CHAPTER XVIA TUG OF WAR
Representative J. Calhoun-Cooperlaid down his pen and regarded his wife in some surprise. “Are you going to church, Augusta?”
“No, I attended the morning services.” She ensconced herself in a chair near him. “Pauline told me that you wish to see me.”
“Quite right; but I had no idea you were going out,” Calhoun-Cooper hesitated. “However, I will not keep you long. Can you tell me who are Joe’s associates in Washington?”
His wife stirred uneasily. “Do you mean men or girls?”
“Both.”
“Pauline’s friends and mine are his associates,” with an abruptness equal to his own.
“Are you quite sure, Augusta?” She changed color under the peculiar emphasis of his voice.
“Quite; Joe has been most exemplary in his behavior,” she saw a further question trembling on his lips and forestalled it. “You are never fair to Joe; you take everyone’s word against his. Joe has the making of a splendid man if you didn’t hector him so continuously. Give the boy a chance.”
“I have spent years doing it,” Calhoun-Cooper sighed. “Unfortunately Augusta, what you term a ‘chance’ and I term an ‘opportunity’ are not synonymous.”
“Your ‘opportunity’ spells work, I presume,” and his wife frowned. “You never recollect Joe’s delicate lungs.”
“Delicate fiddlesticks!” interrupted her exasperated husband. “Too much smoking....”
“There you go again,” the ready tears filled Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s eyes. “Believing tales because you want to....”
“Nothing of the sort.”
“Then you must be fairer in your treatment of Joe,” protested his wife. “Joe takes after my family, and instead of inheriting your robust health, has our constitutional delicacy.”
Calhoun-Cooper glanced with some grimness mixed with amusement, at his wife’s large frame and substantial weight. “Too bad the tendency in your family, when it skipped your generation, didn’t crop out in Pauline,” he commented slowly. “I would like a detailed answer to my question, Augusta. Who are Joe’s particular associates?”
“Let me see; Duncan Fordyce and his sister, the Warren girls, Jimmie Painter, and Carroll Logan”—she paused reflectively.
“Ever hear of a Miss Kathryn Allen?” asked her husband.
“Kathryn Allen? Wasn’t she Joe’s nurse at Garfield....”
“So I have heard,” dryly. “I am told the friendship between them has—increased.”
“Is Pauline your informant?” demanded his wife, but he pretended not to hear, and she continued hurriedly, “Whatever you hear in that quarter is exaggerated nonsense. Far from spending his time with women, Joe is usually with Chichester Barnard and his other men friends.”
“I haven’t seen Captain Nichols here lately,” Calhoun-Cooper tore a fragment of a letter into long pieces and tossed them into the scrap basket. “Do you know why he has stopped coming to see us?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” answered his wife candidly. “Unless Pauline has—has not encouraged his attentions.”
“I did not know——” he broke off abruptly. “Tell me, Augusta, have you been supplying Joe with money lately?”
“I? Oh, dear no,” but her eyes fell before his, and his face grew graver. “What made you think such a thing?”
“It has happened before,” dryly. “I shall be exceedingly displeased if you are giving Joe money. I cut down his allowance with very good reason.”
“I believe you actually begrudge Joe money,” she put in passionately. “For shame, as wealthy as you are——”
“It is not a matter of wealth, but of principle,” sternly. “Under the plea of his supposed constitutional lung weakness you have over-indulged Joe.It’s greatly my fault,” as his wife’s sobs increased. “I gave too much time to my business and trusted to incompetent tutors. Joe has two more years to toe the mark, and in that time his character must be formed, otherwise he will go to the bad utterly. I hope you have never disobeyed my injunction against informing him of his prospective inheritance by the terms of my father’s will?”
“Do you take me for a fool?” she asked sharply, and changed the subject. “I must say, John, your father was very remiss not to leave a like amount to Pauline, she bitterly resents Joe’s getting all that money.”
“So you have told Pauline?” Her husband’s eyes kindled in wrath. “Well, upon my word! Will you never learn discretion?”
Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper promptly took refuge behind more tears, a bulwark which usually never failed her; but her husband was too indignant to pay heed to her emotion, and continued sternly: “I trust you informed Pauline that I would amply provide for her?” renewed sobbing was his only reply. “I have told you before, Augusta, that I do not approve of the partiality you show Joe; it is most unfair to Pauline, and causes constant dissension and unhappiness. It must stop.”
“I’m sure I grant Pauline’s every wish,” exclaimed his wife, much aggrieved. “She has her own way, and plenty of clothes, jewels——”
“Speaking of jewels,” broke in Calhoun-Cooper. “What has become of the emerald and diamondbracelet, which formerly belonged to my mother, the one I gave Pauline on her coming out? I haven’t seen her wear it lately?”
His wife gulped back a sob, and wiped her eyes with a damp handkerchief. She also had missed the bracelet, and she had last seen it in Joe’s hand, Pauline having carelessly left it on her mother’s dressing table the night of their large dinner dance. Joe had admitted its beauty just before he went downstairs to assist his sister in welcoming their guests.
“I—I—it’s at Galt’s being mended,” she stuttered; giving her husband the same excuse for its disappearance which she had made to Pauline. “I discovered some of the stones were loose.”
Calhoun-Cooper contemplated her rapidly crimsoning face with misgiving. “Did you take the bracelet to Galt’s?”
“Of course. I’ll stop in and get it tomorrow,” she rose precipitously. “How time flies! It’s after three; I have barely time to get to the informal musicale Mrs. Fordyce is giving at four o’clock.”
“Do you and Pauline see much of Marjorie Langdon?”
“Not more than we can help,” snapped his wife, her temper getting the upper hand. “Neither Pauline nor I trust her——”
“Trust her? Exactly what do you mean by that term?”
Startled by the curtness of his tone, Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper stopped on her way to the door. “We feelthat Marjorie Langdon is jealous of Pauline’s friendship with Janet Fordyce, and is prejudicing her against us. I’ll tell you more about our suspicion later, John; I must hurry now. Oh, dear, I don’t believe I’m presentable!” getting a glimpse of her tear-stained face in the mirror, and turning she hastened from the room.
Calhoun-Cooper remained for some time at his desk; then, after consulting the telephone book, he rose, and giving a few directions to the butler, left the house and made his way to Madame Yvonett’s residence.
Earlier in the afternoon Tom Nichols had left Fort Myer intending to call on Janet. Since his interview with Duncan two days before, he had received no message from Janet. In very desperation he had placed the bracelet in a box containing a bunch of violets and left it with the Fordyce butler the previous afternoon. Perkins had solemnly promised to give the box to Janet on her return, and with a lighter heart, Tom had returned to Fort Myer, fully expecting that Janet would call him up on the telephone. But she never did so. While deeply wounded by her silence, his longing to see her had finally conquered, and he motored to Washington that Sunday afternoon intent on demanding an explanation.
On approaching the Fordyce residence he noticed a number of motors and carriages driving up to the door, and thinking some entertainment was going on, he promptly turned his car about and made for hiscousin’s house in Thirteenth Street. Madame Yvonett would probably be able to give him news of Janet. On his arrival, to his great disgust, he found the Quakeress with a room full of callers, and it was fully an hour before they departed and he had her to himself.
“Draw up thy chair, Thomas,” directed Madame Yvonett. “Where has thee been keeping thyself since Christmas?”
“Mostly at Myer. I’ve called you up on the telephone, Cousin Yvonett, several times to ask how you were.”
“So Rebekah has told me, and I appreciate the trouble thee has taken. Will thee let me refill thy cup?”
“No more, thank you,” setting down his empty teacup. “How is Marjorie?”
“Very busy just now; thee sees the season is in full swing, and she has little opportunity to come in, but I talk with her every day on the telephone.”
“Have you seen Janet Fordyce recently,” with elaborate carelessness, helping himself to a pretzel.
“She was here but yesterday, and inquired particularly——” Madame Yvonett stopped speaking as Minerva pulled back the hall portière and Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper walked into the room.
“I fear you do not recall me, Madame Yvonett,” he said, as the Quakeress rose. “I am John Cooper, and I had the pleasure of calling upon you and your husband with my father years ago in Paris.”
