CHAPTER XIXMARY RANDALL GOES TO LIVE IN A WOLF’S DEN
Martin Druce, still pacing uneasily; about the big drinking room of the Cafe Sinister after his angry parting with Elsie Welcome, looked up suddenly and saw the street door open. He stood still staring. The new arrival was Mary Randall. She wore a smart tailored suit and a modish hat. Druce noted these details of costume, the shining bronze hair, the fresh complexion and the trim figure. He gasped with surprise.
Druce’s surprise was not due to any recognition of his visitor as the reformer. To him Mary Randall was still Miss Masters, for he had heard nothing of the episode in John Boland’s office when the electric king’s private secretary revealed her true identity. His astonishment was predicated upon the fact that this stenographer, after having thwarted and flouted him, after having seemed to readthe darkest secrets of his plotting mind, should now walk in upon him with all the easy composure of an old friend.
Then he had read the girl wrong after all! She was, as he had at first suspected, of the demi-monde. Thus her sophistication, the ease with which she had penetrated his pretensions, the cool finality with which she had catalogued and placed him, were all explainable. Her worldly wisdom, which he had found so baffling, was that of the skilled and experienced adventuress!
These reflections swept through his mind in a moment. Another thought came to him that filled him with rage. She was here now to resume her play with him. But rage gave way to desire. His mind instantly busied itself with new intrigues. Here was a woman much to be desired. She had come hunting amusement at his expense. She delivered herself into his hands; she laughed at his power. And she seemed confident of beating him. This was a game that filled him with delight. He sprang forward eagerly to greet her, bowing gallantly, and doffing his hat.
“How do you do, Mr. Druce?” inquired Miss Masters. “You seem surprised to see me here.”
Druce caught something mocking in her tone. “I’m more than surprised,” he returned. “I’m tickled pink. Won’t you have a seat?” He prepared a place for her at one of the booths. “And can’t I order you something to drink?”
Miss Masters favored Druce with one of her enigmatical smiles. “It’s a little early for wine,” she said, “and too late for highballs. Besides, business before pleasure. I want to talk to you.”
Druce sat down, expectantly.
“I’ve come here, Mr. Druce,” Miss Masters went on, “not merely to make a social call, as you seem to take for granted, but as John Boland’s agent. He has instructed me to take up the matter of your new lease with you. I am to handle the whole transaction in his name. The only stipulation that he makes is that you are not to communicate with him again. He wants you to stay away from his office, because he has learned within the last few hours thatthe office is being watched by agents of this girl reformer, Mary Randall. He has instructed me to tell you not to attempt to see him or to telephone him until your negotiations with me are concluded.”
Druce was disappointed.
“Why,” he said, “I thought the matter of the lease was settled. Boland told me plainly when I last talked with him that if I would arrange to have Patience Welcome here on Saturday night so that Harry Boland could see her he would give me a new lease with no increase in rental.”
“I understand,” replied Miss Masters to whom this was news. “The idea of arranging this meeting is, I am informed, to convince Harry that the girl has been playing with him—that she is one of your employes.”
“That’s it,” replied Druce. “I’ve made all the plans and the girl will be here on Saturday night. I’ve arranged to have her mother here, too. And to make it good I expect to bring in the other sister—the girl Elsie—at the last moment. Young Boland will believe that the whole Welcome family is working for me.”
“I see,” said Miss Masters. “It’s a pretty smooth scheme, but Mr. Boland thinks it’s rather too daring. That’s why he’s sent me here, to see that nothing goes wrong. You are to give me all the details of your plans and through me Mr. Boland is to be kept informed as to what is going on.”
“Well, he’s a deep one,” said Druce. “I don’t like his introducing a third party into my plans very well, but I guess I’ve got to take it. I’ve got to have that lease.”
“Yes,” replied Miss Masters, “that’s the way John Boland has it figured out.”
“Say, girlie,” Druce went on, assuming a confidential air, “Old Boland sure must have a lot of confidence in you.”
Again Miss Masters smiled enigmatically. “Yes,” she admitted, “Mr. Boland has reason to know I can take care of myself in nearly every situation.”
