“Miss Gerald,” said Bob as formally as if he were quoting from one of those deportment books, “may I have the pleasure of this dance?”
Her reply was at variance with what “How to Behave in the Best Society” taught young ladies to say. “Why do you ask?” said Gwendoline Gerald quietly.
“Got to,” said Bob.
“Why have you got to?”
“I promised I would.”
“Who made you promise?”
Bob told.
“Do you have to do what she tells you?”
“In this instance.”
“Of course you know what my reply will be?”
“I told her you would refuse.”
“You would hardly expect me to dance with you after all I know about you, would you?” There was still that deadly quietness in her tones.
“All you think you know about me,” Bob had the courage to correct her. “Of course not.”
“Some one has taken one of my rings,” observed Miss Gerald even more quietly.
“I haven’t got it,” exclaimed Bob. “Honest!” Wasn’t he glad he had got rid of it?
The violet eyes studied Bob as if he were something strange and inanimate—an odd kind of a pebble or a shell. “You are sure?” said Miss Gwendoline.
“Positive,” answered Bob in his most confident tones. He remembered now that during his dance with the jolly little pal he had observed the monocle-man talking with Miss Gerald. Perhaps he had told her he had seen the ring in Bob’s fingers when the latter had gone to the window. The monocle-man might have been spying all the while, on the other side. There might have been two Peeping Toms interested in Bob’s actions in the billiard room.
“Are you so positive you would be willing to submit to be searched?”
“I am that positive,” Bob answered. And then went on more eagerly: “Maybe you haven’t really lost it after all.” He could say that and still tell the truth. “Why, it may be in your room now. You may find it on your table or your dresser when you go upstairs to retire.”
Miss Gerald looked at him. “You seem to be rather certain?” she said tentatively.
“I am,” said Bob. “I’d almost swear—” He stopped suddenly. It wouldn’t do to be too certain.
“Don’t you find your own words rather strange?” the girl asked.
“Everything’s funny about me, nowadays,” said Bob.
“Did you enjoy renewing your acquaintance with Miss ——?” She called Gee-gee by that other, more conventional name.
“I did not. I dislike her profoundly.”
“Are you sure?” The violet eyes were almost meditative. “Now I should have thought—” She paused. Bob read the thought, however. A man like him was on a plane with Gee-gee; indeed, much lower. Miss Gerald would be finding in Gee-gee Bob’s affinity next.
“You haven’t refused me out-and-out, yet,” he suggested. “To dance, I mean.”
“You would rather, of course, I did refuse you?”
“Of course,” Bob stammered. The mere thought of dancing with her once again as of yore gave him a sensation of exquisite pain. But naturally she would never dream of dancing with one she considered a—?
“Well, you may have the pleasure,” she said mockingly.
Bob could not credit his hearing. She would permit him to touch her. Incredible! A great awe fell over him. He could not believe.
“I said you might have the pleasure,” she repeated, accenting in the least the last word.
Bob caught that accent. Ah, she knew then, what exquisite pain it would be for him to dance with her! She was purposely punishing him; she wished to make him suffer. She would drive a gimlet in his heart and turn it around. Bob somehow got his arm about his divinity and found himself floating around the room, experiencing that dual sensation of being in heaven and in the other place at one and the same time.
It was a weird and wonderful dance. Through it all he kept looking down at her hair, though its brightness seemed to dazzle him. Miss Dolly had confided to Bob that he “guided divinely,” but he didn’t guide divinely now; he was too bewildered. Once he bumped his divinity into some one and this did not improve his mental condition. But she bore with him with deadly patience; she was bound to punish him thoroughly, it seemed.
Then that dual sensation in Bob’s breast began gradually to partake more of heaven than of the other place, and he yielded to the pure and unadulterated joy of the divinity’s propinquity. He forgot there was a big black blot on his escutcheon, or character. He ceased to remember he was a renegade and criminal. The nearness of the proud golden head set his heart singing until tempestuously and temerariously he flung three words at her, telepathically, from the throbbing depths of his soul.
The dance ending abruptly “brought him to.” He looked around rather dazed; then struggling to awake, gazed at her. Her face still wore that expression of deadly calm and pride. Bob didn’t understand. She was no statue, he would have sworn, yet now she looked one—for him. And a moment before she had seemed radiantly, gloriously alive—no Galatea before the awakening! It was as if she had felt all the vibrating joy of the dance. But that, of course, could not have been. Bob felt like rubbing his eyes when he regarded her. He did not understand unless—
She wished once more to “rub it in,” to make him realize again more poignantly all that he had lost. She let him have a fuller glimpse of heaven just to hurl him from it. She liked to see him go plunging down into the dark voids of despair. He yielded entirely to that descending feeling now; he couldn’t help it.
“I thank you,” said Bob, in his best deportment-book manner.
The enigmatic violet eyes lighted as they rested on him. Bob would have sworn it was a cruel light. “Oh,” she said, “as long as you are a guest—? There are certain formalities—”
“I understand,” he returned.
The light in the violet eyes deepened and sparkled. So a cruel Roman lady might have regarded a gladiator in the arena, answering his appeal with “Thumbs down.” Bob lifted his hand to his brow. The girl’s proud lips—lips to dream of—were curved as in cruel disdain. Then Bob forgot himself again.
“I won’t have you look at me like that,” he said masterfully. “I’m not a criminal. Confound it, it’s preposterous. I didn’t steal your ring and I want you to know it, too. I never stole a thing in my life.” They were standing somewhat apart, where they couldn’t be overheard. He spoke in a low tone but with force, gazing boldly and unafraid now into the violet eyes.
“I won’t let you think that of me,” he said, stepping nearer. “Steal from you?” he scoffed. “Do you know the only thing I’d like to steal from you?” His eyes challenged hers; the violet eyes didn’t shrink. “Yourself! I’d like to steal you, but hang your rings!” He didn’t say “hang”; he used the other word. He forgot himself completely.
A garden of wild roses blossomed on the girl’s fair cheek, but she held herself with rare composure. “I wonder, Mr. Bennett,” she observed quietly, “how I should answer such mad irresponsible talk?”
