CHAPTER VIII
WHEN A WOMAN SMILED
ANTHONY TRENT apparently was in no way confused at this interruption.The woman was not to guess that his _nonchalant_ manner and the carelesslighting of a cigarette, cloaked in reality a feeling of despair at theuntoward ending of his adventure. Calmly she walked past him and lookedat the assemblage of finely tempered steel instruments of hisprofession.
"So you're a burglar!" she said with an air of decision.
"That is a term I dislike," said Anthony Trent genially. "Call me rathera professional collector, an abstractor, a connoisseur--anything butthat."
"It amounts to the same thing," she returned severely, "you came here tosteal my father's money."
"Your father's money," he returned slowly. "Then--then you are MissGuestwick?"
"Naturally," she retorted eyeing him keenly, "and if you offer anyviolence I shall have you arrested."
She was amazed to see a pleasant smile break over the intruder's face.He was exceedingly attractive when he smiled.
"What a hard heart you have!"
"You ought to realize this is no time to jest," she said stiffly.
"I am not so sure," he made answer.
She looked at him haughtily. He realized that he had rarely seen sobeautiful a girl. There was a look of high courage about her thatparticularly appealed to him. She had long Oriental eyes of jade green.He amended his guess as to her age. She must be seven and twenty he toldhimself.
"It is my duty to call the police and have you arrested," she exclaimed.
"That is the usual procedure," he agreed.
She stood there irresolute.
"I wonder what makes you steal!"
"Abstract," he corrected, "collect, borrow, annex--but not steal."
She took no notice of his interruption.
"It isn't as though you were ill or starving--that might be some sort ofexcuse--but you are well dressed. I've done a great deal of social workamong the poor and often I've met the wives of thieves and have actuallyfound myself pitying men who have stolen for bread."
"Jean Valjean stuff," he smiled, "it has elements of pathos. Jean gotnineteen years for it if you remember."
She paid no heed to his flippancy.
"You talk like an educated man. Economic determination did not bring youto this. You have absolutely no excuse."
"I have offered none," he said drily.
She spoke with a sudden air of candor.
"Do you know this situation interests me very much. One reads aboutburglars, of course, but that sort of thing seems rather remote. We'venever had any robberies here before, and now to come face to face witha real burglar, cracking--isn't that the word you use?--a safe, israther disconcerting."
"You bear up remarkably well," he assured her.
It was her turn to smile.
"I'm just wondering," she said slowly. "My father detests notoriety."
The intruder permitted himself to laugh gently. He thought of thatpretentious tome "Operas I Have Seen."
"How well Mr. Guestwick conceals it!"
Apparently she had not heard him. It was plain she was in the throes ofmaking up her mind.
"I wonder if I ought to do it," she mused.
"Do what?" he demanded.
"Let you get away. You have so far stolen nothing so I should not beaiding or abetting a crime."
"Indeed you would," he said promptly. "My very presence here is illegaland as you see I have opened that absurd safe."
"What an amazing burglar!" she cried, "he does not want his freedom."
"It is your duty as Mr. Guestwick's daughter to send me to jail and Ishan't respect you if you don't."
She was again the haughty young society woman gazing at a curiousspecimen of man.
"It is very evident," she snapped, "that you don't appreciate yourposition. Instead of sending you to prison I am willing to give youanother chance. Will you promise me never to do this sort of thing againif I let you go?"
Trent looked up.
"I have enjoyed your conversation very much," he observed genially,"but I have work to do. Inside that safe I expect to find fifty thousanddollars and possibly some odd trinkets. I am in particular need of themoney and I propose to get it."
Swiftly she crossed the room to a telephone.
"I don't think you'll succeed," she said, her hand on the instrument.
"Put it to the test," he suggested. "The wires are not cut."
"Why aren't you afraid?" she demanded; "don't you realize yourposition?"
"Fully," he retorted, "but remember you'll have just the same difficultyas I in explaining your presence here. Now go ahead and get the police."
"What do you mean?" she cried. He noticed that she paled at what he saidand her hands had been for a moment not quite steady.
"First that you are not a Miss Guestwick. There are only two of them andI have just left them at the Opera. Next you are neither servant norguest. The servants are all abed and there are no house guests. I am notaccustomed to making mistakes in matters of this sort. Now, I'm notinviting confidences and I'm not making threats, but the doors arelocked and I intend to get what I came for. Ring all you like and see ifa servant answers you. By the way how is it I overlooked you when I camein?"
"I hid behind those portieres."
"It was excusable," he commented, "not to have looked there."
