"What for?" asked Brennan.
"Oh, I see, he figures it would hurt him more than do him good," concluded Gibson. "Well, perhaps he's right. But I didn't send for you boys to talk politics. I havesomething I think will develop into a story for you, a real story, not the stuff my publicity man hands out."
"What is it?"
Gibson smiled and shook his head.
"I can't tell you now," he said. "Be here tomorrow morning at 10 o'clock and you can be in on the whole business. I don't expect there'll be any shooting, but you might as well bring guns if you have them."
"Another 'Red Mike'?" asked Brennan.
Gibson smiled again.
"Be here and see," he said, inexplicitly.
With Benton, the photographer, who performed his jig dance to the rhythm of "Gunga Din" when he was told he faced another adventure, Brennan and John were in Gibson's office before 10 o'clock the next morning. They found Gibson alone in his inner office.
"No 'make-up' this time, eh?" asked Brennan, recalling, by inference, Gibson's unkempt costume on the night he "shot it out" with "Red Mike" and saved the "Lark" from destruction.
"Not necessary," replied the commissioner. "Speaking of 'make-up' reminds me, Gallant, that Miss Carrillo asked me to tell you that she hasn't forgotten about our dinner party." It was the first time that Consuello's name had been mentioned by either of them since that afternoon at the studio when Gibson had told John of their engagement.
"It would be unlike her if she had forgotten," said John, ready to let Gibson infer what he might from the words. He noticed that Brennan was looking at him curiously.
"Suppose we set it for the evening of the day I'm elected mayor," said Gibson, smiling.
Over Gibson's shoulder John saw Brennan drop his right eyelid in a slow wink.
"That suits me," he replied. As Gibson turned toward his desk John returned Brennan's wink.
"Now, boys, let's get down to business," Gibson said as he turned back to face them, a paper in his hand. "Here's the story. I'm going to arrest one of 'Gink' Cummings' lieutenants. The man I'm after is 'Big Jim' Hatch, a notorious bunko swindler, and I've got him cornered but he doesn't know it.
"Hatch is Cummings' pal. They have known each other for years and worked together. 'Big Jim' is one of the cleverest bunko men in the country, so clever that he has been indicted only once, although he has swindled victims out of hundreds of thousands of dollars. That indictment was returned against him in New York several months ago and he fled to Los Angeles, arranging with 'Gink' Cummings to operate here and receive protection.
"This paper you see is a telegraphic warrant from New York for Hatch's arrest. I communicated with the New York authorities as soon as my detectives found that he was in the city and told me he was wanted in the East. They have trailed him day and night. The place where he is living is surrounded nowby my men and deputy sheriffs who are waiting for me before making the raid and arresting him. Now, if you're ready, we'll go and you can ask me any questions you want on the way."
He led them to an automobile parked in front of the office building. A liveried chauffeur sat at the wheel. John saw it was the machine that Consuello had said had been placed at her disposal by "a friend." He wondered why she never explained to him that it was Gibson's car. Gibson took the seat beside the chauffeur, while John, Brennan and Benton took the tonneau seats. The machine whirled away from the curb.
"Any questions?" asked Gibson over his shoulder.
"You've told us everything we need to know now," replied Brennan.
As Gibson turned back to face the road before them John glanced toward Brennan interrogatively. Brennan shook his head doubtfully as if he was puzzled by this new move by the commissioner.
"I can't figure it out—yet," he whispered.
In twenty minutes, at Gibson's order, the chauffeur stopped the automobile at a corner in West Eleventh street.
"We'll stop here and walk the rest of the way, it's only half a block," explained thecommissioner. "To drive up to the house would give them warning."
"Big Jim's" house was in the middle of the block. It was square, of two stories and set well back from the street. The blinds were down in all of the windows and it had a deserted appearance. Out of range of sight from any of the windows Gibson met a group of deputy sheriffs and his private detectives, one of whom stepped forward to address him.
"He's in there, all right," the detective said. "We trailed him in last night and he hasn't put his nose out of doors since. What are your orders, Mr. Commissioner?"
"Who has the search warrant?" Gibson asked.
"I have it," replied one of the deputy sheriffs. "I figured we might have to go in after him."
"Is the back of the house guarded?" Gibson demanded.
"Four men are there and four others posted at the sides," he was told.
"Good! Let's go then; I'll lead the way," said Gibson.
He strode quickly toward the house and up the walk to the front door, followed by the detectives, the deputies, Brennan, John and the camera man. John had a peculiar sinking feeling as he realized what opentargets they were as they approached the house if "Big Jim" opened fire on them from behind the blind of one of the windows facing the street.
