by Will Irwin
XII
ANNETTE LIES
Blake rose from a night of protracted, dull suffering; of quick rages;of hideous, unrelieved despairs. When the day came and the city roaredabout him again, the habits of life reasserted themselves. He rose,dressed, sent for coffee, gained the pathetic victory of swallowing it.His face, seared by all the inner fires of that night, settled now to alook of steel resolution. He rose from his coffee, opened his desk andwrote this note:
MY DEAR MME. LE GRANGE:
I understand perfectly your motive in asking me to invade a private house and peep through a keyhole. It was the only thing which would have disillusioned me. Had you told me this, I would not have believed you. Though it was harsh treatment, I thank you. I enclose a check for a hundred dollars, payment two weeks in advance for your services, which I shall need no longer. You did your job well. You will understand, I think, that I do not reflect on you when I ask you never to see me again. You would recall something which I shall try for the rest of my life to forget.
WALTER H. BLAKE.
P.S. Do as you please about this--but I should prefer you to give Mrs. Markham the customary notice.
As he sealed the letter and put on his hat that he might go to post itwith his own hands, he had the look of a man who has settled everythingand for life. But the clanging lid of the letter box had no soonerclosed than the look of resolution began to leave his face. For twohours, he paced the streets of Manhattan. He found himself at lengthapostrophizing a brick wall, "Who could believe it?" And again, to alamp-post, "I can't believe it!" And again, "She made her!" He wheeledon this, turned into a drug store, shut himself into the telephonebooth, and called up the Markham house.
After an eternal minute, he was answered in Annette's own deep,thrilling contralto:
"Hello!"
He paused, controlled his voice, and plunged in:
"Miss Markham, this is Dr. Blake. Please don't go away from thetelephone. You owe it to me to listen--"
"I shall listen--"
"Very well. You will remember that I have respected your wishes aboutkeeping away from you. I do not want to make you any trouble. Butsomething has happened in which you are concerned, and which makes itimperative that I should speak to you face to face for five minutes--"
"Something important?" he heard her voice tremble. He remembered thenthat cheated and humiliated lovers had been known to shoot women; hehad raised his voice; perhaps, what with her bad conscience, she wasthinking of that.
"Understand me," he added, speaking lower. "I shall be kind. I shall donothing violent nor disagreeable. I want five minutes, at your house,in the Park--anywhere. Though I would prefer to see you alone, I wouldconsent to the presence of your aunt. But you must see me!"
"I must see you," she repeated--musingly he thought--"Aunt Paula isaway."
"Could you come at once to that Eighty-sixth Street entrance of thePark?"
A pause, and--
"I will come," she said.
"Good-by--at once," he answered, and hung up the receiver, withoutfurther word. Outside, he hurled himself into a taxicab. Spurred on byan offer of an extra dollar for speed, the chauffeur raced north.
Annette was sitting on a bench by the Park gate. Not until he had paidand dismissed the chauffeur did she look up. She wore a smile, whichfaded as she caught his expression. With its fading came the old, wornlook; he had never, even at that first meeting on the train, seen itmore pronounced. A flood of perverse tenderness came over him; he foundhimself obliged to steel his heart. And so, it was Annette who spokefirst:
"What is the matter--oh, what has happened?"
He stood towering over her.
"Miss Markham, I came to ask a simple question. Do not be afraid totell me the truth. What did you do last night?"
"What did I do last night?" she repeated. "Why do you ask?"
"Answer, please. Where were you last night--what did you do?"
"Why do you ask that?"
"It will be better, I assure you," he replied, "if you do not act withme."
"You have never seemed harsh before--"
"Will you answer me?"
A blush ran over her exquisite whiteness.
"I have to remember," she said, "that perhaps I once gave you the rightto ask such things of me. Last night I went to bed just after dinner."
"Exactly when?"
"A little after eight. I have been tired lately. Aunt Paula saw that Iwent to sleep."
"Is that all?" sharply.
"Why, yes. I slept heavily. The old sleep. The one which leaves metired."
"You did not get up?"
"I am beginning to question your right to--"
"But answer me--_Did you wake?_"
"No. I slept until seven this morning. Walter, Walter--" she had neverused his Christian name before, and at the moment it struck him only asone of her Circe arts--"you are cruel! What do you mean by this? Why doyou trouble me so?"
Now that she had lied in his face, he felt the blood surging scarletbehind his eyes. It came to him that, if he remained a moment longer,he should lose all control. Without another word, without a backwardlook, he turned and walked away.
"Walter!" she called after him, and again, "Walter! Don't go!"
But he was running top speed down the footpath.
When he stopped, from growing weariness of soul as much as fromphysical exhaustion, he was on a cross street leading into SixthAvenue. The tinsel front of a saloon rose before him. He tore throughthe swinging doors, ordered a drink of whiskey and then another. Itmight have been so much water, for all it either fed or quenched thefire within him. With some instinct to go back to his own private holeof misery, he took a street car. But he found it impossible to sitstill. He got down after three blocks, found another saloon, tookanother drink. This, too, evaporated in the feverish heat engendered byhis sleepless night. But it did afford an idea, a plan. He would getdrunk--for the first time in his life, get blind, staggering drunk.When he recovered from that, time would have dimmed the misery alittle; he would be able to endure. Just now, he must get drunk or die.
