No sooner had Miss Maclaire vanished than Keith's thoughts turned towardHope Waite. She would need someone in her loneliness to take hermind from off her brother's death, and, besides, much had occurred ofinterest since the funeral, which he desired to talk over with her.Beyond even these considerations he was becoming aware of a pleasure inthe girl's company altogether foreign to this mystery which they wereendeavoring together to solve. He yearned to be with her, to lookinto her face, to mark how clearly the differing soul changed her fromChristie Maclaire. He could not help but like the latter, yet somehowwas conscious of totally different atmospheres surrounding the two.With one he could be flippant, careless, even deceitful, but the otheraroused only the best that was in him, her own sincerity making himsincere.
Yet there was reluctance in his steps as he approached the door of "15,"a laggardness he could not explain, but which vanished swiftly enough atHope's greeting, and the sudden smile with which she recognized him.
"I was sure you would come," she declared frankly, "and I took an earlylunch so as to be certain and be here. It has seemed a long time since."
"And you might have even thought I had forgotten," he answered,releasing her hand reluctantly, "if you could have looked into thedining-room since, instead of staring out of these windows."
"Why? How forgotten?" her eyes opening wide in surprise.
"I had the pleasure of taking supper with Miss Maclaire."
"Oh!" the exclamation decidedly expressive.
"Yes, I come at once to you with the confession. However, our meetingwas purely accidental, and so I hope for pardon."
"Pardon from me? Why, what difference can it possibly make to me?"
"Would you have me consort with the enemy?" he asked, scarcely daring topress his deeper meaning.
"Oh, no, of course not. What did you talk about? Do you mind telling?"
"Not in the least; our conversation was entirely impersonal. She wastelling me about Hawley; what a wonderfully good man he is. I have begunto suspect the fellow has fascinated the poor girl--he is a good lookingdevil, possessed of a tongue dripping with honey."
"Surely you do not mean she has fallen in love with him," and Hopeshuddered at the thought. "Why--why that would be impossible for--for agood woman."
"Standards of morality are not always the same," he defended gravely."Miss Maclaire's environment has been vastly different from yours, Hope.She is a variety hall singer; probably, from her own account, a waifsince childhood; and Hawley has come to her in the character of afriend, appealing both to her interest and sympathy. I do not know sheis in love with him, I merely suspect she may be; certainly she is readyto do battle on his behalf at the slightest opportunity. She believes inhim, defends him, and resents the slightest insinuation directed againsthim. He even escorts her back and forth from her work."
"You know this?"
"I certainly do," and he laughed at the recollection. "Fairbain metus coming out of the dining-room,--you know what a delightful, blunt,blundering old fellow he is! Well, Miss Christie must have made animpression even on his bachelor heart, for he actually requested theprivilege of escorting her to the Trocadero, and back to the hotelafter the performance to-night--hinted at a lunch, the gay old dog, andpranced about like a stage-door Johnnie. It was a treat to watch herface when he blurted it all out, snapping his sentences as if he swung awhip-lash. She excused herself on the score of a previous engagement."
"But that was not necessarily with Hawley."
"I asked her directly, after the doctor had disappeared."
"You must have become very familiar," questioning once again in hervoice.
"So Miss Maclaire evidently thought, judging from her manner. Howevershe answered frankly enough, and, even defiantly, added the informationthat the gentleman had something to impart to her of the utmostimportance, sarcastically asking me if I didn't wish I could bethere and overhear. But sit down, Hope, until I tell you all that hasoccurred."
He went over the various events in detail, watching eagerly theexpression upon her face as she listened intently, only occasionallyinterrupting with some pertinent inquiry. The light fell so that shesat partially in the shadow, where her eyes could not be read, yet heexperienced no difficulty in comprehending the various moods with whichshe met his narrative, the color changing in her cheeks, her suppleform bending toward him, or leaning backward in the chair, her fingersclasping or unclasping in nervous attention. He began with Neb's report,repeating, word by word, as nearly as he could recollect, what hadpassed between Hawley and her father. He paused to inquire if she hadever heard the name Bartlett, but her reply was merely a negativeshake of the head. When he described their missing the train, shewas, apparently, not convinced as to the General's departure upon it,although finally agreeing that, if he really believed the report thatthe man sought was elsewhere, it would be characteristic of him toaccept the first means of getting there. "If he only knew I was here,"she exclaimed wearily, "it might be so different, but, oh, we are allof us just groping in the dark." Then Keith turned to his chance meetingwith Miss Maclaire, and repeated carefully their conversation, dwellingparticularly upon the few admissions which had slipped through her lips.These did not seem important to either, although they treasured themup and talked them over. Then, having exhausted the topic, silence fellbetween them, Keith asking the privilege of lighting a cigar. Hope,after watching him apply the match, thinking what a fine face he had asthe ruddy flame brought it forth with the clearness of a cameo, leanedback, drawing aside the semblance to a lace curtain, and staring forth,without seeing, into the street.