Gibson rapped sharply on the door and they waited tensely for a response. The officers' right hands were on the handles of their automatics and revolvers. There was no response to Gibson's rap. He clenched his fist and hammered loudly on the solid panel of the door. Again no response.
"You're certain he is inside?" demanded Gibson.
"Absolutely, Mr. Commissioner," assured the detective. "He's probably at the door now."
Gibson stepped to one side of the door and the others stepped back also.
"Open the door or we'll break it down," commanded Gibson, shouting.
A man's voice answered from behind the door.
"What do you want?" it asked.
"Open the door," said Gibson, ignoring the question.
A key clicked in the lock and the door opened. Two of the deputies sprang on the threshold beside Gibson, their automatics in their hands.
"Put 'em up!" they said sharply.
A large, florid-faced man, wearing an expensive house coat, with an expression of a respectable citizen highly outraged at what was before him, lifted his hands above his head.
"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded indignantly.
"There's no use pretending injured innocence, Hatch," said Gibson coolly. "We have a search warrant and a warrant for your arrest from New York."
The two deputies with drawn guns searched Hatch for a concealed weapon, patting his pockets, which they found empty. As they stepped back "Big Jim" dropped his hands to his side and smiled.
"Very well, Mr. Gibson," he said obligingly. "Do your stuff."
John was startled to hear Hatch call Gibson by name. Nothing had been said that even hinted of the commissioner's identity. The search warrant was handed Gibson.
"Do you want me to read this?" he asked.
"Don't trouble yourself," replied Hatch. "All I ask is that you don't tear things to pieces in here. Mrs. Hatch is with me and I don't want her to be bothered."
"All right, boys, be quick about it," ordered Gibson, sending the officers to search the house, "and don't disturb Mrs. Hatch unless it's necessary."
As the private detectives and deputies left them, Benton stepped forward with a request that Gibson and Hatch pose for a photograph.
"You brought them with you, eh, Gibson?" said Hatch. Then to the photographer he added: "I'll accommodate you under one consideration."
"Say it," requested Benton.
"That you leave Mrs. Hatch out of this," said "Big Jim."
The photographer looked to Brennan for an answer to this proposal.
"Go ahead, Benton," Brennan agreed, "we won't bother Mrs. Hatch."
While Benton was photographing Gibson and Hatch, John observed the bunko swindler more closely. To all outward appearances "Big Jim" might have been any one of the well-to-do business men one sees daily on the downtown streets. His hair was gray with a touch of white at the temples, his complexion ruddy. On the little finger of his plump, soft hand he wore a diamond ring in which the gem was the size of a pea. It was obvious that his suit was the work of a high-priced tailor. He had frank blue eyes that had a guileless expression and there were no criminal characteristics in the shape of his head, the position of his ears and the contour of his lips.
"I suppose you'll want me to go back with you," Hatch said to Gibson after Benton had made his final flashlight picture of them.
"As soon as the search is completed," assented the commissioner. "Tell me, Hatch, what about this New York job?"
"Big Jim" drew a cigar from his vest pocket, clipped off the end of it with a snap of his teeth and lighted it with a match. He puffed at the cigar, looked at it critically and smiled before he answered.
"You can speak about that to my lawyer," he said.
In pairs the deputies and detectives returned from their search of the house empty-handed.
"Nothing worth taking," they reported.
They prepared to leave, Hatch donned a suit coat and put on his hat. As they started toward the door John was in the rear. He was about to step over the threshold to join the others outside when a hand touched his arm. He turned and faced a girl, a very pretty girl, he thought, with large blue eyes, golden hair and petite figure.
"Are you a reporter?" the girl asked.
"Yes," he replied, mystified.
"Then please come back here, tonight, I have something to tell you."
The door closed and he was outside again.
* * * * *
It was not until after Hatch had been lodged in the county jail to await the arrival of officers from New York and Brennan had written the story of Gibson's arrest of the swindler that John revealed that the girl, whom he presumed was Mrs. Hatch, had asked him to return to the house that night. The arrest of "Big Jim" was the outstanding local news story of the day. Gibson issued another statement in which he emphasized that Hatch was one of "Gink" Cummings' men, who completely escaped the notice of Chief Sweeney's "inefficient" detectives.
When Brennan had handed to P. Q. the last sheet of his story of Hatch's arrest John told him how the girl had stopped him at the door and asked him to return.
"Great!" exclaimed Brennan. "I can't figure out Gibson's game in arresting 'Big Jim.' She'll probably be able to give us the tip."
"I wonder what she wants to tell me," said John.
"Tell US, you mean," Brennan amended. "You don't think you're not going to take me along with you, do you?"
