II
Susannah Ayer dragged herself out of her sleepless night and started toget up. But halfway through her first rising motion, something seemed toleave her--to leave her spirit rather than her body. She collapsed in adroop-shouldered huddle onto the bed. Her red hair had come out of itsthick braids; it streamed forward over her white face; streaked hernightgown with glowing strands. She pushed it out of her eyes and satfor a long interval with her face in her hands. Finally she rose andwent to the dresser. Haggardly she stared into the glass at herreflection, and haggardly her reflection stared back at her. "I don'twonder you look different, Glorious Susie," she addressed herselfwordlessly, "because you _are_ different. I wonder if you can ever washaway that experience--"
She poured water into the basin until it almost brimmed; and dropped herface into it. After her sponge bath, she contemplated herself again inthe glass. Some color had crept into the pearly whiteness of her cheek.Her dark-fringed eyes seemed a little less shadow-encircled. She turnedtheir turquoise glance to the picture of a woman--a miniature painted onivory--which hung beside the dresser.
"Glorious Lutie," she apostrophized it, "you don't know how I wish youwere here. You don't know how much I need you now. I need you so much,Glorious Lutie--I'm frightened!"
The miniature, after the impersonal manner of pictures, made no responseto this call for help. Susannah sighed deeply. And for a moment shestood a figure almost tragic, her eyes darkening as she looked intospace, her young mouth setting its soft scarlet into hard lines. Inanother moment she pulled herself out of this daze and continued herdressing.
An hour and a half later, when, cool and lithe in her blue linen suit,she entered the uptown skyscraper which housed the Carbonado MiningCompany, her spirits took a sudden leap. After all, here _was_ help. Itwas not the help she most desired and needed--the confidence and adviceof another woman--but at least she would get instant sympathy, ultimateunderstanding.
Anyone, however depressed his mood, must have felt his spirits rise ashe stepped into the Admolian Building. It was so new that itsterra-cotta walls without, its white-enameled tiling within, seemedalways to have been freshly scrubbed and dusted. It was so high that,with a first acrobatic impulse, it leaped twenty stories above ground;and with a second, soared into a tower which touched the clouds. Thathad not exhausted its strength. It dug in below ground, and there spreadout into rooms, eternally electric-lighted. From the eleventh story up,its wide windows surveyed every purlieu of Manhattan. Its spaciouselevators seemed magically to defy gravitation. A touch started theirswift flight heavenward; a touch started their soft drop earthward.Every floor housed offices where fortunes were being made--and lost--atany rate, changing hands. There was an element of buoyancy in the air,an atmosphere of success. People moved more quickly, talked morebriskly, from the moment they entered the Admolian Building. As always,it raised the spirits of Susannah Ayer. The set look vanished from hereyes; some of their normal brilliancy flowed back into them. Her mouthrelaxed-- When the elevator came to a padded halt at the eighteenthfloor, she had become almost herself again.
She stopped before the first in a series of offices. Black-printedletters on the ground glass of the door read:
46 Carbonado Mining Company Private. Enter No. 47
An accommodating hand pointed in the direction of No. 47. Susannahunlocked the door and with a little sigh, as of relief, stepped in.
Other offices stretched along the line of the corridor, bearing theinscriptions, respectively, "No. 48, H. Withington Warner, President andGeneral Manager; No. 49, Joseph Byan, Vice-President; No. 50, MichaelO'Hearn, Secretary and Treasurer." Ultimately, Susannah's own door wouldflaunt the proud motto, "No. 51, Susannah Ayer, Manager Women'sDepartment."
Susannah threaded the inner corridor to her own office. She hung up herhat and jacket; opened her mail; ran through it. Then she lifted thecover from her typewriter and began mechanically to brush and oil it.Her mind was not on her work; it had not been on the letters. It keptspeeding back to last night. She did not want to think of last nightagain--at least not until she must. She pulled her thoughts into hercontrol; made them flow back over the past months. And as they sped inthose pleasant channels, involuntarily her mood went with them. Had anygirl ever been so fortunate, she wondered. She put it to herself insimple declaratives--
Here she was, all alone in New York and in New York for the first time,settled--interestingly and pleasantly settled. Eight months before, shehad stepped out of business college without a hundred dollars in theworld; her course in stenography, typewriting, and secretarial work hadtaken the last of her inherited funds. Without kith or kin, she was aworking-woman, now, on her own responsibility. Two months ofapprenticeship, one stenographer among fifty, in the great offices ofthe Maxwell Mills, and Barty Joyce, almost the sole remaining friend whoremembered the past glories of her family, had advised her to try NewYork.
"Susannah," he said, "now is the time to strike--now while the men areaway and while the girls are still on war jobs. Get yourself entrenchedbefore they come back. You've the makings of a wonderful office helper."
Susannah, with a glorious sense of adventure once she was started, tookhis advice and moved to New York. For a week, she answeredadvertisements, visited offices; and she found that Barty was right. Shehad the refusal of half a dozen jobs. From them she selected the offerof the Carbonado Mining Company--partly because she liked Mr. Warner,and partly because it seemed to offer the best future. Mr. Warner saidto her in their first interview:
"We are looking for a clever woman whom we can specially train in themethods of our somewhat peculiar business. If you qualify, we shalladvance you to a superior position."
That "superior position" had fallen into her hand like a ripe peach.Within a week, Mr. Warner had called her into the private office for along business talk.
