The Big-Town Round-Up

by William MacLeod Raine

  CHAPTER XXX

  BEE MAKES A MORNING CALL

  Their chauffeur broke the speed laws getting them to the apartmenthouse for bachelors where Bromfield lived.

  His valet for once was caught off guard when he opened the door tothem. Beatrice was inside before he could quite make up his mind howbest to meet this frontal attack.

  "We came to see Mr. Bromfield," she said.

  "Sorry, Miss. He's really quite ill. The doctor says--"

  "I'm Miss Whitford. We're engaged to be married. It's very importantthat I see him."

  "Yes, Miss, I know."

  The man was perfectly well aware that his master wanted of all thingsto avoid a meeting with her. For some reason or other, Bromfield wasin a state of collapse this morning the valet could not understand.The man's business was to protect him until he had recovered. But hecould not flatly turn his master's fiancee out of the apartment. Hiseye turned to Whitford and found no help there. He fell back on theusual device of servants.

  "I don't really think he can see you, Miss. The doctor has speciallytold me to guard against any excitement. But I'll ask Mr. Bromfieldif--if he feels up to it."

  The valet passed into what was evidently a bedroom and closed the doorbehind him. There was a faint murmur of voices.

  "I'm going in now," Beatrice announced abruptly to her father.

  She moved forward quickly, before Whitford could stop her, whipped openthe door, and stepped into the room. Her father followed herreluctantly.

  Clarendon, in a frogged dressing-gown, lay propped up by pillows.Beside the bed was a tray, upon which was a decanter of whiskey and asiphon of soda. His figure seemed to have fallen together and hisseamed face was that of an old man. But it was the eyes that held her.They were full of stark terror. The look in them took the girl'sbreath. They told her that he had undergone some great shock.

  He shivered at sight of her.

  "What is it, Clary?" she cried, moving toward him. "Tell me--tell meall about it."

  "I--I'm ill." He quaked it from a burning throat.

  "You were all right, yesterday. Why are you ill now?"

  He groaned unhappily.

  "You're going to tell me everything--everything."

  His fascinated, frightened eyes clung to this straight, slim girl whoselook stabbed into him and shook his soul. Why had she come to troublehim this morning while he was cowering in fear of the men who wouldbreak in to drag him away to prison?

  "Nothing to tell," he got out with a gulp.

  "Oh, yes, you have. Are you ill because of what happened at Maddock's?"

  He tried to pull himself together, to stop the chattering of his teeth.

  "N-nonsense, my dear. I'm done up completely. Delighted to see youand all that, but--Won't you go home?" His appealing eyes passed toWhitford. "Can't you take her away?"

  "No, I won't go home--and he can't take me away." Her resolution washard as steel. It seemed to crowd inexorably upon the shivering wretchin the frogged gown. "What is it you're so afraid to tell me,Clarendon?"

  He quailed at her thrust. "What--what do you mean?"

  She knew now, beyond any question or doubt, that he had been presentwhen "Slim" Jim Collins had been killed. He had seen a man's lifesnuffed out, was still trembling for fear he might be called in as aparty to the crime.

  "You'd better tell me before it's too late. How did you and ClayLindsay come to go to that den?"

  "We went out to--to see the town."

  "But why to that place? Are you in the habit of going there?"

  He shuddered. "Never was there before. I had a card. Some one gaveit to me. So we went in for a few minutes--to see what it was like.The police raided the place." He dropped his sentences reluctantly, asthough they were being forced from him in pain.

  "Well?"

  "Everybody tried to escape. The lights went out. I found a back doorand got away. Then I came home."

  "What about Clay?"

  Bromfield told the truth. "I didn't see him after the lights went out,except for a moment. He was running at the man with the gun."

  "You saw the gun?"

  He nodded, moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue.

  "And the--the shooting? Did you see that?"

  Twice the words he tried to say faded on his lips. At last he manageda "No."

  "Why not?"

  "I--found a door and escaped."

  "You must have heard shooting."

  "I heard shots as I ran down the stairs. This morning I readthat--that a man was--" He swallowed down a lump and left the sentenceunfinished.

  "Then you know that Clay is accused of killing this man, and that thepolice are looking for you because you were with him."

  "Yes." His answer was a dry whisper.

  "Did you see this man Collins in the room?"

  "No. I shouldn't know him if I saw him."

  "But you heard shots. You're sure of that!" cried Beatrice.

  "Y-yes."