A few minutes after 8 o'clock that evening John and Brennan returned to the scene oftheir adventure of the afternoon. John rapped on the door and the girl spoke to them without opening it.
"Who is it, please?" she asked.
"It's the reporter you spoke to this afternoon," John said, and the door swung open. The girl stood with her hand on the knob. She glanced inquiringly toward Brennan.
"My partner," John explained.
"Come in," she invited, with a friendly smile.
She waited until they had entered and then closed the door behind them, locking it carefully. Without speaking she led them into a sitting room, artistically furnished, lighted only by a rose-shaded table lamp. She motioned them to a deep-cushioned davenport and seated herself in a chair under the light from the lamp.
There was no doubt about it, she was pretty! Her blonde hair shone in the light and the shadows about her eyes added to their beauty. Her face was round and piquant, her lips a deep crimson and tiny. Her one-piece dress on which beads sparkled, exposed a delicately rounded throat and slender white arms. Her hands were small and white and her fingernails were highly polished. Sheer silk stockings and neat, expensive shoes. A hint of cheapness about her; perhaps it was theunnatural thinness of the delicately arched eyebrows, John thought; or perhaps the shortness of her skirt; but she was pretty!
"I suppose you understand that I am Mrs. Hatch?" she said.
They nodded.
"Now," she continued, "can you give me some assurance that you are really reporters and not detectives."
They produced their press badges which she examined under the light.
Apparently satisfied, she looked at them for a moment and then spoke.
"I want you to help me," she said; "help me and my husband."
"If there is any legitimate way we can help you, we will," Brennan assured her.
"I will begin at the beginning and tell you everything," she said. "When I have finished you can tell me what you can do for me.
"In the first place, I am speaking to you because my husband is afraid to say anything. He does not know that I am going to tell you this, but I am doing it to save him, because"—she hesitated—"I love him.
"Jim was indicted back in New York and came here to escape arrest. We arrived here five months ago. Whether Jim is guilty of what he is charged with in New York is for him to say. All I know is that he wasindicted and that we came to Los Angeles to escape the officers.
"We came here because Jim was a friend of 'Gink' Cummings and he thought that Cummings would protect him. Jim saw Cummings soon after we reached the city and Cummings greeted him like a long lost brother. He said that we could hide in Los Angeles and be reasonably sure that the New York officers would never learn we were here.
"A month after we came here we ran out of money and Jim decided to get to work again. You can guess how Jim planned to work. I need not tell you more than that before another month went by he had the money. It wasn't as much as he had hoped for and we were disappointed. We knew that every time he went to work he not only risked new trouble, but identification as the man who was wanted in New York. That is why his—his jobs had to be few and far between. We planned to make every cent of the money last as long as we could.
"Of course, 'Gink' Cummings knew what Jim had done. When the job was completed he called Jim to his office and told him that he would have to split what money he had got with him. He told Jim that no one worked in Los Angeles without giving him at least a 10 per cent cut, for protection.
"Jim was surprised. He had figured that Cummings was his friend. He told Cummings that he could not afford to split with him and explained how it was, that he could not risk working often and had to make his money last. He thought that this explanation would satisfy the 'Gink,' but it didn't.
"They quarreled. Cummings told Jim that he could not work in Los Angeles or stay here unless he 'came through.' Jim told him to go to h——. 'I'll tip New York that you're here,' Cummings told him. Jim told him to go to it, that he was in trouble and needed help instead of being compelled to put himself in danger.
"We were afraid that Cummings would follow out his threat and tip the New York police, so we left the city. We went to San Diego for a month and then, figuring that Cummings would believe we had left for good, came back to Los Angeles again. We were safe enough until a month ago when Jim did another job. He had to; we were broke. Cummings found out about it and came to see Jim. He came here, to this house. He sat where you are sitting now. While he was talking to Jim I was behind the curtain there and heard every word." She indicated portieres behind them.
"I won't repeat everything I heard,although I could if it was necessary. Cummings said he had heard Jim had done another job and came to him for his split. 'You got away with it once, Jim,' he said; 'I didn't do anything but you've got to come through this time. I run things here in Los Angeles, let me tell you that. You're an old pal and all that and I'd like to let you alone, but I can't afford to. The boys are hollering because you're working without kicking in and for my own protection you've got to split.'
"'And what'll you do if I don't?' Jim asks. 'Well,' says Cummings, 'I could have you croaked.' When he said that I thought Jim was going to kill him right here, but he kept control of himself. 'Or,' says Cummings, 'I'll have you pinched for that New York job.' Jim smiled when he heard that. 'Who'll do the pinching?' he asked. 'One of your paid cops?' 'It'll be somebody bigger than a cop,' said Cummings."