She sank into a chair her whole face suffused with gloom. He steeled hisheart against feeling sympathy for her. He would liked to have learnedall about her but there was not much time. The Guestwicks might returnearlier than usual or Briggs might be lurking the other side of thedoor.
"You've found me out," she said quietly, "I'm not one of the Guestwickgirls."
"I told you so," he said a little impatiently.
"Don't you want to know anything about me?" she demanded.
"Some other time," he returned, "I'm busy now."
"But what are you going to do?" she asked.
"I thought I told you. I'm going to see what Mr. Guestwick has whichinterests me. Then I shall get a bite to eat somewhere and go home tobed."
"Are you going to take that fifty thousand dollars?" she demanded. Hertone was a tragic one.
"That's what I came for," he told her.
"You mustn't, you mustn't," she declared and then fell to weepingbitterly.
Beauty in distress moved Anthony Trent even when his business mostengrossed his attention. It was his nature to be considerate of women.When he had garnered enough money to buy himself a home he intended tomarry and settle down to domestic joys. As to this weeping woman, therewas little doubt in his mind as to the reason she was in the Guestwickhome. Perhaps she noticed the harder look that came to his face.
"Whom do you think I am?" she asked.
"I have not forgotten," he answered, "that women also are abstractors attimes."
She gazed at him wide open eyes, a look of horror on her face.
"You think I'm here to steal?"
"I wish I didn't," he answered. "It's bad enough for a man, but for awoman like you. What am I to think when I find you hiding in a housewhere you have no right to be?"
"That's the whole tragedy of it," she exclaimed, "that I've no right tobe here. I suppose I shall have to tell you everything. Can't you guesswho I am?"
Anthony Trent looked at the clock. Precious seconds were chasing oneanother into minutes and he had wasted too much time already.
"I don't see that it matters at all to me," he pointed to the safe, "I'mhere on business."
It annoyed him to feel he was not quite living up to the debonair heroeshe had created once upon a time. They would not have permittedthemselves to be so brusque with a lovely girl upon whose exquisitecheeks tears were still wet.
"You must listen to me," she implored, "I'm Estelle Grandcourt. Now doyou understand why I've come?"
"For the money that you think is already yours," he said, a triflesulkily. Matters were becoming complicated.
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br /> "Money!" cried the amazing chorus girl, "I hate it!"
His face cleared.
"If that's the case," he said genially, "we shall not quarrel. Frankly,Miss Grandcourt, I love it."
She glanced at him through tear-beaded lashes.
"I suppose you've always thought of a show girl as a schemingadventuress always on the lookout for some foolish, rich old man or elsesome silly boy with millions to spend."
"Not at all!" he protested.
"But you have," she contradicted, "I can tell by your manner. For mypart I have always thought of burglars as brutal, low-browed men withoutchivalry or courtesy. I've been wrong too. I imagined thegentleman-crook was only a fiction and now I find him a fact. Will youplease tell me what you've heard about me. I'm not fishing forcompliments. I want, really and truly, to know."
Trent hesitated a moment. He thought, as he looked at her, that neverhad he seen a sweeter face. She was wholly in earnest.
"Please, please," she entreated.
"It's probably all wrong," he observed, "but the general impression isthat Norton Guestwick is a wild, weak lad for whom you set your snares.And when Mr. Guestwick tried to break it off you asked fifty-thousanddollars in cash as a price."
"Do you believe that?" she asked looking at him almost piteously.
"It was common report," he said, seeking to exonerate himself, "I readsome of it in _Gotham Gossip_."
"And just because of what some spiteful writer said you condemn meunheard."
He looked at the inviting safe and fidgeted.
"I'm not condemning," he reminded her. "I don't know anything about theaffair. I don't yet see why you are here, Miss Grandcourt."
"Because I have the right to be," she said, looking him full in theface. "I pretended I was a Miss Guestwick. If you wish to know thetruth, I am Mrs. Norton Guestwick. I can show you our marriagecertificate. This is the first time I have ever been in the house of myfather-in-law."
"How did you get in?" he demanded. He felt certain that Briggs thebutler had shown him into the library believing it to be unoccupied.
"I bribed a servant who used to be in our employ."
"Your employ?" he queried.
"Why not?" she flung back at him. "Is it also reported that I come fromthe slums? We were never rich as the Guestwicks are rich, but until myfather died we lived in good style as we know it in the South. I am atleast as well educated as my sisters-in-law who refuse to recognize thatI exist. I was at the Sacred Heart Convent in Paris. I sing and paintand play the piano as well as most girls but do none of these wellenough to make a living at it. I came here to New York hoping thatthrough the influence of my father's friends I could get some sort of aposition which would give me a living wage." She shrugged her shoulders,"I wonder if you know how differently people look at one when one iswell off and when one comes begging favors?"
