II
II
Susannah Ayer dragged herself out of her sleepless night and started to get up. But halfway through her first rising motion, something seemed to leave her—to leave her spirit rather than her body. She collapsed in a droop-shouldered huddle onto the bed. Her red hair had come out of its thick braids; it streamed forward over her white face; streaked her nightgown with glowing strands. She pushed it out of her eyes and sat for a long interval with her face in her hands. Finally she rose and went to the dresser. Haggardly she stared into the glass at her reflection, and haggardly her reflection stared back at her. “I don’t wonder you look different, Glorious Susie,” she addressed herself wordlessly, “because youaredifferent. I wonder if you can ever wash away that experience—”
She poured water into the basin until it almost brimmed; and dropped her face into it. Afterher sponge bath, she contemplated herself again in the glass. Some color had crept into the pearly whiteness of her cheek. Her dark-fringed eyes seemed a little less shadow-encircled. She turned their turquoise glance to the picture of a woman—a miniature painted on ivory—which hung beside the dresser.
“Glorious Lutie,” she apostrophized it, “you don’t know how I wish you were here. You don’t know how much I need you now. I need you so much, Glorious Lutie—I’m frightened!”
The miniature, after the impersonal manner of pictures, made no response to this call for help. Susannah sighed deeply. And for a moment she stood a figure almost tragic, her eyes darkening as she looked into space, her young mouth setting its soft scarlet into hard lines. In another moment she pulled herself out of this daze and continued her dressing.
An hour and a half later, when, cool and lithe in her blue linen suit, she entered the uptown skyscraper which housed the Carbonado Mining Company, her spirits took a sudden leap. After all, herewashelp. It was not the help she mostdesired and needed—the confidence and advice of another woman—but at least she would get instant sympathy, ultimate understanding.
Anyone, however depressed his mood, must have felt his spirits rise as he stepped into the Admolian Building. It was so new that its terra-cotta walls without, its white-enameled tiling within, seemed always to have been freshly scrubbed and dusted. It was so high that, with a first acrobatic impulse, it leaped twenty stories above ground; and with a second, soared into a tower which touched the clouds. That had not exhausted its strength. It dug in below ground, and there spread out into rooms, eternally electric-lighted. From the eleventh story up, its wide windows surveyed every purlieu of Manhattan. Its spacious elevators seemed magically to defy gravitation. A touch started their swift flight heavenward; a touch started their soft drop earthward. Every floor housed offices where fortunes were being made—and lost—at any rate, changing hands. There was an element of buoyancy in the air, an atmosphere of success. People moved more quickly, talked more briskly, fromthe moment they entered the Admolian Building. As always, it raised the spirits of Susannah Ayer. The set look vanished from her eyes; some of their normal brilliancy flowed back into them. Her mouth relaxed— When the elevator came to a padded halt at the eighteenth floor, she had become almost herself again.
She stopped before the first in a series of offices. Black-printed letters on the ground glass of the door read:
46Carbonado Mining CompanyPrivate. Enter No. 47
46
Carbonado Mining Company
Private. Enter No. 47
An accommodating hand pointed in the direction of No. 47. Susannah unlocked the door and with a little sigh, as of relief, stepped in.
Other offices stretched along the line of the corridor, bearing the inscriptions, respectively, “No. 48, H. Withington Warner, President and General Manager; No. 49, Joseph Byan, Vice-President; No. 50, Michael O’Hearn, Secretary and Treasurer.” Ultimately, Susannah’s owndoor would flaunt the proud motto, “No. 51, Susannah Ayer, Manager Women’s Department.”
Susannah threaded the inner corridor to her own office. She hung up her hat and jacket; opened her mail; ran through it. Then she lifted the cover from her typewriter and began mechanically to brush and oil it. Her mind was not on her work; it had not been on the letters. It kept speeding back to last night. She did not want to think of last night again—at least not until she must. She pulled her thoughts into her control; made them flow back over the past months. And as they sped in those pleasant channels, involuntarily her mood went with them. Had any girl ever been so fortunate, she wondered. She put it to herself in simple declaratives—
Here she was, all alone in New York and in New York for the first time, settled—interestingly and pleasantly settled. Eight months before, she had stepped out of business college without a hundred dollars in the world; her course in stenography, typewriting, and secretarial work had taken the last of her inherited funds. Withoutkith or kin, she was a working-woman, now, on her own responsibility. Two months of apprenticeship, one stenographer among fifty, in the great offices of the Maxwell Mills, and Barty Joyce, almost the sole remaining friend who remembered the past glories of her family, had advised her to try New York.