“It’s the truth. And if I were a thief—which I’m not—I wouldn’t steal your rings. Even a thief wouldn’t steal the rings of the girl he loves.”
More roses! Outraged flushing, no doubt! Yet still the girl managed to maintain her composure. “You dare go very far, do you not, Mr. Bennett?”
“Yes; and I’ll go further. I love every hair of your head. Even when you’re cruel,” he hurried on recklessly, “and heaven knows you can be cruel enough, I love you. I love your lips when they say the unkindest and most outrageous things to me. I love your eyes when they look scorn. I ought not to love you, but I do. Why, I loved you the first time I saw you. And do you think if I were all those things you think me, I’d dare stand up here and tell you that? I didn’t mean to tell you ever that I loved you. But that’s my answer when you imply I’m a rank criminal. A man’s got to have a clear conscience to love you as I do. Such love can only go with a clear conscience. Why, you’re so wonderful and beautiful to me I couldn’t—” Bob paused. “Don’t you see the point?” he appealed to her. “A man couldn’t have you in his heart and not have the right to hold up his head among his fellow men.”
Miss Gerald did not at once answer; she had not moved. The sweeping dark lashes were lowered; she was looking down. “You plead your cause very ingeniously, Mr. Bennett,” she observed at length, her lashes suddenly uplifting. The lights were still there in the violet eyes; they seemed yet mocking him. “You invoke the sacred name of love as a proof of your innocence. The argument is unique if not logical,” she went on with pitiless accents and the red lips that uttered the “sacred name of love” smiled. “I have been rather interested, however, in following your somewhat fantastic defense of yourself. That it has incidentally involved me is also mildly interesting. Do you expect me to feel flattered?” The red lips still smiled. Bob was quite near but she didn’t move away. She seemed quite unafraid of him.
“You needn’t feel ashamed,” said Bob sturdily. And his eyes flashed. They seemed to say no woman ought to be ashamed of an honest man’s love. “I may be mad over you,” he went on, “but I’m not ashamed of it. There isn’t a thought I have of you that doesn’t make me want to be a better man, and a stronger and more useful one, too,” he added, squaring his shoulders.
Again the long lashes swept slightly downward, masking the violet, and the girl’s lips moved—a ripple of amusement, no doubt. She looked up, however, once more with that appearance of deadly calm. “Then you deny it, in toto, having seen my ring to-night?”
Bob swallowed. Again he dropped from the heights.
“You do not speak,” said Miss Gerald, studying him.
“I—wish you wouldn’t ask me that,” he managed to say.
“Why not?” lifting her brows. “Even if you saw it you could say you hadn’t.”
“That’s just the point,” Miserably. “I couldn’t.”
“Then you did see it?”
“I did.”
“You had it, perhaps?”
“I did.”
“You have it now?”
“No.”
“Ah, you have passed it on to an accomplice, perhaps.” Mockingly. Miss Gerald drew up her proud figure. “And this is the man,” she said, “who talks to me of love. Love!” With a low musical laugh. “The tenderest passion! The purest one! Dare you repeat now,” with crushing triumph in the violet eyes, “what you said a moment ago.”
“I love you,” said Bob, with burning glance. “I shall carry your image with me to the grave.”
This slightly staggered even one of her regal young bearing. His tone was that of the master once more. No criminal in his look when he said that! Miss Gerald’s slender figure swayed in the least; her breast stirred. Bob put his handsome reckless face nearer. That was the way he answered her challenge. He wore his fighting look.
“I love you,” he said. “And that,” he flung at her, “is still the answer I dare make.”
Miss Gerald did not reply to this bold defiance at once. How she would have answered, Bob never knew, for at that moment the hammer-thrower came up and the girl at once turned to him, looking slightly paler as she did so. Both then walked away, Bob’s somber gaze following them. But he was not long permitted even this mournful privilege.
“Phone, sir,” said a voice at his elbow. “Mr. Robert Bennett is urgently wanted on the phone.”
“All right.” And Bob followed the servant. “What now?” he asked himself wearily.
The voice at the other end was Dan’s. Fortunately the telephone was isolated and no one in the house could catch what Bob said. The good old commodore frantically wished to know all about Gee-gee and Gid-up. He had heard that Bob had got out of the sanatorium and gone back to Mrs. Ralston’s. Dan’s desire for information was greater even than his resentment toward Bob, as he had stooped to calling him up.
Bob obliged the commodore with such news as he could give. He told how he had tried unsuccessfully to sway Gee-gee and to show her the error of her ways; how she, however, seemed resolutely determined on her course of action and was not to be swayed. He related also that there was a legal light in the house.
At this point Dan’s remarks became explosive; it was like the Fourth of July at the other end of the line. Bob waited until the racket ceased and then he went on with further details, trying to be as conscientious and informing as possible. Finally he couldn’t think of anything more to say. But Dan thought of a lot—and some of it was personal, too. It didn’t ruffle Bob at all, however. It rolled off him like water off a duck’s back.
“You’ll be arrested,” said Bob at last. “There’s a law against that kind of talk through telephones, you know.”
“I’m afraid it’s all up,” moaned Dan.
“’Fraid it is!” affirmed Bob. “How does Clarence take it?”
“He’s sitting here, all broke up.”
“Well, tell him to cheer up if he can,” said Bob. “Gid-up isn’t nearly so dangerous as Gee-gee. At least that’s my opinion.”
“Oh, isn’t she?” sneered Dan. And then there was some more Fourth of July at the other end of the line.
Bob waited patiently for it to subside. “Is that all you wanted to talk with me about?” he asked at length.
“It is not,” snapped Dan. “Those confounded blankety-blank detectives, some blankety-blank idiot has employed as gardeners about Mrs. Ralston’s place, have arrested that-blankety-blank medical head of the private sanatorium.”
“What?” exclaimed Bob jubilantly.
“They found him prowling around. He tells the police-station man who he is, but the police-station man won’t believe him.”
“Ha! ha!” Bob was glad he could laugh once more, but it was Fourth of July again for Dan.