John felt Brennan move forward on the davenport.
"'Somebody bigger than a cop.' Are you sure he said that?" Brennan asked.
"Those were his words," Mrs. Hatch answered. "'Who'll that be?' asks Jim. 'Never mind who it'll be,' says Cummings, 'you'll find that out when it happens. Now, I'm giving you your last chance, either come across orgo back and do your bit; what's it going to be?'
"I know Jim. I know he would rather have died than to have given in to Cummings. 'Nothing doing, "Gink,"' Jim says. 'All right, Jim,' says Cummings, 'don't ever say I didn't give you a chance.' Then he left.
"I was afraid. I begged Jim to split with Cummings and make the most of it. But he was stubborn. 'I'd rather go to the pen than split with that cur,' he says to me. So nothing more happened until today and you were here and saw it.
"Now, this is how I think you may be able to help us. You saw who it was who arrested Jim. It was Gibson, the police commissioner, who is running for mayor. Gibson must have been the man Cummings referred to when he said that it would be somebody bigger than a cop who would arrest Jim. Gibson could never have known anything about Jim unless Cummings told him. Gibson and Cummings must be working together, somehow. The only reason Jim was arrested was because he wouldn't split with Cummings and it's Gibson who arrests him. Can't you see the connection?
"Jim can tell you every word I've told you and a lot more and there should be some way of using it to aid him. I don't know how,but there should be some way. If he told everything to the district attorney here, don't you think it might help him a little? You see, Cummings wants him sent back to New York as soon as possible so he won't start talking. He won't say anything about what Jim has done here because he wants him out of the state.
"I thought that if Jim would tell his story to the district attorney or to some newspaper it might be arranged to have some recommendation for leniency for him when he goes back to New York. Or, he might be able to have the charge back there dropped and get immunity out here."
She paused. There was a tense silence until she spoke again, softly.
"You see," she said, "I love Jim and he loves me. We had decided, after this experience with Cummings, to go straight. Jim told me that he would work the rest of his life to pay back whatever he had taken wrongfully and we would be happy together. We wouldn't have to live in fear and the day would come when we could hold up our heads and have a little home and—and—children."
John thought he saw tears in her eyes as she ended the sentence.
"I have trusted you in telling you this," she said. "I feel that I can trust you. Tell me,please tell me, can anything be done with what I've told you?"
She looked toward them pleadingly, anxiously. Brennan was sitting on the edge of the davenport, his body bent forward, his elbows on his knees, gazing intently at the girl.
"A crook can't think straight all the time," he said, quietly. "'Gink' Cummings has made his mistake."
The story told by Evelyn Hatch—Evelyn was her given name—was twice repeated by John and Brennan the next day, first to P. Q. and then to the publisher of their paper. It was decided that Hatch's own story should be obtained and, if possible, put in affidavit form. Following their conferences with P. Q. and the "chief" they went directly to the county jail where "Big Jim" was brought down from his cell at their request.
He greeted them genially, offering them cigars as they led him to a quiet corner of the reception room.
"I always try to be a good scout with newspaper men," Hatch said, smiling. "I've had considerable experience with reporters and I've always found them square and fair. And, without speaking personally, of course, I can tell you that you reporters do more to eradicate crime than all the police in the country."
"Hatch," said Brennan, ignoring the compliment, "we've had a talk with your wife."
"You promised me you'd let her alone," said "Big Jim" sharply.
"We never spoke to her until she told us she wanted to see us," John put in. "As Iwas leaving the house after you were arrested she stopped me and asked me to come back, saying she had something to tell me."
The anger that had blazed in Hatch's eyes when he suspected them of violating their promise softened to tenderness.
"Poor kid," he said, "it's a hard jolt for her." He hesitated a moment and then added, "She's the only one in the world who really cares what becomes of me. Well, what did she have to say to you?"
"You can guess, can't you?" asked Brennan.
"I suppose I could, but I'm not going to," returned Hatch.
"She wants to help you," said Brennan.
"You don't have to tell me that."
"What she told us she revealed with the sole thought of trying to help."
Drawing mild little puffs of smoke from his cigar "Big Jim" waited silently, thoughtfully, for Brennan to continue.
"She told us about your trouble with 'Gink' Cummings—the whole business." Brennan watched Hatch's face intently as he spoke. "And to prove it I'll repeat her story to us, exactly as she told it."
While Brennan was relating what Mrs. Hatch had told them "Big Jim" sat motionless in his chair, his head bowed on his chest.John watched the ash in Hatch's cigar turning from a glowing red to a heatless gray. When Brennan finished Hatch spoke without raising his head.
"Poor little kid," he said, tenderly. He straightened up in his chair, tossed away his cigar and scrutinized Brennan keenly.
