_Naked Foils._
Detective Joseph P. McCormick was pacing his office like a caged bear,
and his retinue of aides in the outer strongholds, recognizing the
storm signals, went about their various tasks as expeditiously as they
were able without venturing into his presence to discuss the details of
the day's routine. Once his bell whirred viciously and to the scared
office boy who reluctantly obeyed the summons the Chief turned a face
like a thunder cloud.
"Ross shown up yet?" he barked.
"No, sir. He got your message when he 'phoned and he said he'd be here
at once. There's hardly been time, sir--"
"When I want any observations from you I'll ask for them." The Chief
brought his hand down smartly on the desk. "Bring Ross here the instant
he arrives."
The door closed precipitately and the Chief resumed his restless tramp
about the room, his heavy footsteps making the bronze electrolier
on his desk vibrate until its dangling chains tinkled a protest.
The clock ticked off five slow minutes, then ten, and the cigar butt
between his strong white teeth was chewed to a pulp before the door
opened quietly once more and Herbert Ross entered.
"You sent for me, sir?" His voice was gravely respectful, and his clear
eyes were very sober, as he raised them steadily to meet those of his
superior.
"Where the devil have you been?" McCormick's tone was ominously calm.
"I came as quickly as a taxi would bring me, sir."
"I don't mean now." The chief threw his cigar butt into the cuspidor
and seated himself with deliberation behind his desk. "I mean since
your last report; a report, let me remind you, which amounted to
nothing."
"I have been working on the case, sir, as far as I was able along the
lines laid down at that time. I thought it was understood that I was
not to put in an appearance until I had something definite to report."
"When would that have been?" McCormick leaned back in his chair. "Look
here, Ross, I've sent for you because something is going on that I
don't understand, or rather I don't want to understand it, the way
things seem to lie now. I want to give you a chance to explain, if you
can. I've taken a personal interest in you from the time you walked
into my office to look for a job, with nothing but your nerve to
recommend you, and a college education against you, to say nothing of
the fact that you were born a gentleman. I gave you a chance to show me
what you could do and you made good, and since then I've come to depend
on you more than I realized until this thing hit me between the eyes!
I'd have banked on your honesty as I would on my own, and thank God!
I've always been square, but, Ross, you've got to speak out now like a
man!"
"What is it, sir?" Herbert Ross straightened himself and his steadfast
gaze never wavered. "Are you accusing me of crooked work?"
"I'm accusing you of nothing." The Chief's face had turned a dull,
mottled red. "You may have good reasons for what you're pulling, but
whatever they are it's time you let me in on your game. You spotted Ide
hanging around the gates of that Atterbury house on the North Drive
and tipped me off. You were sure of yourself and as keen about nabbing
him as anybody. I didn't ask you then what you were doing in that
neighborhood, and if I asked you now I know devilish well you'd say you
had been on your way to see the old lady, Madame Dumois."
Ross looked up quickly.
"It would be the truth," he remarked.
"Well, we'll let that slide, for a minute." The detective waved his
hand, as if brushing something tangible aside. "The next thing I know
you come to me with a complete change of front and do your level best
to make me lay off the Ide matter, claiming to know that the Atterbury
woman is too high up, socially and every other way, for anybody around
her place to be mixed in anything shady. When I told you I had enough
dope already to work on and mentioned the girl with a scar on her face
you did everything you could to throw me off the trail."
"That is rather a sweeping assertion, Chief." Ross's face had gone
very white. "Mrs. Atterbury is well known on the Street as one of the
biggest women traders, powerful enough to swing the market in a crisis,
and her social connections are irreproachable and of long standing. I
know nothing about the girl with the scar or any other member of her
household."
"Don't you?" The Chief eyed him steadily. "When you reported to me in
the Dumois case, you said you had found one clue that looked promising
but that it didn't turn out to be the girl you were after. But you
didn't mention, Ross, that the girl whose trail you dropped so quickly,
without giving Madame Dumois a chance to identify her, had a scar on
her face. Don't try to flim-flam me, the old lady herself has tipped me
off to that, and I tell you the whole thing dovetails too well to be a
coincidence. Are you shielding that girl?--But no, I should not have
asked that, Ross. I have never yet had cause to doubt your professional
honor."
The young man flushed darkly.