“I’m beginning to think you’re as deep as Boland is.”
“Yes?” Miss Masters tantalized him with another of her smiles. “Now,” she went on, “tell me about this. You say you’re going tohave the other Welcome girl here. How do you expect to arrange that?”
Druce grinned triumphantly. “That’s dead easy,” he said. “You see I’m married to her.” He had expected to startle Miss Masters with this information, but he was disappointed. She merely arched her brows slightly. “Then you marry them, do you?” “Yes, when I have to. It’s the easiest way.” “Then this girl—Elsie—is living in your—a—a—hotel?”
“No,” replied Druce hesitatingly, “she’s gone away.” Then he added quickly, “but she’ll be back.”
“Gone away? I don’t understand.” “Oh, we had a family row this morning. I told her that if she wanted to get along in Chicago she’d have to discard her Millville morals and be a good fellow. She’s squeamish. I let her understand that she’d have to—”
“I see,” said Miss Masters. “She thought that, because she was your wife she wouldn’t have to drink with the patrons in your cafe. When you told her she’d have to, she got angry and walked out. Is that it?”
“You’re wise,” replied Druce admiringly.
“You say she’ll be back. How do you know that?”
“I know it, because she hasn’t got a dime. With her it’s a case of coming back or starving to death in the Levee, and I know enough about her to be sure she’ll be back. She can’t get away from me.”
“And the other girl, Patience?”
“She thinks this is a sort of a music hall. She’s coming here with her mother Saturday night. Before she discovers that this place isn’t exactly what she believes it is, Harry Boland will see her up there on the stand with the rest of my talent. I’ll get the girl out of the place before he can talk to her. That will put the kibosh on their love affair.”
“What do you expect to do with these girls afterward?”
“Oh, we have facilities here”—Druce’s smile was evil—“for breaking ’em in. Afterward—well, I don’t know. It may be dangerous to keep them around Chicago. I can get a good price for them.” He laughed. “You know I’m a dealer in live stock.”
“Yes, yes, you expect to sell them. That’s not a bad idea.”
“Now look here, kid,” said Druce, “you’ve asked me a lot of questions and got fair answers. It’s a poor game that can’t be played both ways. I want to know something about you.”
Miss Masters curled herself up comfortably in a corner of the booth. She looked challengingly at Druce.
“Shoot,” she said.
“Now, who are you?”
“You know my name. It’s Masters.”
“I don’t mean that. What are you?”
Miss Masters replied quickly, “I—why—I’m a girl, and—you say yourself I’m wise.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. Where did you come from? Where did Boland get you?”
“Before I went to work for Boland I was in St. Louis.”
“What did you do there?”
“Oh, I shan’t answer that question—yet.”
“Well, you seem to know a great deal about the kind of business I’m in. Where did you get your information?”
“Picked it up.”
“In St. Louis?”
“Yes, I learned some things there.”
“Have you ever been in this business?”
“What business?”
“Well, this cafe business—and the rest of it.”
“You say I know a good deal about it.”
“Yes, you know a lot about it. And you’ve got your information from the inside. And Boland knows you know a lot about it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have sent you down here.”
“Yes?” Miss Masters was silent for a moment. “Druce,” she went on, “did you ever hear of the Broughton Club?”
“Sure, that swell joint in St. Louis?”
“Yes. Well, I’m interested in it.”
“As owner?”
“Never mind about that. I’m interested in it and one of my reasons for calling on you is to get some girls for the club.”
“You want to buy some girls?”
“You said it.”
“From me?”
“From you, if I can get the right figures.If I can’t, I’ll try elsewhere. You’re not the only ‘dealer in live stock’ in the Levee.”
“I’ll make the figures right.”
“I’m interested in this place.”
“In the Cafe Sinister?”
“Yes, I want to know something about your methods. We don’t know it all in St. Louis. I think I can pick up a little information here. I’m going back to St. Louis in a month. I want to take some girls back with me, and I’d like to find out just how a first class joint like the Cafe Sinister is operated in Chicago.”
“Is this a proposition?”
“Yes, it’s a proposition.”
“All right. Go on.”
