Chapter 1 The Panel Of Light
The lids of the girl's eyes lifted slowly, and she stared at thepanel of light in the wall. Just at the outset, the act ofseeing made not the least impression on her numbed brain. For along time she continued to regard the dim illumination in thewall with the same passive fixity of gaze. Apathy still lay uponher crushed spirit. In a vague way, she realized her owninertness, and rested in it gratefully, subtly fearful lest sheagain arouse to the full horror of her plight. In a curioussubconscious fashion, she was striving to hold on to thisdeadness of sensation, thus to win a little respite from thetorture that had exhausted her soul.
　　Of a sudden, her eyes noted the black lines that lay across thepanel of light. And, in that instant, her spirit was quickenedonce again. The clouds lifted from her brain. Vision was clearnow. Understanding seized the full import of this hideous thingon which she looked.... For the panel of light was a window, sethigh within a wall of stone. The rigid lines of black thatcrossed it were bars--prison bars. It was still true, then: Shewas in a cell of the Tombs.
　　The girl, crouching miserably on the narrow bed, maintained herfixed watching of the window--that window which was a symbol ofher utter despair. Again, agony wrenched within her. She didnot weep: long ago she had exhausted the relief of tears. Shedid not pace to and fro in the comfort of physical movement withwhich the caged beast finds a mocking imitation of liberty: longago, her physical vigors had been drained under stress ofanguish. Now, she was well-nigh incapable of any bodilyactivity. There came not even so much as the feeblest moan fromher lips. The torment was far too racking for such futilefashion of lamentation. She merely sat there in a posture ofcollapse. To all outward seeming, nerveless, emotionless, anabject creature. Even the eyes, which held so fixedly their gazeon the window, were quite expressionless. Over them lay a film,like that which veils the eyes of some dead thing. Only anoccasional languid motion of the lids revealed the life thatremained.
　　So still the body. Within the soul, fury raged uncontrolled.
　　For all the desolate calm of outer seeming, the tragedy of herfate was being acted with frightful vividness there in memory.
　　In that dreadful remembrance, her spirit was rent asunder anew byrealization of that which had become her portion.... It was then,as once again the horrible injustice of her fate rackedconsciousness with its tortures, that the seeds of revolt wereimplanted in her heart. The thought of revenge gave to her thefirst meager gleam of comfort that had lightened her moodsthrough many miserable days and nights. Those seeds of revoltwere to be nourished well, were to grow into their flower--apoison flower, developed through the three years of convict lifeto which the judge had sentenced her.
　　The girl was appalled by the mercilessness of a destiny that hadso outraged right. She was wholly innocent of having done anywrong. She had struggled through years of privation to keepherself clean and wholesome, worthy of those gentlefolk from whomshe drew her blood. And earnest effort had ended at last underan overwhelming accusation--false, yet none the less fatal toher. This accusation, after soul-wearying delays, had culminatedto-day in conviction. The sentence of the court had been imposedupon her: that for three years she should be imprisoned.... This,despite her innocence. She had endured much--miserablymuch!--for honesty's sake. There wrought the irony of fate. Shehad endured bravely for honesty's sake. And the end of it allwas shame unutterable. There was nought left her save a wilddream of revenge against the world that had martyrized her.
　　"Vengeance is mine. I will repay, saith the Lord."... Theadmonition could not touch her now. Why should she care for thedecrees of a God who had abandoned her!
　　There had been nothing in the life of Mary Turner, before thecatastrophe came, to distinguish it from many another. Its mostsignificant details were of a sordid kind, familiar to poverty.
　　Her father had been an unsuccessful man, as success is esteemedby this generation of Mammon-worshipers. He was a gentleman, butthe trivial fact is of small avail to-day. He was of good birth,and he was the possessor of an inherited competence. He had, aswell, intelligence, but it was not of a financial sort.
　　So, little by little, his fortune became shrunken towardnothingness, by reason of injudicious investments. He married acharming woman, who, after a brief period of wedded happiness,gave her life to the birth of the single child of the union,Mary. Afterward, in his distress over this loss, Ray Turnerseemed even more incompetent for the management of businessaffairs. As the years passed, the daughter grew toward maturityin an experience of ever-increasing penury. Nevertheless, therewas no actual want of the necessities of life, though always awoful lack of its elegancies. The girl was in the high-school,when her father finally gave over his rather feeble effort ofliving. Between parent and child, the intimacy had been unusuallyclose. At his death, the father left her a character wellinstructed in the excellent principles that had been his own.
　　That was his sole legacy to her. Of worldly goods, not the valueof a pin.
　　Yet, measured according to the stern standards of adversity, Marywas fortunate. Almost at once, she procured a humble employmentin the Emporium, the great department store owned by EdwardGilder. To be sure, the wage was infinitesimal, while the toilwas body-breaking soul-breaking. Still, the pittance could bemade to sustain life, and Mary was blessed with both soul andbody to sustain much. So she merged herself in the army ofworkers--in the vast battalion of those that give their entireselves to a labor most stern and unremitting, and most illrewarded.
　　Mary, nevertheless, avoided the worst perils of her lot. She didnot flinch under privation, but went her way through it, if notserenely, at least without ever a thought of yielding to thosetemptations that beset a girl who is at once poor and charming.
　　Fortunately for her, those in closest authority over her were notso deeply smitten as to make obligatory on her a choice betweencomplaisance and loss of position. She knew of situations likethat, the cul-de-sac of chastity, worse than any devised by aJavert. In the store, such things were matters of course. Thereis little innocence for the girl in the modern city. There canbe none for the worker thrown into the storm-center of a greatcommercial activity, humming with vicious gossip, all alive withquips from the worldly wise. At the very outset of heremployment, the sixteen-year-old girl learned that she might ekeout the six dollars weekly by trading on her personalattractiveness to those of the opposite sex. The idea wasrepugnant to her; not only from the maidenly instinct of purity,but also from the moral principles woven into her character bythe teachings of a father wise in most things, though a fool infinance. Thus, she remained unsmirched, though well informed asto the verities of life. She preferred purity and penury, ratherthan a slight pampering of the body to be bought by itsdegradation. Among her fellows were some like herself; others,unlike. Of her own sort, in this single particular, were the twogirls with whom she shared a cheap room. Their common decency inattitude toward the other sex was the unique bond of union. Intheir association, she found no real companionship. Nevertheless,they were wholesome enough. Otherwise they were illiterate,altogether uncongenial.
　　In such wise, through five dreary years, Mary Turner lived. Ninehours daily, she stood behind a counter. She spent her otherwaking hours in obligatory menial labors: cooking her own scantmeals over the gas; washing and ironing, for the sake of thatneat appearance which was required of her by those in authorityat the Emporium--yet, more especially, necessary for her ownself-respect. With a mind keen and earnest, she contrived somesolace from reading and studying, since the free library gave herthis opportunity. So, though engaged in stultifying occupationthrough most of her hours, she was able to find food for mentalgrowth. Even, in the last year, she had reached a point ofdevelopment whereat she began to study seriously her own positionin the world's economy, to meditate on a method of bettering it.
　　Under this impulse, hope mounted high in her heart. Ambition wasborn. By candid comparison of herself with others about her, sherealized the fact that she possessed an intelligence beyond theaverage. The training by her father, too, had been of a superiorkind. There was as well, at the back vaguely, the feeling ofparticular self-respect that belongs inevitably to the possessorof good blood. Finally, she demurely enjoyed a modestappreciation of her own physical advantages. In short, she hadbeauty, brains and breeding. Three things of chief importance toany woman--though there be many minds as to which may be chiefamong the three.
　　I have said nothing specific thus far as to the outer being ofMary Turner--except as to filmed eyes and a huddled form. But,in a happier situation, the girl were winning enough. Indeed,more! She was one of those that possess an harmonious beauty,with, too, the penetrant charm that springs from the mind, withthe added graces born of the spirit. Just now, as she sat, afigure of desolation, there on the bed in the Tombs cell, itwould have required a most analytical observer to determine theactualities of her loveliness. Her form was disguised by thedroop of exhaustion. Her complexion showed the pallor ofsorrowful vigils. Her face was no more than a mask of misery.
　　Yet, the shrewd observer, if a lover of beauty, might have foundmuch for delight, even despite the concealment imposed by herpresent condition. Thus, the stormy glory of her dark hair,great masses that ran a riot of shining ripples and waves. Andthe straight line of the nose, not too thin, yet fine enough forthe rapture of a Praxiteles. And the pink daintiness of theear-tips, which peered warmly from beneath the pall of tresses.
　　One could know nothing accurately of the complexion now. But itwere easy to guess that in happier places it would show of apurity to entice, with a gentle blooming of roses in the cheeks.
　　Even in this hour of unmitigated evil, the lips revealed acurving beauty of red--not quite crimson, though near enough forthe word; not quite scarlet either; only, a red gentlyenchanting, which turned one's thoughts toward tenderness--with ahint of desire. It was, too, a generous mouth, not too large;still, happily, not so small as those modeled by Watteau. It wasaltogether winsome--more, it was generous and true, desirable forkisses--yes!--more desirable for strength and for faith.
　　Like every intelligent woman, Mary had taken the trouble toreinforce the worth of her physical attractiveness. The instinctof sex was strong in her, as it must be in every normal woman,since that appeal is nature's law. She kept herself supple andsvelte by many exercises, at which her companions in the chamberscoffed, with the prudent warning that more work must mean moreappetite. With arms still aching from the lifting of heavy boltsof cloth to and fro from the shelves, she nevertheless was atpains nightly to brush with the appointed two hundred strokes thethick masses of her hair. Even here, in the sordid desolation ofthe cell, the lustrous sheen witnessed the fidelity of her care.
　　So, in each detail of her, the keen observer might have foundadequate reason for admiration. There was the delicacy of thehands, with fingers tapering, with nails perfectly shaped,neither too dull nor too shining. And there were, too, finally,the trimly shod feet, set rather primly on the floor, small, andarched like those of a Spanish Infanta. In truth, Mary Turnershowed the possibilities at least, if not just now the realities,of a very beautiful woman.
　　Naturally, in this period of grief, the girl's mind had noconcern with such external merits over which once she hadmodestly exulted. All her present energies were set to preciserecollection of the ghastly experience into which she had beenthrust.
　　In its outline, the event had been tragically simple.
　　There had been thefts in the store. They had been tracedeventually to a certain department, that in which Mary worked.
　　The detective was alert. Some valuable silks were missed.
　　Search followed immediately. The goods were found in Mary'slocker. That was enough. She was charged with the theft. Sheprotested innocence--only to be laughed at in derision by heraccusers. Every thief declares innocence. Mr. Gilder himself wasemphatic against her. The thieving had been long continued. Anexample must be made. The girl was arrested.
　　The crowded condition of the court calendar kept her for threemonths in the Tombs, awaiting trial. She was quite friendless.
　　To the world, she was only a thief in duress. At the last, thetrial was very short. Her lawyer was merely an unfledgedpractitioner assigned to her defense as a formality of the court.
　　This novice in his profession was so grateful for the firstrecognition ever afforded him that he rather assisted thanotherwise the District Attorney in the prosecution of the case.
　　At the end, twelve good men and true rendered a verdict of guiltyagainst the shuddering girl in the prisoner's dock.
　　So simple the history of Mary Turner's trial.... The sentence ofthe judge was lenient--only three years!
Chapter 2 A Cheerful Prodigal
That which was the supreme tragedy to the broken girl in the cellmerely afforded rather agreeable entertainment to her formerfellows of the department store. Mary Turner throughout her termof service there had been without real intimates, so that nownone was ready to mourn over her fate. Even the two room-mateshad felt some slight offense, since they sensed the superiorityof her, though vaguely. Now, they found a smug satisfaction inthe fact of her disaster as emphasizing very pleasurably theirown continuance in respectability.
　　As many a philosopher has observed, we secretly enjoy themisfortunes of others, particularly of our friends, since theyare closest to us. Most persons hasten to deny this truth in itsapplication to themselves. They do so either because from lack ofclear understanding they are not quite honest with themselves,from lack of clear introspection, or because, as may be moreeasily believed, they are not quite honest in the assertion. As amatter of fact, we do find a singular satisfaction in thetroubles of others. Contemplation of such suffering renders morestriking the contrasted well-being of our own lot. We need thepains of others to serve as background for our joys--just as sinis essential as the background for any appreciation of virtue,even any knowledge of its existence.... So now, on the day ofMary Turner's trial, there was a subtle gaiety of gossipings toand fro through the store. The girl's plight was like ashuttlecock driven hither and yon by the battledores of manytongues. It was the first time in many years that one of theemployees had been thus accused of theft. Shoplifters were socommon as to be a stale topic. There was a refreshing novelty inthis case, where one of themselves was the culprit. Her fellowworkers chatted desultorily of her as they had opportunity, andcomplacently thanked their gods that they were not as she--withreason. Perhaps, a very few were kindly hearted enough to feel atouch of sympathy for this ruin of a life.
　　Of such was Smithson, a member of the executive staff, who didnot hesitate to speak his mind, though none too forcibly. As forthat, Smithson, while the possessor of a dignity nourished byyears of floor-walking, was not given to the holding of vigorousopinions. Yet, his comment, meager as it was, stood wholly inMary's favor. And he spoke with a certain authority, since hehad given official attention to the girl.
　　Smithson stopped Sarah Edwards, Mr. Gilder's private secretary,as she was passing through one of the departments that morning,to ask her if the owner had yet reached his office.
　　"Been and gone," was the secretary's answer, with the tersenesscharacteristic of her.
　　"Gone!" Smithson repeated, evidently somewhat disturbed by theinformation. "I particularly wanted to see him.""He'll be back, all right," Sarah vouchsafed, amiably. "He wentdown-town, to the Court of General Sessions. The judge sent forhim about the Mary Turner case.""Oh, yes, I remember now," Smithson exclaimed. Then he added,with a trace of genuine feeling, "I hope the poor girl gets off.
　　She was a nice girl--quite the lady, you know, Miss Edwards.""No, I don't know," Sarah rejoined, a bit tartly. Truth to tell,the secretary was haunted by a grim suspicion that she herselfwas not quite the lady of her dreams, and never would be able toacquire the graces of the Vere De Vere. For Sarah, while a mostefficient secretary, was not in her person of that slenderelegance which always characterized her favorite heroines in thenovels she affected. On the contrary, she was of a sort to havegratified Byron, who declared that a woman in her maturity shouldbe plump. Now, she recalled with a twinge of envy that theaccused girl had been of an aristocratic slimness of form. "Oh,did you know her?" she questioned, without any real interest.
　　Smithson answered with that bland stateliness of manner which wasthe fruit of floor-walking politeness.
　　"Well, I couldn't exactly say I knew her, and yet I might say,after a manner of speaking, that I did--to a certain extent. Yousee, they put her in my department when she first came here towork. She was a good saleswoman, as saleswomen go. For thematter of that," he added with a sudden access of energy, "shewas the last girl in the world I'd take for a thief." Hedisplayed some evidences of embarrassment over the honest feelinginto which he had been betrayed, and made haste to recover hisusual business manner, as he continued formally. "Will youplease let me know when Mr. Gilder arrives? There are one or twolittle matters I wish to discuss with him.""All right!" Sarah agreed briskly, and she hurried on toward theprivate office.
　　The secretary was barely seated at her desk when the violentopening of the door startled her, and, as she looked up, a cheeryvoice cried out:
　　"Hello, Dad!"At the same moment, a young man entered, with an air of care-freeassurance, his face radiant. But, as his glance went to theempty arm-chair at the desk, he halted abruptly, and hisexpression changed to one of disappointment.
　　"Not here!" he grumbled. Then, once again the smile was on hislips as his eyes fell on the secretary, who had now risen to herfeet in a flutter of excitement.
　　"Why, Mr. Dick!" Sarah gasped.
　　"Hello, Sadie!" came the genial salutation. The young manadvanced and shook hands with her warmly. "I'm home again.
　　Where's Dad?"Even as he asked the question, the quick sobering of his facebore witness to his disappointment over not finding his father inthe office. For such was the relationship of the owner of thedepartment store to this new arrival on the scene. And in thepatent chagrin under which the son now labored was to be found acertain indication of character not to be disregarded. Unlikemany a child, he really loved his father. The death of themother years before had left him without other opportunity foraffection in the home, since he had neither brother nor sister.
　　He loved his father with a depth of feeling that made between thetwo a real camaraderie, despite great differences in temperament.
　　In that simple and sincere regard which he bore for his father,the boy revealed a heart ready for love, willing to give ofitself its best for the one beloved. Beyond that, as yet, therewas little to be said of him with exactness. He was a spoiledchild of fortune, if you wish to have it so. Certainly, he wasonly a drone in the world's hive. Thus far, he had enjoyed thegood things of life, without ever doing aught to deserve them bycontributing in return--save by his smiles and his genial air ofhappiness.
　　In the twenty-three years of his life, every gift that moneycould lavish had been his. If the sum total of benefit wassmall, at least there remained the consoling fact that the harmwas even less. Luxury had not sapped the strength of him. Hehad not grown vicious, as have so many of his fellows among thesons of the rich. Some instinct held him aloof from the grosservices. His were the trifling faults that had their originchiefly in the joy of life, which manifest occasionally inriotous extravagancies, of a sort actually to harm none, howeverabsurd and useless they may be.
　　So much one might see by a glance into the face. He was wellgroomed, of course; healthy, all a-tingle with vitality. And inthe clear eyes, which avoided no man's gaze, nor sought anywoman's unseemly, there showed a soul untainted, not yetdeveloped, not yet debased. Through all his days, Dick Gilder hadwalked gladly, in the content that springs to the call of onepossessed of a capacity for enjoyment; possessed, too, of everymeans for the gratification of desire. As yet, the man of himwas unrevealed in its integrity. No test had been put upon him.
　　The fires of suffering had not tried the dross of him. What realworth might lie under this sunny surface the future mustdetermine. There showed now only this one significant fact:
　　that, in the first moment of his return from journeyings abroad,he sought his father with all eagerness, and was sorely grievedbecause the meeting must still be delayed. It was a littlething, perhaps. Yet, it was capable of meaning much concerningthe nature of the lad. It revealed surely a tender heart, oneresponsive to a pure love. And to one of his class, there aremany forces ever present to atrophy such simple, wholesome powerof loving. The ability to love cleanly and absolutely is thesupreme virtue.
　　Sarah explained that Mr. Gilder had been called to the Court ofGeneral Sessions by the judge.
　　Dick interrupted her with a gust of laughter.
　　"What's Dad been doing now?" he demanded, his eyes twinkling.
　　Then, a reminiscent grin shaped itself on his lips. "Rememberthe time that fresh cop arrested him for speeding? Wasn't hewild? I thought he would have the whole police forcedischarged." He smiled again. "The trouble is," he declaredsedately, "that sort of thing requires practice. Now, when I'marrested for speeding, I'm not in the least flustered--oh, not alittle bit! But poor Dad! That one experience of his almostsoured his whole life. It was near the death of him--also, ofthe city's finest."By this time, the secretary had regained her usual poise, whichhad been somewhat disturbed by the irruption of the young man.
　　Her round face shone delightedly as she regarded him. There wasa maternal note of rebuke in her voice as she spoke:
　　"Why, we didn't expect you back for two or three months yet."Once again, Dick laughed, with an infectious gaiety that broughta smile of response to the secretary's lips.
　　"Sadie," he explained confidentially, "don't you dare ever to letthe old man know. He would be all swollen up. It's bad to let aparent swell up. But the truth is, Sadie, I got kind of homesickfor Dad--yes, just that!" He spoke the words with a sort ofshamefaced wonder. It is not easy for an Anglo-Saxon to confessthe realities of affection in vital intimacies. He repeated thephrase in a curiously appreciative hesitation, as one astoundedby his own emotion. "Yes, homesick for Dad!"Then, to cover an excess of sincere feeling, he continued, with aburst of laughter:
　　"Besides, Sadie, I was broke."The secretary sniffed.
　　"The cable would have handled that end of it, I guess," she said,succinctly.
　　There was no word of contradiction from Dick, who, from ampleexperience, knew that any demand for funds would have receivedanswer from the father.
　　"But what is Dad doing in court?" he demanded.
　　Sarah explained the matter with her usual conciseness:
　　"One of the girls was arrested for stealing."The nature of the son was shown then clearly in one of its bestaspects. At once, he exhibited his instinct toward the qualityof mercy, and, too, his trust in the father whom he loved, by hiseager comment.
　　"And Dad went to court to get her out of the scrape. That's justlike the old man!"Sarah, however, showed no hint of enthusiasm. Her mind was everof the prosaic sort, little prone to flights. In that prosaicquality, was to be found the explanation of her dependability asa private secretary. So, now, she merely made a terse statement.
　　"She was tried to-day, and convicted. The judge sent for Mr.
　　Gilder to come down this morning and have a talk with him aboutthe sentence."There was no lessening of the expression of certainty on theyoung man's face. He loved his father, and he trusted where heloved.
　　"It will be all right," he declared, in a tone of entireconviction. "Dad's heart is as big as a barrel. He'll get heroff."Then, of a sudden, Dick gave a violent start. He added aconvincing groan.
　　"Oh, Lord!" he exclaimed, dismally. There was shame in hisvoice. "I forgot all about it!"The secretary regarded him with an expression of amazement.
　　"All about what?" she questioned.
　　Dick assumed an air vastly more confidential than at any timehitherto. He leaned toward the secretary's desk, and spoke witha new seriousness of manner:
　　"Sadie, have you any money? I'm broker My taxi' has been waitingoutside all this time.""Why, yes," the secretary said, cheerfully. "If you will----"Dick was discreet enough to turn his attention to a picture onthe wall opposite while Sarah went through those acrobaticperformances obligatory on women who take no chances of losingmoney by carrying it in purses.
　　"There!" she called after a few panting seconds, and exhibited aflushed face.
　　Dick turned eagerly and seized the banknote offered him.
　　"Mighty much obliged, Sadie," he said, enthusiastically. "But Imust run. Otherwise, this wouldn't be enough for the fare!" And,so saying, he darted out of the room.
Chapter 3 Only Three Years
When, at last, the owner of the store entered the office, hisface showed extreme irritation. He did not vouchsafe anygreeting to the secretary, who regarded him with an accurateperception of his mood. With a diplomacy born of longexperience, in her first speech Sarah afforded an agreeablediversion to her employer's line of thought.
　　"Mr. Hastings, of the Empire store, called you up, Mr. Gilder,and asked me to let him know when you returned. Shall I get himon the wire?"The man's face lightened instantly, and there was even thebeginning of a smile on his lips as he seated himself at thegreat mahogany desk.
　　"Yes, yes!" he exclaimed, with evident enthusiasm. The smile grewin the short interval before the connection was made. When,finally, he addressed his friend over the telephone, his toneswere of the cheerfulest.
　　"Oh, good morning. Yes, certainly. Four will suit meadmirably.... Sunday? Yes, if you like. We can go out afterchurch, and have luncheon at the country club." After listeninga moment, he laughed in a pleased fashion that had in it asuggestion of conscious superiority. "My dear fellow," hedeclared briskly, "you couldn't beat me in a thousand years.
　　Why, I made the eighteen holes in ninety-two only last week." Helaughed again at the answer over the wire, then hung up thereceiver and pushed the telephone aside, as he turned hisattention to the papers neatly arranged on the desk ready to hishand.
　　The curiosity of the secretary could not be longer delayed.
　　"What did they do with the Turner girl?" she inquired in anelaborately casual manner.
　　Gilder did not look up from the heap of papers, but answeredrather harshly, while once again his expression grew forbidding.
　　"I don't know--I couldn't wait," he said. He made a petulantgesture as he went on: "I don't see why Judge Lawlor bothered meabout the matter. He is the one to impose sentence, not I. I amhours behind with my work now."For a few minutes he gave himself up to the routine of business,distributing the correspondence and other various papers for theaction of subordinates, and speaking his orders occasionally tothe attentive secretary with a quickness and precision thatproclaimed the capable executive. The observer would haverealized at once that here was a man obviously fitted to thecontrol of large affairs. The ability that marches inevitably tosuccess showed unmistakably in the face and form, and in thefashion of speech. Edward Gilder was a big man physically,plainly the possessor of that abundant vital energy which is aprime requisite for achievement in the ordering of modernbusiness concerns. Force was, indeed, the dominant quality ofthe man. His tall figure was proportionately broad, and he washeavily fleshed. In fact, the body was too ponderous. Perhaps,in that characteristic might be found a clue to the chief faultin his nature. For he was ponderous, spiritually and mentally,as well as materially. The fact was displayed suggestively inthe face, which was too heavy with its prominent jowls andaggressive chin and rather bulbous nose. But there was nothingflabby anywhere. The ample features showed no trace of weakness,only a rude, abounding strength. There was no lighter touchanywhere. Evidently a just man according to his own ideas, yetnever one to temper justice with mercy. He appeared, and was, avery practical and most prosaic business man. He was not givento a humorous outlook on life. He took it and himself with theutmost seriousness. He was almost entirely lacking inimagination, that faculty which is essential to sympathy.
　　"Take this," he directed presently, when he had disposed of thematters before him. Forthwith, he dictated the following letter,and now his voice took on a more unctuous note, as of one who isappreciative of his own excellent generosity.
　　"THE EDITOR,"The New York Herald.
　　"DEAR SIR: Inclosed please find my check for a thousand dollarsfor your free-ice fund. It is going to be a very hard summer forthe poor, and I hope by thus starting the contributions for yourfine charity at this early day that you will be able toaccomplish even more good than usually.
　　"Very truly yours."He turned an inquiring glance toward Sarah.
　　"That's what I usually give, isn't it?"The secretary nodded energetically.
　　"Yes," she agreed in her brisk manner, "that's what you havegiven every year for the last ten years."The statement impressed Gilder pleasantly. His voice was moremellow as he made comment. His heavy face was radiant, and hesmiled complacently.
　　"Ten thousand dollars to this one charity alone!" he exclaimed.
　　"Well, it is pleasant to be able to help those less fortunatethan ourselves." He paused, evidently expectant of laudatorycorroboration from the secretary.
　　But Sarah, though she could be tactful enough on occasion, didnot choose to meet her employer's anticipations just now. Forthat matter, her intimate services permitted on her part somedegree of familiarity with the august head of the establishment.
　　Besides, she did not stand in awe of Gilder, as did the others inhis service. No man is a hero to his valet, or to his secretary.
　　Intimate association is hostile to hero-worship. So, now, Sarahspoke nonchalantly, to the indignation of the philanthropist:
　　"Oh, yes, sir. Specially when you make so much that you don'tmiss it."Gilder's thick gray brows drew down in a frown of displeasure,while his eyes opened slightly in sheer surprise over thesecretary's unexpected remark. He hesitated for only an instantbefore replying with an air of great dignity, in which was adistinct note of rebuke for the girl's presumption.
　　"The profits from my store are large, I admit, Sarah. But Ineither smuggle my goods, take rebates from railroads, conspireagainst small competitors, nor do any of the dishonest acts thatdisgrace other lines of business. So long as I make my profitshonestly, I am honestly entitled to them, no matter how big theyare."The secretary, being quite content with the havoc she had wroughtin her employer's complacency over his charitableness, nodded,and contented herself with a demure assent to his outburst.
　　"Yes, sir," she agreed, very meekly.
　　Gilder stared at her for a few seconds, somewhat indignantly.
　　Then, he bethought himself of a subtle form of rebuke byemphasizing his generosity.
　　"Have the cashier send my usual five hundred to the CharitiesOrganization Society," he ordered. With this new evidence of hisgenerous virtue, the frown passed from his brows. If, for afleeting moment, doubt had assailed him under the spur of thesecretary's words, that doubt had now vanished under his habitualconviction as to his sterling worth to the world at large.
　　It was, therefore, with his accustomed blandness of manner thathe presently acknowledged the greeting of George Demarest, thechief of the legal staff that looked after the firm's affairs.
　　He was aware without being told that the lawyer had called toacquaint him with the issue in the trial of Mary Turner.
　　"Well, Demarest?" he inquired, as the dapper attorney advancedinto the room at a rapid pace, and came to a halt facing thedesk, after a lively nod in the direction of the secretary.
　　The lawyer's face sobered, and his tone as he answered was tingedwith constraint.
　　"Judge Lawlor gave her three years," he replied, gravely. It wasplain from his manner that he did not altogether approve.
　　But Gilder was unaffected by the attorney's lack of satisfactionover the result. On the contrary, he smiled exultantly. Hisoritund voice took on a deeper note, as he turned toward thesecretary.
　　"Good!" he exclaimed. "Take this, Sarah." And he continued, asthe girl opened her notebook and poised the pencil: "Be sure tohave Smithson post a copy of it conspicuously in all the girls'
　　dressing-rooms, and in the reading-room, and in the lunch-rooms,and in the assembly-room." He cleared his throat ostentatiouslyand proceeded to the dictation of the notice:
　　"Mary Turner, formerly employed in this store, was to-daysentenced to prison for three years, having been convicted forthe theft of goods valued at over four hundred dollars. Themanagement wishes again to draw attention on the part of itsemployees to the fact that honesty is always the best policy....
　　Got that?""Yes, sir." The secretary's voice was mechanical, without anytrace of feeling. She was not minded to disturb her employer asecond time this morning by injudicious comment.
　　"Take it to Smithson," Gilder continued, "and tell him that Iwish him to attend to its being posted according to my directionsat once."Again, the girl made her formal response in the affirmative, thenleft the room.
　　Gilder brought forth a box of cigars from a drawer of the desk,opened it and thrust it toward the waiting lawyer, who, however,shook his head in refusal, and continued to move about the roomrather restlessly. Demarest paid no attention to the other'sinvitation to a seat, but the courtesy was perfunctory onGilder's part, and he hardly perceived the perturbation of hiscaller, for he was occupied in selecting and lighting a cigarwith the care of a connoisseur. Finally, he spoke again, and nowthere was an infinite contentment in the rich voice.
　　"Three years--three years! That ought to be a warning to the restof the girls." He looked toward Demarest for acquiescence.
　　The lawyer's brows were knit as he faced the proprietor of thestore.
　　"Funny thing, this case!" he ejaculated. "In some features, oneof the most unusual I have seen since I have been practicinglaw."The smug contentment abode still on Gilder's face as he puffed inleisurely ease on his cigar and uttered a trite condolence.
　　"Very sad!--quite so! Very sad case, I call it." Demarest wenton speaking, with a show of feeling: "Most unusual case, in myestimation. You see, the girl keeps on declaring her innocence.
　　That, of course, is common enough in a way. But here, it'sdifferent. The point is, somehow, she makes her protestationsmore convincing than they usually do. They ring true, as itseems to me."Gilder smiled tolerantly.
　　"They didn't ring very true to the jury, it would seem," heretorted. And his voice was tart as he added: "Nor to the judge,since he deemed it his duty to give her three years.""Some persons are not very sensitive to impressions in suchcases, I admit," Demarest returned, coolly. If he meant anysubtlety of allusion to his hearer, it failed wholly to piercethe armor of complacency.
　　"The stolen goods were found in her locker," Gilder declared in atone of finality. "Some of them, I have been given tounderstand, were actually in the pocket of her coat.""Well," the attorney said with a smile, "that sort of thing makesgood-enough circumstantial evidence, and without circumstantialevidence there would be few convictions for crime. Yet, as alawyer, I'm free to admit that circumstantial evidence alone isnever quite safe as proof of guilt. Naturally, she says some oneelse must have put the stolen goods there. As a matter of exactreasoning, that is quite within the measure of possibility. Thatsort of thing has been done countless times."Gilder sniffed indignantly.
　　"And for what reason?" he demanded. "It's too absurd to thinkabout.""In similar cases," the lawyer answered, "those actually guiltyof the thefts have thus sought to throw suspicion on the innocentin order to avoid it on themselves when the pursuit got too hoton their trail. Sometimes, too, such evidence has beenmanufactured merely to satisfy a spite against the one unjustlyaccused.""It's too absurd to think about," Gilder repeated, impatiently.
　　"The judge and the jury found no fault with the evidence."Demarest realized that this advocacy in behalf of the girl washardly fitting on the part of the legal representative of thestore she was supposed to have robbed, so he abruptly changed hisline of argument.
　　"She says that her record of five years in your employ ought tocount something in her favor."Gilder, however, was not disposed to be sympathetic as to amatter so flagrantly opposed to his interests.
　　"A court of justice has decreed her guilty," he asserted onceagain, in his ponderous manner. His emphasis indicated thatthere the affair ended.
　　Demarest smiled cynically as he strode to and fro.
　　"Nowadays," he shot out, "we don't call them courts of justice:
　　we call them courts of law."Gilder yielded only a rather dubious smile over the quip. Thismuch he felt that he could afford, since those same courts servedhis personal purposes well in deed.
　　"Anyway," he declared, becoming genial again, "it's out of ourhands. There's nothing we can do, now.""Why, as to that," the lawyer replied, with a hint of hesitation,"I am not so sure. You see, the fact of the matter is that,though I helped to prosecute the case, I am not a little bitproud of the verdict."Gilder raised his eyebrows in unfeigned astonishment. Even yet,he was quite without appreciation of the attorney's feeling inreference to the conduct of the case.
　　"Why?" he questioned, sharply.
　　"Because," the lawyer said, again halting directly before thedesk, "in spite of all the evidence against her, I am not surethat Mary Turner is guilty--far from it, in fact!"Gilder uttered an ejaculation of contempt, but Demarest went onresolutely.
　　"Anyhow," he explained, "the girl wants to see you, and I wish tourge you to grant her an interview."Gilder flared at this suggestion, and scowled wrathfully on thelawyer, who, perhaps with professional prudence, had turned awayin his rapid pacing of the room.
　　"What's the use?" Gilder stormed. A latent hardness revealeditself at the prospect of such a visitation. And along with thishardness came another singular revelation of the nature of theman. For there was consternation in his voice, as he continuedin vehement expostulation against the idea. If there washarshness in his attitude there was, too, a fugitive suggestionof tenderness alarmed over the prospect of undergoing such aninterview with a woman.
　　"I can't have her crying all over the office and begging formercy," he protested, truculently. But a note of fear lay underthe petulance.
　　Demarest's answer was given with assurance""You are mistaken about that. The girl doesn't beg for mercy.
　　In fact, that's the whole point of the matter. She demandsjustice--strange as that may seem, in a court of law!--andnothing else. The truth is, she's a very unusual girl, a longway beyond the ordinary sales-girl, both in brains and ineducation.""The less reason, then, for her being a thief," Gilder grumbledin his heaviest voice.
　　"And perhaps the less reason for believing her to be a thief,"the lawyer retorted, suavely. He paused for a moment, then wenton. There was a tone of sincere determination in his voice.
　　"Just before the judge imposed sentence, he asked her if she hadanything to say. You know, it's just a usual form--a thing thatrarely means much of anything. But this case was different, letme tell you. She surprised us all by answering at once that shehad. It's really a pity, Gilder, that you didn't wait. Why,that poor girl made a--damn--fine speech!"The lawyer's forensic aspirations showed in his honestappreciation of the effectiveness of such oratory from the heartas he had heard in the courtroom that day.
　　"Pooh! pooh!" came the querulous objection. "She seems to havehypnotized you." Then, as a new thought came to the magnate, hespoke with a trace of anxiety. There were always the reporters,looking for space to fill with foolish vaporings.
　　"Did she say anything against me, or the store?""Not a word," the lawyer replied, gravely. His smile ofappreciation was discreetly secret. "She merely told us how herfather died when she was sixteen years old. She was compelledafter that to earn her own living. Then she told how she hadworked for you for five years steadily, without there ever beinga single thing against her. She said, too, that she had neverseen the things found in her locker. And she said more thanthat! She asked the judge if he himself understood what it meansfor a girl to be sentenced to prison for something she hadn'tdone. Somehow, Gilder, the way she talked had its effect oneverybody in the courtroom. I know! It's my business tounderstand things like that. And what she said rang true. Whatshe said, and the way she said it, take brains and courage. Theordinary crook has neither. So, I had a suspicion that she mightbe speaking the truth. You see, Gilder, it all rang true! Andit's my business to know how things ring in that way." There wasa little pause, while the lawyer moved back and forth nervously.
　　Then, he added: "I believe Lawlor would have suspended sentenceif it hadn't been for your talk with him."There were not wanting signs that Gilder was impressed. But thegentler fibers of the man were atrophied by the habits of alifetime. What heart he had once possessed had been buried inthe grave of his young wife, to be resurrected only for his son.
　　In most things, he was consistently a hard man. Since he had noimagination, he could have no real sympathy.
　　He whirled about in his swivel chair, and blew a cloud of smokefrom his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was deeply resonant.
　　"I simply did my duty," he said. "You are aware that I did notseek any consultation with Judge Lawlor. He sent for me, andasked me what I thought about the case--whether I thought itwould be right to let the girl go on a suspended sentence. Itold him frankly that I believed that an example should be madeof her, for the sake of others who might be tempted to steal.
　　Property has some rights, Demarest, although it seems to begetting nowadays so that anybody is likely to deny it." Then thefretful, half-alarmed note sounded in his voice again, as hecontinued: "I can't understand why the girl wants to see me."The lawyer smiled dryly, since he had his back turned at themoment.
　　"Why," he vouchsafed, "she just said that, if you would see herfor ten minutes, she would tell you how to stop the thefts inthis store."Gilder displayed signs of triumph. He brought his chair to alevel and pounded the desk with a weighty fist.
　　"There!" he cried. "I knew it. The girl wants to confess.
　　Well, it's the first sign of decent feeling she's shown. Isuppose it ought to be encouraged. Probably there have beenothers mixed up in this."Demarest attempted no denial.
　　"Perhaps," he admitted, though he spoke altogether withoutconviction. "But," he continued insinuatingly, "at least it cando no harm if you see her. I thought you would be willing, so Ispoke to the District Attorney, and he has given orders to bringher here for a few minutes on the way to the Grand CentralStation. They're taking her up to Burnsing, you know. I wish,Gilder, you would have a little talk with her. No harm in that!"With the saying, the lawyer abruptly went out of the office,leaving the owner of the store fuming.
Chapter 4 Kisses And Kleptomania
"Hello, Dad!"After the attorney's departure, Gilder had been rather fussilygoing over some of the papers on his desk. He was experiencing avague feeling of injury on account of the lawyer's ill-veiledefforts to arouse his sympathy in behalf of the accused girl. Inthe instinct of strengthening himself against the possibility ofyielding to what he deemed weakness, the magnate rehearsed thefacts that justified his intolerance, and, indeed, soon came togloating over the admirable manner in which righteousness thrivesin the world. And it was then that an interruption came in theutterance of two words, words of affection, of love, cried out inthe one voice he most longed to hear--for the voice was that ofhis son. Yet, he did not look up. The thing was altogetherimpossible! The boy was philandering, junketing, somewhere on theRiviera. His first intimation as to the exact place would comein the form of a cable asking for money. Somehow, his feelingshad been unduly stirred that morning; he had grown sentimental,dreaming of pleasant things.... All this in a second. Then, helooked up. Why, it was true! It was Dick's face there, smilingin the doorway. Yes, it was Dick, it was Dick himself! Gildersprang to his feet, his face suddenly grown younger, radiant.
　　"Dick!" The big voice was softened to exquisite tenderness.
　　As the eyes of the two met, the boy rushed forward, and in thenext moment the hands of father and son clasped firmly. Theywere silent in the first emotion of their greeting. Presently,Gilder spoke, with an effort toward harshness in his voice tomask how much he was shaken. But the tones rang more kindly thanany he had used for many a day, tremulous with affection.
　　"What brought you back?" he demanded.
　　Dick, too, had felt the tension of an emotion far beyond that ofthe usual things. He was forced to clear his throat before heanswered with that assumption of nonchalance which he regarded asbefitting the occasion.
　　"Why, I just wanted to come back home," he said; lightly. Asudden recollection came to give him poise in this time ofemotional disturbance, and he added hastily: "And, for the loveof heaven, give Sadie five dollars. I borrowed it from her to paythe taxi'. You see, Dad, I'm broke.""Of course!" With the saying, Edward Gilder roared Gargantuanlaughter. In the burst of merriment, his pent feelings foundtheir vent. He was still chuckling when he spoke, sage from muchexperience of ocean travel. "Poker on the ship, I suppose."The young man, too, smiled reminiscently as he answered:
　　"No, not that, though I did have a little run in at Monte Carlo.
　　But it was the ship that finished me, at that. You see, Dad,they hired Captain Kidd and a bunch of pirates as stewards, andwhat they did to little Richard was something fierce. And yet,that wasn't the real trouble, either. The fact is, I justnaturally went broke. Not a hard thing to do on the other side.""Nor on this," the father interjected, dryly.
　　"Anyhow, it doesn't matter much," Dick replied, quite unabashed.
　　"Tell me, Dad, how goes it?"Gilder settled himself again in his chair, and gazed benignantlyon his son.
　　"Pretty well," he said contentedly; "pretty well, son. I'm gladto see you home again, my boy." There was a great tenderness inthe usually rather cold gray eyes.
　　The young man answered promptly, with delight in his manner ofspeech, and a sincerity that revealed the underlying merit of hisnature.
　　"And I'm glad to be home, Dad, to be"--there was again thatclearing of the throat, but he finished bravely--"with you."The father avoided a threatening display of emotion by an abruptchange of subject to the trite.
　　"Have a good time?" he inquired casually, while fumbling withthe papers on the desk.
　　Dick's face broke in a smile of reminiscent happiness.
　　"The time of my young life!" He paused, and the smile broadened.
　　There was a mighty enthusiasm in his voice as he continued: "Itell you, Dad, it's a fact that I did almost break the bank atMonte Carlo. I'd have done it sure, if only my money had heldout.""It seems to me that I've heard something of the sort before,"was Gilder's caustic comment. But his smile was still whollysympathetic. He took a curious vicarious delight in theescapades of his son, probably because he himself had committedno follies in his callow days. "Why didn't you cable me?" heasked, puzzled at such restraint on the part of his son.
　　Dick answered with simple sincerity.
　　"Because it gave me a capital excuse for coming home."It was Sarah who afforded a diversion. She had known Dick whilehe was yet a child, had bought him candy, had felt toward him amaternal liking that increased rather than diminished as he grewto manhood. Now, her face lighted at sight of him, and she smileda welcome.
　　"I see you have found him," she said, with a ripple of laughter.
　　Dick welcomed this interruption of the graver mood.
　　"Sadie," he said, with a manner of the utmost seriousness, "youare looking finer than ever. And how thin you have grown!"The girl, eager with fond fancies toward the slender ideal,accepted the compliment literally.
　　"Oh, Mr. Dick!" she exclaimed, rapturously. "How much do youthink I have lost?"The whimsical heir of the house of Gilder surveyed his victimcritically, then spoke with judicial solemnity.
　　"About two ounces, Sadie."There came a look of deep hurt on Sadie's face at the flippantjest, which Dick himself was quick to note.
　　He had not guessed she was thus acutely sensitive concerning herplumpness. Instantly, he was all contrition over his unwittingoffense inflicted on her womanly vanity.
　　"Oh, I'm sorry, Sadie," he exclaimed penitently. "Please don't bereally angry with me. Of course, I didn't mean----""To twit on facts!" the secretary interrupted, bitterly.
　　"Pooh!" Dick cried, craftily. "You aren't plump enough to besensitive about it. Why, you're just right." There wassomething very boyish about his manner, as he caught at thegirl's arm. A memory of the days when she had cuddled him causedhim to speak warmly, forgetting the presence of his father.
　　"Now, don't be angry, Sadie. Just give me a little kiss, as youused to do." He swept her into his arms, and his lips met hersin a hearty caress. "There!" he cried. "Just to show there's noill feeling."The girl was completely mollified, though in much embarrassment.
　　"Why, Mr. Dick!" she stammered, in confusion. "Why, Mr. Dick!"Gilder, who had watched the scene in great astonishment, nowinterposed to end it.
　　"Stop, Dick!" he commanded, crisply. "You are actually makingSarah blush. I think that's about enough, son."But a sudden unaccustomed gust of affection swirled in the breastof the lad. Plain Anglo-Saxon as he was, with all that impliesas to the avoidance of displays of emotion, nevertheless he hadbeen for a long time in lands far from home, where the habits ofimpulsive and affectionate peoples were radically unlike our ownausterer forms. So now, under the spur of an impulse suggestedby the dalliance with the buxom secretary, he grinned widely andwent to his father.
　　"A little kiss never hurts any one," he declared, blithely. Thenhe added vivaciously: "Here, I'll show you!"With the words, he clasped his arms around his father's neck,and, before that amazed gentleman could understand his purpose,he had kissed soundly first the one cheek and then the other,each with a hearty, wholesome smack of filial piety. This done,he stood back, still beaming happily, while the astounded Sarahtittered bewilderedly. For his own part, Dick was quiteunashamed. He loved his father. For once, he had expressed thatfondness in a primitive fashion, and he was glad.
　　The older man withdrew a step, and there rested motionless, underthe sway of an emotion akin to dismay. He stood staring intentlyat his son with a perplexity in his expression that was almostludicrous. When, at last, he spoke, his voice was a rumble ofstrangely shy pleasure.
　　"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, violently. Then he raised ahand, and rubbed first one cheek, and after it its fellow, with agentleness that was significant. The feeling provoked by theembrace showed plainly in his next words. "Why, that's the firsttime you have kissed me, Dick, since you were a little boy. Godbless my soul!" he repeated. And now there was a note ofjubilation.
　　The son, somewhat disturbed by this emotion he had aroused,nevertheless answered frankly with the expression of his ownfeeling, as he advanced and laid a hand on his father's shoulder.
　　"The fact is, Dad," he said quietly, with a smile that was goodto see, "I am awfully glad to see you again.""Are you, son?" the father cried happily. Then, abruptly hismanner changed, for he felt himself perilously close to themaudlin in this new yielding to sentimentality. Such kisses oftenderness, however agreeable in themselves, were hardly fittingto one of his dignity. "You clear out of here, boy," hecommanded, brusquely. "I'm a working man. But here, wait aminute," he added. He brought forth from a pocket a neat sheafof banknotes, which he held out. "There's carfare for you," hesaid with a chuckle. "And now clear out. I'll see you atdinner."Dick bestowed the money in his pocket, and again turned towardthe door.
　　"You can always get rid of me on the same terms," he remarkedslyly. And then the young man gave evidence that he, too, hadsome of his father's ability in things financial. For, in thedoorway he turned with a final speech, which was uttered insplendid disregard for the packet of money he had justreceived--perhaps, rather, in a splendid regard for it. "Oh,Dad, please don't forget to give Sadie that five dollars Iborrowed from her for the taxi'." And with that impertinentreminder he was gone.
　　The owner of the store returned to his labors with a new zest,for the meeting with his son had put him in high spirits.
　　Perhaps it might have been better for Mary Turner had she come tohim just then, while he was yet in this softened mood. But fatehad ordained that other events should restore him to his usualharder self before their interview. The effect was, indeed,presently accomplished by the advent of Smithson into the office.
　　He entered with an expression of discomfiture on his rathervacuous countenance. He walked almost nimbly to the desk andspoke with evident distress, as his employer looked upinterrogatively.
　　"McCracken has detained--er--a--lady, sir," he said, feebly.
　　"She has been searched, and we have found about a hundred dollarsworth of laces on her.""Well?" Gilder demanded, impatiently. Such affairs were toocommon in the store to make necessary this intrusion of thematter on him. "Why did you come to me about it?" His staffknew just what to do with shoplifters.
　　At once, Smithson became apologetic, while refusing to retreat.
　　"I'm very sorry, sir," he said haltingly, "but I thought itwiser, sir, to--er--to bring the matter to your personalattention.""Quite unnecessary, Smithson," Gilder returned, with asperity.
　　"You know my views on the subject of property. Tell McCracken tohave the thief arrested."Smithson cleared his throat doubtfully, and in his stress offeeling he even relaxed a trifle that majestical erectness ofcarriage that had made him so valuable as a floor-walker.
　　"She's not exactly a--er--a thief," he ventured.
　　"You are trifling, Smithson," the owner of the store exclaimed,in high exasperation. "Not a thief! And you caught her with ahundred dollars worth of laces that she hadn't bought. Not athief! What in heaven's name do you call her, then?""A kleptomaniac," Smithson explained, retaining his manner ofmild insistence. "You see, sir, it's this way. The lady happensto be the wife of J. W. Gaskell, the banker, you know."Yes, Gilder did know. The mention of the name was like a spellin the effect it wrought on the attitude of the irritated ownerof the store. Instantly, his expression changed. While beforehis features had been set grimly, while his eyes had flashedwrathfully, there was now only annoyance over an event markedlyunfortunate.
