by Owen Johnson
*CHAPTER XIV*
At eight o'clock promptly McKenna presented himself at the door of Mrs.Kildair's apartment. Kiki, with his velvet glide, ushered him into thestudio. The electric chandeliers were dull; only the great standinglamp was lit, throwing a foggy luster about the room, massing enormousdark silhouettes and spaces in the corners.
"Is it a precaution?" he thought grimly, considering this serviceableobscurity.
He felt a sudden heightened sense of curiosity and defiance, a feelingthat had been growing within him ever since the discovery of Slade'sconnection with the ring, and the brief, disjointed details of Beecher'sinterview. Every profession develops, back of its elaborate technique,a sudden quality of instinct which exists as the almost mechanical andunguided operation of the disciplined mind. McKenna had no soonerentered the room than he perceived the woman with a quick defensive "onguard" of all his faculties.
He stopped in the center of the room, like a pointer flushing his game,and in the second's rapid inhalation he completely changed his scheme ofattack. He felt at once that he had to do not alone with--what heexpected--a woman of unusual physical attraction, clever, with thedefensive intuition of one who has evaded the scrutiny of society; butwith a woman of mental grasp and decision. He felt it everywhere: inthe remarkable adjustment of the square room which broke it up into halfa dozen separate groups, distinctive and sure as though so many separateselves; in the harmony of color and proportion, which he felt withoutanalysis; in the seduction of the Recamier couch with its easterndrapery of blue and gold; in the friendly comfort of the grouped chairsby the baronial fireplace; in the correct intimacy of the reading-tableat one end and the formality of the grouped chairs by the piano. Allthese notes were to him notes of the hand that had arranged them, as hefelt in the struggling muscles of the bared marble torsos, wrestling onthe mantel, and the lithe, virile body of the discus-thrower on thetable, the virility and aggressiveness of the woman. This perceptionawoke his defiance as though one personality had been substituted foranother.
"What does she want with me?" he thought. "Is she daring enough to tellme all, or is she worried at what I may know?"
While he was still in the midst of his reflections, Mrs. Kildairentered. She was in street costume: a tailor-made dress of dark blue,edged with black braid, the stiffness and sobriety relieved by a fullfichu at her throat. The red flight of a feather crossed theGainsborough hat.
"How do you do?" she said, nodding to him, a crisp, businesslikeabruptness in her voice. "A little more light would be better. Thanks.The button is by the door."
Prepared as he had been to be surprised, he had not expected thisbusinesslike manifestation. He went to the wall, following herdirections, and threw on the lights.
"Only the side lights," she said. "That's it. Shall we sit here?"
She took her position by the reading-table in a great high-backedupholstered arm-chair. Obeying her gesture, he drew up his chair to aposition opposite. In the varied experiences of thirty years, he hadcome into contact with women of all walks of life. Without thepsychological analysis of subtleties of the lawyer and the novelist, hehad an unerring instinct for the crux of character. "Is she good or isshe bad?" was the question that, in ninety cases out of a hundred, heput to himself at the turning-point of his campaigns. For the firsttime, despite his previous prejudice, he was in doubt for an answer, buthe recognized in her at once the stamp of that superior brood whichraises some men to fame and fortune where others by one trait ofconscience or weakness end in a disgraceful failure.
"I have wanted to meet you for a long time, Mr. McKenna," she saiddirectly, but without the accompanying smile of feminine flattery. "Mr.Slade has told me much about you."
"Slade?" he said, with a quick simulation of surprise, while admiringthe abruptness, amazing in a woman, with which she had launched herattack.
"You realize, of course, Mr. McKenna," she continued quietly, withoutgiving him time to deny her first implication, "that Mr. Beecher, inengaging you, has, quite without his knowledge, brought on a situationthat is very embarrassing to me."
"Good!" thought the detective. "She has made up her mind to tell thewhole story." Aloud he said, without change of expression: "In whatway, Mrs. Kildair?"
"A situation exists which makes it extremely difficult for me to recovermy ring without disclosing to the public matters in my own private lifethat at present are liable to great misconstruction."
She spoke professionally, without variation in her voice, as a doctorspeaking with dispassionate directness. McKenna did not answer,resolving by his silence to force her to talk.
"A week," she continued without pause, though her eyes remained withoutwavering on his, "--ten days at the most--may completely change thisposition. I won't conceal from you that I am extremely sorry that youhave been brought into the case." McKenna could not control anexpression of surprise. "But, now that you are in it, I shall be forcedto give you a confidence against my inclination."
"But--" began the detective.
"One moment," she said, interrupting him. "Before I give you thisconfidence I wish to ask one question."
"Mrs. Kildair, I must remind you," said McKenna warily, "that I amengaged in the interests of Mr. Beecher, and can do nothing without hispermission."
"Are you representing any one besides Mr. Beecher?" she said, ignoringhis objection.
"What do you mean?" he said carefully, to gain time.
"Are you, in this particular case, representing Mr. Slade?" she saiddirectly.
"I have never said that I was employed by him, Mrs. Kildair," he saidslowly, comprehending now the full purpose of her opening question.