“I want to live at the Cafe Sinister during the week our deal for the lease is on. I’ll take rooms in your—a—hotel, upstairs.
“And I’ll be around the cafe, and making myself at home generally,” added Miss Masters, reassuringly.
“Go as far as you like,” answered Druce, “and if you need a body guard,” he added, with a knowing wink, “why, you know me.”
Miss Masters’ eyes narrowed. “I told you I could look out for myself,” she answered.
“You’ll have to look out for yourself,” retorted Druce significantly.
“Let me do the worrying about that.”
Druce was silent. He had determined to accept Miss Masters’ offer. He felt that she was walking into his trap and yet, so great had grown his respect for her that he did not know his next move.
“I’ll have a suite prepared for you,” he said.
“That’s settled, then.”
Miss Masters got up from her seat. As she did so Druce attempted a caress. “I’m going to collect part of the rent in advance,” he said.
“Are you?” Miss Masters pushed him away sharply. He did not repeat his indiscretion. Instead he stood back respectfully to let her pass. In the palm of her hand with the muzzle pointing firmly in his direction he saw a small, steel-blue magazine pistol. The girl’s finger was on the trigger.
“If you’ll have one of your servants show me the suite,” said Miss Masters, “I’ll telephone for my maid.”
Then she added, seemingly as an afterthought,
“I never pay the rent, Mr. Druce, until the end of the week.”
CHAPTER XXDRUCE SIGNS A SIGNIFICANT DOCUMENT
Mary Randall realized that she was playing a dangerous game. She had placed herself in Druce’s power because taking that risk had seemed to her the best way to gather evidence against the Cafe Sinister. She had not acted without laying her plans carefully. Her whole campaign for the week that she was to be in Druce’s dive had been mapped out before she set foot so unexpectedly inside his door.
The girl depended upon two things for protection. First was Druce’s fear of the power of John Boland. She believed that the man would not dare to use physical violence against her if he thought she was what she had represented herself to be—John Boland’s agent. Second was his desire for a renewal of the lease to the cafe. Mary was confident that Druce would plot against her but she wasequally sure he would not move until after the lease had been signed. If both these protections failed, she still had her magazine pistol. And she knew how to use it.
In coming into Druce’s place she had deliberately counted on the ascendancy which she knew her beauty and her air of mystery had obtained over him. She was playing the pander at his own game. It was an extremely dangerous game but she believed she could beat him. And the results would be worth the risk.
Meanwhile her greatest anxiety was to prevent Druce from communicating in any way with John Boland. If Druce should learn through Boland that he had not delegated her to negotiate the lease, that she was in fact Mary Randall, then she would be face to face with a fight for her life. But she was quite sure that Druce would not communicate with Boland. She knew the workings of Boland’s office well enough to understand how difficult it was for Druce to get a word with the master of the Electric Trust and as a special precaution she had put an inhibition upon him notto call at or telephone to the office. Finally, before she had quite finished with Boland, she had arranged with his telephone operator that no calls from Druce should be put on John Boland’s wire.
Mary’s first move after she had been shown to her suite was to telephone to Anna, her maid, whom she had left nearby before making her visit to the cafe. Anna arrived in a short time with a porter carrying a couple of heavy suit cases.
When the two girls were at last alone in their rooms they began preparing for their week’s stay by making a thorough examination of the locks on the doors. They found them secure. Then, closing the keyholes, they proceeded to unpack the suit cases. Out of them they took, besides various articles of apparel, a complete dictagraph apparatus. The transmitter was hidden under a mat on a table in the reception room that formed part of the suite. The wires were carried down the leg of the table and under the carpets to a small closet; there Anna installed a small table, a pocket electric light and her stenographer’snotebook. A small camera was hidden in one of the window curtains. It was focused so as to take in the space surrounding the table in the reception room. When one of the curtains was raised the plate was automatically exposed and the raising of the curtain at the same time let enough light into the room to take an excellent picture.