"Thank you, sir, I'm not going to make a fool of myself and bring
ridicule on the office by following a wild goose chase. I hope I am
experienced enough to know when to drop a false clue! The girl I
located has had a mark upon her face from birth; the one for whom
Madame Dumois is searching has no blemish whatever and never had. I
have the old lady's word for it and that is conclusive enough. As for
the other girl at Mrs. Atterbury's I have nothing to say about her. She
may be a daughter, or a dependant for all I know."
"Or a pretty shrewd accomplice!" McCormick banged the desk and swung
his chair around to face his operative. "You remember the case J.
Todhunter Crane put in my hands? He'd done business with a girl with a
scar; Mrs. Haddon Cheever brought a similar affair to my notice, but
weakened. She knew the result to her if the police got hold of it, but
she, too, described the girl. I've got enough to take her on suspicion
now, if I can get her identified, and things are coming to a head. The
police will beat me to it, if I don't hustle."
"But what is a scar? If you are going to pull a suspect on a serious
charge with no other evidence than that he or she has a birthmark,
Chief, you're going to let yourself in for trouble." The young man's
tone was a shade too eager and McCormick watched him from beneath
lowering brows. "You can't drag a woman of Mrs. Atterbury's position
through the mire unless you are mighty sure some of it will cling to
her skirts."
"What if I tell you that I've got her already? At least, not enough to
tap her on the shoulder with, but a line that connects her in a way
she'll find it hard to explain, with a lot that has puzzled us for the
past five years. In fact, ever since Brooke Hamilton came to me from
Chicago; you remember the case?"
"Great Lord!" Herbert Ross shrank as if he had received a sudden blow,
and his voice was a hoarse whisper. "You don't mean that Mrs. Atterbury
is mixed up in that--?"
"If I'm not mistaken, she's the brains of the whole outfit. I'll have
to prove it, of course, but I'm pretty confident that I can put it
over. Oh, it's not just that you spotted Ide outside her gate, or the
evidence of the girl--"
"Remember, I'm not certain about Ide. I warned you of that!" The young
man broke in, but his superior smiled.
"I am. I could put my hand on him within an hour, but I'm giving him a
little more rope. You know that Larne murder out in Denver the other
day?"
"Of course. 'The Comet' they called her."
"She was deep in the game and just on the point of squealing when 'Red'
Rathbone put her out of the way in a fit of jealousy, but we got to her
for a little dope first up in Wyoming, and it's a straight tip to the
North Drive bunch. Added to that, the Professor is under lock and key
out in Chicago; we're holding him on the old Hamilton affair, but I'm
working on him, and I've got a hunch he's in league with the others
here. In fact, every clue focuses true, and you mark my words, the
round-up will be the most sensational in years! My boy," McCormick rose
and circling the desk, laid one hand upon the younger man's shoulder.
"It's not my habit to talk to my operatives about cases they're not
concerned with, but I can't help feeling that you're in pretty deep in
this. You haven't chosen to be frank with me, but my cards are on the
table, and I'm going to speak plainer still. If you've been fascinated
by the scarred face, and let yourself be kidded into the knight-errant
stuff, forget it! They're all tarred with the same brush and it's a
mighty black one!"
"I--I don't understand, sir!"
"Because you don't want to. Many a good fellow has fallen for the old
injured innocence gag and come to, to find his job gone, his career
blasted and no guy willing to trust him with a plugged nickel. If
there's another reason," the Chief's face hardened perceptibly, "if
this Atterbury woman's financial resources have dazzled you, just
remember you're selling what you can't buy back again. A lot of us
believe we haven't got a price until the offer is put up to us. I'm
giving you a chance before you close the deal."
"Bribery!" Ross stood as if turned to stone and McCormick studied him
with an almost paternal anxiety. At length the younger man squared
himself and said doggedly: "After that, sir, there's only one thing
left for me to say. Unless you take me off it, I'll finish up the
Dumois case, and I'll find the girl if she's above ground. I don't
think you can recall a case that I've relinquished, admitting failure.
After that, I'm through; I'll hand in my resignation to you and quit
the game for good."
"I'm sorry," McCormick remarked simply, but his face clouded in
profound disappointment. "I spoke as man to man, and I didn't think
you'd fall down this way. If you're on the level, Ross, for God's sake
prove it! As to your resignation, we'll discuss that later. I'll be the
first to apologize if I've misjudged you, but you've got to show me. Go
out now and make good."
