The Sixty-First Second

by Owen Johnson

  *CHAPTER XIX*

  When the next day Beecher reached his club he found all discussionscentered upon John G. Slade and the astonishing and incomprehensibleoutcome of the conference at Gunther's of which naturally only the usualmisinformation was known. The morning papers had contained a reassuringstatement, backed by powerful names, of the condition of the AssociatedTrust, with promises of support. Gunther had publicly announced that hewould bring twenty millions of ready money to relieve the financialstringency and, if that were not sufficient, twenty millions more. Whenthe man in the Street comprehended that the great fortunes of thecountry had authorized this step, the effect was instantaneous. Thestock market opened with loss of two to three points and immediatelyrecovered this decline and, for the first time during the week,registered distinct advances. The runs on the banks still continued,but the lines of depositors were apparently less. At eleven o'clockRupert V. Steele visibly entered the offices of the Associated Trustand, advancing to the deserted window of the cashier, made the firstdeposit. In a minute it was publicly announced that five millions ofdollars had just been deposited to the credit of the great ColumbusNational. Half of the waiting line, wavered, turned and went home.

  "Well, Slade's turned the trick," said Gunther, joining his friend."But how he managed to wriggle through is a mystery."

  "Haven't seen the papers," said Beecher. "What do they say about EmmaFornez?"

  "Couldn't be better. The third act bowled 'em over," said Gunther,laughing. Beecher had told him of the diva's prophecy. "By the way,Ted, my long shot may not prove such a wild one. Mapleson is a closefriend of the Cheevers--rather attentive to the lady, who from allaccounts is a rather frisky one. I telephoned McKenna about it and heseemed distinctly interested."

  "McKenna?" said Beecher, opening his eyes.

  "Well, yes," said Gunther, laughing; "but forget I told you. Besides, Ihave a feeling that things will open up now."

  "Is McKenna on the trail of any one?"

  "Well, yes," said Gunther slowly; "and I don't think it'll be long nowbefore we hear of him. How about lunch?"

  At this moment a boy arrived with summons for Beecher to the telephone.He did not recognize the voice immediately.

  "You don't know who it is?" said a woman.

  He thought he recognized the tones of Miss Rivers, whom he hadshamefully neglected in the excitement of the last days; but, warily, hedid not commit himself.

  "You're disguising your voice," he said cautiously.

  "Not at all. You are not very flattering--but when one listens so muchto the voice of Emma Fornez--"

  "Miss Charters," he said instantly.

  "At last."

  He was suddenly troubled at the discovery, for he had sincerelypersuaded himself that he did not intend to see her again.

  "She is going to reproach me," he thought uneasily, "for not returningto see her last night. The devil! Well, I shall tell her the truth--Ididn't like her companion."

  But instead of reproaches she said in very good humor:

  "Look out, I can be very jealous. What are you doing tonight?"

  "I am dining out," he said, fibbing promptly, determined to remain firm.

  "Oh--I'm sorry," she said, with a quick dropping of her tone. "I wantedyou to take me to a dress rehearsal that will be very amusing."

  "I'm sorry too."

  "What are you doing this afternoon, around tea time?"

  "I have an engagement," he said truthfully.

  "With Emma Fornez?"

  "Yes."

  "I am not very lucky, am I?" she said.

  The wounded tone in her voice made him feel a bit ashamed. He saw thatshe would not ask him again and relented a little.

  "Will you be in at four? I can drop in for a little chat then," hesaid, amazed at his own yielding even as he spoke the words.

  "Come then. I want very much to see you," she answered but withoutlightness.

  "Now I'm in it again!" he said ruefully as he left the telephone. "Whatthe deuce made me say I'd go. Just because I didn't want to hurt her--OLord! Steady, old boy, steady!"

  Outside the booth he found Gunther, an afternoon's paper in his hand,scanning it with excitement on every feature.

  "I say, Ted, here's news indeed," he cried. "What do you think of that?"

  He pointed to the headline on the front page where the engagement ofJohn G. Slade to Mrs. Rita Kildair was announced in large type. The twoyoung men looked at each other in profound astonishment.

  "By Jove!" said Beecher, suddenly enlightened. "That's what was at thebottom last night! Now I understand." In a moment he comprehended thefull measure of the agony of uncertainty she must have suffered at hisside in the returning automobile. "So that was her game after all!"

  "Now things'll begin to move," said Gunther eagerly. "If she reallyknows who's the thief, as McKenna believes, the ring ought to bereturned in forty-eight hours."

  "Why?"

  "Because now that she is publicly engaged to Slade, any one who has beentrading on the knowledge of how she got the ring won't have a shred toblackmail her with. You see it now becomes the engagement ring thatSlade gave her and she can move openly; and from what I've seen of her,she'll lose no time. Ted, I'll prophesy in forty-eight hours we'll hearsomething about that ring."

  "I believe you're right," said Beecher as they went into luncheon; and,thinking of the curious conjunction of Mrs. Kildair's and Miss Charters'prophecy as to the return of the ring, he said to himself unwillingly:"If the ring is returned, does that mean that Mrs. Bloodgood took it?"

  A little after four he went to pay his call on Miss Charters and as hehad become accustomed to her perplexing change of moods, he wondered inwhat temper she would receive him. She was in a Russian blouse of graycorduroy relieved by a broad lace collar and fitted loosely to herstraight, lithe body by a belt at the waist, an effect of girlishsimplicity, very yielding and artless.