“It isn’t any blankety-blank laughing matter,” he called back. “He’s one of my witnesses and I don’t want to lose him. Lost witnesses enough already!” Furiously.
“Well, why don’t you get him out?” said Bob with a gratified snicker.
“I tried to, but that blankety-blank station-house man is a blank bullet-head and the blankety detectives insist he shall be held, as they saw him looking through a window. What I want you to do is to come down to the village and help get him out.”
“Me?” said Bob loftily. “Me help get him out?”
“Yes, you can acknowledge he was after you, an escaped patient.”
“Where is he now?” asked Bob.
“Cell.”
“Well, you tell the station-man for me that he had better put him in a padded room. Ha! ha!” And Bob hung up the receiver.
But almost immediately the bell rang again.
“Hello!” said a voice. It was the telephone operator. “Is Mr. Bennett still there? Oh! Well, there’s a party on the long distance wants to speak to you.”
“Hello; that you, Bob?” came in far-away accents.
“It’s me. Who are you?”
“Dad.”
“Oh, hello, dad!” Bob tried to make his voice joyful.
“I called you up to tell you I caught a fifty-seven pounder. Thought you’d like to congratulate me.”
Bob did.
“They’ve made me a member of the Pius Piscatorials—swell club down here,” continued dad jubilantly, and again Bob did the congratulating act. “By the way, how’s hustling?” went on dad.
“I’m hustling all right.”
“That’s good. Well, good-by, son. I’ll be short of funds presently, but that doesn’t worry me. I’m having the time of my life. By-by, dear boy.”
“By-by, dad, dear.”
“Hold on, Mr. Bennett.” It was the telephone operator once more. “There’s another party that’s bound to speak to you, and take it from me I don’t like the sound of his voice. I hope he isn’t like that first party that was talking to you. What us poor girls has to put up with is something shameful, and—All right. Go ahead.”
“This is Dickie,” said a voice. “Say! you leave my girl alone. I’ve heard of your goings-on.”
“Who told you?” asked Bob. “That Peeping Tom? That maniac-medico?”
“I told you before I was going to marry her. You keep off the premises if you know what is good for you.” Dickie was so mad he was childish.
“No, you’re not going to marry her,” said Bob.
“You—you don’t mean to say you’re engaged to her?” came back in choked tones.
“No. She’s only my jolly little pal. But she thinks a lot of what I tell her and I’ll pick out a real man for her some day. You aren’t good enough. A chap that will punch another chap when he can’t defend himself isn’t the chap for jolly little pal.”
“I didn’t punch you when you couldn’t defend yourself,” said Dickie indignantly.
“I’m the one to know. You gave it to me all right, and thereby settled your chances with her. Do you think I’d let a girl like her marry a chap like you? Why, you might come home and beat your wife! You’re capable of it. I refuse my consent absolutely. I shall advise her to have nothing whatever to do with you.”
Dickie couldn’t speak and Bob left him in a state of coma. This time Bob was suffered to leave the telephone booth. He was awfully glad they had the maniac-medico locked up. Maybe he would get a cute little room with a cunning little window, and maybe there’d be a landscape? But there wouldn’t be any flowers.
Just at this moment the temperamental little thing hurried up to Bob in a state of great agitation. He saw that something serious had happened.
“Did you get rid of it?” he asked hurriedly.
“I did not,” she gasped. “That mean old monocle-man wouldn’t let me. He’s just kept his eye on me every moment. When I went up-stairs, he followed. There he is now. See how he’s watching us. Oh, what shall I do, if they find me with it?”
“Give it to me,” said Bob.
“No, I won’t.”
“But do you realize what it means if they find it on you?” he asked in alarm.
“We would go to jail together,” said jolly little pal.
“But I won’t have you go to jail. It’s preposterous.”
“Maybe I deserve it,” she remarked, “for having ‘peached.’ I hope,” wistfully, “our cells will be close together. Did you have a nice dance with Miss Gerald?”
“Give it to me,” commanded Bob sternly. “If you don’t, I’ll—I’ll take it from you.”
But she put her hand behind her. “Isn’t Gwendoline the most beautiful thing in the world?” she said. “We’ll talk about her in jail. It’ll help pass the time.”
“Give—”
“I’m not the least bit jealous, because now I’m only your really-truly little pal,” she went on. “I wish I could be your best man. But I don’t suppose that’s feasible.”
“Give—”
“I might swallow it,” she observed tentatively.
“Great heavens!” he reached for her hand.
“Aw!—fortune-telling?” said a voice.
“Yes; he was just going to read my palm,” answered jolly little pal promptly while Bob turned rather nervously to regard the monocle-man.
“Perhaps—aw!—I could read it,” suggested the monocle-man, looking at the closed fingers. “I have some—aw!—skill that way. Perhaps, Miss Dolly—aw!—you would permit me to look at your heart line?”
“I just won’t,” said Miss Dolly, with flashing eyes.
Bob watched her closely. If she tried to swallow it, he would stop her.
“How—aw!—very unkind!” said the monocle-man. “If you would—aw!—permit me, I could tell you—? aw!—just what kind of a man you’re going to marry.”
“I’m not going to marry any one,” replied the jolly little pal.
“Please now, do—aw!” he urged.
“Well, if you want to be tiresome.” She gave him the hand that didn’t hold the ring.
“Impulsive! Charming!” he said, bending his monocle owlishly over the soft pink palm. “Now the other?”
“Won’t!” she returned succinctly.
Bob drew yet nearer. He believed she was quite capable of carrying out that threat of swallowing it.
“But how can I complete telling your fortune—aw!—unless I see the other hand?” expostulated the monocle-man with a pleasant smile. “I desire especially to examine the Mount of Venus.”
“There isn’t any mountain any more,” said the jolly little pal. “It’s been moved away.”
“Aw! How interesting! Then we might survey the vale of friendship.”
She looked around like a bird in a snare; the hammer-man was not far away and impulsively she flew over to him.
“Was this our dance? I’m so forgetful!”
