CHAPTER XXVII

On the sidewalk Larry glanced swiftly around him. Half a block down the

street on the front of a drug-store was a blue telephone flag. A minute

later he was inside a telephone booth in the drug-store, asking first

for the Hotel Grantham, and then asking the Grantham operator to be

connected with Miss Maggie Cameron.

There was a long wait. While he listened for Maggie's voice he blazed

with terrible fury against Barney Paler. For Maggie to be connected with

a straight crook, that idea had been bad enough. But for her to be under

the influence of the worst crook of all, a stool, a cunning traitor to

his own friends--that was more than could possibly be stood! In his rage

in Maggie's behalf he forgot for the moment the many evils Barney had

done to himself. He thought of wild, incoherent, vaguely tremendous

plans. First he would get Maggie away from Barney and Old

Jimmie--somehow. Then he would square accounts with those two--again by

an undefined somehow.

Presently the tired, impersonal voice of the Grantham operator remarked

against his ear-drum: “Miss Cameron don't answer.”

“Have her paged, please,” he requested.

Larry, of course, could not know that his telephone call was the very

one which had rung in Maggie's room while Barney and Old Jimmie

were with her, and which Barney had harshly forbidden her to answer.

Therefore he could not know that any attempt to get Maggie by telephone

just then was futile.

When he came out of the booth, the impersonal voice having informed

him that Miss Cameron was not in, it was with the intention of calling

Maggie up between eight and nine when she probably would have returned

from dinner where he judged her now to be. He knew that Dick Sherwood

had no engagement with her, for Dick was to be out at Cedar Crest that

evening, so he judged it almost certain Maggie would be at home and

alone later on.

Having nothing else to do for an hour and a half, he thought of a note

he had received from the Duchess in that morning's mail asking him to

come down to see her when he was next in town. Thirty minutes later he

was in the familiar room behind the pawnshop. The Duchess asked him

if he had eaten, and on his reply that he had not and did not care

to, instead of proceeding to the business of her letter she mumbled

something and went into the pawnshop.

She left Larry for the very simple reason that now that she had him

here she was uncertain what she should say, and how far she should go.

Unknown to either, one thread of the drama of Larry and Maggie was being

spun in the brain and heart of the Duchess; and being spun with pain

to her, and in very great doubt. True, she had definitely decided, for

Larry's welfare, that the facts about Maggie's parentage should never be

known from her--and since the only other person who could tell the truth

was Jimmie Carlisle, and his interests were all apparently in favor of

silence, then it followed that the truth would never be known from any

one. But having so decided, and decided definitely and finally, the

Duchess had proceeded to wonder if she had decided wisely.

Day and night this had been the main subject of her thought. Could she

be wrong in her estimate of Maggie's character, and what she might turn

out to be? Could she be wrong in her belief that, given enough time,

Larry would outgrow his infatuation for Maggie? And since she was in

such doubt about these two points, had she any right, and was it for the

best, to suppress a fact that might so gravely influence both matters?

She did not know. What she wanted was whatever was best for Larry--and

so in her doubt she had determined to talk again to Larry, hoping that

the interview might in some way replace her uncertainty with stability

of purpose.

Presently she returned to the inner room, and in her direct way

and using the fewest possible words, which had created for her her

reputation of a woman who never spoke and who was packed with strange

secrets, she asked Larry what he had done concerning Maggie. He told

her of the plan he had evolved, of Maggie's visit to Cedar Crest, of

his ignorance of Maggie's reactions. To all this his grandmother made

response neither by word nor by change of expression. He then went on to

tell her of what he had just learned from Casey of Barney's maneuvering

his misfortunes.

The old head nodded. “Yes, Barney's just that sort,” she said in her

flat monotone.

And then she came to the purpose of her sending for him. “How do you

feel about Maggie now?”

“The same as before.”

“You love her?”

“Yes--and always will,” he said firmly.

She was silent once more. Then, “What are you going to do next?”

“Break things up between her and Barney and her father. Get her away

from them.”

She asked no further questions. Larry was as settled as a man could

be. But was Maggie worth while?--that was the great question still

unanswered.

“Just what did you want me for, grandmother?” he asked her finally.

“Something which I thought might have developed, but which hasn't.”

And so she let him go away without telling him. And wishing to shape

things for the best for him, she was troubled by the same doubts as

before.

