XVII
IN A BALCONY
Bewilderment and consternation, working in the man, first struck himdumb, aghast, and witless, then found expression in an involuntarygasp that was more than half of wondering fear, the remainder rageslipping its leash entirely:
"_What?_"
He advanced a pace with threatening mien.
Overshadowed though he was, P. Sybarite stood his ground with no leasthint of dismay. To the contrary, he was seen to stroke his lipsdiscreetly as if to erase a smile.
"The word in question," he said with exasperating suavity, "is thecommon one of four letters, to-wit, _inch_; as ordinarily spelleddenoting the unit of lineal measurement--the twelfth part of a foot;but lend it a capital _I_ and an ultimate _e_--my good fellow!--and itstands, I fear too patiently, for the standard of your blackguardism."
Speechless, the younger Shaynon hesitated, lifting an uncertain handto his throat, as if to relieve a sense of strangulation.
"Or what if I were to suggest--delicately--that you're within an Incheof the end of your rope?" the little man pursued, grimly playful."Give you an Inche and--what will you take, eh?"
With an inarticulate cry, Shaynon's fist shot out as if to strike hispersecutor down; but in mid-air P. Sybarite's slim, strong fingersclosed round and inflexibly stayed his enemy's wrist, with barelyperceptible effort swinging it down and slewing the man off poise, sothat perforce he staggered back against the stone of the window's deepembrasure.
"Behave!" P. Sybarite counselled evenly. "Remember where you are--in alady's presence. Do you want to go sprawling from the sole of my footinto the presence of more than one--or over this railing, to thesidewalk, and become food for inch-worms?"
Releasing Shaynon, he stepped back warily, anticipating nothing lessthan an instant and disgraceful brawl.
"As for my mask," he said--"if it still annoys you--"
He jerked it off and away.
Escaping the balustrade, it caught a wandering air and driftedindolently down through the darkness of the street, like an errantpetal plucked from some strange and sinister bloom of scarletviolence.
"And if my face tells you nothing," he added hotly, "perhaps my namewill help. It's Sybarite. You may have heard it!"
As if from a blow, Shaynon's eyes winced. Breathing heavily, heaverted a face that took on the hue of parchment in the cold lightstriking up from the electric globes that march Fifth Avenue. Thenquietly adjusting his crumpled cuff, he drew himself up.
"Marian," he said as soon as he had his voice under control, "sinceyou wish it, I'll wait for you in the lobby, downstairs. As--as foryou, sir--"
"Yes, I know," the little man interrupted wearily: "you'll 'deal with'me later, 'at a time and a place more fitting.'...Well, I won't mindthe delay if you'll just trot along now, like a good dog--"
Unable longer to endure the lash of his mordacious wit, Shaynon turnedand left them alone on the balcony.
"I'm sorry," P. Sybarite told the girl in unfeigned contrition."Please forgive me. I've a vicious temper--the colour of my hair--andI couldn't resist the temptation to make him squirm."
"If you only knew how I despised him," she said, "you wouldn't thinkit necessary to excuse yourself--though I don't know yet what it's allabout."
"Simply, I happen to have the whip-hand of the Shaynon conscience,"returned P. Sybarite; "I happened to know that Bayard is secretly thehusband of a woman notorious in New York under the name of Mrs.Jefferson Inche."
"Is that true? Dare I believe--?"
Intimations of fears inexpressibly alleviated breathed in her cry.
"I believe it."
"On what grounds? Tell me!"
"The word of the lady herself, together with the evidence of hisconfusion just now. What more do you need?"
Turning aside, the girl rested a hand upon the balustrade and gazedblankly off through the night.
"But--I can't help thinking there must be some mistake--some terriblemistake."
"If so, it is theirs--the Shaynons', father and son."
"But they've been bringing such pressure to bear to make me agree toan earlier wedding day--!"
"Not even that shakes my belief in Mrs. Inche's story. As a matter offact, Bayard offered her half a million if she'd divorce him quietly,without any publicity, in the West."
"And she accepted--?"
"She has refused, believing she stands to gain more by holding on."
"If that is true, how can it be that he has been begging me this verynight to marry him within a month?"
"He may have entertained hopes of gaining his end--his freedom--inanother way."
"It's--it's inexpressibly horrible!" the girl cried, twisting herhands together.