“It wasn’t, but it is,” he returned with a smile. Obviously he was flattered. Heretofore Miss Dolly had not acted particularly prepossessed by the hammer-thrower; he hadn’t any temperament—so she thought; he didn’t swing one around with enough abandon. He was one of those serious goody-goody dancers. He swung Miss Dolly very seriously now; they went so slowly for her that once she stumbled over his feet. It was evident their temperaments didn’t match. Or maybe what she held in one hand had made her terribly self-conscious. Bob watched them gloomily. He feared she might swallow it during the dance, but she didn’t, for the little hand was partly closed still when she left the hammer-thrower and Bob gazed around for that confounded monocle-man. The latter, however, had apparently lost interest in palm-reading and the temperamental little thing, for he was nowhere to be seen. Miss Dolly’s eyes were at once frightened and strange when she fluttered again to Bob’s side.
“Oh, I’ve done the most awful thing,” she confided quite breathlessly to him.
“You—you haven’t swallowed it?” he exclaimed in alarm. He thought he had watched her closely, but still she might have found opportunity—she might have made a swift movement to her lips which he had failed to observe.
“No, I haven’t swallowed it,” she answered. “I’ve done worse.”
“Worse? What could be worse?”
“I slipped it into his waistcoat pocket.”
“Whose? The hammer-thrower? No? By jove!—”
“I did it when I tripped. And I tripped purposely, and when he was very gallant and kept me from falling, I—I slipped it in. And isn’t it awful? Poor man! He’s such a goody-good. You don’t mind, do you?” Anxiously.
“Oh, I mind a heap,” said Bob jovially. “Ho! ho!”
“I was afraid you might scold.”
“Scold? No, indeed. I’m awfully obliged and I only wish I could do something for you to show how thankful I am.”
“Do you? Then you might—” She gazed toward the conservatory where it was dim and shadowy. “No; it wouldn’t do. We’re not engaged any more. Besides—” And she looked toward a straight proud figure with golden hair. She didn’t finish what she was going to say. Only—“I guess I won’t make you,” she added.
“Thanks,” said Bob. “You’re sure the best pal a chap ever had. But honest! I hate to be mean and disappoint you after all you’ve done. And I might volunteer, if you’d make it just one—or, at the most, two.”
A moment the temperamental little thing seemed to waver. Then the rosebud lips set more firmly. “No,” she said. “It’s awfully dear of you to offer, but I don’t want any. You’ve made me see the error of my ways. I’ve reformed. I only want to be your jolly little pal. But you haven’t any conscientious scruples about the way I disposed of it, have you?” she asked, swiftly changing the subject.
“Conscientious scruples? Not one. Ho! ho!”
But the laughter faded suddenly from Bob’s lips. At that moment the hammer-thrower chanced to put his fingers in his waistcoat pocket. Then he gave a slight start and glanced toward the temperamental little thing; his brow was lowering, and he appeared to meditate. Bob knew there must be murder in his heart. Just then from across the room, Bob saw the monocle-man approaching the hammer-thrower.
The latter cast a swift look toward him of the monocle. It was the look of a man who for the first time, perhaps, fully realizes, or begins to realize certain unexpected forces arrayed against him. He now had the ring and he dared not keep it. If he had never entertained any suspicions regarding the monocle-man’s identity before, there was something about the other now that awoke sudden and secret misgivings. The monocle-man didn’t make much of a point of disguising his watchfulness at the present time. That was odd—unless he didn’t greatly care just now whether any one guessed his identity or not. Possibly the psychological moment was approaching.
The hammer-thrower thought, no doubt, that Bob had told the temperamental little thing that he (the hammer-man) had taken the ring from Miss Gerald’s room and Miss Dolly had offered to return it to the hammer-thrower. And she had found a way to do so. It was clever. But the hammer-thrower was not in a mood to appreciate the grim jest. Now that the tables were turned, Bob and Miss Dolly would make it their business to see that the glittering trifle was found inhispossession. The hammer-thrower couldn’t dispose of it under the circumstances; he was in exactly the same predicament Bob had been in. Suddenly he seemed to make up his mind what to do; he adopted the most daring expedient. In those few moments he had done some very rapid thinking. He stepped toward Miss Gerald now, his face wearing its most reliable expression. Honesty fairly radiated from his square solid countenance.
“Miss Gerald,” he said, “may I speak with you privately?”
“Is it important?” she asked.
“Very!” in his most serious manner.
She complied with his request, and they withdrew from the hearing of others.
“Miss Gerald,” he began abruptly, “have you lost a ring?”
She gazed at him in surprise.
“I have.”
“Is this it? I believe I recognize it as one you have worn.”
“It is.” Gwendoline’s look swerved toward Bob. “But—” she began.
“You do not understand how it came in my possession?” he asked, in an even monotonous tone.
“I certainly did not think that you—”
“You didn’t think I had it?” Seriously.
“I did not.” And again she looked toward Bob.
“I did not know I had it myself,” he observed gravely, “until just this minute. You believe me, I trust?”
“Yes,” she said slowly, “I believe you. But how—?” Again she paused.
“Did I come by it? A certain young lady I danced with just now placed it in my waistcoat pocket.”
The hammer-thrower held himself squarely, with a poise that expressed rectitude. He was rather well satisfied with what he had done. He argued that his action, from Miss Gerald’s point of view, must be that of an innocent man. If he (the hammer-thrower) had taken the ring it wasn’t likely he would step up to Miss Gerald and offer it back to her. His bold move complicated the issue; but he did not doubt, however, that he would emerge from the affair with credit.
“Of course I am aware that it is a serious charge to make,” went on the hammer-thrower, “but what was I to do? I never was put in a more painful position.”
“Painful, indeed,” replied Miss Gerald sympathetically. “Of course it was a joke.”
“I am glad you take that view of it,” he replied. “You can see that naturally I found it deucedly awkward. Things have been disappearing in so many country-houses, don’t you know. It wouldn’t have been a joke for me if I hadn’t fortunately discovered it as I did. Under the circumstances, I don’t really appreciate Miss Dolly’s jokes.”
“But mightn’t it have been some one else?” suggested Gwendoline.