“Susannah,” he said, “now is the time to strike—now while the men are away and while the girls are still on war jobs. Get yourself entrenched before they come back. You’ve the makings of a wonderful office helper.”
Susannah, with a glorious sense of adventure once she was started, took his advice and moved to New York. For a week, she answered advertisements, visited offices; and she found that Barty was right. She had the refusal of half a dozen jobs. From them she selected the offer of the Carbonado Mining Company—partly because she liked Mr. Warner, and partly because it seemed to offer the best future. Mr. Warner said to her in their first interview:
“We are looking for a clever woman whom we can specially train in the methods of oursomewhat peculiar business. If you qualify, we shall advance you to a superior position.”
That “superior position” had fallen into her hand like a ripe peach. Within a week, Mr. Warner had called her into the private office for a long business talk.
“Miss Ayer,” he said, “you seem to be making good. I am going to tell you frankly that if you continue to meet our requirements, we shall continue to advance you and pay you accordingly. You see, our business—” Mr. Warner’s voice always swelled a little when he said “our business”—“our business involves a great deal of letter-writing to women investors and some personal interviews. Now we believe—both Mr. Byan and I—that women investing money like to deal with one of their own sex. We have been looking for just the right woman. A candidate for the position must have tact, understanding, and clearness of written expression. We have been trying to find such a woman; and frankly, the search has been difficult. You know how war work—quite rightly, of course—has monopolized the able women of the country. We havetried out half a dozen girls; but the less said about them the better. For two weeks we will let you try your hand at correspondence with women investors. If your work is satisfactory, it means a permanent job at twice your present salary.”
Her work had pleased them! It had pleased them instantly. But oh, how she had worked to please them and to continue to please! Every letter she sent out—and after explaining the Carbonado Company and its attractions, Mr. Warner let her compose all the letters to women—was a study in condensed and graceful expression. At the end of the fortnight Mr. Warner engaged her permanently. He went even further. He said:
“Miss Ayer, we’re going to make you manager of our women’s department; and we’re going to put your name with ours on the letterhead of the new office stationery.” When the day came that she first signed herself “Susannah Ayer, Manager Women’s Department,” she felt as though all the fairy tales she ever read had come true.
Susannah, as she was assured again and again, continued to give satisfaction. No wonder; forshe liked her job. The work interested her so much that she always longed to get to the office in the morning, almost hated to leave it at night. It was a pleasant office, bright and spacious. Everything was new, even to the capacious waste basket. Her big, shiny mahogany desk stood close to the window. And from that window she surveyed the colorful, brick-and-stone West Side of Manhattan, the Hudson, and the city-spotted, town-dotted stretches beyond. The clouds hung close; sometimes their white and silver argosies seemed to besiege her. Once, she almost thought the new moon would bounce through her window. Snow noiselessly, winds tumultuously, assailed her; but she sat as impervious as though in an enchanted tower. Gray days made only a suaver magic, thunderstorms a madder enchantment, about her eyrie.
The human surroundings were just as pleasant. Though the Carbonado Company worked only with selected clients, though they transacted most of their business by mail, there were many visitors—some customers; others, apparently, merely friends of Mr. Warner, Mr. Byan, and Mr.O’Hearn—who dropped in of afternoons to chat a while. Pleasant, jolly men most of these. Snatches of their talk, usually enigmatic, floated to her across the tops of the partitions; it gave the office an exciting atmosphere of something doing. And then—it happened that Susannah’s way of life had brought her into contact with but few men—everything was somanny.
She stood a little in awe of H. Withington Warner, president and general manager. Mr. Warner was middle-aged and iron-gray. That last adjective perfectly described him—iron-gray. Everything about him was gray; his straight, thick hair; his clear, incisive eyes; even his colorless skin. And his personality had a quality of iron. There was about him a fascinating element of duality. Sometimes he seemed to Susannah a little like a clergyman. And sometimes he made her think of an actor. This histrionic aspect, she decided, was due to his hair, a bit long; to his features, floridly classic; to his manner, frequently courtly; to his voice, occasionally oratorical. This, however, showed only in his lighter moments. Much of the time, of course, he wasmerely brisk and businesslike. Whatever his tone, it carried you along. To Susannah, he was always charming.