"Furthermore," argued the little man, purposefully unresponsive, "heprobably thinks himself forced to seem insistent by the part he'splaying. His father doesn't know of this entanglement; he'd disinheritBayard if he did; naturally, Bayard wouldn't dare to seem reluctant tohasten matters, for fear of rousing the old man's suspicions."
"It may be so," she responded vacantly, in the confusion of adjustingher vision of life to this new and blinding light....
"Tell me," he suggested presently, stammering--"if you don't mindgiving me more of your confidence--to which I don't pretend to haveany right--only my interest in--in you--the mystery with which yousurround yourself--living alone there in that wretched boarding-house--"
He broke off with a brief uneasy laugh: "I don't seem to getanywhere.... My fear lest you think me presumptuous--"
"Don't fear that for another instant--please!" she begged earnestly;and swinging to face him again, gave him an impulsive hand. "I'm sograteful to you for--for what you've saved me from--"
"Then..." Self-distrustful, he retained her fingers only transiently."Then why not tell me--everything. If I understood, I might be able tooffer some suggestions--to save you further distress--"
"Oh, no; you can't do that," she interrupted. "If what you've said istrue, I--I shall simply continue to live by myself."
"You don't mean you would go back to Thirty-eighth Street?"
"No," she said thoughtfully, "I'm--I don't mean that."
"You're right," he assured her. "It's no place for you."
"That wasn't meant to be permanent," she explained--"merely anexperiment. I went there for two reasons: to be rid for a while oftheir incessant attempts to hasten my marriage with Bayard; andbecause I suddenly realised I knew nothing about my father's estate,and found I was to know nothing for another year--that is, until,under his will, I come into my fortune. Old Mr. Shaynon would tell menothing--treated me as though I were still a child. Moreover I hadgrown deeply interested in the way our girls were treated; I wanted toknow about them--to be sure they were given a fair chance--earnedenough to live decently--and other things about their lives--you canimagine...."
"I think I understand," said P. Sybarite gravely.
"I had warned them more than once I'd run away if they didn't let mealone.... You see, Mr. Shaynon insisted it was my father's wish that Ishould marry Bayard, and on that understanding I promised to marry himwhen I came into possession of the estate. But that didn't suit--orrather, it seemed to satisfy them only for a little time. Very soonthey were pestering me again to marry at once. I couldn't see theneed--and finally I kept my word and ran away--took my room inThirty-eighth Street, and before long secured work in my own store. Atfirst I was sure they'd identify me immediately; but somehow no oneseemed to suspect me, and I stayed on, keeping my eyes open andcollecting evidence of a system of mismanagement and oppression--but Ican't talk about that calmly--"
"Please don't if it distresses you," P. Sybarite begged gently.
"At all events," she resumed, "it wasn't until to-night that Bayardfound out where I was living--as you saw. At first I refused to returnhome, but he declared my disappearance was creating a scandal; thatone newspaper threatened to print a story about my elopement with achauffeur, and that there was other unpleasant talk about M
r.Shaynon's having caused me to be spirited away so that he might gaincontrol of my estate--"
"Wonder what put _that_ into his head!" P. Sybarite broke in withquickening curiosity.
"He insisted that these stories could only be refuted if I'd come homefor a few days and show myself at this dance to-night. And when Istill hesitated, he threatened--"
"What?" growled the little man.
"That, if I didn't consent, he'd telephone the paper to go ahead andpublish that awful story about the chauffeur."
P. Sybarite caught himself barely in time to shut his teeth upon anexpletive.
"There!" said the girl. "Don't let's talk about it any longer. Afterwhat you've told me.... Well, it's all over now!"
P. Sybarite pondered this in manifest doubt.
"Are you sure?" he queried with his head thoughtfully to one side.
"Am I sure?" she repeated, puzzled. "Rather! I tell you, I've finishedwith the Shaynons for good and all. I never liked either ofthem--never understood what father saw in old Mr. Shaynon to make himtrust him the way he did. And now, after what has happened ... I shallstop at the Plaza to-night--they know me there--and telephone for mythings. If Mr. Shaynon objects, I'll see if the law won't relieve meof his guardianship."
"If you'll take a fool's advice, you'll do that, whether or no. Anuneasy conscience is a fine young traitor to its possessor, as arule."
"Now, what can you mean by that?"
"I don't believe there's been any whisper of suspicion that theShaynons had caused you to be spirited away."