　　"How extremely awkward!" he cried; and there was a very realconcern in his voice. He regarded Smithson kindly, whereat thatrather puling gentleman once again assumed his martial bearing.
　　"You were quite right in coming to me." For a moment he wassilent, plunged in thought. Finally he spoke with thedecisiveness characteristic of him. "Of course, there's nothingwe can do. Just put the stuff back on the counter, and let hergo."But Smithson had not yet wholly unburdened himself. Instead ofimmediately leaving the room in pursuance of the succinctinstructions given him, he again cleared his throat nervously,and made known a further aggravating factor in the situation.
　　"She's very angry, Mr. Gilder," he announced, timidly.
　　"She--er--she demands an--er--an apology."The owner of the store half-rose from his chair, then threwhimself back with an exclamation of disgust. He again ejaculatedthe words with which he had greeted his son's unexpected kisses,but now there was a vast difference in the intonation.
　　"God bless my soul!" he cried. From his expression, it was clearthat a pious aspiration was farthest from his thought. On thecontrary! Again, he fell silent, considering the situation whichSmithson had presented, and, as he reflected, his frown betrayedthe emotion natural enough under the circumstances. At last,however, he mastered his irritation to some degree, and spoke hiscommand briefly. "Well, Smithson, apologize to her. It can't behelped." Then his face lighted with a sardonic amusement. "And,Smithson," he went on with a sort of elephantine playfulness, "Ishall take it as a personal favor if you will tactfully advisethe lady that the goods at Altman and Stern's are really evenfiner than ours."When Smithson had left the office, Gilder turned to hissecretary.
　　"Take this," he directed, and he forthwith dictated the followingletter to the husband of the lady who was not a thief, asSmithson had so painstakingly pointed out:
　　"J. W. GASKELL, ESQ., "Central National Bank, New York.
　　"MY DEAR Mr. GASKELL: I feel that I should be doing less than myduty as a man if I did not let you know at once that Mrs. Gaskellis in urgent need of medical attention. She came into our storeto-day, and----"He paused for a moment. "No, put it this way," he said finally:
　　"We found her wandering about our store to-day in a very nervouscondition. In her excitement, she carried away about one hundreddollars' worth of rare laces. Not recognizing her, our storedetective detained her for a short time. Fortunately for us all,Mrs. Gaskell was able to explain who she was, and she has justgone to her home. Hoping for Mrs. Gaskell's speedy recovery, andwith all good wishes, I am, "Yours verytruly."Yet, though he had completed the letter, Gilder did not at oncetake up another detail of his business. Instead, he remainedplunged in thought, and now his frown was one of simplebewilderment. A number of minutes passed before he spoke, andthen his words revealed distinctly what had been his train ofmeditation.
　　"Sadie," he said in a voice of entire sincerity, "I can'tunderstand theft. It's a thing absolutely beyond mycomprehension."On the heels of this ingenuous declaration, Smithson entered theoffice, and that excellent gentleman appeared even more perturbedthan before.
　　"What on earth is the matter now?" Gilder spluttered,suspiciously.
　　"It's Mrs. Gaskell still," Smithson replied in great trepidation.
　　"She wants you personally, Mr. Gilder, to apologize to her. Shesays that the action taken against her is an outrage, and she isnot satisfied with the apologies of all the rest of us. She saysyou must make one, too, and that the store detective must bedischarged for intolerable insolence."Gilder bounced up from his chair angrily.
　　"I'll be damned if I'll discharge McCracken," he vociferated,glaring on Smithson, who shrank visibly.
　　But that mild and meek man had a certain strength of pertinacity.
　　Besides, in this case, he had been having multitudinous troublesof his own, which could be ended only by his employer's placatingof the offended kleptomaniac.
　　"But about the apology, Mr. Gilder," he reminded, speaking verydeferentially, yet with insistence.
　　Business instinct triumphed over the magnate's irritation, andhis face cleared.
　　"Oh, I'll apologize," he said with a wry smile of discomfiture.
　　"I'll make things even up a bit when I get an apology fromGaskell. I shrewdly suspect that that estimable gentleman isgoing to eat humble pie, of my baking, from his wife's recipe.
　　And his will be an honest apology--which mine won't, not by adamned sight!" With the words, he left the room, in his wake ahugely relieved Smithson.
　　Alone in the office, Sarah neglected her work for a few minutesto brood over the startling contrast of events that had justforced itself on her attention. She was not a girl given to theanalysis of either persons or things, but in this instance themovement of affairs had come close to her, and she was compelledto some depth of feeling by the two aspects of life on whichto-day she looked. In the one case, as she knew it, a girl underthe urge of poverty had stolen. That thief had been promptlyarrested, finally she had been tried, had been convicted, hadbeen sentenced to three years in prison. In the other case, awoman of wealth had stolen. There had been no punishment. Aeuphemism of kleptomania had been offered and accepted assufficient excuse for her crime. A polite lie had been writtento her husband, a banker of power in the city. To her, theproprietor of the store was even now apologizing in courteousphrases of regret.... And Mary Turner had been sentenced to threeyears in prison. Sadie shook her head in dolorous doubt, as sheagain bent over the keys of her typewriter. Certainly, somehappenings in this world of ours did not seem quite fair.
Chapter 5 The Victim Of The Law
It was on this same day that Sarah, on one of her numerous tripsthrough the store in behalf of Gilder, was accosted by asalesgirl, whose name, Helen Morris, she chanced to know. It wasin a spot somewhere out of the crowd, so that for the moment thetwo were practically alone. The salesgirl showed signs ofembarrassment as she ventured to lay a detaining hand on Sarah'sarm, but she maintained her position, despite the secretary'smanner of disapproval.
　　"What on earth do you want?" Sarah inquired, snappishly.
　　The salesgirl put her question at once.
　　"What did they do to Mary Turner?""Oh, that!" the secretary exclaimed, with increased impatienceover the delay, for she was very busy, as always. "You will allknow soon enough.""Tell me now." The voice of the girl was singularly compelling;there was something vividly impressive about her just now, thoughher pallid, prematurely mature face and the thin figure in theregulation black dress and white apron showed ordinarily onlyinsignificant. "Tell me now," she repeated, with a monotonousemphasis that somehow moved Sarah to obedience against her will,greatly to her own surprise.
　　"They sent her to prison for three years," she answered, sharply.
　　"Three years?" The salesgirl had repeated the words in a tonethat was indefinable, yet a tone vehement in its incredulousquestioning. "Three years?" she said again, as one refusing tobelieve.
　　"Yes," Sarah said, impressed by the girl's earnestness; "threeyears.""Good God!" There was no irreverence in the exclamation thatbroke from the girl's lips. Instead, only a tense horror thattouched to the roots of emotion.
　　Sarah regarded this display of feeling on the part of the youngwoman before her with an increasing astonishment. It was not inher own nature to be demonstrative, and such strong expression ofemotion as this she deemed rather suspicious. She recalled, inaddition, the fact that his was not the first time that HelenMorris had shown a particular interest in the fate of MaryTurner. Sarah wondered why.
　　"Say," she demanded, with the directness habitual to her, "whyare you so anxious about it? This is the third time you haveasked me about Mary Turner. What's it to you, I'd like to know?"The salesgirl started violently, and a deep flush drove theaccustomed pallor from her cheeks. She was obviously muchdisturbed by the question.
　　"What is it to me?" she repeated in an effort to gain time.
　　"Why, nothing--nothing at all!" Her expression of distresslightened a little as she hit on an excuse that might serve tojustify her interest. "Nothing at all, only--she's a friend ofmine, a great friend of mine. Oh, yes!" Then, in an instant, thelook of relief vanished, as once again the terrible realityhammered on her consciousness, and an overwhelming dejectionshowed in the dull eyes and in the drooping curves of the whitelips. There was a monotone of desolation as she went on speakingin a whisper meant for the ears of no other. "It's awful--threeyears! Oh, I didn't understand! It's awful!--awful!" With thefinal word, she hurried off, her head bowed. She was stillmurmuring brokenly, incoherently. Her whole attitude was ofwondering grief.
　　Sarah stared after the girl in complete mystification. She couldnot at first guess any possible cause for an emotion so poignant.
　　Presently, however, her shrewd, though very prosaic, commonsensesuggested a simple explanation of the girl's extraordinarydistress.
　　"I'll bet that girl has been tempted to steal. But she didn't,because she was afraid." With this satisfactory conclusion ofher wonderment, the secretary hurried on her way, quite content.
　　It never occurred to her that the girl might have been tempted tosteal--and had not resisted the temptation.
　　It was on account of this brief conversation with the salesgirlthat Sarah was thinking intently of Mary Turner, after her returnto the office, from which Gilder himself happened to be absentfor the moment. As the secretary glanced up at the opening ofthe door, she did not at first recognize the figure outlinedthere. She remembered Mary Turner as a tall, slender girl, whoshowed an underlying vitality in every movement, a girl with aface of regular features, in which was a complexion of blendedmilk and roses, with a radiant joy of life shining through allher arduous and vulgar conditions. Instead of this, now, she sawa frail form that stood swaying in the opening of the doorway,that bent in a sinister fashion which told of bodily impotence,while the face was quite bloodless. And, too, there was over allelse a pall of helplessness--helplessness that had endured much,and must still endure infinitely more.
　　As a reinforcement of the dread import of that figure of wo, aman stood beside it, and one of his hands was clasped around thegirl's wrist, a man who wore his derby hat somewhat far back onhis bullet-shaped head, whose feet were conspicuous in shoes withvery heavy soles and very square toes.
　　It was the man who now took charge of the situation. Cassidy,from Headquarters, spoke in a rough, indifferent voice, wellsuited to his appearance of stolid strength.
　　"The District Attorney told me to bring this girl here on my wayto the Grand Central Station with her."Sarah got to her feet mechanically. Somehow, from the raucousnotes of the policeman's voice, she understood in a flash ofillumination that the pitiful figure there in the doorway wasthat of Mary Turner, whom she had remembered so different, sofrightfully different. She spoke with a miserable effort towardher usual liveliness.
　　"Mr. Gilder will be right back. Come in and wait." She wishedto say something more, something of welcome or of mourning, tothe girl there, but she found herself incapable of a single wordfor the moment, and could only stand dumb while the man steppedforward, with his charge following helplessly in his clutch.
　　The two went forward very slowly, the officer, carelesslyconscious of his duty, walking with awkward steps to suit thefeeble movements of the girl, the girl letting herself be draggedonward, aware of the futility of any resistance to the inexorablepower that now had her in its grip, of which the man was thepresent agent. As the pair came thus falteringly into the centerof the room, Sarah at last found her voice for an expression ofsympathy.
　　"I'm sorry, Mary," she said, hesitatingly. "I'm terribly sorry,terribly sorry!"The girl, who had halted when the officer halted, as a matter ofcourse, did not look up. She stood still, swaying a little as iffrom weakness. Her voice was lifeless.
　　"Are you?" she said. "I did not know. Nobody has been near methe whole time I have been in the Tombs." There was infinitepathos in the tones as she repeated the words so fraught withdreadfulness. "Nobody has been near me!"The secretary felt a sudden glow of shame. She realized thejustice of that unconscious accusation, for, till to-day, she hadhad no thought of the suffering girl there in the prison. Toassuage remorse, she sought to give evidence as to a prevalentsympathy.
　　"Why," she exclaimed, "there was Helen Morris to-day! She hasbeen asking about you again and again. She's all broken up overyour trouble."But the effort on the secretary's part was wholly withoutsuccess.
　　"Who is Helen Morris?" the lifeless voice demanded. There was nointerest in the question.
　　Sarah experienced a momentary astonishment, for she was stillremembering the feverish excitement displayed by the salesgirl,who had declared herself to be a most intimate friend of theconvict. But the mystery was to remain unsolved, since Gildernow entered the office. He walked with the quick, bustlingactivity that was ordinarily expressed in his every movement. Hepaused for an instant, as he beheld the two visitors in thecenter of the room, then he spoke curtly to the secretary, whilecrossing to his chair at the desk.
　　"You may go, Sarah. I will ring when I wish you again."There followed an interval of silence, while the secretary wasleaving the office and the girl with her warder stood waiting onhis pleasure. Gilder cleared his throat twice in anembarrassment foreign to him, before finally he spoke to thegirl. At last, the proprietor of the store expressed himself ina voice of genuine sympathy, for the spectacle of wo presentedthere before his very eyes moved him to a real distress, since itwas indeed actual, something that did not depend on anappreciation to be developed out of imagination.
　　"My girl," Gilder said gently--his hard voice was softened by anhonest regret--"my girl, I am sorry about this.""You should be!" came the instant answer. Yet, the words wereuttered with a total lack of emotion. It seemed from theirintonation that the speaker voiced merely a statement concerninga recondite matter of truth, with which sentiment had nothingwhatever to do. But the effect on the employer was unfortunate.
　　It aroused at once his antagonism against the girl. His instinctof sympathy with which he had greeted her at the outset wasrepelled, and made of no avail. Worse, it was transformed intoan emotion hostile to the one who thus offended him by rejectionof the well-meant kindliness of his address"Come, come!" he exclaimed, testily. "That's no tone to takewith me.""Why? What sort of tone do you expect me to take?" was theretort in the listless voice. Yet, now, in the dullness ran afaint suggestion of something sinister.
　　"I expected a decent amount of humility from one in yourposition," was the tart rejoinder of the magnate.
　　Life quickened swiftly in the drooping form of the girl. Hermuscles tensed. She stood suddenly erect, in the vigor of heryouth again. Her face lost in the same second its bleakness ofpallor. The eyes opened widely, with startling abruptness, andlooked straight into those of the man who had employed her.
　　"Would you be humble," she demanded, and now her voice was becomesoftly musical, yet forbidding, too, with a note of passion,"would you be humble if you were going to prison for threeyears--for something you didn't do?"There was anguish in the cry torn from the girl's throat in thesudden access of despair. The words thrilled Gilder beyondanything that he had supposed possible in such case. He foundhimself in this emergency totally at a loss, and moved in hischair doubtfully, wishing to say something, and quite unable. Hewas still seeking some question, some criticism, some rebuke,when he was unfeignedly relieved to hear the policeman's harshvoice.
　　"Don't mind her, sir," Cassidy said. He meant to make his mannervery reassuring. "They all say that. They are innocent, ofcourse! Yep--they all say it. It don't do 'em any good, but justthe same they all swear they're innocent. They keep it up to thevery last, no matter how right they've been got."The voice of the girl rang clear. There was a note of insistencethat carried a curious dignity of its own. The very simplicityof her statement might have had a power to convince one wholistened without prejudice, although the words themselves were ofthe trite sort that any protesting criminal might utter.
　　"I tell you, I didn't do it!"Gilder himself felt the surge of emotion that swung through thesemoments, but he would not yield to it. With his lack ofimagination, he could not interpret what this time must mean tothe girl before him. Rather, he merely deemed it his duty tocarry through this unfortunate affair with a scrupulous attentionto detail, in the fashion that had always been characteristic ofhim during the years in which he had steadily mounted from thebottom to the top.
　　"What's the use of all this pretense?" he demanded, sharply.
　　"You were given a fair trial, and there's an end of it."The girl, standing there so feebly, seeming indeed to cling forsupport to the man who always held her thus closely by the wrist,spoke again with an astonishing clearness, even with a sort ofvivacity, as if she explained easily something otherwise indoubt.
　　"Oh, no, I wasn't!" she contradicted bluntly, with a singularconfidence of assertion. "Why, if the trial had been fair, Ishouldn't be here."The harsh voice of Cassidy again broke in on the passion of thegirl with a professional sneer.
　　"That's another thing they all say."But the girl went on speaking fiercely, impervious to the man'scoarse sarcasm, her eyes, which had deepened almost to purple,still fixed piercingly on Gilder, who, for some reason whollyinexplicable to him, felt himself strangely disturbed under thatregard.
　　"Do you call it fair when the lawyer I had was only a boy--onewhom the court told me to take, a boy trying his first case--mycase, that meant the ruin of my life? My lawyer! Why, he wasjust getting experience--getting it at my expense!" The girlpaused as if exhausted by the vehemence of her emotion, and atlast the sparkling eyes drooped and the heavy lids closed overthem. She swayed a little, so that the officer tightened hisclasp on her wrist.
　　There followed a few seconds of silence. Then Gilder made aneffort to shake off the feeling that had so possessed him, and toa certain degree he succeeded.
　　"The jury found you guilty," he asserted, with an attempt to makehis voice magisterial in its severity.
　　Instantly, Mary was aroused to a new outburst of protest. Onceagain, her eyes shot their fires at the man seated behind thedesk, and she went forward a step imperiously, dragging theofficer in her wake.
　　"Yes, the jury found me guilty," she agreed, with fine scorn inthe musical cadences of her voice. "Do you know why? I can tellyou, Mr. Gilder. It was because they had been out for threehours without reaching a decision. The evidence didn't seem tobe quite enough for some of them, after all. Well, the judgethreatened to lock them up all night. The men wanted to gethome. The easy thing to do was to find me guilty, and let it goat that. Was that fair, do you think? And that's not all,either. Was it fair of you, Mr. Gilder? Was it fair of you tocome to the court this morning, and tell the judge that I shouldbe sent to prison as a warning to others?"A quick flush burned on the massive face of the man whom she thusaccused, and his eyes refused to meet her steady gaze ofreproach.
　　"You know!" he exclaimed, in momentary consternation. Again, hermood had affected his own, so that through a few hurrying secondshe felt himself somehow guilty of wrong against this girl, sofrank and so rebuking.
　　"I heard you in the courtroom," she said. "The dock isn't veryfar from the bench where you spoke to the judge about my case.
　　Yes, I heard you. It wasn't: Did I do it? Or, didn't I do it?
　　No; it was only that I must be made a warning to others."Again, silence fell for a tense interval. Then, finally, thegirl spoke in a different tone. Where before her voice had beenvibrant with the instinct of complaint against the mockery ofjustice under which she suffered, now there was a deeper note,that of most solemn truth.
　　"Mr. Gilder," she said simply, "as God is my judge, I am going toprison for three years for something I didn't do."But the sincerity of her broken cry fell on unheeding ears. Thecoarse nature of the officer had long ago lost whatever elementsof softness there might have been to develop in a gentleroccupation. As for the owner of the store, he was notsufficiently sensitive to feel the verity in the accents of thespeaker. Moreover, he was a man who followed the conventional,with never a distraction due to imagination and sympathy. Justnow, too, he was experiencing a keen irritation against himselfbecause of the manner in which he had been sensible to theinfluence of her protestation, despite his will to the contrary.
　　That irritation against himself only reacted against the girl,and caused him to steel his heart to resist any tendency towardcommiseration. So, this declaration of innocence was made quitein vain--indeed, served rather to strengthen his disfavor towardthe complainant, and to make his manner harsher when she voicedthe pitiful question over which she had wondered and grieved.
　　"Why did you ask the judge to send me to prison?""The thieving that has been going on in this store for over ayear has got to stop," Gilder answered emphatically, with all hisusual energy of manner restored. As he spoke, he raised his eyesand met the girl's glance fairly. Thought of the robberies wasquite enough to make him pitiless toward the offender.
　　"Sending me to prison won't stop it," Mary Turner said, drearily.
　　"Perhaps not," Gilder sternly retorted. "But the discovery andpunishment of the other guilty ones will." His manner changed toa business-like alertness. "You sent word to me that you couldtell me how to stop the thefts in the store. Well, my girl, dothis, and, while I can make no definite promise, I'll see whatcan be done about getting you out of your present difficulty."He picked up a pencil, pulled a pad of blank paper convenient tohis hand, and looked at the girl expectantly, with aggressiveinquiry in his gaze. "Tell me now," he concluded, "who were yourpals?"The matter-of-fact manner of this man who had unwittingly wrongedher so frightfully was the last straw on the girl's burden ofsuffering. Under it, her patient endurance broke, and she criedout in a voice of utter despair that caused Gilder to startnervously, and even impelled the stolid officer to a frown ofremonstrance.
　　"I have no pals!" she ejaculated, furiously. "I never stoleanything in my life. Must I go on telling you over and overagain?" Her voice rose in a wail of misery. "Oh, why won't anyone believe me?"Gilder was much offended by this display of an hysterical grief,which seemed to his phlegmatic temperament altogether unwarrantedby the circumstances. He spoke decisively.
　　"Unless you can control yourself, you must go." He pushed awaythe pad of paper, and tossed the pencil aside in physicalexpression of his displeasure. "Why did you send that message,if you have nothing to say?" he demanded, with increasingcholer.
　　But now the girl had regained her former poise. She stood alittle drooping and shaken, where for a moment she had been erectand tensed. There was a vast weariness in her words as sheanswered.
　　"I have something to tell you, Mr. Gilder," she said, quietly.
　　"Only, I--I sort of lost my grip on the way here, with this manby my side.""Most of 'em do, the first time," the officer commented, with acertain grim appreciation.
　　"Well?" Gilder insisted querulously, as the girl hesitated.
　　At once, Mary went on speaking, and now a little increase ofvigor trembled in her tones.
　　"When you sit in a cell for three months waiting for your trial,as I did, you think a lot. And, so, I got the idea that if Icould talk to you, I might be able to make you understand what'sreally wrong. And if I could do that, and so help out the othergirls, what has happened to me would not, after all, be quite soawful--so useless, somehow." Her voice lowered to a quickpleading, and she bent toward the man at the desk. "Mr. Gilder,"she questioned, "do you really want to stop the girls fromstealing?""Most certainly I do," came the forcible reply.
　　The girl spoke with a great earnestness, deliberately.
　　"Then, give them a fair chance."The magnate stared in sincere astonishment over this absurd, thisfutile suggestion for his guidance.
　　"What do you mean?" he vociferated, with rising indignation.
　　There was an added hostility in his demeanor, for it seemed tohim that this thief of his goods whom he had brought to justicewas daring to trifle with him. He grew wrathful over thesuspicion, but a secret curiosity still held his temper withinbounds "What do you mean?" he repeated; and now the full forceof his strong voice set the room trembling.
　　The tones of the girl came softly musical, made more delicatelyresonant to the ear by contrast with the man's roaring.
　　"Why," she said, very gently, "I mean just this: Give them aliving chance to be honest.""A living chance!" The two words were exploded with dynamicviolence. The preposterousness of the advice fired Gilder withresentment so pervasive that through many seconds he foundhimself unable to express the rage that flamed within him.
　　The girl showed herself undismayed by his anger.
　　"Yes," she went on, quietly; "that's all there is to it. Givethem a living chance to get enough food to eat, and a decent roomto sleep in, and shoes that will keep their feet off the pavementwinter mornings. Do you think that any girl wants to steal? Doyou think that any girl wants to risk----?"By this time, however, Gilder had regained his powers of speech,and he interrupted stormily.
　　"And is this what you have taken up my time for? You want tomake a maudlin plea for guilty, dishonest girls, when I thoughtyou really meant to bring me facts."Nevertheless, Mary went on with her arraignment uncompromisingly.
　　There was a strange, compelling energy in her inflections thatpenetrated even the pachydermatous officer, so that, though hethought her raving, he let her rave on, which was not at all hishabit of conduct, and did indeed surprise him mightily. As forGilder, he felt helpless in some puzzling fashion that wastotally foreign to his ordinary self. He was still glowing withwrath over the method by which he had been victimized into givingthe girl a hearing. Yet, despite his chagrin, he realized thathe could not send her from him forthwith. By some inexplicablespell she bound him impotent.
　　"We work nine hours a day," the quiet voice went on, a curiouspathos in the rich timbre of it; "nine hours a day, for six daysin the week. That's a fact, isn't it? And the trouble is, anhonest girl can't live on six dollars a week. She can't do it,and buy food and clothes, and pay room-rent and carfare. That'sanother fact, isn't it?"Mary regarded the owner of the store with grave questioning inher violet eyes. Under the urgency of emotion, color crept intothe pallid cheeks, and now her face was very beautiful--sobeautiful, indeed, that for a little the charm of its lovelinesscaught the man's gaze, and he watched her with a new respect,born of appreciation for her feminine delightfulness. Theimpression was far too brief. Gilder was not given to estheticraptures over women. Always, the business instinct was thedominant. So, after the short period of amazed admiration oversuch unexpected winsomeness, his thoughts flew back angrily tothe matters whereof she spoke so ridiculously.
　　"I don't care to discuss these things," he declared peremptorily,as the girl remained silent for a moment.
　　"And I have no wish to discuss anything," Mary returned evenly.
　　"I only want to give you what you asked for--facts." A faintsmile of reminiscence curved the girl's lips. "When they firstlocked me up," she explained, without any particular evidence ofemotion, "I used to sit and hate you.""Oh, of course!" came the caustic exclamation from Gilder.
　　"And then, I thought that perhaps you did not understand," Marycontinued; "that, if I were to tell you how things really are, itmight be you would change them somehow."At this ingenuous statement, the owner of the store gave forth agasp of sheer stupefaction.
　　"I!" he cried, incredulously. "I change my business policybecause you ask me to!"There was something imperturbable in the quality of the voice asthe girl went resolutely forward with her explanation. It was asif she were discharging a duty not to be gainsaid, not to bethwarted by any difficulty, not even the realization that all theeffort must be ultimately in vain.
　　"Do you know how we girls live?--but, of course, you don't.
　　Three of us in one room, doing our own cooking over thetwo-burner gas-stove, and our own washing and ironing evenings,after being on our feet for nine hours."The enumeration of the sordid details left the employerabsolutely unmoved, since he lacked the imagination necessary tosympathize actually with the straining evil of a life such as thegirl had known. Indeed, he spoke with an air of justremonstrance, as if the girl's charges were mischievously faulty.
　　"I have provided chairs behind the counters," he stated.
　　There was no especial change in the girl's voice as she answeredhis defense. It continued musically low, but there was in it theinsistent note of sincerity.
　　"But have you ever seen a girl sitting in one of them?" shequestioned, coldly. "Please answer me. Have you? Of coursenot," she said, after a little pause during which the owner hadremained silent. She shook her head in emphatic negation. "Anddo you understand why? It's simply because every girl knows thatthe manager of her department would think he could get alongwithout her, if he were to see her sitting down ----loafing, youknow! So, she would be discharged. All it amounts to is that,after being on her feet for nine hours, the girl usually walkshome, in order to save carfare. Yes, she walks, whether sick orwell. Anyhow, you are generally so tired, it don't make muchdifference which you are."Gilder was fuming under these strictures, which seemed to himaltogether baseless attacks on himself. His exasperation steadilywaxed against the girl, a convicted felon, who thus had theaudacity to beard him.
　　"What has all this to do with the question of theft in thestore?" he rumbled, huffily. "That was the excuse for yourcoming here. And, instead of telling me something, you rantabout gas-stoves and carfare."The inexorable voice went on in its monotone, as if he had notspoken.
　　"And, when you are really sick, and have to stop work, what areyou going to do then? Do you know, Mr. Gilder, that the firsttime a straight girl steals, it's often because she had to have adoctor--or some luxury like that? And some of them do worse thansteal. Yes, they do--girls that started straight, and wanted tostay that way. But, of course, some of them get so tired of thewhole grind that--that----"The man who was the employer of hundreds concerning whom thesegrim truths were uttered, stirred uneasily in his chair, andthere came a touch of color into the healthy brown of his cheeksas he spoke his protest.
　　"I'm not their guardian. I can't watch over them after theyleave the store. They are paid the current rate of wages--asmuch as any other store pays." As he spoke, the anger provokedby this unexpected assault on him out of the mouth of a convictflamed high in virtuous repudiation. "Why," he went onvehemently, "no man living does more for his employees than I do.
　　Who gave the girls their fine rest-rooms upstairs? I did! Whogave them the cheap lunch-rooms? I did!""But you won't pay them enough to live on!" The very fact thatthe words were spoken without any trace of rancor merely madethis statement of indisputable truth obnoxious to the man, whowas stung to more savage resentment in asserting his impugnedself-righteousness.
　　"I pay them the same as the other stores do," he repeated,sullenly.
　　Yet once again, the gently cadenced voice gave answer, an answerinformed with that repulsive insistence to the man who sought toresist her indictment of him.
　　"But you won't pay them enough to live on." The simple lucidityof the charge forbade direct reply.
　　Gilder betook himself to evasion by harking back to theestablished ground of complaint.
　　"And, so, you claim that you were forced to steal. That's theplea you make for yourself and your friends.""I wasn't forced to steal," came the answer, spoken in themonotone that had marked her utterance throughout most of theinterview. "I wasn't forced to steal, and I didn't steal. But,all the same, that's the plea, as you call it, that I'm makingfor the other girls. There are hundreds of them who stealbecause they don't get enough to eat. I said I would tell youhow to stop the stealing. Well, I have done it. Give the girlsa fair chance to be honest. You asked me for the names, Mr.
　　Gilder. There's only one name on which to put the blame for thewhole business--and that name is Edward Gilder!... Now, won't youdo something about it?"At that naked question, the owner of the store jumped up from hischair, and stood glowering at the girl who risked a request sofull of vituperation against himself.
　　"How dare you speak to me like this?" he thundered.
　　There was no disconcertion exhibited by the one thus challenged.
　　On the contrary, she repeated her question with a simple dignitythat still further outraged the man.
　　"Won't you, please, do something about it?""How dare you?" he shouted again. Now, there was stark wonderin his eyes as he put the question.
　　"Why, I dared," Mary Turner explained, "because you have done allthe harm you can to me. And, now, I'm trying to give you thechance to do better by the others. You ask me why I dare. Ihave a right to dare! I have been straight all my life. I havewanted decent food and warm clothes, and--a little happiness, allthe time I have worked for you, and I have gone without thosethings, just to stay straight.... The end of it all is: You aresending me to prison for something I didn't do. That's why Idare!"Cassidy, the officer in charge of Mary Turner, had stoodpatiently beside her all this while, always holding her by thewrist. He had been mildly interested in the verbal duel betweenthe big man of the department store and this convict in his ownkeeping. Vaguely, he had marveled at the success of the frailgirl in declaiming of her injuries before the magnate. He hadfelt no particular interest beyond that, merely looking on as onemight at any entertaining spectacle. The question at issue wasno concern of his. His sole business was to take the girl awaywhen the interview should be ended. It occurred to him now thatthis might, in fact, be the time to depart. It seemed, indeed,that the insistent reiteration of the girl had at last left heowner of the store quite powerless to answer. It was possible,then, that it were wiser the girl should be removed. With theidea in mind, he stared inquiringly at Gilder until he caughtthat flustered gentleman's eye. A nod from the magnate sufficedhim. Gilder, in truth, could not trust himself just then to anaudible command. He was seriously disturbed by the gently spokentruths that had issued from the girl's lips. He was not preparedwith any answer, though he hotly resented every word of heraccusation. So, when he caught the question in the glance of theofficer, he felt a guilty sensation of relief as he signified anaffirmative by his gesture.
　　Cassidy faced about, and in his movement there was a tug at thewrist of the girl that set her moving toward the door. Herrealization of what this meant was shown in her final speech.
　　"Oh, he can take me now," she said, bitterly. Then her voicerose above the monotone that had contented her hitherto. Intothe music of her tones beat something sinister, evillyvindictive, as she faced about at the doorway to which Cassidyhad led her. Her face, as she scrutinized once again the man atthe desk, was coldly malignant.
　　"Three years isn't forever," she said, in a level voice. "When Icome out, you are going to pay for every minute of them, Mr.
　　Gilder. There won't be a day or an hour that I won't rememberthat at the last it was your word sent me to prison. And you aregoing to pay me for that. You are going to pay me for the fiveyears I have starved making money for you--that, too! You aregoing to pay me for all the things I am losing today, and----"The girl thrust forth her left hand, on that side where stood theofficer. So vigorous was her movement that Cassidy's clasp wasthrown off the wrist. But the bond between the two was notbroken, for from wrist to wrist showed taut the steel chain ofthe manacles. The girl shook the links of the handcuffs in agesture stronger than words. In her final utterance to theagitated man at the desk, there was a cold threat, a prophecy ofdisaster. From the symbol of her degradation, she looked to theman whose action had placed it there. In the clashing of theirglances, hers won the victory, so that his eyes fell before themenace in hers.
　　"You are going to pay me for this!" she said. Her voice waslittle more than a whisper, but it was loud in the listener'sheart. "Yes, you are going to pay--for this!"
Chapter 6 Inferno
They were grim years, those three during which Mary Turner servedher sentence in Burnsing. There was no time off for goodbehavior. The girl learned soon that the favor of those set inauthority over her could only be won at a cost against which herevery maidenly instinct revolted. So, she went through theinferno of days and nights in a dreariness of suffering that wasdeadly. Naturally, the life there was altogether an evil thing.
　　There was the material ill ever present in the round of wearisomephysical toil, the coarse, distasteful food, the hard, narrowcouch, the constant, gnawing irksomeness of imprisonment, awayfrom light and air, away from all that makes life worth while.
　　Yet, these afflictions were not the worst injuries to mar thegirl convict's life. That which bore upon her most weightily andincessantly was the degradation of this environment from whichthere was never any respite, the viciousness of this spot whereinshe had been cast through no fault of her own. Vileness waseverywhere, visibly in the faces of many, and it was brimmingfrom the souls of more, subtly hideous. The girl held herselfrigidly from any personal intimacy with her fellows. To someextent, at least, she could separate herself from theircorruption in the matter of personal association. But, everpresent, there was a secret energy of vice that could not beescaped so simply--nor, indeed, by any device; that breathed inthe spiritual atmosphere itself of the place. Always, thismysterious, invisible, yet horribly potent, power of sin was likea miasma throughout the prison. Always, it was striving to reachher soul, to make her of its own. She fought the insidious,fetid force as best she might. She was not evil by nature. Shehad been well grounded in principles of righteousness.
　　Nevertheless, though she maintained the integrity of hercharacter, that character suffered from the taint. Theredeveloped over the girl's original sensibility a shell ofhardness, which in time would surely come to make her lessscrupulous in her reckoning of right and wrong.
　　Yet, as a rule, character remains the same throughout life as toits prime essentials, and, in this case, Mary Turner at the endof her term was vitally almost as wholesome as on the day whenshe began the serving of the sentence. The change wrought in herwas chiefly of an external sort. The kindliness of her heart andher desire for the seemly joys of life were unweakened. But overthe better qualities of her nature was now spread a crust ofworldly hardness, a denial of appeal to her sensibilities. It wasthis that would eventually bring her perilously close tocontented companioning with crime.
　　The best evidence of the fact that Mary Turner's soul was notfatally soiled must be found in the fact that still, at theexpiration of her sentence, she was fully resolved to livestraight, as the saying is which she had quoted to Gilder. This,too, in the face of sure knowledge as to the difficulties thatwould beset the effort, and in the face of the temptationsoffered to follow an easier path.
　　There was, for example, Aggie Lynch, a fellow convict, with whomshe had a slight degree of acquaintance, nothing more. Thisyoung woman, a criminal by training, offered allurements ofillegitimate employment in the outer world when they should befree. Mary endured the companionship with this prisoner becausea sixth sense proclaimed the fact that here was one unmoral,rather than immoral--and the difference is mighty. For thatreason, Aggie Lynch was not actively offensive, as were most ofthe others. She was a dainty little blonde, with a baby face, inwhich were set two light-blue eyes, of a sort to widen often indemure wonder over most things in a surprising and naughty world.
　　She had been convicted of blackmail, and she made no pretenseeven of innocence. Instead, she was inclined to boast over herability to bamboozle men at her will. She was a natural actressof the ingenue role, and in that pose she could unfailinglybeguile the heart of the wisest of worldly men.
　　Perhaps, the very keen student of physiognomy might havediscovered grounds for suspecting her demureness by reason of thethick, level brows that cast a shadow on the bland innocence ofher face. For the rest, she possessed a knack of rather harmlessperversity, a fair smattering of grammar and spelling, and alively sense of humor within her own limitations, with aparticularly small intelligence in other directions. Her one artwas histrionics of the kind that made an individual appeal. Insuch, she was inimitable. She had been reared in a criminalfamily, which must excuse much. Long ago, she had lost track ofher father; her mother she had never known. Her one relation wasa brother of high standing as a pickpocket. One principal reasonof her success in leading on men to make fools of themselves overher, to their everlasting regret afterward, lay in the fact that,in spite of all the gross irregularities of her life, sheremained chaste. She deserved no credit for such restraint,since it was a matter purely of temperament, not of resolve.
　　The girl saw in Mary Turner the possibilities of a ladylikepersonality that might mean much financial profit in the deviousways of which she was a mistress. With the franknesscharacteristic of her, she proceeded to paint glowing pictures ofa future shared to the undoing of ardent and fatuous swains.
　　Mary Turner listened with curiosity, but she was in no wise movedto follow such a life, even though it did not necessitateanything worse than a fraudulent playing at love, withoutphysical degradation. So, she steadfastly continued herrefusals, to the great astonishment of Aggie, who actually couldnot understand in the least, even while she believed the other'sdeclaration of innocence of the crime for which she was serving asentence. But, for her own part, such innocence had nothing todo with the matter. Where, indeed, could be the harm in makingsome old sinner pay a round price for his folly? And always, inresponse to every argument, Mary shook her head in negation. Shewould live straight.
　　Then, the heavy brows of Aggie would draw down a little, and thebaby face would harden.
　　"You will find that you are up against a hell of a frost," shewould declare, brutally.
　　Mary found the profane prophecy true. Back in New York, sheexperienced a poverty more ravaging than any she had known inthose five lean years of her working in the store. She had beenabsolutely penniless for two days, and without food through thegnawing hours, when she at last found employment of the humblestin a milliner's shop. Followed a blessed interval in which sheworked contentedly, happy over the meager stipend, since itserved to give her shelter and food honestly earned.
　　But the ways of the police are not always those of ordinarydecency. In due time, an officer informed Mary's employerconcerning the fact of her record as a convict, and thereupon shewas at once discharged. The unfortunate victim of the law cameperilously close to despair then. Yet, her spirit triumphed, andagain she persevered in that resolve to live straight. Finally,for the second time, she secured a cheap position in a cheapshop--only to be again persecuted by the police, so that shespeedily lost the place.
　　Nevertheless, indomitable in her purpose, she maintained thestruggle. A third time she obtained work, and there, after alittle, she told her employer, a candy manufacturer in a smallway, the truth as to her having been in prison. The man had akindly heart, and, in addition, he ran little risk in the matter,so he allowed her to remain. When, presently, the police calledhis attention to the girl's criminal record, he paid no heed totheir advice against retaining her services. But such action onhis part offended the greatness of the law's dignity. The policebrought pressure to bear on the man. They even called in theassistance of Edward Gilder himself, who obligingly wrote a verysevere letter to the girl's employer. In the end, such tacticsalarmed the man. For the sake of his own interests, thoughunwillingly enough, he dismissed Mary from his service.
　　It was then that despair did come upon the girl. She had triedwith all the strength of her to live straight. Yet, despite herinnocence, the world would not let her live according to her ownconscience. It demanded that she be the criminal it had brandedher--if she were to live at all. So, it was despair! For shewould not turn to evil, and without such turning she could notlive. She still walked the streets falteringly, seeking someplace; but her heart was gone from the quest. Now, she wassunken in an apathy that saved her from the worst pangs ofmisery. She had suffered so much, so poignantly, that at lasther emotions had grown sluggish. She did not mind much even whenher tiny hoard of money was quite gone, and she roamed the city,starving.... Came an hour when she thought of the river, and wasglad!
　　Mary remembered, with a wan smile, how, long ago, she had thoughtwith amazed horror of suicide, unable to imagine any troublesufficient to drive one to death as the only relief. Now,however, the thing was simple to her. Since there was nothingelse, she must turn to that--to death. Indeed, it was so verysimple, so final, and so easy, after the agonies she had endured,that she marveled over her own folly in not having sought suchescape before.... Even with the first wild fancy, she hadunconsciously bent her steps westward toward the North River.
　　Now, she quickened her pace, anxious for the plunge that shouldset the term to sorrow. In her numbed brain was no flicker ofthought as to whatever might come to her afterward. Her soleguide was that compelling passion of desire to be done with thisunbearable present. Nothing else mattered--not in the least!
　　So, she came through the long stretch of ill-lighted streets,crossed some railroad tracks to a pier, over which she hurried tothe far end, where it projected out to the fiercer currents ofthe Hudson. There, without giving herself a moment's pause forreflection or hesitation, she leaped out as far as her strengthpermitted into the coil of waters.... But, in that final second,natural terror in the face of death overcame the lethargy ofdespair--a shriek burst from her lips.
　　But for that scream of fear, the story of Mary Turner had endedthere and then. Only one person was anywhere near to catch thesound. And that single person heard. On the south side of thepier a man had just tied up a motor-boat. He stood up in alarmat the cry, and was just in time to gain a glimpse of a whiteface under the dim moonlight as it swept down with the tide, tworods beyond him. On the instant, he threw off his coat andsprang far out after the drifting body. He came to it in a fewfurious strokes, caught it. Then began the savage struggle tosave her and himself. The currents tore at him wrathfully, but hefought against them with all the fierceness of his nature. Hehad strength a-plenty, but it needed all of it, and more, to winout of the river's hungry clutch. What saved the two of them wasthe violent temper of the man. Always, it had been the demon toset him aflame. To-night, there in the faint light, within thegrip of the waters, he was moved to insensate fury against theelement that menaced. His rage mounted, and gave him new powerin the battle. Maniacal strength grew out of supreme wrath.
　　Under the urge of it, he conquered--at last brought himself andhis charge to the shore.
　　When, finally, the rescuer was able to do something more thangasp chokingly, he gave anxious attention to the woman whom hehad brought out from the river. Yet, at the outset, he could notbe sure that she still lived. She had shown no sign of life atany time since he had first seized her. That fact had been ofincalculable advantage to him in his efforts to reach the shorewith her. Now, however, it alarmed him mightily, though ithardly seemed possible that she could have drowned. So far as hecould determine, she: had not even sunk once beneath the surface.
　　Nevertheless, she displayed no evidence of vitality, though hechafed her hands for a long time. The shore here was verylonely; it would take precious time to summon aid. It seemed,notwithstanding, that this must be the only course. Then just asthe man was about to leave her, the girl sighed, very faintly,with an infinite weariness, and opened her eyes. The man echoedthe sigh, but his was of joy, since now he knew that his strifein the girl's behalf had not been in vain.
　　Afterward, the rescuer experienced no great difficulty incarrying out his work to a satisfactory conclusion. Mary revivedto clear consciousness, which was at first inclined towardhysteria, but this phase yielded soon under the sympatheticministrations of the man. His rather low voice was soothing toher tired soul, and his whole air was at once masterful andgently tender. Moreover, there was an inexpressible balm to herspirit in the very fact that some one was thus ministering toher. It was the first time for many dreadful years that any onehad taken thought for her welfare. The effect of it was like adraught of rarest wine to warm her heart. So, she restedobediently as he busied himself with her complete restoration,and, when finally she was able to stand, and to walk with thesupport of his arm, she went forward slowly at his side withoutso much even as a question of whither.
　　And, curiously, the man himself shared the gladness that touchedthe mood of the girl, for he experienced a sudden pride in hisaccomplishment of the night, a pride that delighted a starvedpart of his nature. Somewhere in him were the seeds ofself-sacrifice, the seeds of a generous devotion to others. Butthose seeds had been left undeveloped in a life that had beenlived since early boyhood outside the pale of respectability.
　　To-night, Joe Garson had performed, perhaps, his first actionwith no thought of self at the back of it. He had risked hislife to save that of a stranger. The fact astonished him, whileit pleased him hugely. The sensation was at once novel andthrilling. Since it was so agreeable, he meant to prolong theglow of self-satisfaction by continuing to care for this waif ofthe river. He must make his rescue complete. It did not occur tohim to question his fitness for the work. His introspection didnot reach to a point of suspecting that he, an habitual criminal,was necessarily of a sort to be most objectionable as theprotector of a young girl. Indeed, had any one suggested thethought to him, he would have met it with a sneer, to the effectthat a wretch thus tired of life could hardly object to any onewho constituted himself her savior.
　　In this manner, Joe Garson, the notorious forger, led thedripping girl eastward through the squalid streets, until at lastthey came to an adequately lighted avenue, and there a taxicabwas found. It carried them farther north, and to the east still,until at last it came to a halt before an apartment house thatwas rather imposing, set in a street of humbler dwellings. Here,Garson paid the fare, and then helped the girl to alight, and oninto the hallway. Mary went with him quite unafraid, though nowwith a growing curiosity. Strange as it all was, she felt thatshe could trust this man who had plucked her from death, who hadworked over her with so much of tender kindliness. So, shewaited patiently; only, watched with intentness as he pressed thebutton of a flat number. She observed with interest the thick,wavy gray of his hair, which contradicted pleasantly theyouthfulness of his clean-shaven, resolute face, and the spare,yet well-muscled form.
　　The clicking of the door-latch sounded soon, and the two entered,and went slowly up three flights of stairs. On the landing beyondthe third flight, the door of a rear flat stood open, and in thedoorway appeared the figure of a woman.
　　"Well, Joe, who's the skirt?" this person demanded, as the manand his charge halted before her. Then, abruptly, the round,baby-like face of the woman puckered in amazement. Her voicerose shrill. "My Gawd, if it ain't Mary Turner!"At that, the newcomer's eyes opened swiftly to their widest, andshe stared astounded in her turn.
　　"Aggie!" she cried.
Chapter 7 Within The Law
In the time that followed, Mary lived in the flat which AggieLynch occupied along with her brother, Jim, a pickpocket muchesteemed among his fellow craftsmen. The period wroughttransformations of radical and bewildering sort in both theappearance and the character of the girl. Joe Garson, theforger, had long been acquainted with Aggie and her brother,though he considered them far beneath him in the social scale,since their criminal work was not of that high kind on which heprided himself. But, as he cast about for some woman to whom hemight take the hapless girl he had rescued, his thoughts fell onAggie, and forthwith his determination was made, since he knewthat she was respectable, viewed according to his own peculiarlights. He was relieved rather than otherwise to learn thatthere was already an acquaintance between the two women, and thefact that his charge had served time in prison did not influencehim one jot against her. On the contrary, it increased in somemeasure his respect for her as one of his own kind. By the timehe had learned as well of her innocence, he had grown sointerested that even her folly, as he was inclined to deem it,did not cause any wavering in his regard.
　　Now, at last, Mary Turner let herself drift. It seemed to herthat she had abandoned herself to fate in that hour when shethrew herself into the river. Afterward, without any volition onher part, she had been restored to life, and set within anenvironment new and strange to her, in which soon, to hersurprise, she discovered a vivid pleasure. So, she fought nomore, but left destiny to work its will unhampered by her futilestrivings. For the first time in her life, thanks to thehospitality of Aggie Lynch, secretly reinforced from the funds ofJoe Garson, Mary found herself living in luxurious idleness,while her every wish could be gratified by the merest mention ofit. She was fed on the daintiest of fare, for Aggie was asybarite in all sensuous pleasures that were apart from sex. Shewas clothed with the most delicate richness for the first time asto those more mysterious garments which women love, and she soonhad a variety of frocks as charming as her graceful formdemanded. In addition, there were as many of books and magazinesas she could wish. Her mind, long starved like her body, seizedavidly on the nourishment thus afforded. In this interest, Aggiehad no share--was perhaps a little envious over Mary's absorptionin printed pages. But for her consolation were the matters offood and dress, and of countless junketings. In such directions,Aggie was the leader, an eager, joyous one always. She took avast pride in her guest, with the unmistakable air of elegance,and she dared to dream of great triumphs to come, though as yetshe carefully avoided any suggestion to Mary of wrong-doing.
　　In the end, the suggestion came from Mary Turner herself, to thegreat surprise of Aggie, and, truth to tell, of herself.
　　There were two factors that chiefly influenced her decision. Thefirst was due to the feeling that, since the world had rejectedher, she need no longer concern herself with the world's opinion,or retain any scruples over it. Back of this lay her bittersentiment toward the man who had been the direct cause of herimprisonment, Edward Gilder. It seemed to her that the generalwarfare against the world might well be made an initial step inthe warfare she meant to wage, somehow, some time, against thatman personally, in accordance with the hysterical threat she haduttered to his face.