There was an unaccustomed blur before Herbert Ross's eyes as for
the only time in their long association he left the presence of the
Chief without the cordial handclasp which had conveyed so much of
trust and understanding. He did not see the red-headed office boy's
commiserating nod nor the meaning glances cast after him by his fellow
operatives as he stumbled blindly from the outer office, and he found
himself hastening along the crowded thoroughfare with no definite
destination in his mind.
The Chief's voice, gruff with the effort to conceal his emotion, still
rang in his ears and a wonderment mingled with his self-loathing. Why
was he so caught in the toils of treachery and double-dealing, he
who had guarded his professional honor with a jealousy transcending
that of man to his mate? What was this girl to him, this strange,
gentle, indomitable little creature with the pitifully marred face and
soul-searching eyes, that her protection should have come to mean more
to him than all the world beside?
If McCormick's suspicions concerning Mrs. Atterbury and her friends
were justifiable, and the girl was being used as a tool to further
their ends she must be warned without delay! The Chief had said that
the police authorities would forestall him if he lost much time. Betty
Shaw might be in actual peril that very day!
Without any clear idea of what he meant to do, Ross hailed a passing
taxi and directed the chauffeur to the North Drive. He must see her
at all costs, and a vague notion of presenting himself boldly at the
house and demanding an interview with her was taking possession of
his thoughts, when not a block from his destination he came upon Betty
herself just as she took an envelope furtively from her muff and
dropped it into a mail-box.
Jumping from the taxi, he dismissed the chauffeur summarily and
hastened toward her. He fancied that she looked pale and careworn in
the fresh morning sunlight, but when she saw him an unmistakable light
leaped into her eyes.
It died instantly, however, and she bowed with cold aloofness,
affecting not to notice his outstretched hand.
"Miss Shaw, I am not going to pretend that this meeting is not of my
seeking for I was on my way to try to see you if I could."
She raised her eyebrows.
"I fancied that our last meeting was quite conclusive, Mr. Ross."
"I told you that I meant to be your friend, whether you wished it or
not, and it is as your friend that I am here." He spoke very gravely.
"Won't you let me walk with you for a little way? What I have to say is
vital to you and in speaking I am practically betraying a trust, but I
am convinced that you stand in a false position; that through no fault
of your own, you are in actual danger!"
Betty paused, regarding him steadily, but made no comment.
"You know my name, but I can tell you nothing more of myself; I can
offer you no personal guarantees of my good faith. I only ask you
to believe that I speak with good authority. You may consider it an
unwarranted intrusion into your affairs, but I must warn you. Miss
Shaw, give up this position you hold! Give it up on whatever pretext is
possible, or run away if you have to, only go at once, before it is too
late!"
"Mr. Ross, this is a most extraordinary request! Will you be good
enough to explain? My position is a highly advantageous one; why should
I relinquish it?"
"For your own safety. You do not know the sort of trap you are in, or
the people for whom you are working. They are using you as a tool, and
worse--"
"I think you must be a little mad!" Betty exclaimed. "My employer is
a most charming and sympathetic person, the salary is high and the
work very congenial.--But I don't know why I should trouble to defend
my occupation to you, Mr. Ross. The little I know of you would not
predispose me in your favor, and your wild assertions are ridiculous!"
"I cannot explain. Oh, won't you understand that my hands are tied, and
I can only warn you of your danger? Please try to trust me, and believe
that I am trying to protect you." In his eagerness he laid his hand
upon her arm, but she shook it off coldly.
"You cannot be in earnest! I am a secretary and companion to a person
whose reputation is unassailable. Surely you can tell me in what way am
I being used as a tool?"
"The letters you write, the commissions you execute for her! Are the
letters always intelligible to you? Do you know the real purpose of the
errands upon which you are sent and what lies behind them?"
"Mr. Ross, your questions would be impertinent if they could be taken
seriously. Mrs. Atterbury's correspondence is the usual one of a woman
with large financial interests and a host of friends." Betty spoke
hastily, her calmly disdainful attitude giving place to half-suppressed
eagerness. "Every letter passes through my hands and I may say that her
private affairs are an open book. Her charities are innumerable and her
friends come to her with all their troubles, sure of help and comfort.