"Then why did Bayard say--"
"Because he was thinking about it! The unconscious self-betrayal ofthe unskilled but potential criminal."
"Oh!" cried the girl in horror. "I don't think _that_--"
"Well, I do," said P. Sybarite gloomily. "I know they're capable ofit. It wouldn't be the first time Brian Shaynon ruined a friend. Therewas once a family in this town by the name of Sybarite--the family ofa rich and successful man, associated with Brian Shaynon in a businessway. I'm what's left of it, thanks to _my_ father's faith in oldBrian's integrity. It's too long a story to detail; but the old foxmanaged to keep within the letter of the law when he robbed me of myinheritance, and there's no legal way to get back at him. I'm tellingyou all this only to show you how far the man's to be trusted."
"Oh, I'm sorry--!"
"Don't be, please. What I've endured has done me no harm--and to-nighthas seen the turn of my fortunes--or else I'm hopelessly deluded.Furthermore, some day I mean to square my account with Brian Shaynonto the fraction of a penny--and within the law."
"Oh, I do hope you may!"
P. Sybarite smiled serenely. "I shall; and you can help me, if youwill."
"How?"
"Stick to your resolution to have no more to do with the family;retain a good lawyer to watch your interests under old Brian's charge;and look out for yourself."
"I'll surely do all that, Mr. Sybarite; but I don't understand--"
"Well, if I'm not mistaken, it'll help a lot. Public disavowal of yourengagement to Bayard will be likely to bring Shaynon's affairs to acrisis. I firmly believe they're hard pressed for money--that itwasn't consolidation of two going-concerns for mutual advantage, butthe finding of new capital for a moribund and insolvent house thatthey've been seeking through this marriage. That's why they were insuch a hurry. Even if Bayard were free--as his father believes him tobe--why need the old man have been so unreasonable when all the delayyou ask is another twelvemonth? Believe me, he had some excellentreason for his anxiety. Finally, if the old villain isn't fomentingsome especially foul villainy, why need he sneak from here to-night tothe lowest dive in town to meet and confer with a gang leader andmurderer like Red November?"
"What are you talking about now?" demanded the bewildered girl.
"An hour or so ago I met old Brian coming out of a dive known as DutchHouse, the worst in this old Town. What business had he there, if he'san honest man? I can't tell you because I don't know. But it wasfoul--that's certain. Else why need he have incited Red and hisfollowers to drug Peter Kenny into forgetfulness? Peter found himthere before I did. It was only after the deuce of a row that I gotthe boy away alive."
Temporarily he suppressed mention of Peter's hurt. The girl had enoughto occupy her without being subjected to further drain upon hersympathies.
"I'd like to know!" he wound up gloomily.... "That old scoundrel nevervisited Dutch House out of simple curiosity; and whatever his purpose,one thing's sure--it wasn't one to stand daylight. It's been puzzlingme ever since--an appointment of some sort he made with November justas I hove within earshot. '_Two-thirty_,' he said; and Novemberrepeated the hour and promised to be on the job. 'Two-thirty!'--what_can_ it mean? It's later than that now but--mark my words!--something'sgoing to happen this afternoon, or to-morrow, or some time soon, athalf-past two o'clock!"
"Perhaps you're right," said the girl doubtfully. "And yet you may bewrong in thinking me involved in any way. Indeed, I'm sure you must bewrong. I can't believe that he could wish me actual harm."
"Miss Blessington," said P. Sybarite solemnly, "when you ran off inthat taxi at midnight, I had five dollars in all the world. Thisminute, as I stand, I'm worth twenty-five thousand--more money than Iever hoped to see in this life. It means a lot to me--a start towardindependence--but I'd give every cent of it for some reliableassurance that Brian Shaynon and his son mean you no harm."
Surprised and impressed by his unwonted seriousness, the girlinstinctively shrank back against the balustrade.
"Mr. Sybarite--!" she murmured, wide-eyed.
He remarked her action with a gesture almost of supplication.
"Don't be alarmed," he begged; and there was in his voice the leastflavour of bitterness. "I'm not going to say anything Ishouldn't--anything you wouldn't care to hear. I'm not altogether mad,Miss Blessington; only...
"Well!" he laughed quietly--"when my run of luck set in to-night backthere at the gambling house, I told myself it was _Kismet's_doing--that this was my Day of Days. If I had thought, I shouldinstead have called it my Night of Nights--knowing it must wear outwith the dawn."