Somehow it was hard for her to fully realize the situation, and howclosely it affected her. The swiftly passing events, the complicationarising so suddenly, apparently out of nothing, left her feeling asthough she must surely awake from a dream. She could not comprehend whatit was all about; the names Bartlett and Phyllis had no clear meaning,they represented nothing but shadows; and this other woman--this musichall singer--what could there be in common between them? Yet there mustbe something--something of vital importance to her father--somethingwhich had already cost her brother's life. That was the one thing whichmade it seem an actuality--which brought it home to her as a ruggedfact. But for that--and Keith--Keith sitting there before her--shewould have doubted it all. And yet even Keith had come into her lifeso suddenly, so unexpectedly, as to leave her dazed and uncertain. Sostrongly did this feeling grip her in the silence, that she extended herhand and touched him, as though to make sure of his actual presence.
"What is it, Hope?"
"Oh, nothing--nothing," her voice breaking in a little sob. "It is sosilly, but I was just wondering if you were real--everything seems soimpossible. I cannot bring my mind to grasp the situation."
He did not smile, but only took the groping hand into both of his own.
"I think I understand, little girl," he said gravely. "You are totallyunused to such life. Almost without a moment's warning you have beenplunged into a maelstrom of adventure, and are all confused. It isdifferent with me--since the first shot at Sumter my life has been oneof action, and adventure has grown to be the stimulus I need, and uponwhich I thrive. But I assure you," pressing the soft hand warmly, "I amreal."
"Of course I know that; it makes me glad to know it. If I could only dosomething myself, and not just sit here, it would all become real enoughto me."
She rose suddenly to her feet, clasping her hands together, her facechanging with new animation.
"Why couldn't I? I am sure I could. Oh, Mr. Keith, it has just come tome how I can help."
He looked at her questioningly, thinking of her beauty rather than ofwhat she said.
"Do--do I really appear so much like--like that woman?" she askedanxiously.
"Very much, indeed, excepting for the slight difference in age."
"That would never be noticed in the dark, or a poor light. Am I the sameheight?"
"Practically, yes."
"And my voice?--could you
distinguish me from her by my voice?"
"I might; yet probably not, unless my suspicions were aroused. What isit you are thinking about?"
She took a deep breath, standing now directly facing him in the light.
"Of playing Miss Maclaire to-night," she said quickly. "Of taking herplace, and learning what it is of so much importance Hawley has toreport. Don't you think it might be done?"
The sheer audacity of this unexpected proposal left him speechless. Hearose to his feet, gripping the back of the chair, almost doubting ifhe could have heard aright, his eyes searching the girl's face which wasglowing with excitement. Of course he could not permit of her exposureto such a risk; the scheme was impracticable, absurd. But was it? Didit not offer a fair chance of success? And was not the possible resultworthy the risk assumed? He choked back the earlier words of protestunuttered, puzzled as to what he had best say. A quick-wittedresourceful woman might accomplish all she proposed.
"It looks so simple," she broke in impulsively, moving nearer him."Don't you think I could do it? Would it be unwomanly?"
"The result, if accomplished, would abundantly justify the means, Hope,"he acknowledged at last. "I was not hesitating on that account, butconsidering the risk you would incur."
"That would be so small--merely the short walk alone with him fromthe theatre to the hotel," she pleaded. "Once here it could make nodifference if he did discover my identity, for there would be plenty ofmen near at hand to come to my defence. Oh, please say yes."
"If I do, then we must make the illusion perfect, and take as fewchances of discovery as possible. I must learn exactly how the otherdresses, and when she leaves the theatre. Fortunately for the success ofyour plan the Trocadero permits no one but performers to come behind thescenes, so that Hawley will be compelled to wait for the lady outsidethe stage door. I had better go at once, and see to these details."