“I danced only with you and Miss Dolly.”
“Well, naturally, it wouldn’t be I,” said Gwendoline with a smile. “There’s Dolly now talking with Mr. Bennett and Lord Stanfield, Suppose we speak to her. But I wouldn’t have any one else know for the world. I’m really very sorry Dolly’s heedlessness should have caused one of my aunt’s guests any embarrassment.” Miss Gerald was graciousness itself.
In spite of the thrill of the moment, the hammer-thrower couldn’t prevent an expression of honest approval gleaming from his eyes. “You are very kind,” he said in a low tone. “You will never know all this visit has meant to me. I, too, regret exceedingly that what you regard as one of Miss Dolly’s mad pranks—and we all know how prone she is to do the unconventional—should have involved me in a little episode that, perhaps, isn’t so agreeable as it should be. I trust, though, you don’t blame me for coming to you at once about the matter?”
“Why should I blame you?” The violet eyes full on the deep serious ones.
“I suppose I might just have placed it somewhere, on the mantle, for example, and not said anything about Miss Dolly’s part in the affair,” he observed musingly. “It might have been more chivalrous. One doesn’t like to complain of a woman, you know, and a fellow guest at that.” With regret that sounded genuine.
“I think you took the only course a conscientious man could,” said Gwendoline Gerald. “Indeed, I can appreciate your position. You did what any honest man would feel impelled to do.”
Again that gracious smile! Again a slight gleaming in the hammer-man’s eyes! At the moment she seemed to realize in every way the poet’s picture of regal young womanhood—“divinely tall” and most divinely fashioned, she appeared, as she stood with the light from a great chandelier full upon her.
“Your approval is very dear to me,” the hammer-thrower murmured. “I think I have your friendship. That is much—much, indeed. But—” For a moment he seemed about to say more. His strong, honest-looking face surely wore an expression of some feeling deeper than friendship.
Would Gwendoline Gerald have shrunk from a verbal expression of what his look seemed to imply? The violet eyes never appeared deeper, more enigmatic—receptive. The hammer-thrower did not go on, however. He reverted to that other topic.
“Perhaps it would be as well to drop the matter altogether,” he remarked. “I am quite satisfied to do so, if you are.”
“That is nice of you,” she said in a tone that implied she still approved of him. “But I think I shall speak to Dolly. Or, at least, let her see the ring is on my finger.”
“I can’t understand why she should have done it,” he observed in puzzled accents as they crossed the room. “I can’t quite see how it can be classed as a joke.”
“Dolly has the wildest idea of humor,” returned Gwendoline. “As a little girl she was always doing the maddest things. Perhaps, too, she has been reading about those sensational robberies and wished to perpetrate a hoax.”
“I say, that would have been rather rough on a fellow, wouldn’t it?”
“And then, after creating a little excitement, she would have come forward and said she did it. Maybe she read about that escapade of young men and girls at an English house-party. They carried off valuables in an automobile, and returned the same, piece-meal, by parcel post. I don’t say my explanation of Dolly’s prank is a correct one,” said Miss Gerald, tentatively lifting long sweeping lashes to regard her companion, “but it may in some measure throw light upon it.”
“Unless—?” He paused.
“Unless what?” she asked.
“Nothing. Only I was thinking—”
The violet eyes became suddenly darker. “You mean about what you told me this morning—about Mr. Bennett and how you found him—?”
“I really didn’t wish to speak of that, only it was strange—” He stopped.
“Strange, indeed,” she observed, studying him.
“Anyhow, I can’t see how to connect that with this,” he confessed.
“There does seem a missing-link somewhere,” observed the girl. “Do you”—and her eyes were again full upon the deep serious ones—“like Mr. Bennett?”
“I neither like nor dislike him.” They had stopped for a moment in a doorway. “His manners have been rather extraordinary. I honestly can’t make him out. He looks rational enough and yet he acts most irrationally.”
“I am going to tell you a great secret,” said the girl. “Please do not speak of it to any one else. Some one in the house has been taking things—in earnest, I mean.”
“No? Is it possible?” he observed. “Then it wouldn’t have been nice for me if that ring—?” Honest indignation shone from his eyes. “I must say Miss Dolly did take a confounded liberty.”
“Under the circumstances, yes,” said the girl gravely.
“You say things are missing? Great Scott!”
“I did not say missing.” Quickly. “It is a case of substitution.”
“Pardon me if I fail to understand.”
She explained. “By jove! that is clever. I am honored by your confidence. I won’t betray it. Your aunt is naturally distressed?”
“Naturally—though she appears the same as usual. However, she is determined to put an end to these affairs. Society has been frightfully annoyed. It is not nice to ask some one down and then to have her lose—”
“I understand,” said the hammer-thrower gravely. “If your aunt can stop these unfortunate occurrences society will owe her a great debt. But tell me further, if I am not intruding too greatly on your confidences, does the finger of suspicion point anywhere?”
“Yes,” returned the girl.
“Of course,” he said, and looked toward Bob.
That young man’s face did not now express any trace of satisfaction or jovial feeling. He looked both puzzled and worried, and glanced apprehensively from time to time at the sentimental young thing. The monocle-manwastelling her fortune now. With British persistence he had reverted to the subject upon again approaching the couple, which he did almost immediately after the hammer-thrower returned to Miss Gerald her ring.
“You missed your ring?” said the hammer-thrower after a pause.
“Yes. But I never imagined—”
“It would be returned in such an extraordinary manner? I don’t see where he—?” And the hammer-man paused again with downbent brows.
It was not hard for her to read the thought. He did not see just where Bob Bennett “came in.” That’s what he once more implied. He didn’t wish to be unjust to any one. His expression said that.
“I guess it must just have been a whim,” he conceded after a moment, handsomely. “After all, it’s proofs that count.” The sentence had a familiar sound to Miss Gerald who entertained a vague impression she had said something like it to Bob. They approached Dolly.
“Did he tell you that I—?” began Miss Dolly at once, and snatching her arm from that tiresome monocle-man.
“Yes, my dear,” said Gwendoline. “And he seemed a little hurt at your sense of humor.”