“Thee does my memory an injustice, FriendCooper,” exclaimed Madame Yvonett cordially. “I have a very agreeable recollection of thy father and thyself. But I admit thee has changed somewhat in appearance since those days. Does thee know my cousin, Thomas Nichols?”
“Oh, yes, the Captain and I are old acquaintances,” shaking hands with Tom as he spoke. “What has become of you lately? My wife and Pauline tell me you have not been near them.”
“My duties at Myer have increased recently; courts-martial, and all that,” answered Tom, slightly embarrassed by the direct question. He had heard nothing further of his lost coin, and more than ever convinced that Joe had stolen it, he had kept away from the Calhoun-Coopers, disliking to accept their hospitality under the circumstances. “I hope your wife and daughter are both well,” he added hastily.
“Very well, thanks.” Calhoun-Cooper sat down near Madame Yvonett, and declining the cup of tea offered him, began speaking of Paris, and the Quakeress, enchanted at the allusion to the city and life she had loved so well, recounted amusing experiences of her sojourn in the French capital.
Tom took but little part in the conversation, and fidgeted uneasily. He was determined to find out from Madame Yvonett all that she could tell him about Janet, and waited with increasing impatience for Calhoun-Cooper to take his departure. But he found out-sitting the Representative a harder tax on his nervous system than he had bargained for.
“Thee brings back happy memories,” saidMadame Yvonett, with a half-sigh. “Must thee go?” as Calhoun-Cooper stood up, “I have enjoyed thy visit, friend; and if thee has an idle hour thee must come again.”
“I will,” promised Calhoun-Cooper, shaking hands warmly; then turning to the expectant Tom, he asked; “Walk uptown with me, Nichols, I am anxious to have a word with you.”
Tom’s face fell, and he was about to explain that he was obliged to return almost immediately to Fort Myer when Madame Yvonett answered for him.
“Go with Friend Cooper, Thomas,” she said, “and return and have supper with me.”
“Thanks, Cousin Yvonett, I will. I only hesitated, sir,” addressing Calhoun-Cooper, “because I am not walking; but I’ll be very happy to take you home in my car.”
It was the Representative’s turn to hesitate. “Suppose you leave me at the club instead,” he said finally. “Good night, Madame Yvonett.”
“Good night, friend,” the Quakeress accompanied the two men to her front door. “Do not forget thee must come again soon.”
“I certainly will,” and raising his hat, Calhoun-Cooper stepped into the motor. He watched Madame Yvonett until she closed the door. “A gentlewoman of the old school, Nichols,” he commented softly. “Cultured, brilliant, kindly——”
“She is that and then some,” exclaimed Tom enthusiastically. “Cousin Yvonett is a brick.”
Calhoun-Cooper smiled. “Hardly the expressionI should have selected, but perhaps it covers my meaning.” He said no more until the car drew up before his club. “Come in with me, Nichols, I am anxious to have an uninterrupted talk with you. I will detain you but a few minutes.”
Barely waiting for Tom’s assent, he strode into the club and led the way to a small unoccupied room and carefully closed the door. Tom took the chair pushed toward him, and waited with some uneasiness for his companion to explain why he wished to see him. He wondered if Calhoun-Cooper had heard of some of Joe’s Washington escapades, and if he was to be catechised on the subject.
“Miss Marjorie Langdon is your cousin, is she not?” asked Calhoun-Cooper, breaking the silence.
“Yes; my second cousin, to be exact.”
“Can you tell me where she procured the emerald and diamond bracelet which she pledged with the Justice of the Peace at Hyattsville...?”
“Can I what?” exclaimed Tom, in profound astonishment.
Calhoun-Cooper repeated the question.
“May I ask what earthly business it is of yours?” demanded Tom.
“The bracelet happens to belong to my daughter, Pauline,” was the calm reply.
Hardly able to believe his ears, Tom sat back in his chair and glared at Calhoun-Cooper.