　　The factor that was the immediate cause of her decision on anirregular mode of life was an editorial in one of the dailynewspapers. This was a scathing arraignment of a master in highfinance. The point of the writer's attack was the grim sarcasmfor such methods of thievery as are kept within the law. Thatphrase held the girl's fancy, and she read the article again witha quickened interest. Then, she began to meditate. She herselfwas in a curious, indeterminate attitude as far as concerned thelaw. It was the law that had worked the ruin of her life, whichshe had striven to make wholesome. In consequence, she felt forthe law no genuine respect, only detestation as for the epitomeof injustice. Yet, she gave it a superficial respect, born ofthose three years of suffering which had been the result of thepenalty inflicted on her. It was as an effect of this latterfeeling that she was determined on one thing of vital importance:
　　that never would she be guilty of anything to pit her against thelaw's decrees. She had known too many hours of anguish in thedoom set on her life because she had been deemed a violator ofthe law. No, never would she let herself take any position inwhich the law could accuse her.... But there remained the factthat the actual cause of her long misery was this same law,manipulated by the man she hated. It had punished her, thoughshe had been without fault. For that reason, she must alwaysregard it as her enemy, must, indeed, hate it with an intensitybeyond words--with an intensity equal to that she bore the man,Gilder. Now, in the paragraph she had just read she found a clueto suggestive thought, a hint as to a means by which she mightsatisfy her rancor against the law that had outraged her--andthis in safety since she would attempt nought save that withinthe law.
　　Mary's heart leaped at the possibility back of those three words,"within the law." She might do anything, seek any revenge, workany evil, enjoy any mastery, as long as she should keep withinthe law. There could be no punishment then. That was the lessontaught by the captain in high finance. He was at pains always inhis stupendous robberies to keep within the law. To that end, heemployed lawyers of mighty cunning and learning to guide hissteps aright in such tortuous paths.
　　There, then, was the secret. Why should she not use the likemeans? Why, indeed? She had brains enough to devise, surely.
　　Beyond that, she needed only to keep her course most carefullywithin those limits of wrong-doing permitted by the statutes.
　　For that, the sole requirement would be a lawyer equallyunscrupulous and astute. At once, Mary's mind was made up.
　　After all, the thing was absurdly simple. It was merely a matterfor ingenuity and for prudence in alliance.... Moreover, therewould come eventually some adequate device against herarch-enemy, Edward Gilder.
　　Mary meditated on the idea for many days, and ever it seemedincreasingly good to her. Finally, it developed to a point whereshe believed it altogether feasible, and then she took Joe Garsoninto her confidence. He was vastly astonished at the outset andnot quite pleased. To his view, this plan offered merely afashion of setting difficulties in the way of achievement.
　　Presently, however, the sincerity and persistence of the girl wonhim over. The task of convincing him would have been easier hadhe himself ever known the torment of serving a term in prison.
　　Thus far, however, the forger had always escaped the penalty forhis crimes, though often close to conviction. But Mary'sarguments were of a compelling sort as she set them forth indetail, and they made their appeal to Garson, who was by no meanslacking in a shrewd native intelligence. He agreed that theexperiment should be made, notwithstanding the fact that he feltno particular enthusiasm over the proposed scheme of working. Itis likely that his own strong feeling of attraction toward thegirl whom he had saved from death, who now appeared before him asa radiantly beautiful young woman, was more persuasive than theexcellent ideas which she presented so emphatically, and with alogic so impressive.
　　An agreement was made by which Joe Garson and certain of his moretrusted intimates in the underworld were to put themselves underthe orders of Mary concerning the sphere of their activities.
　　Furthermore, they bound themselves not to engage in any deviousbusiness without her consent. Aggie, too, was one of the companythus constituted, but she figured little in the preliminarydiscussions, since neither Mary nor the forger had much respectfor the intellectual capabilities of the adventuress, though theyappreciated to the full her remarkable powers of influencing mento her will.
　　It was not difficult to find a lawyer suited to the necessitiesof the undertaking. Mary bore in mind constantly the highfinancier's reliance on the legal adviser competent to invent amethod whereby to baffle the law at any desired point, and afterjudicious investigation she selected an ambitious and experiencedJew named Sigismund Harris, just in the prime of his mentalvigors, who possessed a knowledge of the law only to be equalledby his disrespect for it. He seemed, indeed, precisely the manto fit the situation for one desirous of outraging the lawremorselessly, while still retaining a place absolutely withinit.
　　Forthwith, the scheme was set in operation. As a first step,Mary Turner became a young lady of independent fortune, who hadliving with her a cousin, Miss Agnes Lynch. The flat wasabandoned. In its stead was an apartment in the nineties onRiverside Drive, in which the ladies lived alone with two maidsto serve them. Garson had rooms in the neighborhood, but JimLynch, who persistently refused the conditions of such analliance, betook himself afar, to continue his reckless gatheringof other folk's money in such wise as to make him amenable to thelaw the very first time he should be caught at it.
　　A few tentative ventures resulted in profits so large that thecompany grew mightily enthusiastic over the novel manner ofworking. In each instance, Harris was consulted, and made hisconfidential statement as to the legality of the thing proposed.
　　Mary gratified her eager mind by careful studies in this chosenline of nefariousness. After a few perfectly legalbreach-of-promise suits, due to Aggie's winsome innocence ofdemeanor, had been settled advantageously out of court, Marydevised a scheme of greater elaborateness, with the legal acumenof the lawyer to endorse it in the matter of safety.
　　This netted thirty thousand dollars. It was planned as theswindling of a swindler--which, in fact, had now become thesecret principle in Mary's morality.
　　A gentleman possessed of some means, none too scrupulous himself,but with high financial aspirations, advertised for a partner toinvest capital in a business sure to bring large returns. Thisadvertisement caught the eye of Mary Turner, and she answered it.
　　An introductory correspondence encouraged her to hope for thevictory in a game of cunning against cunning. She consulted withthe perspicacious Mr. Harris, and especially sought from himdetailed information as to partnership law. His statements gaveher such confidence that presently she entered into a partnershipwith the advertiser. By the terms of their agreement, eachdeposited thirty thousand dollars to the partnership account.
　　This sum of sixty thousand dollars was ostensibly to be devotedto the purchase of a tract of land, which should afterward bedivided into lots, and resold to the public at enormous profit.
　　As a matter of fact, the advertiser planned to make a spuriouspurchase of the tract in question, by means of forged deedsgranted by an accomplice, thus making through fraud a neat profitof thirty thousand dollars. The issue was, however,disappointing to him in the extreme. No sooner was the sixtythousand dollars on deposit in the bank than Mary Turner drew outthe whole amount, as she had a perfect right to do legally. Whenthe advertiser learned of this, he was, naturally enough, full tooverflowing with wrath. But after an interview with Harris heswallowed this wrath as best he might. He found that hisadversary knew a dangerous deal as to his various swindlingoperations. In short, he could not go into court with cleanhands, which is a prime stipulation of the law--though oftenhonored in the breach. But the advertiser's hands were tooperilously filthy, so he let himself be mulcted in ragingsilence.
　　The event established Mary as the arbiter in her own coterie.
　　Here was, in truth, a new game, a game most entertaining, andmost profitable, and not in the least risky. Immediately afterthe adventure with the advertiser, Mary decided that a certainGeneral Hastings would make an excellent sacrifice on the altarof justice--and to her own financial profit. The old man was anotorious roue, of most unsavory reputation as a destroyer ofinnocence. It was probable that he would easily fall a victim tothe ingenuous charms of Aggie. As for that precocious damsel, shewould run no least risk of destruction by the satyr. So,presently, there were elaborate plottings. General Hastings metAggie in the most casual way. He was captivated by her freshnessand beauty, her demureness, her ignorance of all things vicious.
　　Straightway, he set his snares, being himself already limed. Heshowered every gallant attention on the naive bread-and-buttermiss, and succeeded gratifyingly soon in winning her heart--toall appearance. But he gained nothing more, for the coy creatureabruptly developed most effective powers of resistance to everyblandishment that went beyond strictest propriety. His ardorcooled suddenly when Harris filed the papers in a suit for tenthousand dollars damages for breach of promise.
　　Even while this affair was still in the course of execution, Maryfound herself engaged in a direction that offered at least thehope of attaining her great desire, revenge against EdwardGilder. This opportunity came in the person of his son, Dick.
　　After much contriving, she secured an introduction to that youngman. Forthwith, she showed herself so deliciously womanly, sointelligent, so daintily feminine, so singularly beautiful, thatthe young man was enamored almost at once. The fact thrilledMary to the depths of her heart, for in this son of the man whomshe hated she saw the instrument of vengeance for which she hadso longed. Yet, this one thing was so vital to her that she saidnothing of her purposes, not even to Aggie, though that observantperson may have possessed suspicions more or less near the truth.
　　It was some such suspicion that lay behind her speech as, innegligee, she sat cross-legged on the bed, smoking a cigarette ina very knowing way, while watching Mary, who was adjusting herhat before the mirror of her dressing-table, one pleasant springmorning.
　　"Dollin' up a whole lot, ain't you?" Aggie remarked, affably,with that laxity of language which characterized her naturalmoods.
　　"I have a very important engagement with Dick Gilder," Maryreplied, tranquilly. She vouchsafed nothing more definite as toher intentions.
　　"Nice boy, ain't he?" Aggie ventured, insinuatingly.
　　"Oh, I suppose so," came the indifferent answer from Mary, as shetilted the picture hat to an angle a trifle more jaunty.
　　The pseudo cousin sniffed.
　　"You s'pose that, do you? Well, anyhow, he's here so much weought to be chargin' him for his meal-ticket. And yet I ain'tsure that you even know whether he's the real goods, or not."The fair face of Mary Turner hardened the least bit. There shonean expression of inscrutable disdain in the violet eyes, as sheturned to regard Aggie with a level glance.
　　"I know that he's the son--the only son!--of Edward Gilder. Thefact is enough for me."The adventuress of the demure face shook her head in token ofcomplete bafflement. Her rosy lips pouted in petulantdissatisfaction.
　　"I don't get you, Mary," she admitted, querulously. "You neverused to look at the men. The way you acted when you first runround with me, I thought you sure was a suffragette. And thenyou met this young Gilder --and--good-night, nurse!"The hardness remained in Mary's face, as she continued to regardher friend. But, now, there was something quizzical in theglance with which she accompanied the monosyllable:
　　"Well?"Again, Aggie shook her head in perplexity.
　　"His old man sends you up for a stretch for something you didn'tdo--and you take up with his son like----""And yet you don't understand!" There was scorn for such grossstupidity in the musical voice.
　　Aggie choked a little from the cigarette smoke, as she gave agasp when suspicion of the truth suddenly dawned on her slowintelligence.
　　"My Gawd!" Her voice came in a treble shriek of apprehension.
　　"I'm wise!""But you must understand this," Mary went on, with anauthoritative note in her voice. "Whatever may be between youngGilder and me is to be strictly my own affair. It has absolutelynothing to do with the rest of you, or with our schemes formoney-making. And, what is more, Agnes, I don't want to talkabout it. But----""Yes?" queried Aggie, encouragingly, as the other paused. Shehopefully awaited further confidences.
　　"But I do want to know," Mary continued with some severity, "whatyou meant by talking in the public street yesterday with a commonpickpocket."Aggie's childlike face changed swiftly its expression from a slyeagerness to sullenness.
　　"You know perfectly well, Mary Turner," she cried indignantly,"that I only said a few words in passin' to my brother Jim. Andhe ain't no common pickpocket. Hully Gee! He's the best dip inthe business.""But you must not be seen speaking with him," Mary directed, witha certain air of command now become habitual to her among themembers of her clique. "My cousin, Miss Agnes Lynch, must bevery careful as to her associates."The volatile Agnes was restored to good humor by some subtlequality in the utterance, and a family pride asserted itself.
　　"He just stopped me to say it's been the best year he ever had,"she explained, with ostentatious vanity.
　　Mary appeared sceptical.
　　"How can that be," she demanded, "when the dead line now is JohnStreet?""The dead line!" Aggie scoffed. A peal of laughter rang merrilyfrom her curving lips.
　　"Why, Jim takes lunch every day in the Wall Street Delmonico's.
　　Yes," she went on with increasing animation, "and only yesterdayhe went down to Police Headquarters, just for a littleexcitement, 'cause Jim does sure hate a dull life. Say, he toldme they've got a mat at the door with 'Welcome' on it--in lettersthree feet high. Now, what--do--you--think--of that!" Aggieteetered joyously, the while she inhaled a shockingly largemouthful of smoke. "And, oh, yes!" she continued happily, "Jim,he lifted a leather from a bull who was standing in the hallwaythere at Headquarters! Jim sure does love excitement."Mary lifted her dark eyebrows in half-amused inquiry.
　　"It's no use, Agnes," she declared, though without entiresincerity; "I can't quite keep up with your thieves' argot--yourslang, you know. Just what did this brother of yours do?""Why, he copped the copper's kale," Aggie translated, glibly.
　　Mary threw out her hands in a gesture of dismay.
　　Thereupon, the adventuress instantly assumed a most ladylike andmincing air which ill assorted with the cigarette that she heldbetween her lips.
　　"He gently removed a leathern wallet," she said sedately,"containing a large sum of money from the coat pocket of a memberof the detective force." The elegance of utterance wasinimitably done. But in the next instant, the ordinary vulgarityof enunciation was in full play again. "Oh, Gee!" she criedgaily. "He says Inspector Burke's got a gold watch that weighs aton, an' all set with diamon's!--which was give to 'imby--admirin' friends!... We didn't contribute.""Given to him," Mary corrected, with a tolerant smile.
　　Aggie sniffed once again.
　　"What difference does it make?" she demanded, scornfully. "He'sgot it, ain't he?" And then she added with avaricious intensity:
　　"Just as soon as I get time, I'm goin' after that watch--believeme!"Mary shook her head in denial.
　　"No, you are not," she said, calmly. "You are under my ordersnow. And as long as you are working with us, you will break nolaws.""But I can't see----" Aggie began to argue with the petulance ofa spoiled child.
　　Mary's voice came with a certainty of conviction born of fact.
　　"When you were working alone," she said gravely, did you have ahome like this?""No," was the answer, spoken a little rebelliously.
　　"Or such clothes? Most of all, did you have safety from thepolice?""No," Aggie admitted, somewhat more responsively. "But, just thesame, I can't see----"Mary began putting on her gloves, and at the same time strove togive this remarkable young woman some insight into her own pointof view, though she knew the task to be one well-nigh impossible.
　　"Agnes," she said, didactically, "the richest men in this countryhave made their fortunes, not because of the law, but in spite ofthe law. They made up their minds what they wanted to do, andthen they engaged lawyers clever enough to show them how theycould do it, and still keep within the law. Any one with brainscan get rich in this country if he will engage the right lawyer.
　　Well, I have the brains--and Harris is showing me the law--thewonderful twisted law that was made for the rich! Since we keepinside the law, we are safe."Aggie, without much apprehension of the exact situation, wasmoved to a dimpled mirth over the essential humor of the methodindicated.
　　"Gee, that's funny," she cried happily. "You an' me an' JoeGarson handin' it to 'em, an' the bulls can't touch us! Nextthing you know, Harris will be havin' us incorporated as theAmerican Legal Crime Society.""I shouldn't be in the least surprised," Mary assented, as shefinished buttoning her gloves. She smiled, but there was a hintof grimness in the bending of her lips. That grimness remained,as she glanced at the clock, then went toward the door of theroom, speaking over her shoulder.
　　"And, now I must be off to a most important engagement with Mr.
　　Dick Gilder."
Chapter 8 A Tip From Headquarters
Presently, when she had finished the cigarette, Aggie proceededto her own chamber and there spent a considerable time in makinga toilette calculated to set off to its full advantage theslender daintiness of her form. When at last she was gowned toher satisfaction, she went into the drawing-room of the apartmentand gave herself over to more cigarettes, in an easy chair,sprawled out in an attitude of comfort never taught in anyfinishing school for young ladies. She at the same time indulgedher tastes in art and literature by reading the jokes andstudying the comic pictures in an evening paper, which the maidbrought in at her request. She had about exhausted this form ofamusement when the coming of Joe Garson, who was usually in andout of the apartment a number of times daily, provided a welcomediversion. After a casual greeting between the two, Aggieexplained, in response to his question, that Mary had gone out tokeep an engagement with Dick Gilder.
　　There was a little period of silence while the man, with theresolute face and the light gray eyes that shone so clearlyunderneath the thick, waving silver hair, held his head bentdownward as if in intent thought. When, finally, he spoke, therewas a certain quality in his voice that caused Aggie to regardhim curiously.
　　"Mary has been with him a good deal lately," he said, halfquestioningly.
　　"That's what," was the curt agreement.
　　Garson brought out his next query with the brutal bluntness ofhis kind; and yet there was a vague suggestion of tenderness inhis tones under the vulgar words.
　　"Think she's stuck on him?" He had seated himself on a setteeopposite the girl, who did not trouble on his account to assume aposture more decorous, and he surveyed her keenly as he waitedfor a reply.
　　"Why not?" Aggie retorted. "Bet your life I'd be, if I had achance. He's a swell boy. And his father's got the coin, too."At this the man moved impatiently, and his eyes wandered to thewindow. Again, Aggie studied him with a swift glance ofinterrogation. Not being the possessor of an over-nicesensibility as to the feelings of others, she now spoke briskly.
　　"Joe, if there's anything on your mind, shoot it."Garson hesitated for a moment, then decided to unburden himself,for he craved precise knowledge in this matter.
　　"It's Mary," he explained, with some embarrassment; "her andyoung Gilder.""Well?" came the crisp question.
　　"Well, somehow," Garson went on, still somewhat confusedly, "Ican't see any good of it, for her.""Why?" Aggie demanded, in surprise.
　　Garson's manner grew easier, now that the subject was wellbroached.
　　"Old man Gilder's got a big pull," he vouchsafed, "and if hecaught on to his boy's going with Mary, he'd be likely to sendthe police after us--strong! Believe me, I ain't looking for anytrip up the river."Aggie shook her head, quite unaffected by the man's suggestion ofpossible peril in the situation.
　　"We ain't done nothin' they can touch us for," she declared, withassurance. "Mary says so."Garson, however, was unconvinced, notwithstanding his deferenceto the judgment of his leader.
　　"Whether we've done anything, or whether we haven't, don'tmatter," he objected. "Once the police set out after you,they'll get you. Russia ain't in it with some of the things Ihave seen pulled off in this town.""Oh, can that 'fraid talk!" Aggie exclaimed, roughly. "I tell youthey can't get us. We've got our fingers crossed."She would have said more, but a noise at the hall doorinterrupted her, and she looked up to see a man in the opening,while behind him appeared the maid, protesting angrily.
　　"Never mind that announcing thing with me," the newcomer raspedto the expostulating servant, in a voice that suited well histhick-set figure, with the bullet-shaped head and the bull-likeneck. Then he turned to the two in the drawing-room, both ofwhom had now risen to their feet.
　　"It's all right, Fannie," Aggie said hastily to the flusteredmaid. "You can go."As the servant, after an indignant toss of the head, departedalong the passage, the visitor clumped heavily forward andstopped in the center of the room, looking first at one and thenthe other of the two with a smile that was not pleasant. He wasnot at pains to remove the derby hat which he wore rather farback on his head. By this single sign, one might have recognizedCassidy, who had had Mary Turner in his charge on the occasion ofher ill-fated visit to Edward Gilder's office, four years before,though now the man had thickened somewhat, and his ruddy face wasgrown even coarser.
　　"Hello, Joe!" he cried, familiarly. "Hello, Aggie!"The light-gray eyes of the forger had narrowed perceptibly as herecognized the identity of the unceremonious caller, while thelines of his firmly set mouth took on an added fixity.
　　"Well?" he demanded. His voice was emotionless.
　　"Just a little friendly call," Cassidy announced, in his stridentvoice. "Where's the lady of the house?""Out." It was Aggie who spoke, very sharply.
　　"Well, Joe," Cassidy went on, without paying further heed to thegirl for a moment, "when she comes back, just tell her it's up toher to make a get-away, and to make it quick."But Aggie was not one to be ignored under any circumstances.
　　Now, she spoke with some acerbity in her voice, which could atwill be wondrous soft and low.
　　"Say!" she retorted viciously, "you can't throw any scare intous. You hadn't got anything on us. See?"Cassidy, in response to this outburst, favored the girl with along stare, and there was hearty amusement in his tones as heanswered.
　　"Nothing on you, eh? Well, well, let's see." He regarded Garsonwith a grin. "You are Joe Garson, forger." As he spoke, thedetective took a note-book from a pocket, found a page, and thenread: "First arrested in 1891, for forging the name of EdwinGoodsell to a check for ten thousand dollars. Again arrestedJune 19, 1893, for forgery. Arrested in April, 1898, for forgingthe signature of Oscar Hemmenway to a series of bonds that werecounterfeit. Arrested as the man back of the Reilly gang, in1903. Arrested in 1908 for forgery."There was no change in the face or pose of the man who listenedto the reading. When it was done, and the officer looked up witha resumption of his triumphant grin, Garson spoke quietly.
　　"Haven't any records of convictions, have you?"The grin died, and a snarl sprang in its stead.
　　"No," he snapped, vindictively. "But we've got the right dope onyou, all right, Joe Garson." He turned savagely on the girl, whonow had regained her usual expression of demure innocence, butwith her rather too heavy brows drawn a little lower than theirwont, under the influence of an emotion otherwise concealed.
　　"And you're little Aggie Lynch," Cassidy declared, as he thrustthe note-book back into his pocket. "Just now, you're posing asMary Turner's cousin. You served two years in Burnsing forblackmail. You were arrested in Buffalo, convicted, and servedyour stretch. Nothing on you? Well, well!" Again there wastriumph in the officer's chuckle.
　　Aggie showed no least sign of perturbation in the face of thisrevelation of her unsavory record. Only an expression ofhalf-incredulous wonder and delight beamed from her widely openedblue eyes and was emphasized in the rounding of the little mouth.
　　"Why," she cried, and now there was softness enough in the cooingnotes, "my Gawd! It looks as though you had actually beenworkin'!"The sarcasm was without effect on the dull sensibilities of theofficer. He went on speaking with obvious enjoyment of theextent to which his knowledge reached.
　　"And the head of the gang is Mary Turner. Arrested four yearsago for robbing the Emporium. Did her stretch of three years.""Is that all you've got about her?" Garson demanded, with suchabruptness that Cassidy forgot his dignity sufficiently to answerwith an unqualified yes.
　　The forger continued speaking rapidly, and now there was anundercurrent of feeling in his voice.
　　"Nothing in your record of her about her coming out without afriend in the world, and trying to go straight? You ain't gotnothing in that pretty little book of your'n about your going tothe millinery store where she finally got a job, and tipping themoff to where she come from?""Sure, they was tipped off," Cassidy answered, quite unmoved.
　　And he added, swelling visibly with importance: "We got toprotect the city.""Got anything in that record of your'n," Garson went onvenomously, "about her getting another job, and your followingher up again, and having her thrown out? Got it there about theletter you had old Gilder write, so that his influence would gether canned?""Oh, we had her right the first time," Cassidy admitted,complacently.
　　Then, the bitterness of Garson's soul was revealed by thefierceness in his voice as he replied.
　　"You did not! She was railroaded for a job she never done. Shewent in honest, and she came out honest."The detective indulged himself in a cackle of sneering merriment.
　　"And that's why she's here now with a gang of crooks," heretorted.
　　Garson met the implication fairly.
　　"Where else should she be?" he demanded, violently. "You ain'tgot nothing in that record about my jumping into the river afterher?" The forger's voice deepened and trembled with theintensity of his emotion, which was now grown so strong that anywho listened and looked might guess something of the truth as tohis feeling toward this woman of whom he spoke. "That's where Ifound her--a girl that never done nobody any harm, starvingbecause you police wouldn't give her a chance to work. In theriver because she wouldn't take the only other way that was lefther to make a living, because she was keeping straight!... Haveyou got any of that in your book?"Cassidy, who had been scowling in the face of this arraignment,suddenly gave vent to a croaking laugh of derision.
　　"Huh!" he said, contemptuously. "I guess you're stuck on her,eh?"At the words, an instantaneous change swept over Garson.
　　Hitherto, he had been tense, his face set with emotion, a manstrong and sullen, with eyes as clear and heartless as those of abeast in the wild. Now, without warning, a startlingtransformation was wrought. His form stiffened to rigidity afterone lightning-swift step forward, and his face grayed. The eyesglowed with the fires of a man's heart in a spasm of hate. Hewas the embodiment of rage, as he spoke huskily, his voice awhisper that was yet louder than any shout.
　　"Cut that!"The eyes of the two men locked. Cassidy struggled with all hispride against the dominant fury this man hurled on him.
　　"What?" he demanded, blusteringly. But his tone was weaker thanits wont.
　　"I mean," Garson repeated, and there was finality in his accents,a deadly quality that was appalling, "I mean, cut it out--now,here, and all the time! It don't go!" The voice rose slightly.
　　The effect of it was more penetrant than a scream. "It don'tgo!... Do you get me?"There was a short interval of silence, then the officer's eyes atlast fell. It was Aggie who relieved the tension of the scene.
　　"He's got you," she remarked, airily. "Oi, oi! He's got you!"There were again a few seconds of pause, and then Cassidy made anobservation that revealed in some measure the shock of theexperience he had just undergone.
　　"You would have been a big man, Joe, if it hadn't been for thattemper of yours. It's got you into trouble once or twicealready. Some time it's likely to prove your finish."Garson relaxed his immobility, and a little color crept into hischeeks.
　　"That's my business," he responded, dully.
　　"Anyway," the officer went on, with a new confidence, now thathis eyes were free from the gaze that had burned into his soul,"you've got to clear out, the whole gang of you--and do itquick."Aggie, who as a matter of fact began to feel that she was notreceiving her due share of attention, now interposed, movingforward till her face was close to the detective's.
　　"We don't scare worth a cent," she snapped, with the virulence ofa vixen. "You can't do anything to us. We ain't broke the law."There came a sudden ripple of laughter, and the charming lipscurved joyously, as she added: "Though perhaps we have bent it abit."Cassidy sneered, outraged by such impudence on the part of anex-convict.
　　"Don't make no difference what you've done," he growled. "Gee!"he went on, with a heavy sneer. "But things are coming to apretty pass when a gang of crooks gets to arguing about theirrights. That's funny, that is!""Then laugh!" Aggie exclaimed, insolently, and made a face at theofficer. "Ha, ha, ha!""Well, you've got the tip," Cassidy returned, somewhatdisconcerted, after a stolid fashion of his own. "It's up to youto take it, that's all. If you don't, one of you will make along visit with some people out of town, and it'll probably beMary. Remember, I'm giving it to you straight."Aggie assumed her formal society manner, exaggerated to the pointof extravagance.
　　"Do come again, little one," she chirruped, caressingly. "I'veenjoyed your visit so much!"But Cassidy paid no apparent attention to her frivolousness; onlyturned and went noisily out of the drawing-room, offering noreturn to her daintily inflected good-afternoon.
　　For her own part, as she heard the outer door close behind thedetective, Aggie's expression grew vicious, and the heavy browsdrew very low, until the level line almost made her prettinessvanish.
　　"The truck-horse detective!" she sneered. "An eighteen collar,and a six-and-a-half hat! He sure had his nerve, trying to bluffus!"But it was plain that Garson was of another mood. There wasanxiety in his face, as he stood staring vaguely out of thewindow.
　　"Perhaps it wasn't a bluff, Aggie," he suggested.
　　"Well, what have we done, I'd like to know?" the girl demanded,confidently. She took a cigarette and a match from the tabouretbeside her, and stretched her feet comfortably, if veryinelegantly, on a chair opposite.
　　Garson answered with a note of weariness that was unlike him.
　　"It ain't what you have done," he said, quietly. "It's what theycan make a jury think you've done. And, once they set out to getyou--God, how they can frame things! If they ever start out afterMary----" He did not finish the sentence, but sank down into hischair with a groan that was almost of despair.
　　The girl replied with a burst of careless laughter.
　　"Joe," she said gaily, "you're one grand little forger, allright, all right. But Mary's got the brains. Pooh, I'll stringalong with her as far as she wants to go. She's educated, she is.
　　She ain't like you and me, Joe. She talks like a lady, and,what's a damned sight harder, she acts like a lady. I guess Iknow. Wake me up any old night and ask me--just ask me, that'sall. She's been tryin' to make a lady out of me!"The vivaciousness of the girl distracted the man for the momentfrom the gloom of his thoughts, and he turned to survey thespeaker with a cynical amusement.
　　"Swell chance!" he commented, drily.
　　"Oh, I'm not so worse! Just you watch out." The lively girlsprang up, discarded the cigarette, adjusted an imaginary train,and spoke lispingly in a society manner much more moderate andconvincing than that with which she had favored the retiringCassidy. Voice, pose and gesture proclaimed at least theexcellent mimic.
　　"How do you do, Mrs. Jones! So good of you to call!... My dearMiss Smith, this is indeed a pleasure." She seated herselfagain, quite primly now, and moved her hands over the tabouretappropriately to her words. "One lump, or two?... Yes, I justlove bridge. No, I don't play," she continued, simpering; "but,just the same, I love it." With this absurd ending, Aggie againarranged her feet according to her liking on the opposite chair.
　　"That's the kind of stuff she's had me doing," she rattled on inher coarser voice, "and believe me, Joe, it's damned near killingme. But all the same," she hurried on, with a swift revulsion ofmood to the former serious topic, "I'm for Mary strong! You stickto her, Joe, and you'll wear diamon's.... And that reminds me! Iwish she'd let me wear mine, but she won't. She says they'revulgar for an innocent country girl like her cousin, Agnes Lynch.
　　Ain't that fierce?... How can anything be vulgar that's worth ahundred and fifty a carat?"
Chapter 9 A Leagal Document
Mary Turner spent less than an hour in that mysteriouslyimportant engagement with Dick Gilder, of which she had spoken toAggie. After separating from the young man, she went alone downBroadway, walking the few blocks of distance to SigismundHarris's office. On a corner, her attention was caught by theforlorn face of a girl crossing into the side street. A closerglance showed that the privation of the gaunt features wasemphasized by the scant garments, almost in tatters. Instantly,Mary's quick sympathies were aroused, the more particularly sincethe wretched child seemed of about the age she herself had beenwhen her great suffering had befallen. So, turning aside, shesoon caught up with the girl and spoke an inquiry.
　　It was the familiar story, a father out of work, a sick mother, abrood of hungry children. Some confused words of distressrevealed the fact that the wobegone girl was even then fightingthe final battle of purity against starvation. That she stillfought on in such case proved enough as to her decency of nature,wholesome despite squalid surroundings. Mary's heart was deeplymoved, and her words of comfort came with a simple sincerity thatwas like new life to the sorely beset waif. She promised tointerest herself in securing employment for the father, such careas the mother and children might need, along with a propersituation for the girl herself. In evidence of her purpose, shetook her engagement-book from her bag, and set down the streetand number of the East Side tenement where the family possessedthe one room that mocked the word home, and she gave a banknoteto the girl to serve the immediate needs.
　　When she went back to resume her progress down Broadway, Maryfelt herself vastly cheered by the warm glow within, which is thereward of a kindly act, gratefully received. And, on thisparticular morning, she craved such assuagement of her spirit,for the conscience that, in spite of all her misdeeds, stilllived was struggling within her. In her revolt against a worldthat had wantonly inflicted on her the worst torments, MaryTurner had thought that she might safely disregard thoseprinciples in which she had been so carefully reared. She hadbelieved that by the deliberate adoption of a life of guilewithin limits allowed by the law, she would find solace for herwants, while feeling that thus she avenged herself in some slightmeasure for the indignities she had undergone unjustly. Yet, asthe days passed, days of success as far as her scheming wasconcerned, this brilliant woman, who had tried to deem herselfunscrupulous, found that lawlessness within the law failed tosatisfy something deep within her soul. The righteousness thatwas her instinct was offended by the triumphs achieved through sodevious devices, though she resolutely set her will to suppressany spiritual rebellion.
　　There was, as well, another grievance of her nature, yet moresubtle, infinitely more painful. This lay in her craving fortenderness. She was wholly woman, notwithstanding the virilityof her intelligence, its audacity, its aggressiveness. She had aheart yearning for the multitudinous affections that are theprerogative of the feminine; she had a heart longing for love, toreceive and to give in full measure.... And her life was barren.
　　Since the death of her father, there had been none on whom shecould lavish the great gifts of her tenderness. Through the daysof her working in the store, circumstances had shut her out fromall association with others congenial. No need to rehearse theimpossibilities of companionship in the prison life. Since then,the situation had not vitally improved, in spite of her betterworldly condition. For Garson, who had saved her from death, shefelt a strong and lasting gratitude--nothing that relieved thelonging for nobler affections. There was none other with whomshe had any intimacy except that, of a sort, with Aggie Lynch,and by no possibility could the adventuress serve as an object ofdeep regard. The girl was amusing enough, and, indeed, a mostlikable person at her best. But she was, after all, ashallow-pated individual, without a shred of principle of anysort whatsoever, save the single merit of unswerving loyalty toher "pals." Mary cherished a certain warm kindliness for thefirst woman who had befriended her in any way, but beyond thisthere was no finer feeling.
　　Nevertheless, it is not quite accurate to say that Mary Turnerhad had no intimacy in which her heart might have been seriouslyengaged. In one instance, of recent happening, she had been muchin association with a young man who was of excellent standing inthe world, who was of good birth, good education, of delightfulmanners, and, too, wholesome and agreeable beyond the most of hisclass. This was Dick Gilder, and, since her companionship withhim, Mary had undergone a revulsion greater than ever beforeagainst the fate thrust on her, which now at last she had chosento welcome and nourish by acquiescence as best she might.
　　Of course, she could not waste tenderness on this man, for shehad deliberately set out to make him the instrument of hervengeance against his father. For that very reason, she sufferedmuch from a conscience newly clamorous. Never for an instant didshe hesitate in her long-cherished plan of revenge against theone who had brought ruin on her life, yet, through all hersatisfaction before the prospect of final victory after continueddelay, there ran the secret, inescapable sorrow over the factthat she must employ this means to attain her end. She had nothought of weakening, but the better spirit within her warredagainst the lust to repay an eye for an eye. It was the newGospel against the old Law, and the fierceness of the strugglerent her. Just now, the doing of the kindly act seemed somehow togratify not only her maternal instinct toward service of love,but, too, to muffle for a little the rebuking voice of her inmostsoul.
　　So she went her way more at ease, more nearly content again withherself and with her system of living. Indeed, as she was showninto the private office of the ingenious interpreter of the law,there was not a hint of any trouble beneath the bright mask ofher beauty, radiantly smiling.
　　Harris regarded his client with an appreciative eye, as he bowedin greeting, and invited her to a seat. The lawyer was a man offine physique, with a splendid face of the best Semitic type, inwhich were large, dark, sparkling eyes--eyes a Lombroso perhapsmight have judged rather too closely set. As a matter of fact,Harris had suffered a flagrant injustice in his own life from asuspicion of wrong-doing which he had not merited by any act.
　　This had caused him a loss of prestige in his profession. Hepresently adopted the wily suggestion of the adage, that it iswell to have the game if you have the name, and he resolutely sethimself to the task of making as much money as possible by anymeans convenient. Mary Turner as a client delighted his heart,both because of the novelty of her ideas and for the munificenceof the fees which she ungrudgingly paid with never a protest.
　　So, as he beamed on her now, and spoke a compliment, it wasrather the lawyer than the man that was moved to admiration.
　　"Why, Miss Turner, how charming!" he declared, smiling. "Really,my dear young lady, you look positively bridal.""Oh, do you think so?" Mary rejoined, with a whimsical pout, asshe seated herself. For the moment her air became distrait, butshe quickly regained her poise, as the lawyer, who had droppedback into his chair behind the desk, went on speaking. His tonenow was crisply business-like.
　　"I sent your cousin, Miss Agnes Lynch, the release which she isto sign," he explained, "when she gets that money from GeneralHastings. I wish you'd look it over, when you have time tospare. It's all right, I'm sure, but I confess that I appreciateyour opinion of things, Miss Turner, even of legaldocuments--yes, indeed, I do!--perhaps particularly of legaldocuments.""Thank you," Mary said, evidently a little gratified by the frankpraise of the learned gentleman for her abilities. "And have youheard from them yet?" she inquired.
　　"No," the lawyer replied. "I gave them until to-morrow. If Idon't hear then, I shall start suit at once." Then the lawyer'smanner became unusually bland and self-satisfied as he opened adrawer of the desk and brought forth a ratherformidable-appearing document, bearing a most impressive seal.
　　"You will be glad to know," he went on unctuously, "that I wasentirely successful in carrying out that idea of yours as to theinjunction. My dear Miss Turner," he went on with floridcompliment, "Portia was a squawking baby, compared with you.""Thank you again," Mary answered, as she took the legal paperwhich he held outstretched toward her. Her scarlet lips werecurved happily, and the clear oval of her cheeks blossomed to adeeper rose. For a moment, her glance ran over the words of thepage. Then she looked up at the lawyer, and there were newlusters in the violet eyes.
　　"It's splendid," she declared. "Did you have much trouble ingetting it?"Harris permitted himself the indulgence of an unprofessionalchuckle of keenest amusement before he answered.
　　"Why, no!" he declared, with reminiscent enjoyment in his manner.
　　"That is, not really!" There was an enormous complacency in hisair over the event. "But, at the outset, when I made therequest, the judge just naturally nearly fell off the bench.
　　Then, I showed him that Detroit case, to which you had drawn myattention, and the upshot of it all was that he gave me what Iwanted without a whimper. He couldn't help himself, you know.
　　That's the long and the short of it."That mysterious document with the imposing seal, the request forwhich had nearly caused a judge to fall off the bench, reposedsafely in Mary's bag when she, returned to the apartment afterthe visit to the lawyer's office.
Chapter 10 Marked Money
Mary had scarcely received from Aggie an account of Cassidy'sthreatening invasion, when the maid announced that Mr. Irwin hadcalled.
　　"Show him in, in just two minutes," Mary directed.
　　"Who's the gink?" Aggie demanded, with that slangy diction whichwas her habit.
　　"You ought to know," Mary returned, smiling a little. "He's thelawyer retained by General Hastings in the matter of a certainbreach-of-promise suit.""Oh, you mean yours truly," Aggie exclaimed, not in the leastabashed by her forgetfulness in an affair that concerned herselfso closely. "Hope he's brought the money. What about it?""Leave the room now," Mary ordered, crisply. "When I call to you,come in, but be sure and leave everything to me. Merely followmy lead. And, Agnes--be very ingenue.""Oh, I'm wise--I'm wise," Aggie nodded, as she hurried out towardher bedroom. "I'll be a squab--surest thing you know!"Next moment, Mary gave a formal greeting to the lawyer whorepresented the man she planned to mulct effectively, and invitedhim to a chair near her, while she herself retained her place atthe desk, within a drawer of which she had just locked theformidable-appearing document received from Harris.
　　Irwin lost no time in coming to the point.
　　"I called in reference to this suit, which Miss Agnes Lynchthreatens to bring against my client, General Hastings."Mary regarded the attorney with a level glance, serenelyexpressionless as far as could be achieved by eyes so clear andshining, and her voice was cold as she replied with significantbrusqueness.
　　"It's not a threat, Mr. Irwin. The suit will be brought."The lawyer frowned, and there was a strident note in his voicewhen he answered, meeting her glance with an uncompromising stareof hostility.
　　"You realize, of course," he said finally, "that this is merelyplain blackmail."There was not the change of a feature in the face of the womanwho listened to the accusation. Her eyes steadfastly retainedtheir clear gaze into his; her voice was still coldly formal, asbefore.
　　"If it's blackmail, Mr. Irwin, why don't you consult the police?"she inquired, with manifest disdain. Mary turned to the maid,who now entered in response to the bell she had sounded a minutebefore. "Fanny, will you ask Miss Lynch to come in, please?"Then she faced the lawyer again, with an aloofness of manner thatwas contemptuous. "Really, Mr. Irwin," she drawled, "why don'tyou take this matter to the police?"The reply was uttered with conspicuous exasperation.
　　"You know perfectly well," the lawyer said bitterly, "thatGeneral Hastings cannot afford such publicity. His position wouldbe jeopardized.""Oh, as for that," Mary suggested evenly, and now there was atrace of flippancy in her fashion of speaking, "I'm sure thepolice would keep your complaint a secret. Really, you know, Mr.
　　Irwin, I think you had better take your troubles to the police,rather than to me. You will get much more sympathy from them."The lawyer sprang up, with an air of sudden determination.
　　"Very well, I will then," he declared, sternly. "I will!"Mary, from her vantage point at the desk across from him, smileda smile that would have been very engaging to any man under morefavorable circumstances, and she pushed in his direction thetelephone that stood there.
　　"3100, Spring," she remarked, encouragingly, "will bring anofficer almost immediately." She leaned back in her chair, andsurveyed the baffled man amusedly.
　　The lawyer was furious over the failure of his effort tointimidate this extraordinarily self-possessed young woman, whomade a mock of his every thrust. But he was by no means at theend of his resources.
　　"Nevertheless," he rejoined, "you know perfectly well thatGeneral Hastings never promised to marry this girl. Youknow----" He broke off as Aggie entered the drawing-room,Now, the girl was demure in seeming almost beyond belief, achildish creature, very fair and dainty, guileless surely, withthose untroubled eyes of blue, those softly curving lips ofwarmest red and the more delicate bloom in the rounded cheeks.
　　There were the charms of innocence and simplicity in the mannerof her as she stopped just within the doorway, whence sheregarded Mary with a timid, pleading gaze, her slender littleform poised lightly as if for flight"Did you want me, dear?" she asked. There was somethinghalf-plaintive in the modulated cadences of the query.
　　"Agnes," Mary answered affectionately, "this is Mr. Irwin, whohas come to see you in behalf of General Hastings.""Oh!" the girl murmured, her voice quivering a little, as thelawyer, after a short nod, dropped again into his seat; "oh, I'mso frightened!" She hurried, fluttering, to a low stool behindthe desk, beside Mary's chair, and there she sank down, droopingslightly, and catching hold of one of Mary's hands as if in mutepleading for protection against the fear that beset her chastesoul.
　　"Nonsense!" Mary exclaimed, soothingly. "There's really nothingat all to be frightened about, my dear child." Her voice wasthat with which one seeks to cajole a terrified infant. "Youmustn't be afraid, Agnes. Mr. Irwin says that General Hastingsdid not promise to marry you. Of course, you understand, mydear, that under no circumstances must you say anything thatisn't strictly true, and that, if he did not promise to marryyou, you have no case--none at all. Now, Agnes, tell me: didGeneral Hastings promise to marry you?""Oh, yes--oh, yes, indeed!" Aggie cried, falteringly. "And I wishhe would. He's such a delightful old gentleman!" As she spoke,the girl let go Mary's hand and clasped her own togetherecstatically.
　　The legal representative of the delightful old gentleman scowleddisgustedly at this outburst. His voice was portentous, as heput a question.
　　"Was that promise made in writing?""No," Aggie answered, gushingly. "But all his letters were inwriting, you know. Such wonderful letters!" She raised her blueeyes toward the ceiling in a naive rapture. "So tender, andso--er--interesting!" Somehow, the inflection on the last worddid not altogether suggest the ingenuous.
　　"Yes, yes, I dare say," Irwin agreed, hastily, with someevidences of chagrin. He had no intention of dwelling on thatfeature of the letters, concerning which he had no doubtwhatsoever, since he knew the amorous General very well indeed.
　　They would be interesting, beyond shadow of questioning, horriblyinteresting. Such was the confessed opinion of the swain himselfwho had written them in his folly--horribly interesting to allthe reading public of the country, since the General was aconspicuous figure.
　　Mary intervened with a suavity that infuriated the lawyer almostbeyond endurance.
　　"But you're quite sure, Agnes," she questioned gently, "thatGeneral Hastings did promise to marry you?" The candor of hermanner was perfect.
　　And the answer of Aggie was given with a like convincingemphasis.
　　"Oh, yes!" she declared, tensely. "Why, I would swear to it."The limpid eyes, so appealing in their soft lusters, went firstto Mary, then gazed trustingly into those of the routed attorney.
　　"You see, Mr. Irwin, she would swear to that," emphasized Mary.
　　"We're beaten," he confessed, dejectedly, turning his glancetoward Mary, whom, plainly, he regarded as his real adversary inthe combat on his client's behalf. "I'm going to be quite frankwith you, Miss Turner, quite frank," he stated with moregeniality, though with a very crestfallen air. Somehow, indeed,there was just a shade too much of the crestfallen in the fashionof his utterance, and the woman whom he addressed watched warilyas he continued. "We can't afford any scandal, so we're going tosettle at your own terms." He paused expectantly, but Maryoffered no comment; only maintained her alert scrutiny of theman. The lawyer, therefore, leaned forward with a semblance offrank eagerness. Instantly, Aggie had become agog with greedilyblissful anticipations, and she uttered a slight ejaculation ofjoy; but Irwin paid no heed to her. He was occupied in takingfrom his pocket a thick bill-case, and from this presently asheaf of banknotes, which he laid on the desk before Mary, with alittle laugh of discomfiture over having been beaten in thecontest.
　　As he did so, Aggie thrust forth an avaricious hand, but it wascaught and held by Mary before it reached above the top of thedesk, and the avaricious gesture passed unobserved by theattorney.
　　"We can't fight where ladies are concerned," he went on,assuming, as best he might contrive, a chivalrous tone. "So, ifyou will just hand over General Hastings' letters, why, here'syour money."Much to the speaker's surprise, there followed an interval ofsilence, and his puzzlement showed in the knitting of his brows.
　　"You have the letters, haven't you?" he demanded, abruptly.
　　Aggie coyly took a thick bundle from its resting place on herrounded bosom.
　　"They never leave me," she murmured, with dulcet passion. Therewas in her voice a suggestion of desolation--a desolation thatwas the blighting effect of letting the cherished missives gofrom her.
　　"Well, they can leave you now, all right," the lawyer remarkedunsympathetically, but with returning cheerfulness, since he sawthe end of his quest in visible form before him. He reachedquickly forward for the packet, which Aggie extended willinglyenough. But it was Mary who, with a swift movement, caught andheld it.
　　"Not quite yet, Mr. Irwin, I'm afraid," she said, calmly.
　　The lawyer barely suppressed a violent ejaculation of annoyance.
　　"But there's the money waiting for you," he protested,indignantly.
　　The rejoinder from Mary was spoken with great deliberation, yetwith a note of determination that caused a quick and acuteanxiety to the General's representative.
　　"I think," Mary explained tranquilly, "that you had better seeour lawyer, Mr. Harris, in reference to this. We women knownothing of such details of business settlement.""Oh, there's no need for all that formality," Irwin urged, with agreat appearance of bland friendliness.
　　"Just the same," Mary persisted, unimpressed, "I'm quite sure youwould better see Mr. Harris first." There was a cadence ofinsistence in her voice that assured the lawyer as to thefutility of further pretense on his part.
　　"Oh, I see," he said disagreeably, with a frown to indicate hiscomplete sagacity in the premises.
　　"I thought you would, Mr. Irwin," Mary returned, and now shesmiled in a kindly manner, which, nevertheless, gave no pleasureto the chagrined man before her. As he rose, she went oncrisply: "If you'll take the money to Mr. Harris, Miss Lynch willmeet you in his office at four o'clock this afternoon, and, whenher suit for damages for breach of promise has been legallysettled out of court, you will get the letters....
　　Good-afternoon, Mr. Irwin."The lawyer made a hurried bow which took in both of the women,and walked quickly toward the door. But he was arrested beforehe reached it by the voice of Mary, speaking again, still in thatimperturbable evenness which so rasped his nerves, for all itsmellow resonance. But this time there was a sting, of thesharpest, in the words themselves.
　　"Oh, you forgot your marked money, Mr. Irwin," Mary said.
　　The lawyer wheeled, and stood staring at the speaker with acertain sheepishness of expression that bore witness to thecompleteness of his discomfiture. Without a word, after a longmoment in which he perceived intently the delicate, yet subtlyenergetic, loveliness of this slender woman, he walked back tothe desk, picked up the money, and restored it to the bill-case.
　　This done, at last he spoke, with a new respect in his voice, aquizzical smile on his rather thin lips.
　　"Young woman," he said emphatically, "you ought to have been alawyer." And with that laudatory confession of her skill, hefinally took his departure, while Mary smiled in a triumph shewas at no pains to conceal, and Aggie sat gaping astonishmentover the surprising turn of events.
　　It was the latter volatile person who ended the silence thatfollowed on the lawyer's going.