With these arrangements completed, Mary began a tour of the cafe building. She found Druce eager to serve her. By him she was guided to every part of the place, meeting the people she wanted to know and learning all of the details of the infamous business in which Druce, Anson and Boland were jointly embarked. For three days she went about these tours of inspection undisturbed. In the evenings she had the women habitues of the place in her rooms, talking to them as if she were one of their own kind and learning from them the squalid stories of their downfall and the part Druce and Anson had played in it. Anna was not in sight during any of these interviews. She was seated at the little table with the dictagraph at her ear, her fountainpen in her hand and her stenographer’s notebook before her. Nothing that was said escaped her.
Meanwhile Druce was having an unpleasant time with Anson. He had tried at first to keep from him the fact of Miss Masters’ residence in their “hotel.” “The mastiff,” however, was not long deceived. When he confronted Druce with what he had learned, Druce with an assumption of frankness told him of his interview with Miss Masters and attempted to reassure him.
Anson, however, was by nature suspicious. “I don’t like it,” he snarled. “You’ve let a spy into the house.”
Druce tried at first to argue with him. Then he grew angry. Finally he turned on his partner.
“You mind your own business,” he advised him, white with rage. “I’ll manage this thing. The girl’s mine. I’m going to have her. Keep away from her. By God, if you interfere with my schemes I’ll kill you.”
Anson was not terrified by this threat. He knew that in any physical encounter he wasmore than a match for the slender Druce. But he feared to quarrel with his partner. He was too appreciative of Druce’s value to him and their enterprise to want to lose him. He growled a smothered string of curses, but Druce had his way.
Druce had become so much infatuated with Miss Masters that he had thrown caution to the winds. Never before in his life had he been under the influence of any woman. Now that such an influence had seized him he was overwhelmed by it. He had arrived perilously close to the point where, if he had known the true character of the woman he was sheltering, his infatuation would have led him to risk the danger merely to have her near him. His thoughts were on her constantly, his mind busy during every waking hour on schemes for, entrapping her.
Mary had taken up her abode in the Cafe Sinister on Monday. On Thursday she sent for Druce. He came to her suite eagerly.
He found Miss Masters sitting at the table in the reception room. He sat down opposite her and facing the window at her invitation.
“Druce,” said the girl, “I’ve sent for you because I want to close that deal for the girls I spoke to you about.”
“The girls you’re going to take back to St. Louis?”
“Yes, I’ll want five or six.”
“You’ve been looking over my stock?” said Druce with a leer.
“Yes,” replied Miss Masters, concealing her repulsion.
“Well, I guess we can come to terms. Who do you want?”
“I only care for four of the girls I have seen,” replied Miss Masters. “I want that little girl, Maida, the blonde girl you call Luella, Clara, and that young brunette, Esther.”
“Gee,” said Druce, “you don’t want much, do you? Why those are the youngest and prettiest girls we’ve got in the place. That Luella has only been in the district three weeks. All the rest of them are new ones.”
“I know it. That’s why I want them.”
“They’ll cost you money.”
“I expect to pay money for them.”
“I want $200 apiece for those four girls.” The price was high. Druce thought Miss Masters would reject it.
“Very well,” returned Miss Masters. “That will be $800.”
“You’re willing to pay it?”
“Yes. I’m going to spend $1,000 with you.”
“Four ain’t enough?”
“No, I’m going to take two more, if I can get them. You say you expect to have these Welcome sisters?”
“Sure, I’ll have them.”
“Well, you told me you didn’t want to run the risk of keeping them around Chicago. I’ll take them off your hands.”
“You expect to get them for $200?”
“Certainly. You don’t know yet that you can deliver. Has the one you married come back?”
“Oh, I’ll deliver.”
“I’m not as sure of that as you are, but I’m willing to speculate on it. I’ll make you this proposition. I’ll write you a check for $1,000 and take my chance on you delivering the six girls I name.”
“No checks go,” said Druce.
“You’ll have to take a check if you do business with me.”
Druce considered. He wanted the $1,000. He did not want to quarrel with Miss Masters. He capitulated.
“Write the check,” he said.
Miss Masters took a check-book from a drawer and drew a check, payable to Druce. She handed it to him. He looked at the paper doubtfully.
“I’ll have to indorse that,” he said.
Miss Masters laughed.