"Miss Ayer," he said, "you seem to be making good. I am going to tellyou frankly that if you continue to meet our requirements, we shallcontinue to advance you and pay you accordingly. You see, ourbusiness--" Mr. Warner's voice always swelled a little when he said "ourbusiness"--"our business involves a great deal of letter-writing towomen investors and some personal interviews. Now we believe--both Mr.Byan and I--that women investing money like to deal with one of theirown sex. We have been looking for just the right woman. A candidate forthe position must have tact, understanding, and clearness of writtenexpression. We have been trying to find such a woman; and frankly, thesearch has been difficult. You know how war work--quite rightly, ofcourse--has monopolized the able women of the country. We have tried outhalf a dozen girls; but the less said about them the better. For twoweeks we will let you try your hand at correspondence with womeninvestors. If your work is satisfactory, it means a permanent job attwice your present salary."
Her work had pleased them! It had pleased them instantly. But oh, howshe had worked to please them and to continue to please! Every lettershe sent out--and after explaining the Carbonado Company and itsattractions, Mr. Warner let her compose all the letters to women--was astudy in condensed and graceful expression. At the end of the fortnightMr. Warner engaged her permanently. He went even further. He said:
"Miss Ayer, we're going to make you manager of our women's department;and we're going to put your name with ours on the letterhead of the newoffice stationery." When the day came that she first signed herself"Susannah Ayer, Manager Women's Department," she felt as though all thefairy tales she ever read had come true.
Susannah, as she was assured again and again, continued to givesatisfaction. No wonder; for she liked her job. The work interested herso much that she always longed to get to the office in the morning,almost hated to leave it at night. It was a pleasant office, bright andspacious. Everything was new, even to the capacious waste basket. Herbig, shiny mahogany desk stood close to the window. And from that windowshe surveyed the colorful, brick-and-stone West Side of Manhattan, theHud
son, and the city-spotted, town-dotted stretches beyond. The cloudshung close; sometimes their white and silver argosies seemed to besiegeher. Once, she almost thought the new moon would bounce through herwindow. Snow noiselessly, winds tumultuously, assailed her; but she satas impervious as though in an enchanted tower. Gray days made only asuaver magic, thunderstorms a madder enchantment, about her eyrie.
The human surroundings were just as pleasant. Though the CarbonadoCompany worked only with selected clients, though they transacted mostof their business by mail, there were many visitors--some customers;others, apparently, merely friends of Mr. Warner, Mr. Byan, and Mr.O'Hearn--who dropped in of afternoons to chat a while. Pleasant, jollymen most of these. Snatches of their talk, usually enigmatic, floated toher across the tops of the partitions; it gave the office an excitingatmosphere of something doing. And then--it happened that Susannah's wayof life had brought her into contact with but few men--everything was so_manny_.
She stood a little in awe of H. Withington Warner, president and generalmanager. Mr. Warner was middle-aged and iron-gray. That last adjectiveperfectly described him--iron-gray. Everything about him was gray; hisstraight, thick hair; his clear, incisive eyes; even his colorless skin.And his personality had a quality of iron. There was about him afascinating element of duality. Sometimes he seemed to Susannah a littlelike a clergyman. And sometimes he made her think of an actor. Thishistrionic aspect, she decided, was due to his hair, a bit long; to hisfeatures, floridly classic; to his manner, frequently courtly; to hisvoice, occasionally oratorical. This, however, showed only in hislighter moments. Much of the time, of course, he was merely brisk andbusinesslike. Whatever his tone, it carried you along. To Susannah, hewas always charming.
If she stood a little in awe of H. Withington Warner, she made up byfeeling on terms of the utmost equality with Michael O'Hearn, secretaryand treasurer of the Carbonado Mining Company. Mr. O'Hearn--the otherscalled him "Mike"--was a little Irishman. He had a short stumpy figureand a short stumpy face. Moreover, he looked as though someone haddelivered him a denting blow in the middle of his profile. From thisindentation jutted in one direction his long, protuberant, roundedforehead; peaked in another his upturned nose. The rest of him was sandyhair and sandy complexion, and an agreeable pair of long-lashed Irisheyes. He was the wit of the office, keeping everyone in constant goodtemper. Susannah felt very friendly toward Mr. O'Hearn. This wasstrange, because he rarely spoke to her. But somehow, for all that, hehad the gift of seeming friendly. Susannah trusted him as she trustedMr. Warner, though in a different way.
In regard to Joseph Byan, the third member of the combination, Susannahhad her unformulated reservations. Perhaps it was because Byan reallyinterested her more than the other two. Byan was little and slender;perfectly formed and rather fine-featured; swift as a cat in his dartingmovements. In his blue eyes shone a look of vague pathos and on his lipsfloated--Susannah decided that this was the only way to express it--avague, a rather sweet smile. Susannah's job had not at first brought heras much into contact with Mr. Byan as with Mr. Warner. His work, shelearned, lay mostly outside of the office. But once, during her thirdweek, he had come into her office and dictated a letter; had lingered,when he had finished with the business in hand, for a little talk. Theconversation, in some curious turn, veered to the subject of firearms.He was speaking of the various patterns of revolvers. He stood beforeher, a slim, perfectly proportioned figure whose clothes, of an almostfeminine nicety and cut, seemed to follow every line of the bodybeneath. Suddenly, one of his slight hands made a swift gesture. Thereappeared--from where, she could not guess--a little, ugly-looking blackrevolver. With it, he illustrated his point. Since, he had never passedthrough the office without Susannah's glance playing over him like aflame. Nowhere along the smooth lines of his figure could she catch thebulge of that little toy of death. Despite his suave gentleness, therewas a believable quality about Byan; his personality carried conviction,just as did that of the others. Susannah trusted him, too; but again ina different way.