"None better," he exclaimed bitterly.
"So I had to get in to the chorus because they said my figure would doeven if I hadn't a good enough voice. Then I met Norton."
She looked at Anthony Trent with a little friendly smile that stirredhim oddly. In that moment he envied Norton Guestwick more than anyliving creature.
"What do they say about my husband?" she asked.
"You can never believe reports," he said evasively.
"I'll tell you," she returned, "they say he is a waster, a libertine,weak and degenerate. They are wrong. He is full of sweet, generousimpulses. His mother has so pampered him that he was almost hopelesstill I met him. I expect you think it's conceited of me but I have agreat influence on him."
"You would on any man," he said fervently.
She looked at him in a way that suggested a certain subtle tribute tohis best qualities.
"Ah, but you are different," she sighed, "you are strong and resolute.You would sway the woman you loved and make her what you wanted her tobe. He is clay for my molding and I want him to be a splendid, fine sonlike my father." She looked at Trent with a tender, proud smile, "If youhad ever met my father you would understand."
Anthony Trent shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. He had notdared for months now to think of that kindly country physician who diedfrom the exposure attendant on a trip during a blizzard to aid apenniless patient.
"I know what you mean," he said at length, "and I think it is splendidof you. Good God! why can people like the Guestwicks object to a girllike you?"
"They've never seen me," she explained, "and that's the main trouble.They persist in thinking of me as a champagne-drinking adventuress whowants to blackmail them. That money"--she pointed to the safe, "I didn'task for it. Mr. Guestwick offered it to me as a bribe to give up myhusband and consent to a divorce."
"But I still don't see why you are here," he said.
"Our old servant arranged it. She says they always come up here afterthe opera, all four of them. If I confront them they must see I'm notthe sort of girl they think me. I'm dreading it horribly but it's theonly way."
Anthony Trent looked at her with open admiration.
"You'll win," he cried enthusiastically, "I feel it in my bones."
"And when I absolutely refuse to take their money they _must_ see I'mnot the adventuress they call me."
Anthony Trent had by this time forgotten the money. The mention of itreminded him of his errand and the fleeting minutes.
"If you don't take it, what is going to happen to it?"
"I'm going to tell Mr. Guestwick that he can't buy me."
"But I'm willing to be bought," he said, forcing a smile. "In factthat's what I came for."
She shrunk back as though he had struck her. Her big eyes lookedreproach at him. Tremulous eager words seemed forced from her by theagitation into which his words had thrown her.
"You couldn't do that now," she wailed, "not now you know. They'll be invery soon now and what could I say if the money was gone? Don't you seethey would send me away in disgrace and Norton would believe that I wasjust as bad as they said? Then he'd divorce me and I think my heartwould break."
"Damn!" muttered Trent. Things were happening in an unexpected fashion.He tried not to look at her piteous face.
"Please be kind to me," she begged, "this is your opportunity to do onegreat noble thing."
"It really means so much to you?" he asked.
"It means everything," she said simply.
He paced the room for a minute or more. He was fighting a great battle.There remained in him, despite his mode of living, a certain generosityof character, a certain fineness bequeathed him by generations ofhonorable folk. He saw clearly what the girl meant. She was here tofight for her happiness and the redemption of the man she loved. Howsmall a thing, it seemed to him suddenly, was the necessity he had feltfor obtaining the miserable money. What stinging mordant memories wouldalways be his if he refused her!
There was a tenderness, a protective look in his eyes when he glanceddown at her. He was his father's son again.
"It means something to me, too," he told her, "to do as you want, and Idon't believe there's a person on this green earth I'd do it for butyou."
His hand lingered for a moment on her white shoulder.
"Good luck, little girl."
The partly lighted hall full of mysterious shadows awakened no fear inhim as he quietly descended the stairs. And when he came to the avenuehe did not glance up and down as he usually did to see whether or not hewas being followed.
There was a lightness of heart and an exaltation of spirit which he hadnever experienced. It was that happiness which alone comes to the manwho has made a sacrifice. There was never a moment since he hadabandoned fiction that he was nearer to returning to its uncertainrewards. Pipe after pipe he smoked when he was once more in his quietroom and asked himself why he had done this thing. There were tworeasons hard to dissociate. First, this wonderful girl had reminded himof the man he had passionately admired--his father, the father who hadtaught him to play fair. And then he was forced to admit he had n
everbeen more drawn to any woman than to this girl, who must, before hislast pipe was smoked, have won her victory or gone down to defeat. Againand again he told himself that there was no man he envied so much asNorton Guestwick.
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