His gesture drew her heed to the east; where, down the darkling,lamp-studded canyon of a cross-town street, stark against a skypulsing with the faintest foreboding of daybreak, the gaunt,steel-girdered framework of the new Grand Central Station stood--inits harshly angular immensity as majestic as the blackened skeleton ofa burnt-out world glimpsed against the phosphorescent pallor of thelast chill dawn....
In the great ball-room behind them, the last strains of dance musicwere dying out.
"Now," said the little man with a brisker accent, "by your leave, weget back to what we were discussing; your welfare--"
"Mr. Sybarite," the girl interrupted impetuously--"whatever happens, Iwant you to know that I at least understand you; and that to me you'llalways be my standard of a gentleman brave and true--and kind."
As impulsively as she had spoken, she gave him her hands.
Holding them fugitively in both his own, he gazed intently into theshadowed loveliness of her face.
Then with a slight shake of his head--whether of renunciation or ofdisappointment, she couldn't tell--he bent so low that for a thoughtshe fancied he meant to touch his lips to her fingers.
But he gave them back to her as they had come to him.
"It is you who are kind, Miss Blessington," he said steadily--"verykind indeed to me. I presume, and you permit; I violate your privacy,and you are not angry; I am what I am--and you are kind. That is goingto be my most gracious memory....
"And now," he broke off sharply, "all the pretty people are goinghome, and you must, too. May I venture one step farther? Don't permitBayard Shaynon--"
"I don't mean to," she told him. "Knowing what I know--it'simpossible."
"You will go to the Plaza?"
"Yes," she replied: "I've made up my mind to that."
"You have a cab waiting, of course. May I call it for you
?"
"My own car," she said; "the call check is with my wraps. But," shesmiled, "I shall be glad to give it to you, to hand to the porter, ifyou'll be so good."
He had longed to be asked to accompany her; and at the same timeprayed to be spared that trial. Already he had ventured too perilouslyclose to the brink of open avowal of his heart's desire. And thatway--well he knew it!--humiliation lay, and opaque despair. Better tolive on in the melancholy company of a hopeless heart than in thewretchedness of one rejected and despised. And who--and what--was he,that she should look upon him with more than the transient favour ofpity or of gratitude for a service rendered?
But, since she, wise in her day and generation, did not ask him,suddenly he was glad. The tension of his emotion eased. He even foundgrace to grin amiably.
"To do Bayard out of that honour!" he said cheerfully. "You couldn'tinvent a service to gratify me more hugely."
She smiled in sympathy.
"But he will be expecting to see you home?"
"No matter if he does, he shan't. Besides, he lives in bachelorrooms--within walking distance, I believe."
Holding aside the window draperies, he followed her through to theball-room.
Already the vast and shining hall was almost empty; only at thefarther wall a handful of guests clustered round the doorway, waitingto take their turn in the crowded cloakrooms. Off to one side, in adeep apsidal recess, the members of the orchestra were busily packingup their instruments. And as the last of the guests--save MarianBlessington and P. Sybarite--edged out into the ante-rooms, adetachment of servants invaded the dancing-floor and bustled aboutsetting the room to rights.
A moment more, and the two were close upon the vanguard of departingguests.
"You'll have a time finding your hat and coat," smiled the girl.
"I? Not I. With marvellous sagacity, I left 'em with a waiterdownstairs. But you?"
"I'm afraid I must keep you waiting. No matter if it is four in themorning--and later--women do take a time to wrap up. You won't mind?"
"Not in the least--it prolongs my Day of Days!" he laughed.
"I shall look for you in the lobby," she replied, smiling; and slippedaway through the throng.
Picking his way to the elevators, constantly squirming moreinextricably into the heart of the press, elbowed and shouldered andpolitely walked upon, not only fore and aft, but to port and starboardas well, by dame, dowager, and debutante, husband, lover, and esquire,patricians, celebrities and the commonalty (a trace, as the chemistssay), P. Sybarite at length found himself only a layer or two removedfrom the elevator gates.
And one of these presently opening, he stumbled in with the crush, tohold his breath in vain effort to make himself smaller, gaze incross-eyed embarrassment at the abundant and nobly undisguised back ofthe lady of distinction in front of him, and stand on tiptoes to sparethose of the man behind him; while the cage descended with maddeningdeliberation.