“Certainly,” she said, “you’ll have to indorse it unless you want to keep it as a souvenir.” She smiled at him. “Druce,” she said, “you’ll never get along in this business if you’re a coward.”
“It’s direct evidence against me.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“All right, girlie. I’ll trust you.” He folded the check and put it in his pocket.
“Now, we’ll have to have a bit of writing.”
“No writing for mine,” retorted Druce. “This check is plenty.”
“Oh, Mr. Druce,” Miss Masters spoke appealingly. “You don’t think that’s fair, do you? You’ve got my check.”
“I guess it’s you that’s not trusting me now,” said Druce.
“But you admit yourself that you may not deliver.”
“No I don’t. I will deliver.”
“But this isn’t business.”
“It’s the way we do this kind of business in Chi.”
Miss Masters got up from the table, as if exasperated.
“Look here, Mr. Druce,” she said. “How can signing an agreement covering this sale hurt you? Oh, what a lot of cowards you ‘live stock dealers’ are! Can’t you see that if you sign this agreement with me I’m incriminated as well as you are? The Mann act gets the buyer as well as the seller.”
“Well, what’s the agreement?”
“It says simply this: ‘In consideration of $1,000 I agree to deliver two days from date the following girls’—I’ll write in their names—‘to Miss Masters.’”
“You’re not trying to put anything over?”
“Did it ever strike you that by selling these girls to me you’d have John Boland where you wanted him?”
“Boland?”
“I’m his agent.”
“All right.” Druce snatched up the paper and read it. “Write in the names.” Miss Masters wrote the names of six girls into the document. She handed it back to Druce and picked up a pen.
“Just a moment,” she said, giving him the pen. “It’s dark here. I’ll raise the curtain.”
She stepped quickly across the room and adjusted the curtain so that the sunlight fell full across Druce as he signed his name to the agreement. As he finished the last stroke he heard a faint “click.”
“What was that?” he demanded anxiously.
“The curtain caught on the window latch,” replied Miss Masters. She picked up the agreement and blotted the signature. “Thank you,” she said, “now I’ve got something for my $1,000.”
Druce laughed uneasily. The maid, Anna,entered from an adjoining apartment. Druce realized uncomfortably that the interview was over.
“Well,” he said, going to the door and smiling sentimentally at Miss Masters, “so long. See you later.”
“Yes,” replied Miss Masters in a tone he didn’t just like, “I’ll see you later.”
CHAPTER XXIDRUCE PROVES A TRUE PROPHET
Saturday night begins at the Cafe Sinister at nine o’clock. At that hour the twin columns of glass at its portal are lighted and the Levee pours the first of its revelers into the spacious ground floor drinking room. The orchestra strikes up the first of its syncopated melodies; the barkeepers arrange their polished glasses in glittering rows; the waiters, soft-footed and watchful, take their places at their appointed stations.
The revelers come in an order regulated by inexorable circumstance. In the van are the women with the professional escorts, haggard creatures who have served their time in the district and who are on the brink of that oblivion which means starvation and slow death. Youth and health have flown and now no paint nor cosmetic can cloak their real character. They must come early becausetheir need of money is bitter and a watchful eye for opportunity must take the place of the physical allurement that once made life in the tenderloin so easy. They sink into their seats and wait, contemptuous of their escorts, and yet pitifully dependent upon them. For without the escorts they cannot enter the Cafe Sinister. That is a tribute which the rulers of the tenderloin, through them, pays tribute to the majesty of the law.
A group of hardened rounders follows. These are men to whom the Cafe Sinister and the district have become a habit. They bring with them women of their own kind—women who, through years of dissipation, have still, like misers, managed to hoard some trace of bloom. They drink deeply, for the men are spenders. The wine flows free and the talk grows loud. Occasionally a man quarrels profanely with his companion and a soft-footed waiter with a thug’s face whispers him to sullen silence.