The temperamental little thing stood like a wild creature at bay, her eyes glowing like those of a fawn about to receive the arrow of a hunter or a huntress. Miss Gerald did not look a very remorseless huntress, however.
“How did he know I did it?” said Dolly with a glance toward the hammer-thrower. “He didn’t catch me at it.” Defiantly.
“Deduction, my dear,” replied Gwendoline.
“He can’t prove it. I defy him.” The jolly little pal felt now how one feels when he or she is haled into a court of justice. She wouldn’t “peach” though. They could put her through the third or the thirty-third degree and she wouldn’t tell on Bob. Never! “You have onlyhisword,” with another glance at the hammer-thrower, “and maybe my word is as good as his.” She had to tell a whopper; but she would tell a million for Bob. It was a pal’s duty to.
“But I saw you do it,” now interposed the monocle-man with a quiet smile.
She almost wilted at that, then threw back her head farther.
“I”—Bob stepped quickly forward—“gave it to her. It was I,” gravely to Miss Gerald, “who had your ring. Think what you please.” She had already passed judgment on him, he remembered.
“Don’t you believe him,” tempestuously interrupted the temperamental little thing. “I took it myself. It—it was just a joke.”
“That’s what Miss Gerald and I were saying just now,” observed the hammer-thrower heavily. He held himself just as if he were a remote, rather puzzled bystander.
Bob gave a hoarse laugh. He couldn’t control himself.
“I beg your pardon,” observed the monocle-man, “but I am afraid Miss Dolly, in her zeal, is rather misleading in her statements. Her vale of friendship, I have noticed, on her palm, is well developed. At the same time I can not let her wrongfully accuse herself, even though the matter should pass as a jest. I have to tell the truth—you must forgive me, Miss Dolly. But I saw Mr. Bennett pass you that ring during the dance.”
“But why should he?” spoke up Miss Gerald. “Can’t you enlighten me, dear?” To the temperamental young thing.
“I won’t say a word,” said the latter at a loss. “Only I’d like to tell you”—to the monocle-man—“how much I like you.”
“I’m sorry to have displeased you,” he answered simply. “You have really a charming hand. As for the reason you ask”—to Miss Gerald—“it should not be difficult to find. I conclude that Mr. Bennett asked Miss Dolly to return the ring to Miss Gerald’s room. I think that was what she was trying to do and I’m afraid I prevented her.”
“But why should Mr. Bennett”—Gwendoline did not deign to address that young man direct—“have asked Dolly to do that?”
“Maybe,” suggested the monocle-man, “Mr. Bennett will answer that himself.”
“What’s the use?” said Bob. “Nobody believes anything I say.” Miss Gwendoline still acted as if she did not see him.
“If you take him to jail, I’m going too,” remarked the temperamental little thing. “If he’s guilty, I—”
“You suggest, then, he is guilty?” said the monocle-man quickly.
“No; no! I—”
“I fear you have suggested it,” he interrupted pointedly.
“If people confess do they get lighter sentences?” she asked with a quick breath.
“Usually,” said the monocle-man.
Jolly little pal pondered painfully. Perhaps she saw plainer than Bob how clear was the case against him. “Why don’t you?” she suggested.
Bob smiled feebly. “The answer I make is the same one I gave to Miss Gerald when I last spoke to her.”
A flame sprang to Gwendoline’s cheek.
“You dare say that now—with all this evidence against you?” She showed herself keenly aware of his presence now.
“I dare.” He stepped to her side and looked into her eyes. “My eyes are saying it now.”
The girl’s breast stirred quickly. Did she fear he would say those words aloud, before all the others? He was reckless enough to do so.
“Do you understand or shall I make it plainer?” he asked, swinging back his blond head.
“I do not think that will be necessary,” she answered with some difficulty.
“Whatisit all about?” said the hammer-man, and there was a slight frown on his brow.
“You ought to know,” returned Bob, as his eyes met swiftly the other’s. For a moment gaze encountered gaze. Bob’s now was sardonically ironical, yet challenging. The hammer-thrower’s was mystified. Then the latter shrugged.
“Is he mad as well as a—” he spoke musingly.
“Thief,” said Bob. “Say it right out. I’m not afraid of the word.”
The hammer-thrower sighed heavily. “What are we to do?” he said to Miss Gerald sympathetically. “It is needless to say, you can command me.”
“Isn’t that lovely?” Sotto voce from Bob.
“I’m terribly afraid the affair has passed from the joke stage,” said Gwendoline Gerald and once more she appeared cool and composed. Again she made Bob feel he was but a matter for consideration—an intrusive and unwelcome matter that had to be disposed of. “What ought I to do?”
“Arrest me, of course,” returned Bob. “I’ve been waiting for it for some time. And the funny part is, the affair hasn’t passed from the joke stage. You know that.” To the hammer-man. “Why don’t you chuckle?”
“I suppose I may as well tell you I’m a bogus lord,” unexpectedly interrupted the monocle-man at this moment. “My name is not even a high-sounding one.” The hammer-thrower started slightly. “It’s plain Michael Moriarity. But I was once a lord’s valet.” He had dropped his drawl, though he still kept his monocle. “I am sorry to have intruded as a real personage among you all, although there are plenty of bogus lords floating through society.”
“Oh, you didn’t deceive me,” answered jolly little pal. “I knew who you were.”
“Well, you certainly hoodwinked the rest of us,” observed the hammer-thrower slowly. He stood with his head down as if thinking deeply. When he looked up, he gazed straight into the monocle-man’s eyes. They were twinkling and good-humored. An arrest in high society was rather a ceremonious affair. You didn’t take a man by the scruff of the neck and yank him to the patrol wagon. There were polite formalities to be observed. The end had to be accomplished without shocking or disturbing the other guests. The truly artistic method would, in fact, be the attainment of the result while the guests remained in absolute ignorance, for the time being, of what had been done.
“I’m afraid I’ve got to do my duty,” observed the monocle-man to Bob. “You look like a man who would play the game. A game loser, I mean?” Suggestively.