"Mr. Slade has told me himself of your work in connection with the GrayFox Mines, the Farmers' and Travelers' Bank, and the more personalaffair of your recovery of his letters from a Miss Minna Weston. Yousee, I am informed."
"I have worked for Mr. Slade," said McKenna.
"And are you doing so now?" she asked sharply.
"I never refer to my clients, Mrs. Kildair," he said stiffly.
"I desire to put this matter entirely in your hands--without reserve,"she said quickly. "All I ask from you is a promise that,notwithstanding your relations with him past or present, nothing I sayto you shall be repeated to Mr. Slade, or to any one else."
"Mrs. Kildair," said McKenna, every faculty joyfully grateful for thecontest of wits he felt impending, "I must remind you that my employeris Mr. Beecher, and that I can promise nothing that will keep him fromdoing anything he desires.
"Mr. Beecher is acting for me," she said calmly. "Very well; yourposition is correct. I will put it this way. Subject to Mr. Beecher'sapproval, will you give me your word that you will repeat nothing ofwhat I may tell you?"
"If Mr. Beecher is willing, I am," said McKenna obstinately. "That's myword."
"Now I can speak to you freely," said Mrs. Kildair.
"I have not promised yet," broke in McKenna.
"I will take the risk," she said, brushing aside the obstacle with animpatient gesture.
"I remain entirely free to communicate anything to Mr. Beecher,"interposed the detective instantly.
"You do not understand," she said, without irritation. "Mr. Beecher, inretaining you, did so to assist me, and only after he had secured mypermission. Now I desire, in order to arrive at quicker results and tobe free to give you my full confidence, to transfer that authoritydirect to me. In other words, Mr. McKenna, I wish to retain you myselfand for myself only."
"That, Mrs. Kildair, depends entirely on Mr. Beecher," repeated thedetective.
"But if he acquiesces, will you act in my interests only?"
McKenna was about to interpose another evasion, when he reflected thathe would have time to acquaint Beecher with what had happened and toadvise him either to accept or to refuse.
"Very well," he replied cautiously, feeling instinctively that some trapwas being prepared without yet perceiv
ing what it could be. "I willleave it that way."
"Good," she said, with a little nod of her head. "Now, what have youdone?"
"I can not answer that, Mrs. Kildair," he said, smiling; "not under mypresent arrangement."
"You have, of course, discovered that the ring belongs to Mr. Slade?"
Quite unconsciously, she had adopted his own tactics, the tactics of theinquisitor, who hurls the vital question at the suspect, and then seeksthe answer in the almost imperceptible response in the eyes.
"Yes, I know that," said McKenna, who felt that the surprise he hadexperienced at having the tables thus turned on him had revealed thetruth to the questioner. "That is, I know the ring did belong to Mr.Slade."
"Have you informed Mr. Beecher of the fact?"
"It has just come to my knowledge," said McKenna; "I shall, naturally,inform him."
Mrs. Kildair looked at him a moment with an appearance of reflection.
"The question was quite unnecessary," she said. "Of course, you havetold him, and you have every right to deny it." Then she continued withmore decision: "This is exactly my danger--you see, I won't mince words.It is a situation which constantly occurs, and which is inexplicableexcept by one construction in the eyes of society. Now--"
"I warn you," again objected the detective.
"I do not propose to explain my relations with Mr. Slade," continuedMrs. Kildair coldly. "They are such that a great deal depends on theevents of the next few days. At present it is enough that I can notexplain my possession of the ring in any way that can satisfypublicity."
"Mr. Slade did not give you the ring?" said McKenna, in slowprogression.
She carefully considered the question.
"Mr. Slade sent me the ring with an offer of marriage," said Mrs.Kildair evenly, with an appearance of great frankness. "The ringarrived on the night of the party, and I committed the imprudence ofwearing it. If its source now becomes known, I must appear before theworld either as Mr. Slade's mistress or as his fiancee; and at present Ihave not made up my mind whether I shall marry him."
The directness of this avowal left McKenna immersed in thought. Helooked at her, unaware of the fixity of his stare; and, inclined asalways to skepticism, he asked himself if back of all the outer gilt ofthis proud, determined woman, there were not a stalking shadow ofinsistent poverty, whether the game she was playing with Slade were nota greater drama than that in which he was engaged; whether, in fact, itlay not on a turn of the balance whether the world should know her asthe wife or that very alternative which she had dreaded in the exposureof the ownership of the ring?
"What does she really want of Slade?" he said to himself, staring soprofoundly beyond the set gaze of the woman that, for the first time,she moved with a little annoyance.
"Mr. McKenna!" she said sharply.
"I beg your pardon," he said, stiffening abruptly.
"You perceive now the delicacy of my position," she said; "and why Idesire to have you completely in my interests."
"I do," he answered, but still clinging to the saving rope of defiance."I only regret that you told me this before Mr. Beecher's--"
"Now ask me any questions you wish," she said, interrupting himimpatiently.
"I don't feel at liberty to do so, Mrs. Kildair," he said warily,convinced that her whole motive was to find out the extent of hisknowledge. "I prefer to know first where I stand."