If she stood a little in awe of H. Withington Warner, she made up by feeling on terms of the utmost equality with Michael O’Hearn, secretary and treasurer of the Carbonado Mining Company. Mr. O’Hearn—the others called him “Mike”—was a little Irishman. He had a short stumpy figure and a short stumpy face. Moreover, he looked as though someone had delivered him a denting blow in the middle of his profile. From this indentation jutted in one direction his long, protuberant, rounded forehead; peaked in another his upturned nose. The rest of him was sandy hair and sandy complexion, and an agreeable pair of long-lashed Irish eyes. He was the wit of the office, keeping everyone in constant good temper. Susannah felt very friendly toward Mr. O’Hearn. This was strange, because he rarely spoke to her. But somehow, for all that, he had the gift of seeming friendly. Susannah trusted him as she trusted Mr. Warner, though in a different way.
In regard to Joseph Byan, the third member of the combination, Susannah had her unformulated reservations. Perhaps it was because Byan really interested her more than the other two. Byan was little and slender; perfectly formed and rather fine-featured; swift as a cat in his darting movements. In his blue eyes shone a look of vague pathos and on his lips floated—Susannah decided that this was the only way to express it—a vague, a rather sweet smile. Susannah’s job had not at first brought her as much into contact with Mr. Byan as with Mr. Warner. His work, she learned, lay mostly outside of the office. But once, during her third week, he had come into her office and dictated a letter; had lingered, when he had finished with the business in hand, for a little talk. The conversation, in some curious turn, veered to the subject of firearms. He was speaking of the various patterns of revolvers. He stood before her, a slim, perfectly proportioned figure whose clothes, of an almost feminine nicety and cut, seemed to follow every line of the body beneath. Suddenly, one of his slight hands made a swift gesture. There appeared—from where,she could not guess—a little, ugly-looking black revolver. With it, he illustrated his point. Since, he had never passed through the office without Susannah’s glance playing over him like a flame. Nowhere along the smooth lines of his figure could she catch the bulge of that little toy of death. Despite his suave gentleness, there was a believable quality about Byan; his personality carried conviction, just as did that of the others. Susannah trusted him, too; but again in a different way.
On the very day when Mr. Byan showed her the revolver, she was passing the open door of Mr. Warner’s office; and she heard the full, round voice of the Chief saying:
“Remember, Joe, rule number one: no clients or employ—” Byan hastily closed the door on the tail of that sentence. Sometimes she wondered how it ended.
A cog in the machine, Susannah had never fully understood the business. That was not really necessary; Mr. Warner himself kept her informed on what she needed to know. He explained in the beginning the glorious opportunityfor investors. From time to time, he added new details, as for example the glowing reports of their chief engineer or their special expert. Susannah knew that they were paying three per cent dividends a month—and in April there was a special dividend of two per cent. Besides, they were about to break into a “mother lode”—the reports of their experts proved that—and when that happened, no one could tell just how high the dividends might be. True, these dividend payments were often made a little irregularly. One of the things which Susannah did not understand, did not try to understand, was why a certain list of preferred stockholders was now and then given an extra dividend; nor why at times Mr. Warner would transfer a name from one list to another.
“I’m thinking of saving my money and investing myself in Carbonado stock!” said Susannah to Mr. Warner one day.
“Don’t,” said Mr. Warner; and then with a touch of his clerical manner: “We prefer to keep our office force and our investors entirely separate factors for the present. We are trying to avoid the reproach of letting our people in on theground floor. When our ship comes in—when we open the mother lode—you shall be taken care of!”
So, for six months, everything went perfectly. Susannah had absorbed herself completely in her job. This was an easy thing to do when the business was so fascinating. She had gone for five months at this pace when she realized that she had not taken the leisure to make friends. Except the three partners—mere shadows to her—and the people at her boarding-house—also mere shadows to her—she knew only Eloise. Not that the friendship of Eloise was a thing to pass over lightly. Eloise was a host in herself.
They had met at the Dorothy Dorr, a semi-charitable home for young business women, at which Susannah stayed during her first week in New York. Eloise was an heiress, of that species known to the newspapers as a “society girl.” Pretty, piquant, gay, extravagant, she dabbled in picturesque charities, and the Dorothy Dorr was her pet. Sometimes in the summer, when she ran up to town, she even lodged there. By natural affinity, she had picked Susannah out of the crowd.By the time Susannah was established in her new job and had moved to a boarding-house, they had become friends. But the friendship of Eloise could not be very satisfactory. She was too busy; and, indeed, too often out of town. From her social fastnesses, she made sudden, dashing forays on Susannah; took her to luncheon, dinner, or the theater; then she would retreat to upper Fifth Avenue, and Susannah would not see her for a fortnight or a month.
Then, that terrible, perplexing yesterday. If she could only expunge yesterday from her life—or at least from her memory!