　　"You've darn near broke my heart," she cried, bouncing upviolently, "letting all that money go out of the house.... Say,how did you know it was marked?""I didn't," Mary replied, blandly; "but it was a pretty goodguess, wasn't it? Couldn't you see that all he wanted was to getthe letters, and have us take the marked money? Then, my simpleyoung friend, we would have been arrested very neatly indeed--forblackmail."Aggie's innocent eyes rounded in an amazed consternation, whichwas not at all assumed.
　　"Gee!" she cried. "That would have been fierce! And now?" shequestioned, apprehensively.
　　Mary's answer repudiated any possibility of fear.
　　"And now," she explained contentedly, "he really will go to ourlawyer. There, he will pay over that same marked money. Then,he will get the letters he wants so much. And, just because it'sa strictly business transaction between two lawyers, witheverything done according to legal ethics----""What's legal ethics?" Aggie demanded, impetuously. "They soundsome tasty!" With the comment, she dropped weakly into a chair.
　　Mary laughed in care-free enjoyment, as well she might afterwinning the victory in such a battle of wits.
　　"Oh," she said, happily, "you just get it legally, and you gettwice as much!""And it's actually the same old game!" Aggie mused. She was doingher best to get a clear understanding of the matter, though toher it was all a mystery most esoteric.
　　Mary reviewed the case succinctly for the other's enlightenment.
　　"Yes, it's the same game precisely," she affirmed. "A shamelessold roue makes love to you, and he writes you a stack of sillyletters."The pouting lips of the listener took on a pathetic droop, andher voice quivered as she spoke with an effective semblance ofvirginal terror.
　　"He might have ruined my life!"Mary continued without giving much attention to thesehistrionics.
　　"If you had asked him for all this money for the return of hisletters, it would have been blackmail, and we'd have gone to jailin all human probability. But we did no such thing--no, indeed!
　　What we did wasn't anything like that in the eyes of the law.
　　What we did was merely to have your lawyer take steps toward asuit for damages for breach of promise of marriage for the sum often thousand dollars. Then, his lawyer appears in behalf ofGeneral Hastings, and there follow a number of conferencesbetween the legal representatives of the opposing parties. Bymeans of these conferences, the two legal gentlemen run up veryrespectable bills of expenses. In the end, we get our tenthousand dollars, and the flighty old General gets back hisletters... . My dear," Mary concluded vaingloriously, "we'reinside the law, and so we're perfectly safe. And there you are!"
Chapter 11 The Thief
Mary remained in joyous spirits after her victorious matching ofbrains against a lawyer of high standing in his profession. Forthe time being, conscience was muted by gratified ambition. Herthoughts just then were far from the miseries of the past, withtheir evil train of consequences in the present. But that pastwas soon to be recalled to her with a vividness most terrible.
　　She had entered the telephone-booth, which she had caused to beinstalled out of an extra closet of her bedroom for the sake ofgreater privacy on occasion, and it was during her absence fromthe drawing-room that Garson again came into the apartment,seeking her. On being told by Aggie as to Mary's whereabouts, hesat down to await her return, listening without much interest tothe chatter of the adventuress.... It was just then that the maidappeared.
　　"There's a girl wants to see Miss Turner," she explained.
　　The irrepressible Aggie put on her most finically elegant air.
　　"Has she a card?" she inquired haughtily, while the maidtittered appreciation.
　　"No," was the answer. "But she says it's important. I guess thepoor thing's in hard luck, from the look of her," the kindlyFannie added.
　　"Oh, then she'll be welcome, of course," Aggie declared, andGarson nodded in acquiescence. "Tell her to come in and wait,Fannie. Miss Turner will be here right away." She turned toGarson as the maid left the room. "Mary sure is an easy boob,"she remarked, cheerfully. "Bless her soft heart!"A curiously gentle smile of appreciation softened the immobilityof the forger's face as he again nodded assent.
　　"We might just as well pipe off the skirt before Mary gets here,"Aggie suggested, with eagerness.
　　A minute later, a girl perhaps twenty years of age stepped justwithin the doorway, and stood there with eyes downcast, after oneswift, furtive glance about her. Her whole appearance was that ofdejection. Her soiled black gown, the cringing posture, thepallor of her face, proclaimed the abject misery of her state.
　　Aggie, who was not exuberant in her sympathies for any one otherthan herself, addressed the newcomer with a patronizinginflection, modulated in her best manner.
　　"Won't you come in, please?" she requested.
　　The shrinking girl shot another veiled look in the direction ofthe speaker.
　　"Are you Miss Turner?" she asked, in a voice broken by nervousdismay.
　　"Really, I am very sorry," Aggie replied, primly; "but I am onlyher cousin, Miss Agnes Lynch. But Miss Turner is likely to beback any minute now.""Can I wait?" came the timid question.
　　"Certainly," Aggie answered, hospitably. "Please sit down."As the girl obediently sank down on the nearest chair, Garsonaddressed her sharply, so that the visitor started uneasily atthe unexpected sound.
　　"You don't know Miss Turner?""No," came the faint reply.
　　"Then, what do you want to see her about?"There was a brief pause before the girl could pluck up courageenough for an answer. Then, it was spoken confusedly, almost ina whisper.
　　"She once helped a girl friend of mine, and I thought--Ithought----""You thought she might help you," Garson interrupted.
　　But Aggie, too, possessed some perceptive powers, despite thefact that she preferred to use them little in ordinary affairs.
　　"You have been in stir--prison, I mean." She hastily correctedthe lapse into underworld slang.
　　Came a distressed muttering of assent from the girl.
　　"How sad!" Aggie remarked, in a voice of shocked pity for one soinconceivably unfortunate. "How very, very sad!"This ingenuous method of diversion was put to an end by theentrance of Mary, who stopped short on seeing the limp figurehuddled in the chair.
　　"A visitor, Agnes?" she inquired.
　　At the sound of her voice, and before Aggie could hit on afittingly elegant form of reply, the girl looked up. And now,for the first time, she spoke with some degree of energy, albeitthere was a sinister undertone in the husky voice.
　　"You're Miss Turner?" she questioned.
　　"Yes," Mary said, simply. Her words rang kindly; and she smiledencouragement.
　　A gasp burst from the white lips of the girl, and she cowered asone stricken physically.
　　"Mary Turner! Oh, my God! I----" She hid her face within her armsand sat bent until her head rested on her knees in an abasementof misery.
　　Vaguely startled by the hysterical outburst from the girl, Mary'simmediate thought was that here was a pitiful instance of onesuffering from starvation.
　　"Joe," she directed rapidly, "have Fannie bring a glass of milkwith an egg and a little brandy in it, right away."The girl in the chair was shaking soundlessly under the stress ofher emotions. A few disjointed phrases fell from her quiveringlips.
　　"I didn't know--oh, I couldn't!""Don't try to talk just now," Mary warned, reassuringly. "Waituntil you've had something to eat."Aggie, who had observed developments closely, now lifted hervoice in tardy lamentations over her own stupidity. There was noaffectation of the fine lady in her self-reproach.
　　"Why, the poor gawk's hungry!" she exclaimed! "And I never gotthe dope on her. Ain't I the simp!"The girl regained a degree of self-control, and showed somethingof forlorn dignity.
　　"Yes," she said dully, "I'm starving."Mary regarded the afflicted creature with that sympathy born onlyof experience.
　　"Yes," she said softly, "I understand." Then she spoke to Aggie.
　　"Take her to my room, and let her rest there for a while. Haveher drink the egg and milk slowly, and then lie down for a fewminutes anyhow."Aggie obeyed with an air of bustling activity.
　　"Sure, I will!" she declared. She went to the girl and helpedher to stand up. "We'll fix you out all right," she said,comfortingly. "Come along with me.... Hungry! Gee, but that'stough!"Half an hour afterward, while Mary was at her desk, giving partof her attention to Joe Garson, who sat near, and part to arather formidable pile of neatly arranged papers, Aggie reportedwith her charge, who, though still shambling of gait, andstooping, showed by some faint color in her face and an increasedsteadiness of bearing that the food had already strengthened hermuch.
　　"She would come," Aggie explained. "I thought she ought to restfor a while longer anyhow." She half-shoved the girl into achair opposite the desk, in an absurd travesty on the maternalmanner.
　　"I'm all right, I tell you," came the querulous protest.
　　Whereupon, Aggie gave over the uncongenial task of mothering, andsettled herself comfortably in a chair, with her legs merelycrossed as a compromise between ease and propriety.
　　"Are you quite sure?" Mary said to the girl. And then, as theother nodded in assent, she spoke with a compelling kindliness.
　　"Then you must tell us all about it--this trouble of yours, youknow. What is your name?"Once again the girl had recourse to the swift, searching, furtiveglance, but her voice was colorless as she replied, listlessly:
　　"Helen Morris."Mary regarded the girl with an expression that was inscrutablewhen she spoke again.
　　"I don't have to ask if you have been in prison," she saidgravely. "Your face shows it.""I--I came out--three months ago," was the halting admission.
　　Mary watched the shrinking figure reflectively for a long minutebefore she spoke again. Then there was a deeper resonance in hervoice.
　　"And you'd made up your mind to go straight?""Yes." The word was a whisper.
　　"You were going to do what the chaplain had told you," Mary wenton in a voice vibrant with varied emotions. "You were going tostart all over again, weren't you? You were going to begin a newlife, weren't you?" The bent head of the girl bent still lowerin assent. There came a cynical note into Mary's utterance now.
　　"It doesn't work very well, does it?" she asked, bitterly.
　　The girl gave sullen agreement.
　　"No," she said dully; "I'm whipped."Mary's manner changed on the instant. She spoke cheerfully forthe first time.
　　"Well, then," she questioned, "how would you like to work withus?"The girl looked up for a second with another of her fleeting,stealthy glances.
　　"You--you mean that----?"Mary explained her intention in the matter very explicitly. Hervoice grew boastful.
　　"Our kind of work pays well when you know how. Look at us."Aggie welcomed the opportunity for speech, too long delayed.
　　"Hats from Joseph's, gowns from Lucile's, and cracked ice fromTiffany's. But it ain't ladylike to wear it," she concluded witha reproachful glance at her mentor.
　　Mary disregarded the frivolous interruption, and went on speakingto the girl, and now there was something pleasantly cajoling inher manner.
　　"Suppose I should stake you for the present, and put you in witha good crowd. All you would have to do would be to answeradvertisements for servant girls. I will see that you have thebest of references. Then, when you get in with the right people,you will open the front door some night and let in the gang. Ofcourse, you will make a get-away when they do, and get your bitas well."There flashed still another of the swift, sly glances, and thelips of the girl parted as if she would speak. But she did not;only, her head sagged even lower on her breast, and the shrunkenform grew yet more shrunken. Mary, watching closely, saw thesesigns, and in the same instant a change came over her. Wherebefore there had been an underlying suggestion of hardness, therewas now a womanly warmth of genuine sympathy.
　　"It doesn't suit you?" she said, very softly. "Good! I was inhopes it wouldn't. So, here's another plan." Her voice hadbecome very winning. "Suppose you could go West--some placewhere you would have a fair chance, with money enough so youcould live like a human being till you got a start?"There came a tensing of the relaxed form, and the head lifted alittle so that the girl could look at her questioner. And, thistime, the glance, though of the briefest, was less furtive.
　　"I will give you that chance," Mary said simply, "if you reallywant it."That speech was like a current of strength to the wretched girl.
　　She sat suddenly erect, and her words came eagerly.
　　"Oh, I do!" And now her hungry gaze remained fast on the face ofthe woman who offered her salvation.
　　Mary sprang up and moved a step toward the girl who continued tostare at her, fascinated. She was now all wholesome. The memoryof her own wrongs surged in her during this moment only to makeher more appreciative of the blessedness of seemly life. She wasmoved to a divine compassion over this waif for whom she mightprove a beneficent providence. There was profound conviction inthe emphasis with which she spoke her warning.
　　"Then I have just one thing to say to you first. If you aregoing to live straight, start straight, and then go through withit. Do you know what that means?""You mean, keep straight all the time?" The girl spoke with aforce drawn from the other's strength.
　　"I mean more than that," Mary went on earnestly. "I mean, forgetthat you were ever in prison. I don't know what you have done--Idon't think I care. But whatever it was, you have paid for it--apretty big price, too." Into these last words there crept thepathos of one who knew. The sympathy of it stirred the listenerto fearful memories.
　　"I have, I have!" The thin voice broke, wailing.
　　"Well, then," Mary went on, "just begin all over again, and besure you stand up for your rights. Don't let them make you pay asecond time. Go where no one knows you, and don't tell the firstpeople who are kind to you that you have been crooked. If theythink you are straight, why, be it. Then nobody will have anyright to complain." Her tone grew suddenly pleading. "Will youpromise me this?""Yes, I promise," came the answer, very gravely, quickened withhope.
　　"Good!" Mary exclaimed, with a smile of approval. "Wait aminute," she added, and left the room.
　　"Huh! Pretty soft for some people," Aggie remarked to Garson,with a sniff. She felt no alarm lest she wound the sensibilitiesof the girl. She herself had never let delicacy interferebetween herself and money. It was really stranger that theforger, who possessed a more sympathetic nature, did not scrupleto speak an assent openly. Somehow, he felt an inexplicableprejudice against this abject recipient of Mary's bounty, thoughnot for the world would he have checked the generous impulse onthe part of the woman he so revered. It was his instinct on herbehalf that made him now vaguely uneasy, as if he sensed somemalign influence against her there present with them.
　　Mary returned soon. In her hand she carried a roll of bills.
　　She went to the girl and held out the money. Her voice wasbusiness-like now, but very kind.
　　"Take this. It will pay your fare West, and keep you quite awhile if you are careful."But, without warning, a revulsion seized on the girl. Of asudden, she shrank again, and turned her head away, and her bodytrembled.
　　"I can't take it," she stammered. "I can't! I can't!"Mary stood silent for a moment from sheer amazement over thechange. When she spoke, her voice had hardened a little. It isnot agreeable to have one's beneficence flouted.
　　"Didn't you come here for help?" she demanded.
　　"Yes," was the faltering reply, "but--but--I didn't know--it wasyou!" The words came with a rush of desperation.
　　"Then, you have met me before?" Mary said, quietly.
　　"No, no!" The girl's voice rose shrill.
　　Aggie spoke her mind with commendable frankness.
　　"She's lying."And, once again, Garson agreed. His yes was spoken in a tone ofcomplete certainty. That Mary, too, was of their opinion wasshown in her next words.
　　"So, you have met me before? Where?"The girl unwittingly made confession in her halting words.
　　"I--I can't tell you." There was despair in her voice.
　　"You must." Mary spoke with severity. She felt that thismystery held in it something sinister to herself. "You must," sherepeated imperiously.
　　The girl only crouched lower.
　　"I can't!" she cried again. She was panting as if in exhaustion.
　　"Why can't you?" Mary insisted. She had no sympathy now for thegirl's distress, merely a great suspicious curiosity.
　　"Because--because----" The girl could not go on.
　　Mary's usual shrewdness came to her aid, and she put her nextquestion in a different direction.
　　"What were you sent up for?" she asked briskly. "Tell me."It was Garson who broke the silence that followed.
　　"Come on, now!" he ordered. There was a savage note in his voiceunder which the girl visibly winced. Mary made a gesture towardhim that he should not interfere. Nevertheless, the man'scommand had in it a threat which the girl could not resist andshe answered, though with a reluctance that made the words seemdragged from her by some outside force--as indeed they were.
　　"For stealing.""Stealing what?" Mary said.
　　"Goods.""Where from?"A reply came in a breath so low that it was barely audible.
　　"The Emporium."In a flash of intuition, the whole truth was revealed to thewoman who stood looking down at the cowering creature before her.
　　"The Emporium!" she repeated. There was a tragedy in the singleword. Her voice grew cold with hate, the hate born of innocencelong tortured. "Then you are the one who----"The accusation was cut short by the girl's shriek.
　　"I am not! I am not, I tell you."For a moment, Mary lost her poise. Her voice rose in a flare ofrage.
　　"You are! You are!"The craven spirit of the girl could struggle no more. She couldonly sit in a huddled, shaking heap of dread. The woman beforeher had been disciplined by sorrow to sternest self-control.
　　Though racked by emotions most intolerable, Mary soon masteredtheir expression to such an extent that when she spoke again, asif in self-communion, her words came quietly, yet with overtonesof a supreme wo.
　　"She did it!" Then, after a little, she addressed the girl with acertain wondering before this mystery of horror. "Why did youthrow the blame on me?"The girl made several efforts before her mumbling becameintelligible, and then her speech was gasping, broken with fear.
　　"I found out they were watching me, and I was afraid they wouldcatch me. So, I took them and ran into the cloak-room, and putthem in a locker that wasn't close to mine, and some in thepocket of a coat that was hanging there. God knows I didn't knowwhose it was. I just put them there--I was frightened----""And you let me go to prison for three years!" There was a menacein Mary's voice under which the girl cringed again.
　　"I was scared," she whined. "I didn't dare to tell.""But they caught you later," Mary went on inexorably. "Why didn'tyou tell then?""I was afraid," came the answer from the shuddering girl. "Itold them it was the first time I had taken anything and they letme off with a year."Once more, the wrath of the victim flamed high.
　　"You!" Mary cried. "You cried and lied, and they let you offwith a year. I wouldn't cry. I told the truth --and----" Hervoice broke in a tearless sob. The color had gone out of herface, and she stood rigid, looking down at the girl whose crimehad ruined her life with an expression of infinite loathing inher eyes. Garson rose from his chair as if to go to her, and hisface passed swiftly from compassion to ferocity as his gaze wentfrom the woman he had saved from the river to the girl who hadbeen the first cause of her seeking a grave in the waters. Yet,though he longed with every fiber of him to comfort the strickenwoman, he did not dare intrude upon her in this time of heranguish, but quietly dropped back into his seat and sat watchingwith eyes now tender, now baleful, as they shifted theirdirection.
　　Aggie took advantage of the pause. Her voice was acid.
　　"Some people are sneaks--just sneaks!"Somehow, the speech was welcome to the girl, gave her a touch ofcourage sufficient for cowardly protestations. It seemed torelieve the tension drawn by the other woman's torment. It wasmore like the abuse that was familiar to her. A gush of tearscame.
　　"I'll never forgive myself, never!" she moaned.
　　Contempt mounted in Mary's breast.
　　"Oh, yes, you will," she said, malevolently. "People forgivethemselves pretty easily." The contempt checked for a little theravages of her grief. "Stop crying," she commanded harshly.
　　"Nobody is going to hurt you." She thrust the money again towardthe girl, and crowded it into the half-reluctant, half-greedyhand.
　　"Take it, and get out." The contempt in her voice rang stillsharper, mordant.
　　Even the puling creature writhed under the lash of Mary's tones.
　　She sprang up, slinking back a step.
　　"I can't take it!" she cried, whimpering. But she did not dropthe money.
　　"Take the chance while you have it," Mary counseled, still withthe contempt that pierced even the hardened girl's sense ofselfishness. She pointed toward the door. "Go!--before I changemy mind."The girl needed, indeed, no second bidding. With the money stillclutched in her hand, she went forth swiftly, stumbling a littlein her haste, fearful lest, at the last moment, the woman she hadso wronged should in fact change in mood, take back themoney--ay, even give her over to that terrible man with the eyesof hate, to put her to death as she deserved.
　　Freed from the miasma of that presence, Mary remained motionlessfor a long minute, then sighed from her tortured heart. Sheturned and went slowly to her chair at the desk, and seatedherself languidly, weakened by the ordeal through which she hadpassed.
　　"A girl I didn't know!" she said, bewilderedly; "perhaps hadnever spoken to--who smashed my life like that! Oh, if it wasn'tso awful, it would be--funny! It would be funny!" A gust ofhysterical laughter burst from her. "Why, it is funny!" shecried, wildly. "It is funny!""Mary!" Garson exclaimed sharply. He leaped across the room toface her. "That's no good!" he said severely.
　　Aggie, too, rushed forward.
　　"No good at all!" she declared loudly.
　　The interference recalled the distressed woman to herself. Shemade a desperate effort for self-command. Little by little, theunmeaning look died down, and presently she sat silent andmoveless, staring at the two with stormy eyes out of a wan face.
　　"You were right," she said at last, in a lifeless voice. "It'sdone, and can't be undone. I was a fool to let it affect me likethat. I really thought I had lost all feeling about it, but thesight of that girl--the knowledge that she had done it--broughtit all back to me. Well, you understand, don't you?""We understand," Garson said, grimly. But there was more thangrimness, infinitely more, in the expression of his clear,glowing eyes.
　　Aggie thought that it was her turn to voice herself, which shedid without undue restraint.
　　"Perhaps, we do, but I dunno! I'll tell you one thing, though.
　　If any dame sent me up for three years and then wanted money fromme, do you think she'd get it? Wake me up any time in the nightand ask me. Not much--not a little bit much! I'd hang on to itlike an old woman to her last tooth." And that was Aggie's finalsumming up of her impressions concerning the scene she had justwitnessed.
Chapter 12 A Bridegroom Spurned
After Aggie's vigorous comment there followed a long silence.
　　That volatile young person, little troubled as she was bysensitiveness, guessed the fact that just now further discussionof the event would be distasteful to Mary, and so she betookherself discreetly to a cigarette and the illustrations of apopular magazine devoted to the stage. As for the man, hisreticence was really from a fear lest in speaking at all he mightspeak too freely, might betray the pervasive violence of hisfeeling. So, he sat motionless and wordless, his eyes carefullyavoiding Mary in order that she might not be disturbed by theinvisible vibrations thus sent from one to another. Mary herselfwas shaken to the depths. A great weariness, a weariness thatcried the worthlessness of all things, had fallen upon her. Itrested leaden on her soul. It weighed down her body as well,though that mattered little indeed. Yet, since she couldminister to that readily, she rose and went to a settee on theopposite side of the room where she arranged herself among thecushions in a posture more luxurious than her rather preciseearly training usually permitted her to assume in the presence ofothers. There she rested, and soon felt the tides of energyagain flowing in her blood, and that same vitality, too, wroughthealing even for her agonized soul, though more slowly. Theperfect health of her gave her strength to recover speedily fromthe shock she had sustained. It was this health that made theglory of the flawless skin, white with a living white thatrevealed the coursing blood beneath, and the crimson lips thatbent in smiles so tender, or so wistful, and the limpid eyes inwhich always lurked fires that sometimes burst into flame, thelustrous mass of undulating hair that sparkled in the sunlightlike an aureole to her face or framed it in heavy splendors withits shadows, and the supple erectness of her graceful carriage,the lithe dignity of her every movement.
　　But, at last, she stirred uneasily and sat up. Garson acceptedthis as a sufficient warrant for speech.
　　"You know--Aggie told you--that Cassidy was up here fromHeadquarters. He didn't put a name to it, but I'm on." Maryregarded him inquiringly, and he continued, putting the fact witha certain brutal bluntness after the habit of his class. "Iguess you'll have to quit seeing young Gilder. The bulls arewise. His father has made a holler.
　　"Don't let that worry you, Joe," she said tranquilly. She alloweda few seconds go by, then added as if quite indifferent: "I wasmarried to Dick Gilder this morning." There came a squeal ofamazement from Aggie, a start of incredulity from Garson.
　　"Yes," Mary repeated evenly, "I was married to him this morning.
　　That was my important engagement," she added with a smile towardAggie. For some intuitive reason, mysterious to herself, she didnot care to meet the man's eyes at that moment.
　　Aggie sat erect, her baby face alive with worldly glee.
　　"My Gawd, what luck!" she exclaimed noisily. "Why, he's a kingfish, he is. Gee! But I'm glad you landed him!""Thank you," Mary said with a smile that was the result of hersense of humor rather than from any tenderness.
　　It was then that Garson spoke. He was a delicate man in hissensibilities at times, in spite of the fact that he followeddevious methods in his manner of gaining a livelihood. So, now,he put a question of vital significance.
　　"Do you love him?"The question caught Mary all unprepared, but she retained herself-control sufficiently to make her answer in a voice that tothe ordinary ear would have revealed no least tremor.
　　"No," she said. She offered no explanation, no excuse, merelystated the fact in all its finality.
　　Aggie was really shocked, though for a reason altogether sordid,not one whit romantic.
　　"Ain't he young?" she demanded aggressively. "Ain't hegood-looking, and loose with his money something scandalous? IfI met up with a fellow as liberal as him, if he was three timeshis age, I could simply adore him!"It was Garson who pressed the topic with an inexorable curiosityborn of his unselfish interest in the woman concerned.
　　"Then, why did you marry him?" he asked. The sincerity of himwas excuse enough for the seeming indelicacy of the question.
　　Besides, he felt himself somehow responsible. He had given backto her the gift of life, which she had rejected. Surely, he hadthe right to know the truth.
　　It seemed that Mary believed her confidence his due, for she toldhim the fact.
　　"I have been working and scheming for nearly a year to do it,"she said, with a hardening of her face that spoke of indomitableresolve. "Now, it's done." A vindictive gleam shot from herviolet eyes as she added: "It's only the beginning, too."Garson, with the keen perspicacity that had made him a successfulcriminal without a single conviction to mar his record, hadseized the implication in her statement, and now put it in words.
　　"Then, you won't leave us? We're going on as we were before?"The hint of dejection in his manner had vanished. "And you won'tlive with him?""Live with him?" Mary exclaimed emphatically. "Certainly not!"Aggie's neatly rounded jaw dropped in a gape of surprise that wasmost unladylike.
　　"You are going to live on in this joint with us?" shequestioned, aghast.
　　"Of course." The reply was given with the utmost of certainty.
　　Aggie presented the crux of the matter.
　　"Where will hubby live?"There was no lessening of the bride's composure as she replied,with a little shrug.
　　"Anywhere but here."Aggie suddenly giggled. To her sense of humor there wassomething vastly diverting in this new scheme of giving bliss toa fond husband.
　　"Anywhere but here," she repeated gaily. "Oh, won't that benice--for him? Oh, yes! Oh, quite so! Oh, yes, indeed--quiteso--so!"Garson, however, was still patient in his determination toapprehend just what had come to pass.
　　"Does he understand the arrangement?" was his question.
　　"No, not yet," Mary admitted, without sign of embarrassment.
　　"Well," Aggie said, with another giggle, "when you do get aroundto tell him, break it to him gently."Garson was intently considering another phase of the situation,one suggested perhaps out of his own deeper sentiments.
　　"He must think a lot of you!" he said, gravely. "Don't he?"For the first time, Mary was moved to the display of a slightconfusion. She hesitated a little before her answer, and whenshe spoke it was in a lower key, a little more slowly.
　　"I--I suppose so."Aggie presented the truth more subtly than could have beenexpected from her.
　　"Think a lot of you? Of course he does! Thinks enough to marryyou! And believe me, kid, when a man thinks enough of you tomarry you, well, that's some thinking!"Somehow, the crude expression of this professional adventuresspenetrated to Mary's conscience, though it held in it the truthto which her conscience bore witness, to which she had tried toshut her ears.... And now from the man came something like adraught of elixir to her conscience--like the trump of doom toher scheme of vengeance.
　　Garson spoke very softly, but with an intensity that left nodoubt as to the honesty of his purpose.
　　"I'd say, throw up the whole game and go to him, if you reallycare."There fell a tense silence. It was broken by Mary herself. Shespoke with a touch of haste, as if battling against somehindrance within.
　　"I married him to get even with his father," she said. "That'sall there is to it.... By the way, I expect Dick will be here ina minute or two. When he comes, just remember not to--enlightenhim."Aggie sniffed indignantly.
　　"Don't worry about me, not a mite. Whenever it's really wanted,I'm always there with a full line of that lady stuff."Thereupon, she sprang up, and proceeded to give her conception ofthe proper welcoming of the happy bridegroom. The performancewas amusing enough in itself, but for some reason it movedneither of the two for whom it was rendered to more thanperfunctory approval. The fact had no depressing effect on theperformer, however, and it was only the coming of the maid thatput her lively sallies to an end.
　　"Mr. Gilder," Fannie announced.
　　Mary put a question with so much of energy that Garson beganfinally to understand the depth of her vindictive feeling.
　　"Any one with him?""No, Miss Turner," the maid answered.
　　"Have him come in," Mary ordered.
　　Garson felt that he would be better away for the sake of thenewly married pair at least, if not for his own. He made hastyexcuses and went out on the heels of the maid. Aggie, however,consulting only her own wishes in the matter, had no thought offlight, and, if the truth be told, Mary was glad of thesustaining presence of another woman.
　　She got up slowly, and stood silent, while Aggie regarded hercuriously. Even to the insensitive observer, there was somethingstrange in the atmosphere.... A moment later the bridegroomentered.
　　He was still clean-cut and wholesome. Some sons of wealthyfathers are not, after four years experience of the white lightsof town. And the lines of his face were firmer, better in everyway. It seemed, indeed, that here was some one of a resolutecharacter, not to be wasted on the trivial and gross things. Inan instant, he had gone to her, had caught her in his arms with,"Hello, dear!" smothered in the kiss he implanted on her lips.
　　Mary strove vainly to free herself.
　　"Don't, oh, don't!" she gasped.
　　Dick Gilder released his wife from his arms and smiled thebeatific smile of the newly-wed.
　　"Why not?" he demanded, with a smile, a smile calm, triumphant,masterful.
　　"Agnes!" ... It was the sole pretext to which Mary could turn fora momentary relief.
　　The bridegroom faced about, and perceived Agnes, who stoodclosely watching the meeting between husband and wife. He madean excellent formal bow of the sort that one learns only abroad,and spoke quietly.
　　"I beg your pardon, Miss Lynch, but"--a smile of perfecthappiness shone on his face--"you could hardly expect me to seeany one but Mary under the circumstances. Could you?"Aggie strove to rise to this emergency, and again took on herbest manner, speaking rather coldly.
　　"Under what circumstances?" she inquired.
　　The young man exclaimed joyously.
　　"Why, we were married this morning."Aggie accepted the news with fitting excitement.
　　"Goodness gracious! How perfectly lovely!"The bridegroom regarded her with a face that was luminous ofdelight.
　　"You bet, it's lovely!" he declared with entire conviction. Heturned to Mary, his face glowing with satisfaction.
　　"Mary," he said, "I have the honeymoon trip all fixed. TheMauretania sails at five in the morning, so we will----"A cold voice struck suddenly through this rhapsodizing. It wasthat of the bride.
　　"Where is your father?" she asked, without any trace of emotion.
　　The bridegroom stopped short, and a deep blush spread itself overhis boyish face. His tone was filled full to overflowing withcompunction as he answered.
　　"Oh, Lord! I had forgotten all about Dad." He beamed on Marywith a smile half-ashamed, half-happy. "I'm awfully sorry," hesaid earnestly. "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll send Dad awireless from the ship, then write him from Paris."But the confident tone brought no response of agreement fromMary. On the contrary, her voice was, if anything, even colderas she replied to his suggestion. She spoke with an emphasis thatbrooked no evasion.
　　"What was your promise? I told you that I wouldn't go with youuntil you had brought your father to me, and he had wished ushappiness." Dick placed his hands gently on his wife's shouldersand regarded her with a touch of indignation in his gaze.
　　"Mary," he said reproachfully, "you are not going to hold me tothat promise?"The answer was given with a decisiveness that admitted of noquestion, and there was a hardness in her face that emphasizedthe words.
　　"I am going to hold you to that promise, Dick."For a few seconds, the young man stared at her with troubledeyes. Then he moved impatiently, and dropped his hands from hershoulders. But his usual cheery smile came again, and heshrugged resignedly.
　　"All right, Mrs. Gilder," he said, gaily. The sound of the nameprovoked him to new pleasure. "Sounds fine, doesn't it?" hedemanded, with an uxorious air.
　　"Yes," Mary said, but there was no enthusiasm in her tone.
　　The husband went on speaking with no apparent heed of his wife'sindifference.
　　"You pack up what things you need, girlie," he directed. "Just afew--because they sell clothes in Paris. And they are some class,believe me! And meantime, I'll run down to Dad's office, and havehim back here in half an hour. You will be all ready, won'tyou?"Mary answered quickly, with a little catching of her breath, butstill coldly.
　　"Yes, yes, I'll be ready. Go and bring your father.""You bet I will," Dick cried heartily. He would have taken herin his arms again, but she evaded the caress. "What's thematter?" he demanded, plainly at a loss to understand thisrepulse.
　　"Nothing!" was the ambiguous answer.
　　"Just one!" Dick pleaded.
　　"No," the bride replied, and there was determination in themonosyllable.
　　It was evident that Dick perceived the futility of argument.
　　"For a married woman you certainly are shy," he replied, with asly glance toward Aggie, who beamed back sympathy. "You'llexcuse me, won't you, Miss Lynch,... Good-by, Mrs. Gilder." Hemade a formal bow to his wife. As he hurried to the door, heexpressed again his admiration for the name. "Mrs. Gilder!
　　Doesn't that sound immense?" And with that he was gone.
　　There was silence in the drawing-room until the two women heardthe closing of the outer door of the apartment. Then, at last,Aggie relieved her pent-up emotions in a huge sigh that was neara groan.
　　"Oh Gawd!" she gasped. "The poor simp!"
Chapter 13 The Advent Of Griggs
Later on, Garson, learning from the maid that Dick Gilder hadleft, returned, just as Mary was glancing over the release, withwhich General Hastings was to be compensated, along with thereturn of his letters, for his payment of ten thousand dollars toMiss Agnes Lynch.
　　"Hello, Joe," Mary said graciously as the forger entered. Thenshe spoke crisply to Agnes. "And now you must get ready. Youare to be at Harris's office with this document at four o'clock,and remember that you are to let the lawyer manage everything."Aggie twisted her doll-like face into a grimace.
　　"It gets my angora that I'll have to miss Pa Gilder's being ledlike a lamb to the slaughter-house." And that was the nearestthe little adventuress ever came to making a Biblical quotation.
　　"Anyhow," she protested, "I don't see the use of all this monkeybusiness here. All I want is the coin." But she hurriedobediently, nevertheless, to get ready for the start.
　　Garson regarded Mary quizzically.
　　"It's lucky for her that she met you," he said. "She's got nomore brains than a gnat.""And brains are mighty useful things, even in our business," Maryreplied seriously; "particularly in our business.""I should say they were," Garson agreed. "You have proved that."Aggie came back, putting on her gloves, and cocking her smallhead very primly under the enormous hat that was garnished withcostliest plumes. It was thus that she consoled herself in ameasure for the business of the occasion--in lieu of cracked icefrom Tiffany's at one hundred and fifty a carat. Mary gave overthe release, and Aggie, still grumbling, deposited it in herhandbag.
　　"It seems to me we're going through a lot of red tape," she saidspitefully.
　　Mary, from her chair at the desk, regarded the malcontent with asmile, but her tone was crisp as she answered.
　　"Listen, Agnes. The last time you tried to make a man give uppart of his money it resulted in your going to prison for twoyears."Aggie sniffed, as if such an outcome were the merest bagatelle.
　　"But that way was so exciting," she urged, not at all convinced.
　　"And this way is so safe," Mary rejoined, sharply. "Besides, mydear, you would not get the money. My way will. Your way wasblackmail; mine is not. Understand?""Oh, sure," Aggie replied, grimly, on her way to the door. "It'sclear as Pittsburgh." With that sarcasm directed against legalsubtleties, she tripped daintily out, an entirely ravishingvision, if somewhat garish as to raiment, and soon in the glancesof admiration that every man cast on her guileless-seemingbeauty, she forgot that she had ever been annoyed.
　　Garson's comment as she departed was uttered with his accustomedbluntness.
　　"Solid ivory!""She's a darling, anyway!" Mary declared, smiling. "You reallydon't half-appreciate her, Joe!""Anyhow, I appreciate that hat," was the reply, with a drychuckle.
　　"Mr. Griggs," Fannie announced. There was a smile on the face ofthe maid, which was explained a minute later when, in accordancewith her mistress's order, the visitor was shown into thedrawing-room, for his presence was of an elegance soextraordinary as to attract attention anywhere--and mirth as wellfrom ribald observers.
　　Meantime, Garson had explained to Mary.
　　"It's English Eddie--you met him once. I wonder what he wants?
　　Probably got a trick for me. We often used to work together.""Nothing without my consent," Mary warned.
　　"Oh, no, no, sure not!" Garson agreed.
　　Further discussion was cut short by the appearance of EnglishEddie himself, a tall, handsome man in the early thirties, whopaused just within the doorway, and delivered to Mary a bow thatwas the perfection of elegance. Mary made no effort to restrainthe smile caused by the costume of Mr. Griggs. Yet, there was noviolation of the canons of good taste, except in the aggregate.
　　From spats to hat, from walking coat to gloves, everything wasperfect of its kind. Only, there was an over-elaboration, sothat the ensemble was flamboyant. And the man's manners preciselyharmonized with his clothes, whereby the whole effect wasemphasized and rendered bizarre. Garson took one amazed look,and then rocked with laughter.
　　Griggs regarded his former associate reproachfully for a moment,and then grinned in frank sympathy.
　　"Really, Mr. Griggs, you quite overcome me," Mary said,half-apologetically.
　　The visitor cast a self-satisfied glance over his garb.
　　"I think it's rather neat, myself." He had some reputation inthe under-world for his manner of dressing, and he regarded thislatest achievement as his masterpiece.
　　"Sure some duds!" Garson admitted, checking his merriment.
　　"From your costume," Mary suggested, "one might judge that thisis purely a social call. Is it?""Well, not exactly," Griggs answered with a smile.
　　"So I fancied," his hostess replied. "So, sit down, please, andtell us all about it."While she was speaking, Garson went to the various doors, andmade sure that all were shut, then he took a seat in a chair nearthat which Griggs occupied by the desk, so that the three wereclose together, and could speak softly.
　　English Eddie wasted no time in getting to the point.
　　"Now, look here," he said, rapidly. "I've got the greatest gamein the world.... Two years ago, a set of Gothic tapestries, worththree hundred thousand dollars and a set of Fragonard panels,worth nearly as much more, were plucked from a chateau in Franceand smuggled into this country.""I have never heard of that," Mary said, with some interest.
　　"No," Griggs replied. "You naturally wouldn't, for the simplereason that it's been kept on the dead quiet.""Are them things really worth that much?" Garson exclaimed.
　　"Sometimes more," Mary answered. "Morgan has a set of Gothictapestries worth half a million dollars."Garson uttered an ejaculation of disgust.
　　"He pays half a million dollars for a set of rugs!" There was anote of fiercest bitterness come into his voice as hesarcastically concluded: "And they wonder at crime!"Griggs went on with his account.
　　"About a month ago, the things I was telling you of were hung inthe library of a millionaire in this city." He hitched his chaira little closer to the desk, and leaned forward, lowering hisvoice almost to a whisper as he stated his plan.
　　"Let's go after them. They were smuggled, mind you, and nomatter what happens, he can't squeal. What do you say?"Garson shot a piercing glance at Mary.
　　"It's up to her," he said. Griggs regarded Mary eagerly, as shesat with eyes downcast. Then, after a little interval hadelapsed in silence, he spoke interrogatively:
　　"Well?"Mary shook her head decisively. "It's out of our line," shedeclared.
　　Griggs would have argued the matter. "I don't see any easier wayto get half a million," he said aggressively.
　　Mary, however, was unimpressed.
　　"If it were fifty millions, it would make no difference. It'sagainst the law.""Oh, I know all that, of course," Griggs returned impatiently.
　　"But if you can----"Mary interrupted him in a tone of finality.
　　"My friends and I never do anything that's illegal! Thank you forcoming to us, Mr. Griggs, but we can't go in, and there's an endof the matter.""But wait a minute," English Eddie expostulated, "you see thischap, Gilder, is----"Mary's manner changed from indifference to sudden keen interest.
　　"Gilder?" she exclaimed, questioningly.
　　"Yes. You know who he is," Griggs answered; "the drygoods man."Garson in his turn showed a new excitement as he bent towardMary.
　　"Why, it's old Gilder, the man you----"Mary, however, had regained her self-control, for a moment rudelyshaken, and now her voice was tranquil again as she replied:
　　"I know. But, just the same, it's illegal, and I won't touch it.
　　That's all there is to it."Griggs was dismayed.
　　"But half a million!" he exclaimed, disconsolately. "There's astake worth playing for. Think of it!" He turned pleadingly toGarson. "Half a million, Joe!"The forger repeated the words with an inflection that wasgloating.
　　"Half a million!""And it's the softest thing you ever saw."The telephone at the desk rang, and Mary spoke into it for amoment, then rose and excused herself to resume the conversationover the wire more privately in the booth. The instant she wasout of the room, Griggs turned to Garson anxiously.
　　"It's a cinch, Joe," he pleaded. "I've got a plan of the house."He drew a paper from his breast-pocket, and handed it to theforger, who seized it avidly and studied it with intent,avaricious eyes.
　　"It looks easy," Garson agreed, as he gave back the paper.
　　"It is easy," Griggs reiterated. "What do you say?"Garson shook his head in refusal, but there was no conviction inthe act.
　　"I promised Mary never to----"Griggs broke in on him.
　　"But a chance like this! Anyhow, come around to the back room atBlinkey's to-night, and we'll have a talk. Will you?""What time?" Garson asked hesitatingly, tempted.
　　"Make it early, say nine," was the answer. "Will you?""I'll come," Garson replied, half-guiltily. And in the samemoment Mary reentered.
　　Griggs rose and spoke with an air of regret.
　　"It's 'follow the leader,' " he said, "and since you are againstit, that settles it.""Yes, I'm against it," Mary said, firmly.
　　"I'm sorry," English Eddie rejoined. "But we must all play thegame as we see it.... Well, that was the business I was after,and, as it's finished, why, good-afternoon, Miss Turner." Henodded toward Joe, and took his departure.
　　Something of what was in his mind was revealed in Garson's firstspeech after Griggs's going.
　　"That's a mighty big stake he's playing for.""And a big chance he's taking!" Mary retorted. "No, Joe, wedon't want any of that. We'll play a game that's safe and sure."The words recalled to the forger weird forebodings that had beentroubling him throughout the day.
　　"It's sure enough," he stated, "but is it safe?"Mary looked up quickly.
　　"What do you mean?" she demanded.
　　Garson walked to and fro nervously as he answered.
　　"S'pose the bulls get tired of you putting it over on 'em and trysome rough work?"Mary smiled carelessly.
　　"Don't worry, Joe," she advised. "I know a way to stop it.""Well, so far as that goes, so do I," the forger said, withsignificant emphasis.
　　"Just what do you mean by that?" Mary demanded, suspiciously.
　　"For rough work," he said, "I have this." He took a magazinepistol from his pocket. It was of an odd shape, with a barrellonger than is usual and a bell-shaped contrivance attached tothe muzzle.
　　"No, no, Joe," Mary cried, greatly discomposed. "None ofthat--ever!"The forger smiled, and there was malignant triumph in hisexpression.
　　"Pooh!" he exclaimed. "Even if I used it, they would never geton to me. See this?" He pointed at the strange contrivance onthe muzzle.
　　Mary's curiosity made her forget for a moment her distaste.
　　"What is it?" she asked, interestedly. "I have never seenanything like that before.""Of course you haven't," Garson answered with much pride. "I'mthe first man in the business to get one, and I'll bet on it. Ikeep up with the times." For once, he was revealing thatfundamental egotism which is the characteristic of all his kind.
　　"That's one of the new Maxim silencers," he continued. "Withsmokeless powder in the cartridges, and the silencer on, I canmake a shot from my coat-pocket, and you wouldn't even know ithad been done. . .. And I'm some shot, believe me.""Impossible!" Mary ejaculated.
　　"No, it ain't," the man asserted. "Here, wait, I'll show you.""Good gracious, not here!" Mary exclaimed in alarm. "We wouldhave the whole place down on us."Garson chuckled.
　　"You just watch that dinky little vase on the table across theroom there. 'Tain't very valuable, is it?""No," Mary answered.
　　In the same instant, while still her eyes were on the vase, itfell in a cascade of shivered glass to the table and floor. Shehad heard no sound, she saw no smoke. Perhaps, there had been afaintest clicking noise. She was not sure. She stareddumfounded for a few seconds, then turned her bewildered facetoward Garson, who was grinning in high enjoyment.
　　"I would'nt have believed it possible," she declared, vastlyimpressed.
　　"Neat little thing, ain't it?" the man asked, exultantly.
　　"Where did you get it?" Mary asked.
　　"In Boston, last week. And between you and me, Mary, it's theonly model, and it sure is a corker for crime."The sinister association of ideas made Mary shudder, but she saidno more. She would have shuddered again, if she could haveguessed the vital part that pistol was destined to play. But shehad no thought of any actual peril to come from it. She mighthave thought otherwise, could she have known of the meeting thatnight in the back room of Blinkey's, where English Eddie andGarson sat with their heads close together over a table.
　　"A chance like this," Griggs was saying, "a chance that will makea fortune for all of us.""It sounds good," Garson admitted, wistfully.
　　"It is good," the other declared with an oath. "Why, if thisgoes through, we're set up for life. We can quit, all of us.""Yes," Garson agreed, "we can quit, all of us." There wasavarice in his voice.
　　The tempter was sure that the battle was won, and smiledcontentedly.
　　"Well," he urged, "what do you say?""How would we split it?" It was plain that Garson had given overthe struggle against greed. After all, Mary was only a woman,despite her cleverness, and with all a woman's timidity. Herewas sport for men.
　　"Three ways would be right," Griggs answered. "One to me, one toyou and one to be divided up among the others."Garson brought his fist down on the table with a force that madethe glasses jingle.
　　"You're on," he said, strongly.
　　"Fine!" Griggs declared, and the two men shook hands. "Now, I'llget----""Get nothing!" Garson interrupted. "I'll get my own men.
　　Chicago Red is in town. So is Dacey, with perhaps a couple ofothers of the right sort. I'll get them to meet you at Blinkey'sat two to-morrow afternoon, and, if it looks right, we'll turnthe trick to-morrow night.""That's the stuff," Griggs agreed, greatly pleased.
　　But a sudden shadow fell on the face of Garson. He bent closerto his companion, and spoke with a fierce intensity that brookedno denial.
　　"She must never know."Griggs nodded understandingly.
　　"Of course," he answered. "I give you my word that I'll nevertell her. And you know you can trust me, Joe.""Yes," the forger replied somberly, "I know I can trust you."But the shadow did not lift from his face.
Chapter 14 A Wedding Announcement
Mary dismissed Garson presently, and betook herself to herbedroom for a nap. The day had been a trying one, and, thoughher superb health could endure much, she felt that both prudenceand comfort required that she should recruit her energies whilethere was opportunity. She was not in the least surprised thatDick had not yet returned, though he had mentioned half an hour.
　　At the best, there were many things that might detain him, hisfather's absence from the office, difficulties in makingarrangements for his projected honeymoon trip abroad--which wouldnever occur--or the like. At the worst, there was a chance offinding his father promptly, and of that father as promptlytaking steps to prevent the son from ever again seeing the womanwho had so indiscreetly married him. Yet, somehow, Mary couldnot believe that her husband would yield to such paternalcoercion. Rather, she was sure that he would prove loyal to herwhom he loved, through every trouble. At the thought a certainwistfulness pervaded her, and a poignant regret that thisparticular man should have been the one chosen of fate to beentangled within her mesh of revenge. There throbbed in her aheart-tormenting realization that there were in lifepossibilities infinitely more splendid than the joy of vengeance.
　　She would not confess the truth even to her inmost soul, but thetruth was there, and set her a-tremble with vague fears.
　　Nevertheless, because she was in perfect health, and was muchfatigued, her introspection did not avail to keep her awake, andwithin three minutes from the time she lay down she wasblissfully unconscious of all things, both the evil and the good,revenge and love.
　　She had slept, perhaps, a half-hour, when Fannie awakened her.
　　"It's a man named Burke," she explained, as her mistress layblinking. "And there's another man with him. They said theymust see you."By this time, Mary was wide-awake, for the name of Burke, thePolice Inspector, was enough to startle her out of drowsiness.
　　"Bring them in, in five minutes," she directed.
　　She got up, slipped into a tea-gown, bathed her eyes in cologne,dressed her hair a little, and went into the drawing-room, wherethe two men had been waiting for something more than a quarter ofan hour--to the violent indignation of both.
　　"Oh, here you are, at last!" the big, burly man cried as sheentered. The whole air of him, though he was in civilian'sclothes, proclaimed the policeman.
　　"Yes, Inspector," Mary replied pleasantly, as she advanced intothe room. She gave a glance toward the other visitor, who was ofa slenderer form, with a thin, keen face, and recognized himinstantly as Demarest, who had taken part against her as thelawyer for the store at the time of her trial, and who was nowholding the office of District Attorney. She went to the chairat the desk, and seated herself in a leisurely fashion thatincreased the indignation of the fuming Inspector. She did nottrouble to ask her self-invited guests to sit.