His visit with his grandmother had had no meaning to Larry, since he

had no guess of the struggle going on within that ancient, inscrutable

figure. The visit had for him merely served to fill in a nervous,

useless hour. His rage against Barney had all the while possessed him

too thoroughly for him to give more than the mere surface of his mind

to what had passed between his grandmother and himself. And when he had

left her, his rage at Barney's treachery and his impetuous desire to

snatch Maggie away from her present influences, so stormed within him

that his usually cautious judgment was blown away and recklessness swept

like a gale into control of him.

When he called up the Grantham a second time, at nine o'clock, Maggie's

voice came to him:

“Hello. Who this, please?”

“Mr. Brandon.”

He heard a stilted “Oh!” at the other end of the line “I'm coming right

up to see you,” he said.

“I--I don't think you--”

“I'll be there in then minutes,” Larry interrupted the startled voice

and hung up.

He counted that Maggie, after his sparing her at Cedar Crest, would

receive him and treat him at least no worse than an enemy with whom

there was a half hour's truce. Sure enough, when he rang the bell of her

suite, Maggie herself admitted him to her sitting-room. She was taut and

pale, her look neither friendly nor unfriendly.

“Don't you know the risk you're running,” she whispered when the door

was closed--“coming here like this, in the open?”

“The time has come for risks, Maggie,” he announced.

“But you were safe enough where you were. Why take such risks?”

“For your sake.”

“My sake?”

“To take you away from these people you're tied up with. Take you away

now.”

At an earlier time this would have been a fuse to a detonation of

defiance from her. But now she said nothing at all, and that was

something.

“Since I've come out into the open, everything's going to be in the

open. Listen, Maggie!” The impulse had suddenly come upon him, since

his plan to awaken Maggie by her psychological reactions had apparently

failed, to tell her everything. “Listen, Maggie! I'm going to lay all

my cards on the table, and show you every card I've played. You were

invited to come out to Cedar Crest because I schemed to have you come.

And the reason I schemed to have you invited was, I reasoned that being

received in such a frank, generous, unsuspecting way, by a woman like

Miss Sherwood, would make you sick of what you were doing and you would

drop it of your own accord. But it seems I reasoned wrong.”

“So--you were behind that!” she breathed.

“I was. Though I couldn't have done it if Dick Sherwood hadn't been

honestly infatuated with you. But now I'm through with working under

cover, through with indirect methods. From now on every play's in the

open, and it's straight to the point with everything. So get ready. I'm

going to take you away from Barney and Old Jimmie.”

The mention of these two names had a swift and magical effect upon her.

But instead of arousing belligerency, they aroused an almost frantic

agitation.

“You must leave at once, Larry. Barney and my father were here before

dinner, and they've just telephoned they were coming back!”

“Coming back! That's the best argument you could make for my staying!”

“But, Larry--they both have keys, and Barney always carries a gun!”

“I stay here, unless you leave with me. Listen to some more, Maggie. I

laid all the cards on the table. Do you know the kind of people you're

tied up with? I'll not say anything about your father, for I guess you

know all there is to know. But Barney Palmer! He's the lowest kind of

crook that breathes. There's been a lot of talk about squealers and

police stools. Well, the big squealer, the big stool, is Barney Palmer!”

“I don't believe it!” she cried involuntarily.

“It's true! I've got it straight. Barney wanted to smash me, because I'd

made up my mind to quit the old game and because he wanted to get me

out of his way with you. So he framed it up so that I appeared to be a

squealer, and started the gangmen after me. And he put Barlow up to the

idea of forcing me to be a stool, and then framing me when I refused.

It was Barney who fixed things so I had to go to jail, or be shot up,

or run away. It was Barney Palmer who squealed on Red Hannigan and Jack

Rosenfeldt, and who's been squealing on his other pals. And that's the

sort you're stringing along with!”

She gazed at him in appalled half conviction. He remained silent to let

his truth sink in.

They were standing so, face to face, when a key grated in the outer door

of the little hallway as on the occasion of Larry's first visit here.

And as on that occasion, Maggie sprang swiftly forward and shot home the

bolt of the inner door. Then she turned and caught Larry's arm.

“It's Barney--I told you he was coming!” she whispered. “Oh, why didn't

you go before? Come on!”

She tried to drag him toward her bedroom door, through which she had

once helped him escape. But this time he was not to be moved.

“I stay right here,” he said to her.

There was the sound of a futile effort to turn the lock of the inner

door; then Barney's voice called out: “What's the matter, Maggie? Open

the door.”

Maggie, still clutching Larry's resisting arm, stood gasping in

wide-eyed consternation.

“Open the door for them, Maggie,” Larry whispered.