On the very day when Mr. Byan showed her the revolver, she was passingthe open door of Mr. Warner's office; and she heard the full, roundvoice of the Chief saying:
"Remember, Joe, rule number one: no clients or employ--" Byan hastilyclosed the door on the tail of that sentence. Sometimes she wondered howit ended.
A cog in the machine, Susannah had never fully understood the business.That was not really necessary; Mr. Warner himself kept her informed onwhat she needed to know. He explained in the beginning the gloriousopportunity for investors. From time to time, he added new details, asfor example the glowing reports of their chief engineer or their specialexpert. Susannah knew that they were paying three per cent dividends amonth--and in April there was a special dividend of two per cent.Besides, they were about to break into a "mother lode"--the reports oftheir experts proved that--and when that happened, no one could telljust how high the dividends might be. True, these dividend payments wereoften made a little irregularly. One of the things which Susannah didnot understand, did not try to understand, was why a certain list ofpreferred stockholders was now and then given an extra dividend; nor whyat times Mr. Warner would transfer a name from one list to another.
"I'm thinking of saving my money and investing myself in Carbonadostock!" said Susannah to Mr. Warner one day.
"Don't," said Mr. Warner; and then with a touch of his clerical manner:"We prefer to keep our office force and our investors entirely separatefactors for the present. We are trying to avoid the reproach of lettingour people in on the ground floor. When our ship comes in--when we openthe mother lode--you shall be taken care of!"
So, for six months, everything went perfectly. Susannah had absorbedherself completely in her job. This was an easy thing to do when thebusiness was so fascinating. She had gone for five months at this pacewhen she realized that she had not taken the leisure to make friends.Except the three partners--mere shadows to her--and the people at herboarding-house--also mere shadows to her--she knew only Eloise. Not thatthe friendship of Eloise was a thing to pass over lightly. Eloise was ahost in herself.
They had met at the Dorothy Dorr, a semi-charitable home for youngbusiness women, at which Susannah stayed during her first week in NewYork. Eloise was an heiress, of that species known to the newspapers asa "society girl." Pretty, piquant, gay, extravagant, she dabbled inpicturesque charities, and the Dorothy Dorr was her pet. Sometimes inthe summer, when she ran up to town, she even lodged there. By naturalaffinity, she had picked Susannah out of the crowd. By the time Susannahwas established in her new job and had moved to a boarding-house, theyhad become friends. But the friendship of Eloise could not be verysatisfactory. She was too busy; and, indeed, too often out of town. Fromher social fastnesses, she made sudden, dashing forays on Susannah; tookher to luncheon, dinner, or the theater; then she would retreat to upperFifth Avenue, and Susannah would not see her for a fortnight or a month.
Then, that terrible, perplexing yesterday. If she could only expungeyesterday from her life--or at least from her memory!
Of course, there were events leading up to yesterday. Chief among themwas the appearance in the office, some weeks before, of Mr. OziasCowler, from Iowa. Mr. Cowler, Susannah gathered from the manner of theoffice, was a customer of importance. He was middle-aged. No, why mincematters--he was an old man who looked middle-aged. He was old, becausehis hair had gone quite white, and his face had fallen into areas brokenby wrinkles. But he appeared to the first glance middle-aged, becausethe skin of those areas was ruddy and warm; because his eyes were asclear and blue as in youth. He looked--well, Susannah decided that helooked _fatherly_. He was quiet in his step and quiet in his manner.Though he appeared to her in the light of a customer rather than that ofan acquaintance, Susannah was inclined to like him, as she likedeveryone and everything about the Carbonado offices.
Susannah gathered in time that Mr. Cowler had a great deal of money, andthat he had come to New York to invest it. Of course the Carbona
doMining Company--and this included Susannah herself--saw the best ofreasons why it should be invested with them. But evidently, he was ahard, cautious customer. He came again and again. He sat closeted forlong intervals with Mr. Warner. Sometimes Mr. Byan came into theseconferences. Mr. Cowler was always going to luncheon with the one and todinner with the other. He even went to a baseball game with Mr. O'Hearn.But, although he visited the office more and more frequently, shegathered that the investment was not forthcoming. Susannah knew howfrequently he was coming because, in spite of the little, admonitoryblack hand on the ground-glass door, he always entered, not by thereception room, but by her office. Usually, he preceded his long talkwith Mr. Warner by a little chat with her. Evidently, he had not yetcaught the quick gait of New York business; for as he left--againthrough Susannah's office--he would stop for a longer talk. Once ortwice, Susannah had to excuse herself in order to go on with her work.She had been a little afraid that Mr. Warner would comment on thesedelays in office routine. But, although Mr. Warner once or twice glancedinto her office during these intervals, he never interfered.
Then came--yesterday.