"Yes," she said, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, "and I am so gladyou are willing. I will be most discreet. You are not sorry I made theproposal?"
"Certainly not. At first it struck me as altogether wrong, but the moreI think of it the stronger it appeals to me. It may reveal to us thewhole conspiracy, and I cannot believe Hawley would venture upon anygross familiarity likely to cost him the good opinion of his ally.There is too much at stake. Wait here, Hope, and I will be back the verymoment I learn all that is necessary."
A glance at the office clock convinced Keith that, in all probability,Miss Maclaire had not, as yet, departed for the scene of her eveningtriumph. Still, it could not be long before she would, and he lit acigar, sitting down in a corner partially concealed by the clerk'sdesk to wait her appearance. This required longer than anticipated, andfearing lest he might have missed the departure entirely, he was aboutto question the busy Thomas, when he beheld Hawley enter hurriedly fromthe street and run up the stairs. He then had been the laggard. All thebetter, as he would now have no opportunity to unfold his tale tothe lady, as it would be necessary for them to hurry to the theatre.Whatever the nature of the revelation it would have to wait until thewalk home. The excitement of the adventure was already creeping intoKeith's blood, his pulse quickening.
The two returned almost immediately, conclusively proving that MissMaclaire, fully dressed for the street, had been awaiting the arrival ofher gallant with some impatience. Hawley was busily explaining his delayas they came down the stairs, and paid little attention to the seeminglydeserted office. Indeed, Miss Christie monopolized all his thoughts.With quick scrutiny the watcher noted the more conspicuous articles ofapparel constituting her costume--the white mantilla thrown overher head, the neatly fitting blue dress, the light cape covering theshoulders--surely it would not be difficult to duplicate these, so as topass muster under the dim light of the streets. Far enough in theirrear to feel safe from observation he followed, noting with increasedpleasure the rapidity with which they covered the required distance.Clearly Miss Christie was already nervous lest she have not sufficienttime remaining in which to properly dress for her act, and there wouldbe no exchange of confidences on the outward journey. Hawley left her,as Keith anticipated, at the stage entrance, the lady hastening within.Her escort strolled leisurely back to the front of the house, andfinally, purchasing a ticket, entered, the performance already havingbegun.
Keith knew perfectly the arrangement of the theatre--the seats in front;tables all through the centre; a gallery filled with benches; a noisyorchestra beneath the stage; a crowded audience of men, with only hereand there a scattered representative of the gentler sex; busy waitersdodging in and out among the tables, and down the aisles, filling ordersfor liquids from the nearby saloon. The air would be pungent with theodor of drink, thick with the fumes of tobacco, and noisy with voices,except as some special favorite on the stage won temporary attention.The Trocadero possessed but one redeeming feature--no doorway connectedstage and auditorium, and the management brooked no interference withhis artists. It had required some nerve to originally enforce thisrule, together with a smart fight or two, but at this period it wasacknowledged and respected. No sooner had Hawley vanished than Keithfound occasion to enter into casual conversation with the door-keeper,asking a number of questions, and leaving impressed upon the mindof that astute individual the idea that he was dealing with a "gent"enamored of one of the stage beauties. A coin slipped quietly into theman's hand served to deepen this impression, and unlocked discreet lipsotherwise sworn to secrecy. Out of much general information a little ofreal value was thus extracted--Miss Maclaire's act began at 9:45 and wasover promptly at 10:10. It required about twenty minutes more for herto change again into street clothes, and she usually left the theatreimmediately after, which would be about 10:30. Yes, there was avestibule outside the stage door, and on bad nights, those waitingfor the ladies could slip in there. But on such a night as this theygenerally hung around outside. No, there was no watchman, but themanager was frequently prowling around. He'd be busy, however, at 10:30,getting the stage ready for the "Flying Hermanns." Abundantly satisfiedand resisting the door-keeper's professional suggestion that he'dbetter buy a ticket and take a look at the show, Keith slipped away, andhastened back to the hotel. The more he investigated the more feasibleappeared the girl's plan, and he was now fully committed to it.
Chapter XXVIII. The Stage Door of the Trocadero
Keith of the Border: A Tale of the Plains Page 27
