by Jack Steele
CHAPTER XIII
A TRYST IN THE PARK
Unable for a moment to credit his senses, Garrison moved over againstthe wall of the building he was passing, and stood there, slowly,almost mechanically, searching his pockets once again, while his mindrevolved about the lost cigar, in an effort to understand itsdisappearance.
He was wholly at a loss for a tenable theory till he thought of thefrequency with which men are robbed of scarf-pins or similartrifles--and then a sickening possibility possessed him.
One of the commonest devices that a woman employs in such a petty theftis to faint on the breast of her victim. In such a pose she mayreadily extract some coveted article from either his tie or his pocket,with almost absolute certainty of avoiding detection.
It did not seem possible--and yet the fact remained that Dorothy hadfainted thus against him, and the poisoned cigar was gone. She hadknown of his visit to Branchville; his line of questions might haveroused her suspicions; the cigar had been plainly in sight. He hadseen her enact her role so perfectly, in the presence of her relatives,that he could not doubt her ability in any required direction.
For a moment a powerful revulsion of feeling toward the girl, who wasundeniably involved in some exceptionally deep-laid plan, creptthroughout his being. Not only does a man detest being used as a tooland played upon like any common dunce, but he also feels an utterchagrin at being baffled in his labors. Apparently he had played thefool, and also he had lost the vital evidence of Hardy's poisoning.
Mortified and angry, he remained there, while the crowds surged by, hisgaze dully fixed on the pavement. For a time he saw nothing, and thenat last he was conscious that a rose--a crushed and wilted rose, throwndown by some careless pedestrian--was lying almost at his feet.Somehow, it brought him a sense of calm and sweetness; it seemed asymbol, vouchsafed him here in the hot, sordid thoroughfare, wherecrime and folly, virtue and despair, stalk arm in arm eternally.
He could not look upon the bit of trampled beauty, thus wasted on aheedless throng, and think of Dorothy as guilty. She had seemed justas crushed and wilted as the rose when he left her at her home--just asbeautiful, also, and as far from her garden of peace and fragrances asthis rejected handful of petals. She must be innocent. There must besome other explanation for the loss of that cigar--and some good reasonfor the things she had done and said.
He took up the rose, indifferent to anyone who might have observed theaction with a smile or a sneer, and slowly proceeded down the street.
The cigar, he reflected, might easily have been stolen in the Subway.A hundred men had crushed against him. Any one of them so inclinedcould have taken the weed at his pleasure. The thought was whollydisquieting, since if any man attempted to bite the cigar-end through,to smoke, he would pay a tragic penalty for his petty theft.
This aspect of the affair, indeed, grew terrible, the more he thoughtupon it. He almost felt he must run to the station, try to search outthat particular train, and cry for all to hear that the stolen cigarwould be fatal--but the thought was a wild, unreasoning vagary; he wasabsolutely helpless in the case.
He could not be certain that the weed had thus been extracted from hispocket. It might in some manner have been lost. He did not know--hecould not know. He felt sure of one thing only--his hope, his demand,that Dorothy must be innocent and good.
Despite his arguments, he was greatly depressed. The outcome of allthe business loomed dim and uncertain before him, a haze charged withmystery, involving crime as black as night.
He presently came to the intersection of fashionable Fifth Avenue andForty-second Street, and was halted by the flood of traffic. Hundredsof vehicles were pouring up and down, in endless streams, while twocalm policemen halted the moving processions, from time to time, topermit the crosstown cars and teams to move in their several directions.
Across from Garrison's corner loomed the great marble library, stillincomplete and gloomily fenced from the sidewalk. Beyond it,furnishing its setting, rose the trees of Bryant Park, a green oasis inthe tumult and unloveliness about it. Garrison knew the benches therewere crowded; nevertheless, he made his way the length of the block andfound a seat.
He sat there till the sun was gone and dusk closed in upon the city.The first faint lights began to twinkle, like the palest stars, in thebuildings that hedged the park about. He meant to hunt out arestaurant and dine presently, but what to do afterward he could notdetermine.
There was nothing to be done at Branchville or Hickwood at night, andbut little, for the matter of that, to be done by day. Tomorrow wouldbe ample time to return to that theater of uncertainty. He longed forone thing only--another sight of Dorothy--enshrined within his heart.
Reminded at last of the man who had followed on his trail, he purposelystrolled from the park and circled two blocks, by streets now almostdeserted, and was reasonably certain he had shaken off pursuit. As amatter of fact, his "shadow" had lost him in the Subway, and now,having notified the Robinsons by telephone, was watching the housewhere he roomed.