“I was motoring down from Baltimore Christmas afternoon, and was arrested for speeding just after your release,” continued the Representative,receiving no response from his dumfounded companion. “While paying my fine I saw and recognized Pauline’s bracelet lying on the desk before the Justice of the Peace. He informed me it had been left there by Miss Marjorie Langdon.” Tom’s convulsive start was not lost on Calhoun-Cooper. “Will you kindly tell me how your cousin obtained possession of my daughter’s bracelet?”
Tom stared stupidly at his questioner. “You’re cra—crazy,” he stuttered. “My cou—cousin left her—left her own bracelet with the Justice.”
“She did no such thing,” shortly. “I examined the bracelet carefully; it belonged to my mother before I gave it to my daughter, and her initials, my father’s, and the date of the wedding are engraved on the inside of the bracelet. There was no possibility of my being mistaken. Did you redeem the bracelet?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see it?” holding out his hand.
“I can’t; I’ve returned it....”
“In that case,” slowly, “suppose we ask Miss Langdon for it.”
Tom squirmed in his seat. Ask Marjorie? Then indeed the fat would be in the fire, and his promise to Janet to keep her presence at Hyattsville a profound secret would be broken. Marjorie would undoubtedly declare she had not been with him at Hyattsville.
“You must be mistaken about the bracelet, sir,” he protested vehemently. “Call up and ask your daughter if she hasn’t her own.”
“I asked her this morning, and she informed me it was not in her possession.”
Tom turned white. What the devil was the man driving at? Itmustbe Janet’s bracelet; she would have been wearing none but her own that afternoon. A wealthy girl did not deck herself out in other people’s jewelry.
“I intended seeing you before this, Nichols,” continued Calhoun-Cooper, after an appreciable pause. “But I have been exceedingly busy for the past four days, and have had no opportunity to take up the matter of the bracelet until today. I not only prize the piece of jewelry for its association and money value, but I am determined to find outhowthat bracelet got out of my daughter’s possession.”
“What did your bracelet look like?”
Quickly Calhoun-Cooper told him, and Tom’s heart sank; it was an accurate description of the one Janet had pledged with the Justice and he had later redeemed.
“Do you recognize it?” demanded the Representative, and Tom nodded a reluctant assent.
“They sound the same,” he acknowledged cautiously. “But stranger coincidences have been known. Perhaps your daughter was also motoring on the Bladensburg Pike that afternoon.”
“Don’t be a fool!” retorted Calhoun-Cooper roughly. “That bracelet was stolen....”
“D—mn you!” Tom sprang for the other’s throat.
“Take your hands off me!” thundered Calhoun-Cooper, struggling to free himself.
“I’ll make you eat those words first,” and Tom’s grasp tightened.
“I didn’t say your cousin stole the bracelet,” panted the other. “Have a little sense.”
Slowly Tom released him, and the Representative straightened his rumpled collar and tie.
“Suppose you explain exactly what you are driving at,” said Tom, resuming his seat.
Calhoun-Cooper did not reply at once. “I went to Madame Yvonett’s intending to question her....”
“Good Lord!” broke in Tom.
“But on seeing that dear old Quakeress I couldn’t do it,” admitted Calhoun-Cooper. “I’m a great believer in caste, Nichols; no niece of Madame Yvonett’s will go wrong. Ask Marjorie Langdon to tell you the truth about that bracelet, and I will believe every word she says.”
“Thanks,” mumbled Tom, at a loss for a longer answer.
“I will let you speak to Miss Langdon; she’ll probably confide the whole matter to you,” added Calhoun-Cooper, rising, and Tom followed his example. “But remember, if I don’t get that bracelet back in two days with an adequate explanation, I’ll go to Miss Langdon myself, and if necessary—to the police.”
“That threat is not necessary,” exclaimed Tom, his anger rising. “And speaking of making criminal investigations, sir; hadn’t you better watch a member of your own family?”
Calhoun-Cooper recoiled, and before he could recover from the emotion that mastered him, Tom was out of the club and into his roadster. As the car shot away into the darkness, Tom laid his head wearily on the steering wheel.
“In God’s name,” he mumbled, “how can I question the girl I adore as to how a piece of jewelry came into her possession?”