"Very well," she said. "Let us talk of other things, then." Her mannerchanged to one of a lighter, inconsequential curiosity. "There is onepoint in the frightful happenings of the day I should like to know."
"What, madam?" said McKenna, whose instinct warned him to adopt a toneof artless attention.
"Majendie was followed by detectives, was he not?"
"That is the report."
"And he was on the point of leaving when he perceived that he would befollowed?"
"That is what I have been told."
"And, believing that he was about to be arrested, he returned to thehouse and shot himself."
"That's the story."
"As a matter of fact, wasn't he mistaken?"
"In what way?" said McKenna, steeling himself under an appearance ofsurprise.
"Were not the detectives your own men--placed by you at Mr. Slade'sorders to acquaint him with every move of Mr. Majendie?" persisted Mrs.Kildair.
"That would make a good Sunday thriller," said McKenna, laughingboisterously.
"That is my guess," she said, drawing back as though satisfied. "I amcertain that Majendie committed suicide through the blunder of believinghe was threatened with arrest."
"My dear Mrs. Kildair," said the detective, rising, "I see that what youwant to know is, am I for or against Mr. Slade. If I'm not in hisemploy you think I'm retained by his enemies. Well, I don't intend togive you any information."
She made no answer, but, rising in turn, glanced at the clock.
"Since you are here," she said carelessly, "you may as well look overthe ground." And, without waiting, she went to the door. "This is mybedroom. The ring was placed here."
He had hardly made his quick professional scrutiny when there came aring at the door, and at a sign from Mrs. Kildair they returned to thestudio.
"What now?" thought McKenna, who remembered her glance at the clock."Slade or who?"
To his surprise, it was Beecher who entered. Mrs. Kildair went directlyto him, a smile of confidence and welcome on her face, holding out aneager hand, and by the elation of her movements, the detectivecomprehended how she had played him.
"Teddy," she said directly, "I have a favor to ask you, and I trust youso completely that I know I need not explain it further. Mr. McKennaand I have had a very complete understanding. I wish him to representme entirely. I do not mean that you should not continue to work on thecase," she added quickly, as she felt instinctively the gesture ofwarning McKenna made behind her back. "All I wish you to tell him isthat anything I may have told him or will tell him shall be consideredconfidential until the time I am able to tell you myself. I must throwmyself on your chivalry and protection as the fine gentleman I have seenyou to be," she added, looking at him with a moistening of the eyes inwhich there was respect and a more tender emotion.
McKenna, though perceiving how completely she had prepared the isolationof the confidence he had just heard, did not again signal his objection,perhaps divining the futility of opposing such an appeal.
Beecher bowed in assent.
"Certainly, Rita," he said, with a pride that brought a smile ofamusement to McKenna's lips. "I wish McKenna to do everything he can foryou and in exactly the way you wish."
"Thank you," she said, with a little pressure of his hand. Thenturning, she added: "This I will say to you both. I have my reasons forbelieving that the ring will be returned within ten days; if it isn'tthen I shall have more to disclose."
"Returned?" said Beecher, struck by the similarity of her prophecy andthat of Nan Charters.
"Exactly. Until then, I believe all that is necessary is to wait fordevelopments." She turned toward the detective, who waited like astatue. "Mr. McKenna, I know you are a busy man. I won't keep you. Mr.Beecher has come to assist me on a very painful errand, one on which Iwould trust no other man that I know in New York." She held out herhand. "I do not often make mistakes in men, or I should not have toldyou what I did. Good-night; I shall call you soon."
McKenna bowed, experiencing, despite his resentment at her mastery ofthe evening, a feeling of respect and deference.
"Beecher is a kitten in her hands," he said to himself as he entered thestreet. "She played me as she wanted to. One thing's certain. Shewants to employ me to keep me from doing anything. Evidently her owngame is more important than the ring--or is there blackmail mixed up inthis? I have it! Mrs. Kildair knows the thief, but is afraid to actuntil--until certain things straighten out between her and Mr. John G.Slade."
"And now, Teddy," said Mrs. Kildair, as soon as the door ha
d closedbehind the detective, "you know what I want of you. I have arrangedeverything. My carriage is waiting."
Half an hour later, Mrs. Bloodgood joined them, heavily veiled. Theydrove to the house next to that of Majendie, and, at a word from Mrs.Kildair, Beecher remained below on guard in the flickering obscurity ofthe street. The two women went hurriedly up the steps of Majendie'shome, where the door was opened for them by some one who had beenawaiting their arrival.
For a full half-hour Beecher, prey to a profound melancholy, continuedhis aimless, mechanical pacing, his head raised, glancing past thejagged black silhouettes of the house-tops at the reddened clouds of theunreal night, which brought him not a clear vision of immense andpurifying spaces but the heavy reflection of the illuminated, surgingstreets.
"What will my life be?" he thought, conjuring up the future. "Calm andcommonplace? Or shall I ever be linked to some such tragedy--torn topieces, all in a day--wrecked!"
The door opened and two shadows passed down the steps. He returnedhastily, saw them into the carriage, and stood with uncovered head, alump in his throat, as they drove on. Then he went directly to hisrooms, and, exhausted by the emotions of the day, fell heavily into asleep that was almost a stupor.
