NYPL RESEARCH LIBRARIES
33433 07604445 6
Kiary Regan





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Chi Lecchia
24 M166
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Mary Regan











MARY REGAN





Mary Regan
BY LEROY SCOTT

IFL
CLEVELAND
NEW YORK
INTERNATIONAL FICTION LIBRARY
CLEVELAND, O.
NEW YORK, N. Y.
Made in U. 8. A.


149844B
js CENY AND
Twiitos
1941
Copyright, MCMXVII
BY THE METROPOLITAN MAGAZINE CO.
Copyright, MCMXVIII
BY LEROY SCOTT
All Rights Reserved
PRASS OF
THE COMMERCIAL BOOKBINDING CO.
CLEVELAND
Made in U. S. A.


CONTENTS
·
·
I. THE WORLD SITS DOWN TOGETHER . . I
II. THE RETURN OF MARY REGAN. . . .
III. PETER LOVEMAN . . . . . . . .
IV. AS MARY SEES HERSELF . . . . .
V. CLIFFORD HAS A NEW PURPOSE . .
VI. MARY SHOWS HER HAND. . . . . . 55
VII. NINA CORDOVA . . . . . . . . . 70
VIII. IN LOVEMAN'S LIBRARY . . . . .
IX. THE TEST OF LIFE. . . . . . 100
X. THE GOLDEN DOORS . . . . . 112
XI. MARY PLANS ANEW . . . . . . . 124
XII. A GENTLEMAN OF PLEASURE . . . . 136
XIII. MR. MORTON TAKES A HAND . . . . 149
XIV. MARY FACES A CRISIS . . . . . .
XV. LOVEMAN SHOWS HIS CLAWS . . .
XVI. THE STRINGS OF HUMAN NATURE. .
XVII. THE OTHER WOMAN . . . . . . . 193
XVIII. HOW MAISIE JONES REACTED . . . . 206
XIX. MARY THINKS THINGS OUT . . . . . 215
XX. CLIFFORD'S NEW ASSIGNMENT . . . . 225
XXI. AT THE MIDNIGHT CAFÉ
·
SEP 22
6. D. TRANSFER


MARY REGAN
CHAPTER I
THE WORLD SITS DOWN TOGETHER
It was opening night of the new bill at the Grand
Alcazar; and Clifford, as he waited alone at a little
table for his host, almost unconsciously searched
through the great restaurant of black-and-gold for
Mary Regan- just as, almost unconsciously, he
had been seeking her wherever he had been during
the six months of agreed-upon silence since they
had parted. He did not expect to see her here,
hence felt no disappointment when his roving eyes
did not come upon her. She had said she would
write when she had thought it all out, and when she
was ready to see him. Six months was a long time,
but he believed in her word — and still waited, not
once having sought to penetrate that utter privacy
which she had asserted to be for her, at that time,
life's prime essential. But though keeping his word,
he had often been impatient, and had often wondered.
Meditatively Clifford glanced over this great
crowd of well-dressed diners. For him they were a
vivid concentration, a cross-section, of life: of life
as he, in his philosophy, and in the pursuit of his


MARY REGAN
profession, had come to see it. Here were million-
aires, many of them having made their easeful
fortunes by dubious operations which shrewd coun-
sel had steered just within the law; here were young
men of moderate means, spending recklessly; here
were society women of the younger and smarter
set, with their escorts, sowing the seeds, though they
dreamed it not, of possible scandal and possible
blackmail; here were members of that breed of hu-
mans who are known as "sporting men”; here were
the most finished types of professional crooks, many
accompanied by the finished women of their own
kind, but here and there with them a girl who had no
idea of the manner of man with whom she ate and
drank, and no idea of the end of this her pleasant
adventure; and here were respectable mothers and
their daughters, who were innocent of what sat at
the next table; and here were out-of-town visitors
who were visibly excited and exalted by the thought
that they were seeing life – New York! — the real
New York!
Clifford smiled sadly, rather grimly, to himself.
These conglomerate guests were proof of what he
had long held: that there was no distinct under-
world, no distinct upperworld; that in ideas and
personalities the two were always merging. This
scene summarized what experience had made the
basic idea of Clifford's working philosophy: the great
interrelation, the great interdependence, the great
oneness of all humanity.