Early in the morning, Mr. Warner said:
"Miss Ayer, I wonder if you can do a favor for us?" He went on, withoutwaiting for Susannah's answer: "Cowler--you know what a helpless personhe is--wants to go to dinner and the theater tonight. It happens thatnone of us can accompany him. We've all made the kind of engagementwhich can't be broken--business. He feels a little self-conscious. Youknow, his money came to him late, and he has never been to a big citybefore. I suspect he is afraid to enter a fashionable restaurant alone.He wants to go to Sherry's and to the theater afterward--" Mr. Warnerpaused to smile genially. "He's something of a hick, you know, andespecially in regard to this Sherry and midnight cabaret stuff." Mr.Warner rarely used slang; and when he did, his smile seemed to put itinto quotation marks. "True to type, he has bought tickets in the frontrow. After the show, he wants to go to one of the midnight cabarets.Would you be willing to steer him through all this? The show is _Let'sBeat It_."
Susannah expressed herself as delighted; and indeed she was. To herselfshe admitted that Mr. Cowler was no more of a "hick" in regard toBroadway, Sherry's, and midnight cabarets than she herself. But aboutadmitting this, she had all the self-consciousness of the newly arrivedNew Yorker.
"That is very good of you, Miss Ayer," said Mr. Warner, appearing muchrelieved. "You may go home this afternoon an hour earlier." Again Mr.Warner passed from his incisive, gray-hued sobriety to an expansivegeniality. "I know that in these circumstances, ladies like to take timeover their toilettes." He smiled at Susannah, a smile more expansivethan any she had ever seen on his face; it showed to the back molars hishandsome, white, regular teeth.
Mr. Cowler called for her in a taxicab at seven and--
* * * * *
She heard Mr. Warner's door open and shut. Footsteps sounded in thecorridor--that was Mr. O'Hearn's voice. She glanced at her wrist-watch.Half-past nine. The partners had arrived early this morning, of allmornings. They were night birds, all three, seldom appearing beforehalf-past ten, and often working in the office late after she had gone.Susannah stopped mid-sentence a letter which she was tapping out to awidow in Iowa, rose, moved toward the door. At the threshold, shestopped, a deep blush suffusing her face. So she paused for a moment,irresolute. When finally she started down the corridor, Mr. Warneremerged from the door of his own office, met her face to face. And ashis eyes rested on hers, she was puzzled by the expression on his smoothcountenance. Was it anxiety? His expression seemed to question her--thenit flowed into his cordial smile.
Susannah was first to speak:
"Good-morning, Mr. Warner. May I see you alone for a moment?"
"Certainly!" With his best courtliness of manner, he bowed her into hisprivate office. "Won't you have a seat?"
Susannah sat down.
"It's about--about Mr. Cowler and last night." She paused.
"Oh," asked Mr. Warner, carelessly, casually, "did you have a pleasantevening?"
"It's about that I wanted to talk with you," Susannah faltered.Suddenly, her embarrassment broke, and she became perfectly composed."Mr. Warner, I dislike to tell you all this, because I know how it willshock you to hear it. But you will understand that I have no choice inthe matter. It is very hard to speak of, and I don't know exactly how toexpress it, but, Mr. Warner, Mr. Cowler insulted me grossly last evening... so grossly that I left the table where we were eating after thetheater and ... and ... well, perhaps you can guess my state of mindwhen I tell you that I was actually afraid to take a taxi. Of course, Isee now how foolish that was. But I ... I ran all the way home."
For an instant, Mr. Warner's fine, incisive geniality did not change.Then suddenly it broke into a look of sympathetic understanding. "I amsorry, Miss Ayer," he declared gravely, "I am indeed sorry." Hisclergyman aspect was for the moment in the ascendent. He might have beentalking from the pulpit. His voice took its oratorical tone. "It seemsincredible that men should do such things--incredible. But one must, Isuppose, make allowances. A rural type alone in a great city andsurrounded by all the intoxicating aspects of that city. It undoubtedlyunbalanced him. Moreover, Miss Ayer, I may say without flattery that youare more than attractive. And then, he is unaccustomed to drinking--"
"Oh, he had not drunk anything to speak of," Susannah interrupted. "Alittle claret at dinner. He had ordered champagne, but this ... thisepisode occurred before it came."
"Incredible!" again murmured Mr. Warner. "Inexplicable!" he added. Hepaused for a moment. "You wish me to see that he apologizes?"
"I don't ask that. I am only telling you so that you may understand whyI can never speak to him again. For of course I don't want to see him aslong as I live. I thought perhaps ... that if he comes here again ...you might manage so that he doesn't enter through my office."
"We can probably manage that," Mr. Warner agreed urbanely. "Of course wecan manage that. He is, you see, a prospective client, and a veryprofitable one. We must continue to do business with him as usual."
"Oh, of course!" gasped Susannah. "Please don't think I'm trying tointerfere with your business. I understand perfectly. It is only thatI--but of course you understand. I don't want to see him again." Sherose. Her lithe figure came up to the last inch of its height; theattitude gave her the effect of a column. Her head was like a glowingalabaster lamp set at the top of that column. All the trouble had fadedout of her face. The set, scarlet lines in her mouth had melted to theirnormal scarlet curves. The light had come back in a brilliant flood toher turquoise eyes. In this uprush of spirit, her red hair seemed evento bristle and to glisten. She sparkled visibly. "And now, I guess I'llget back to work," she said. "Oh, by the way, I found in my mail thismorning a letter addressed, not to the women's department, but to thefirm. I opened it, but of course by accident."
Mr. Warner drew the letter from its envelope, began casually runningthrough it. The conversation seemed now to be ended; Susannah movedtoward the door. From his perusal of the letter, Mr. Warner stabbed ather back with one quick, alarmed glance, and:
"Oh, Miss Ayer, don't go yet," he said. His tone was a little tense andsharp. But he continued to peruse the letter. As he finished the lastpage, he looked up. Again, his tone seemed peculiar; and he hesitatedbefore he spoke.
"Er--did you make out the signature on this?" he asked.
"No--it puzzled me," replied Susannah.
"Sit down again, please," said Mr. Warner. Now his manner had thataccent of suavity, that velvety actor quality, which usually he reservedsolely for women clients. "I'm awfully sorry, but I'm afraid I shallhave to ask you to see Mr. Cowler again."
"Mr. Warner, I ... I simply could not do that. I can never speak to himagain. You don't know.... You can't guess.... Why, I could scarcely tellmy own mother ... if I had one...."
"It seems quite shocking to you, of course, and--Wait a moment--" Mr.Warner rose and walked toward the d
oor leading to Byan's office. But heseemed suddenly to change his mind. "I know exactly how you must feel,"he said, returning. "Believe me, my dear young lady, I enter perfectlyinto your emotions. Shocked susceptibilities! Wounded pride! Allperfectly natural, even exemplary. But, Miss Ayer, this is a strangeworld. And in some aspects a very unsatisfactory one. We have to put upwith many things we don't like. I, for instance. You could not guess themany disagreeable experiences to which I submit daily. I hate them asmuch as anyone, but business compels me to endure them. Now you, in yourposition as manager of the Women's Department--"
"Nothing," Susannah interrupted steadily, "could induce me knowingly tosubmit again to what happened last night. I would rather throw up myjob. I would rather die."
"But, my dear Miss Ayer, you are not the only young lady in this citywho has been through such experiences. If women will invade industry,they must take the consequences. Actresses, shopgirls, woman-buyersaccept these things as a matter of course--as all in the day's work.Indeed, many stenographers complain of unpleasant experiences. You havebeen exceedingly fortunate. Have we not in this office paid you everypossible respect?"
"Of course you have! It is because you have been so kind that I came toyou at once, hoping ... believing ... that you would understand. Itnever occurred to me that you...."
"Of course I understand," Mr. Warner insisted, in his most soothingtone. "It's all very dreadful. What I am trying to point out to you isthat whatever you do or wherever you go in a great city, the same thingis likely to happen. I am trying to prove to you that you are especiallyprotected here. You like your work, don't you?"
"I love it!" Susannah protested with fervor.
"Then I think you will do well to ignore the incident. Come, mychild,"--Mr. Warner was now a combination of guiding pastor andadmonishing parent,--"forget this deplorable incident. When Mr. Cowlercomes in this afternoon, meet him as though nothing had happened.Undoubtedly he is now bitterly regretting his mistake. Unquestionably hewill apologize. And the next time he asks you to go out with him, hewill have learned how to treat a young lady so admirable and estimable,and you can accept his invitation with an untroubled spirit."
"If I meet Mr. Cowler I will treat him exactly as though nothing hadhappened," Susannah declared steadily. "I mean that upon meeting him Iwill bow. I will even--if you ask it--give him any information he maywant about the business. But as to going anywhere with him again--I mustdecline absolutely."
"But that is one of the services which we shall have to demand from timeto time. Clients come to town. They want an attractive young lady, alady who will be a credit to them--a description which, I may say,perfectly applies to you--to accompany them about the city. That will bea part of your duties in future. Had the occasion arisen before, itwould have been a part of your duties in the past. If Mr. Cowler asksyou again to accompany him for the evening, we shall expect you to go."
"You never told me," said Susannah after a perceptible interval, duringwhich directly and piercingly she met Mr. Warner's gentle gaze, "thatyou expected this sort of thing."
"My dear young lady," replied Mr. Warner with a kind of bland elegance,"I am very sorry if I did not make that clear."
"Then," said Susannah--so unexpectedly that it was unexpected even toherself--"I shall have to give up my position. Please look for anothersecretary. I shall consider it a favor if you get her as soon aspossible."
Another pause; and then Mr. Warner asked:
"Would you mind waiting here for just a few moments before you make thatdecision final?"
"I will wait," agreed Susannah. "But I will not change my decision."
Mr. Warner did not seem at all surprised or annoyed. He arose abruptly,started toward Byan's office. This time he entered and closed the doorbehind him. A moment later, Susannah realized from the muffled soundswhich filtered through the partition that the partners were inconference. She caught the velvety tones of Byan; O'Hearn's soft lilt.And as she sat there, idly tapping the desk with a penholder, somethingamong the memories of that confused morning crept into her mind; spreaduntil it blotted out even the memory of Mr. Cowler. That letter--whatdid it mean? In her listless, inattentive state of mind, she had openedit carelessly, read it through before she realized that it was addressednot to the Women's Department, but to the company. Had anyone asked her,a moment after she laid it down, just what it said, she could not haveanswered. Now, her perplexed loneliness brought it all out on thetablets of her mind as the chemical brings out the picture from theblankness of a photographic plate. She glanced at the desk. The letterwas not there--Mr. Warner had taken it with him.
The man with the illegible signature wrote from Nevada. He had seen,during a visit to Kansas City, the circulars of the Carbonado MiningCompany. After his return, he had passed through Carbonado. "I wondered,when I saw your literature, whether there had been a new strike in thatbusted camp," he wrote. "There hadn't. Carbonado now consists of onestore-keeper and a few retired prospectors who are trying to scrapesomething from the corners of the old Buffalo Boy property. That campwas worked out in the eighties--and it was never much but promises atthat." As for the photographs which decorated the Carbonado Company'scirculars, this man recognized at least one of them as a picture of aproperty he knew in Utah. Finally, he asked sarcastically just how longthey expected to keep up the graft. "It's the old game, isn't it?" heinquired, "pay three per cent for a while and then get out with thecapital." Three per cent a month--that _was_ exactly what the CarbonadoCompany was paying. She wondered--
Conjecture for Susannah would have been certainty could she have heardthe conversation just the other side of that closed door. At the momentwhen the contents of this letter flashed back into her mind, the letteritself lay on Mr. Byan's polished mahogany table. Beside it lay a pileof penciled memoranda through which fluttered from time to time thenervous hand of H. Withington Warner. Susannah would scarcely have knownher genial employer. The mask of actor and clergyman had slipped fromhis face. His cheeks seemed to fall flat and flabby. His eyes had losttheir benevolence. His mouth was set as hard as a trap, the cornersdrooping. Across the table from him, too, sat a transformed Byan. Hissmooth, regular features had sharpened to the likeness of a rat's. Hisvoice, however, was still velvety; even though it had just flung atWarner a string of oaths.
"I told you we ought to've let go and skipped six weeks ago," he said,"that was the time for the touch-off. Secret Service still chasin'Heinies--everythin' coming in and nothin' going out. The suckers hadalready stopped biting and then you go and hand out two more monthlydividends and settle all the bills like you intended to stay in businessforever. What did we want with this royal suite here, and ours acorrespondence game? What do we split if we stop today? Twelve hundreddollars. Twelve hundred dollars! We land this Cowler--see!"
Warner, unperturbed, swept his glance to O'Hearn, who sat huddled up inhis chair, searching with his glance now one of his partners, now theother.
"Mike," he said, "you're certain about your tip on the fly cops?"
"Dead sure!" responded O'Hearn. "The regular bulls ain't touching miningoperations just now. It's up to the Secret Service. In two weeks morethey'll be all cleaned up on the war, and then they'll be reorganizingtheir little committee on high finance. That there Inspector Laughlinwill take charge. He knows you, Boss. Then"--O'Hearn spread his handswith a gesture of finality--"about a week more and they'll get round tous. Three weeks is all we're safe to go. They stop our mail andthen--the pinch maybe. The tip's straight from you-know-who. Thepinch--see!"
At the repetition of that word "pinch," Byan's countenance changedsubtly. It was as though he had winced within. But he spoke in his usualvelvety tone.
"Less than three weeks--h'm! How much is Cowler good for?"
"About a hundred thou'--big or nothing," replied Warner. He was drawingstars and circles on the desk blotter. "He can't be landed without thegirl. If he'd tumbled for the Lizzies you shook at him--but hedidn't--it's this red-headed doll in our office or nothi
ng. And I'vetold you--"
Here O'Hearn threw himself abruptly into the conversation.
"Lave out th' girrul," he said. Usually O'Hearn's Irish showed in hisspeech only by a slight twist at the turn of his tongue. Now it revertedto a thick brogue. "I'll not have anythin' to do--"
"We'll leave in or take out exactly what I say," put in Warner smoothly."Exactly what I say," he repeated. At this direct thrust, Byan liftedhis somewhat dreamy eyes. He dropped them again. Then Warner, his gazedirectly on O'Hearn's face, made a swift, sinister gesture. He drew aforefinger round his own throat, and completed the motion by pointingdirectly upward. O'Hearn, his face suddenly going a little pale,subsided. Warner broke into the sweet, Christian smile of his officemanner. Subtly, he seemed to take command. His personality filled theroom as he leaned forward over the table and summed everything up.
"As for your noise about quitting six weeks ago," he said, "how was I toknow that the suckers were going to stop running? We looked good forthree months then. We've got three weeks to go. All right. As for thepinch, they won't get us unless the wad gives out. Every stage of thisgame has been submitted to a lawyer. We're just a hair inside--butinside all the same. _But_ if we can't come through liberally to himwhen we're really in trouble, we might as well measure ourselves forstripes. He's that kind of lawyer. With a hundred thousand dollars--" heseemed to roll that phrase under his tongue--"we can stay and makesnoots at the Secret Service or beat it elsewhere, just as we please.Ozias Cowler can furnish the hundred thou'. But he'll take only onebait. I've tried 'em all--flies, worms, beetles, and grasshoppers--andthere's only one. And that one is trying to wriggle off the hook. Ithought last night when I sent her out with him that maybe she wouldfall for him. The rest would have been easy. But she only worked up acase of this here maidenly virtue. On top of that, she reads thisletter. Of course, she has read it, though she don't know I know. Isqueezed that out of her.
"There," concluded Warner, "that's the layout, isn't it?" He turned toByan; and his smiling, office manner came over his expression. "Whatwould you say, Joe? You're by way of being an expert on this kind ofbait." In the Carbonado Mining Company, Warner ruled partly through hisquality of personal force, but partly through fear, the cement ofunderworld society. Just as he shook at O'Hearn from time to time thethreat conveyed by that sinister gesture, he held over Byan theknowledge of that trade and traffic, shameful even among criminals, fromwhich Byan had risen to be a pander of low finance. At this thrust,however, Byan did not pale, as had O'Hearn. His expression became onlythe more inscrutable.
"You should have let me break her in when I wanted to, months ago," hesaid. "I'd 'a' had her ready now. He won't fall for anyone else. I'veoffered those other Molls to him, but he's crushed on her and won't lookat anybody else. So we've got to put the screws on her. They're allcowards inside--yellow every one."
"Meaning?" inquired Warner.
"She's in it up to her neck with us," said Byan. "We saw to that. Allright. If we should go up against it, she'd have a hell of a timeproving to a jury that she didn't know what her letters to customerswere all about. Now wouldn't she? Ask yourself. Looked like hard luck tome when she saw that letter just when she'd slapped the face of thisCowler. But maybe it's a regular godsend. Put it to her straight thatthis business is a graft, that we're due to go up against it in threeweeks unless something nice happens, and that she's in it as deep as anyof us. When she's so scared she can't see, let her know that she has gotone way out--fall for Cowler and help us touch him for his hundredthousand. Make her think that it's the stir sure if she don't, and aclean getaway if she does."
"Suppose," continued Warner in the manner of one weighing every chance,"she goes with her troubles to some wise guy?"
"She's got no friends here," said Byan. "I looked into that. Runs aroundwith one fluff, but she don't count. If she's scared enough, I tell you,she'll never dare peep--and she'll come round."
"Suppose she beats it?" suggested Warner.
"Well, Mike and I can shadow her, can't we?" replied Byan. "If she triesto get out by rail, we can stop her and put on the screws right away.The screws!" repeated Byan, as one who liked the idea. "And if she doeshold out a while, nothin's lost. You've got the old dope worked up tothe idea she's interested in him, haven't you? Well, if she don't fallright away, you can take a little time explaining to him why she actedthat way last night. Maybe best to dangle her a while, anyway--get himso anxious to see her that he'll fall for anything when you bring herround. I'll be tightening up the screws, and when he's ripe I'll deliverher."
"The screws," repeated O'Hearn. "Meanin'--?"
"Leave that to me," said Byan. "I know how."
Warner smiled; but it was not the genial beam of his office manner. Forwhen the corners of his drooping mouth lifted, they showed merely agleam of canine teeth, which lay on his lip like fangs.
"I suppose, when it's over, she's your personal property," he concluded.
"Oh, sure!" responded Byan carelessly.
"You'll not--" began O'Hearn; but this time it was Warner whointerrupted.
"Mickey," he said, "any arrangements between this lady and Byan aretheir own private affair--after the touch-off, which may stand youtwenty-five thousand shiners. Besides--" He did not make his threateninggesture now, but merely flashed that smile of fangs and sinistersuggestion. Then he rose.
"All right," he said. "Come on--all of you--and I'll give her thatlittle business talk, before she's had time to think and work up anothernotion. Maybe she'll fall for it right away."
"Not right away, she won't," Byan promulgated from the depths of hisexperience, "but before I'm through, she will."
* * * * *
The three men came filing into the room where Susannah sat, her elbowson the desk, her chin on her hands. She rose abruptly and faced them,eyes wide, lips parted. Mr. Warner wore his office manner; his smile wasnow benevolent.
"I have been telling Mr. Byan and Mr. O'Hearn about your experience andyour decision, Miss Ayer," began Mr. Warner.
Susannah blushed deeply; and for an instant her lashes swept over asudden stern flame in her eyes. Then she lifted them and looked with anoncommittal openness from one face to the other. "I think I havenothing to add," she said.
"Yes, but perhaps we have," Mr. Warner informed her gently. "Sit down,Miss Ayer. Sit down, boys."
The three men seated themselves. "Thank you," said Susannah; but shecontinued to stand. Byan rose thereupon, and stood lolling in thecorner, his vague smile floating on his lips. O'Hearn dropped his chinalmost to that point on his chest where his folded arms rested. His lipsdrooped. Occasionally he studied the situation from under hisprotuberant forehead.
"Miss Ayer," Warner went on after a pause, "you read that letter--theone you handed to me this morning?"
Susannah hesitated for an almost imperceptible moment. "Yes," sheadmitted, "entirely by mistake."
"I am going to tell you something that it will surprise you to hear,Miss Ayer. What this fellow says is all true. Carbonado is merely a--aconvenient name, let us say. In other words, we are engaged in sellingfake stocks to suckers. To be still more explicit, we are conducting acriminal business. We could be arrested at any moment and sent to jail.To the Federal penitentiary, in fact. I suppose that is a great surpriseto you?"
Though she had guessed something of this ever since she recalled thecontents of the letter, the cold-blooded statement came indeed with allthe force of a surprise. Susannah's figure stiffened as though she hadtouched a live wire. The crimson flush drained out of her face. And sheheard herself saying, as though in another's voice and far away, theinadequate words: "How perfectly terrible!"
"Exactly so!" agreed Warner. "Only you haven't the remotest idea howterrible. Miss Ayer, this company--you as well as the rest of us--needsmoney and needs it right away. Ozias Cowler has money--a great deal ofmoney. Somebody's bound to get it--and why not we? We use various meansto get money out of suckers. There's onl
y one way with Cowler. He'sstuck on you. You can get it from him. We want you to do that--we expectyou to do that."
Susannah stared at him. "Mr. Warner, I think you are crazy. I could nomore do that ... I couldn't ... I wouldn't even know how ... myresignation goes into effect immediately. I couldn't possibly stay hereanother minute." She turned to leave the office.
"Just one moment!" Mr. Warner's words purled on. His tone was low, hisaccent bland--but his voice stopped her instantly. "Miss Ayer, you don'tunderstand yet. Unless we get some money--a great deal of money--weshan't last another two weeks. The situation is--but I won't take thetime to explain that. Unless we clean up that aforesaid money, we go tojail--for a good long term. If we get the money--we don't. Never mindthe details. I assure you it's true."
"I'm sorry," said Susannah, her lips scarcely moving as she spoke, "butI fail to see what I have to do with that--"
"I was about to go on to say, Miss Ayer, that you have everything to dowith it. You must be aware, if you look back over your service with us,that you are as much involved as anyone. Your name is on our letterhead.You have signed hundreds and perhaps thousands of letters to womaninvestors. Putting a disagreeable fact rather baldly, what happens to ushappens to you. If it's the stir--if it's jail--for us, it's jail foryou."
Susannah stared at him. She grew rigid. But she roused herself to atrembling weak defense.
"I'll tell them, if they arrest me ... all that has gone on here ..."she began.
"If you do," put in Mr. Warner smoothly, "you only create for yourselfan unfavorable impression. You put yourself in the position of goingback on your pals, and it will not get you immunity. If Mr. Cowler comesthrough, you are entitled to a share of the proceeds. Whether you takeit or no is a matter for your private feelings. But the main point isthat with Cowler in, this thing will be fixed, and without him in, youare in jail or a fugitive from justice."
He paused now and looked at Susannah--paused not as one who pities butas one who asks himself if he has said enough. Susannah's face provedthat he had.
"Now of course you won't feel like working this morning. And I don'tblame you. Go home and think it over. Your first instinct, probably,will be to see a lawyer. For your own sake, I advise you not to do that.For ours, I hope you do. If he tells you the truth, he will show you howdeeply involved you are in this thing. No lawyer whom you can commandwill handle your case. What you'd better do is lie down and take a nap.Then at about five o'clock this afternoon, send for hot coffee and dollyourself up--Mr. Cowler will call for you at seven."
* * * * *
Susannah took part of Mr. Warner's advice. She went home immediately.But she did not take a nap. Instead, she walked up and down her bedroomfor an hour, thinking hard. She could think now; in her passage home onthe Subway, her first wild panic had beaten its desperate black wings toquiet. What Warner had told her she now believed implicitly. She was asmuch caught in the trap as any one of the three crooks with whom she hadbeen associated. The only difference was that she did not mean to stayin the trap. She meant to escape. Also she did not mean to let it driveher from the city in which she was challenging success. She meant tostay in New York. She meant to escape. But how?
If there were only somebody to whom she could go! She had in New York afew acquaintances--but no real friends. Besides, she didn't want anybodyto know; all she wanted was to get away from--to vanish from theirsight. But where could she go--when--how?
Fortunately she had plenty of money on hand, plenty at least for herimmediate purposes. She owned a few pawnable things, though only a few.But at present what she needed, more even than money, was time. She mustget away at once. But again where? For a moment resurgent panic toreher. Then common sense seemed to offer a solution. Here she was in thebiggest city in the country; the biggest in the world. She had heardsomewhere that a big city was the best place in the world to hide in.She would hide in New York. Then--
She had forgotten one terrifying fact. Byan boarded in the same house.
She realized why now. A fortnight before--shortly after Mr. Cowlerappeared in the office--he had come to her for advice. He had given upone bachelor apartment, he said, and was taking another. Repairs hadbecome inevitable in the new apartment. He did not want to go to ahotel. Did she know of a good boarding-house in which to spend a month?She did, of course--her own. Byan came there the next day; although,curiously enough, she saw but little of him. They had separate tables,and his meal-hours and hers were different.
Byan usually came in at about six o'clock. But today he might followher. She must work quickly.
She pulled her trunk out from under the bed and began in frenzied hasteto pack it. Down came all the pictures from her walls. Into the trunkwent most of her clothes; some of her toilet articles; her half-dozenbooks; her stationery; all her slender Lares and Penates. When she hadfinished with her trunk, she packed her suitcase. As many thin dressesas she could crush in--inconsequent necessities--her storm boots; hertooth-brush--
Then she wrote a note to her landlady. It read: "Dear Mrs. Ray: I havebeen suddenly called away from the city. Will you keep my trunk until Isend for it? Yours in great haste and some trouble, Susannah Ayer." Sheput it with her board money in an envelope, addressed to Mrs. Ray, andplaced it on the trunk.
At three o'clock, her suitcase in one hand, her bag and her umbrella inthe other, her long cape over her arm, she ventured into the hall.
It was vacant and silent.
She stole silently down the stairs. She met nobody. She noiselesslyopened the front door. Apparently nobody noticed her. She walked brisklydown the steps; turned toward the Avenue. At the corner somethingimpelled her to look back.
Byan, his look directed downward, two fingers fumbling in his sidepocket for his key, was briskly ascending the steps.
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