Of course, there were events leading up to yesterday. Chief among them was the appearance in the office, some weeks before, of Mr. Ozias Cowler, from Iowa. Mr. Cowler, Susannah gathered from the manner of the office, was a customer of importance. He was middle-aged. No, why mince matters—he was an old man who looked middle-aged. He was old, because his hair had gone quite white, and his face had fallen into areas broken by wrinkles. But he appeared to the first glance middle-aged, because the skin of thoseareas was ruddy and warm; because his eyes were as clear and blue as in youth. He looked—well, Susannah decided that he lookedfatherly. He was quiet in his step and quiet in his manner. Though he appeared to her in the light of a customer rather than that of an acquaintance, Susannah was inclined to like him, as she liked everyone and everything about the Carbonado offices.
Susannah gathered in time that Mr. Cowler had a great deal of money, and that he had come to New York to invest it. Of course the Carbonado Mining Company—and this included Susannah herself—saw the best of reasons why it should be invested with them. But evidently, he was a hard, cautious customer. He came again and again. He sat closeted for long intervals with Mr. Warner. Sometimes Mr. Byan came into these conferences. Mr. Cowler was always going to luncheon with the one and to dinner with the other. He even went to a baseball game with Mr. O’Hearn. But, although he visited the office more and more frequently, she gathered that the investment was not forthcoming. Susannahknew how frequently he was coming because, in spite of the little, admonitory black hand on the ground-glass door, he always entered, not by the reception room, but by her office. Usually, he preceded his long talk with Mr. Warner by a little chat with her. Evidently, he had not yet caught the quick gait of New York business; for as he left—again through Susannah’s office—he would stop for a longer talk. Once or twice, Susannah had to excuse herself in order to go on with her work. She had been a little afraid that Mr. Warner would comment on these delays in office routine. But, although Mr. Warner once or twice glanced into her office during these intervals, he never interfered.
Then came—yesterday.
Early in the morning, Mr. Warner said:
“Miss Ayer, I wonder if you can do a favor for us?” He went on, without waiting for Susannah’s answer: “Cowler—you know what a helpless person he is—wants to go to dinner and the theater tonight. It happens that none of us can accompany him. We’ve all made the kind of engagement which can’t be broken—business.He feels a little self-conscious. You know, his money came to him late, and he has never been to a big city before. I suspect he is afraid to enter a fashionable restaurant alone. He wants to go to Sherry’s and to the theater afterward—” Mr. Warner paused to smile genially. “He’s something of a hick, you know, and especially in regard to this Sherry and midnight cabaret stuff.” Mr. Warner rarely used slang; and when he did, his smile seemed to put it into quotation marks. “True to type, he has bought tickets in the front row. After the show, he wants to go to one of the midnight cabarets. Would you be willing to steer him through all this? The show isLet’s Beat It.”
Susannah expressed herself as delighted; and indeed she was. To herself she admitted that Mr. Cowler was no more of a “hick” in regard to Broadway, Sherry’s, and midnight cabarets than she herself. But about admitting this, she had all the self-consciousness of the newly arrived New Yorker.
“That is very good of you, Miss Ayer,” said Mr. Warner, appearing much relieved. “Youmay go home this afternoon an hour earlier.” Again Mr. Warner passed from his incisive, gray-hued sobriety to an expansive geniality. “I know that in these circumstances, ladies like to take time over their toilettes.” He smiled at Susannah, a smile more expansive than any she had ever seen on his face; it showed to the back molars his handsome, white, regular teeth.
Mr. Cowler called for her in a taxicab at seven and—
She heard Mr. Warner’s door open and shut. Footsteps sounded in the corridor—that was Mr. O’Hearn’s voice. She glanced at her wrist-watch. Half-past nine. The partners had arrived early this morning, of all mornings. They were night birds, all three, seldom appearing before half-past ten, and often working in the office late after she had gone. Susannah stopped mid-sentence a letter which she was tapping out to a widow in Iowa, rose, moved toward the door. At the threshold, she stopped, a deep blush suffusing her face. So she paused for a moment, irresolute. When finally she started down the corridor, Mr.Warner emerged from the door of his own office, met her face to face. And as his eyes rested on hers, she was puzzled by the expression on his smooth countenance. Was it anxiety? His expression seemed to question her—then it flowed into his cordial smile.
Susannah was first to speak:
“Good-morning, Mr. Warner. May I see you alone for a moment?”
“Certainly!” With his best courtliness of manner, he bowed her into his private office. “Won’t you have a seat?”
Susannah sat down.
“It’s about—about Mr. Cowler and last night.” She paused.
“Oh,” asked Mr. Warner, carelessly, casually, “did you have a pleasant evening?”