　　"To whom do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Inspector?" sheremarked coolly. It was noticeable that she said whom and notwhat, as if she understood perfectly that the influence of someperson brought him on this errand.
　　"I have come to have a few quiet words with you," the Inspectordeclared, in a mighty voice that set the globes of thechandeliers a-quiver. Mary disregarded him, and turned to theother man.
　　"How do you do, Mr. Demarest?" she said, evenly. "It's fouryears since we met, and they've made you District Attorney sincethen. Allow me to congratulate you."Demarest's keen face took on an expression of perplexity.
　　"I'm puzzled," he confessed. "There is something familiar,somehow, about you, and yet----" He scrutinized appreciativelythe loveliness of the girl with her classically beautiful face,that was still individual in its charm, the slim graces of thetall, lissome form. "I should have remembered you. I don'tunderstand it.""Can't you guess?" Mary questioned, somberly. "Search yourmemory, Mr. Demarest."Of a sudden, the face of the District Attorney lightened.
　　"Why," he exclaimed, "you are--it can't be--yes--you are thegirl, you're the Mary Turner whom I--oh, I know you now."There was an enigmatic smile bending the scarlet lips as sheanswered.
　　"I'm the girl you mean, Mr. Demarest, but, for the rest, youdon't know me--not at all!"The burly figure of the Inspector of Police, which had loomedmotionless during this colloquy, now advanced a step, and the bigvoice boomed threatening. It was very rough and weighted withauthority.
　　"Young woman," Burke said, peremptorily, "the Twentieth CenturyLimited leaves Grand Central Station at four o'clock. It arrivesin Chicago at eight-fifty-five to-morrow morning." He pulled amassive gold watch from his waistcoat pocket, glanced at it,thrust it back, and concluded ponderously: "You will just abouthave time to catch that train."Mary regarded the stockily built officer with a half-amusedcontempt, which she was at no pains to conceal.
　　"Working for the New York Central now?" she asked blandly.
　　The gibe made the Inspector furious.
　　"I'm working for the good of New York City," he answeredvenomously.
　　Mary let a ripple of cadenced laughter escape her.
　　"Since when?" she questioned.
　　A little smile twisted the lips of the District Attorney, but hecaught himself quickly, and spoke with stern gravity.
　　"Miss Turner, I think you will find that a different tone willserve you better.""Oh, let her talk," Burke interjected angrily. "She's only got afew minutes anyway."Mary remained unperturbed.
　　"Very well, then," she said genially, "let us be comfortableduring that little period." She made a gesture of invitationtoward chairs, which Burke disdained to accept; but Demarestseated himself.
　　"You'd better be packing your trunk," the Inspector rumbled.
　　"But why?" Mary inquired, with a tantalizing assumption ofinnocence. "I'm not going away.""On the Twentieth Century Limited, this afternoon," the Inspectordeclared, in a voice of growing wrath.
　　"Oh, dear, no!" Mary's assertion was made very quietly, but withan underlying firmness that irritated the official beyondendurance.
　　"I say yes!" The answer was a bellow.
　　Mary appeared distressed, not frightened. Her words were anironic protest against the man's obstreperous noisiness, no more.
　　"I thought you wanted quiet words with me."Burke went toward her, in a rage.
　　"Now, look here, Mollie----" he began harshly.
　　On the instant, Mary was on her feet, facing him, and there was agleam in her eyes as they met his that bade him pause.
　　"Miss Turner, if you don't mind." She laughed slightly. "Forthe present, anyway." She reseated herself tranquilly.
　　Burke was checked, but he retained his severity of bearing.
　　"I'm giving you your orders. You will either go to Chicago, oryou'll go up the river."Mary answered in a voice charged with cynicism.
　　"If you can convict me. Pray, notice that little word 'if'."The District Attorney interposed very suavely.
　　"I did once, remember.""But you can't do it again," Mary declared, with an assurancethat excited the astonishment of the police official.
　　"How do you know he can't?" he blustered.
　　Mary laughed in a cadence of genial merriment.
　　"Because," she replied gaily, "if he could, he would have had mein prison some time ago."Burke winced, but he made shift to conceal his realization of thetruth she had stated to him.
　　"Huh!" he exclaimed gruffly. "I've seen them go up pretty easy."Mary met the assertion with a serenity that was baffling.
　　"The poor ones," she vouchsafed; "not those that have money. Ihave money, plenty of money--now.""Money you stole!" the Inspector returned, brutally.
　　"Oh, dear, no!" Mary cried, with a fine show of virtuousindignation.
　　"What about the thirty thousand dollars you got on thatpartnership swindle?" Burke asked, sneering. "I s'pose youdidn't steal that!""Certainly not," was the ready reply. "The man advertised for apartner in a business sure to bring big and safe returns. Ianswered. The business proposed was to buy a tract of land, andsubdivide it. The deeds to the land were all forged, and thesupposed seller was his confederate, with whom he was to dividethe money. We formed a partnership, with a capital of sixtythousand dollars. We paid the money into the bank, and then atonce I drew it out. You see, he wanted to get my moneyillegally, but instead I managed to get his legally. For it waslegal for me to draw that money--wasn't it, Mr. Demarest?"The District Attorney by an effort retained his severe expressionof righteous disapprobation, but he admitted the truth of hercontention.
　　"Unfortunately, yes," he said gravely. "A partner has the rightto draw out any, or all, of the partnership funds.""And I was a partner," Mary said contentedly. "You, see,Inspector, you wrong me--you do, really! I'm not a swindler; I'ma financier."Burke sneered scornfully.
　　"Well," he roared, "you'll never pull another one on me. You cangamble on that!"Mary permitted herself to laugh mockingly in the face of thebadgered official.
　　"Thank you for telling me," she said, graciously. "And let mesay, incidentally, that Miss Lynch at the present moment ispainlessly extracting ten thousand dollars from General Hastingsin a perfectly legal manner, Inspector Burke.""Well, anyhow," Burke shouted, "you may stay inside the law, butyou've got to get outside the city." He tried to employ anelephantine bantering tone. "On the level, now, do you think youcould get away with that young Gilder scheme you've beenplanning?"Mary appeared puzzled.
　　"What young Gilder scheme?" she asked, her brows drawn inbewilderment.
　　"Oh, I'm wise--I'm wise!" the Inspector cried roughly. "Theanswer is, once for all, leave town this afternoon, or you'll bein the Tombs in the morning."Abruptly, a change came over the woman. Hitherto, she had beencynical, sarcastic, laughing, careless, impudent. Now, of asudden, she was all seriousness, and she spoke with a gravitythat, despite their volition, impressed both the men before her.
　　"It can't be done, Inspector," she said, sedately.
　　The declaration, simple as it was, aroused the official to newindignation.
　　"Who says it can't?" he vociferated, overflowing with anger atthis flouting of the authority he represented.
　　Mary opened a drawer of the desk, and took out the documentobtained that morning from Harris, and held it forth.
　　"This," she replied, succinctly.
　　"What's this?" Burke stormed. But he took the paper.
　　Demarest looked over the Inspector's shoulder, and his eyes grewlarger as he read. When he was at an end of the reading, heregarded the passive woman at the desk with a new respect.
　　"What's this?" Burke repeated helplessly. It was not easy forhim to interpret the legal phraseology. Mary was kind enough tomake the document clear to him.
　　"It's a temporary restraining order from the Supreme Court,instructing you to let me alone until you have legal proof that Ihave broken the law.... Do you get that, Mr. Inspector Burke?"The plethoric official stared hard at the injunction.
　　"Another new one," he stuttered finally. Then his anger soughtvent in violent assertion. "But it can't be done!" he shouted.
　　"You might ask Mr. Demarest," Mary suggested, pleasantly, "as towhether or not it can be done. The gambling houses can do it,and so keep on breaking the law. The race track men can do it,and laugh at the law. The railroad can do it, to restrain itsemployees from striking. So, why shouldn't I get one, too? Yousee, I have money. I can buy all the law I want. And there'snothing you can't do with the law, if you have money enough....
　　Ask Mr. Demarest. He knows."Burke was fairly gasping over this outrage against his authority.
　　"Can you beat that!" he rumbled with a raucously sonorousvehemence. He regarded Mary with a stare of almost reverentialwonder. "A crook appealing to the law!"There came a new note into the woman's voice as she answered thegibe.
　　"No, simply getting justice," she said simply. "That's theremarkable part of it." She threw off her serious air. "Well,gentlemen," she concluded, "what are you going to do about it?"Burke explained.
　　"This is what I'm going to do about it. One way or another, I'mgoing to get you."The District Attorney, however, judged it advisable to use morepersuasive methods.
　　"Miss Turner," he said, with an appearance of sincerity, "I'mgoing to appeal to your sense of fair play."Mary's shining eyes met his for a long moment, and before thechallenge in hers, his fell. He remembered then those doubtsthat had assailed him when this girl had been sentenced toprison, remembered the half-hearted plea he had made in herbehalf to Richard Gilder.
　　"That was killed," Mary said, "killed four years ago."But Demarest persisted. Influence had been brought to bear onhim. It was for her own sake now that he urged her.
　　"Let young Gilder alone."Mary laughed again. But there was no hint of joyousness in themusical tones. Her answer was frank--brutally frank. She hadnothing to conceal.
　　"His father sent me away for three years--three years forsomething I didn't do. Well, he's got to pay for it."By this time, Burke, a man of superior intelligence, as one mustbe to reach such a position of authority, had come to realizethat here was a case not to be carried through by blustering, byintimidation, by the rough ruses familiar to the force. Here wasa woman of extraordinary intelligence, as well as of peculiarpersonal charm, who merely made sport of his fulminations, andshowed herself essentially armed against anything he might do, bya court injunction, a thing unheard of until this moment in thecase of a common crook. It dawned upon him that this was,indeed, not a common crook. Moreover, there had grown in him acertain admiration for the ingenuity and resource of this woman,though he retained all his rancor against one who dared thus toresist the duly constituted authority. So, in the end, he spoketo her frankly, without a trace of his former virulence, with avery real, if rugged, sincerity.
　　"Don't fool yourself, my girl," he said in his huge voice, whichwas now modulated to a degree that made it almost unfamiliar tohimself. "You can't go through with this. There's always a weaklink in the chain somewhere. It's up to me to find it, and Iwill."His candor moved her to a like honesty.
　　"Now," she said, and there was respect in the glance she gave thestalwart man, "now you really sound dangerous."There came an interruption, alike unexpected by all. Fannieappeared at the door.
　　"Mr. Edward Gilder wishes to see you, Miss Turner," she said,with no appreciation of anything dynamic in the announcement.
　　"Shall I show him in?""Oh, certainly," Mary answered, with an admirable pretense ofindifference, while Burke glared at Demarest, and the DistrictAttorney appeared ill at ease.
　　"He shouldn't have come," Demarest muttered, getting to his feet,in reply to the puzzled glance of the Inspector.
　　Then, while Mary sat quietly in her chair at the desk, and thetwo men stood watching doubtfully the door, the maid appeared,stood aside, and said simply, "Mr. Gilder."There entered the erect, heavy figure of the man whom Mary hadhated through the years. He stopped abruptly just within theroom, gave a glance at the two men, then his eyes went to Mary,sitting at her desk, with her face lifted inquiringly. He didnot pause to take in the beauty of that face, only its strength.
　　He stared at her silently for a moment. Then he spoke in hisoritund voice, a little tremulous from anxiety.
　　"Are you the woman?" he said. There was something simple andprimitive, something of dignity beyond the usual conventions, inhis direct address.
　　And there was the same primitive simplicity in the answer.
　　Between the two strong natures there was no subterfuge, nosuggestion of polite evasions, of tergiversation, only the pleaof truth to truth. Mary's acknowledgment was as plain as his ownquestion.
　　"I am the woman. What do you want?" ... Thus two honest folk hadmet face to face.
　　"My son." The man's answer was complete.
　　But Mary touched a tragic note in her question. It was asked inno frivolous spirit, but, of a sudden, she guessed that hiscoming was altogether of his own volition, and not the result ofhis son's information, as at first she had supposed.
　　"Have you seen him recently?" she asked.
　　"No," Gilder answered.
　　"Then, why did you come?"Thereat, the man was seized with a fatherly fury. His heavy facewas congested, and his sonorous voice was harsh with virtuousrebuke.
　　"Because I intend to save my boy from a great folly. I aminformed that he is infatuated with you, and Inspector Burketells me why--he tells me--why--he tells me----" He paused,unable for a moment to continue from an excess of emotion. Buthis gray eyes burned fiercely in accusation against her.
　　Inspector Burke himself filled the void in the halting sentence.
　　"I told you she had been an ex-convict.""Yes," Gilder said, after he had regained his self-control. Hestared at her pleadingly. "Tell me," he said with a certaindignity, "is this true?"Here, then, was the moment for which she had longed through wearydays, through weary years. Here was the man whom she hated,suppliant before her to know the truth. Her heart quickened.
　　Truly, vengeance is sweet to one who has suffered unjustly.
　　"Is this true?" the man repeated, with something of horror inhis voice.
　　"It is," Mary said quietly.
　　For a little, there was silence in the room. Once, InspectorBurke started to speak, but the magnate made an imperativegesture, and the officer held his peace. Always, Mary restedmotionless. Within her, a fierce joy surged. Here was the timeof her victory. Opposite her was the man who had caused heranguish, the man whose unjust action had ruined her life. Now,he was her humble petitioner, but this servility could be of noavail to save him from shame. He must drink of the dregs ofhumiliation--and then again. No price were too great to pay fora wrong such as that which he had put upon her.
　　At last, Gilder was restored in a measure to his self-possession.
　　He spoke with the sureness of a man of wealth, confident thatmoney will salve any wound.
　　"How much?" he asked, baldly.
　　Mary smiled an inscrutable smile.
　　"Oh, I don't need money," she said, carelessly. "Inspector Burkewill tell you how easy it is for me to get it."Gilder looked at her with a newly dawning respect; then hisshrewdness suggested a retort.
　　"Do you want my son to learn what you are?" he said.
　　Mary laughed. There was something dreadful in that burst ofspurious amusement.
　　"Why not?" she answered. "I'm ready to tell him myself."Then Gilder showed the true heart of him, in which love for hisboy was before all else. He found himself wholly at a lossbefore the woman's unexpected reply.
　　"But I don't want him to know," he stammered. "Why, I've sparedthe boy all his life. If he really loves you--it will----"At that moment, the son himself entered hurriedly from thehallway. In his eagerness, he saw no one save the woman whom heloved. At his entrance, Mary rose and moved backward a stepinvoluntarily, in sheer surprise over his coming, even though shehad known he must come--perhaps from some other emotion, deeper,hidden as yet even from herself.
　　The young man, with his wholesome face alight with tenderness,went swiftly to her, while the other three men stood silent,motionless, abashed by the event. And Dick took Mary's hand in awarm clasp, pressed it tenderly.
　　"I didn't see father," he said happily, "but I left him a note onhis desk at the office."Then, somehow, the surcharged atmosphere penetrated hisconsciousness, and he looked around, to see his father standinggrimly opposite him. But there was no change in his expressionbeyond a more radiant smile.
　　"Hello, Dad!" he cried, joyously. "Then you got my note?"The voice of the older man came with a sinister force andsaturnine.
　　"No, Dick, I haven't had any note.""Then, why?" The young man broke off suddenly. He was becomeaware that here was something malignant, with a meaning beyondhis present understanding, for he saw the Inspector and Demarest,and he knew the two of them for what they were officially.
　　"What are they doing here?" he demanded suspiciously, staring atthe two.
　　"Oh, never mind them," Mary said. There was a malevolent gleamin her violet eyes. This was the recompense of which she haddreamed through soul-tearing ages. "Just tell your father yournews, Dick."The young man had no comprehension of the fact that he was only apawn in the game. He spoke with simple pride.
　　"Dad, we're married. Mary and I were married this morning."Always, Mary stared with her eyes steadfast on the father. Therewas triumph in her gaze. This was the vengeance for which shehad longed, for which she had plotted, the vengeance she had atlast achieved. Here was her fruition, the period of hersupremacy.
　　Gilder himself seemed dazed by the brief sentence.
　　"Say that again," he commanded.
　　Mary rejoiced to make the knowledge sure.
　　"I married your son this morning," she said in a matter-of-facttone. "I married him. Do you quite understand, Mr. Gilder? Imarried him." In that insistence lay her ultimate compensationfor untold misery. The father stood there wordless, unable tofind speech against this calamity that had befallen him.
　　It was Burke who offered a diversion, a crude interruption afterhis own fashion.
　　"It's a frame-up," he roared. He glared at the young man. "Tellyour father it ain't true. Why, do you know what she is? She'sdone time." He paused for an instant, then spoke in a voice thatwas brutally menacing. "And, by God, she'll do it again!"The young man turned toward his bride. There was disbelief,hope, despair, in his face, which had grown older by years withthe passing of the seconds.
　　"It's a lie, Mary," he said. "Say it's a lie!" He seized herhand passionately.
　　There was no quiver in her voice as she answered. She drew herhand from his clasp, and spoke evenly.
　　"It's the truth.""It's the truth!" the young man repeated, incredulously.
　　"It is the truth," Mary said, firmly. "I have served three yearsin prison."There was a silence of a minute that was like years. It was thefather who broke it, and now his voice was become tremulous.
　　"I wanted to save you, Dick. That's why I came."The son interrupted him violently.
　　"There's a mistake--there must be."It was Demarest who gave an official touch to the tragedy of themoment.
　　"There's no mistake," he said. There was authority in hisstatement.
　　"There is, I tell you!" Dick cried, horrified by this conspiracyof defamation. He turned his tortured face to his bride of aday.
　　"Mary," he said huskily, "there is a mistake."Something in her face appalled him. He was voiceless for a fewterrible instants. Then he spoke again, more beseechingly.
　　"Say there's a mistake."Mary preserved her poise. Yes--she must not forget! This was thehour of her triumph. What mattered it that the honey of it wasas ashes in her mouth? She spoke with a simplicity that admittedno denial.
　　"It's all quite true."The man who had so loved her, so trusted her, was overwhelmed bythe revelation. He stood trembling for a moment, tottered,almost it seemed would have fallen, but presently steadiedhimself and sank supinely into a chair, where he sat in impotentsuffering.
　　The father looked at Mary with a reproach that was pathetic.
　　"See," he said, and his heavy voice was for once thin withpassion," see what you've done to my boy!"Mary had held her eyes on Dick. There had been in her gaze aconflict of emotions, strong and baffling. Now, however, when thefather spoke, her face grew more composed, and her eyes met hiscoldly. Her voice was level and vaguely dangerous as sheanswered his accusation.
　　"What is that compared to what you have done to me?"Gilder stared at her in honest amazement. He had no suspicion asto the tragedy that lay between him and her.
　　"What have I done to you?" he questioned, uncomprehending.
　　Mary moved forward, passing beyond the desk, and continued heradvance toward him until the two stood close together, face toface. She spoke softly, but with an intensity of supreme feelingin her voice.
　　"Do you remember what I said to you the day you had me sentaway?"The merchant regarded her with stark lack of understanding.
　　"I don't remember you at all," he said.
　　The woman looked at him intently for a moment, then spoke in acolorless voice.
　　"Perhaps you remember Mary Turner, who was arrested four yearsago for robbing your store. And perhaps you remember that sheasked to speak to you before they took her to prison."The heavy-jowled man gave a start.
　　"Oh, you begin to remember. Yes! There was a girl who swore shewas innocent--yes, she swore that she was innocent. And shewould have got off--only, you asked the judge to make an exampleof her."The man to whom she spoke had gone gray a little. He began tounderstand, for he was not lacking in intelligence. Somehow, itwas borne in on him that this woman had a grievance beyond theusual run of injuries.
　　"You are that girl?" he said. It was not a question, rather anaffirmation.
　　Mary spoke with the dignity of long suffering--more than that,with the confident dignity of a vengeance long delayed, now atlast achieved. Her words were simple enough, but they touched tothe heart of the man accused by them.
　　"I am that girl."There was a little interval of silence. Then, Mary spoke again,remorselessly.
　　"You took away my good name. You smashed my life. You put mebehind the bars. You owe for all that.... Well' I've begun tocollect."The man opposite her, the man of vigorous form, of strong faceand keen eyes, stood gazing intently for long moments. In thattime, he was learning many things. Finally, he spoke.
　　"And that is why you married my boy.""It is." Mary gave the answer coldly, convincingly.
　　Convincingly, save to one--her husband. Dick suddenly aroused,and spoke with the violence of one sure.
　　"It is not!"Burke shouted a warning. Demarest, more diplomatic, made arestraining gesture toward the police official, then started toaddress the young man soothingly.
　　But Dick would have none of their interference.
　　"This is my affair," he said, and the others fell silent. Hestood up and went to Mary, and took her two hands in his, verygently, yet very firmly.
　　"Mary," he said softly, yet with a strength of conviction, "youmarried me because you love me."The wife shuddered, but she strove to deny.
　　"No," she said gravely, "no, I did not!""And you love me now!" he went on insistingly.
　　"No, no!" Mary's denial came like a cry for escape.
　　"You love me now!" There was a masterful quality in hisdeclaration, which seemed to ignore her negation.
　　"I don't," she repeated bitterly.
　　But he was inexorable.
　　"Look me in the face, and say that."He took her face in his hands, lifted it, and his eyes met herssearchingly.
　　"Look me in the face, and say that," he repeated.
　　There was a silence that seemed long, though it was measured inthe passing of seconds. The three watchers dared not interruptthis drama of emotions, but, at last, Mary, who had planned solong for this hour, gathered her forces and spoke valiantly. Hervoice was low, but without any weakness of doubt.
　　"I do not love you."In the instant of reply, Dick Gilder, by some inspiration oflove, changed his attitude. "Just the same," he said cheerfully,"you are my wife, and I'm going to keep you and make you loveme."Mary felt a thrill of fear through her very soul.
　　"You can't!" she cried harshly. "You are his son!""She's a crook!" Burke said.
　　"I don't care a damn what you've been!" Dick exclaimed. "From nowon you'll go straight. You'll walk the straightest line a womanever walked. You'll put all thoughts of vengeance out of yourheart, because I'll fill it with something bigger--I'm going tomake you love me."Burke, with his rousing voice, spoke again:
　　"I tell you, she's a crook!"Mary moved a little, and then turned her face toward Gilder.
　　"And, if I am, who made me one? You can't send a girl to prison,and have her come out anything else."Burke swung himself around in a movement of complete disgust.
　　"She didn't get her time for good behavior."Mary raised her head, haughtily, with a gesture of high disdain.
　　"And I'm proud of it!" came her instant retort. "Do you knowwhat goes on there behind those stone walls? Do you, Mr.
　　District Attorney, whose business it is to send girls there? Doyou know what a girl is expected to do, to get time off for goodbehavior? If you don't, ask the keepers."Gilder moved fussily.
　　"And you----"Mary swayed a little, standing there before her questioner.
　　"I served every minute of my time--every minute of it, threefull, whole years. Do you wonder that I want to get even, thatsome one has got to pay? Four years ago, you took away myname--and gave me a number.... Now, I've given up the number--andI've got your name."
Chapter 15 Aftermath Of Tragedy
The Gilders, both father and son, endured much sufferingthroughout the night and day that followed the scene in MaryTurner's apartment, when she had made known the accomplishment ofher revenge on the older man by her ensnaring of the younger.
　　Dick had followed the others out of her presence at her command,emphasized by her leaving him alone when he would have pleadedfurther with her. Since then, he had striven to obtain anotherinterview with his bride, but she had refused him. He was deniedadmission to the apartment. Only the maid answered the ringingof the telephone, and his notes were seemingly unheeded.
　　Distraught by this violent interjection of torment into a lifethat hitherto had known no important suffering, Dick Gildershowed what mettle of man lay beneath his debonair appearance.
　　And that mettle was of a kind worth while. In these hours ofgrief, the soul of him put out its strength. He learned beyondperadventure of doubt that the woman whom he had married was intruth an ex-convict, even as Burke and Demarest had declared.
　　Nevertheless, he did not for an instant believe that she wasguilty of the crime with which she had been originally chargedand for which she had served a sentence in prison. For the rest,he could understand in some degree how the venom of the wronginflicted on her had poisoned her nature through the years, tillshe had worked out its evil through the scheme of which he wasthe innocent victim. He cared little for the fact that recentlyshe had devoted herself to devious devices for making money, toingenious schemes for legal plunder. In his summing of her, heset as more than an offset to her unrighteousness in this regardthe desperate struggle she had made after leaving prison to keepstraight, which, as he learned, had ended in her attempt atsuicide. He knew the intelligence of this woman whom he loved,and in his heart was no thought of her faults as vital flaws. Itseemed to him rather that circumstances had compelled her, andthat through all the suffering of her life she had retained themore beautiful qualities of her womanliness, for which hereverenced her. In the closeness of their association, short asit had been, he had learned to know something of the tendererdepths within her, the kindliness of her, the wholesomeness.
　　Swayed as he was by the loveliness of her, he was yet moreenthralled by those inner qualities of which the outer beauty wasonly the fitting symbol.
　　So, in the face of this catastrophe, where a less love must havebeen destroyed utterly, Dick remained loyal. His passionateregard did not falter for a moment. It never even occurred tohim that he might cast her off, might yield to his father'sprayers, and abandon her. On the contrary, his only purpose wasto gain her for himself, to cherish and guard her against everyill, to protect with his love from every attack of shame orinjury. He would not believe that the girl did not care for him.
　　Whatever had been her first purpose of using him only as aninstrument through which to strike against his father, whatevermight be her present plan of eliminating him from her life in thefuture, he still was sure that she had grown to know a real andlasting affection for himself. He remembered startled glancesfrom the violet eyes, caught unawares, and the music of her voicein rare instants, and these told him that love for him stirred,even though it might as yet be but faintly, in her heart.
　　Out of that fact, he drew an immediate comfort in this period ofhis misery. Nevertheless, his anguish was a racking one. Hegrew older visibly in the night and the day. There creptsuddenly lines of new feeling into his face, and, too, lines ofnew strength. The boy died in that time; the man was born, cameforth in the full of his steadfastness and his courage, and hislove.
　　The father suffered with the son. He was a proud man, intenselygratified over the commanding position to which he had achievedin the commercial world, proud of his business integrity, of hisstanding in the community as a leader, proud of his socialposition, proud most of all of the son whom he so loved. Now,this hideous disaster threatened his pride at every turn--worse,it threatened the one person in the world whom he really loved.
　　Most fathers would have stormed at the boy when pleading failed,would have given commands with harshness, would have menaced therecalcitrant with disinheritance. Edward Gilder did none ofthese things, though his heart was sorely wounded. He loved hisson too much to contemplate making more evil for the lad by anyestrangement between them. Yet he felt that the matter could notsafely be left in the hands of Dick himself. He realized thathis son loved the woman--nor could he wonder much at that. Hiskeen eyes had perceived Mary Turner's graces of form, herloveliness of face. He had apprehended, too, in some measure atleast, the fineness of her mental fiber and the capacities of herheart. Deep within him, denied any outlet, he knew there lurkeda curious, subtle sympathy for the girl in her scheme of revengeagainst himself. Her persistent striving toward the object ofher ambition was something he could understand, since the likething in different guise had been back of his own businesssuccess. He would not let the idea rise to the surface ofconsciousness, for he still refused to believe that Mary Turnerhad suffered at his hand unjustly. He would think of her asnothing else than a vile creature, who had caught his son in thetoils of her beauty and charm, for the purpose of eventuallymaking money out of the intrigue.
　　Gilder, in his library this night, was pacing impatiently to andfro, eagerly listening for the sound of his son's return to thehouse. He had been the guest of honor that night at an importantmeeting of the Civic Committee, and he had spoken with his usualclarity and earnestness in spite of the trouble that beset him.
　　Now, however, the regeneration of the city was far from histhought, and his sole concern was with the regeneration of alife, that of his son, which bade fair to be ruined by the wilesof a wicked woman. He was anxious for the coming of Dick, towhom he would make one more appeal. If that should fail--well,he must use the influences at his command to secure the forcibleparting of the adventuress from his son.
　　The room in which he paced to and fro was of a solid dignity,well fitted to serve as an environment for its owner. It wasvery large, and lofty. There was massiveness in the desk thatstood opposite the hall door, near a window. This particularwindow itself was huge, high, jutting in octagonal, with leadedpanes. In addition, there was a great fireplace set with tiles,around which was woodwork elaborately carved, the fruit ofpatient questing abroad. On the walls were hung some pieces oftapestry, where there were not bookcases. Over the octagonalwindow, too, such draperies fell in stately lines. Now, as themagnate paced back and forth, there was only a gentle light inthe room, from a reading-lamp on his desk. The huge chandelierwas unlighted.... It was even as Gilder, in an increasingirritation over the delay, had thrown himself down on a couchwhich stood just a little way within an alcove, that he heard theouter door open and shut. He sprang up with an ejaculation ofsatisfaction.
　　"Dick, at last!" he muttered.
　　It was, in truth, the son. A moment later, he entered the room,and went at once to his father, who was standing waiting, facingthe door.
　　"I'm awfully sorry I'm so late, Dad," he said simply.
　　"Where have you been?" the father demanded gravely. But therewas great affection in the flash of his gray eyes as he scannedthe young man's face, and the touch of the hand that he put onDick's shoulder was very tender. "With that woman again?"The boy's voice was disconsolate as he replied:
　　"No, father, not with her. She won't see me."The older man snorted a wrathful appreciation.
　　"Naturally!" he exclaimed with exceeding bitterness in the heavyvoice. "She's got all she wanted from you --my name!" Herepeated the words with a grimace of exasperation: "My name!"There was a novel dignity in the son's tone as he spoke.
　　"It's mine, too, you know, sir," he said quietly.
　　The father was impressed of a sudden with the fact that, whilethis affair was of supreme import to himself, it was, after all,of still greater significance to his son. To himself, the chiefconcerns were of the worldly kind. To this boy, the vital thingwas something deeper, something of the heart: for, however absurdhis feeling, the truth remained that he loved the woman. Yes, itwas the son's name that Mary Turner had taken, as well as that ofhis father. In the case of the son, she had taken not only hisname, but his very life. Yes, it was, indeed, Dick's tragedy.
　　Whatever he, the father, might feel, the son was, after all, moreaffected. He must suffer more, must lose more, must pay morewith happiness for his folly.
　　Gilder looked at his son with a strange, new respect, but hecould not let the situation go without protest, protest of themost vehement.
　　"Dick," he cried, and his big voice was shaken a little by theforce of his emotion; "boy, you are all I have in the world. Youwill have to free yourself from this woman somehow." He stoodvery erect, staring steadfastly out of his clear gray eyes intothose of his son. His heavy face was rigid with feeling; thecoarse mouth bent slightly in a smile of troubled fondness, as headded more softly: "You owe me that much."The son's eyes met his father's freely. There was respect inthem, and affection, but there was something else, too, somethingthe older man recognized as beyond his control. He spokegravely, with a deliberate conviction.
　　"I owe something to her, too, Dad."But Gilder would not let the statement go unchallenged. His heavyvoice rang out rebukingly, overtoned with protest.
　　"What can you owe her?" he demanded indignantly. "She trickedyou into the marriage. Why, legally, it's not even that.
　　There's been nothing more than a wedding ceremony. The courtshold that that is only a part of the marriage actually. The factthat she doesn't receive you makes it simpler, too. It can bearranged. We must get you out of the scrape."He turned and went to the desk, as if to sit, but he was haltedby his son's answer, given very gently, yet with a note offinality that to the father's ear rang like the crack of doom.
　　"I'm not sure that I want to get out of it, father."That was all, but those plain words summed the situation, madethe issue a matter not of advice, but of the heart.
　　Gilder persisted, however, in trying to evade the integral factof his son's feeling. Still he tried to fix the issue on theknown unsavory reputation of the woman.
　　"You want to stay married to this jail-bird!" he stormed.
　　A gust of fury swept the boy. He loved the woman, in spite ofall; he respected her, even reverenced her. To hear her thusnamed moved him to a rage almost beyond his control. But hemastered himself. He remembered that the man who spoke lovedhim; he remembered, too, that the word of opprobrium was no morethan the truth, however offensive it might be to hissensitiveness. He waited a moment until he could hold his voiceeven. Then his words were the sternest protest that could havebeen uttered, though they came from no exercise of thought, onlyout of the deeps of his heart.
　　"I'm very fond of her."That was all. But the simple sincerity of the saying griped thefather's mood, as no argument could have done. There was alittle silence. After all, what could meet such loving loyalty?
　　When at last he spoke, Gilder's voice was subdued, a littlehusky.
　　"Now, that you know?" he questioned.
　　There was no faltering in the answer.
　　"Now, that I know," Dick said distinctly. Then abruptly, theyoung man spoke with the energy of perfect faith in the woman.
　　"Don't you see, father? Why, she is justified in a way, in herown mind anyhow, I mean. She was innocent when she was sent toprison. She feels that the world owes her----"But the older man would not permit the assertion to gouncontradicted. That reference to the woman's innocence was anarraignment of himself, for it had been he who sent her to theterm of imprisonment.
　　"Don't talk to me about her innocence!" he said, and his voicewas ominous. "I suppose next you will argue that, because she'sbeen clever enough to keep within the law, since she's got out ofState Prison, she's not a criminal. But let me tell you--crimeis crime, whether the law touches it in the particular case, orwhether it doesn't."Gilder faced his son sternly for a moment, and then presentlyspoke again with deeper earnestness.
　　"There's only one course open to you, my boy. You must give thisgirl up."The son met his father's gaze with a level look in which therewas no weakness.
　　"I've told you, Dad----" he began.
　　"You must, I tell you," the father insisted. Then he went onquickly, with a tone of utmost positiveness. "If you don't, whatare you going to do the day your wife is thrown into a patrolwagon and carried to Police Headquarters--for it's sure tohappen? The cleverest of people make mistakes, and some dayshe'll make one."Dick threw out his hands in a gesture of supreme denial. He wasfurious at this supposition that she would continue in herirregular practices.
　　But the father went on remorselessly.
　　"They will stand her up where the detectives will walk past herwith masks on their faces. Her picture, of course, is already inthe Rogues' Gallery, but they will take another. Yes, and theimprints of her fingers, and the measurements of her body."The son was writhing under the words. The woman of whom thesethings were said was the woman whom he loved. It was blasphemyto think of her in such case, subjected to the degradation ofthese processes. Yet, every word had in it the piercing, horriblesting of truth. His face whitened. He raised a supplicatinghand.
　　"Father!""That's what they will do to your wife," Gilder went on harshly;"to the woman who bears your name and mine." There was a littlepause, and the father stood rigid, menacing. The final questioncame rasping. "What are you going to do about it?"Dick went forward until he was close to his father. Then he spokewith profound conviction.
　　"It will never happen. She will go straight, Dad. That I know.
　　You would know it if you only knew her as I do."Gilder once again put his hand tenderly on his son's shoulder.
　　His voice was modulated to an unaccustomed mildness as he spoke.
　　"Be sensible, boy," he pleaded softly. "Be sensible!"Dick dropped down on the couch, and made his answer very gently,his eyes unseeing as he dwelt on the things he knew of the womanhe loved.
　　"Why, Dad," he said, "she is young. She's just like a child in ahundred ways. She loves the trees and the grass and theflowers--and everything that's simple and real! And as for herheart--" His voice was low and very tender: "Why, her heart isthe biggest I've ever known. It's just overflowing withsweetness and kindness. I've seen her pick up a baby that hadfallen in the street, and mother it in a way that--well, no onecould do it as she did it, unless her soul was clean."The father was silent, a little awed. He made an effort to shakeoff the feeling, and spoke with a sneer.
　　"You heard what she said yesterday, and you still are such a foolas to think that."The answer of the son came with an immutable finality, thesublime faith of love.
　　"I don't think--I know!"Gilder was in despair. What argument could avail him? He criedout sharply in desperation.
　　"Do you realize what you're doing? Don't go to smash, Dick, justat the beginning of your life. Oh, I beg you, boy, stop! Putthis girl out of your thoughts and start fresh."The reply was of the simplest, and it was the end of argument.
　　"Father," Dick said, very gently, "I can't."There followed a little period of quiet between the two. Thefather, from his desk, stood facing his son, who thus denied himin all honesty because the heart so commanded. The son restedmotionless and looked with unflinching eyes into his father'sface. In the gaze of each was a great affection.
　　"You're all I have, my boy," the older man said at last. And nowthe big voice was a mildest whisper of love.
　　"Yes, Dad," came the answer--another whisper, since it is hard tovoice the truth of feeling such as this. "If I could avoid it, Iwouldn't hurt you for anything in the world. I'm sorry, Dad,awfully sorry----" He hesitated, then his voice rang out clearly.
　　There was in his tone, when he spoke again, a recognition of thatloneliness which is the curse and the crown of being:
　　"But," he ended, "I must fight this out by myself--fight it outin my own way.... And I'm going to do it!"
Chapter 16 Burke Plots
The butler entered.
　　"A man to see you, sir," he said.
　　Gilder made a gesture of irritation, as he sank into the chair athis desk.
　　"I can't see any one to-night, Thomas," he exclaimed, sharply.
　　"But he said it was most important, sir," the servant went on.
　　He held out the tray insistently.
　　The master took the card grudgingly. As his eyes caught thename, his expression changed slightly.
　　"Very well," he said, "show him up." His glance met thewondering gaze of his son.
　　"It's Burke," he explained.
　　"What on earth can he want--at this time of night?" Dickexclaimed.
　　The father smiled grimly.
　　"You may as well get used to visits from the police." There wassomething ghastly in the effort toward playfulness.
　　A moment later, Inspector Burke entered the room.
　　"Oh, you're here, too," he said, as his eyes fell on Dick.
　　"That's good. I wanted to see you, too."Inspector Burke was, in fact, much concerned over the situationthat had developed. He was a man of undoubted ability, and hetook a keen professional pride in his work. He possessed thefaults of his class, was not too scrupulous where he saw a safeopportunity to make a snug sum of money through the employment ofhis official authority, was ready to buckle to those whoseinfluence could help or hinder his ambition. But, in spite ofthese ordinary defects, he was fond of his work and wishful toexcel in it. Thus, Mary Turner had come to be a thorn in hisside. She flouted his authority and sustained her incredibleeffrontery by a restraining order from the court. The thing wasoutrageous to him, and he set himself to match her cunning. Thefact that she had involved Dick Gilder within her toils made himthe more anxious to overcome her in the strife of resourcesbetween them. After much studying, he had at last plannedsomething that, while it would not directly touch Mary herself,would at least serve to intimidate her, and as well make furtheraction easier against her. It was in pursuit of this scheme thathe now came to Gilder's house, and the presence of the young manabruptly gave him another idea that might benefit him well. So,he disregarded Gilder's greeting, and went on speaking to theson.
　　"She's skipped!" he said, triumphantly.
　　Dick made a step forward. His eyes flashed, and there was angerin his voice as he replied:
　　"I don't believe it."The Inspector smiled, unperturbed.
　　"She left this morning for Chicago," he said, lying with a mannerthat long habit rendered altogether convincing. "I told youshe'd go." He turned to the father, and spoke with an air ofboastful good nature. "Now, all you have to do is to get this boyout of the scrape and you'll be all right.""If we only could!" The cry came with deepest earnestness fromthe lips of Gilder, but there was little hope in his voice.
　　The Inspector, however, was confident of success, and his tonesrang cheerfully as he answered:
　　"I guess we can find a way to have the marriage annulled, orwhatever they do to marriages that don't take."The brutal assurance of the man in thus referring to things thatwere sacred, moved Dick to wrath.
　　"Don't you interfere," he said. His words were spoken softly,but tensely.
　　Nevertheless, Burke held to the topic, but an indefinable changein his manner rendered it less offensive to the young man.
　　"Interfere! Huh!" he ejaculated, grinning broadly. "Why, that'swhat I'm paid to do. Listen to me, son. The minute you beginmixing up with crooks, you ain't in a position to give orders toany one. The crooks have got no rights in the eyes of thepolice. Just remember that."The Inspector spoke the simple truth as he knew it from years ofexperience. The theory of the law is that a presumption ofinnocence exists until the accused is proven guilty. But thepolice are out of sympathy with such finical methods. With them,the crook is presumed guilty at the outset of whatever may becharged against him. If need be, there will be proof a-plentyagainst him--of the sort that the underworld knows to its sorrow.
　　But Dick was not listening. His thoughts were again wholly withthe woman he loved, who, as the Inspector declared, had fled fromhim.
　　"Where's she gone in Chicago?"Burke answered in his usual gruff fashion, but with a note ofkindliness that was not without its effect on Dick.
　　"I'm no mind-reader," he said. "But she's a swell little girl,all right. I've got to hand it to her for that. So, she'llprobably stop at the Blackstone--that is, until the Chicagopolice are tipped off that she is in town."Of a sudden, the face of the young man took on a totallydifferent expression. Where before had been anger, now was avivid eagerness. He went close to the Inspector, and spoke withintense seriousness.
　　"Burke," he said, pleadingly, "give me a chance. I'll leave forChicago in the morning. Give me twenty-four hours start beforeyou begin hounding her."The Inspector regarded the speaker searchingly. His heavy facewas drawn in an expression of apparent doubt. Abruptly, then, hesmiled acquiescence.
　　"Seems reasonable," he admitted.
　　But the father strode to his son.
　　"No, no, Dick," he cried. "You shall not go! You shall not go!"Burke, however, shook his head in remonstrance against Gilder'splea. His huge voice came booming, weightily impressive.
　　"Why not?" he questioned. "It's a fair gamble. And, besides, Ilike the boy's nerve."Dick seized on the admission eagerly.
　　"And you'll agree?" he cried.
　　"Yes, I'll agree," the Inspector answered.
　　"Thank you," Dick said quietly.
　　But the father was not content. On the contrary, he went towardthe two hurriedly, with a gesture of reproval.
　　"You shall not go, Dick," he declared, imperiously.
　　The Inspector shot a word of warning to Gilder in an aside thatDick could not hear.
　　"Keep still," he replied. "It's all right."Dick went on speaking with a seriousness suited to the magnitudeof his interests.
　　"You give me your word, Inspector," he said, "that you won'tnotify the police in Chicago until I've been there twenty-fourhours?""You're on," Burke replied genially. "They won't get a whisperout of me until the time is up." He swung about to face thefather, and there was a complete change in his manner. "Now,then, Mr. Gilder," he said briskly, "I want to talk to you aboutanother little matter----"Dick caught the suggestion, and interrupted quickly.
　　"Then I'll go." He smiled rather wanly at his father. "Youknow, Dad, I'm sorry, but I've got to do what I think is theright thing."Burke helped to save the situation from the growing tenseness.
　　"Sure," he cried heartily; "sure you have. That's the best anyof us can do." He watched keenly as the young man went out ofthe room. It was not until the door was closed after Dick thathe spoke. Then he dropped to a seat on the couch, and proceededto make his confidences to the magnate.
　　"He'll go to Chicago in the morning, you think, don't you?""Certainly," Gilder answered. "But I don't like it."Burke slapped his leg with an enthusiasm that might have broken aweaker member.
　　"Best thing that could have happened!" he vociferated. And then,as Gilder regarded him in astonishment, he added, chuckling: "Yousee, he won't find her there.""Why do you think that?" Gilder demanded, greatly puzzled.
　　Burke permitted himself the luxury of laughing appreciatively amoment more before making his exclamation. Then he said quietly:
　　"Because she didn't go there.""Where did she go, then?" Gilder queried wholly at a loss.
　　Once again the officer chuckled. It was evident that he was wellpleased with his own ingenuity.
　　"Nowhere yet," he said at last. "But, just about the time he'sstarting for the West I'll have her down at Headquarters.
　　Demarest will have her indicted before noon. She'll go for trialin the afternoon. And to-morrow night she'll be sleeping up theriver.... That's where she is going."Gilder stood motionless for a moment. After all, he was anordinary citizen, quite unfamiliar with the recondite methodsfamiliar to the police.
　　"But," he said, wonderingly, "you can't do that."The Inspector laughed, a laugh of disingenuous amusement, for heunderstood perfectly the lack of comprehension on the part of hishearer.
　　"Well," he said, and his voice sank into a modest rumble that wasnone the less still thunderous. "Perhaps I can't!" And then hebeamed broadly, his whole face smiling blandly on the man whodoubted his power. "Perhaps I can't," he repeated. Then thechuckle came again, and he added emphatically: "But I will!"Suddenly, his heavy face grew hard. His alert eyes shonefiercely, with a flash of fire that was known to every patrolmanwho had ever reported to the desk when he was lieutenant. Hisheavy jaw shot forward aggressively as he spoke.
　　"Think I'm going to let that girl make a joke of the PoliceDepartment? Why, I'm here to get her--to stop her anyhow. Hergang is going to break into your house to-night.""What?" Gilder demanded. "You mean, she's coming here as athief?""Not exactly," Inspector Burke confessed, "but her pals arecoming to try to pull off something right here. She wouldn'tcome, not if I know her. She's too clever for that. Why, if sheknew what Garson was planning to do, she'd stop him."The Inspector paused suddenly. For a long minute his face wasseamed with thought. Then, he smote his thigh with a blow strongenough to kill an ox. His face was radiant.
　　"By God! I've got her!" he cried. The inspiration for which hehad longed was his at last. He went to the desk where thetelephone was, and took up the receiver.
　　"Give me 3100 Spring," he said. As he waited for the connectionhe smiled widely on the astonished Gilder. " 'Tain't too late,"he said joyously. "I must have been losing my mind not to havethought of it before." The impact of sounds on his ear from thereceiver set him to attention.
　　"Headquarters?" he called. "Inspector Burke speaking. Who's inmy office? I want him quick." He smiled as he listened, and hespoke again to Gilder. "It's Smith, the best man I have. That'sluck, if you ask me." Then again he spoke into the mouthpiece ofthe telephone.
　　"Oh, Ed, send some one up to that Turner woman. You have theaddress. Just see that she is tipped off, that Joe Garson andsome pals are going to break into Edward Gilder's house to-night.
　　Get some stool-pigeon to hand her the information. You'd betterget to work damned quick. Understand?"The Inspector pulled out that watch of which Aggie Lynch hadspoken so avariciously, and glanced at it, then went on speaking:
　　"It's ten-thirty now. She went to the Lyric Theater with somewoman. Get her as she leaves, or find her back at her own placelater. You'll have to hustle, anyhow. That's all!"The Inspector hung up the receiver and faced his host with acontented smile.
　　"What good will all that do?" Gilder demanded, impatiently.
　　Burke explained with a satisfaction natural to one who haddevised something ingenious and adequate. This inspiration filledhim with delight. At last he was sure of catching Mary Turnerherself in his toils.
　　"She'll come to stop 'em," he said. "When we get the rest of thegang, we'll grab her, too. Why, I almost forgot her, thinkingabout Garson. Mr. Gilder, you would hardly believe it, butthere's scarcely been a real bit of forgery worth while done inthis country for the last twenty years, that Garson hasn't beenmixed up in. We've never once got him right in all that time."The Inspector paused to chuckle. "Crooks are funny," heexplained with obvious contentment. "Clever as he is, Garson letGriggs talk him into a second-story job, and now we'll get himwith the goods.... Just call your man for a minute, will you, Mr.
　　Gilder?"Gilder pressed the electric button on his desk. At the samemoment, through the octagonal window came a blinding flash oflight that rested for seconds, then vanished. Burke, by no meansa nervous man, nevertheless was startled by the mysteriousradiance.
　　"What's that?" he demanded, sharply.
　　"It's the flashlight from the Metropolitan Tower," Gilderexplained with a smile over the policeman's perturbation. "Itswings around this way about every fifteen minutes. The servantforgot to draw the curtains." As he spoke, he went to thewindow, and pulled the heavy draperies close. "It won't botherus again."The entrance of the butler brought the Inspector's thoughts backto the matter in hand.
　　"My man," he said, authoritatively, "I want you to go up to theroof and open the scuttle. You'll find some men waiting upthere. Bring 'em down here."The servant's usually impassive face showed astonishment, notunmixed with dismay, and he looked doubtfully toward his master,who nodded reassuringly.
　　"Oh, they won't hurt you," the Inspector declared, as he noticedthe man's hesitation. "They're police officers. You get 'em downhere, and then you go to bed and stay there till morning.
　　Understand?"Again, the butler looked at his master for guidance in this verypeculiar affair, as he deemed it. Receiving another nod, hesaid:
　　"Very well, sir." He regarded the Inspector with a certainhelpless indignation over this disturbance of the natural order,and left the room.