“Oh, I’m a loser all right,” said Bob, looking at the hammer-man. For a moment he wondered if he should speak further. He could imagine how his words would be received. He didn’t forget that he hadn’t a shadow of proof against the hammer-man. Miss Gerald would think he was accusing an innocent person and she would despise him (Bob) only the more—if that were possible. To speak would be but to court the contempt of the others, the laughter of the hammer-man. Bob’s thoughts were terribly confused but he realized he might as well remain silent; indeed, perhaps it would be better for the present.
“Anyhow, what I told you wasn’t so,” said jolly little pal to the monocle-man. “And I repeat I will never testify to it.” She was awfully dejected.
“Yes, you will,” said Bob monotonously. “As I told you, I won’t let you get into trouble.”
“Besides there’s all that other evidence,” suggested the monocle-man.
“I can explain that away,” returned Bob. Then he thought: Could he? Would Dan and Clarence stand by him now and acknowledge it was they he had let out of the house at that unseemly hour? He doubted it. Dickie, too, wouldn’t be very friendly. Their last conversation over the telephone was far from reassuring. “No; I am not sure that I can,” Bob added. He still had to remember he was the impersonation of Truth.
“You refer to Miss Gerald’s having seen you wandering about the house after the others had retired, I presume?” suggested the monocle-man, who was enjoying the conversation immensely. It was the kind of a situation he liked. He wouldn’t have curtailed it for the world. When the hammer-man heard the question, his brows lifted slightly. Surely a momentary glint of gladness or satisfaction shone from his gaze. But it receded at once. He listened attentively.
“Yes, I was referring to that,” answered Bob, gazing at Gwendoline. She, condemn him to a prison cell! She, swear away his liberty! He gazed wistfully, almost sadly at the sweet inexorable lips which might ruin his life. He didn’t feel resentful; he only determined to put up the best fight he could when the time came.
“Is—is it necessary to proceed to extremities?” said the hammer-man at this point sedulously. “Would not the mere fact that we all know about the matter be sufficient punishment?” He appealed to Miss Gerald. “My father used to tell me that when a man was down, if we could see the way to extend a helping hand, we would be doing the right thing. I think the world is becoming more tolerant and there is a tendency to give a person a chance to reform, instead of locking him up.”
Again Bob laughed. In spite of his unhappiness and that weight of melancholy, the other’s heavy humor tickled Bob’s funny bone. Think of the hammer-man pretending to try to keep Bob out of jail! Didn’t he know how to play his cards? The deadly joke was on Bob.
“Don’t appeal too hard in my behalf, old chap; you might strain yourself,” he said to the hammer-thrower.
But the hammer-thrower pretended not to hear. He kept his sedulous, humane glance on Miss Gerald.
“You mean you would have my aunt take no action in the matter?” she said, and the lovely face was now calm and thoughtful.
“Please do!” This from jolly little pal. “Dear, dear Gwendoline! It’ll be such a favor to me. And I’ll love you dearly.”
“You certainly are a very doughty champion of Mr. Bennett, Dolly,” observed Miss Gerald. There was a question in her look and her words might have implied that Bob had been making love to the temperamental little thing, even when he dared tell Miss Gerald he cared for her. Gwendoline’s face wore an odd smile now.
“I’m not interested for the reason you think,” answered the temperamental little thing spiritedly. “He never made love to me—real love. I tried to make him, because he is all that should appeal to any woman, but he wouldn’t,” she went on tempestuously, regardlessly. “And then we vowed we’d be pals and we are. And I’ll stand by him to the last ditch.”
“You are very loyal, dear,” said Gwendoline quietly.
“Besides, he’s in love with some one else,” she shot back, and Bob shifted. There was a directness about jolly little pal that was sometimes disconcerting.
The hammer-man looked quickly toward Miss Gerald, and his eyes were full of jealousy for an instant. He was not sorry that Bob was going to “get his.” Nevertheless, he would plead for him again, he wouldn’t cease to be consistent in his role.
“I’ll tell you who it is, too, if you want to know,” the temperamental little thing went on to Gwendoline.
“My dear, I haven’t asked. It seems to me,” coldly, “we are slightly drifting from the subject.”
“I believe you stated just now that you and Mr. Bennett vowed to be pals,” interposed the monocle-man regarding Miss Dolly. “Does that mean you agreed to be accomplices—to divide the ‘swag,’ in the parlance of the lower world?” The monocle-man was enjoying himself more and more. He was finding new interest in the scene. It was more “meaty” than he had dared hope.
“She doesn’t mean anything of the kind,” put in Bob savagely. “She just extended the hand of friendship. She’s a good fellow, that is all, and I won’t have you imply the slightest thing against her. You understand that, Mr. Bogus Lord?”
“I only asked a question,” observed the monocle-man humbly.
“Well, you’ve got the answer.” In the same aggressive manner. “She’s a—a brick and I won’t have any harm come to her on my account.”
“None of us would have any harm come to Dolly,” said Gwendoline coldly.
“I wanted him to elope with me, but he wouldn’t,” went on the temperamental little thing, thinking fast. Bob listened in despair. “I didn’t know then it was only friendship I felt. I thought it was love. And when he refused, I was furious. To be revenged, I went to that horrid man”—looking at him of the monocle—“and told him a pack of lies.”
“Lies?” said the monocle-man, smiling sweetly and screwing his glass in farther.
“Yes, and that’s the reason I shall give on the witness-stand.” Defiantly. “I’ll tell the truth there—let every one know how horrid and wicked I was.”
The monocle-man shook his head with mild disapproval. “What do you say to that, Mr. Bennett?” he asked softly.
“Of course I can’t let her do anything to incriminate herself,” answered Bob mournfully. “To prevent her doing so I shall have to avow right now—? and I do”—firmly—“that those were not lies, but truths she told you.”
“Please!—please!—” said jolly little pal piteously.
“Truths!” said Bob again boldly.
Miss Dolly gave a great sigh. “Are you going to confess you are guilty of all they charge?”
“I am not.” Stubbornly. “I am not guilty.”