If he had but guessed the identity of the man in the rear, the chancesare he would have (thoughtlessly of course) brought down his heelsupon the other's toes with all his weight on top of them. But in hisignorance P. Sybarite was diligent to keep the peace.
Liberated on the lower floor, he found his lackey, resumed hat andcoat, and mounted guard in the lobby opposite the elevators.
Miss Blessington procrastinating consistently with her warning, heschooled himself to patience, mildly diverted by inspection of thosewho passed him, going out.
At the side-street entrance, the crush of ante-room and elevators wasduplicated, people jamming the doorway and overflowing to the sidewalkwhile awaiting their motor-cars and carriages.
But through the Fifth Avenue entrance only the thin stream of thoseintending to walk was trickling away.
After a time P. Sybarite discovered Mr. Bayard Shaynon not far off,like himself waiting and with a vigilant eye reviewing the departing,the while he talked in close confidence with one who, a stranger to P.Sybarite, was briefly catalogued in his gallery of impressions as"hard-faced, cold-eyed, middle-aged, fine-trained but awkward--verylikely, _nouveau riche_;" and with this summary, dismissed from thelittle man's thoughts.
When idly he glanced that way a second time, the younger Shaynon wasalone, and had moved nearer; his countenance impassive, he lookedthrough and beyond P. Sybarite a thought too ostentatiously. But wheneventually Marian appeared, he was instant to her side, forestallingeven the alert flanking movement of P. Sybarite.
"You're quite ready, Marian?" Shaynon asked; and familiarly slipped aguiding hand beneath the arm of the girl--with admirable effronteryignoring his earlier dismissal.
On the instant, halting, the girl turned to him a full, cold stare.
"I prefer you do not touch me," she said clearly, yet in low tones.
"Oh, come!" he laughed uneasily. "Don't be foolish--"
"Did you hear me, Bayard?"
"You're making a scene--" the man flashed, colouring darkly.
"And," P. Sybarite interjected quietly, "I'll make it worse if youdon't do as Miss Blessington bids you."
With a shrug, Shaynon removed his hand; but with no otheracknowledgment of the little man's existence, pursued indulgently:"You have your carriage-call check ready, Marian? If you'll let mehave it--"
"Let's understand one another, once and for all time, Bayard," thegirl interrupted. "I don't wish you to take me home. I prefer to goalone. Is that clear? I don't wish to feel indebted to you for even soslight a service as this," she added, indicating the slip ofpasteboard in her fingers. "But if Mr. Sybarite will be so kind--"
The little man accepted the card with no discernible sign ofjubilation over Shaynon's discomfiture.
"Thank you," he said mildly; but waited close by her side.
For a moment Shaynon's face reminded him of one of the masks ofcrimson lacquer and black that grinned from the walls of Mrs. Inche's"den." But his accents, when he spoke, were even, if menacing in theirtonelessness.
"Then, Marian, I'm to understand it's--goodnight?"
"I think," said the girl with a level look of disdain, "it might befar better if you were to understand that it's good-bye."
"You," he said with slight difficulty--"you mean that, Marian?"
"Finally!" she asseverated.
He shrugged again; and his eyes, wavering, of a sudden met P.Sybarite's and stabbed them with a glance of ruthless and unbridledhatred, so envenomed that the little man was transiently conscious ofa misgiving.
"Here," he told himself in doubt, "is one who, given his way, wouldhave me murdered within twenty-four hours!"
And he thought of Red November, and wondered what had been the fate ofthat personage at the hands of the valiant young patrolman. Almostundoubtedly the gunman had escaped arrest....
Shaynon had turned and was striding away toward the Fifth Avenueentrance, when Marian roused P. Sybarite with a word.
"Finis," she said, enchanting him with the frank intimacy of hersmile.
He made, with a serious visage, the gesture of crossed fingers thatexorcises an evil spirit.
"_Absit omen!_" he muttered, with a dour glance over shoulder at theretreating figure of his mortal enemy.
"Why," she laughed incredulously, "you're not afraid?"
Forcing a wry grin, he mocked a shudder.
"Some irreverent body walked over the grave of me."
"You're superstitious!"
"I'm Irish," P. Sybarite explained sufficiently.
The Day of Days: An Extravaganza Page 17