“It’s about that I wanted to talk with you,” Susannah faltered. Suddenly, her embarrassment broke, and she became perfectly composed. “Mr. Warner, I dislike to tell you all this, because I know how it will shock you to hear it. But you will understand that I have no choice in the matter. It is very hard to speak of, and Idon’t know exactly how to express it, but, Mr. Warner, Mr. Cowler insulted me grossly last evening ... so grossly that I left the table where we were eating after the theater and ... and ... well, perhaps you can guess my state of mind when I tell you that I was actually afraid to take a taxi. Of course, I see now how foolish that was. But I ... I ran all the way home.”
For an instant, Mr. Warner’s fine, incisive geniality did not change. Then suddenly it broke into a look of sympathetic understanding. “I am sorry, Miss Ayer,” he declared gravely, “I am indeed sorry.” His clergyman aspect was for the moment in the ascendent. He might have been talking from the pulpit. His voice took its oratorical tone. “It seems incredible that men should do such things—incredible. But one must, I suppose, make allowances. A rural type alone in a great city and surrounded by all the intoxicating aspects of that city. It undoubtedly unbalanced him. Moreover, Miss Ayer, I may say without flattery that you are more than attractive. And then, he is unaccustomed to drinking—”
“Oh, he had not drunk anything to speak of,” Susannah interrupted. “A little claret at dinner. He had ordered champagne, but this ... this episode occurred before it came.”
“Incredible!” again murmured Mr. Warner. “Inexplicable!” he added. He paused for a moment. “You wish me to see that he apologizes?”
“I don’t ask that. I am only telling you so that you may understand why I can never speak to him again. For of course I don’t want to see him as long as I live. I thought perhaps ... that if he comes here again ... you might manage so that he doesn’t enter through my office.”
“We can probably manage that,” Mr. Warner agreed urbanely. “Of course we can manage that. He is, you see, a prospective client, and a very profitable one. We must continue to do business with him as usual.”
“Oh, of course!” gasped Susannah. “Please don’t think I’m trying to interfere with your business. I understand perfectly. It is only that I—but of course you understand. I don’t wantto see him again.” She rose. Her lithe figure came up to the last inch of its height; the attitude gave her the effect of a column. Her head was like a glowing alabaster lamp set at the top of that column. All the trouble had faded out of her face. The set, scarlet lines in her mouth had melted to their normal scarlet curves. The light had come back in a brilliant flood to her turquoise eyes. In this uprush of spirit, her red hair seemed even to bristle and to glisten. She sparkled visibly. “And now, I guess I’ll get back to work,” she said. “Oh, by the way, I found in my mail this morning a letter addressed, not to the women’s department, but to the firm. I opened it, but of course by accident.”
Mr. Warner drew the letter from its envelope, began casually running through it. The conversation seemed now to be ended; Susannah moved toward the door. From his perusal of the letter, Mr. Warner stabbed at her back with one quick, alarmed glance, and:
“Oh, Miss Ayer, don’t go yet,” he said. His tone was a little tense and sharp. But he continued to peruse the letter. As he finished the lastpage, he looked up. Again, his tone seemed peculiar; and he hesitated before he spoke.
“Er—did you make out the signature on this?” he asked.
“No—it puzzled me,” replied Susannah.
“Sit down again, please,” said Mr. Warner. Now his manner had that accent of suavity, that velvety actor quality, which usually he reserved solely for women clients. “I’m awfully sorry, but I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to see Mr. Cowler again.”
“Mr. Warner, I ... I simply could not do that. I can never speak to him again. You don’t know.... You can’t guess.... Why, I could scarcely tell my own mother ... if I had one....”
“It seems quite shocking to you, of course, and—Wait a moment—” Mr. Warner rose and walked toward the door leading to Byan’s office. But he seemed suddenly to change his mind. “I know exactly how you must feel,” he said, returning. “Believe me, my dear young lady, I enter perfectly into your emotions. Shocked susceptibilities! Wounded pride! Allperfectly natural, even exemplary. But, Miss Ayer, this is a strange world. And in some aspects a very unsatisfactory one. We have to put up with many things we don’t like. I, for instance. You could not guess the many disagreeable experiences to which I submit daily. I hate them as much as anyone, but business compels me to endure them. Now you, in your position as manager of the Women’s Department—”
“Nothing,” Susannah interrupted steadily, “could induce me knowingly to submit again to what happened last night. I would rather throw up my job. I would rather die.”
“But, my dear Miss Ayer, you are not the only young lady in this city who has been through such experiences. If women will invade industry, they must take the consequences. Actresses, shopgirls, woman-buyers accept these things as a matter of course—as all in the day’s work. Indeed, many stenographers complain of unpleasant experiences. You have been exceedingly fortunate. Have we not in this office paid you every possible respect?”
“Of course you have! It is because you havebeen so kind that I came to you at once, hoping ... believing ... that you would understand. It never occurred to me that you....”
“Of course I understand,” Mr. Warner insisted, in his most soothing tone. “It’s all very dreadful. What I am trying to point out to you is that whatever you do or wherever you go in a great city, the same thing is likely to happen. I am trying to prove to you that you are especially protected here. You like your work, don’t you?”
“I love it!” Susannah protested with fervor.
“Then I think you will do well to ignore the incident. Come, my child,”—Mr. Warner was now a combination of guiding pastor and admonishing parent,—“forget this deplorable incident. When Mr. Cowler comes in this afternoon, meet him as though nothing had happened. Undoubtedly he is now bitterly regretting his mistake. Unquestionably he will apologize. And the next time he asks you to go out with him, he will have learned how to treat a young lady so admirable and estimable, and you can accept his invitation with an untroubled spirit.”
“If I meet Mr. Cowler I will treat him exactlyas though nothing had happened,” Susannah declared steadily. “I mean that upon meeting him I will bow. I will even—if you ask it—give him any information he may want about the business. But as to going anywhere with him again—I must decline absolutely.”
“But that is one of the services which we shall have to demand from time to time. Clients come to town. They want an attractive young lady, a lady who will be a credit to them—a description which, I may say, perfectly applies to you—to accompany them about the city. That will be a part of your duties in future. Had the occasion arisen before, it would have been a part of your duties in the past. If Mr. Cowler asks you again to accompany him for the evening, we shall expect you to go.”
“You never told me,” said Susannah after a perceptible interval, during which directly and piercingly she met Mr. Warner’s gentle gaze, “that you expected this sort of thing.”
“My dear young lady,” replied Mr. Warner with a kind of bland elegance, “I am very sorry if I did not make that clear.”
“Then,” said Susannah—so unexpectedly that it was unexpected even to herself—“I shall have to give up my position. Please look for another secretary. I shall consider it a favor if you get her as soon as possible.”
Another pause; and then Mr. Warner asked:
“Would you mind waiting here for just a few moments before you make that decision final?”
“I will wait,” agreed Susannah. “But I will not change my decision.”
Mr. Warner did not seem at all surprised or annoyed. He arose abruptly, started toward Byan’s office. This time he entered and closed the door behind him. A moment later, Susannah realized from the muffled sounds which filtered through the partition that the partners were in conference. She caught the velvety tones of Byan; O’Hearn’s soft lilt. And as she sat there, idly tapping the desk with a penholder, something among the memories of that confused morning crept into her mind; spread until it blotted out even the memory of Mr. Cowler. That letter—what did it mean? In her listless, inattentive state of mind, she had opened it carelessly, readit through before she realized that it was addressed not to the Women’s Department, but to the company. Had anyone asked her, a moment after she laid it down, just what it said, she could not have answered. Now, her perplexed loneliness brought it all out on the tablets of her mind as the chemical brings out the picture from the blankness of a photographic plate. She glanced at the desk. The letter was not there—Mr. Warner had taken it with him.
The man with the illegible signature wrote from Nevada. He had seen, during a visit to Kansas City, the circulars of the Carbonado Mining Company. After his return, he had passed through Carbonado. “I wondered, when I saw your literature, whether there had been a new strike in that busted camp,” he wrote. “There hadn’t. Carbonado now consists of one store-keeper and a few retired prospectors who are trying to scrape something from the corners of the old Buffalo Boy property. That camp was worked out in the eighties—and it was never much but promises at that.” As for the photographs which decorated the CarbonadoCompany’s circulars, this man recognized at least one of them as a picture of a property he knew in Utah. Finally, he asked sarcastically just how long they expected to keep up the graft. “It’s the old game, isn’t it?” he inquired, “pay three per cent for a while and then get out with the capital.” Three per cent a month—thatwasexactly what the Carbonado Company was paying. She wondered—
Conjecture for Susannah would have been certainty could she have heard the conversation just the other side of that closed door. At the moment when the contents of this letter flashed back into her mind, the letter itself lay on Mr. Byan’s polished mahogany table. Beside it lay a pile of penciled memoranda through which fluttered from time to time the nervous hand of H. Withington Warner. Susannah would scarcely have known her genial employer. The mask of actor and clergyman had slipped from his face. His cheeks seemed to fall flat and flabby. His eyes had lost their benevolence. His mouth was set as hard as a trap, the corners drooping. Across the table from him, too, sat a transformed Byan. Hissmooth, regular features had sharpened to the likeness of a rat’s. His voice, however, was still velvety; even though it had just flung at Warner a string of oaths.
“I told you we ought to’ve let go and skipped six weeks ago,” he said, “that was the time for the touch-off. Secret Service still chasin’ Heinies—everythin’ coming in and nothin’ going out. The suckers had already stopped biting and then you go and hand out two more monthly dividends and settle all the bills like you intended to stay in business forever. What did we want with this royal suite here, and ours a correspondence game? What do we split if we stop today? Twelve hundred dollars. Twelve hundred dollars! We land this Cowler—see!”
Warner, unperturbed, swept his glance to O’Hearn, who sat huddled up in his chair, searching with his glance now one of his partners, now the other.
“Mike,” he said, “you’re certain about your tip on the fly cops?”
“Dead sure!” responded O’Hearn. “The regular bulls ain’t touching mining operations justnow. It’s up to the Secret Service. In two weeks more they’ll be all cleaned up on the war, and then they’ll be reorganizing their little committee on high finance. That there Inspector Laughlin will take charge. He knows you, Boss. Then”—O’Hearn spread his hands with a gesture of finality—“about a week more and they’ll get round to us. Three weeks is all we’re safe to go. They stop our mail and then—the pinch maybe. The tip’s straight from you-know-who. The pinch—see!”
At the repetition of that word “pinch,” Byan’s countenance changed subtly. It was as though he had winced within. But he spoke in his usual velvety tone.
“Less than three weeks—h’m! How much is Cowler good for?”
“About a hundred thou’—big or nothing,” replied Warner. He was drawing stars and circles on the desk blotter. “He can’t be landed without the girl. If he’d tumbled for the Lizzies you shook at him—but he didn’t—it’s this red-headed doll in our office or nothing. And I’ve told you—”
Here O’Hearn threw himself abruptly into the conversation.
“Lave out th’ girrul,” he said. Usually O’Hearn’s Irish showed in his speech only by a slight twist at the turn of his tongue. Now it reverted to a thick brogue. “I’ll not have anythin’ to do—”
“We’ll leave in or take out exactly what I say,” put in Warner smoothly. “Exactly what I say,” he repeated. At this direct thrust, Byan lifted his somewhat dreamy eyes. He dropped them again. Then Warner, his gaze directly on O’Hearn’s face, made a swift, sinister gesture. He drew a forefinger round his own throat, and completed the motion by pointing directly upward. O’Hearn, his face suddenly going a little pale, subsided. Warner broke into the sweet, Christian smile of his office manner. Subtly, he seemed to take command. His personality filled the room as he leaned forward over the table and summed everything up.
“As for your noise about quitting six weeks ago,” he said, “how was I to know that the suckers were going to stop running? We lookedgood for three months then. We’ve got three weeks to go. All right. As for the pinch, they won’t get us unless the wad gives out. Every stage of this game has been submitted to a lawyer. We’re just a hair inside—but inside all the same.Butif we can’t come through liberally to him when we’re really in trouble, we might as well measure ourselves for stripes. He’s that kind of lawyer. With a hundred thousand dollars—” he seemed to roll that phrase under his tongue—“we can stay and make snoots at the Secret Service or beat it elsewhere, just as we please. Ozias Cowler can furnish the hundred thou’. But he’ll take only one bait. I’ve tried ’em all—flies, worms, beetles, and grasshoppers—and there’s only one. And that one is trying to wriggle off the hook. I thought last night when I sent her out with him that maybe she would fall for him. The rest would have been easy. But she only worked up a case of this here maidenly virtue. On top of that, she reads this letter. Of course, she has read it, though she don’t know I know. I squeezed that out of her.
“There,” concluded Warner, “that’s thelayout, isn’t it?” He turned to Byan; and his smiling, office manner came over his expression. “What would you say, Joe? You’re by way of being an expert on this kind of bait.” In the Carbonado Mining Company, Warner ruled partly through his quality of personal force, but partly through fear, the cement of underworld society. Just as he shook at O’Hearn from time to time the threat conveyed by that sinister gesture, he held over Byan the knowledge of that trade and traffic, shameful even among criminals, from which Byan had risen to be a pander of low finance. At this thrust, however, Byan did not pale, as had O’Hearn. His expression became only the more inscrutable.
“You should have let me break her in when I wanted to, months ago,” he said. “I’d ’a’ had her ready now. He won’t fall for anyone else. I’ve offered those other Molls to him, but he’s crushed on her and won’t look at anybody else. So we’ve got to put the screws on her. They’re all cowards inside—yellow every one.”