“I’m rather afraid certain evidence, including Miss Dolly’s truths, which you acknowledge as such, might tend to show you are,” suggested the monocle-man.
Again Miss Dolly thought fast. Bob wouldn’t let her declare her accusations of him lies; therefore only one alternative remained.
“Ihave a confession to make,” she said solemnly.
Bob looked startled. “Don’t!—” he began. He wondered into what new realm her inventive faculties would lead her.
“Mr. Bennett,” observed the monocle-man gravely, “I have to remind you that anything you say can be used against you. And your manner now, in seeking to restrain or interfere with what Miss Dolly has to say, will certainly hurt your case.”
Bob groaned. He cast hunted eyes upon Miss Dolly. The jolly little pal breathed hard, but there was a look of determination in the dark soulful eyes.
“Mr. Mike Something, or whatever your name is,” she said to the monocle-man in a low tense tone, “I am all that which you suggested.”
He overlooked the scornful mode of address. He rubbed his hands softly; his eyes were pleased. “You mean about agreeing to be accomplices and to divide the ‘swag’?”
“Yes.” Fatalistically.
Bob groaned again.
The temperamental little thing looked up in the air. She would be mainly responsible for sending Bob to jail—the thought burned. What was a treacherous but repentant pal’s duty under the circumstances? She had a vision, too, of those adjoining cells.
“You see,” she began dreamily, “my father is rather sparing of the spending money he allows me, and I have terribly extravagant tastes. Why, my hats alone cost a fortune. I simply have got to have nice and expensive things.” Again Bob groaned. Dolly dreamed on: “I’ve bushel-baskets of silk stockings, for example. See!” Displaying an exquisite ankle. “My gowns all come from Paris. Gwendoline can tell you that.” Miss Gerald did not deny. “And they’re not gowns from those side-street dressmakers, either. They come fromtheplaces on the rue de la Paix. Besides”—Dolly’s dream expanded—“I like to take things.” Another groan from Bob. “I think I’m a clepto.”
“There isn’t one word of truth in what she’s saying,” exclaimed Bob indignantly. “Why, it’s outrageous. She doesn’t realize what she’s doing.”
“Yes, I do,” returned little pal with a stanch and loyal glance. “Why should you take all the blame when I’m entitled to half of it?”
“You aren’t entitled to any of it,” he retorted helplessly. “And there isn’t any blame for you to share, either.”
“Do you expect us to believe that?” observed the monocle-man reproachfully.
“No, I don’t.”
“Or a jury?”
“Perhaps not.”
“Really, old chap”—began the hammer-man sedulously, and he looked awfully sorry. Perhaps he was going to extend his sympathy.
“Say it in Latin!” interrupted Bob ungratefully.
“What does he mean?” queried the monocle-man.
“I’m really at a loss,” answered the hammer-thrower.
That gentleman had gleaned a great deal of information of a most gratifying nature. He didn’t know all the whys and wherefores, but it was sufficient that Bob seemed too deep in the toils to extricate himself. A happy (to the hammer-man) combination of circumstances had involved the other.
“Please let him go,” again pleaded Miss Dolly to Gwendoline. “Be a dear. Besides, think how he—” She went over to Miss Gerald suddenly and whispered two words—two ardent electrical words!
Gwendoline’s eyes flashed but she did not answer. One of the hammer-thrower’s hands closed.
“I fear Miss Gerald couldn’t do that now, if she wanted to,” interposed the monocle-man. “It isn’t altogether her affair or her aunt’s. You see, there are other people who gave those other social functions Mr. Bennett attended. They may not incline to be sentimentally—I may say foolishly lenient. So you see even if I desired to oblige a lady”—bowing to Dolly “whom I esteem very much, my hands are tied. Justice, in other words, must take its course.”
Bob looked at Gwendoline. “Some day, Miss Gerald, you may realize you helped, or tried to help, convict an innocent man.”
“She doesn’t care,” said the temperamental little thing vehemently. “She’s got a stone for a heart.” Only that cryptic smile on the proud beautiful lips answered this outbreak. The jolly little pal went right over to her again. “Anyhow,” she said, “he kissed me.”
Just for an instant Miss Gerald’s sweeping lashes lifted to Bob. Just for an instant, too, Miss Gerald’s white teeth buried themselves in that proud red upper lip. Miss Dolly turned to the monocle-man. “Now, I’m ready to go with you,” she said.
“Oh, I don’t want you”—then he added “yet! You will appreciate, Mr. Bennett”—turning to Bob—“that the more quietly—I want to show you all the consideration possible—”
“I’ll go quietly,” muttered Bob. “No use raising a row! I’ll go like a gentleman. I’ll make myself as little obnoxious and objectionable to the rest of Mrs. Ralston’s guests as possible.” Bitterly. “Good-by, Miss Gerald.” That young lady didn’t answer. “Won’t you say good-by?” repeated Bob. There was a gleam of great pleasure in the hammer-thrower’s eyes now. Bob had involuntarily put out his hand but Miss Gerald would not see it. Indeed, she turned farther from him, as if annoyed by Bob’s persistence. Bob’s hand fell to his side, he drew himself up.
“I am ready, sir,” he said quietly to the monocle-man.
“Perhaps it would be as well if you accompanied us,” observed the monocle-man to the hammer-thrower.
“Certainly.” The other understood. Bob was strong and he might change his mind and be less lamblike before reaching his destination. “It’s a disagreeable job at best,” murmured the hammer-thrower, “but I suppose I ought to see it through.”
“It’s nice of you,” said Miss Gerald in a low dull tone.
A moment Bob’s eyes gleamed dangerously, then he seemed to realize the presence of Miss Gerald’s other guests once more and his handsome blond head dropped. “I guess it’s your turn,” he said to the hammer-man.
Miss Dolly looked at the composed proud girl with the “heart of stone.” The temperamental little thing’s hands were tightly closed. Suddenly once more she bent over to whisper—this time viciously—to Miss Gerald. “He kisses beautifully,” she breathed. “And—and I hate you!” Miss Gerald did not answer; nor did she turn to regard Bob who quietly moved away now with the monocle-man and the hammer-thrower.