　　Gilder himself was puzzled over the situation, which was by nomeans clear to him.
　　"How do you know they're going to break into the house to-night?"he demanded of Burke; "or do you only think they're going tobreak into the house?""I know they are." The Inspector's harsh voice brought out thewords boastfully. "I fixed it.""You did!" There was wonder in the magnate's exclamation.
　　"Sure," Burke declared complacently, "did it through astool-pigeon.""Oh, an informer," Gilder interrupted, a little doubtfully.
　　"Yes," Burke agreed. "Stool-pigeon is the police name for him.
　　Really, he's the vilest thing that crawls.""But, if you think that," Gilder expostulated, "why do you haveanything to do with that sort of person?""Because it's good business," the Inspector replied. "We knowhe's a spy and a traitor, and that every time he comes near us weought to use a disinfectant. But we deal with him just thesame--because we have to. Now, the stool-pigeon in this trick isa swell English crook. He went to Garson yesterday with a schemeto rob your house. He tried out Mary Turner, too, but shewouldn't stand for it--said it would break the law, which iscontrary to her principles. She told Garson to leave it alone.
　　But he met Griggs afterward without her knowing anything aboutit, and then he agreed to pull it off. Griggs got word to methat it's coming off to-night. And so, you see, Mr. Gilder,that's how I know. Do you get me?""I see," Gilder admitted without any enthusiasm. As a matter offact, he felt somewhat offended that his house should be thussummarily seized as a trap for criminals.
　　"But why do you have your men come down over the roof?" heinquired curiously.
　　"It wasn't safe to bring them in the front way," was theInspector's prompt reply. "It's a cinch the house is beingwatched. I wish you would let me have your latch-key. I want tocome back, and make this collar myself."The owner of the house obediently took the desired key from hisring and gave it to the Inspector with a shrug of resignation.
　　"But, why not stay, now that you are here?" he asked.
　　"Huh!" Burke retorted. "Suppose some of them saw me come in?
　　There wouldn't be anything doing until after they see me go outagain."The hall door opened and the butler reentered the room. Behindhim came Cassidy and two other detectives in plain clothes. At aword from his master, the disturbed Thomas withdrew with theintention of obeying the Inspector's directions that he shouldretire to bed and stay there, carefully avoiding whateverpossibilities of peril there might be in the situation so foreignto his ideals of propriety.
　　"Now," Burke went on briskly, as the door closed behind theservant, "where could these men stay out of sight until they'reneeded?"There followed a little discussion which ended in the selectionof a store-room at the end of the passage on the ground floor, onwhich one of the library doors opened.
　　"You see," Burke explained to Gilder, when this matter had beensettled to his satisfaction, and while Cassidy and the otherdetectives were out of the library on a tour of inspection, "youmust have things right, when it comes to catching crooks on aframe-up like this. I had these men come to Number Twenty-six onthe other street, then round the block on the roofs."Gilder nodded appreciation which was not actually sincere. Itseemed to him that such elaborate manoeuvering was, in truth,rather absurd.
　　"And now, Mr. Gilder," the Inspector said energetically, "I'mgoing to give you the same tip I gave your man. Go to bed, andstay there.""But the boy," Gilder protested. "What about him? He's the onething of importance to me.""If he says anything more about going to Chicago--just you lethim go, that's all! It's the best place for him for the next fewdays. I'll get in touch with you in the morning and let you knowthen how things are coming out."Gilder sighed resignedly. His heavy face was lined with anxiety.
　　There was a hesitation in his manner of speech that was whollyunlike its usual quick decisiveness.
　　"I don't like this sort of thing," he said, doubtfully. "I letyou go ahead because I can't suggest any alternative, but I don'tlike it, not at all. It seems to me that other methods might beemployed with excellent results without the element of treacherywhich seems to involve me as well as you in our efforts toovercome this woman."Burke, however, had no qualms as to such plotting.
　　"You must have crooked ways to catch crooks, believe me," he saidcheerfully. "It's the easiest and quickest way out of thetrouble for us, and the easiest and quickest way into trouble forthem."The return of the detectives caused him to break off, and he gavehis attention to the final arrangements of his men.
　　"You're in charge here," he said to Cassidy, "and I hold youresponsible. Now, listen to this, and get it." His coarse voicecame with a grating note of command. "I'm coming back to get thisbunch myself, and I'll call you when you're wanted. You'll waitin the store-room out there and don't make a move till you hearfrom me, unless by any chance things go wrong and you get a callfrom Griggs. You know who he is. He's got a whistle, and he'lluse it if necessary.... Got that straight?" And, when Cassidyhad declared an entire understanding of the directions given, heconcluded concisely. "On your way, then!"As the men left the room, he turned again to Gilder.
　　"Just one thing more," he said. "I'll have to have your help alittle longer. After I've gone, I want you to stay up for ahalf-hour anyhow, with the lights burning. Do you see? I want tobe sure to give the Turner woman time to get here while that gangis at work. Your keeping on the lights will hold them back, forthey won't come in till the house is dark, so, in half an houryou can get off the job, switch off the lights and go to bed andstay there--just as I told you before." Then Inspector Burke,having in mind the great distress of the man over the unfortunateentanglement of his son, was at pains to offer a reassuring word.
　　"Don't worry about the boy," he said, with grave kindliness.
　　"We'll get him out of this scrape all right." And with theassertion he bustled out, leaving the unhappy father to miserableforebodings.
Chapter 17 Outside The Law
Gilder scrupulously followed the directions of the PoliceInspector. Uneasily, he had remained in the library until theallotted time was elapsed. He fidgeted from place to place, hismind heavy with distress under the shadow that threatened toblight the life of his cherished son. Finally, with a sense ofrelief he put out the lights and went to his chamber. But he didnot follow the further directions given him, for he was notminded to go to bed. Instead, he drew the curtains closely tomake sure that no gleam of light could pass them, and then satwith a cigar between his lips, which he did not smoke, thoughfrom time to time he was at pains to light it. His thoughts weremost with his son, and ever as he thought of Dick, his fury waxedagainst the woman who had enmeshed the boy in her plotting forvengeance on himself. And into his thoughts now crept a doubt,one that alarmed his sense of justice. It occurred to him thatthis woman could not have thus nourished a plan for retributionthrough the years unless, indeed, she had been insane, even as hehad claimed--or innocent! The idea was appalling. He could notbear to admit the possibility of having been the involuntaryinflicter of such wrong as to send the girl to prison for anoffense she had not committed. He rejected the suggestion, butit persisted. He knew the clean, wholesome nature of his son.
　　It seemed to him incredible that the boy could have thus givenhis heart to one altogether undeserving. A horrible suspicionthat he had misjudged Mary Turner crept into his brain, and wouldnot out. He fought it with all the strength of him, and that wasmuch, but ever it abode there. He turned for comfort to thethings Burke had said. The woman was a crook, and there was anend of it. Her ruse of spoliation within the law was evidence ofher shrewdness, nothing more.
　　Mary Turner herself, too, was in a condition utterly wretched,and for the same cause--Dick Gilder. That source of the father'ssuffering was hers as well. She had won her ambition of years,revenge on the man who had sent her to prison. And now the joyof it was a torture, for the puppet of her plans, the son, hadsuddenly become the chief thing in her life. She had taken itfor granted that he would leave her after he came to know thather marriage to him was only a device to bring shame on hisfather. Instead, he loved her. That fact seemed the secret ofher distress. He loved her. More, he dared believe, and toassert boldly, that she loved him. Had he acted otherwise, thematter would have been simple enough.... But he loved her, lovedher still, though he knew the shame that had clouded her life,knew the motive that had led her to accept him as a husband.
　　More--by a sublime audacity, he declared that she loved him.
　　There came a thrill in her heart each time she thought ofthat--that she loved him. The idea was monstrous, of course, andyet---- Here, as always, she broke off, a hot flush blazing inher cheeks.... Nevertheless, such curious fancies pursued herthrough the hours. She strove her mightiest to rid herself ofthem, but in vain. Ever they persisted. She sought to oust themby thinking of any one else, of Aggie, of Joe. There at last wassatisfaction. Her interference between the man who had saved herlife and the temptation of the English crook had prevented adangerous venture, which might have meant ruin to the one whomshe esteemed for his devotion to her, if for no other reason. Atleast, she had kept him from the outrageous folly of an ordinaryburglary.
　　Mary Turner was just ready for bed after her evening at thetheater, when she was rudely startled out of this belief. A notecame by a messenger who waited for no answer, as he told theyawning maid. As Mary read the roughly scrawled message, she wascaught in the grip of terror. Some instinct warned her that thisdanger was even worse than it seemed. The man who had saved herfrom death had yielded to temptation. Even now, he was engaged incommitting that crime which she had forbidden him. As he hadsaved her, so she must save him. She hurried into the gown shehad just put off. Then she went to the telephone-book andsearched for the number of Gilder's house.
　　* * * * *It was just a few moments before Mary Turner received the notefrom the hands of the sleepy maid that one of the leaves of theoctagonal window in the library of Richard Gilder's town houseswung open, under the persuasive influence of a thin rod ofsteel, cunningly used, and Joe Garson stepped confidently intothe dark room.
　　A faint radiance of moonlight from without showed him for asecond as he passed between the heavy draperies. Then these fellinto place, and he was invisible, and soundless as well. For aspace, he rested motionless, listening intently. Reassured, hedrew out an electric torch and set it glowing. A little disc oflight touched here and there about the room, traveling veryswiftly, and in methodical circles. Satisfied by the survey,Garson crossed to the hall door. He moved with alert assurance,lithely balanced on the balls of his feet, noiselessly. At thehall door he listened for any sound of life without, and foundnone. The door into the passage that led to the store-room wherethe detectives waited next engaged his business-like attention.
　　And here, again, there was naught to provoke his suspicion.
　　These preliminaries taken as measures of precaution, Garson wentboldly to the small table that stood behind the couch, turned thebutton, and the soft glow of an electric lamp illumined theapartment. The extinguished torch was thrust back into hispocket. Afterward he carried one of the heavy chairs to the doorof the passage and propped it against the panel in such wise thatits fall must give warning as to the opening of the door. Hisevery action was performed with the maximum of speed, with noleast trace of flurry or of nervous haste. It was evident thathe followed a definite program, the fruit of precise thoughtguided by experience.
　　It seemed to him that now everything was in readiness for thecoming of his associates in the commission of the crime. Thereremained only to give them the signal in the room around thecorner where they waited at a telephone. He seated himself inGilder's chair at the desk, and drew the telephone to him.
　　"Give me 999 Bryant," he said. His tone was hardly louder than awhisper, but spoken with great distinctness.
　　There was a little wait. Then an answer in a voice he knew cameover the wire.
　　But Garson said nothing more. Instead, he picked up a penholderfrom the tray on the desk, and began tapping lightly on the rimof the transmitter. It was a code message in Morse. In the roomaround the corner, the tapping sounded clearly, ticking out themessage that the way was free for the thieves' coming.
　　When Garson had made an end of the telegraphing, there came abrief answer in like Morse, to which he returned a shortdirection.
　　For a final safeguard, Garson searched for and found thetelephone bell-box on the surbase below the octagonal window. Itwas the work of only a few seconds to unscrew the bells, which heplaced on the desk. So simply he made provision against anyalarm from this source. He then took his pistol from hiship-pocket, examined it to make sure that the silencer wasproperly adjusted, and then thrust it into the right side-pocketof his coat, ready for instant use in desperate emergency. Onceagain, now, he produced the electric torch, and lighted it as heextinguished the lamp on the table.
　　Forthwith, Garson went to the door into the hall, opened it, and,leaving it ajar, made his way in silence to the outer doorway.
　　Presently, the doors there were freed of their bolts under hisskilled fingers, and one of them swung wide. He had put out thetorch now, lest its gleam might catch the gaze of some casualpasser-by. So nicely had the affair been timed that hardly wasthe door open before the three men slipped in, and stood mute andmotionless in the hall, while Garson refastened the doors. Then,a pencil of light traced the length of the hallway and Garsonwalked quickly back to the library. Behind him with steps asnoiseless as his own came the three men to whom he had just giventhe message.
　　When all were gathered in the library, Garson shut the hall door,touched the button in the wall beside it, and the chandelierthrew its radiant light on the group.
　　Griggs was in evening clothes, seeming a very elegant younggentleman indeed, but his two companions were of grosser type, asfar as appearances went: one, Dacey, thin and wiry, with a ferretface; the other, Chicago Red, a brawny ruffian, whose stolidfeatures nevertheless exhibited something of half-sullen goodnature.
　　"Everything all right so far," Garson said rapidly. He turned toGriggs and pointed toward the heavy hangings that shrouded theoctagonal window. "Are those the things we want?" he demanded.
　　"Yes," was the answer of English Eddie.
　　"Well, then, we've got to get busy," Garson went on. His alert,strong face was set in lines of eagerness that had in itsomething of fierceness now.
　　But, before he could add a direction, he was halted by a softbuzzing from the telephone, which, though bell-less, still gavethis faint warning of a call. For an instant, he hesitated whilethe others regarded him doubtfully. The situation offeredperplexities. To give no attention to the summons might beperilous, and failure to respond might provoke investigation insome urgent matter; to answer it might easily provide a largerdanger.
　　"We've got to take a chance." Garson spoke his decision curtly.
　　He went to the desk and put the receiver to his ear.
　　There came again the faint tapping of some one at the other endof the line, signaling a message in the Morse code. Anexpression of blank amazement, which grew in a flash to deepconcern, showed on Garson's face as he listened tensely.
　　"Why, this is Mary calling," he muttered.
　　"Mary!" Griggs cried. His usual vacuity of expression was castoff like a mask and alarm twisted his features. Then, in the nextinstant, a crafty triumph gleamed from his eyes.
　　"Yes, she's on," Garson interpreted, a moment later, as thetapping ceased for a little. He translated in a loud whisper asthe irregular ticking noise sounded again.
　　"I shall be there at the house almost at once. I am sending thismessage from the drug store around the corner. Have some oneopen the door for me immediately.""She's coming over," Griggs cried incredulously.
　　"No, I'll stop her," Garson declared firmly.
　　"Right! Stop her," Chicago Red vouchsafed.
　　But, when, after tapping a few words, the forger paused for thereply, no sound came.
　　"She don't answer," he exclaimed, greatly disconcerted. He triedagain, still without result. At that, he hung up the receiverwith a groan. "She's gone----""On her way already," Griggs suggested, and there was none todoubt that it was so.
　　"What's she coming here for?" Garson exclaimed harshly. "Thisain't no place for her! Why, if anything should go wrong now----"But Griggs interrupted him with his usual breezy cheerfulness ofmanner.
　　"Oh, nothing can go wrong now, old top. I'll let her in." Hedrew a small torch from the skirt-pocket of his coat and crossedto the hall door, as Garson nodded assent.
　　"God! Why did she have to come?" Garson muttered, filled withforebodings. "If anything should go wrong now!"He turned back toward the door just as it opened, and Mary dartedinto the room with Griggs following. "What do you want here?" hedemanded, with peremptory savageness in his voice, which was atone he had never hitherto used in addressing her.
　　Mary went swiftly to face Garson where he stood by the desk,while Griggs joined the other two men who stood shuffling aboutuneasily by the fireplace, at a loss over this intrusion on theirscheme. Mary moved with a lissome grace like that of some wildcreature, but as she halted opposite the man who had given herback the life she would have thrown away, there was only tenderpleading in her voice, though her words were an arraignment.
　　"Joe, you lied to me.""That can be settled later," the man snapped. His jaw was thrustforward obstinately, and his clear eyes sparkled defiantly.
　　"You are fools, all of you!" Mary cried. Her eyes darkened anddistended with fear. They darted from Garson to the other threemen, and back again in rebuke. "Yes, fools! This is burglary. Ican't protect you if you are caught. How can I? Oh, come!" Sheheld out her hands pleadingly toward Garson, and her voicedropped to beseeching. "Joe, Joe, you must get away from thishouse at once, all of you. Joe, make them go.""It's too late," was the stern answer. There was no leastrelaxation in the stubborn lines of his face. "We're here now,and we'll stay till the business is done."Mary went a step forward. The cloak she was wearing was thrownback by her gesture of appeal so that those watching saw thesnowy slope of the shoulders and the quick rise and fall of thegently curving bosom. The beautiful face within the framing scarfwas colorless with a great fear, save only the crimson lips, ofwhich the bow was bent tremulously as she spoke her prayer.
　　"Joe, for my sake!"But the man was inexorable. He had set himself to this thing,and even the urging of the one person in the world for whom hemost cared was powerless against his resolve.
　　"I can't quit now until we've got what we came here after," hedeclared roughly.
　　Of a sudden, the girl made shift to employ another sort ofsupplication.
　　"But there are reasons," she said, faltering. A certainembarrassment swept her, and the ivory of her cheeks bloomedrosily. "I--I can't have you rob this house, this particularhouse of all the world." Her eyes leaped from the still obdurateface of the forger to the group of three back of him. Her voicewas shaken with a great dread as she called out to them.
　　"Boys, let's get away! Please, oh, please! Joe, for God's sake!"Her tone was a sob.
　　Her anguish of fear did not swerve Garson from his purpose.
　　"I'm going to see this through," he said, doggedly.
　　"But, Joe----""It's settled, I tell you."In the man's emphasis the girl realized at last the inefficacy ofher efforts to combat his will. She seemed to droop visiblybefore their eyes. Her head sank on her breast. Her voice washusky as she tried to speak.
　　"Then----" She broke off with a gesture of despair, and turnedaway toward the door by which she had entered.
　　But, with a movement of great swiftness, Garson got in front ofher, and barred her going. For a few seconds the two stared ateach other searchingly as if learning new and strange things,each of the other. In the girl's expression was an outragedwonder and a great terror. In the man's was a half-shamed pride,as if he exulted in the strength with which he had been able tomaintain his will against her supreme effort to overthrow it.
　　"You can't go," Garson said sharply. "You might be caught.""And if I were," Mary demanded in a flash of indignation, "do youthink I'd tell?"There came an abrupt change in the hard face of the man. Intothe piercing eyes flamed a softer fire of tenderness. The firmmouth grew strangely gentle as he replied, and his voice wasovertoned with faith.
　　"Of course not, Mary," he said. "I know you. You would go upfor life first."Then again his expression became resolute, and he spokeimperiously.
　　"Just the same, you can't take any chances. We'll all get awayin a minute, and you'll come with us." He turned to the men andspoke with swift authority.
　　"Come," he said to Dacey, "you get to the light switch there bythe hall door. If you hear me snap my fingers, turn 'em off.
　　Understand?"With instant obedience, the man addressed went to his station bythe hall door, and stood ready to control the electric current.
　　The distracted girl essayed one last plea. The momentarysoftening of Garson had given her new courage.
　　"Joe, don't do this.""You can't stop it now, Mary," came the brisk retort. "Too late.
　　You're only wasting time, making it dangerous for all of us."Again he gave his attention to carrying on the robbery.
　　"Red," he ordered, "you get to that door." He pointed to the onethat gave on the passageway against which he had set the chairtilted. As the man obeyed, Garson gave further instructions.
　　"If any one comes in that way, get him and get him quick. Youunderstand? Don't let him cry out."Chicago Red grinned with cheerful acceptance of the issue in suchan encounter. He held up his huge hand, widely open.
　　"Not a chance," he declared, proudly, "with that over his mug."To avoid possible interruption of his movements in an emergency,he removed the chair Garson had placed and set it to one side,out of the way.
　　"Now, let's get to work," Garson continued eagerly. Mary spokewith the bitterness of defeat.
　　"Listen, Joe! If you do this, I'm through with you. I quit."Garson was undismayed by the threat.
　　"If this goes through," he countered, "we'll all quit. That's whyI'm doing it. I'm sick of the game."He turned to the work in hand with increased energy.
　　"Come, you, Griggs and Red, and push that desk down a bit so thatI can stand on it." The two men bent to the task, heedless ofMary's frantic protest.
　　"No! no! no! no! no, Joe!"Red, however, suddenly straightened from the desk and stoodmotionless, listening. He made a slight hissing noise thatarrested the attention of the others and held them in movelesssilence.
　　"I hear something," he whispered. He went to the keyhole of thedoor leading into the passage. Then he whispered again, "Andit's coming this way."At the words, Garson snapped his fingers. The room was plungedin darkness.
Chapter 18 The Noiseless Death
There was absolute silence in the library after the turning ofthe switch that brought the pall of darkness. Long secondspassed, then a little noise--the knob of the passage doorturning. As the door swung open, there came a gasping breathfrom Mary, for she saw framed in the faint light that came fromthe single burner in the corridor the slender form of herhusband, Dick Gilder. In the next instant he had stepped withinthe room and pulled to the door behind him. And in that sameinstant Chicago Red had pounced on his victim, the huge handclapped tight over the young man's mouth. Even as his powerfularm held the newcomer in an inescapable embrace, there came asound of scuffling feet and that was all. Finally the big man'svoice came triumphantly.
　　"I've got him.""It's Dick!" The cry came as a wail of despair from the girl.
　　At the same moment, Garson flashed his torch, and the light fellswiftly on young Gilder, bowed to a kneeling posture before thecouch, half-throttled by the strength of Chicago Red. Closebeside him, Mary looked down in wordless despair over this finaldisaster of the night. There was silence among the men, all ofwhom save the captor himself were gathered near the fireplace.
　　Garson retired a step farther before he spoke his command, sothat, though he held the torch still, he like the others was inshadow. Only Mary was revealed clearly as she bent in alarmtoward the man she had married. It was borne in on the forger'sconsciousness that the face of the woman leaning over theintruder was stronger to hold the prisoner and to prevent anyoutcry than the might of Chicago Red himself, and so he gave theorder.
　　"Get away, Red."The fellow let go his grip obediently enough, though with atrifle of regret, since he gloried in his physical prowess.
　　Thus freed of that strangling embrace, Dick stumbled blindly tohis feet. Then, mechanically, his hand went to the lamp on thetable back of the couch. In the same moment Garson snapped historch to darkness. When, after a little futile searching, Dickfinally found the catch, and the mellow streamed forth, heuttered an ejaculation of stark amazement, for his gaze wasriveted on the face of the woman he loved.
　　"Good God!" It was a cry of torture wrung from his soul of souls.
　　Mary swayed toward him a little, palpitant with fear --fear forherself, for all of them, most of all for him.
　　"Hush! hush!" she panted warningly. "Oh, Dick, you don'tunderstand."Dick's hand was at his throat. It was not easy for him to speakyet. He had suffered severely in the process of being throttled,and, too, he was in the clutch of a frightful emotion. To findher, his wife, in this place, in such company--her, the womanwhom he loved, whom, in spite of everything, he had honored, thewoman to whom he had given his name! Mary here! And thus!
　　"I understand this," he said brokenly at last. "Whether you everdid it before or not, this time you have broken the law." Asudden inspiration on his own behalf came to him. For his love'ssake, he must seize on this opportunity given of fate to him formastery. He went on with a new vehemence of boldness that becamehim well.
　　"You're in my hands now. So are these men as well. Unless you doas I say, Mary, I'll jail every one of them."Mary's usual quickness was not lacking even now, in this periodof extremity. Her retort was given without a particle ofhesitation.
　　"You can't," she objected with conviction. "I'm the only oneyou've seen.""That's soon remedied," Dick declared. He turned toward the halldoor as if with the intention of lighting the chandelier.
　　But Mary caught his arm pleadingly.
　　"Don't, Dick," she begged. "It's--it's not safe.""I'm not afraid," was his indignant answer. He would have goneon, but she clung the closer. He was reluctant to use over-muchforce against the one whom he cherished so fondly.
　　There came a diversion from the man who had made the capture, whowas mightily wondering over the course of events, which waswholly unlike anything in the whole of his own rather extensivehousebreaking experience.
　　"Who's this, anyhow?" Chicago Red demanded.
　　There was a primitive petulance in his drawling tones.
　　Dick answered with conciseness enough.
　　"I'm her husband. Who are you?"Mary called a soft admonition.
　　"Don't speak, any of you," she directed. "You mustn't let himhear your voices."Dick was exasperated by this persistent identification of herselfwith these criminals in his father's house.
　　"You're fighting me like a coward," he said hotly. His voice wasbitter. The eyes that had always been warm in their glances onher were chill now. He turned a little way from her, as if ininstinctive repugnance. "You are taking advantage of my love.
　　You think that because of it I can't make a move against thesemen. Now, listen to me, I----""I won't!" Mary cried. Her words were shrill with mingledemotions. "There's nothing to talk about," she went on wildly.
　　"There never can be between you and me."The young man's voice came with a sonorous firmness that was newto it. In these moments, the strength of him, nourished bysuffering, was putting forth its flower. His manner wasmasterful.
　　"There can be and there will be," he contradicted. He raised hisvoice a little, speaking into the shadows where was the group ofsilent men.
　　"You men back there!" he cried. "If I give you my word to letevery one of you go free and pledge myself never to recognize oneof you again, will you make Mary here listen to me? That's all Iask. I want a few minutes to state my case. Give me that.
　　Whether I win or lose, you men go free, and I'll forgeteverything that has happened here to-night." There came amuffled guffaw of laughter from the big chest of Chicago Red atthis extraordinarily ingenuous proposal, while Dacey chuckledmore quietly.
　　Dick made a gesture of impatience at this open derision.
　　"Tell them I can be trusted," he bade Mary curtly.
　　It was Garson who answered.
　　"I know that you can be trusted," he said, "because I know youlo----" He checked himself with a shiver, and out of the darknesshis face showed white.
　　"You must listen," Dick went on, facing again toward the girl,who was trembling before him, her eyes by turns searching hisexpression or downcast in unfamiliar confusion, which she herselfcould hardly understand.
　　"Your safety depends on me," the young man warned. "Suppose Ishould call for help?"Garson stepped forward threateningly.
　　"You would only call once," he said very gently, yet most grimly.
　　His hand went to the noiseless weapon in his coat-pocket.
　　But the young man's answer revealed the fact that he, too, wasdetermined to the utmost, that he understood perfectly thesituation.
　　"Once would be quite enough," he said simply.
　　Garson nodded in acceptance of the defeat. It may be, too, thatin some subtle fashion he admired this youth suddenly grownresolute, competent to control a dangerous event. There was eventhe possibility that some instinct of tenderness toward Maryherself made him desire that this opportunity should be given forwiping out the effects of misfortune which fate hitherto hadbrought into her life.
　　"You win," Garson said, with a half-laugh. He turned to theother men and spoke a command.
　　"You get over by the hall door, Red. And keep your ears openevery second. Give us the office if you hear anything. If we'rerushed, and have to make a quick get-away, see that Mary has thefirst chance. Get that, all of you?"As Chicago Red took up his appointed station, Garson turned toDick.
　　"Make it quick, remember."He touched the other two and moved back to the wall by thefireplace, as far as possible from the husband and wife by thecouch.
　　Dick spoke at once, with a hesitancy that betrayed the depth ofhis emotion.
　　"Don't you care for me at all?" he asked wistfully.
　　The girl's answer was uttered with nervous eagerness whichrevealed her own stress of fear.
　　"No, no, no!" she exclaimed, rebelliously.
　　Now, however, the young man had regained some measure ofreassurance.
　　"I know you do, Mary," he asserted, confidently; "a little,anyway. Why, Mary," he went on reproachfully, "can't you seethat you're throwing away everything that makes life worth while?
　　Don't you see that?"There was no word from the girl. Her breast was movingconvulsively. She held her face steadfastly averted from theface of her husband.
　　"Why don't you answer me?" he insisted.
　　Mary's reply came with all the coldness she could command.
　　"That was not in the bargain," Mary said, indifferently.
　　The man's voice grew tenderly winning, persuasive with thelonging of a lover, persuasive with the pity of the righteous forthe sinner.
　　"Mary, Mary!" he cried. "You've got to change. Don't be so hard.
　　Give the woman in you a chance."The girl's form became rigid as she fought for self-control. Theplea touched to the bottom of her heart, but she could not, wouldnot yield. Her words rushed forth with a bitterness that was thecover of her distress.
　　"I am what I am," she said sharply. "I can't change. Keep yourpromise, now, and let's get out of this."Her assertion was disregarded as to the inability to change.
　　"You can change," Dick went on impetuously. "Mary, haven't youever wanted the things that other women have, shelter, and care,and the big things of life, the things worth while? They're allready for you, now, Mary.... And what about me?" Reproach leapedin his tone. "After all, you've married me. Now it's up to youto give me my chance to make good. I've never amounted to much.
　　I've never tried much. I shall, now, if you will have it so,Mary; if you'll help me. I will come out all right, I knowthat--so do you, Mary. Only, you must help me.""I help you!" The exclamation came from the girl in a note ofincredulous astonishment.
　　"Yes," Dick said, simply. "I need you, and you need me. Comeaway with me.""No, no!" was the broken refusal. There was a great griefclutching at the soul of this woman who had brought vengeance toits full flower. She was gasping. "No, no! I married you, notbecause I loved you, but to repay your father the wrong he haddone me. I wouldn't let myself even think of you, and then--Irealized that I had spoiled your life.""No, not spoiled it, Mary! Blessed it! We must prove that yet.""Yes, spoiled it," the wife went on passionately. "If I hadunderstood, if I could have dreamed that I could ever care----Oh, Dick, I would never have married you for anything in theworld.""But now you do realize," the young man said quietly. "The thingis done. If we made a mistake, it is for us to bring happinessout of that error.""Oh, can't you see?" came the stricken lament. "I'm ajail-bird!""But you love me--you do love me, I know!" The young man spokewith joyous certainty, for some inflection of her voice had toldthe truth to his heart. Nothing else mattered. "But now, to comeback to this hole we're in here. Don't you understand, at last,that you can't beat the law? If you're caught here to-night,where would you get off--caught here with a gang of burglars?
　　Tell me, dear, why did you do it? Why didn't you protectyourself? Why didn't you go to Chicago as you planned?""What?" There was a new quality in Mary's voice. A sudden throbof shock masked in the surface indifference of intonation.
　　Dick repeated his question, unobservant of its first effect.
　　"Why didn't you go to Chicago as you had planned?""Planned? With whom?" The interrogation came with an abruptforce that cried of new suspicions.
　　"Why, with Burke." The young man tried to be patient over herdensity in this time of crisis.
　　"Who told you that I had arranged any such thing?" Mary asked.
　　Now the tenseness in her manner got the husband's attention, andhe replied with a sudden gravity, apprehensive of he knew notwhat.
　　"Burke himself did.""When?" Mary was standing rigid now, and the rare color flamedin her cheeks. Her eyes were blazing.
　　"Less than an hour ago." He had caught the contagion of her moodand vague alarm swept him.
　　"Where?" came the next question, still with that vitalinsistence.
　　"In this room.""Burke was here?" Mary's voice was suddenly cold, verydangerous. "What was he doing here?""Talking to my father."The seemingly simple answer appeared the last straw to the girl'sburden of frenzied suspicion. Her voice cut fiercely into thequiet of the room, imperious, savage.
　　"Joe, turn on that light! I want to see the face of every man inthis room."Something fatally significant in her voice set Garson a-leap tothe switch, and, in the same second, the blaze of the chandelierflamed brilliantly over all. The others stood motionless,blinking in the sudden radiance--all save Griggs, who movedstealthily in that same moment, a little nearer the door into thepassage, which was nearest to him.
　　But Mary's next words came wholly as a surprise, seeminglytotally irrelevant to this instant of crisis. Yet they ranga-throb with an hysterical anxiety.
　　"Dick," she cried, "what are those tapestries worth?" With thequestion, she pointed toward the draperies that shrouded thegreat octagonal window.
　　The young man was plainly astonished, disconcerted as well by theobtrusion of a sordid detail into the tragedy of the time.
　　"Why in the world do you----?" he began, impatiently.
　　Mary stamped her foot angrily in protest against the delay.
　　"Tell me--quick!" she commanded. The authority in her voice andmanner was not to be gainsaid.
　　Dick yielded sullenly.
　　"Oh, two or three hundred dollars, I suppose," he answered.
　　"Why?""Never mind that!" Mary exclaimed, violently. And now the girl'svoice came stinging like a whiplash. In Garson's face, too, wasgrowing fury, for in an instant of illumination he guessedsomething of the truth. Mary's next question confirmed his ragingsuspicion.
　　"How long have you had them, Dick?"By now, the young man himself sensed the fact that somethingmysteriously baneful lay behind the frantic questioning on thisseemingly trivial theme.
　　"Ever since I can remember," he replied, promptly.
　　Mary's voice came then with an intonation that broughtenlightenment not only to Garson's shrewd perceptions, but alsoto the heavier intelligences of Dacey and of Chicago Red.
　　"And they're not famous masterpieces which your father boughtrecently, from some dealer who smuggled them into this country?"So simple were the words of her inquiry, but under them beatsomething evil, deadly.
　　The young man laughed contemptuously.
　　"I should say not!" he declared indignantly, for he resented theimplication against his father's honesty.
　　"It's a trick! Burke's done it!" Mary's words came with accusingvehemence.
　　There was another single step made by Griggs toward the door intothe passage.
　　Mary's eye caught the movement, and her lips soundlessly formedthe name:
　　"Griggs!"The man strove to carry off the situation, though he knew wellthat he stood in mortal peril. He came a little toward the girlwho had accused him of treachery. He was very dapper in hisevening clothes, with his rather handsome, well-groomed face setin lines of innocence.
　　"He's lying to you!" he cried forcibly, with a scornful gesturetoward Dick Gilder. "I tell you, those tapestries are worth amillion cold."Mary's answer was virulent in its sudden burst of hate. Foronce, the music of her voice was lost in a discordant cry ofdetestation.
　　"You stool-pigeon! You did this for Burke!"Griggs sought still to maintain his air of innocence, and hestrove well, since he knew that he fought for his life againstthose whom he had outraged. As he spoke again, his tones weretremulous with sincerity--perhaps that tremulousness was bornchiefly of fear, yet to the ear his words came stoutly enough fortruth:
　　"I swear I didn't! I swear it!"Mary regarded the protesting man with abhorrence. The perjuredwretch shrank before the loathing in her eyes.
　　"You came to me yesterday," she said, with more of restraint inher voice now, but still with inexorable rancor. "You came to meto explain this plan. And you came from him--from Burke!""I swear I was on the level. I was tipped off to the story by apal," Griggs declared, but at last the assurance was gone out ofhis voice. He felt the hostility of those about him.
　　Garson broke in ferociously.
　　"It's a frame-up!" he said. His tones came in a deadened roar ofwrath.
　　On the instant, aware that further subterfuge could be of noavail, Griggs swaggered defiance.
　　"And what if it is true?" he drawled, with a resumption of hisaristocratic manner, while his eyes swept the group balefully.
　　He plucked the police whistle from his waistcoat-pocket, andraised it to his lips.
　　He moved too slowly. In the same moment of his action, Garsonhad pulled the pistol from his pocket, had pressed the trigger.
　　There came no spurt of flame. There was no sound--save perhaps afaint clicking noise. But the man with the whistle at his lipssuddenly ceased movement, stood absolutely still for the space ofa breath. Then, he trembled horribly, and in the next instantcrashed to the floor, where he lay rigid, dead.
　　"Damn you--I've got you!" Garson sneered through clenched teeth.
　　His eyes were like balls of fire. There was a frightful grin oftriumph twisting his mouth in this minute of punishment.
　　In the first second of the tragedy, Dick had not understood.
　　Indeed, he was still dazed by the suddenness of it all. But thefalling of Griggs before the leveled weapon of the other man,there to lie in that ghastly immobility, made him to understand.
　　He leaped toward Garson--would have wrenched the pistol from theother's grasp. In the struggle, it fell to the floor.
　　Before either could pick it up, there came an interruption. Evenin the stress of this scene, Chicago Red had never relaxed hisprofessional caution. A slight noise had caught his ear, he hadstooped, listening. Now, he straightened, and called his warning.
　　"Somebody's opening the front door!"Garson forgot his weapon in this new alarm. He sprang to theoctagonal window, even as Dick took possession of the pistol.
　　"The street's empty! We must jump for it!" His hate was forgottennow in an emotion still deeper, and he turned to Mary. His facewas all gentleness again, where just before it had been evilincarnate, aflame with the lust to destroy. "Come on, Mary," hecried.
　　Already Chicago Red had snapped off the lights of the chandelier,had sprung to the window, thrown open a panel of it, and hadvanished into the night, with Dacey at his heels. As Garsonwould have called out to the girl again in mad anxiety for haste,he was interrupted by Dick:
　　"She couldn't make it, Garson," he declared coolly andresolutely. "You go. It'll be all right, you know. I'll takecare of her!""If she's caught----!" There was an indescribable menace in theforger's half-uttered threat.
　　"She won't be." The quality of sincerity in Dick's voice wasmore convincing than any vow might have been.
　　"If she is, I'll get you, that's all," Garson said gravely, asone stating a simple fact that could not be disputed.
　　Then he glanced down at the body of the man whom he had done todeath.
　　"And you can tell that to Burke!" he said viciously to the dead.
　　"You damned squealer!" There was a supremely malevolent contentin his sneer.
Chapter 19 Within The Tolls
The going of Garson left the room deathly still. Dick stared fora moment at the space of window left uncovered by the draperiesnow, since the man had hurried past them, without pausing to drawthem after him. Then, presently, the young man turned again toMary, and took her hand in his. The shock of the event hadsomehow steadied him, since it had drawn his thoughts from thatother more engrossing mood of concern over the crisis in his ownlife. After all, what mattered the death of this crook? hisfancy ran. The one thing of real worth in all the world was thelife that remained to be lived between him and her.... Then,violently, the selfishness of his mood was made plain to him.
　　For the hand he held was shaking like some slender-stalked lilyin the clutch of the sirocco. Even as he first perceived thefact, he saw the girl stagger. His arm swept about her in avirile protecting embrace--just in time, or she would havefallen.
　　A whisper came from her quivering lips. Her face was close tohis, else he could not have caught the uncertain murmuring. Thatface now was become ghastly pale. The violet eyes were widenedand dull. The muscles of her face twitched. She rested supinelyagainst him, as if bereft of any strength of body or of soul.
　　Yet, in the intensity of her utterance, the feeble whisper strucklike a shriek of horror.
　　"I--I--never saw any one killed before!"The simple, grisly truth of the words--words that he might havespoken as well--stirred the man to the deeps of his being. Heshuddered, as he turned his eyes to avoid seeing the thing thatlay so very near, mercifully merged within the shadows beyond thegentle radiance from the single lamp. With a pang of infinitepity for the woman in his arms, he apprehended in some degree thetorture this event must have inflicted on her. Frightful to him,it must in truth be vastly worse to her. There was her womanlysensitiveness to enhance the innate hideousness of the thing thathad been done here before their eyes. There was, too, the factthat the murderer himself had been the man to whom she owed herlife. Yes, for him, Dick realized with poignant sympathy, thehappening that night was terrible indeed: for her, as he guessednow at last, the torture must be something easily to overwhelmall her strength. His touch on her grew tender beyond theordinary tenderness of love, made gentler by a great underlyingcompassion for her misery.
　　Dick drew Mary toward the couch, there let her sink down in ahuddled attitude of despair.
　　"I never saw a man--killed before!" she said again. There was anote of half-hysterical, almost childish complaint in her voice.
　　She moved her head a little, as if to look into the shadows where*IT lay, then checked herself violently, and looked up at herhusband with the pathetic simplicity of terror.
　　"You know, Dick," she repeated dully, "I never saw a man killedbefore."Before he could utter the soothing words that rose to his lips,Dick was interrupted by a slight sound at the door. Instantly,he was all alert to meet the exigencies of the situation. Hestood by the couch, bending forward a little, as if in a postureof intimate fondness. Then, with a new thought, he got out hiscigarette-case and lighted a cigarette, after which he resumedhis former leaning over the woman as would the ardent lover. Heheard the noise again presently, now so near that he made sure ofbeing overheard, so at once he spoke with a forced cheerfulnessin his inflection.
　　"I tell you, Mary," he declared, "everything's going to be allright for you and me. It was bully of you to come here to melike this."The girl made no response. She lived still in the nightmare ofmurder--that nightmare wherein she had seen Griggs fall dead tothe floor.
　　Dick, in nervous apprehension as to the issue, sought to bringher to realization of the new need that had come upon them.
　　"Talk to me," he commanded, very softly. "They'll be here in aminute. When they come in, pretend you just came here in orderto meet me. Try, Mary. You must, dearest!" Then, again, hisvoice rose to loudness, as he continued. "Why, I've been tryingall day to see you. And, now, here we are together, just as Iwas beginning to get really discouraged.... I know my father willeventually----"He was interrupted by the swift swinging open of the hallwaydoor. Burke stood just within the library, a revolver pointedmenacingly.
　　"Hands up!--all of you!" The Inspector's voice fairly roared thecommand.
　　The belligerent expression of his face vanished abruptly, as hiseyes fell on Dick standing by the couch and Mary reclining therein limp helplessness. His surprise would have been ludicrous butfor the seriousness of the situation to all concerned. Burke'sglance roved the room sharply, and he was quickly convinced thatthese two were in fact the only present spoil of his carefulplotting. His face set grimly, for the disappointment of thisminute surged fiercely within him. He started to speak, his eyeslowering as he regarded the two before him.
　　But Dick forestalled him. He spoke in a voice coldly repellent.
　　"What are you doing in this house at this time of night?" hedemanded. His manner was one of stern disapproval. "I recognizeyou, Inspector Burke. But you must understand that there arelimits even to what you can do. It seems to me, sir, that youexceed your authority by such an intrusion as this."Burke, however, was not a whit dismayed by the rebuke and the airof rather contemptuous disdain with which it was uttered. Hewaved his revolver toward Mary, merely as a gesture ofinquisitiveness, without any threat.
　　"What's she doing here?" he asked. There was wrath in his roughvoice, for he could not avoid the surmise that his shrewdlyconcocted scheme to entrap this woman had somehow been set awry.
　　"What's she doing here, I say?" he repeated heavily. His keeneyes were darting once more about the room, questing some clue tothis disturbing mystery, so hateful to his pride.
　　Dick's manner became that of the devoted husband offended byimpertinent obtrusion.
　　"You forget yourself, Inspector," he said, icily. "This is mywife. She has the right to be with me--her husband!"The Inspector grinned sceptically. He was moved no moreeffectively by Mary's almost hysterical effort to respond to herhusband's leading.
　　"Why shouldn't I be here? Why? Why? I----"Burke broke in on the girl's pitiful histrionics ruthlessly. Hewas not in the least deceived. He was aware that somethinguntoward, as he deemed it, had occurred. It seemed to him, infact, that his finical mechanisms for the undoing of Mary Turnerwere in a fair way to be thwarted. But he would not give up thecause without a struggle. Again, he addressed himself to Dick,disregarding completely the aloof manner of the young man.
　　"Where's your father?" he questioned roughly.
　　"In bed, naturally," was the answer. "I ask you again: What areyou doing here at this time of night?"Burke shook his shoulders ponderously in a movement of impatienceover this prolonging of the farce.
　　"Oh, call your father," he directed disgustedly.
　　Dick remonstrated with an excellent show of dignity.
　　"It's late," he objected. "I'd rather not disturb him, if youdon't mind. Really, the idea is absurd, you know." Suddenly, hesmiled very winningly, and spoke with a good assumption ofingenuousness.
　　"Inspector," he said briskly, "I see, I'll have to tell you thetruth. It's this: I've persuaded my wife to go away with me.
　　She's going to give all that other sort of thing up. Yes, we'regoing away together." There was genuine triumph in his voicenow. "So, you see, we've got to talk it over. Now, then,Inspector, if you'll come back in the morning----"The official grinned sardonically. He could not in the leastguess just what had in very deed happened, but he was far tooclever a man to be bamboozled by Dick's maunderings.
　　"Oh, that's it!" he exclaimed, with obvious incredulity.
　　"Of course," Dick replied bravely, though he knew that theInspector disbelieved his pretenses. Still, for his own part, hewas inclined as yet to be angry rather than alarmed by thisfailure to impress the officer. "You see, I didn't know----"And even in the moment of his saying, the white beam of theflashing searchlight from the Tower fell between the undrawndraperies of the octagonal window. The light startled theInspector again, as it had done once before that same night. Hisgaze followed it instinctively. So, within the second, he saw thestill form lying there on the floor--lying where had beenshadows, where now, for the passing of an instant, was brilliantradiance.
　　There was no mistaking that awful, motionless, crumpled posture.
　　The Inspector knew in this single instant of view that murder hadbeen done here. Even as the beam of light from the Tower shiftedand vanished from the room, he leaped to the switch by the door,and turned on the lights of the chandelier. In the next moment,he had reached the door of the passage across the room, and hiswhistle sounded shrill. His voice bellowed reinforcement to theblast.
　　"Cassidy! Cassidy!"As Dick made a step toward his wife, from whom he had withdrawn alittle in his colloquy with the official, Burke voiced hiscommand viciously:
　　"Stay where you are--both of you!"Cassidy came rushing in, with the other detectives. He wasplainly surprised to find the room so nearly empty, where he hadexpected to behold a gang of robbers.
　　"Why, what's it all mean, Chief?" he questioned. His peeringeyes fell on Dick, standing beside Mary, and they rounded inamazement.
　　"They've got Griggs!" Burke answered. There was exceeding ragein his voice, as he spoke from his kneeling posture beside thebody, to which he had hurried after the summons to his aides. Heglowered up into the bewildered face of the detective. "I'llbreak you for this, Cassidy," he declared fiercely. "Why didn'tyou get here on the run when you heard the shot?""But there wasn't any shot," the perplexed and alarmed detectiveexpostulated. He fairly stuttered in the earnestness of hisself-defense. "I tell you, Chief, there hasn't been a sound."Burke rose to his feet. His heavy face was set in its sternestmold.
　　"You could drive a hearse through the hole they've made in him,"he rumbled. He wheeled on Mary and Dick. "So!" he shouted, "nowit's murder!... Well, hand it over. Where's the gun?"Followed a moment's pause. Then the Inspector spoke harshly toCassidy. He still felt himself somewhat dazed by thisextraordinary event, but he was able to cope with the situation.
　　He nodded toward Dick as he gave his order: "Search him!"Before the detective could obey the direction, Dick took therevolver from his pocket where he had bestowed it, and held itout.
　　And it so chanced that at this incriminating crisis for the son,the father hastily strode within the library. He had beenaroused by the Inspector's shouting, and was evidently greatlyperturbed. His usual dignified air was marred by a patent alarm.
　　"What's all this?" he exclaimed, as he halted and stareddoubtfully on the scene before him.
　　Burke, in a moment like this, was no respecter of persons, forall his judicious attentions on other occasions to those whoseinfluence might serve him well for benefits received.
　　"You can see for yourself," he said grimly to the dumfoundedmagnate. Then, he fixed sinister eyes on the son. "So," he wenton, with somber menace in his voice, "you did it, young man." Henodded toward the detective. "Well, Cassidy, you can take 'emboth down-town.... That's all."The command aroused Dick to remonstrance against such indignitytoward the woman whom he loved.
　　"Not her!" he cried, imploringly. "You don't want her,Inspector! This is all wrong!"Now, at last, Mary interposed with a new spirit. She hadregained, in some measure at least, her poise. She was speakingagain with that mental clarity which was distinctive in her.
　　"Dick," she advised quietly, but with underlying urgency in hergently spoken words, "don't talk, please."Burke laughed harshly.
　　"What do you expect?" he inquired truculently. "As a matter offact, the thing's simple enough, young man. Either you killedGriggs, or she did."The Inspector, with his charge, made a careless gesture towardthe corpse of the murdered stool-pigeon. For the first time,Edward Gilder, as his glance unconsciously followed the officer'smovement, looked and saw the ghastly inanimate heap of flesh andbone that had once been a man. He fairly reeled at the gruesomespectacle, then fumbled with an outstretched hand as he movedstumblingly until he laid hold on a chair, into which he sankhelplessly. It suddenly smote upon his consciousness that hefelt very old and broken. He marveled dully over thesensation--it was wholly new to him. Then, soon, from a long wayoff, he heard the strident voice of the Inspector remorselesslycontinuing in the vile, the impossible accusation.... And thatgrotesque accusation was hurled against his only son--the boywhom he so loved. The thing was monstrous, a thing incredible.
　　This whole seeming was no more than a chimera of the night, aphantom of bad dreams, with no truth under it.... Yet, the sternvoice of the official came with a strange semblance of reality.