“I'll not do it!” she whispered back.

“Open it, or I will,” he ordered.

Their gazes held a moment longer while Barney rattled at the lock. Then

slowly, falteringly, her amazed eyes over her shoulder upon him, Maggie

crossed and unlocked the door. Barney entered, Old Jimmie just bend him.

“I say, Maggie, what was the big idea in keeping us--” he was beginning

in a grumbling tone, when he saw Larry just beyond her. His complaint

broke off in mid-breath; he stopped short and his dark face twitched

with his surprise.

“Larry Brainard!” he finally exclaimed. Old Jimmie, suddenly tense,

blinked and said nothing.

“Hello, Barney; hello, Jimmie,” Larry greeted his former allies, putting

on an air of geniality. “Been a long time since we three met. Don't

stand there in the door. Come right in.”

Barney was keen enough to see, though Larry's attitude was careless and

his tone light, that his eyes were bright and hard. Barney moved forward

a couple of paces, alert for anything, and Old Jimmie followed.

Maggie looked on at the three men, her girlish figure taut and hardly

breathing.

“Didn't know you were in New York,” said Barney.

“Well, here I am all right,” returned Larry with his menacing

cheerfulness.

By now Barney had recovered from his first surprise. He felt it time to

assert his supremacy.

“How do you come to be here with Maggie?” he demanded abruptly.

“Happened to catch sight of her on the street to-day. Trailed her here

to the Grantham, and to-night I just dropped in.”

Barney's tone grew more authoritative, more ugly. “We told you long ago

we were through with you. So why did you come here?”

“That's easy answered, Barney. The last time we were all together, you'd

come to take Maggie away. This is that same scene reproduced--only this

time I've come to take Maggie away.”

“What's that?” snapped Barney.

Larry's voice threw off its assumed geniality, and became drivingly

hard. “And to get Maggie to come, I've been telling her the kind of a

bird you are, Barney Palmer! Oh, I've got the straight dope on you! I've

been telling her how you framed me, and were able to frame me because

you are Chief Barlow's stool.”

Barney went as near white as it was possible for him to become, and his

mouth sagged. “What--what--” he stammered.

“I've been telling her that you are the one who really squealed on Red

Hannigan and Jack Rosenfeldt.”

“You're a damned liar!” Barney burst out, and instantly from beneath

his left arm he whipped an automatic which he thrust against Larry's

stomach. “Take that back, damn you, or I'll blow you straight to hell!”

“Barney!--Larry!” interjected Maggie in sickened fright.

“This is nothing to worry over, Maggie,” Larry said. He looked back at

Barney. “Oh, I knew you would flash a gun on me at some stage of the

game. But you're not going to shoot.”

“You'll see, if you don't take that back!”

Larry realized that his hot blood had driven him into an enterprise of

daring, in which only bluff and the playing of his highest cards could

help him through.

“You don't think I was such a fool as to walk into this place without

taking precautions,” he said contemptuously. “You won't shoot, Barney,

because since I knew I might meet you and you'd pull a gun, I had myself

searched by two friends just before I came up here. They'll testify I

was not armed. They know you, and know you so well that they'll be able

to identify the thing in your hand as your gun. So no matter what Maggie

and Jimmie may testify, the verdict will be cold-blooded murder and

the electric chair will be your finish. And that's why I know you won't

shoot. So you might as well put the gun away.”

Barney neither spoke nor moved.

“I've called your bluff, Barney,” Larry said sharply. “Put that gun

away, or I'll take it from you!”

Barney's glare wavered. The pistol sank from its position. With a

lightning-swift motion Larry wrenched it from Barney's hand.

“Guess I'd better have it, after all,” he said, slipping it into a

pocket. “Keep you out of temptation.”

And then in a subdued voice that was steely with menace: “I'm too busy

to attend to you now, Barney--but, by God, I'm going to square things

with you for the dirt you've done me, and I'm going to show you up for

a stool and a squealer!” He wheeled on Old Jimmie. “And the only reason

I'll be easy with you, Jimmie Carlisle, is because you are Maggie's

father--though you're the rottenest thing as a father God ever let

breathe!”

Old Jimmie shrank slightly before Larry's glower, and his little eyes

gleamed with the fear of a rat that is cornered. But he said nothing.

Larry turned his back upon the two men. “We're through with this bunch,

Maggie. Put on a hat and a wrap, and let's go. We can send for your

things.”

“No you don't, Maggie,” snarled Barney, before Maggie could speak.