"Every word she spoke is the truth; every word of it, and, more," he said. "I've decided to take my jolt back in New York so I can get back to her as soon as I can. She'll wait for me, I know she will. Whether you can help me or not, I'll tell you everything."
John felt his heart jump in his breast.
"When?" asked Brennan quickly.
"Now," said Hatch.
"Shoot," said Brennan.
"There's no use going over what Evelyn told you again," said Big Jim, without a second's hesitation. "I'll swear to every word she said. But there's something she didn't tell you, because she didn't know it.
"Did you notice that I called Gibson by name when he arrested me?"
Brennan nodded.
"Well, where do you suppose I saw him to know him by sight?"
Without waiting for an answer, he snapped out:
"In 'Gink' Cummings' apartment!"
John discovered that he had been holding his breath. Gibson in Cummings' apartment! A thrill like a mild electric shock shot up and down his spine.
"The 'Gink's' apartment?" asked Brennan.
"That's the place," Hatch confirmed. "It was about a month ago. I can give you the exact day and hour later. I went to Cummings to try to settle things between us, without Evelyn knowing it. We were alone together when someone knocked on the door. Cummings answered it. As he left the room he pulled the door to close it, but it swung back open and I saw into the hallway.
"I saw Gibson enter. I didn't know who it was then and suppose it was pure curiosity that made me watch them. They talked for a minute and then Gibson started toward the door of the room I was in. As he did so, Cummings saw that the door was open and stepped over and closed it. That was all I saw.
"I heard Cummings say, 'Don't do this again.' When he came back he told me there could be no settlement between us except I split with him and I left. The next day I saw Gibson's photograph in a newspaper and it nearly knocked me off my chair. Just to make sure I hunted Gibson up and when I saw him I knew I couldn't have been mistaken.Gibson was the man I saw in Cummings' apartment.
"I'm sure that Cummings doesn't realize that I saw Gibson that night. If he had known it he would never have had me arrested and yet I was afraid to threaten him with it. I thought that if I told him I had seen Gibson at his place he would have bumped me off, but now that I'm here in jail I have nothing to fear. He won't dare to tell the authorities about my jobs in Los Angeles because if he does he'll make my story stronger. Besides, all he knows is that I got the money. He doesn't know whom I got it from or when or how.
"That's my addition to Evelyn's story. That's how I knew it was Gibson when he stepped in to arrest me. You can see how it worked out. When I defied Cummings he arranged with Gibson to arrest me. He had Gibson do it because Gibson is his man and he wants the public to think that they are enemies. I'm telling you this because after I do my bit back in New York I'm going straight, with Evelyn. I'm going to pay back every cent I ever took from anyone and, perhaps, sometime we'll have a home and—what she said."
Overwhelmed mentally by the condemning information against Gibson which had beengiven them by "Big Jim," John was startled by Brennan's first words after Hatch had stopped speaking.
"What a fat-head I am!" Brennan exclaimed.
Hatch's face showed that he shared John's surprise at Brennan's ejaculation.
"Oh, what a sap I am!" he continued. "Why, oh, why haven't we shadowed them? Why haven't we followed them night and day until we found them together? Why didn't one of us spot the 'Gink's' apartment?"
"You're lucky you haven't," Hatch put in. "You couldn't have gotten away with it. They probably would have killed you. Anyway, I doubt very much if they actually meet each other now. The 'Gink' warned Gibson when I saw them that he was not to 'do this again,' which meant he shouldn't come to the apartment."
"They're in communication with each other, somehow," said Brennan.
"There's the telephone, or they may be using the mails, or they may have a confidential agent, a go-between," Hatch suggested.
"I don't think the 'Gink' would take a chance with a go-between," said Brennan.
Before they left him to hurry back to the office, Hatch agreed to make an affidavit containing what he had told them, including theportion of the story told by his wife, and had consented to allow them to obtain a sworn statement from Mrs. Hatch.
"There's only one thing wrong with what we got from 'Big Jim,'" Brennan said as they left the jail, "and that is that it comes from a man facing a term in the penitentiary. It's difficult for people to believe a confessed swindler like Hatch, although he's telling the truth. Even his wife's story would be received skeptically simply because she is his wife. Gibson has such a hold on the city, such a reputation for honesty and integrity, such influential support, that his mere denial of what Hatch says would be believed implicitly."
"But consider Hatch's story along with the framed-up Spring street raid and the information we have of how Cummings opened and closed the town to convince the people that Gibson is the only man who can stop crime," John argued.