Alone and in broad daylight, he tried it. From, the corner saloons ofthe Upper West Side to the dives of the Bowery, he poured in whiskeyand yet more whiskey. Nothing happened; positively nothing. The firewithin burned as fiercely as ever, the misery beat as keenly againsthis temples. He tried his voice; he was speaking clearly. Once he randown the open asphalt of a water-front street; all his muscular controlremained. The most that liquor did was to spread a slight fog over hissenses, so that he seemed to be seeing through a veil, hearing througha partition.
On the approach of night, the effect struck him all at once. It came ina wave of drowsiness, a delicious sense that his trouble, still there,weighed lightly upon him--did not matter. He was sitting in MadisonSquare when he realized this effect. He could sleep now. Thank God forthat! He turned toward the club, walking on the rosy airs of reaction.
As he approached the club door, he was aware that a woman haddisengaged herself from the crowd across the street, was hurryingtoward him. At that moment, a hall-boy dived from the entrance, andgrabbed his arm urgently but respectfully.
"That woman's been asking for you since four--when we chased her awayshe laid for you--if you want to get inside--"
"Young man," said the voice of Rosalie Le Grange across his shoulder,"young man, Dr. Blake wants to see me as much as I want to see him an'more. Now you jest leave go of him, and you Dr. Blake, come right alongwith me, or I'll make a scene and scandal right here in front of theclub."
The hall-boy, with the exaggerated desire to avoid scandal which marksthe perfect club servant, fell away. As for Dr. Blake, this seemed theline of least resistance. Life and death, misery and happiness--alllooked equally dim and rosy.
Mme. Le Grange said nothing until they were three doors away. Under themarquee of a restaurant, she stopped, whirled Blake, whom she stillheld by an arm, within the entranc
e.
"You've been drinkin'," she said. "Now don't talk back. The question inmy mind is whether you're clear enough in your head to understand whatI've got to say, because it's something you want to hear straight andquick. See that table over in the corner? Let's see you walk to it andtake off your hat and pull out a chair for me an' tell the waiter wewon't eat till the rest of our party comes. If you can do that, you canlisten to me."
Blake, feeling that someone else was going through these motions,obeyed.
"Legs are straight," commented Rosalie Le Grange as she settled herselfand picked at her glove buttons. "How's your head? Are you takin' inwhat I tell you?"
"Yes. I hear you. Why won't you leave me alone?"
"Tongue's pretty straight, too. Can't have much in you, though you dolook like the last whisper of a misspent life. Well, men can't cry justwhen they want to, though a woman knows they cry oftener than any _man_ever sees. You have to take it out in booze."
Blake heard his own voice, far away, saying:
"What did you come for?"
"You'll know soon enough. If I didn't have the patience of an angel I'dnever have waited. Gee, those gentlemen's clubs is exclusive! Now Iwant you to remember you're drunk and keep quiet and not hurry me. I'vegot things to tell you. Miss Markham came in from a walk thismorning--"
Dr. Blake saw his own hand lift in a gesture of repulsion, heard hisown voice say:
"I don't want to hear about her."
"Will you kindly remember," said Rosalie Le Grange, "that you'resupposed to be drunk? She came in from a walk this morning about halfpast ten, in a worse state than I ever saw her. I didn't much care, wayI felt about her then--you know--now let me go my own way. Mrs. Markhamwas shut in her room all the morning. I was busy packing--I was gettingready to send in my notice but didn't, thank our stars--an' I didn'trun onto her but once or twice. She was movin' about the house, and herface was like death.
"Just before lunch, I came down to the library, lookin' for a sewin'basket. Mrs. Markham was at the table, writin' a note. In meandersAnnette Markham an' begins to pull out the books in the library,listless. She'd open one, flip the pages, put it back and open another.She kept that up quite some time. I wasn't noticing special until shetook out three or four together, reached into the space they left andpulled out a sizable gray book that had fallen down behind thestock--or been put there!
"Mrs. Markham had just looked up, and I saw her git stiff. She spokequick--'Annette!'--jest like that--sharp, you know. Annette looked ather. Mrs. Markham reached over and took the book away. The girl, neverlooked down at it again, I can swear to that--she was starin' straightat her aunt. Mrs. Markham dropped the book on the table, but she puther elbows on it, and said: 'I'd been hunting everywhere for that--I'mglad you found it.' Annette never said a word, never tried to get thebook back; she jest went on rummaging.
"Well, one thing was clear. Mrs. Markham didn't want her to git as muchas a sight of that book. Why? It was about the funniest little thingI'd seen in that house. Better believe I found business in the frontparlor where I could keep my eyes on 'em. After a minute or two,Annette walked out, listless as ever. Soon as her back was turned, Mrs.Markham went to the desk an' locked the book in the top drawer.
"It was an hour before the coast was clear for me to git into theparlor and open that lock with a skeleton key an' a hairpin. An' when Iseen the title of that book--well it got as clear--"
Blake saw, through the veil above his sight, that Rosalie's face hadbroken out dimples and sparkles as a yacht breaks out flags. Itirritated him remotely.
"What has that to do with the case?" he asked; and then, weakly, "Idon't want to hear about it."
"If I was to tell you," persisted Rosalie rolling the sweets ofrevelation under her tongue, "that jest the name of the book in thesecretary showed your girl was all right and you and I was fools, whatwould you say?"
The veil lifted from Blake. It was he himself who had risen from hischair, was leaning over the table, was asking:
"What do you mean? Tell me--what do you mean?"
Rosalie herself rose, leaned over to meet him, and whispered four wordsin his ear.
"See!" she added aloud. "See!"
Blake fell back into his chair with a thump.
"I, a doctor and a man of science and I never thought once of that!What a damned fool I was!"
"_We_ was," amended Rosalie Le Grange.