An hour flies by. Now the Levee, roused from its sodden, day-long slumber, is wide awake. The way between the twin pillars atthe Cafe Sinister’s entrance is choked with the flood of merry-makers. These newcomers are not so easy to classify as their predecessors. They are the crowd from the street,—the thief with his girl pal, eager to spend the plunder of their last successful exploit; the big corporation’s entertainer, out to show a party of country customers the sights of a great city; the visitor from afar, lonely and seeking excitement; the man about town, the respectable woman who with a trusted male confidant seeks shady and clandestine amusement; college students with unspoiled appetites off for a lark; women of the district still new enough to the life of vice to find pleasure in its excitements; periodical drinkers out for a night of it; clerks, cashiers, bookkeepers, schoolboys and roués.
And here and there, weaving in and out through this heterogeneous mob lurks the pander seeking for his prey—the ignorant young girl, trembling on the verge of her first step into the depths, the little lost sister of tomorrow.
By ten o’clock the merry making in theCafe Sinister had attained the vociferousness of a riot. As the swift-footed waiters passed more and more liquor about, the voices of the speakers rose higher and higher. At last the orchestra itself could scarcely be heard. The singers, half maudlin themselves, and knowing they could not be heard above the universal din, abandoned harmony and resorted to shouts and suggestive gyrations. A woman fell helplessly into the arms of her escort who, gloating, winked knowingly at a male companion. Another drunkenly attempted to dance and was restrained by the waiters. An elderly reprobate, convoying two unsteady young girls, importuned Druce for one of his private dining rooms.
Druce and Anson watched over the revelers and directed the entertainers. “The Mastiff,” comfortably full of his favorite liquor, whisky, glowered on the crowd with as near an aspect of good nature as he was able to muster. Druce, who knew his own success in business was due to alertness of mind and who was almost an ascetic in the matter of drink, was no less at peace with the world.
“Money in that crowd,” rumbled the huge Anson.
“Yes,” replied Druce, “business is mighty good.”
“How about our lease?”
“The blow-off comes tonight.”
“You’re sure of your plans?”
“I am, if young Boland shows up.”
“Well, he’ll be here?”
“Yes, I wrote him an anonymous letter telling him if he wanted to see his girl, he could find her singing at the Cafe Sinister.”
“That ought to fetch him. How about the old man?”
“He sent me word today that he’d be here and that he’d dropped hints to the son he’d heard some bad stuff about the girl.”
“You haven’t talked to him?”
“No; I got my orders. I stayed away.”
“How about the Welcome kid you married?”
“She’s down and out. I sent one of our cappers early in the week to look her up. Somebody’d slipped her a lone five dollar bill. She woke up yesterday morning broke. Idon’t know where she’s eating, but I’ve sent word through the district to keep her hungry. She’ll be in tonight.”
Druce spoke with indifference, but the truth was that he was not at all sure that Elsie Welcome would return. He had begun to respect the girl’s strength of character. He had scarcely finished his sentence when he gave a gasp of relief.
“Ah-h!” he muttered.
“What’s that?” demanded Anson.
“Here she comes now.”
As they looked down through the drinking room they saw the slender figure of a girl approaching. She came slowly, supporting her wavering steps with the backs of the revelers’ chairs. Her face was pale and desperately haggard. Several of the men as she passed clutched at her skirts and shouted invitations at her. She tore herself away from them and made straight for the place where Druce and Anson were standing. For a moment, Druce almost felt sorry for her.
“You’re back, kid?” he said softly.
“Yes,” replied the girl, fiercely.
“You’re going to be good?”
Elsie burst out sobbing. It was her last struggle.
“Come now, Elsie,” Druce spoke almost tenderly. “Don’t snivel.”
“Martin,” the girl gasped appealingly. “O, my God! Be kind to me.”
“Don’t worry about me, girlie. You forget that Sunday school stuff and you’ll get along with me fine. You’re hungry, aren’t you, kid?”
“I’m starving,” replied the girl.
“Come with me. I’ll have the chef get you a big feed. After that I want you to come back and do what I tell you. I won’t be hard on you, kid. You’ll not have to work tonight. All I’ll want you to do is sit up on the stand with my other entertainers.”
Elsie was too broken in spirit to reply. She followed her master dumbly. He led her to one of his small private dining rooms, arranged a seat for her and turned on the lights. Then he went back to the kitchen to order the girl’s meal.