"We must look at it from the reader's viewpoint," said Brennan. "It's the reader whom we have to convince. He wants facts, plain, hard facts. We have nothing to actually show that Cummings framed the Spring street raid in collusion with Gibson. We have nothing to actually show that the opening and closing of the city by Cummings was to build up a reputation for Gibson. All that is mereinference, suspicion. And the weakness in Hatch's story is in the fact that he is a crook himself, although you and I know that he told us the truth."
"Then we haven't enough yet?" said John.
"I'm afraid not."
"But you said last night that Cummings had made his one big mistake."
"And I wasn't wrong when I said it. We don't have to take Hatch's story simply as it stands. It's up to us now to get corroboration enough to make it undeniable."
"How?"
"By finding someone who has seen Gibson visit Cummings' apartment, a janitor, a neighbor, the clerk at the desk, anyone."
"Suppose no one saw him."
"Then we must find out how they are communicating with each other. We can tap the telephone in Cummings' apartment and those at Gibson's office and home if it comes to that."
P. Q. and the "chief" upheld Brennan's judgment that Hatch's story needed more corroboration than that given by his wife and that the attack on Gibson, exposing him as a fraud, would have to be postponed until one more link was added to the chain of evidence against him. It was decided that Brennan and John should concentrate their endeavors in aneffort to discover the method of communication between Gibson and the "Gink."
* * * * *
That night John saw Consuello again and realized with a suddenness that shocked him that he loved her.
The tremendousness of his realization that he was in love with her frightened him, and yet he was gloriously happy. Exultant joy, a rapture faintly akin to the ecstasy that had thrilled him the first Christmas morning he could remember, gave a buoyancy to his brain, his heart, his soul. He knew that he had loved her from the moment he met her and regardless of what the future held for them he would go on loving her forever.
Returning to his desk after the conference in the "chief's" office on the story told by "Big Jim" Hatch, John found a sheet of copy paper stuck in the roller of his typewriter. That was the office boy's way of leaving memoranda of telephone calls for the reporters.
"Call Miss Carrillo at the studio," John read. He went immediately to the telephone booth.
"There will be a pre-view of the picture, my latest, here tonight and I thought you might like to see it," she said. "Reggie is so busy campaigning that he can't be here," she added.
"I would like it," he told her.
"Can you come?"
"Yes, certainly."
"Splendid," she said. "The pre-view will be at 7:30, but can't you get here earlier so we can have dinner together and talk?"
"At six, then," he suggested.
"At six," she assented.
He wondered why it was he felt relieved when she said that Gibson would not be there with them.
It was dusk when he reached the studio a few minutes before six. She had waited for him in her dressing room to which he was escorted by the maid.
"There's a little place a few blocks away where we always go for dinner when we're kept late," she said. "I discovered it myself. I delight in finding little out-of-the-way places to eat. Reggie can't understand it. He's uncomfortable every minute of the time we're there."
"You would have liked my father," he said. "Almost every week he treated mother and me by taking us to dinner at some genuinely picturesque place he had found. Sometimes it would be a little Spanish restaurant in Sonora Town, sometimes an Italian cafe in North Broadway and sometimes a French table de hote, which I liked best. Motherwas like you say Gibson is, uncomfortable every minute, but father and I enjoyed it immensely. One night, when mother wasn't with us, we had tamales at one of those wagon lunch places drawn up at the curb near the Plaza and lighted by a sputtering kerosene range and a lantern that gave it an appearance of being a ship's cabin. I'll never forget it."
"You miss your father greatly, don't you?" she said. The sympathy in her voice was like soothing music.
"Everything in me that amounts to anything I owe to him," he said.
They walked to the "little place around the corner," as Consuello referred to it. The dinner was served to them at a corner table in a spotlessly clean room of "Mother" Graham's cafe, which was only large enough to accommodate a dozen couples. The proprietress, "Mother" Graham, who took as much pride in her cookery as the chef of the most expensive cafe, greeted Consuello effusively.
"And how's my little darling, tonight?" she asked. "'Mother' Graham shall serve you herself, for it's not every night that I see your dear face."
The dinner was plain, appetizing home cooking; delicious brown chops, crisp coolsalad, fragrant coffee and hot rolls; berries and cream. Once John caught a glimpse of "Mother" Graham pointing out Consuello to a pop-eyed girl and her youthful escort as "Jean Hope."
"I am being envied," he said across the table.
"By whom?"
"By everyone who sees us. I do not blame them, for I am to be envied."
"Because you are with Jean Hope?" she smiled.
"Because I am with Consuello Carrillo," he answered. "I do not know Jean Hope yet. I am to meet her, tonight."
"You saw her before the camera," she reminded him.
"But never on the screen," he returned.
"And what if you don't like her?"