The errands I attend to for her are such as anyone who disliked
shopping would relegate to another. Really, you have been grossly
misinformed; I am in no trap, I can assure you."
Herbert Ross gazed at her flushed face with eyes that had narrowed
swiftly. Her change of manner was too palpable to be spontaneous, and
it had come only when he had betrayed a knowledge of her activities.
She might be a tool indeed but a willing one, closing her eyes to what
she did not wish to see. Although his whole nature rebelled against the
thought, a fertile seed of doubt was sown.
"It can't be!" He seemed to muse aloud. "You are inexperienced,
trusting, blind! You believe what you are told by this woman, and
completely under her influence, but you must open your eyes to
the truth. Surely the thought must have come to you at times that
everything was not well; have you never had a misgiving?"
She lifted her eyes to his in a bland, wondering stare.
"Misgiving of what? If we are to continue this conversation, Mr. Ross,
you really must not talk in riddles. What could be wrong?"
His detective instinct was uppermost now and he realized that instead
of quizzing her, he himself was being shrewdly drawn out. Was she
trying to discover how much he really knew that she might the better
arm herself against him? The seed had not taken firm root as yet,
however, and in a swift revulsion of feeling he inwardly cursed his
momentary suspicion. Her eyes were as clear and steady as the sun!
Surely they could mask no scheming, no subterfuge. Yet if McCormick
had spoken truly, the most innocent and unsophisticated mind must have
found food for puzzled thought in that house of mystery.
"Nothing has ever occurred, no slightest whisper or suggestion from
Mrs. Atterbury or her friends to lead you to feel that something was
going on which you could not understand? Think, Miss Shaw! You are not
stupid; surely some inkling of the truth must have reached you."
"Mr. Ross, you refuse to speak plainly and I cannot imagine what you
are hinting, but I can see that you are really in earnest, and there
is a terrible mistake somewhere. Mrs. Atterbury's friends are people
of the world, learned men and brilliant women whom it is an education
as well as a pleasure for a girl like me to meet. Believe me, you are
laboring under an absurd illusion! I am very happy in my position and I
would not think of giving it up and going away for no reason."
"I can easily obtain another for you," he pleaded. "You will not suffer
by the change. This woman is nothing to you; surely you would be
willing to relinquish this for a better position--"
"Nothing could induce me to leave Mrs. Atterbury." Betty spoke with
calm finality, but across her face had flitted unbidden that hardened,
crafty expression which robbed it of its candid charm, and sudden,
passionate determination flashed from her eyes. It was gone in an
instant but not before Herbert Ross had grasped its significance and
his latent suspicion burst into full flower.
'They are all tarred with the same brush.' The Chief had spoken with a
wisdom which no puerile emotion had stultified, and Ross's heart turned
to lead within him.
"Then there is nothing further for me to say. I have warned you, I have
done my utmost to protect you, but if you wilfully refuse to listen to
me you must abide by the consequences." His voice trembled in spite of
himself and he cried out in bitter denunciation: "There must be some
desperate game of your own which you are playing here! If you are not
an active accomplice of this woman, what hidden purpose holds you to
this house, what common bond links you with these people? Who are you,
what have you done that others should hunt you down, and what are you
doing now?"
The girl's face blanched swiftly, but her eyes blazed a menace and she
drew herself up to her full height before him.
"I have listened patiently to your vague melodramatic attack upon my
employer and her friends, but you have gone too far, Mr. Ross, when you
extend your mad accusations to me! You have followed me, spied upon me,
but this final insult is too much to be endured! I must ask you not to
annoy me again. Let me pass, please!"
He stepped back almost mechanically as with her head proudly erect she
swept by him and on down the Drive. His gaze followed her until she
disappeared, his thoughts a chaos of conflicting emotion.
The swift light which had glowed in her eyes at the moment of
their meeting only to be so quickly effaced, her refusal of his
proffered hand, the attitude of disdainful aloofness which she has
maintained, until driven to the wall, and then her simulation of naïve
innocence--what could these changing moods portend? She had striven
desperately to disarm his suspicion and when that failed had met him
with passionate defiance.
If she were innocent of deliberate voluntary complicity in the
machinations of Mrs. Atterbury, would not a girl in her position have
welcomed the opportunity of fleeing from such a situation? She must be
more than a mere tool, and yet....