Garrison ate his dinner in a mood of ceaseless meditation concerningDorothy. He was worried to know what might have happened since hisdeparture from her home. Half inclined in one minute to go again tothe house, in the next he was quite undecided.
The thought of the telephone came like an inspiration. Unless theRobinsons should interfere, he might readily learn of her condition.
At a drug-store, near the restaurant, he found a quiet booth, farbetter suited to his needs than the noisier, more public boxes at theeating place he had quitted. He closed himself inside the littlecubby-hole, asked for the number, and waited.
It seemed an interminable time till a faint "Hello!" came over thewire, and he fancied the voice was a man's.
"Hello! Is that Mrs. Fairfax?" he asked. "I'd like to speak to Mrs.Fairfax."
"Wait a minute, please. Who is it?" said a voice unmistakablymasculine.
"Mr. Wallace," said Garrison, by way of precaution. "She'llunderstand."
"Hold the wire, please."
He held the receiver to his ear, and waited again. At length came asofter, more musical greeting. It was Dorothy. His heart wasinstantly leaping at the sound of her voice.
"Hello! Is that someone to speak to me?" she said. "This is Mrs.Fairfax."
"Yes," answered Garrison. "This is Jerold. I felt I must find outabout you--how you are. I've been distressed at the way I was obligedto leave."
"Oh!" said the voice faintly. "I--I'm all right--thank you. I mustsee you--right away." Her voice had sunk to a tone he could barelydistinguish. "Where are you now?"
"Downtown," said Garrison. "Where shall I meet you?"
"I--hardly know," came the barely audible reply. "Perhaps--at CentralPark and Ninety-third Street."
"I'll start at once," he assured her. "If you leave the house infifteen minutes we shall arrive about the same time. Try to avoidbeing followed. Good-by."
He listened to hear her answer, but it did not come. He heard thedistant receiver clink against its hook, and then the connection wasbroken.
He was happy, in a wild, lawless manner, as he left the place andhastened to the Elevated station. The prospect of meeting Dorothy oncemore, in the warm, fragrant night, at a tryst like that of lovers, madehis pulses surge and his heart beat quicken with excitement. Allthought of her possible connection with the Branchville crime had fled.
The train could not run fast enough to satisfy his hot impatience. Hewished to be there beneath the trees when she should presently come.He alighted at last at the Ninety-third Street station, and hastened tothe park.
When he came to the appointed place, he found an entrance to thegreenery near by. Within were people on every bench in sight--NewYork's unhoused lovers, whose wooing is accomplished in the all butsylvan glades which the park affords.
Here and there a bit of animated flame made a tiny meteor streakagainst the blackness of the foliage--where a firefly quested fo
r itsmate, switching on its marvelous little searchlight. Beyond, on thesmooth, broad roadways, four-eyed chariots of power shot silentlythrough the avenues of trees--the autos, like living dragons, halftamed to man's control.
It was all thrilling and exciting to Garrison, with the expectation ofmeeting Dorothy now possessing all his nature. Then--a few great dropsof rain began to fall. The effect was almost instantaneous. A dozenpairs of sweethearts, together with as many more unmated stragglers,came scuttling forth from unseen places, making a lively run for thenearest shelter.
Garrison could not retreat. He did not mind the rain, except in so faras it might discourage Dorothy. But, thinking she might have goneinside the park, he walked there briskly, looking for some solitaryfigure that should by this time be in waiting. He seemed to beentirely alone. He thought she had not come--and perhaps in the rainshe might not arrive at all.
Back towards the entrance he loitered. A lull in the traffic of thestreet had made the place singularly still. He could hear theraindrops beating on the leaves. Then they ceased as abruptly as theyhad commenced.
He turned once more down the dimly lighted path. His heart gave aquick, joyous leap. Near a bench was a figure--the figure of a womanwhose grace, he fancied, was familiar.
Her back was apparently turned as he drew near. He was about towhistle, if only to warn her of his coming, when the shrubbery justahead and beside the path was abruptly parted and a man with a short,wrapped club in his hand sprang forth and struck him viciously over thehead.
He was falling, dimly conscious of a horrible blur of lights in hiseyes, as helplessly as if he had been made of paper. A second blow,before he crumpled on the pavement, blotted out the last remainingvestige of emotion. He lay there in a limp, awkward heap.
The female figure had turned, and now came striding to the place with astep too long for a woman. There was no word spoken. Together the twolifted Garrison's unconscious form, carried it quickly to theshrubbery, fumbled about it for a minute or two, struck a match thatwas shielded from the view of any possible passer-by, and then, stillin silence, hastily quitted the park and vanished in one of theglistening side streets, where the rain was reflecting the lamps.