  She did not wait for him in the sitting-room but came out into the hall,taking his hat and stick herself and leading the way. Once in the cosysitting-room she stopped, turning to face him and suddenly taking hishands in hers.

  "Let me look at you," she said, drawing off and raising her eyes to histhoughtfully, while her lips twisted a little into a most serioussternness.

  "Little imp!" he thought grimly, prepared against her wiles and yet alittle startled at this figure of a young girl which so tantalizinglyconfronted him.

  She saw at once, in the amused composure of his face, that she had beenmistaken in ascribing his absence to the pique of jealousy. What shehad on her lips she did not say, and suddenly alert at the realizationthat her presence no longer troubled him she drew him toward thefireplace, leading him to a great armchair.

  "There," she said, laughing, "you will see how we treat the prodigalson. Sit down." She brought a cushion and insisted upon placing itbehind his back. "Don't get up. A scotch and soda? Sit still--I liketo mix it."

  She went to a table and presently came back with the tumbler, offeringit to him with a well simulated attitude of submission. When he tookit, she dropped a curtsey and going to the library table, returned witha box of cigars and the matches. Continuing always the same game,determined to force a laugh, she lit the match, holding it to himbetween her rosy palms.

  "Is your lordship satisfied?"

  "I am."

  She lit a cigarette in turn and camping down on the bear rug, Easternfashion, puffed a ring of smoke in the direction of the fire. For amoment neither spoke, she studying the embers, he enjoying this new sideto her and awaiting the next development.

  "I'm very unhappy," she said at last, without looking at him.

  "I'm sorry," he answered sympathetically.

  "I have had a great disappointment. I read that play of Hargrave'sagain--there's nothing to it."

  "You surprise me."

  The fact was that Brockway, Stigler's stage director had torn it topieces. She contin
ued, repeating what Brockway had said:

  "The trouble is, it's not actable. It's like all plays that readwell--I should have known it. There's no dramatic action. Then, it hasone great fault--all young writers have it--you see, every scene shouldbe a unit in itself, express one dramatic emotion, develop it, andincrease it; and Hargrave puts three or four emotions in the samepage--five or six," she continued indignantly. "It's all mixedup--topsy-turvy--no actress could make an effect." (This had been itschief merit two days before.) "It's very sad; I shall never find aplay."

  "You were very enthusiastic a few days ago," he said.

  "Was I?" she said resentfully. "You see, the trouble is, in reading youimagine things that aren't there."

  "So Hargrave isn't a genius after all?" he asked.

  "He is very conceited--insufferably so," she said abruptly. "But youdon't understand--it's the disappointment to me--I shall never find aplay. Sometimes I feel like giving it all up. It's terrible--breakingyour heart day after day. Yes, sometimes I feel like never actingagain."

  "You are in a blue mood," he said cheerfully.

  "Everything has gone wrong," she said, pouting. "Even you have changed!"

  She looked at him with a look of a tired child, longing to climb intohis lap to be consoled.

  "How so?" he said, opening his eyes.

  "Teddy, have I offended you?" she asked gently, seeing that she couldnot unbend him by playing upon his sympathy.

  "Not the least."

  She would have preferred any answer but this.

  "Why wouldn't you go with me tonight?" she said quickly.

  "Because I have another engagement," he said, instinctively glancing atthe clock.

  She saw the look, sprang up from the rug furiously, and leaping towardthe mantelpiece seized the offending clock and flung it across the roomin a tantrum.

  "Go to your Emma Fornez!" she said, stamping her foot. "If you aregoing to sit here and measure the minutes, you can go!"

  He rose, startled at the passion of jealousy he had aroused.

  "I told you I had an engagement," he began.

  "Nonsense!" she burst out, still the prey of her anger. "You know verywell you can keep her waiting half an hour if you wish, and you knowvery well that you can put off your engagement to-night--or is it withher, always with her?"

  "I don't care to discuss my engagements," he said coldly, an emotionwhich he was far from feeling, for the sudden wild-eyed fury into whichhe had plunged her awoke in him something that thrilled him, as he hadbeen thrilled the day he had returned Mrs. Bloodgood to her home, at thethought of what a consuming passion might be.

  "Why do you tag around with her?" she continued heedlessly. "I shouldthink you'd have more regard for your dignity--for what peoplethink--Emma Fornez--ah!"

  She stopped, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes and then, feeling hehad perceived it, she exclaimed: "If I cry it's because I amdisappointed--disillusionized--angry!"

  She turned her back and went quickly to the window where the littleDresden clock lay shattered in a corner. She picked it up and looked atit, swallowing her anger. Then, as he continued to keep the silence,she came back, without looking at him, placed the clock on themantelpiece again and said coldly:

  "Well, it is time for you to go--not to keep her waiting."

  "Good-afternoon," he said with a bow, and left the apartment.

  When he reached the street, he was overcome with surprise.

  "By Jove!" he said, swinging joyfully along. "Is it possible after allthat she does care about me? How her eyes blazed--the little fury.That at least wasn't acting!"

  And though he remained until late, amused at Emma Fornez, he felt theflame of the other presence about him, obtruding itself at every moment;and he who had seen the play of strong emotions in Mrs. Bloodgood andMrs. Kildair, avidly began to feel what it would mean to be loved withsuch intensity.

  Emma Fornez questioned him about Miss Charters but for the first time heresolutely concealed from her what had taken place.

  That night on his return to his rooms, he found a short note from BruceGunther:

  DEAR TED,

  Be at McKenna's offices to-morrow--ten sharp. Something doing.

  B.

  P.S. Keep this to yourself--_savez_?