MARY REGAN
Looking over this mixture of all sorts, in which
acquaintance was so easy to make, Clifford thought
of the strange dramas that had their beginnings in
the Grand Alcazar and establishments of its kind.
Thus much had the dancing craze, though now re-
ceded from its earliest frenzy, and the practice of
dining and eating midnight suppers in the showy
restaurants, achieved: it had brought all sorts of
persons, so long as they were well dressed, under the
same roof and had set them down at the same or
adjoining tables. Hardly since time began had that
important requisite of great drama been so nearly
perfect as in these restaurants — for people of differ-
ent ideas and interests and moral standards to ineet
naturally upon a common ground. ...
A little man, swart of face, his mustache tightly
waxed, and in the smartest evening dress that con-
vention permits the male, paused and spoke to Clif-
ford - a gentleman whom most of the patrons of
the place knew, if they knew him at all, as Monsieur
Le Bain. Though the master of this ornate pleasure
palace, he spoke obsequiously.
Clifford liked to see the great little man squirm.
“Police trouble you much here?" he asked.
“No, Bob, - I never see a policeman here, except
when a captain or an inspector comes in to eat,” the
great restaurateur said nervously.
“Not like the old days downtown - with their
raids – eh, Joe?”.
“Nothing of that sort -- ever!” And with a quick


MARY REGAN
look around that showed he feared some one might
have overheard these sentences and guessed what
lay behind them, he said something about being
needed on his ballroom floor and hurried away.
Clifford watched the famous restaurateur, again
smiling grimly. If these people here — the respect-
able ones at least - knew the record of Joe Gordon
(which again was not the name given him at birth),
knew from what places and occupations he had
made his way to his eminence of foremost host and
impresario of prandial entertainment - what a
panic there would be! (Or would there be a panic?)
Life was certainly strange! — with its emergencies,
its juxtapositions, its crossing of threads -strange
at least to him who was always seeing behind the
scenes. Yes, life was certainly strange!...
Clifford's meditations were interrupted by a
hearty, “Hello, Bob," and by a large hand gripping
one of his.
“Hello, Uncle George. I'd begun to think -"
“Hold on, son," and Clifford's host halted the
talk by raising one hand like a traffic policeman and
with the other reaching for the dinner card. While
the long order was being dictated, Clifford gazed
impatiently across at his companion, wondering
what this appointment was about. His host was a
large man who once might have been bulbous, but
who now had deflated little balloons of skin hanging
beneath eyes and chin and jaws. His few short
gray hairs were divided into two precisely equal por-


MARY REGAN
tions; his eyebrows were entirely gone, and of eye-
lashes he had almost none; his eyes were smallish,
gray, cunning, genial. He made Clifford fancy, with
those eyes of his so good-naturedly cynical, and with
his large, outstanding ears, that here might be a
satyr who had forsaken gay forests for city and had
at length grown into grandfatherly days.
“Well, now, Uncle George — what's all this
about?" Clifford demanded when the order was in.
"Not so fast, son, — not so fast," slowly remon-
strated Uncle George, who, as far as Broadway's
knowledge went, was no one's Uncle George, but
who was known by no other name. “Let's wait until
we've packed away some of the freight that waiter's
going to bring us." He blinked his lashless lids, and
drawled on. “It's been a long time since I've seen
you — six months. I just wanted to give you the once
over, and ask you how was trade."
“Trade's good — considering."
The old head nodded. “Yes, considering that
you're a detective who's on the square. There's not
much chance for that sort, son, - not in this here
widely advertised Christian civilization of ours. At
least, not much chance to make a large private col-
lection of coin.”
"I'm not in this primarily to make money. I
thought you understood that."
"You sure are a queer guy, son," pronounced the
old man. “I've heard you spiel off your ideas -
you're not primarily a thief-taker - you're in this