It could not be true! Her little sensitive face, piquant despite
its scar, rose once more before his mental vision. Her clear steady
eyes seemed searching his own, proudly yet piteously imploring. He
must believe in her! In spite of appearances which would have been
conclusive proof to any other man, he must have faith to the end.
But why should he disdain that proof if anyone else would have accepted
it? Why should he believe in her? What was she to him that he must
struggle to find excuses for her in his own mind, champion her against
all reason, hold desperately to a blind faith where no grounds for it
existed?
Then all at once a swift self-revelation came and his heart gave a
mighty leap within him as he realized at last what had been behind his
vacillation and final renunciation of the scruples which had governed
his career. Schemer or dupe, criminal or victim of circumstances, he
loved her! Her safety meant more to him than his professional honor,
and were she an adventuress of the deepest dye he still would protect
her if he could against all the world!
As Ross turned, his foot encountered something soft and yielding upon
the pavement and glancing downward he saw a twisted wisp of limp tan
suede. For a moment he regarded it, his face a maze of conflicting
emotion. Then with a gesture that was almost a caress he stooped,
picked up the little glove and strode rapidly away.
Betty meanwhile had made her way to the house, with one unguarded
phrase of his ringing in her ears: "What have you done that others
should hunt you down?" In spite of her trepidation at the knowledge he
had revealed of her employer's affairs and the part she had played in
promoting them, that sentence had brought a glow of warmth, strange and
inexplicable, to her heart.
Her reverie met with a rude awakening on her arrival. Mrs. Atterbury
confronted her at the door and one glance at her stern, threatening
face made Betty's blood turn to water in her veins as she obeyed the
silent gesture and followed her employer to the library.
Mrs. Atterbury closed the door and faced her.
"Where have you been?" There was a menacing undercurrent in the level
unemotional tones, but the girl chose desperately to ignore it.
"I went for a walk. You gave me permission, Mrs. Atterbury."
"Who is the young man with whom you were talking?"
Betty's eyes opened widely.
"I don't know." Her hand had flown to her breast and chance directed
her fingers to the little brooch she wore. On a swift inspiration she
added: "I dropped my scarab and he came along and found it for me. I
thanked him, naturally."
Mrs. Atterbury hesitated eying the girl's candid face keenly.
"You did not enter into conversation with him? He asked you no personal
questions, did not seek to draw you out about yourself?" The wrath
had given place to a cautious repressed note, and Betty took instant
advantage of the hesitancy.
"Certainly not!" Her tone was the epitome of wounded pride
and resentment. "I am not in the habit of forming promiscuous
acquaintances. If I have given you such an impression, Mrs. Atterbury,
I am very sorry--"
"My dear, you must not be offended." A smile curved the set lips and
her employer laid a conciliatory hand upon her arm. "I spoke only for
your well being; I feel responsible for you, you know, and a young
girl cannot be too careful, especially in a huge city like this. Come,
we will say no more about it, child, but do not talk to strangers upon
any pretext whatever, and let me know instantly if anyone tries to
converse with you or engage your attention."
For the rest of the day Betty maintained an attitude of reproachful
dignity, however, which enabled her to keep to herself and gave her
ample time to formulate her immediate plans. Events were rapidly
approaching a crisis, and she realized that not an hour could be lost.
At midnight she stole forth, the half-consumed candle from her
dressing-table serving in lieu of her electric torch, and was
descending the stairs, when a dim flickering glow from the music room
made her pause in affright. She had assured herself that the household
had long since retired to slumber; who, then, was this nocturnal
intruder? Could it be Wolvert, lying in wait for her?
Hastily blowing out her candle flame, she crept down the stairs and
peered cautiously in at the door of the music room. A huge portrait
of Beethoven covered a central space in the left wall and before it,
silent and motionless, stood a tall figure in a straight, white gown.
The girl paused in awed amazement; there was something detached
and remote about the strange apparition, like a worshipper at some
mysterious shrine. Then, slowly the figure turned and Betty slipped
quickly behind the shelter of the grand piano's upraised top, a gasp of
almost superstitious fear escaped her lips.
The strange figure was that of Mrs. Atterbury and her eyes were fixed
in a glassy unseeing stare. Rigidly as if hypnotized, she moved toward
the shrinking girl and Betty grasped the truth in a flash of mingled
horror and relief. The woman was walking in her sleep.