　　"Either you killed him," the voice repeated gratingly, "or shedid. Well, then, young man, did she kill him?""Good God, no!" Dick shouted, aghast.
　　"Then, it was you!" Such was the Inspector's summary of the case.
　　Mary's words came frantically. Once again, she was becomedesperate over the course of events in this night of fearfulhappenings.
　　"No, no! He didn't!"Burke's rasping voice reiterated the accusation with a certaincomplacency in the inevitability of the dilemma.
　　"One of you killed Griggs. Which one of you did it?" He scowledat Dick. "Did she kill him?"Again, the husband's cry came with the fierceness of despair overthe fate of the woman.
　　"I told you, no!"The Inspector, always savagely impressive now in voice and lookand gesture, faced the girl with saturnine persistence.
　　"Well, then," he blustered, "did he kill him?"The nod of his head was toward Dick. Then, as she remainedsilent: "I'm talking to you!" he snapped. "Did he kill him?"The reply came with a soft distinctness that was like a crash ofdestiny.
　　"Yes."Dick turned to his wife in reproachful amazement.
　　"Mary!" he cried, incredulously. This betrayal was somethinginconceivable from her, since he believed that now at last heknew her heart.
　　Burke, however, as usual, paid no heed to the niceties ofsentiment. They had small place in his concerns as an officialof police. His sole ambition just now was to fix the crimedefinitely on the perpetrator.
　　"You'll swear he killed him?" he asked, briskly, well contentwith this concrete result of the entanglement.
　　Mary subtly evaded the question, while seeming to giveunqualified assent.
　　"Why not?" she responded listlessly.
　　At this intolerable assertion as he deemed it, Edward Gilder wasreanimated. He sat rigidly erect in his, chair. In thatfrightful moment, it came to him anew that here was in verity thelast detail in a consummate scheme by this woman for revengeagainst himself.
　　"God!" he cried, despairingly. "And that's your vengeance!"Mary heard, and understood. There came an inscrutable smile onher curving lips, but there was no satisfaction in that smile, asof one who realized the fruition of long-cherished schemes ofretribution. Instead, there was only an infinite sadness, whileshe spoke very gently.
　　"I don't want vengeance--now!" she said.
　　"But they'll try my boy for murder," the magnate remonstrated,distraught.
　　"Oh, no, they can't!" came the rejoinder. And now, once again,there was a hint of the quizzical creeping in the smile. "No,they can't!" she repeated firmly, and there was profound reliefin her tones since at last her ingenuity had found a way out ofthis outrageous situation thrust on her and on her husband.
　　Burke glared at the speaker in a rage that was abruptly grownsuspicious in some vague way.
　　"What's the reason we can't?" he stormed.
　　Mary sprang to her feet. She was radiant with a new serenity,now that her quick-wittedness had discovered a method forbaffling the mesh of evidence that had been woven about her andDick through no fault of their own. Her eyes were glowing witheven more than their usual lusters. Her voice came softlymodulated, almost mocking.
　　"Because you couldn't convict him," she said succinctly. Acontented smile bent the red graces of her lips.
　　Burke sneered an indignation that was, nevertheless, somewhatfearful of what might lie behind the woman's assurance.
　　"What's the reason?" he demanded, scornfully. "There's thebody." He pointed to the rigid form of the dead man, lying thereso very near them. "And the gun was found on him. And then,you're willing to swear that he killed him.... Well, I guesswe'll convict him, all right. Why not?"Mary's answer was given quietly, but, none the less, with anassurance that could not be gainsaid.
　　"Because," she said, "my husband merely killed a burglar." Inher turn, she pointed toward the body of the dead man. "Thatman," she continued evenly, "was the burglar. You know that! Myhusband shot him in defense of his home!" There was a briefsilence. Then, she added, with a wonderful mildness in the musicof her voice. "And so, Inspector, as you know of course, he waswithin the law!"
Chapter 20 Who SHot Griggs?
　　In his office next morning, Inspector Burke was fuming over the failure of his conspiracy. He had hoped through thisplot to vindicate his authority, so sadly flaunted by Garson and Mary Turner. Instead of this much-to-be-desired resultfrom his scheming, the outcome had been nothing less than disastrous. The one certain fact was that his most valuableally in his warfare against the criminals of the city had been done to death. Some one had murdered Griggs, the stoolpigeon.
　　Where Burke had meant to serve a man of high influence, Edward Gilder, by railroading the bride of themagnate's son to prison, he had succeeded only in making the trouble of that merchant prince vastly worse in theending of the affair by arresting the son for the capital crime of murder. The situation was, in very truth, intolerable.
　　More than ever, Burke grew hot with intent to overcome the woman who had so persistently outraged his authority byher ingenious devices against the law. Anyhow, the murder of Griggs could not go unpunished. The slayer's identitymust be determined, and thereafter the due penalty of the law inflicted, whoever the guilty person might prove to be.
　　To the discovery of this identity, the Inspector was at the present moment devoting himself by adroit questioning ofDacey and Chicago Red, who had been arrested in one of their accustomed haunts by his men a short time before.
　　The policeman on duty at the door was the only other person in the room, and in consequence Burke permitted himself,quite unashamed, to employ those methods of persuasion which have risen to a high degree of admiration in policecircles.
　　"Come across now!" he admonished. His voice rolled forth like that of a bull of Bashan. He was on his feet, facingthe two thieves. His head was thrust forward menacingly, and his eyes were savage. The two men shrank before him--both in natural fear, and, too, in a furtive policy of their own. This was no occasion for them to assert a personalpride against the man who had them in his toils.
　　"I don't know nothin'!" Chicago Red's voice was between a snarl and a whine. "Ain't I been telling you that for overan hour?"Burke vouchsafed no answer in speech, but with a nimbleness surprising in one of his bulk, gave Dacey, who chancedto be the nearer of the two, a shove that sent the fellow staggering half-way across the room under its impetus.
　　With this by way of appreciable introduction to his seriousness of purpose, Burke put a question:
　　"Dacey, how long have you been out?"The answer came in a sibilant whisper of dread.
　　"A week."Burke pushed the implication brutally.
　　"Want to go back for another stretch?" The Inspector's voice was freighted with suggestions of disasters to come,which were well understood by the cringing wretch before him.
　　The thief shuddered, and his face, already pallid from the prison lack of sunlight like some noxious growth of a cellar,became livid. His words came in a muffled moan of fear.
　　"God, no!"Burke left a little interval of silence then in which the thieves might tremble over the prospect suggested by his words,but always he maintained his steady, relentless glare on the cowed creatures. It was a familiar warfare with him. Yet,in this instance, he was destined to failure, for the men were of a type different from that of English Eddie, who waslying dead as the meet reward for treachery to his fellows.... When, at last, his question issued from the close-shut lips,it came like the crack of a gun.
　　"Who shot Griggs?"The reply was a chorus from the two:
　　"I don't know--honest, I don't!"In his eagerness, Chicago Red moved toward his questioner--unwisely.
　　"Honest to Gawd, I don't know nothin' about it!"The Inspector's fist shot out toward Chicago Red's jaw. The impact was enough. The thief went to his knees under theblow.
　　"Now, get up--and talk!" Burke's voice came with unrepentant noisiness against the stricken man.
　　Cringingly, Chicago Red, who so gloried in his strength, yet was now altogether humble in this precarious case,obeyed as far as the getting to his feet was concerned.... It never occurred to him even that he should carry hisobedience to the point of "squealing on a pal!" Had the circumstances been different, he might have refused to acceptthe Inspector's blow with such meekness, since above all things he loved a bit of bodily strife with some one near hisown strength, and the Inspector was of a sort to offer him a battle worth while.
　　So, now, while he got slowly to his feet, he took care to keep at a respectful distance from the official, though his bighands fairly ached to double into fists for blows with this man who had so maltreated him.
　　His own self-respect, of its peculiar sort, was saved by the interference of Cassidy, who entered the Inspector's officeto announce the arrival of the District Attorney.
　　"Send 'im in," Burke directed at once. He made a gesture toward the doorman, and added: "Take 'em back!"A grin of evil humor writhed the lips of the police official, and he added to the attentive doorman a word of directionthat might well be interpreted by the malevolent expression on his face.
　　"Don't be rough with 'em, Dan," he said. For once, his dominating voice was reduced to something approachingsoftness, in his sardonic appreciation of his own humor in the conception of what these two men, who had ventured toresist his importunities, might receive at the hands of his faithful satellites.... The doorman grinned appreciatively, andherded his victims from the place. And the two went shamblingly in sure knowledge of the things that were in store.
　　Yet, without thought of treachery. They would not "squeal"! All they would tell of the death of Eddie Griggs wouldbe: "He got what was coming to him!"The Inspector dropped into his swivel chair at the desk whilst he awaited the arrival of Demarest, the District Attorney.
　　The greetings between the two were cordial when at last the public prosecutor made his appearance.
　　"I came as soon as I got your message," the District Attorney said, as he seated himself in a chair by the desk. "AndI've sent word to Mr. Gilder.... Now, then, Burke, let's have this thing quickly."The Inspector's explanation was concise:
　　"Joe Garson, Chicago Red, and Dacey, along with Griggs, broke into Edward Gilder's house, last night! I knew thetrick was going to be pulled off, and so I planted Cassidy and a couple of other men just outside the room where thehaul was to be made. Then, I went away, and after something like half an hour I came back to make the arrestsmyself." A look of intense disgust spread itself over the Inspector's massive face. "Well," he concluded sheepishly,"when I broke into the room I found young Gilder along with that Turner woman he married, and they were justtalking together.""No trace of the others?" Demarest questioned crisply.
　　At the inquiry, Burke's face crimsoned angrily, then again set in grim lines.
　　"I found Griggs lying on the floor--dead!" Once again the disgust showed in his expression. "The Turner woman saysyoung Gilder shot Griggs because he broke into the house. Ain't that the limit?""What does the boy say?" the District Attorney demanded.
　　Burke shook his head dispiritedly.
　　"Nothing," he answered. "She told him not to talk, and so, of course, he won't, he's such a fool over her.""And what does she say?" Demarest asked. He found himself rather amused by the exceeding chagrin of theInspector over this affair.
　　Burke's voice grew savage as he snapped a reply.
　　"Refuses to talk till she sees a lawyer. But a touch of cheerfulness appeared in his tones as he proceeded. "We've gotChicago Red and Dacey, and we'll have Garson before the day's over. And, oh, yes, they've picked up a young girl atthe Turner woman's place. And we've got one real clue--for once!" The speaker's expression was suddenly triumphant.
　　He opened a drawer of the desk, and took out Garson's pistol, to which the silencer was still attached.
　　"You never saw a gun like that before, eh?" he exclaimed.
　　Demarest admitted the fact after a curious examination.
　　"I'll bet you never did!" Burke cried, with satisfaction. "That thing on the end is a Maxim silencer. There are thousandsof them in use on rifles, but they've never been able to use them on revolvers before. This is a specially made gun," hewent on admiringly, as he took it back and slipped it into a pocket of his coat. "That thing is absolutely noiseless. I'vetried it. Well, you see, it'll be an easy thing--easiest thing in the world!--to trace that silencer attachment. Cassidy'sworking on that end of the thing now."For a few minutes longer, the two men discussed the details of the crime, theorizing over the baffling event. Then,presently, Cassidy entered the office, and made report of his investigations concerning the pistol with the silencerattachment.
　　"I got the factory at Hartford on the wire," he explained, "and they gave me Mr. Maxim himself, the inventor of thesilencer. He said this was surely a special gun, which was made for the use of Henry Sylvester, one of the professorsat Yale. He wanted it for demonstration purposes. Mr. Maxim said the things have never been put on the market, andthat they never will be.""For humane reasons," Demarest commented, nodding approbation.
　　"Good thing, too!" Burke conceded. "They'd make murder too devilish easy, and it's easy enough now.... Well,Cassidy?""I got hold of this man, Sylvester," Cassidy went on. "I had him on the 'phone, too. He says that his house was robbedabout eight weeks ago, and among other things the silencer was stolen." Cassidy paused, and chuckled drily. "Headds the startling information that the New Haven police have not been able to recover any of the stolen property.
　　Them rube cops are immense!"Demarest smiled slyly, as the detective, at a nod from his superior, went toward the door.
　　"No," he said, maliciously; "only the New York police recover stolen goods.""Good-night!" quoth Cassidy, turning at the door, in admission of his discomfiture over the thrust, while Burke himselfgrinned wryly in appreciation of the gibe.
　　Demarest grew grave again, as he put the question that was troubling him most.
　　"Is there any chance that young Gilder did shoot Griggs?""You can search me!" the Inspector answered, disconsolately. "My men were just outside the door of the room whereEddie Griggs was shot to death, and none of 'em heard a sound. It's that infernal silencer thing. Of course, I know thatall the gang was in the house.""But tell me just how you know that fact," Demarest objected very crisply. "Did you see them go in?""No, I didn't," the Inspector admitted, tartly. "But Griggs----"Demarest permitted himself a sneer born of legal knowledge.
　　"Griggs is dead, Burke. You're up against it. You can't prove that Garson, or Chicago Red, or Dacey, ever enteredthat house."The Inspector scowled over this positive statement.
　　"But Griggs said they were going to," he argued.
　　"I know," Demarest agreed, with an exasperating air of shrewdness; "but Griggs is dead. You see, Burke, you couldn'tin a trial even repeat what he told you. It's not permissible evidence.""Oh, the law!" the Inspector snorted, with much choler. "Well, then," he went on belligerently, "I'll charge youngGilder with murder, and call the Turner woman as a witness."The District Attorney laughed aloud over this project.
　　"You can't question her on the witness-stand," he explained patronizingly to the badgered police official. "The lawdoesn't allow you to make a wife testify against her husband. And, what's more, you can't arrest her, and then forceher to go into the witness-stand, either. No, Burke," he concluded emphatically, "your only chance of getting themurderer of Griggs is by a confession.""Then, I'll charge them both with the murder," the Inspector growled vindictively. "And, by God, they'll both go totrial unless somebody comes through." He brought his huge fist down on the desk with violence, and his voice wasforbidding. "If it's my last act on earth," he declared, "I'm going to get the man who shot Eddie Griggs."Demarest was seriously disturbed by the situation that had developed. He was under great personal obligations toEdward Gilder, whose influence in fact had been the prime cause of his success in attaining to the important officialposition he now held, and he would have gone far to serve the magnate in any difficulty that might arise. He had beenperfectly willing to employ all the resources of his office to relieve the son from the entanglement with a woman ofunsavory notoriety. Now, thanks to the miscarried plotting of Burke to the like end, what before had been merely avicious state of affairs was become one of the utmost dreadfulness. The worst of crimes had been committed in thehouse of Edward Gilder himself, and his son acknowledged himself as the murderer. The District Attorney felt agenuine sorrow in thinking of the anguish this event must have brought on the father. He had, as well, sympathyenough for the son. His acquaintance with the young man convinced him that the boy had not done the deed of bloodyviolence. In that fact was a mingling of comfort and of anxiety. It had been better, doubtless, if indeed Dick had shotGriggs, had indicted a just penalty on a housebreaker. But the District Attorney was not inclined to credit theconfession. Burke's account of the plot in which the stool-pigeon had been the agent offered too many complications.
　　Altogether, the aspect of the case served to indicate that Dick could not have been the slayer.... Demarest shook hishead dejectedly.
　　"Burke," he said, "I want the boy to go free. I don't believe for a minute that Dick Gilder ever killed this pet stoolpigeonof yours. And, so, you must understand this: I want him to go free, of course."Burke frowned refusal at this suggestion. Here was a matter in which his rights must not be invaded. He, too, wouldhave gone far to serve a man of Edward Gilder's standing, but in this instance his professional pride was in revolt. Hehad been defied, trapped, made a victim of the gang who had killed his most valued informer.
　　"The youngster'll go free when he tells what he knows," he said angrily, "and not a minute before." His expressionlightened a little. "Perhaps the old gentleman can make him talk. I can't. He's under that woman's thumb, of course,and she's told him he mustn't say a word. So, he don't." A grin of half-embarrassed appreciation moved the heavyjaws as he glanced at the District Attorney. "You see," he explained, "I can't make him talk, but I might ifcircumstances were different. On account of his being the old man's son, I'm a little cramped in my style."It was, in truth, one thing to browbeat and assault a convict like Dacey or Chicago Red, but quite another to employthe like violence against a youth of Dick Gilder's position in the world. Demarest understood perfectly, but he wasinclined to be sceptical over the Inspector's theory that Dick possessed actual cognizance as to the killing of Griggs.
　　"You think that young Gilder really knows?" he questioned, doubtfully.
　　"I don't think anything--yet!" Burke retorted. "All I know is this: Eddie Griggs, the most valuable crook that everworked for me, has been murdered." The official's voice was charged with threatening as he went on. "And some one,man or woman, is going to pay for it!""Woman?" Demarest repeated, in some astonishment.
　　Burke's voice came merciless.
　　"I mean, Mary Turner," he said slowly.
　　Demarest was shocked.
　　"But, Burke," he expostulated, "she's not that sort." The Inspector sneered openly.
　　"How do you know she ain't?" he demanded. "Well, anyhow, she's made a monkey out of the Police Department,and, first, last, and all the time, I'm a copper. . . And that reminds me," he went on with a resumption of his usual curtbluntness, "I want you to wait for Mr. Gilder outside, while I get busy with the girl they've brought down from MaryTurner's flat."
Chapter 21 Aggie At Bay
Burke, after the lawyer had left him, watched the doorexpectantly for the coming of the girl, whom he had orderedbrought before him. But, when at last Dan appeared, and stoodaside to permit her passing into the office, the Inspector gaspedat the unexpectedness of the vision. He had anticipated thecoming of a woman of that world with which he was most familiarin the exercise of his professional duties--the underworld ofcriminals, some one beautiful perhaps, but with the brand ofviciousness marked subtly, yet visibly for the trained eye tosee. Then, even in that first moment, he told himself that heshould have been prepared for the unusual in this instance, sincethe girl had to do with Mary Turner, and that disturbing personherself showed in face and form and manner nothing to suggestaught but a gentlewoman. And, in the next instant, the Inspectorforgot his surprise in a sincere, almost ardent admiration.
　　The girl was rather short, but of a slender elegance of form thatwas ravishing. She was gowned, too, with a chic nicety to arousethe envy of all less-fortunate women. Her costume had about itan indubitable air, a finality of perfection in its kind. Onanother, it might have appeared perhaps the merest trifle garish.
　　But that fault, if in fact it ever existed, was made into avirtue by the correcting innocence of the girl's face. It was achildish face, childish in the exquisite smoothness of the soft,pink skin, childish in the wondering stare of the blue eyes, nowso widely opened in dismay, childish in the wistful drooping ofthe rosebud mouth.
　　The girl advanced slowly, with a laggard hesitation in hermovements obviously from fear. She approached the desk, frombehind which the Inspector watched, fascinated by the fresh andwholesome beauty of this young creature. He failed to observethe underlying anger beneath the girl's outward display of alarm.
　　He shook off his first impression by means of a resort to hiscustomary bluster in such cases.
　　"Now, then, my girl," he said roughly, "I want to know----"There came a change, wrought in the twinkling of an eye. Thetiny, trimly shod foot of the girl rose and fell in a wrathfulstamp.
　　"How dare you!" The clear blue eyes were become darkened withanger. There was a deepened leaf of red in either cheek. Thedrooping lips drooped no longer, but were bent to a haughtinessthat was finely impressive.
　　Before the offended indignation of the young woman, Burke satbewildered by embarrassment for once in his life, and quite at aloss.
　　"What's that?" he said, dubiously.
　　The girl explained the matter explicitly enough.
　　"What do you mean by this outrage?" she stormed. Her voice waslow and rich, with a charming roundness that seemed the veryhallmark of gentility. But, now, it was surcharged with anindignant amazement over the indignity put upon her by therepresentatives of the law. Then, abruptly, the blue eyes weresoftened in their fires, as by the sudden nearness of tears.
　　"What do you mean?" the girl repeated. Her slim form was tensewith wrath. "I demand my instant release." There wasindescribable rebuke in her slow emphasis of the words.
　　Burke was impressed in spite of himself, in spite of hisaccustomed cold indifference to the feelings of others asnecessity compelled him to make investigation of them. Hisharsh, blustering voice softened perceptibly, and he spoke in awheedling tone, such as one might employ in the effort totranquillize a spoiled child in a fit of temper.
　　"Wait a minute," he remonstrated. "Wait a minute!" He made apacifically courteous gesture toward one of the chairs, whichstood by an end of the desk. "Sit down," he invited, with aneffort toward cajoling.
　　The scorn of the girl was superb. Her voice came icily, as sheanswered:
　　"I shall do nothing of the sort. Sit down, indeed!--here! Why, Ihave been arrested----" There came a break in the music of hertones throbbing resentment. A little sob crept in, and broke thesequence of words. The dainty face was vivid with shame. "I--"she faltered, "I've been arrested--by a common policeman!"The Inspector seized on the one flaw left him for defense againsther indictment.
　　"No, no, miss," he argued, earnestly. "Excuse me. It wasn't anycommon policeman--it was a detective sergeant."But his effort to placate was quite in vain. The ingenuouslittle beauty with the child's face and the blue eyes so widelyopened fairly panted in her revolt against the ignominy of herposition, and was not to be so easily appeased. Her voice camevibrant with disdain. Her level gaze on the Inspector was of asort to suggest to him anxieties over possible complicationshere.
　　"You wait!" she cried violently. "You just wait, I tell you,until my papa hears of this!"Burke regarded the furious girl doubtfully.
　　"Who is your papa?" he asked, with a bit of alarm stirring inhis breast, for he had no mind to offend any one of importancewhere there was no need.
　　"I sha'n't tell you," came the petulant retort from the girl.
　　Her ivory forehead was wrinkled charmingly in a little frown ofobstinacy. "Why," she went on, displaying new symptoms ofdistress over another appalling idea that flashed on her in thismoment, "you would probably give my name to the reporters." Onceagain the rosebud mouth drooped into curves of sorrow, of a greatself-pity. "If it ever got into the newspapers, my family woulddie of shame!"The pathos of her fear pierced through the hardened crust of thepolice official. He spoke apologetically.
　　"Now, the easiest way out for both of us," he suggested, "is foryou to tell me just who you are. You see, young lady, you werefound in the house of a notorious crook."The haughtiness of the girl waxed. It seemed as if she grew aninch taller in her scorn of the Inspector's saying.
　　"How perfectly absurd!" she exclaimed, scathingly. "I was callingon Miss Mary Turner!""How did you come to meet her, anyhow?" Burke inquired. Hestill held his big voice to a softer modulation than that towhich it was habituated.
　　Yet, the disdain of the girl seemed only to increase momently.
　　She showed plainly that she regarded this brass-buttoned officialas one unbearably insolent in his demeanor toward her.
　　Nevertheless, she condescended to reply, with an exaggeration ofthe aristocratic drawl to indicate her displeasure.
　　"I was introduced to Miss Turner," she explained, "by Mr. RichardGilder. Perhaps you have heard of his father, the owner of theEmporium.""Oh, yes, I've heard of his father, and of him, too," Burkeadmitted, placatingly.
　　But the girl relaxed not a whit in her attitude of offense.
　　"Then," she went on severely, "you must see at once that you areentirely mistaken in this matter." Her blue eyes widened furtheras she stared accusingly at the Inspector, who betrayed evidencesof perplexity, and hesitated for an answer. Then, the doll-like,charming face took on a softer look, which had in it a suggestionof appeal.
　　"Don't you see it?" she demanded.
　　"Well, no," Burke rejoined uneasily; "not exactly, I don't!" Inthe presence of this delicate and graceful femininity, heexperienced a sudden, novel distaste for his usual sledge-hammermethods of attack in interrogation. Yet, his duty required thathe should continue his questioning. He found himself in factbetween the devil and the deep sea--though this particular devilappeared rather as an angel of light.
　　Now, at his somewhat feeble remark in reply to her query, thechildish face grew as hard as its curving contours would permit.
　　"Sir!" she cried indignantly. Her little head was thrown back inscornful reproof, and she turned a shoulder toward the officialcontemptuously.
　　"Now, now!" Burke exclaimed in remonstrance. After all, he couldnot be brutal with this guileless maiden. He must, however, makethe situation clear to her, lest she think him a beast--whichwould never do!
　　"You see, young lady," he went on with a gentleness of voice andmanner that would have been inconceivable to Dacey and ChicagoRed; "you see, the fact is that, even if you were introduced tothis Mary Turner by young Mr. Gilder, this same Mary Turnerherself is an ex-convict, and she's just been arrested formurder."At the dread word, a startling change was wrought in the girl.
　　She wheeled to face the Inspector, her slender body swaying alittle toward him. The rather heavy brows were lifted slightlyin a disbelieving stare. The red lips were parted, rounded to atremulous horror.
　　"Murder!" she gasped; and then was silent.
　　"Yes," Burke went on, wholly at ease now, since he had broken theice thus effectually. "You see, if there's a mistake about you,you don't want it to go any further --not a mite further, that'ssure. So, you see, now, that's one of the reasons why I mustknow just who you are." Then, in his turn, Burke put the querythat the girl had put to him a little while before. "You seethat, don't you?""Oh, yes, yes!" was the instant agreement. "You should have toldme all about this horrid thing in the first place." Now, thegirl's manner was transformed. She smiled wistfully on theInspector, and the glance of the blue eyes was very kind, subtlyalluring. Yet in this unbending, there appeared even moredecisively than hitherto the fine qualities in bearing of onedelicately nurtured. She sank down in a chair by the desk, andforthwith spoke with a simplicity that in itself was somehowpeculiarly potent in its effect on the official who gaveattentive ear.
　　"My name is Helen Travers West," she announced.
　　Burke started a little in his seat, and regarded the speaker witha new deference as he heard that name uttered.
　　"Not the daughter of the railway president?" he inquired.
　　"Yes," the girl admitted. Then, anew, she displayed a seriousagitation over the thought of any possible publicity in thisaffair.
　　"Oh, please, don't tell any one," she begged prettily. The blueeyes were very imploring, beguiling, too. The timid smile thatwreathed the tiny mouth was marvelously winning. The neatlygloved little hands were held outstretched, clasped insupplication. "Surely, sir, you see now quite plainly why itmust never be known by any one in all the wide, wide world that Ihave ever been brought to this perfectly dreadful place--thoughyou have been quite nice!" Her voice dropped to a note of musicalprayerfulness. The words were spoken very softly and veryslowly, with intonations difficult for a man to deny. "Pleaselet me go home." She plucked a minute handkerchief from herhandbag, put it to her eyes, and began to sob quietly.
　　The burly Inspector of Police was moved to quick sympathy.
　　Really, when all was said and done, it was a shame that one likeher should by some freak of fate have become involved in thesordid, vicious things that his profession made it obligatory onhim to investigate. There was a considerable hint of the paternalin his air as he made an attempt to offer consolation to theafflicted damsel.
　　"That's all right, little lady," he exclaimed cheerfully. "Now,don't you be worried--not a little bit. Take it from me, MissWest.... Just go ahead, and tell me all you know about thisTurner woman. Did you see her yesterday?"The girl's sobs ceased. After a final dab with the minutehandkerchief, she leaned forward a little toward the Inspector,and proceeded to put a question to him with great eagerness.
　　"Will you let me go home as soon as I've told you the teensylittle I know?""Yes," Burke agreed promptly, with an encouraging smile. And fora good measure of reassurance, he added as one might to analarmed child: "No one is going to hurt you, young lady.""Well, then, you see, it was this way," began the briskexplanation. "Mr. Gilder was calling on me one afternoon, and hesaid to me then that he knew a very charming young woman,who----"Here the speech ended abruptly, and once again the handkerchiefwas brought into play as the sobbing broke forth with increasedviolence. Presently, the girl's voice rose in a wail.
　　"Oh, this is dreadful--dreadful!" In the final word, the wailbroke to a moan.
　　Burke felt himself vaguely guilty as the cause of such sufferingon the part of one so young, so fair, so innocent. As a culprit,he sought his best to afford a measure of soothing for this griefthat had had its source in his performance of duty.
　　"That's all right, little lady," he urged in a voice as nearlymellifluous as he could contrive with its mighty volume. "That'sall right. I have to keep on telling you. Nobody's going tohurt you--not a little bit. Believe me! Why, nobody ever wouldwant to hurt you!"But his well-meant attempt to assuage the stricken creature's wowas futile. The sobbing continued. With it came a plaintivecry, many times repeated, softly, but very miserably.
　　"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!""Isn't there something else you can tell me about this woman?"Burke inquired in desperation before the plaintive outburst. Hehoped to distract her from such grief over her predicament.
　　The girl gave no least heed to the question.
　　"Oh, I'm so frightened!" she gasped.
　　"Tut, tut!" the Inspector chided. "Now, I tell you there'snothing at all for you to be afraid of.""I'm afraid!" the girl asserted dismally. "I'm afraid youwill--put me--in a cell!" Her voice sank to a murmur hardlyaudible as she spoke the words so fraught with dread import toone of her refined sensibilities.
　　"Pooh!" Burke returned, gallantly. "Why, my dear young lady,nobody in the world could think of you and a cell at the sametime--no, indeed!"Instantly, the girl responded to this bald flattery. She fairlyradiated appreciation of the compliment, as she turned her eyes,dewy with tears, on the somewhat flustered Inspector.
　　"Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed, with naive enjoyment.
　　Forthwith, Burke set out to make the most of this favorableopportunity.
　　"Are you sure you've told me all you know about this woman?" hequestioned.
　　"Oh, yes! I've only seen her two or three times," came the readyresponse. The voice changed to supplication, and again theclasped hands were extended beseechingly.
　　"Oh, please, Commissioner! Won't you let me go home?"The use of a title higher than his own flattered the Inspector,and he was moved to graciousness. Besides, it was obvious thathis police net in this instance had enmeshed only the mostharmless of doves. He smiled encouragingly.
　　"Well, now, little lady," he said, almost tenderly, "if I let yougo now, will you promise to let me know if you are able to thinkof anything else about this Turner woman?""I will--indeed, I will!" came the fervent assurance. There wassomething almost--quite provocative in the flash of gratitudethat shone forth from the blue eyes of the girl in that moment ofher superlative relief. It moved Burke to a desire forrehabilitation in her estimation.
　　"Now, you see," he went on in his heavy voice, yet very kindly,and with a sort of massive playfulness in his manner," no one hashurt you--not even a little bit, after all. Now, you run righthome to your mother."The girl did not need to be told twice. On the instant, shesprang up joyously, and started toward the door, with a finalravishing smile for the pleased official at the desk.
　　"I'll go just as fast as ever I can," the musical voice madeassurance blithely.
　　"Give my compliments to your father," Burke requestedcourteously. "And tell him I'm sorry I frightened you."The girl turned at the door.... After all, too great haste mightbe indiscreet.
　　"I will, Commissioner," she promised, with an arch smile. "And Iknow papa will be so grateful to you for all your kindness tome!"It was at this critical moment that Cassidy entered from theopposite side of the office. As his eyes fell on the girl at thedoor across from him, his stolid face lighted in a grin. And, inthat same instant of recognition between the two, the color wentout of the girl's face. The little red lips snapped together ina line of supreme disgust against this vicissitude of fate afterall her manoeuverings in the face of the enemy. She stoodmotionless in wordless dismay, impotent before this disasterforced on her by untoward chance.
　　"Hello, Aggie!" the detective remarked, with a smirk, while theInspector stared from one to the other with rounded eyes ofwonder, and his jaw dropped from the stark surprise of this newdevelopment.
　　The girl returned deliberately to the chair she had occupiedthrough the interview with the Inspector, and dropped into itweakly. Her form rested there limply now, and the blue eyesstared disconsolately at the blank wall before her. She realizedthat fate had decreed defeat for her in the game. It was after aminute of silence in which the two men sat staring that at lastshe spoke with a savage wrath against the pit into which she hadfallen after her arduous efforts.
　　"Ain't that the damnedest luck!"For a little interval still, Burke turned his glances from thegirl to Cassidy, and then back again to the girl, who satimmobile with her blue eyes steadfastly fixed on the wall. Thepolice official was, in truth, totally bewildered. Here wasinexplicable mystery. Finally, he addressed the detective curtly.
　　"Cassidy, do you know this woman?""Sure, I do!" came the placid answer. He went on to explain withthe direct brevity of his kind. "She's little Aggie Lynch--con'
　　woman, from Buffalo--two years for blackmail--did her time atBurnsing."With this succinct narrative concerning the girl who sat mute andmotionless in the chair with her eyes fast on the wall, Cassidyrelapsed into silence, during which he stared rather perplexedlyat his chief, who seemed to be in the throes of unusual emotion.
　　As the detective expressed it in his own vernacular: For thefirst time in his experience, the Inspector appeared to beactually "rattled."For a little time, there was silence, the while Burke sat staringat the averted face of the girl. His expression was that of onewho has just undergone a soul-stirring shock. Then, presently,he set his features grimly, rose from his chair, and walked to aposition directly in the front of the girl, who still refused tolook in his direction.
　　"Young woman----" he began, severely. Then, of a sudden helaughed. "You picked the right business, all right, all right!"he said, with a certain enthusiasm. He laughed aloud until hiseyes were only slits, and his ample paunch trembled vehemently.
　　"Well," he went on, at last, "I certainly have to hand it to you,kid. You're a beaut'!"Aggie sniffed vehemently in rebuke of the gross partiality offate in his behalf.
　　"Just as I had him goin'!" she said bitterly, as if inself-communion, without shifting her gaze from the blank surfaceof the wall.
　　Now, however, Burke was reminded once again of his officialduties, and he turned quickly to the attentive Cassidy.
　　"Have you got a picture of this young woman?" he askedbrusquely. And when Cassidy had replied in the negative, heagain faced the adventuress with a mocking grin--in whichmockery, too, was a fair fragment for himself, who had been sothoroughly within her toils of blandishment.
　　"I'd dearly love to have a photograph of you, Miss Helen TraversWest," he said.
　　The speech aroused the stolid detective to a new interest.
　　"Helen Travers West?" he repeated, inquiringly.
　　"Oh, that's the name she told me," the Inspector explained,somewhat shamefacedly before this question from his inferior.
　　Then he chuckled, for he had sense of humor sufficient to triumpheven over his own discomfiture in this encounter. "And she hadme winging, too!" he confessed. "Yes, I admit it." He turned tothe girl admiringly. "You sure are immense, little one--immense!" He smiled somewhat more in his official manner ofmastery. "And now, may I have the honor of asking you to acceptthe escort of Mr. Cassidy to our gallery."Aggie sprang to her feet and regarded the Inspector with eyes inwhich was now no innocence, such as had beguiled him so recentlyfrom those ingenuous orbs.
　　"Oh, can that stuff!" she cried, crossly. "Let's get down tobusiness on the dot--and no frills on it! Keep to cases!""Now you're talking," Burke declared, with a new appreciation ofthe versatility of this woman--who had not been wasting her timehitherto, and had no wish to lose it now.
　　"You can't do anything to us," Aggie declared, strongly. Thereremained no trace of the shrinking violet that had been MissHelen Travers West. Now, she revealed merely the business womanengaged in a fight against the law, which was opposed definitelyto her peculiar form of business.
　　"You can't do anything to me, and you know you can't!" she wenton, with an almost convincing tranquillity of assertion. "Why,I'll be sprung inside an hour." There came a ripple of laughterthat reminded the Inspector of the fashion in which he had beenovercome by this woman's wiles. And she spoke with a certitudeof conviction that was rather terrifying to one who had justfallen under the stress of her spells.
　　"Why, habeas corpus is my lawyer's middle name!""On the level, now," the Inspector demanded, quite unmoved by thefinal declarations, "when did you see Mary Turner last?"Aggie resorted anew to her practices of deception. Her voice heldthe accents of unimpeachable truth, and her eyes lookedunflinchingly into those of her questioner as she answered.
　　"Early this morning," she declared. "We slept together lastnight, because I had the willies. She blew the joint abouthalf-past ten."Burke shook his head, more in sorrow than in anger.
　　"What's the use of your lying to me?" he remonstrated.
　　"What, me?" Aggie clamored, with every evidence of being deeplywounded by the charge against her veracity. "Oh, I wouldn't doanything like that--on the level! What would be the use? Icouldn't fool you, Commissioner."Burke stroked his chin sheepishly, under the influence ofmemories of Miss Helen Travers West.
　　"So help me," Aggie continued with the utmost solemnity, "Marynever left the house all night. I'd swear that's the truth on apile of Bibles a mile high!""Have to be higher than that," the Inspector commented, grimly.
　　"You see, Aggie Lynch, Mary Turner was arrested just aftermidnight." His voice deepened and came blustering. "Youngwoman, you'd better tell all you know.""I don't know a thing!" Aggie retorted, sharply. She faced theInspector fiercely, quite unabashed by the fact that her vigorousoffer to commit perjury had been of no avail.
　　Burke, with a quick movement, drew the pistol from his pocket andextended it toward the girl.
　　"How long has she owned this gun?" he said, threateningly.
　　Aggie showed no trace of emotion as her glance ran over theweapon.
　　"She didn't own it," was her firm answer.
　　"Oh, then it's Garson's!" Burke exclaimed.
　　"I don't know whose it is," Aggie replied, with an air of boredomwell calculated to deceive. "I never laid eyes on it till now."The Inspector's tone abruptly took on a somber coloring, with anunderlying menace.
　　"English Eddie was killed with this gun last night," he said.
　　"Now, who did it?" His broad face was sinister. "Come on, now!
　　Who did it?"Aggie became flippant, seemingly unimpressed by the Inspector'ssavageness.
　　"How should I know?" she drawled. "What do you think I am--afortune-teller?""You'd better come through," Burke reiterated. Then his mannerchanged to wheedling. "If you're the wise kid I think you are,you will."Aggie waxed very petulant over this insistence.
　　"I tell you, I don't know anything! Say, what are you trying tohand me, anyway?"Burke scowled on the girl portentously, and shook his head.
　　"Now, it won't do, I tell you, Aggie Lynch. I'm wise. Youlisten to me." Once more his manner turned to the cajoling.
　　"You tell me what you know, and I'll see you make a cleanget-away, and I'll slip you a nice little piece of money, too."The girl's face changed with startling swiftness. She regardedthe Inspector shrewdly, a crafty glint in her eyes.
　　"Let me get this straight," she said. "If I tell you what I knowabout Mary Turner and Joe Garson, I get away?""Clean!" Burke ejaculated, eagerly.
　　"And you'll slip me some coin, too?""That's it!" came the hasty assurance. "Now, what do you say?"The small figure grew tense. The delicate, childish face wassuddenly distorted with rage, a rage black and venomous. Theblue eyes were blazing. The voice came thin and piercing.
　　"I say, you're a great big stiff! What do you think I am?" shestormed at the discomfited Inspector, while Cassidy looked on insome enjoyment at beholding his superior being worsted. Aggiewheeled on the detective. "Say, take me out of here," she criedin a voice surcharged with disgust. "I'd rather be in the coolerthan here with him!"Now Burke's tone was dangerous.
　　"You'll tell," he growled, "or you'll go up the river for astretch.""I don't know anything," the girl retorted, spiritedly And, if Idid, I wouldn't tell--not in a million years!" She thrust herhead forward challengingly as she faced the Inspector, and herexpression was resolute. "Now, then," she ended, "send me up--ifyou can!""Take her away," Burke snapped to the detective.
　　Aggie went toward Cassidy without any sign of reluctance.
　　"Yes, do, please!" she exclaimed with a sneer. "And do it in ahurry. Being in the room with him makes me sick! She turned tostare at the Inspector with eyes that were very clear and veryhard. In this moment, there was nothing childish in their gaze.
　　"Thought I'd squeal, did you?" she said, evenly. Yes, Iwill"--the red lips bent to a smile of supreme scorn--"likehell!"
Chapter 22 The Trap That Failed
Burke, despite his quality of heaviness, was blest with a keensense of humor, against which at times his professional laborsstrove mutinously. In the present instance, he had failedutterly to obtain any information of value from the girl whom hehad just been examining. On the contrary, he had been befooledoutrageously by a female criminal, in a manner to wound deeplyhis professional pride. Nevertheless, he bore no grudge againstthe adventuress. His sense of the absurd served him well, and hetook a lively enjoyment in recalling the method by which herplausible wiles had beguiled him. He gave her a real respect forthe adroitness with which she had deceived him--and he was notone to be readily deceived. So, now, as the scornful maiden wentout of the door under the escort of Cassidy, Burke bowedgallantly to her lithe back, and blew a kiss from his thickfingertips, in mocking reverence for her as an artist in her way.
　　Then, he seated himself, pressed the desk call-button, and, whenhe had learned that Edward Gilder was arrived, ordered that themagnate and the District Attorney be admitted, and that the son,also, be sent up from his cell.
　　"It's a bad business, sir," Burke said, with hearty sympathy, tothe shaken father, after the formal greetings that followed theentrance of the two men. "It's a very bad business.""What does he say?" Gilder questioned. There was somethingpitiful in the distress of this man, usually so strong and socertain of his course. Now, he was hesitant in his movements,and his mellow voice came more weakly than its wont. There was apathetic pleading in the dulled eyes with which he regarded theInspector.
　　"Nothing!" Burke answered. "That's why I sent for you. Isuppose Mr. Demarest has made the situation plain to you."Gilder nodded, his face miserable.
　　"Yes," he has explained it to me," he said in a lifeless voice.
　　"It's a terrible position for my boy. But you'll release him atonce, won't you?" Though he strove to put confidence into hiswords, his painful doubt was manifest.
　　"I can't," Burke replied, reluctantly, but bluntly. "You oughtnot to expect it, Mr. Gilder.""But," came the protest, delivered with much more spirit, "youknow very well that he didn't do it!"Burke shook his head emphatically in denial of the allegation.
　　"I don't know anything about it--yet," he contradicted.
　　The face of the magnate went white with fear.
　　"Inspector," he cried brokenly, "you--don't mean--"Burke answered with entire candor.
　　"I mean, Mr. Gilder, that you've got to make him talk. That'swhat I want you to do, for all our sakes. Will you?""I'll do my best," the unhappy man replied, forlornly.
　　A minute later, Dick, in charge of an officer, was brought intothe room. He was pale, a little disheveled from his hours in acell. He still wore his evening clothes of the night before.
　　His face showed clearly the deepened lines, graven by thesuffering to which he had been subjected, but there was noweakness in his expression. Instead, a new force that love andsorrow had brought out in his character was plainly visible. Thestrength of his nature was springing to full life under thestimulus of the ordeal through which he was passing.
　　The father went forward quickly, and caught Dick's hands in amighty grip.
　　"My boy!" he murmured, huskily. Then, he made a great effort,and controlled his emotion to some extent. "The Inspector tellsme," he went on, "that you've refused to talk--to answer hisquestions."Dick, too, winced under the pain of this meeting with his fatherin a situation so sinister. But he was, to some degree,apathetic from over-much misery. Now, in reply to his father'swords, he only nodded a quiet assent.
　　"That wasn't wise under the circumstances," the fatherremonstrated hurriedly. "However, now, Demarest and I are hereto protect your interests, so that you can talk freely." He wenton with a little catch of anxiety in his voice. "Now, Dick, tellus! Who killed that man? We must know. Tell me."Burke broke in impatiently, with his blustering fashion ofaddress.
　　"Where did you get----?"But Demarest raised a restraining hand.
　　"Wait, please!" he admonished the Inspector. "You wait a bit."He went a step toward the young man. "Give the boy a chance," hesaid, and his voice was very friendly as he went on speaking.
　　"Dick, I don't want to frighten you, but your position is reallya dangerous one. Your only chance is to speak with perfectfrankness. I pledge you my word, I'm telling the truth, Dick."There was profound concern in the lawyer's thin face, and hisvoice, trained to oratorical arts, was emotionally persuasive.
　　"Dick, my boy, I want you to forget that I'm the DistrictAttorney, and remember only that I'm an old friend of yours, andof your father's, who is trying very hard to help you. Surely,you can trust me. Now, Dick, tell me: Who shot Griggs?"There came a long pause. Burke's face was avid with desire forknowledge, with the keen expectancy of the hunter on the trail,which was characteristic of him in his professional work. TheDistrict Attorney himself was less vitally eager, but hiscuriosity, as well as his wish to escape from an embarrassingsituation, showed openly on his alert countenance. The heavyfeatures of the father were twisting a little in nervous spasms,for to him this hour was all anguish, since his only son was insuch horrible plight. Dick alone seemed almost tranquil, thoughthe outward calm was belied by the flickering of his eyelids andthe occasional involuntary movement of the lips. Finally hespoke, in a cold, weary voice.
　　"I shot Griggs," he said.
　　Demarest realized subtly that his plea had failed, but he made areffort to resist the impression, to take the admission at itsface value.
　　"Why?" he demanded.
　　Dick's answer came in the like unmeaning tones, and as wearily.
　　"Because I thought he was a burglar."The District Attorney was beginning to feel his professionalpride aroused against this young man who so flagrantly repelledhis attempts to learn the truth concerning the crime that hadbeen committed. He resorted to familiar artifices for entanglingone questioned.
　　"Oh, I see!" he said, in a tone of conviction. "Now, let's goback a little. Burke says you told him last night that you hadpersuaded your wife to come over to the house, and join youthere. Is that right?""Yes." The monosyllable was uttered indifferently. "And,while the two of you were talking," Demarest continued in amatter-of-fact manner. He did not conclude the sentence, butasked instead: "Now, tell me, Dick, just what did happen, won'tyou?"There was no reply; and, after a little interval, the lawyerresumed his questioning.
　　"Did this burglar come into the room?"Dick nodded an assent.
　　"And he attacked you?"There came another nod of affirmation.
　　"And there was a struggle?""Yes," Dick said, and now there was resolution in his answer.
　　"And you shot him?" Demarest asked, smoothly.
　　"Yes," the young man said again.
　　"Then," the lawyer countered on the instant, "where did you getthe revolver?"Dick started to answer without thought:
　　"Why, I grabbed it----" Then, the significance of this crashed onhis consciousness, and he checked the words trembling on hislips. His eyes, which had been downcast, lifted and glared onthe questioner. "So," he said with swift hostility in his voice,"so, you're trying to trap me, too!" He shrugged his shoulders ina way he had learned abroad. "You! And you talk of friendship.
　　I want none of such friendship."Demarest, greatly disconcerted, was skilled, nevertheless, indissembling, and he hid his chagrin perfectly. There was onlyreproach in his voice as he answered stoutly:
　　"I am your friend, Dick."But Burke would be no longer restrained. He had listened withincreasing impatience to the diplomatic efforts of the DistrictAttorney, which had ended in total rout. Now, he insisted onemploying his own more drastic, and, as he believed, moreefficacious, methods. He stood up, and spoke in his mostthreatening manner.
　　"You don't want to take us for fools, young man," he said, andhis big tones rumbled harshly through the room. "If you shotGriggs in mistake for a burglar, why did you try to hide thefact? Why did you pretend to me that you and your wife werealone in the room--when you had *THAT there with you, eh? Whydidn't you call for help? Why didn't you call for the police, asany honest man would naturally under such circumstances?"The arraignment was severely logical. Dick showed hisappreciation of the justice of it in the whitening of his face,nor did he try to answer the charges thus hurled at him.
　　The father, too, appreciated the gravity of the situation. Hisface was working, as if toward tears.
　　"We're trying to save you," he pleaded, tremulously.
　　Burke persisted in his vehement system of attack. Now, he againbrought out the weapon that had done Eddie Griggs to death.
　　"Where'd you get this gun?" he shouted.
　　Dick held his tranquil pose.
　　"I won't talk any more," he answered, simply. "I must see mywife first." His voice became more aggressive. "I want to knowwhat you've done to her."Burke seized on this opening.
　　"Did she kill Griggs?" he questioned, roughly.
　　For once, Dick was startled out of his calm.
　　"No, no!" he cried, desperately.
　　Burke followed up his advantage.
　　"Then, who did?" he demanded, sharply. "Who did?"Now, however, the young man had regained his self-control. Heanswered very quietly, but with an air of finality.
　　"I won't say any more until I've talked with a lawyer whom I cantrust." He shot a vindictive glance toward Demarest.
　　The father intervened with a piteous eagerness.
　　"Dick, if you know who killed this man, you must speak to protectyourself."Burke's voice came viciously.
　　"The gun was found on you. Don't forget that.""You don't seem to realize the position you're in," the fatherinsisted, despairingly. "Think of me, Dick, my boy. If youwon't speak for your own sake, do it for mine."The face of the young man softened as he met his father'sbeseeching eyes.