MARY REGAN
to help people out of the trouble. A hell of an idea
for a detective!”.
“You know as well as I do, Uncle George, that
most of the people that get into trouble, or seem to
be bad - well, they personally are not so much to
blame. They've been born and raised in bad condi-
tions — they've never had a chance — have never
really been able to tell what was right or wrong,
and have never had a chance to choose the right "
“Come up for air, son, - come up for air," cut in
the old man. “Son, that's nice music, but it's all
bunk. You're an awful example of what a college
education can do to a man. Now you just listen to
your Uncle George. You know me — everybody
knows me. I've been in about every crooked game
known to the human race and the higher animals,
including managing shows — and I've never been
pinched because I was too clever for the coppers, and
the coppers know it, too. I tell you I know life up
and down and across the middle — and I tell you
that we've all got a streak of crookedness — every
damned one of us!”
“If that's so," smiled Clifford, “then why are you
always helping crooks?".
“That's just my human cussedness. I've retired
from business — I'm one of these gentlemen farmers
that have located on Broadway; but I don't like to
see any earnest young crook get a raw deal from the
coppers, who are the rawest crooks of all.” The old
man waved his left hand as though brushing such
w


MARY REGAN
conversation aside. “But let's get down to brass
tacks - which means you and me. You and Brad-
ley as great friends as ever?"
Despite himself Clifford fushed with chagrin.
“Don't try to be funny!”.
“And, son, don't be too sore. Bradley was one
hell of a guy. He was the cleverest chief of detec-
tives the Police Department ever had.”
“And the crookedest!”
“Sure, son, — did n't I tell you us humans were
all crooks!" the old man said appeasingly. “But,
sure, there never was a crookeder chief of detectives
than Bradley. You certainly showed nerve when
you started out to get him – and you certainly
showed your class when you finally trapped him,
publicly, with the goods on. Only —".
“That's it— only!” Clifford exclaimed sourly.
“It's quite some little word, that only."
"Sure — only. Son," — and the old man spoke
gravely, — "I'm twice as old as you are, but you
should know as well as I know that you really can't
get a copper. I mean a clever copper. Count the big
coppers that have really been sent away — the smart
boys, I mean - and you'll see you have several
fingers left to check up your laundry on. That was
grand business you pulled on Bradley, and it showed
all New York he was a crook. It was worth doing
- God, yes! But I said to myself, as soon as I heard
of the swell arrest you had made of him, that a
classy guy like Bradley would have himself covered


MARY REGAN
and would beat the case when it came to trial. And
he sure did beat it!"
“On a technicality!" Clifford was still bitter at
the manner in which his old enemy and old superior
officer had slipped from what had seemed the sure
clutches of the law.
"A technicality, sure. But it got him off, and what
more does a crook ever ask for?"
“But he got reinstated in the Police Department!"
“But did n't he retire right afterwards, claiming
broken health? And don't you and I know his real
reason was that his old game was done for and that
the public was wise to him? The big trouble with
you, son," the old man declared severely, “is that
you want a one hundred per cent victory. The best
you can hope for with a guy like Bradley is to split
the thing fifty-fifty."
“You seem to admire Bradley a lot!" half growled
Clifford.
"I do. I hand it to the guy with brains wherever
I meet him."
“I don't see how you can be friends with me, then!"
“You're clever, too, son. You're the only one I've
ever figured might beat Bradley in a finish fight. And
then you're a queer party, Bob, - you're square,"
he drawled. “I've traveled up and down this world
of he-and-she grafters, shoplifters, safeblowers, and
sure-thing business men, and after it all you know
it's right pleasant to sit down in the shade of a square
guy. And besides, son," he added, “I said I ad-


MARY REGAN
mired Bradley because he was clever; I did n't say
I liked him as a friend. Now, you, Bob, somehow I
like you."
“Thanks, Uncle George." There was a moment's
silence. “But that's not what you got me here to
tell me.”
"Perhaps not, son. But what's the hurry? Queer,
ain't it,” he meditated, “how all the big cops, when
they leave the Police Department, open a private de-
tective agency? I hear Bradley's doing great busi-
ness since he started out as a private detective."
“Licensed blackmailer - that's what he is!"
"Sure, son, that's what they all are. A client tells
a private sleuth secrets, and retains him to get in-
formation about some other party - and is held up
for a big fee. The sleuth gets the information, and
then makes the second party pay by threatening
to expose him — second hold-up; and then makes
the first client pay again by threatening to expose
the original secret — third hold-up. Oh, it's a rich
game Bradley's switched into!"
“Once more, Uncle George — that's not what you
got me here to tell me."
“Perhaps it's not really so much I've got to tell
you. Mebbe it's occurred to you" - meditatively,
slowly - "that since the big upset you gave him,
Bradley is n't exactly what you might call in love
with you."
“Not exactly."
“Well, I heard it from a friend who's got a friend