"My consolation will be that she is only a shadow, a make-believe."
"You are different," she told him, "and it's not because you lack imagination. Most everyone does not disassociate a film player from her shadow. They think of her always as the type or character in which they admire her most. To them she is always the same, always perfect, a picture, a memory. How disappointed those dream lovers would be if theycould suddenly be brought face to face with the player as she really is, with her little vanities and human frailties."
"Disappointed or disillusioned, which?" he asked.
"You are right," she replied, "they would be disillusioned rather than disappointed. There is a difference. For instance, I would be disappointed rather than disillusioned in Reggie if he should blunder and miss his opportunity of becoming mayor of Los Angeles."
Her words struck him like a blow. They brought to him the realization again that she faced a disillusionment of which she had no warning. How could he save her from it? Would she go on believing in Gibson? It would be like her to defend him until the last, to go with him to a place where his disgrace was not known and begin life all over again.
"Suppose," he said, watching her intently, "that it was not disappointment but disillusionment."
"You mean—in Reggie?" she asked, apparently unable to comprehend what he had said.
Unable to speak the word, he nodded. She laughed lightly and he forced himself to smile.
"I know him too well to ever be disillusioned," she said.
"Love, they say, is blind," he ventured.
"I know his faults as I do mine," she said slowly, "and love him for them. You see, we've known each other since we were children."
He could not reply. The awfulness of the truth dumbed him and an impetuous desire to protect her swept through him. But he was powerless, helpless. A wild idea of sacrificing his loyalty to his paper by warning Gibson of the impending exposure of his perfidy so that he might renounce "Gink" Cummings and be worthy of Consuello's love flashed in and out of his brain.
His silence seemed to mystify her. When she spoke it was as though she might have a vague premonition of his confused thoughts.
"But there's no need for my having an apprehension that he will blunder, is there?" she asked.
"We all make mistakes," he said, conscientiously trying to assure her. He realized, however, that his answer sounded evasive and fearful of further questioning he added, hastily, "His election is conceded by everyone."
They rose from the table. To "Mother" Graham, perched on a stool behind a cash register near the door, he paid for their dinner and they stepped out into the street. Night had descended quickly. The cool,refreshing breeze from the ocean that tempers the warmth of the day was coming in gently, caressingly, soothingly from the west, and worries fled away with it like dead leaves whisked from the trees.
During the pre-view, which lasted an hour and a half, John had but few chances to converse with Consuello. She was busy with Bonwit, the director, and a half dozen others whom John decided were the technicians whose business it was to revise the film before it was released. They sat grouped in a semi-circle and several times certain scenes were flashed on the screen repeatedly for closer observation.
The girl he saw on the screen was much more like Consuello in real life than the girl he had seen before the camera. The make-up that had transformed her features for her part in the picture was indiscernible on the screen and marvelously the real Consuello was before him. The "close-up" for which she had posed alone, holding the bouquet of daisies, was even prettier than it had been when she enacted it. He realized now what were the results sought by the camera men in shifting the reflectors. Like a halo, sunlight shone around her face, through the loose tresses of her hair, giving it an ethereal appearance.
So intently did he study every move, every expression of Consuello's on the screen that hehad completely overlooked the story of the photoplay. The scene in which the actor embraced Consuello and gazed fervently heavenward was far more impressive than it had been when it was enacted and the "close-up" of his features, over her shoulder, John decided was really an excellent bit of facial expression.
When the pre-view was completed and the lights were flashed on again in the small room, Consuello came directly to him.
"Now, what do you think of 'Jean Hope,' do you like her?" she asked.
"I adore her," he said, without restraint.
The almost timid look of incredulousness he remembered having noticed when he told her she was beautiful at the Barton Randolph lawn fete came into her eyes. For a fraction of a second they looked into each other's faces and something that she saw told her that his adoration was not only for the image of herself that he had seen upon the screen. She caught her underlip between her teeth and looked down.
"We can go now," she said, a note in her voice that he had never heard before.
They did not speak as they walked toward the gates of the studio and it was then he realized that he loved her. In that moment he was transported to an indescribable happiness. She seemed a fairy creature at his side, too beautiful to touch, too wonderful to speak to.
An automobile stopped beside them. Bonwit, at the wheel, leaned out over the side.
"Can't I give you two a lift home?" he asked.
John looked toward Consuello and heard her say:
"No, thanks; it's only a few blocks home and we'll walk—it's such a—a—a glorious night."
Consuello was the first to speak as they passed through the studio gateway to the sidewalk overhung by the drooping branches of tall pepper trees.
"It's not far," she said.
The words awoke John from his enthrallment and she saw by his glance toward her that he did not comprehend their meaning.