After Druce had left, Elsie folded her armson the table and cushioning her head on them, began to weep softly. Druce returned with the food, kissed her to take the sting from the feed, which both he and she knew was the price of her shame, and left her. The girl ate ravenously. Afterward she fell into an uneasy slumber against the cushions of the booth.
She was awakened by someone entering the room. Looking up, she saw the bowed figure and gray hair of an elderly woman. The intruder carried a bucket of hot water in one hand and a mop in the other. She had come into the booth thinking it unoccupied, and did not see Elsie until she was very close to her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, dropping her mop and bucket and starting back.
Elsie stared at her. Then she stood up, her face pale as death, her eyes starting like the eyes of one who has seen a vision.
“Mother!” she screamed. “Oh, God! Mother!” and flung herself into her mother’s arms.
CHAPTER XXII“THE MILLS OF THE GODS”
After Druce left Elsie he went back to his favorite station behind the musicians’ stand. He had been there only a moment when he saw the elder Boland enter. Boland came in quietly through a side door and stood looking about inquiringly.
Druce silently summoned a waiter and sent him to Boland with a message. A little later the two men were in Druce’s private office alone and the door was closed. They sat down at a table.
“Well,” said Druce, “I see you’re on time.”
“Yes,” replied Boland coldly. “I make it a point to keep my engagements. Your arrangements are complete, I suppose. I haven’t heard a word from you all week.”
There was a petulance in his tone the reason for which Druce did not comprehend.
“It’s going to work out all right. One of the Welcome girls is here now. I’m expecting the other.” He pushed an electric button. A waiter appeared.
“Go out and ask the professor if that new entertainer I’m expecting has arrived,” he ordered.
The waiter was gone but a few seconds.
“She’s come,” he reported. “She’s up on the stand and will go on right after the intermission.”
“That’s her,” said Druce to Boland. The waiter vanished.
“Good,” said Boland. “Druce,” he went on, “I’m pleased with the way you’ve handled this. Here’s something to prove it.” He took a document from his breast pocket and passed it across the table. It was the lease.
“Thanks,” said Druce, keenly pleased by an inspection of the papers, “that looks good to me.”
“It’s yours,” returned Boland, “but of course I expect you to carry out your part of the contract.”
“How about Harry?”
“No need to worry about that. He’ll be here.”
“Well, we’re waiting on him.”
There was a pause. Neither man seemed to know how to continue the conversation. Druce broke the silence.
“Boland,” he asked, “what have you got against this girl?”
Boland resented the question, but was compelled to answer.
“She wants to marry my son. I don’t think she’s fit to marry him. If she were, she wouldn’t be in a place like this.”
Druce laughed unpleasantly.
“You know very well,” he replied, “that she wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t managed it for you.”
Boland made no reply for this. Druce went on.
“Tell me,” he demanded, “on the square, now, is that all you’ve got against this girl?”
“Just what do you mean by that, Druce?” demanded Boland, eying him calmly.
“Didn’t you know the Welcomes before this girl came into your son’s life?”
Boland turned very pale.
“That’s an idiotic question,” he answered. “How would a man in my position know people like the Welcomes?”
“When I was in Millville,” replied Druce evenly, “I heard a good deal about old Tom Welcome. It seems that someone stole an invention from him.”
“Just why should I be interested in that story?”
“I don’t know,” replied Druce. “It just struck me that you might be. There was no harm in asking, was there?”
Boland ignored the question.
“Look here,” he said, changing the subject, “suppose you get this lease from me, are you sure you can continue doing business as you are without police interference?”
Druce laughed and picked up the receiver of the telephone which stood on the table. There was an attachment that enabled Boland to hear at the same time. He handed the second receiver to the master of the Electric Trust.
“What’s the idea?” inquired Boland.
“I’m just going to answer your question.”
He called for a number.
“That’s police station R,” said Boland.
“I know,” replied Druce, “just listen.”
“Hello,” he said presently, “is this you, Cap?”
Boland heard a familiar voice answer affirmatively.