MARY REGAN
who's got a mother-in-law who listens to little birds
- and the dope runs that Bradley is out to square
matters with you."
Clifford nodded. He had expected something of
the sort.
"Did this little bird relay any information as to
just what Bradley was going to do?"
“None that got to me. But, son, I'd keep my eyes
pointed in all directions, and be careful of the friends
I made, and be careful of the cases I got drawn into.
It may be a long time coming, and God only knows
in what direction it'll come from. Bradley knows
how to handle people so they never know they're
being handled — and he's likely to hit you through
almost any one. Look out, son. This is serious.
There'll be big doings."
Clifford gazed steadily at the old worldling. In.
deed, there must be something — and big! - 01
else Uncle George, whose general attitude in matters
of morals, police, and criminals was one of genia!
laissez-faire, would not have brought him this warn
ing. He knew from experience the craft and powe.
of Bradley — his subtle patience in working out his
designs, his patience in waiting apparently quiescent
for the ripe moment — the swiftness and might with
which he struck when the instant came to strike.
Automatically, swiftly, Clifford's mind flashed
forward in search of possible weapons, of direct and
devious schemes, that the fertile-brained Bradley
might be contriving against him.


CHAPTER II
THE RETURN OF MARY REGAN
SUDDENLY all conjectures concerning Bradley were
swept utterly from his mind. Down the gilded red-
carpeted stairway that led from what the Grand
Alcazar termed its “ballroom de luxe," there came
– though this was not the figure Clifford first noted
- a short, full-bodied, ornately dressed man, with
a bald crown and a smile of engaging amiability.
Beside him, and a half-head taller, — and this is
what Clifford first saw, — walked a slender young
woman, in an evening coat of rose velvet, her
rounded throat gleaming a dusky marble from the
soft shadows of the furred collar. Her face was the
rose-tan of early autumn leaves, and her dark eyes
gazed straight before her with a composure so com-
plete that it seemed to announce a haughty indiffer-
ence to all the world.
“Mary Regan!" ejaculated Clifford, stupefied.
Uncle George seemed not the least startled by Clif-
ford's exclamation. He turned — and then there was
surprise enough in his voice: -
“Hello – Peter Loveman with her!"
Clifford, recovered from his brief paralysis, arose
and hurried between the tables. But the pair had
already turned into the entrance and did not note


MARY KEGAN
him. As Clifford came into the gilded and bepalmed
lobby, he saw her, aided by four eager Grand Alca-
zar flunkeys and by Loveman, looking a grotesquely
small grand opera impresario in his silk hat and fur
coat, stepping into a closed car. By running Clifford
could have caught her, or by calling he could have
gained her attention. But at that instant he re-
membered the essence of their bargain, that he
should make no attempt to seek her out until she
sent for him. That remembrance checked him; the
door closed upon the rose-velvet figure, the car slid
off through Broadway's incandescent brilliance, and
she was gone.
Foregetful of where he was, Clifford stood bare-
headed and stockstill in the lobby. Mary Regan's
sudden reappearance out of the silence, the vacancy,
of six months' absence, sent his mind flashing over
the past, the present, the future, touching in chaotic
wonderment the high spots of his strange relation-
ship with her. ... Daughter of that one-time fa-
mous cynic and famous master criminal, “Gentle-
man Jim" Regan, dead these five years, she had
passed her girlhood in the cynical philosophy of the
little court surrounding her father, — had made that
philosophy her own, — and, grown into young
womanhood, she had joined that great crime entre-
preneur, her Uncle Joe Russell, in many of his more
subtle enterprises. It was at the beginning of this
career that Clifford's life had come into contact with
hers. Police Commissioner Thorne had ordered him
12