"It's not far to the house," she explained. Not far! He wished it were miles away, that they might walk on together for hours.
"I could not bear being cramped up in an apartment," she added. "When it became necessary for me to find some place to live in Los Angeles, a dear friend—you must meet her—and I hunted up this little place for our home. It wasn't much to look at when we found it, but we have made it over to suit us and we have both grown to love it."
"Your friend—is she in pictures, too?" he asked.
"Betty is an artist," she replied. "She designs sets and costumes for pictures and she is wonderful. She knows everything about her work, more than anyone else in Hollywood, they say. She deserves all the credit for turning our little home into a dream place."
"You will miss her when——" he found himself unable to finish the sentence, "you are married."
"Yes," she said. "I'll miss her and our little home. Really, I don't believe I will know how to act if I become the wife of the mayor of Los Angeles. I have grown to detest formality, dances and dinners and receptions and things. If there is one thing Reggie and I will quarrel about that will be it. He has always been invited everywhere and he enjoys the niceness of conventionality."
He was glad that there was not complete compatibility between her and Gibson. It was selfish and wrong for him to rejoice that she and Gibson were not perfectly suited in their likes and dislikes and he knew it, but nevertheless it gladdened him.
"I nearly died of fright that day at the lawn fete, when I met you," he said. "I believe I would have done something disgraceful to that servant who was asking me to leave if you hadn't appeared."
"You told me you thought Reggie to be a villain," she reminded him, laughing. "You don't think him one now, do you?"
How close he came to telling her then what he had reason to believe Gibson actually was, a villain beyond all understanding, she never knew.
"No," he lied.
She stopped at a gateway formed by a gap in a hedge of spicy scented boxwood that paralleled the sidewalk.
"Here we are," she said, turning in.
He saw a rose-shaded light in the window of a small house set far back from the street.
"Betty is waiting for me," she explained. "I want you to meet her."
On each side of the pathway leading back to the house was a rose garden with the bushes set at precise intervals. The rose garden ended half way back from the sidewalk. Before the house, for the entire width of the lot and a dozen paces deep, was closely cropped grass. Flat stones, set into the lawn like the footprints of an elephant, provided an artistic path to the door, which was massive in size and of unfinished stained oak. The flanges of the hinges were of beaten iron held in place by studded bolts. A quaint knocker was above the handle to the latch.
"You'll pardon me for a moment?" Consuello asked, opening the door and stepping inside, returning a moment later to hold it open for him to enter.
The room was exceptionally large, with rafters across the ceiling. At one end was a huge fireplace and rugs were scattered over a smooth but unpolished floor. Betty rose froman easy chair as he entered. She had been reading. John saw that she was slender, dark-eyed, rather pretty.
"Betty, this is Mr. Gallant," said Consuello by way of an introduction.
"Consuello has spoken of you, often," said Betty, advancing with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand. Mentally John thanked her for the words. He knew instinctively that he would like her and that she would be a friend to him.
"Miss Carrillo has been more than kind to me," he said. "I often wonder why she is," he added, returning Betty's smile.
"She likes you," said Betty, with a frankness that startled him a little. He glanced toward Consuello and saw that she was regarding Betty with an amused look.
Betty moved toward a door at the side of the room.
"Will you care if I leave you?" she said. "Please do not think it rudeness. I have been doing a little studying which I must finish tonight and——"
"I'm intruding, I know," interrupted John.
"You're not," she remonstrated with the candidness that John found later was so engaging. Her smile overcame his temporary embarrassment. "I'll see you again, I'm sure," she added, nodding slightly before she steppedinto the other room, closing the door behind her.
"What do you think of our little home?" Consuello asked as he turned toward her. She was seated in the chair Betty had left.
"It's like you," he said, feeling free to take the chair near her. "It is so genuinely—beautiful." This time he felt no hesitancy in saying it.
"And what of it do you like best of all?" she asked quickly.
He looked around the room slowly until his eyes rested on a wide casement window opening out over a deep sill on which blood-red geraniums nestling in the rich green foliage of the plant, grew in a box. Faintly, against the skyline as he looked through this window he saw the curving outline of a hill. The window panes, swung inward, were divided into small squares by the crosspieces.
"That," he said, without turning his eyes from the window.
"I knew——." She hesitated. He glanced toward her inquiringly. "I knew you would," she said. "That is my window. The hill you see from it is my hill. Did you ever read the verse by Martha Haskell Clark that inspired the designing of that window?"
He shook his head. She rose and crossed to the window and stood framed to herwaistline in the outer casement. She looked out into the night, toward "her" hill, the fingers of one hand touching the petals of one of the crimson blossoms. Softly she recited: