Find the Woman

by Arthur Somers Roche

  XX

  The judge and his wife were true music-lovers and didn't attend theopera for social reasons. Nevertheless, they knew, seemingly, every oneof importance in the artistic, financial, professional, and socialworld. During the entr'actes, the judge pointed out to Clancy personswith whom he was acquainted. Ordinarily, Clancy would have been thrilledat the mere sight of the demi-gods and goddesses. To-night, they lefther cold. Yet, out of courtesy, she professed interest.

  "And there's my little friend Darcy," she heard the judge say.

  She roused herself from abstraction, an abstraction in which she wasmentally reviewing the acting and singing of the superb Farrar.

  "Who is he?" she asked.

  The judge smiled.

  "Munitions. Used to live in Pennsylvania. Now he dwelleth in the Land ofEasy Come."

  For a second, her thoughts far away, Clancy did not get the implication.Then she replied.

  "But I thought that the munitions millionaires made so much that theyfound it hard to get rid of it."

  "This is a wonderful town, Miss Deane. It affords opportunity foreveryone and everything. No man ever made money so fast that New Yorkcouldn't take it away from him. If the ordinary methods are notsufficient, some brilliant New Yorker will invent something new. Andthey're inventing them for Darcy--and ten thousand other Darcys, too."

  Clancy stared at the squat little millionaire a few seats away.

  "He doesn't look very brilliant," she announced.

  "He isn't," said the judge.

  "But he's worth millions," protested Clancy.

  "That doesn't prove brilliance. It proves knack and tenacity, that'sall," said her host. "Some of the most brilliant men I know are paupers;some of the most stupid are millionaires."

  "And vice versa?" suggested Clancy.

  The judge shrugged.

  "The brilliant millionaires are wealthy despite their brilliance. Mychild, money was never so easy to make--or so easy to spend. And thosewho make it are spending it."

  "But isn't every one spending, not only the millionaires?" demandedClancy.

  "It's the fashion," said the judge. "But fashions change. I'm notworried about America."

  The curtain rose, cutting short Walbrough's disquisition. But, for amoment, Clancy pondered on what he had said. "The Land of Easy Come."The people that she had met, the moving-picture millionaires--theirs hadcome easily-- Would it go as easily? Even David Randall, worthapproximately half a million before his thirtieth birthday--she'd readenough to know that brokers went bankrupt over-night. The hotels thatshe knew were crowded almost beyond capacity with people who werewilling to pay any price for any sort of accommodation. The outrageousprices charged--and paid--in the restaurants. The gorgeous motor-cars.The marvelous costly clothing that the women wore. Some one must producethese luxuries. Who were paying for them? Surely not persons who hadtoiled and sweated to amass a few dollars. Easy come! Her own littlenest-egg, bequeathed to her by a distant relative--it had come easily;it had gone as easily. Of course, she hadn't spent it, but--it was gone.But she was too young to philosophize; she forgot herself in theperformance.

  She was throbbing with gratitude to the Walbroughs as, the opera over,they slowly made their way through the chattering thousands toward thelobby. They had given her the most wonderful evening of her life.

  She was about to say something to this effect when some one accosted thejudge. For the moment, he was separated from the two women, and verbalexpression of Clancy's feelings was postponed. For when the judge joinedthem, he was accompanied by a man whose mop of hair would have renderedhim noticeable without the fading bruise upon his face. It was Zenda!

  His recognition was as quick as Clancy's. His dreamy brown eyes--one ofthem still discolored--lighted keenly. But he had been an actor beforehe had become one of the most famous directors in Screendom. He held outhis hand quite casually.

  "Hello, Florine!" he said.

  Walbrough stared from one to the other.

  "You know each other? 'Florine?'"

  "A name," said Clancy quickly, "that I called myself when--when I hopedto get work upon the screen."

  She breathed deeply. Of course, Judge Walbrough and Zenda didn't knowthat a woman named Florine Ladue was wanted for Beiner's murder; butstill----

  "'On the screen?' That's funny," said the judge. "Sophie Carey told usthat you were thinking of stenography until she put you in touch withSally Henderson. Huh! No fool like an old fool! I was thinking I wouldput a new idea in your head, and you have it already. Darcy stopped meand introduced his friend Mr. Zenda, and I immediately thought that agirl like you with your beauty--" He interrupted himself a moment whilehe presented Zenda to his wife. Then he turned to Clancy. "Couldn't youget work?" he asked, abruptly.

  They were on the sidewalk now, and the starter was signaling, byelectrically lighted numbers, for the judge's car. It was a clear,crisp, wonderful night, and the stars vied with the lights of Broadway.

  Clancy looked up and down the street. She had no intention of runningaway. She'd tried to reach Zenda to-day, and had been told that he wastoo ill to receive visitors. Nevertheless, the impulse to flee wasroused in her again. Then, listening to reason, she conquered it.

  She answered the judge.

  "'Get work?' I didn't try very long."

  "And she didn't come to me," said Zenda. He put into his words a meaningthat the Walbroughs could not suspect. Clancy got it.

  "Oh, but I did!" she said. "I've tried to get you on the telephone.Central wouldn't give me your number. I wrote you a letter in care ofZenda Films. Your partner, Mr. Grannis, opened it. And to-day I calledat your apartment and was told that you were ill."

  Zenda's face, which had been stern, softened.

  "Is that so?" he asked.

  The judge, a trifle mystified, broke into the conversation.

  "Well, she seems to have proved that she didn't neglect you, Mr. Zenda.Don't see why she should go to such pains, unless"--and helaughed--"Miss Deane wants to prove that she played fair;--didn't giveany one else a prior opportunity to make a million dollars out of herpretty face."

  "Miss Deane can easily prove that she is playing fair," said Zenda.

  "I want to," said Clancy quickly.

  Walbrough was a clever man. It was pardonable in him not to havesuspected earlier that there was some byplay of talk to whose meaning hewas not privy. But now he knew that there was some meaning notunderstood by him in this talk.

  "Here's the car," he said. "Suppose you ride home with us, Zenda?"

  "I have some friends. If you'll wait a moment--" And Zenda was off.

  In silence, Clancy entered the judge's limousine. Then Mrs. Walbrough,settling herself comfortably, suddenly patted the girl upon the hand.She was a keen woman, was Mrs. Walbrough; she sensed that something wastroubling Clancy. And the judge cleared his throat portentously.

  "Miss Deane," he said, "I don't know your relation to Mr. Zenda. But, ifyou'd care to consider yourself my client----"

  "Thank you," said Clancy.

  Then Zenda reappeared. He crowded himself into the car.

  "I just telephoned my apartment, Miss Deane. The door-man went on atnoon and stays until midnight. He says that a young lady answering yourdescription called on me to-day."

  "Did you need verification, Zenda?" asked the judge angrily.

  Zenda shrugged.

  "In a matter involving a hundred thousand and more, corroboration doesno harm, and my obtaining it should not be offensive to Miss Deane."

  "Oh, it isn't, it isn't!" said Clancy tremulously.

  The judge's eyes narrowed.

  "I must inform you, Zenda, that Miss Deane is my client," he said.

  Zenda bowed.

  "I couldn't wish a better adviser for Miss Deane. Farrar was inexcellent voice to-night, didn't you think?"

  No one challenged the change of subject, and until they were settled inthe Walbrough library, the opera was the only subject of discussion.But, once there, Zend
a came to business with celerity.

  "Judge Walbrough, I have been swindled in a poker game, in a series ofpoker games, out of thousands of dollars. Last Monday night, we caughtthe man who did the cheating. There was trouble. Miss Deane was presentat the game, in my apartment. She came as the guest of one Ike Weber.She disappeared during the quarrel. It has been my assumption that shewas present as the aide of Weber. At the Star Club, on Tuesday, Istated, to associates of Weber, that the man was a swindler. Yesterday,I was told that he intended bringing suit against me. So I have deniedmyself to all possible process-servers on the plea of illness."

  "Why? If the man is a swindler----"

  But Zenda cut the judge short.

  "I can't prove it. I don't want scandal. Suit would precipitate it. If Icould get proof against Weber, I'd confront him with it, and the suitwould be dropped. Also, I would recover my money. Not that that mattersmuch. Miss Deane, why did you come to see me?"

  Clancy drew a long breath; then she began to talk. Carefully avoidingall reference to Morris Beiner, she told everything else that had to dowith Zenda, Weber, and Grannis. The judge spoke first after she ceased.

  "I don't get Grannis's connection."

  "I do!" snapped Zenda. "He's been trying to get control of the company--I'm not nearly so rich as people think I am. The company has a contractwith me for a term of years at no very huge salary. I expected to makemy money out of the profits. But now we've quarreled over businessmethods. If he could get me entirely out, use my name--the company hasthe right to--increase the capitalization, and sell stock to the publicon the strength of my reputation, Grannis would become rich more quicklythat way than by making pictures. And the quicker Grannis broke me, sothat I'd have to sell my stock--every little bit helps. If Weber won amillion from me----"

  "'A million!'" gasped Walbrough.

  Zenda's voice was self-contemptuous.

  "Easy come, Judge," he said. "I'm an easy mark. Weber had a good starttoward the million, would have had a better if it hadn't been for Mrs.Zenda."

  "It's an incredible story!" cried the judge.

  "What's incredible? That I should gamble, and that some one shouldswindle me? What's strange about that in this town, Judge? In any town,for that matter?"

  Clancy, eyes half closed, hardly heard what they were saying. How easyit would be to confess! For, what had she to confess? Nothing whateverof wrong-doing. Then why had it not been easy to call on Zenda the firstthing on Tuesday morning and tell him of Fay Marston's involuntaryconfession? Because she had been afraid of scandal? Her lips curled incontempt for herself. To avoid doing right because of possible scandal?She was overly harsh with herself. Yet, to balance too much harshness,she became too lenient in her self-judgment when it occurred to her thatonly fear of scandal kept her from confessing to Vandervent that she_was_ Florine Ladue. That was a _different_ sort of scandal; also, therewas danger in it. No; she could not blame herself because she kept thatmatter quiet.

  "And you'd advise me to keep it out of the courts, Judge?" she heardZenda asking.

  "If possible," replied the judge. "It will do you no good. The merethreat of it will be enough. Offer Grannis a fair price for his stock,deducting, of course, from that price whatever have been your pokerlosses to Weber. For the two are partners, unquestionably. Tell Grannisthat, if he doesn't accept your offer, you will prosecute both Weber andhimself for swindling. That's much the better way."

  "I agree," said Zenda. "But I haven't the cash to swing Grannis'sstock."

  "Plenty of people have," said the judge. "In fact, I have a client whowill take that stock."

  "It's a bet," said Zenda. He rose briskly. "Can't thank you enough, MissDeane. Will you be at the offices of Zenda Films to-morrow morning withJudge Walbrough?"

  He turned to the judge and arranged the hour, then turned back toClancy.

  "And as soon as _that's_ settled, we'll make a test of you, Miss Deane."

  He was gone in another moment. The judge stared at Clancy.

  "Little girl," he said, "if it weren't so late, I'd give you a long,long lecture."

  "You'll lecture her no lectures, Tom Walbrough," said his wife firmly."Hasn't she put you in the way of an investment for a client? You'llthank her, instead of scolding her."

  The judge laughed.

  "Right enough! But I _will_ give her advice."

  "And I'll follow it," said Clancy earnestly.

  And she did. But not to the extent of doing as age, or provenexperience, or ability advised her. She would always act upon theimpulse, would follow her own way--a way which, because she was thelovely Clancy Deane, might honestly be termed her own sweet way.