Old Jimmie made his first positive motion since entering the room. He

shifted quickly to Maggie's side and seized her arm.

“You're my daughter, and you stay with me!” he ordered. “I brought

you up, and you do exactly what I tell you to! You're not going with

Larry--he's lying about Barney. You stay with me!”

“Come on, let's go, Maggie,” repeated Larry.

“You stay with me!” repeated Jimmie.

Thus ordered and appealed to, Maggie was areel with contradicting

thoughts and impulses while the three men awaited her action. In fact

she had no clear thought at all. She never knew later what determined

her course at this bewildered moment: perhaps it was partly a

continuance of her doubt of Larry, perhaps partly once more sheer

momentum, perhaps her instinctive feeling that her place was with the

man she believed to be her father.

“Yes, I'll stay with you,” she said to Old Jimmie.

“That's the signal for you to be on your way, Larry Brainard!” Barney

snapped at him triumphantly.

Larry realized, all of a sudden, that his coming here was no more than

a splendid gesture to which his anger had excited him. Indeed there was

nothing for him but to be on his way.

“I've told you the truth, Maggie; and you'll be sorry that you have not

left--if not sorry soon, then sorry a little later.”

He turned to Barney with a last shot; he could not leave the gloating

Barney Palmer his unalloyed triumph. “I told you I had the straight dope

on you, Barney. Here's some more of it. I know exactly what your game

is, and I know exactly who your sucker is. We'll see if you put it

over--you squealer! Good-night, all.”

With that Larry walked out. Old Jimmie regarded his partner with

suspicion.

“How about that, Barney--you being a stool and a squealer?” he demanded.

“I tell you it's all a lie--a damned lie!” cried Barney with feverish

emphasis.

“I hope it is!” breathed Old Jimmie.

This was a subject Barney wanted to get away from. “Maggie,” he

demanded, “is what Larry Brainard said about how he came here the

truth?--his seeing you on the street and then following you here?”

“How do I know where he first saw me?”

“But is to-night the first time you've seen him?”

“It is.”

“Sure you haven't been seeing him?” demanded Barney's quick jealousy.

“I have not.”

“Did he tell you where he came from?--where he hangs out?”

“No.”

Old Jimmie interrupted this cross-examination.

“You're wasting good time asking these questions. Barney, do you realize

the cold fact that it's not a good thing for you, nor for us, for Larry

Brainard to be back in New York, floating around as he pleases?”

“I should say not!” Barney saw he was facing a sudden crisis, and in the

need for quick action he spoke without thought of Maggie. “We've got to

look after him at once!”

“Tell the bunch he's back, and let them take care of him?” suggested Old

Jimmie.

Barney considered rapidly. If Larry knew of his arrangement with the

police, then perhaps his secret was beginning to leak through to others.

He decided that for the present it would be wiser to keep from these old

friends and allies.

“Not the bunch--the police!” he said inspiredly. “They're after him,

anyhow, and are sore. All we've got to do is slip them word--they'll do

the rest!” And then with the sharper emphasis of an immediate plan: “We

don't want to lose a minute. I know where Gavegan hangs out at this time

of night. Come on!”

With a bare “Good-night” to Maggie the two men hurried forth on their

pressing mission. Left to herself, Maggie sank into a chair and wildly

considered the many elements of this new situation. Presently two

thoughts emerged to dominance: Whether Larry was right or wrong, he had

risked coming out of his safety for her sake--perhaps had risked all he

had won for her sake. And now the police were to be set after him, with

that Gavegan heading the pack.

Perhaps the further thinking Maggie did did not result in cool, mature

wisdom--for her thoughts were the operations of a panicky mind. Somehow

she had to get warning to Larry of this imminent police hunt! Without

doubt Larry would return to Cedar Crest sometime that night. Word should

be sent to him there. A letter was too uncertain in such a crisis.

Of course she had an invitation to go to Cedar Crest the following

afternoon, and she might warn him then--but that might be too late.

She dared not telephone or telegraph--for that might somehow direct

dangerous attention to the exact spot where Larry was hidden. Also she

had an instinct, operating unconsciously long before she had any thought

of what she was eventually to do, not to let Barney or Old Jimmie find

out, or even guess, that she had warned Larry--not yet.

There seemed nothing that she herself could do. Then she thought of the

Duchess. That was the way out! The Duchess would know some way in which

to get Larry word.

Five minutes later, in her plainest suit and hat, Maggie in a taxicab

was rolling down toward the Duchess's--from where, only a few months

back, she had started forth upon her great career.