“This is Druce talking,” the dive-owner went on, “Druce of the Cafe Sinister. Say, we’ll be open all night tonight. Don’t make any trouble for us, you understand. Just let your fellows know that they’re not to hear anything that goes on in this beat. I’ll send McEdwards around in the morning with a special envelope for you. Get me?”
Druce cut off the two telephones.
“Well,” he asked triumphantly, “what do you think of that?”
Boland laughed cynically.
“Rather good,” he answered. “I know your friend, the captain. The fact is, I know him rather well. We belong to the same church.” He chuckled over his own joke. “However,” he went on, “I didn’t come hereto be entertained, nor to be initiated into the mysteries of the police department. Let’s get down to business. I’ve got to get out of town tonight. I’m going to ’Frisco.”
“To ’Frisco?”
“Yes, I’m in a mess. Mary Randall—”
“Randall! Boland, don’t tell me you’re scared of that woman, too.”
“Man alive, haven’t you heard? She got into my office in disguise and stole a lot of my papers. I don’t know just yet what she’s got, but I’ve decided to hunt seclusion for a while.”
“She was disguised?”
“Yes, she came into my office as private secretary. I trusted her implicitly. You’ll remember her. She gave the name of Miss Masters.”
Druce stood up with an exclamation. His face had gone white and he clutched at the table for support. Boland stared at him in astonishment.
“What’s hit you?” he demanded.
Druce made no reply. Through his mind was passing the panorama of how he had delivered himself bound hand and foot to thegirl he thought he was entrapping. Suddenly, he turned and dashed in a frenzy out of the room. He was bound, with murder in his heart, for Miss Masters’ suite.
As he came tearing out of the office he found himself suddenly seized and halted.
“Let me go,” screamed Druce, “damn you, let me go.”
He fought to release himself, but vainly. He looked up into the face of Harry Boland.
“What’s your hurry?” inquired young Boland coolly. “Don’t be in a rush. I want to ask you a few questions.”
He produced a letter from his pocket. Druce recognized it at a glance as the anonymous note he had written to lure young Boland to the cafe.
“Did you write that?” demanded Boland.
Druce struggled in a frenzy.
“To hell with you and your questions,” he yelled. “Let me by or I’ll kill you.”
He grappled with Boland and the two men wrestled out to the edge of the big drinking room.
“You wrote it,” Boland hissed in his ear.
“It’s a lie. I’m going to give you the beating of your life.”
The elder Boland, who had followed Druce, fell upon his son. Harry turned and recognized his father.
“You here?” he demanded, facing his parent.
“Yes,” replied John Boland, “I’m here. I came, because I had been informed that you were to meet a woman of the tenderloin in this place; and when I find you, I find you fighting with a dive-keeper.”
Harry dropped the struggling Druce and turned on his father.
“What do you mean?” he asked, defiantly.
“I mean just that,” replied John Boland. He turned toward the musicians’ stand and pointed dramatically at Patience Welcome, who, her face almost as pale as her white lace gown, was advancing toward the front of the platform to sing.
Harry Boland’s face went white as hers.
The words he gasped were drowned by a cry, Elsie Welcome, coming for the first time since her return to Druce into the drinking room,saw her sister standing upon the rostrum, poised to sing.
“Patience! Patience!” she screamed in a voice of despair. “Oh, my sister, what brought you to this place?”
She fell to the floor fainting. The whole cafe was in an uproar.
Carter Anson, roused to fury by the disturbance, fought his way through the crowd to the place where he had seen her fall.
Druce, escaped from Harry Boland, struggled from another angle to make his way through the mob. As if by magic half a score of policemen suddenly hemmed in the fighting mass. Druce, struggling blindly to make a pathway for himself, suddenly looked up to see Mary Randall standing on a table on the opposite side of the room directing the police. A wave of maniacal anger overwhelmed him. In a flash his hand went to his pocket and reappeared with a pistol.
There was an explosion, a man’s yell of rage, followed by a choking gulp of mortal anguish. Druce was seized and flung to the floor.
At the same moment Mary Randall, leaping down from her table, ran to the center of the room. Carter Anson lay there, struggling through his last throes,—the bullet in his brain.