  The girl turned triumphantly to her father. "He saw the gun and heheard shots. That proves self-defense at the worst. They wereshooting at Clay when he struck with the chair--if he did. Clarendon'stestimony will show that."

  "My testimony!" screamed Bromfield. "My God, do you think I'm goingto--to--go into court? They would claim I--I was--"

  She waited, but he did not finish. "Clay's life may depend upon it,and of course you'll tell the truth," she said quietly.

  "Maybe I didn't hear shots," he hedged. "Maybe it was furniturefalling. There was a lot of noise of people stamping and fighting."

  "You--heard--shots."

  The eyes of the girl were deadly weapons. They glittered likeunscabbarded steel. In them was a contained fire that awed him.

  He threw out his hand in a weak, impotent gesture of despair. "My God,how did I ever come to get into such a mix-up? It will ruin me."

  "How did you come to go?" she asked.

  "He wanted to see New York. I suppose I had some notion of taking himslumming."

  Beatrice went up to him and looked straight into his eyes. "Thentestify to that in court. It won't hurt you any. Go down to thepolice and say you have read in the paper that they want you. Tell thewhole truth. And Clary--don't weaken. Stick to your story about theshots." Her voice shook a little. "Clay's life is at stake. Rememberthat."

  "Do you think it would be safe to go to the police?" he askeddoubtfully.

  Whitford spoke up. "That's the only square and safe thing to do,Bromfield. They'll find out who you are, of course. If you gostraight to them you draw the sting from their charge that you were anaccomplice of Clay. Don't lose your nerve. You'll go through withflying colors. When a man has done nothing wrong he needn't be afraid."

  "I dare say you're right," agreed Bromfield miserably.

  The trouble was that Whitford was arguing from false premises. He wasassuming that Clarendon was an innocent man, whereas the clubman knewjust how guilty he was. Back of the killing lay a conspiracy whichmight come to light during the investigation. He dared not face thepolice. His conscience was not clean enough.

  "Of course Dad's right. It's the only way to save your reputation,"Beatrice cried. "I'm not going to leave you till you promise to gostraight down there to headquarters. If you don't you'll be smirchedfor life--and you'd be doing something absolutely dishonorable."

  He came to time with a heart of heavy dread. "All right, Bee. I'llgo," he promised. "It's an awful mess, but I've got to go through withit, I suppose."

  "Of course you have," she said with complete conviction. "You're not aquitter, and you can't hide here like a criminal."

  "We'll have to be moving, Bee," her father reminded her. "You know wehave an appointment to meet the district attorney."

  Beatrice nodded. With a queer feeling of repulsion she patted herfiance's cheek with her soft hand and whispered a word of comfort tohim.

  "Buck up, old boy. It won
't be half as bad as you think. Nobody isgoing to blame you."

  They were shown out by the valet.

  "You don't want to be hard on Bromfield, honey," Whitford told hisdaughter after they had reentered their car. "He's a parlor man.That's the way he's been brought up. Never did a hard day's work inhis life. Everything made easy for him. If he'd ever ridden out ablizzard like Clay or stuck it out in a mine for a week without foodafter a cave-in, he wouldn't balk on the job before him. But he'ssoft. And he's afraid of his reputation. That's natural, I suppose."

  Beatrice knew he was talking to save her feelings. "You don't need tomake excuses for him, Dad," she answered gently, with a wry smile."I've got to give up. I don't think I can go through with it."

  "You mean--marry him?"

  "Yes." She added, with a flare of passionate scorn of herself: "Ideserve what I've got. I knew all the time I didn't love him. It wassheer selfishness in me to accept him. I wanted what he had to giveme."

  Her father drew a deep breath of relief. "I'm glad you see that, Bee.I don't think he's good enough for you. But I don't know anybody thatis, come to that."

  "That's just your partiality. I'm a mean little bounder or I nevershould have led him on," the girl answered in frank disgust.

  Both of them felt smirched. The behavior of Bromfield had been areflection on them. They had picked him for a thoroughbred, and he hadfailed them at the first test.

  "Well, I haven't been proud of you in that affair," conceded Colin."It didn't seem like my girl to--"

  He broke off in characteristic fashion to berate her environment."It's this crazy town. The spirit of it gets into a person and heaccepts its standards. Let's get away from here for a while,sweetheart."

  "After Clay is out of trouble, Dad, I'll go with you back to Denver orto Europe or anywhere you say."

  "That's a deal," he told her promptly. "We'll stay till after theannual election of the company and then go off on a honeymoon together,Bee."