“Meaning?” inquired Warner.
“She’s in it up to her neck with us,” said Byan.“We saw to that. All right. If we should go up against it, she’d have a hell of a time proving to a jury that she didn’t know what her letters to customers were all about. Now wouldn’t she? Ask yourself. Looked like hard luck to me when she saw that letter just when she’d slapped the face of this Cowler. But maybe it’s a regular godsend. Put it to her straight that this business is a graft, that we’re due to go up against it in three weeks unless something nice happens, and that she’s in it as deep as any of us. When she’s so scared she can’t see, let her know that she has got one way out—fall for Cowler and help us touch him for his hundred thousand. Make her think that it’s the stir sure if she don’t, and a clean getaway if she does.”
“Suppose,” continued Warner in the manner of one weighing every chance, “she goes with her troubles to some wise guy?”
“She’s got no friends here,” said Byan. “I looked into that. Runs around with one fluff, but she don’t count. If she’s scared enough, I tell you, she’ll never dare peep—and she’ll come round.”
“Suppose she beats it?” suggested Warner.
“Well, Mike and I can shadow her, can’t we?” replied Byan. “If she tries to get out by rail, we can stop her and put on the screws right away. The screws!” repeated Byan, as one who liked the idea. “And if she does hold out a while, nothin’s lost. You’ve got the old dope worked up to the idea she’s interested in him, haven’t you? Well, if she don’t fall right away, you can take a little time explaining to him why she acted that way last night. Maybe best to dangle her a while, anyway—get him so anxious to see her that he’ll fall for anything when you bring her round. I’ll be tightening up the screws, and when he’s ripe I’ll deliver her.”
“The screws,” repeated O’Hearn. “Meanin’—?”
“Leave that to me,” said Byan. “I know how.”
Warner smiled; but it was not the genial beam of his office manner. For when the corners of his drooping mouth lifted, they showed merely a gleam of canine teeth, which lay on his lip like fangs.
“I suppose, when it’s over, she’s your personal property,” he concluded.
“Oh, sure!” responded Byan carelessly.
“You’ll not—” began O’Hearn; but this time it was Warner who interrupted.
“Mickey,” he said, “any arrangements between this lady and Byan are their own private affair—after the touch-off, which may stand you twenty-five thousand shiners. Besides—” He did not make his threatening gesture now, but merely flashed that smile of fangs and sinister suggestion. Then he rose.
“All right,” he said. “Come on—all of you—and I’ll give her that little business talk, before she’s had time to think and work up another notion. Maybe she’ll fall for it right away.”
“Not right away, she won’t,” Byan promulgated from the depths of his experience, “but before I’m through, she will.”
The three men came filing into the room where Susannah sat, her elbows on the desk, her chin on her hands. She rose abruptly and faced them,eyes wide, lips parted. Mr. Warner wore his office manner; his smile was now benevolent.
“I have been telling Mr. Byan and Mr. O’Hearn about your experience and your decision, Miss Ayer,” began Mr. Warner.
Susannah blushed deeply; and for an instant her lashes swept over a sudden stern flame in her eyes. Then she lifted them and looked with a noncommittal openness from one face to the other. “I think I have nothing to add,” she said.
“Yes, but perhaps we have,” Mr. Warner informed her gently. “Sit down, Miss Ayer. Sit down, boys.”
The three men seated themselves. “Thank you,” said Susannah; but she continued to stand. Byan rose thereupon, and stood lolling in the corner, his vague smile floating on his lips. O’Hearn dropped his chin almost to that point on his chest where his folded arms rested. His lips drooped. Occasionally he studied the situation from under his protuberant forehead.
“Miss Ayer,” Warner went on after a pause,“you read that letter—the one you handed to me this morning?”
Susannah hesitated for an almost imperceptible moment. “Yes,” she admitted, “entirely by mistake.”
“I am going to tell you something that it will surprise you to hear, Miss Ayer. What this fellow says is all true. Carbonado is merely a—a convenient name, let us say. In other words, we are engaged in selling fake stocks to suckers. To be still more explicit, we are conducting a criminal business. We could be arrested at any moment and sent to jail. To the Federal penitentiary, in fact. I suppose that is a great surprise to you?”
Though she had guessed something of this ever since she recalled the contents of the letter, the cold-blooded statement came indeed with all the force of a surprise. Susannah’s figure stiffened as though she had touched a live wire. The crimson flush drained out of her face. And she heard herself saying, as though in another’s voice and far away, the inadequate words: “How perfectly terrible!”