　　"I'm sorry, Dad," he said, very gently. "But I--well, I can't!"Again, Burke interposed. His busy brain was working out a newscheme for solving this irritating problem.
　　"I'm going to give him a little more time to think things over,"he said, curtly. He went back to his chair. "Perhaps he'll getto understand the importance of what we've been saying prettysoon." He scowled at Dick. "Now, young man," he went on briskly,"you want to do a lot of quick thinking, and a lot of honestthinking, and, when you're ready to tell the truth, let me know."He pressed the button on his desk, and, as the doorman appeared,addressed that functionary.
　　"Dan, have one of the men take him back. You wait outside."Dick, however, did not move. His voice came with a note ofdetermination.
　　"I want to know about my wife. Where is she?"Burke disregarded the question as completely as if it had notbeen uttered, and went on speaking to the doorman with asuggestion in his words that was effective.
　　"He's not to speak to any one, you understand." Then hecondescended to give his attention to the prisoner. "You'll knowall about your wife, young man, when you make up your mind totell me the truth."Dick gave no heed to the Inspector's statement. His eyes werefixed on his father, and there was a great tenderness in theirdepths. And he spoke very softly:
　　"Dad, I'm sorry!"The father's gaze met the son's, and the eyes of the two locked.
　　There was no other word spoken. Dick turned, and followed hiscustodian out of the office in silence. Even after the shuttingof the door behind the prisoner, the pause endured for somemoments.
　　Then, at last, Burke spoke to the magnate.
　　"You see, Mr. Gilder, what we're up against. I can't let himgo--yet!"The father strode across the room in a sudden access of rage.
　　"He's thinking of that woman," he cried out, in a loud voice.
　　"He's trying to shield her.""He's a loyal kid, at that," Burke commented, with a grudgingadmiration. "I'll say that much for him." His expression grewmorose, as again he pressed the button on his desk. "And now,"he vouchsafed, "I'll show you the difference." Then, as thedoorman reappeared, he gave his order: "Dan, have the Turnerwoman brought up." He regarded the two men with his bristlingbrows pulled down in a scowl. "I'll have to try a different gamewith her," he said, thoughtfully. "She sure is one clever littledame. But, if she didn't do it herself, she knows who did, allright." Again, Burke's voice took on its savage note. "And someone's got to pay for killing Griggs. I don't have to explain whyto Mr. Demarest, but to you, Mr. Gilder. You see, it's this way:
　　The very foundations of the work done by this department rest onthe use of crooks, who are willing to betray their pals for coin.
　　I told you a bit about it last night. Now, you understand, ifGriggs's murder goes unpunished, it'll put the fear of God intothe heart of every stool-pigeon we employ. And then where'd webe? Tell me that!"The Inspector next called his stenographer, and gave explicitdirections. At the back of the room, behind the desk, were threelarge windows, which opened on a corridor, and across this was atier of cells. The stenographer was to take his seat in thiscorridor, just outside one of the windows. Over the windows, theshades were drawn, so that he would remain invisible to any onewithin the office, while yet easily able to overhear every wordspoken in the room.
　　When he had completed his instructions to the stenographer, Burketurned to Gilder and Demarest.
　　"Now, this time," he said energetically, "I'll be the one to dothe talking. And get this: Whatever you hear me say, don't yoube surprised. Remember, we're dealing with crooks, and, whenyou're dealing with crooks, you have to use crooked ways."There was a brief period of silence. Then, the door opened, andMary Turner entered the office. She walked slowly forward,moving with the smooth strength and grace that were the proof ofperfect health and of perfect poise, the correlation of mind andbody in exactness. Her form, clearly revealed by the clingingevening dress, was a curving group of graces. The beauty of herface was enhanced, rather than lessened, by the pallor of it, forthe fading of the richer colors gave to the fine features anexpression more spiritual, made plainer the underlying qualitiesthat her accustomed brilliance might half-conceal. She paidabsolutely no attention to the other two in the room, but wentstraight to the desk, and there halted, gazing with her softlypenetrant eyes of deepest violet into the face of the Inspector.
　　Under that intent scrutiny, Burke felt a challenge, set himselfto match craft with craft. He was not likely to undervalue thewits of one who had so often flouted him, who, even now, hadplaced him in a preposterous predicament by this entanglementover the death of a spy. But he was resolved to use his bestskill to disarm her sophistication. His large voice wasmodulated to kindliness as he spoke in a casual manner.
　　"I just sent for you to tell you that you're free."Mary regarded the speaker with an impenetrable expression. Hertones as she spoke were quite as matter-of-fact as his own hadbeen. In them was no wonder, no exultation.
　　"Then, I can go," she said, simply.
　　"Sure, you can go," Burke replied, amiably.
　　Without any delay, yet without any haste, Mary glanced towardGilder and Demarest, who were watching the scene closely. Hereyes were somehow appraising, but altogether indifferent. Then,she went toward the outer door of the office, still with thatalmost lackadaisical air.
　　Burke waited rather impatiently until she had nearly reached thedoor before he shot his bolt, with a fine assumption ofcarelessness in the announcement.
　　"Garson has confessed!"Mary, who readily enough had already guessed the essentialhypocrisy of all this play, turned and confronted the Inspector,and answered without the least trace of fear, but with thefirmness of knowledge:
　　"Oh, no, he hasn't!"Her attitude exasperated Burke. His voice roared out wrathfully.
　　"What's the reason he hasn't?"The music in the tones of the answer was a vocal rebuke.
　　"Because he didn't do it." She stated the fact as one without ahint of any contradictory possibility.
　　"Well, he says he did it!" Burke vociferated, still more loudly.
　　Mary, in her turn, resorted to a bit of finesse, in order tolearn whether or not Garson had been arrested. She spoke with atrace of indignation.
　　"But how could he have done it, when he went----" she began.
　　The Inspector fell a victim to her superior craft. His questioncame eagerly.
　　"Where did he go?"Mary smiled for the first time since she had been in the room,and in that smile the Inspector realized his defeat in the firstpassage of this game of intrigue between them.
　　"You ought to know," she said, sedately, "since you have arrestedhim, and he has confessed."Demarest put up a hand to conceal his smile over the policeofficial's chagrin. Gilder, staring always at this woman who hadcome to be his Nemesis, was marveling over the beauty and verveof the one so hating him as to plan the ruin of his life and hisson's.
　　Burke was frantic over being worsted thus. To gain a diversion,he reverted to his familiar bullying tactics. His question burstraspingly. It was a question that had come to be constant withinhis brain during the last few hours, one that obsessed him, thatfretted him sorely, almost beyond endurance.
　　"Who shot Griggs?" he shouted.
　　Mary rested serene in the presence of this violence. Her answercapped the climax of the officer's exasperation.
　　"My husband shot a burglar," she said, languidly. And then herinsolence reached its culmination in a query of her own: "Was hisname Griggs?" It was done with splendid art, with a splendidmastery of her own emotions, for, even as she spoke the words,she was remembering those shuddering seconds when she had stood,only a few hours ago, gazing down at the inert bulk that had beena man.
　　Burke betook himself to another form of attack.
　　"Oh, you know better than that," he declared, truculently. "Yousee, we've traced the Maxim silencer. Garson himself bought it upin Hartford."For the first time, Mary was caught off her guard.
　　"But he told me----" she began, then became aware of herindiscretion, and checked herself.
　　Burke seized on her lapse with avidity.
　　"What did he tell you?" he questioned, eagerly.
　　Now, Mary had regained her self-command, and she spoke calmly.
　　"He told me," she said, without a particle of hesitation, "thathe had never seen one. Surely, if he had had anything of thesort, he would have shown it to me then.""Probably he did, too!" Burke rejoined, without the leastsuspicion that his surly utterance touched the truth exactly.
　　"Now, see here," he went on, trying to make his voice affable,though with small success, for he was excessively irritated bythese repeated failures; "I can make it a lot easier for you ifyou'll talk. Come on, now! Who killed Griggs?"Mary cast off pretense finally, and spoke malignantly.
　　"That's for you to find out," she said, sneering.
　　Burke pressed the button on the desk, and, when the doormanappeared, ordered that the prisoner be returned to her cell.
　　But Mary stood rebellious, and spoke with a resumption of hercynical scorn.
　　"I suppose," she said, with a glance of contempt toward Demarest,"that it's useless for me to claim my constitutional rights, anddemand to see a lawyer?"Burke, too, had cast off pretense at last.
　　"Yes," he agreed, with an evil smirk, "you've guessed it right,the first time."Mary spoke to the District Attorney.
　　"I believe," she said, with a new dignity of bearing, "that suchis my constitutional right, is it not, Mr. Demarest?"The lawyer sought no evasion of the issue. For that matter, hewas coming to have an increasing respect, even admiration, forthis young woman, who endured insult and ignominy with a spiritso sturdy, and met strategem with other strategem better devised.
　　So, now, he made his answer with frank honesty.
　　"It is your constitutional right, Miss Turner."Mary turned her clear eyes on the Inspector, and awaited fromthat official a reply that was not forthcoming. Truth to tell,Burke was far from comfortable under that survey.
　　"Well, Inspector?" she inquired, at last.
　　Burke took refuge, as his wont was when too hard pressed, in amighty bellow.
　　"The Constitution don't go here!" It was the best he could do,and it shamed him, for he knew its weakness. Again, wrath surgedin him, and it surged high. He welcomed the advent of Cassidy,who came hurrying in with a grin of satisfaction on his stolidface.
　　"Say, Chief," the detective said with animation, in response toBurke's glance of inquiry, "we've got Garson."Mary's face fell, though the change of expression was almostimperceptible. Only Demarest, a student of much experience,observed the fleeting display of repressed emotion. When theInspector took thought to look at her, she was as impassive asbefore. Yet, he was minded to try another ruse in his desire todefeat the intelligence of this woman. To this end, he askedGilder and the District Attorney to withdraw, while he shouldhave a private conversation with the prisoner. As she listened tohis request, Mary smiled again in sphinx-like fashion, and therewas still on her lips an expression that caused the official apang of doubt, when, at last, the two were left alone together,and he darted a surreptitious glance toward her. Nevertheless,he pressed on his device valiantly.
　　"Now," he said, with a marked softening of manner, "I'm going tobe your friend.""Are you?" Mary's tone was non-committal.
　　"Yes," Burke declared, heartily. "And I mean it! Give up thetruth about young Gilder. I know he shot Griggs, of course. ButI'm not taking any stock in that burglar story--not a little bit!
　　No court would, either. What was really back of the killing?"Burke's eyes narrowed cunningly. "Was he jealous of Griggs?
　　Well, that's what he might do then. He's always been a worthlessyoung cub. A rotten deal like this would be about his gait, Iguess.... Tell me, now: Why did he shoot Eddie Griggs?"There was coarseness a-plenty in the Inspector's pretense, but itpossessed a solitary fundamental virtue: it played on the heartof the woman whom he questioned, aroused it to wrath in defenseof her mate. In a second, all poise fled from this girl whosesoul was blossoming in the blest realization that a man loved herpurely, unselfishly. Her words came stumblingly in their haste.
　　Her eyes were near to black in their anger.
　　"He didn't kill him! He didn't kill him!" she fairly hissed.
　　"Why, he's the most wonderful man in the world. You shan't hurthim! Nobody shall hurt him! I'll fight to the end of my life forDick Gilder!"Burke was beaming joyously. At last--a long last! --his finessehad won the victory over this woman's subtleties.
　　"Well, that's just what I thought," he said, with smug content.
　　"And now, then, who did shoot Griggs? We've got every one of thegang. They're all crooks. See here," he went on, with a suddenchange to the respectful in his manner, "why don't you startfresh? I'll give you every chance in the world. I'm dead on thelevel with you this time."But he was too late. By now, Mary had herself well in handagain, vastly ashamed of the short period of self-betrayal causedby the official's artifice against her heart. As she listened tothe Inspector's assurances, the mocking expression of her facewas not encouraging to that astute individual, but he perseveredmanfully.
　　"Just you wait," he went on cheerfully, "and I'll prove to youthat I'm on the level about this, that I'm really your friend....
　　There was a letter came for you to your apartment. My menbrought it down to me. I've read it. Here it is. I'll read itto you!"He picked up an envelope, which had been lying on the desk, anddrew out the single sheet of paper it contained. Mary watchedhim, wondering much more than her expression revealed over thisnew development. Then, as she listened, quick interest touchedher features to a new life. In her eyes leaped emotions to makeor mar a life.
　　This was the letter:
　　"I can't go without telling you how sorry I am. There won'tnever be a time that I won't remember it was me got you sent up,that you did time in my place. I ain't going to forgive myselfever, and I swear I'm going straight always.
　　"Your true friend, "HELENMORRIS."For once, Burke showed a certain delicacy. When he had finishedthe reading, he said nothing for a long minute--only, sat withhis cunning eyes on the face of the woman who was immobile therebefore him. And, as he looked on her in her slender elegance ofform and gentlewomanly loveliness of face, a lovelinessintelligent and refined beyond that of most women, he felt bornein on his consciousness the fact that here was one to berespected. He fought against the impression. It was to himpreposterous, for she was one of that underworld against which hewas ruthlessly at war. Yet, he could not altogether overcome hisinstinct toward a half-reverent admiration.... And, as the letterproved, she had been innocent at the outset. She had been thevictim of a mistaken justice, made outcast by the law she hadnever wronged.... His mood of respect was inevitable, since hehad some sensibilities, though they were coarsened, and theysensed vaguely the maelstrom of emotions that now swirled in thegirl's breast.
　　To Mary Turner, this was the wonderful hour. In it, thevindication of her innocence was made complete. The story wasthere recorded in black and white on the page written by HelenMorris. It mattered little--or infinitely much!--that it cametoo late. She had gained her evil place in the world, was anotorious woman in fact, was even now a prisoner under suspicionof murder. Nevertheless, she felt a thrill of ecstasy over thiswritten document--which it had never occurred to her to wrestfrom the girl at the time of the oral confession. Now that it hadbeen proffered, the value of it loomed above almost all thingselse in the world. It proclaimed undeniably the wrong underwhich she had suffered. She was not the thief the court hadadjudged her. Now, there's nobody here but just you and me. Comeon, now--put me wise!"Mary was again the resourceful woman who was glad to pit herbrain against the contriving of those who fought her. So, atthis moment, she seemed pliant to the will of the man who urgedher thus cunningly. Her quick glance around the office was of asort to delude the Inspector into a belief that she was yieldingto his lure.
　　"Are you sure no one will ever know?" she asked, timorously.
　　"Nobody but you and me," Burke declared, all agog withanticipation of victory at last. "I give you my word!"Mary met the gaze of the Inspector fully. In the same instant,she flashed on him a smile that was dazzling, the smile of awoman triumphant in her mastery of the situation. Her face wasradiant, luminous with honest mirth. There was something simpleand genuine in her beauty that thrilled the man before her, theman trying so vindictively to trap her to her own undoing. Forall his grossness, Burke was of shrewd perceptions, andsomewhere, half-submerged under the sordid nature of his calling,was a love of things esthetic, a responsiveness to the appeals ofbeauty. Now, as his glance searched the face of the girl who wasbubbling with mirth, he experienced an odd warming of his heartunder the spell of her loveliness--a loveliness wholly feminine,pervasive, wholesome. But, too, his soul shook in a premonitionof catastrophe, for there was mischief in the beaming eyes ofsoftest violet. There was a demon of mockery playing in thecurves of the scarlet lips, as she smiled so winsomely.
　　All his apprehensions were verified by her utterance. It came ina most casual voice, despite the dancing delight in her face.
　　The tones were drawled in the matter-of-fact fashion of statementthat leads a listener to answer without heed to the exact importof the question, unless very alert, indeed.... This is what shesaid in that so-casual voice:
　　"I'm not speaking loud enough, am I, stenographer?"And that industrious writer of shorthand notes, absorbed in histask, answered instantly from his hidden place in the corridor.
　　"No, ma'am, not quite."Mary laughed aloud, while Burke sat dumfounded. She rose swiftly,and went to the nearest window, and with a pull at the cord sentthe shade flying upward. For seconds, there was revealed the busystenographer, bent over his pad. Then, the noise of theascending shade, which had been hammering on his consciousness,penetrated, and he looked up. Realization came, as he beheld thewoman laughing at him through the window. Consternation besethim. He knew that, somehow, he had bungled fatally. A groan ofdistress burst from him, and he fled the place in ignominiousrout.
　　There was another whose spirit was equally desirous offlight--Burke! Yet once again, he was beaten at his own game, hiscunning made of no avail against the clever interpretation ofthis woman whom he assailed. He had no defense to offer. He didnot care to meet her gaze just then, since he was learning torespect her as one wronged, where he had regarded her hithertomerely as of the flotsam and jetsam of the criminal class. So, heavoided her eyes as she stood by the window regarding himquizzically. In a panic of confusion quite new to him in hisyears of experience, he pressed the button on his desk.
　　The doorman appeared with that automatic precision which made himvaluable in his position, and the Inspector hailed the readypresence with a feeling of profound relief.
　　"Dan, take her back!" he said, feebly.
　　Mary was smiling still as she went to the door. But she couldnot resist the impulse toward retort.
　　"Oh, yes," she said, suavely; "you were right on the level withme, weren't you, Burke? Nobody here but you and me!" The wordscame in a sing-song of mockery.
　　The Inspector had nothing in the way of answer--only, satmotionless until the door closed after her. Then, left alone, hissole audible comment was a single word--one he had learned,perhaps, from Aggie Lynch:
　　"Hell!"
Chapter 23 The Confession
Burke was a persistent man, and he had set himself to getting themurderer of Griggs. Foiled in his efforts thus far by theopposition of Mary, he now gave himself over to careful thoughtas to a means of procedure that might offer the bestpossibilities of success. His beetling brows were drawn in afrown of perplexity for a full quarter of an hour, while herested motionless in his chair, an unlighted cigar between hislips. Then, at last, his face cleared; a grin of satisfactiontwisted his heavy mouth, and he smote the desk joyously.
　　"It's a cinch it'll get 'im!" he rumbled, in glee.
　　He pressed the button-call, and ordered the doorman to send inCassidy. When the detective appeared a minute later, he wentdirectly to his subject with a straightforward energy usual tohim in his work.
　　"Does Garson know we've arrested the Turner girl and youngGilder?" And, when he had been answered in the negative: "Orthat we've got Chicago Red and Dacey here?""No," Cassidy replied. "He hasn't been spoken to since we madethe collar.... He seems worried," the detective volunteered.
　　Burke's broad jowls shook from the force with which he snappedhis jaws together.
　　"He'll be more worried before I get through with him!" hegrowled. He regarded Cassidy speculatively. "Do you remember theThird Degree Inspector Burns worked on McGloin? Well," he wenton, as the detective nodded assent, "that's what I'm going to doto Garson. He's got imagination, that crook! The things he don'tknow about are the things he's afraid of. After he gets in here,I want you to take his pals one after the other, and lock them upin the cells there in the corridor. The shades on the corridorwindows here will be up, and Garson will see them taken in. Thefact of their being there will set his imagination to workingovertime, all right."Burke reflected for a moment, and then issued the finaldirections for the execution of his latest plot.
　　"When you get the buzzer from me, you have young Gilder and theTurner woman sent in. Then, after a while, you'll get anotherbuzzer. When you hear that, come right in here, and tell me thatthe gang has squealed. I'll do the rest. Bring Garson here injust five minutes.... Tell Dan to come in."As the detective went out, the doorman promptly entered, andthereat Burke proceeded with the further instructions necessaryto the carrying out of his scheme.
　　"Take the chairs out of the office, Dan," he directed, "exceptmine and one other--that one!" He indicated a chair standing alittle way from one end of his desk. "Now, have all the shadesup." He chuckled as he added: "That Turner woman saved you thetrouble with one."As the doorman went out after having fulfilled these commands,the Inspector lighted the cigar which he had retained still inhis mouth, and then seated himself in the chair that was setpartly facing the windows opening on the corridor. He smiledwith anticipatory triumph as he made sure that the whole lengthof the corridor with the barred doors of the cells was plainlyvisible to one sitting thus. With a final glance about to makecertain that all was in readiness, he returned to his chair, and,when the door opened, he was, to all appearances, busily engagedin writing.
　　"Here's Garson, Chief," Cassidy announced.
　　"Hello, Joe!" Burke exclaimed, with a seeming of carelessfriendliness, as the detective went out, and Garson stoodmotionless just within the door.
　　"Sit down, a minute, won't you?" the Inspector continued,affably. He did not look up from his writing as he spoke.
　　Garson's usually strong face was showing weak with fear. Hischin, which was commonly very firm, moved a little from uneasytwitchings of his lips. His clear eyes were slightly clouded toa look of apprehension, as they roved the room furtively. Hemade no answer to the Inspector's greeting for a few moments, butremained standing without movement, poised alertly as if sensingsome concealed peril. Finally, however, his anxiety foundexpression in words. His tone was pregnant with alarm, though hestrove to make it merely complaining.
　　"Say, what am I arrested for?" he protested. "I ain't doneanything."Even now, Burke did not look up, and his pen continued to hurryover the paper.
　　"Who told you you were arrested?" he remarked, cheerfully, inhis blandest voice.
　　Garson uttered an ejaculation of disgust.
　　"I don't have to be told," he retorted, huffily. "I'm no collegepresident, but, when a cop grabs me and brings me down here, I'vegot sense enough to know I'm pinched."The Inspector did not interrupt his work, but answered with theutmost good nature.
　　"Is that what they did to you, Joe? I'll have to speak toCassidy about that. Now, just you sit down, Joe, won't you? Iwant to have a little talk with you. I'll be through here in asecond." He went on with the writing.
　　Garson moved forward slightly, to the single chair near the endof the desk, and there seated himself mechanically. His face thuswas turned toward the windows that gave on the corridor, and hiseyes grew yet more clouded as they rested on the grim doors ofthe cells. He writhed in his chair, and his gaze jumped from thecells to the impassive figure of the man at the desk. Now, theforger's nervousness increased momently it swept beyond hiscontrol. Of a sudden, he sprang up, and stepped close to theInspector.
　　"Say," he said, in a husky voice, "I'd like--I'd like to have alawyer.""What's the matter with you, Joe?" the Inspector returned,always with that imperturbable air, and without raising his headfrom the work that so engrossed his attention. "You know, you'renot arrested, Joe. Maybe, you never will be. Now, for the loveof Mike, keep still, and let me finish this letter."Slowly, very hesitatingly, Garson went back to the chair, andsank down on it in a limp attitude of dejection wholly unlike hiscustomary postures of strength. Again, his fear-fascinated eyeswent to the row of cells that stood silently menacing on theother side of the corridor beyond the windows. His face wastinged with gray. A physical sickness was creeping stealthily onhim, as his thoughts held insistently to the catastrophe thatthreatened. His intelligence was too keen to permit a beliefthat Burke's manner of almost fulsome kindliness hid nothingominous--ominous with a hint of death for him in return for thedeath he had wrought.
　　Then, terror crystallized. His eyes were caught by a figure, thefigure of Cassidy, advancing there in the corridor. And with thedetective went a man whose gait was slinking, craven. Acell-door swung open, the prisoner stepped within, the doorclanged to, the bolts shot into their sockets noisily.
　　Garson sat huddled, stricken--for he had recognized the victimthrust into the cell before his eyes.... It was Dacey, one of hisown cronies in crime--Dacey, who, the night before, had seen himkill Eddie Griggs. There was something concretely sinister toGarson in this fact of Dacey's presence there in the cell.
　　Of a sudden, the forger cried out raucously:
　　"Say, Inspector, if you've got anything on me, I--I would----"The cry dropped into unintelligible mumblings.
　　Burke retained his manner of serene indifference to the other'sagitation. Still, his pen hurried over the paper; and he did nottrouble to look up as he expostulated, half-banteringly.
　　"Now, now! What's the matter with you, Joe? I told you that Iwanted to ask you a few questions. That's all."Garson leaped to his feet again resolutely, then faltered, andultimately fell back into the chair with a groan, as theInspector went on speaking.
　　"Now, Joe, sit down, and keep still, I tell you, and let me getthrough with this job. It won't take me more than a minutemore."But, after a moment, Garson's emotion forced hint to anotherappeal.
　　"Say, Inspector----" he began.
　　Then, abruptly, he was silent, his mouth still open to utter thewords that were now held back by horror. Again, he saw thedetective walking forward, out there in the corridor. And withhim, as before, was a second figure, which advanced slinkingly.
　　Garson leaned forward in his chair, his head thrust out, watchingin rigid suspense. Again, even as before, the door swung wide,the prisoner slipped within, the door clanged shut, the boltsclattered noisily into their sockets.
　　And, in the watcher, terror grew--for he had seen the face ofChicago Red, another of his pals, another who had seen him killGriggs. For a time that seemed to him long ages of misery,Garson sat staring dazedly at the closed doors of the tier ofcells. The peril about him was growing--growing, and it was adeadly peril! At last, he licked his dry lips, and his voicebroke in a throaty whisper.
　　"Say, Inspector, if you've got anything against me, why----""Who said there was anything against you, Joe?" Burke rejoined,in a voice that was genially chiding. "What's the matter with youto-day, Joe? You seem nervous." Still, the official kept onwith his writing.
　　"No, I ain't nervous," Garson cried, with a feverish effort toappear calm. "Why, what makes you think that? But this ain'texactly the place you'd pick out as a pleasant one to spend themorning." He was silent for a little, trying with all hisstrength to regain his self-control, but with small success.
　　"Could I ask you a question?" he demanded finally, with morefirmness in his voice.
　　"What is it?" Burke said.
　　Garson cleared his throat with difficulty, and his voice wasthick.
　　"I was just going to say--" he began. Then, he hesitated, andwas silent, at a loss.
　　"Well, what is it, Joe?" the Inspector prompted.
　　"I was going to say--that is--well, if it's anything about MaryTurner, I don't know a thing--not a thing!"It was the thought of possible peril to her that now, in aninstant, had caused him to forget his own mortal danger. Where,before, he had been shuddering over thoughts of the death-housecell that might be awaiting him, he now had concern only for thesafety of the woman he cherished. And there was a great grief inhis soul; for it was borne in on him that his own folly, indisobedience to her command, had led up to the murder ofGriggs--and to all that might come of the crime. How could heever make amends to her? At least, he could be brave here, forher sake, if not for his own.
　　Burke believed that his opportunity was come.
　　"What made you think I wanted to know anything about her?" hequestioned.
　　"Oh, I can't exactly say," Garson replied carelessly, in anattempt to dissimulate his agitation. "You were up to the house,you know. Don't you see?""I did want to see her, that's a fact," Burke admitted. He kepton with his writing, his head bent low. "But she wasn't at herflat. I guess she must have taken my advice, and skipped out.
　　Clever girl, that!"Garson contrived to present an aspect of comparativeindifference.
　　"Yes," he agreed. "I was thinking of going West, myself," heventured.
　　"Oh, were you?" Burke exclaimed; and, now, there was a new notein his voice. His hand slipped into the pocket where was thepistol, and clutched it. He stared at Garson fiercely, and spokewith a rush of the words:
　　"Why did you kill Eddie Griggs?""I didn't kill him!" The reply was quick enough, but it cameweakly. Again, Garson was forced to wet his lips with a drytongue, and to swallow painfully. "I tell you, I didn't killhim!" he repeated at last, with more force.
　　Burke sneered his disbelief.
　　"You killed him last night--with this!" he cried, viciously. Onthe instant, the pistol leaped into view, pointed straight atGarson. "Why?" the Inspector shouted. "Come on, now! Why?""I didn't, I tell you!" Garson was growing stronger, since atlast the crisis was upon him. He got to his feet with litheswiftness of movement, and sprang close to the desk. He bent hishead forward challengingly, to meet the glare of his accuser'seyes. There was no flinching in his own steely stare. Hisnerves had ceased their jangling under the tautening ofnecessity.
　　"You did!" Burke vociferated. He put his whole will into theassertion of guilt, to batter down the man's resistance. "Youdid, I tell you! You did!"Garson leaned still further forward, until his face was almostlevel with the Inspector's. His eyes were unclouded now, wereblazing. His voice came resonant in its denial. The entire poseof him was intrepid, dauntless.
　　"And I tell you, I didn't!"There passed many seconds, while the two men battled in silence,will warring against will. ... In the end, it was the murdererwho triumphed.
　　Suddenly, Burke dropped the pistol into his pocket, and lolledback in his chair. His gaze fell away from the man confrontinghim. In the same instant, the rigidity of Garson's form relaxed,and he straightened slowly. A tide of secret joy swept throughhim, as he realized his victory. But his outward expressionremained unchanged.
　　"Oh, well," Burke exclaimed amiably, "I didn't really think youdid, but I wasn't sure, so I had to take a chance. Youunderstand, don't you, Joe?""Sure, I understand," Garson replied, with an amiability equal tothe Inspector's own.
　　Burke's manner continued very amicable as he went on speaking.
　　"You see, Joe, anyhow, we've got the right party safe enough.
　　You can bet on that!"Garson resisted the lure.
　　"If you don't want me----" he began suggestively; and he turnedtoward the door to the outer hall. "Why, if you don't want me,I'll--get along.""Oh, what's the hurry, Joe?" Burke retorted, with the effect ofstopping the other short. He pressed the buzzer as the agreedsignal to Cassidy. "Where did you say Mary Turner was lastnight?"At the question, all Garson's fears for the woman rushed back onhim with appalling force. Of what avail his safety, if she werestill in peril?
　　"I don't know where she was," he exclaimed, doubtfully. Herealized his blunder even as the words left his lips, and soughtto correct it as best he might. "Why, yes, I do, too," he wenton, as if assailed by sudden memory. "I dropped into her placekind of late, and they said she'd gone to bed--headache, Iguess.... Yes, she was home, of course. She didn't go out of thehouse, all night." His insistence on the point was of itselfsuspicious, but eagerness to protect her stultified his wits.
　　Burke sat grim and silent, offering no comment on the lie.
　　"Know anything about young Gilder?" he demanded. "Happen to knowwhere he is now?" He arose and came around the desk, so that hestood close to Garson, at whom he glowered.
　　"Not a thing!" was the earnest answer. But the speaker's fearrose swiftly, for the linking of these names wassignificant--frightfully significant!
　　The inner door opened, and Mary Turner entered the office.
　　Garson with difficulty suppressed the cry of distress that roseto his lips. For a few moments, the silence was unbroken. Then,presently, Burke, by a gesture, directed the girl to advancetoward the center of the room. As she obeyed, he himself went alittle toward the door, and, when it opened again, and DickGilder appeared, he interposed to check the young man's rushforward as his gaze fell on his bride, who stood regarding himwith sad eyes.
　　Garson stared mutely at the burly man in uniform who held theirdestinies in the hollow of a hand. His lips parted as if he wereabout to speak. Then, he bade defiance to the impulse. Hedeemed it safer for all that he should say nothing--now!... Andit is very easy to say a word too many. And that one may be aword never to be unsaid--or gainsaid.
　　Then, while still that curious, dynamic silence endured, Cassidycame briskly into the office. By some magic of duty, he hadcontrived to give his usually hebetudinous features an expressionof enthusiasm.
　　"Say, Chief," the detective said rapidly, "they've squealed!"Burke regarded his aide with an air intolerably triumphant. Hisvoice came smug:
　　"Squealed, eh?" His glance ran over Garson for a second, thenmade its inquisition of Mary and of Dick Gilder. He did not givea look to Cassidy as he put his question. "Do they tell the samestory?" And then, when the detective had answered in theaffirmative, he went on speaking in tones ponderous withself-complacency; and, now, his eyes held sharply, craftily, onthe woman.
　　"I was right then, after all--right, all the time! Good enough!"Of a sudden, his voice boomed somberly. "Mary Turner, I want youfor the murder of----"Garson's rush halted the sentence. He had leaped forward. Hisface was rigid. He broke on the Inspector's words with a gestureof fury. His voice came in a hiss:
　　"That's a damned lie!... I did it!"
Chapter 24 Anguish And Bliss
Joe Garson had shouted his confession without a second ofreflection. But the result must have been the same had he takenyears of thought. Between him and her as the victim of the law,there could be no hesitation for choice. Indeed, just now, hehad no heed to his own fate. The prime necessity was to saveher, Mary, from the toils of the law that were closing aroundher. For himself, in the days to come, there would be a ghastlydread, but there would never be regret over the cost of savingher. Perhaps, some other he might have let suffer in hisstead--not her! Even, had he been innocent, and she guilty of thecrime, he would still have taken the burden of it on his ownshoulders. He had saved her from the waters--he would save heruntil the end, as far as the power in him might lie. It was thusthat, with the primitive directness of his reverential love forthe girl, he counted no sacrifice too great in her behalf. JoeGarson was not a good man, at the world esteems goodness. On thecontrary, he was distinctly an evil one, a menace to the societyon which he preyed constantly. But his good qualities, if few,were of the strongest fiber, rooted in the deeps of him. Heloathed treachery. His one guiltiness in this respect had been,curiously enough, toward Mary herself, in the scheme of theburglary, which she had forbidden. But, in the last analysis,here his deceit had been designed to bring affluence to her. Itwas his abhorrence of treachery among pals that had driven him tothe murder of the stool-pigeon in a fit of ungovernable passion.
　　He might have stayed his hand then, but for the gusty rage thatswept him on to the crime. None the less, had he spared the man,his hatred of the betrayer would have been the same.... And theother virtue of Joe Garson was the complement of this--his ownloyalty, a loyalty that made him forget self utterly where heloved. The one woman who had ever filled his heart was Mary, andfor her his life were not too much to give.
　　The suddenness of it all held Mary voiceless for long seconds.
　　She was frozen with horror of the event.
　　When, at last, words came, they were a frantic prayer of protest.
　　"No, Joe! No! Don't talk--don't talk!"Burke, immensely gratified, went nimbly to his chair, and thencesurveyed the agitated group with grisly pleasure.
　　"Joe has talked," he said, significantly.
　　Mary, shaken as she was by the fact of Garson's confession,nevertheless retained her presence of mind sufficiently to resistwith all her strength.
　　"He did it to protect me," she stated, earnestly.
　　The Inspector disdained such futile argument. As the doormanappeared in answer to the buzzer, he directed that thestenographer be summoned at once.
　　"We'll have the confession in due form," he remarked, gazingpleasedly on the three before him.
　　"He's not going to confess," Mary insisted, with spirit.
　　But Burke was not in the least impressed. He disregarded hercompletely, and spoke mechanically to Garson the formal warningrequired by the law.
　　"You are hereby cautioned that anything you say may be usedagainst you." Then, as the stenographer entered, he went on withlively interest. "Now, Joe!"Yet once again, Mary protested, a little wildly.
　　"Don't speak, Joe! Don't say a word till we can get a lawyer foryou!"The man met her pleading eyes steadily, and shook his head inrefusal.
　　"It's no use, my girl," Burke broke in, harshly. "I told you I'dget you. I'm going to try you and Garson, and the whole gang formurder--yes, every one of you.... And you, Gilder," he continued,lowering on the young man who had defied him so obstinately,"you'll go to the House of Detention as a material witness." Heturned his gaze to Garson again, and spoke authoritatively: "Comeon now, Joe!"Garson went a step toward the desk, and spoke decisively.
　　"If I come through, you'll let her go--and him?" he added as anafterthought, with a nod toward Dick Gilder.
　　"Oh, Joe, don't!" Mary cried, bitterly. "We'll spend everydollar we can raise to save you!""Now, it's no use," the Inspector complained. "You're onlywasting time. He's said that he did it. That's all there is toit. Now that we're sure he's our man, he hasn't got a chance inthe world.""Well, how about it?" Garson demanded, savagely. "Do they goclear, if I come through?""We'll get the best lawyers in the country," Mary persisted,desperately. "We'll save you, Joe--we'll save you!"Garson regarded the distraught girl with wistful eyes. But therewas no trace of yielding in his voice as he replied, though hespoke very sorrowfully.
　　"No, you can't help me," he said, simply. "My time has come,Mary.... And I can save you a lot of trouble.""He's right there," Burke ejaculated. "We've got him cold. So,what's the use of dragging you two into it?""Then, they go clear?" Garson exclaimed, eagerly. "They ain'teven to be called as witnesses?"Burke nodded assent.
　　"You're on!" he agreed.
　　"Then, here goes!" Garson cried; and he looked expectantly towardthe stenographer.
　　The strain of it all was sapping the will of the girl, who sawthe man she so greatly esteemed for his service to her and hisdevotion about to condemn himself to death. She grewhalf-hysterical. Her words came confusedly:
　　"No, Joe! No, no, no!"Again, Garson shook his head in absolute refusal of her plea.
　　"There's no other way out," he declared, wearily. "I'm goingthrough with it." He straightened a little, and again looked atthe stenographer. His voice came quietly, without anytremulousnesss.
　　"My name is Joe Garson.""Alias?" Burke suggested.
　　"Alias nothing!" came the sharp retort. "Garson's my monaker. Ishot English Eddie, because he was a skunk, and a stool-pigeon,and he got just what was coming to him." Vituperation beyond themere words beat in his voice now.
　　Burke twisted uneasily in his chair.
　　"Now, now!" he objected, severely. "We can't take a confessionlike that."Garson shook his head--spoke with fiercer hatred. "because he wasa skunk, and a stool-pigeon," he repeated. "Have you got it?"And then, as the stenographer nodded assent, he went on, lessviolently: "I croaked him just as he was going to call the bullswith a police-whistle. I used a gun with smokeless powder. Ithad a Maxim silencer on it, so that it didn't make any noise."Garson paused, and the set despair of his features lightened alittle. Into his voice came a tone of exultation indescribablyghastly. It was born of the eternal egotism of the criminal,fattening vanity in gloating over his ingenuity for evil.
　　Garson, despite his two great virtues, had the vices of hisclass. Now, he stared at Burke with a quizzical grin crookinghis lips.
　　"Say," he exclaimed, "I'll bet it's the first time a guy was evercroaked with one of them things! Ain't it?"The Inspector nodded affirmation. There was sincere admirationin his expression, for he was ready at all times to respect thepersonal abilities of the criminals against whom he wagedrelentless war.
　　"That's right, Joe!" he said, with perceptible enthusiasm.
　　"Some class to that, eh?" Garson demanded, still with thatgruesome air of boasting. "I got the gun, and the Maxim-silencerthing, off a fence in Boston," he explained. "Say, that thingcost me sixty dollars, and it's worth every cent of the money....
　　Why, they'll remember me as the first to spring one of themthings, won't they?""They sure will, Joe!" the Inspector conceded.
　　"Nobody knew I had it," Garson continued, dropping his braggartmanner abruptly.
　　At the words, Mary started, and her lips moved as if she wereabout to speak.
　　Garson, intent on her always, though he seemed to look only atBurke, observed the effect on her, and repeated his wordsswiftly, with a warning emphasis that gave the girl pause.
　　"Nobody knew I had it--nobody in the world!" he declared. "Andnobody had anything to do with the killing but me."Burke put a question that was troubling him much, concerning themotive that lay behind the shooting of Griggs.
　　"Was there any bad feeling between you and Eddie Griggs?"Garson's reply was explicit.
　　"Never till that very minute. Then, I learned the truth aboutwhat he'd framed up with you." The speaker's voice reverted toits former fierceness in recollection of the treachery of onewhom he had trusted.
　　"He was a stool-pigeon, and I hated his guts! That's all," heconcluded, with brutal candor.
　　The Inspector moved restlessly in his chair. He had onlydetestation for the slain man, yet there was something morbidlydistasteful in the thought that he himself had contrived thesituation which had resulted in the murder of his confederate.
　　It was only by an effort that he shook off the vague feeling ofguilt.
　　"Nothing else to say?" he inquired.
　　Garson reflected for a few seconds, then made a gesture ofnegation.
　　"Nothing else," he declared. "I croaked him, and I'm glad I doneit. He was a skunk. That's all, and it's enough. And it's alltrue, so help me God!"The Inspector nodded dismissal to the stenographer, with an airof relief.
　　"That's all, Williams," he said, heavily. "He'll sign it as soonas you've transcribed the notes."Then, as the stenographer left the room, Burke turned his gaze onthe woman, who stood there in a posture of complete dejection,her white, anguished face downcast. There was triumph in theInspector's voice as he addressed her, for his professional pridewas full-fed by this victory over his foes. But there was, too,an undertone of a feeling softer than pride, more generous,something akin to real commiseration for this unhappy girl whodrooped before him, suffering so poignantly in the knowledge ofthe fate that awaited the man who had saved her, who had lovedher so unselfishly"Young woman," Burke said briskly, "it's just like I told you.
　　You can't beat the law. Garson thought he could--and now----!"He broke off, with a wave of his hand toward the man who had justsentenced himself to death in the electric-chair.
　　"That's right," Garson agreed, with somber intensity. His eyeswere grown clouded again now, and his voice dragged leaden.
　　"That's right, Mary," he repeated dully, after a little pause.
　　"You can't beat the law!"There followed a period of silence, in which great emotions werevibrant from heart to heart. Garson was thinking of Mary, and,with the thought, into his misery crept a little comfort. Atleast, she would go free. That had been in the bargain withBurke. And there was the boy, too. His eyes shot a single swiftglance toward Dick Gilder, and his satisfaction increased as henoted the alert poise of the young man's body, the strainedexpression of the strong face, the gaze of absorbed yearning withwhich he regarded Mary. There could be no doubt concerning thedepth of the lad's love for the girl. Moreover, there were manlyqualities in him to work out all things needful for herprotection through life. Already, he had proved his devotion,and that abundantly, his unswerving fidelity to her, and theforce within him that made these worthy in some measure of her.
　　Garson felt no least pang of jealousy. Though he loved the womanwith the single love of his life, he had never, somehow, hopedaught for himself. There was even something almost of thepaternal in the purity of his love, as if, indeed, by the fact ofrestoring her to life he had taken on himself the responsibilityof a parent. He knew that the boy worshiped her, would do hisbest for her, that this best would suffice for her happiness intime. Garson, with the instinct of love, guessed that Mary hadin truth given her heart all unaware to the husband whom she hadfirst lured only for the lust of revenge. Garson nodded his headin a melancholy satisfaction. His life was done: hers was justbeginning, now.... But she would remember him --oh, yes, always!
　　Mary was loyal.
　　The man checked the trend of his thoughts by a mighty effort ofwill. He must not grow maudlin here. He spoke again to Mary,with a certain dignity.
　　"No, you can't beat the law!" He hesitated a little, then wenton, with a certain curious embarrassment. "And this same old lawsays a woman must stick to her man."The girl's eyes met his with passionate sorrow in their mistydeeps. Garson gave a significant glance toward Dick Gilder, thenhis gaze returned to her. There was a smoldering despair in thatlook. There were, as well, an entreaty and a command.
　　"So," he went on, "you must go along with him, Mary.. . .
　　Won't you? It's the best thing to do."The girl could not answer. There was a clutch on her throat justthen, which would not relax at the call of her will.
　　The tension of a moment grew, became pervasive. Burke, accustomedas he was to scenes of dramatic violence, now experienced analtogether unfamiliar thrill. As for Garson, once again the surgeof feeling threatened to overwhelm his self-control. He must notbreak down! For Mary's sake, he must show himself stoical, quiteundisturbed in this supreme hour.
　　Of a sudden, an inspiration came to him, a means to snap thetension, to create a diversion wholly efficacious. He would turnto his boasting again, would call upon his vanity, which he knewwell as his chief foible, and make it serve as the foil againsthis love. He strove manfully to throw off the softer mood. In ameasure, at least, he won the fight--though always, under therush of this vaunting, there throbbed the anguish of his heart.
　　"You want to cut out worrying about me," he counseled, bravely.
　　"Why, I ain't worrying any, myself--not a little bit! You see,it's something new I've pulled off. Nobody ever put overanything like it before."He faced Burke with a grin of gloating again.
　　"I'll bet there'll be a lot of stuff in the newspapers aboutthis, and my picture, too, in most of 'em! What?"The man's manner imposed on Burke, though Mary felt the tormentthat his vainglorying was meant to mask.
　　"Say," Garson continued to the Inspector, "if the reporters wantany pictures of me, could I have some new ones taken? The oneyou've got of me in the Gallery is over ten years old. I'vetaken off my beard since then. Can I have a new one?" He putthe question with an eagerness that seemed all sincere.
　　Burke answered with a fine feeling of generosity.
　　"Sure, you can, Joe! I'll send you up to the Gallery right now.""Immense!" Garson cried, boisterously. He moved toward DickGilder, walking with a faint suggestion of swagger to cover thenervous tremor that had seized him.
　　"So long, young fellow!" he exclaimed, and held out his hand.
　　"You've been on the square, and I guess you always will be."Dick had no scruple in clasping that extended hand very warmly inhis own. He had no feeling of repulsion against this man who hadcommitted a murder in his presence. Though he did not quiteunderstand the other's heart, his instinct as a lover taught himmuch, so that he pitied profoundly--and respected, too.
　　"We'll do what we can for you," he said, simply.
　　"That's all right," Garson replied, with such carelessness ofmanner as he could contrive. Then, at last, he turned to Mary.
　　This parting must be bitter, and he braced himself with all thevigors of his will to combat the weakness that leaped from hissoul.
　　As he came near, the girl could hold herself in leash no longer.
　　She threw herself on his breast. Her arms wreathed about hisneck. Great sobs racked her.
　　"Oh, Joe, Joe!" The gasping cry was of utter despair.
　　Garson's trembling hand patted the girl's shoulder very softly, acaress of infinite tenderness.
　　"That's all right!" he murmured, huskily. "That's all right,Mary!" There was a short silence; and then he went on speaking,more firmly. "You know, he'll look after you."He would have said more, but he could not. It seemed to him thatthe sobs of the girl caught in his own throat. Yet, presently, hestrove once again, with every reserve of his strength; and,finally, he so far mastered himself that he could speak calmly.
　　The words were uttered with a subtle renunciation that was thisman's religion.
　　"Yes, he'll take care of you. Why, I'd like to see the two ofyou with about three kiddies playing round the house."He looked up over the girl's shoulder, and beckoned with his headto Dick, who came forward at the summons.
　　"Take good care of her, won't you?"He disengaged himself gently from the girl's embrace, and set herwithin the arms of her husband, where she rested quietly, as ifunable to fight longer against fate's decree.
　　"Well, so long!"He dared not utter another word, but turned blindly, and went,stumbling a little, toward the doorman, who had appeared inanswer to the Inspector's call.
　　"To the Gallery," Burke ordered, curtly.
　　Garson went on without ever a glance back.... His strength was atan end.
　　* * * * *There was a long silence in the room after Garson's passing. Itwas broken, at last, by the Inspector, who got up from his chair,and advanced toward the husband and wife. In his hand, hecarried a sheet of paper, roughly scrawled. As he stopped beforethe two, and cleared his throat, Mary withdrew herself fromDick's arms, and regarded the official with brooding eyes fromout her white face. Something strange in her enemy's expressioncaught her attention, something that set new hopes alive withinher in a fashion wholly inexplicable, so that she waited with asudden, breathless eagerness.
　　Burke extended the sheet of paper to the husband.
　　"There's a document," he said gruffly. "It's a letter from oneHelen Morris, in which she sets forth the interesting fact thatshe pulled off a theft in the Emporium, for which your Mrs.
　　Gilder here did time. You know, your father got your Mrs. Gildersent up for three years for that same job--which she didn't do!
　　That's why she had such a grudge against your father, and againstthe law, too!"Burke chuckled, as the young man took the paper, wonderingly.
　　"I don't know that I blame her much for that grudge, when all'ssaid and done.... You give that document to your father. It setsher right. He's a just man according to his lights, your father.
　　He'll do all he can to make things right for her, now he knows."Once again, the Inspector paused to chuckle.
　　"I guess she'll keep within the law from now on," he continued,contentedly, "without getting a lawyer to tell her how.... Now,you two listen. I've got to go out a minute. When I get back, Idon't want to find anybody here--not anybody! Do you get me?"He strode from the room, fearful lest further delay might involvehim in sentimental thanksgivings from one or the other, orboth--and Burke hated sentiment as something distinctlyunprofessional.
　　* * * * *When the official was gone, the two stood staring mutely each atthe other through long seconds. What she read in the man's eyesset the woman's heart to beating with a new delight. A bloom ofexquisite rose grew in the pallor of her cheeks. The misty lightin the violet eyes shone more radiant, yet more softly. Thecrimson lips curved to strange tenderness.... What he read in hereyes set the husband's pulses to bounding. He opened his arms inan appeal that was a command. Mary went forward slowly, withouthesitation, in a bliss that forgot every sorrow for that blessedmoment, and cast herself on his breast.
The End