house, and in the doorway,
Elsie was met by a woman, a decent, middle-aged body, who took the
fainting girl to her breast.
"There now," she said, in the kindest tones, "there now, miss, brace up.
It's faint you are, dearie. Sit there, now, and let me fix you up."
She bustled about and gave Elsie a glass of warm milk, then taking off
her shoes and her wraps, she laid her down on a wide couch in the front
one of the basement rooms.
"Sakes alive! what's she got on a uniform for?"
"I don't know," Pike returned, but he winked at the woman to make her
refrain from further queries.
Elsie was exhausted, but not to the point of going to sleep.
After a second glass of milk and some bread and fruit, she was quite
herself again, and, buoyed up by excitement and anger was ready for
combat.
"What does it all mean?" she asked the woman, thinking it wiser not to
show her indignation at first.
"Don't ask me, miss, _I_ don't know," the woman returned.
"That's right, miss," Pike broke in; "my wife don't know anything about
it all,--and neither do I. We're paid tools,--that's all we are. Now,
there's the matter in a nutshell. We're paid to look after you good and
proper. We'll do it, too, and if you let us, we'll be kind and gentle
with you. But if you force us to it, we may have to use stronger means.
I'd be sorry to lay a hand on you, miss, and I hope to goodness you
won't make it necessary,--but I'll say straight out, you've got to obey
our orders."
"I've no objection, so long as you're merely taking care of me, as you
say," Elsie returned, coolly. She felt a conviction that her best plan
with these people was to placate them all in all possible ways.
It could do no good to combat them, and might do great harm.
"Who pays you?" she asked, so casually, she hoped for an answer.
"We're forbidden to tell," Pike said, simply. "And, you must see, miss,
questions will not get you anywhere, for we're paid to keep our mouths
shut, so it stands to reason we're going to do it."
"Of course," Elsie agreed. "But suppose I pay you better, far better
than your present paymaster?"
The woman looked up quickly, her small black eyes shining with cupidity,
but Pike said in a voice that rang with truth:
"I wouldn't _dare_, miss. I wouldn't dare even _listen_ to you!"
"Oh," she said, "you're afraid of _him_--" and she whispered,--"the
master mind!"
"You said it!" Pike exclaimed. "Nobody dares stand up against _him_!"
And at that moment a shout rang through the house. The two Pikes turned
white and fairly trembled with terror, but Elsie cried out,
"That's the voice of Kimball Webb!"