MARY REGAN
to "cover" the pair. From the first Clifford had con-
ceived the idea that her criminal point of view was
not an expression of her true nature, but was a habit
of mind developed in her by association: and he had
proceeded upon the theory that a bigger rôle, than
merely to make arrests, would be to arouse the real
Mary Regan to her true self. ... The conflicts be
tween the two! - her hostility to him! - his ulti-
mate success, or seeming success, when he had broken
through her shell of defensive cynicism -- and last
of all, that parting scene down in Washington Square
in the dusk of the on-coming dawn!...
He lived through that scene for a briefest mo-
ment -- he was always living over that scene. He
had told her that he loved her; and she, admitting
that she loved him, had said, “But that does n't
mean I can marry you.” “Then, what does it
mean?” he had demanded. A look of decision
had come into her face how vividly he recalled
every minutia of their one love-scene! - and she
had said:-
“Before we can talk definitely about such things,
I want to go off somewhere, alone, and think over
what you have said about me. If I am not what I
used to be - if I am really that different person you
say I am, I want to get acquainted with myself. I
seem so strange to myself, it all seems so strange.
I hope you are right - but I must be sure - very
sure - and so I am going away."
"But when you come back?" he had cried.
13


MARY REGAN
“A lot may happen before that,” she had an-
swered gravely. “A lot to you, and a lot to me."
“But when you come back?" he had insisted.
“When I come back," she had breathed quaver-
ingly, "if you still think the same way about my
being that sort of person — and if I find that it's
really true — " .
· And then his arms had closed about her and he had
kissed her. But even as she had let him, she had
murmured almost fearfully: “Remember - a lot
may happen — before then ...".
Clifford's mind leaped forward from that long-
gone night to the present. And now she was back
- back out of the unknown into which she had dis-
appeared — and back without having sent him a
word of any kind! What did it mean, this unan-
nounced return? And what did it mean, her being
in company with dapper little Peter Loveman?
man-about-town, and carrying behind that round,
amiable smile the shrewdest legal brain of its va-
riety in New York.
Clifford had in reality been standing in the gilded
lobby for no more than a minute, though his mind
had traversed so wide a space, when a gray-and:
black town-car, with a long hood that suggested
power ample for a racer, slowed down at the curb
and a young man stepped out and hurried into the
Grand Alcazar. Fifth Avenue tailors and hatters
and haberdashers had equipped him with their best
and costliest.
14


MARY REGAN
“Sink my ship if it's not old Bob Clifford!” he
cried, giving Clifford a slender, soft hand. “How's
the old boy?"
"Same as always. And how's Jackie Morton?
You've been missing for months."
“I've a wonderful tale to unfold — but no time
to unfold it now."
There was that about him which begot an instant
liking, though his face was not as strong as it might
have been.
“Say — you won't believe it — but listen. I've
been on the wagon for seventeen weeks!”
“No!"
“Give you my word! Not a drop in seventeen
ages! Had to, you know. My old man - say, he's
one old battleship! - steamed into New York and
shut off supplies, and said unless I cut it all out
and took a brace, there'd be no more shipments
of munitions. Get the situation, don't you? -- case
of a sixteen-inch gun shoved into my face and bein'
told it would go off if I did n't reform. So look and be-
hold and observe what's happened - I'm reformed!
Been off where milk 's all they shove 'cross the bar
- isolated, and all that kind of thing - and been
behavin' in a way to make the Ten Commandments
jealous. Honest to God, Clifford —".
Abruptly he checked this effervescence. “Say,
seen Peter Loveman about here?"
“He's just gone."
“Alone?"


MARY REGAN
"I believe there was a young lady with him," Clif-
ford replied discreetly - wondering a little what
young Morton's business, if any, could be with the
pair that had left.
Morton hesitated; then again was effervescent.
“Was to have met him here -- but there's no tellin'
where he is. Come on — let's have a drink."
“But you are on the wagon."
“I am. But I want to give you the grand sight of
watchin' me fall off.”
“You sit tight right where you are," advised
Clifford.
“Now, come on, don't block traffic with a funeral,"
pleaded the young fellow, slipping an arm through
Clifford's. "Just one drink!" Clifford shook his
head; and Morton tried to draw him into the restau-
rant. “Just one little drink, Clifford, - one little
drink after a Sahara of milk!".
“Mr. Morton!" a deep, brusque voice called from
behind them.
They turned. A man, square of shoulders and
deep of chest and with square, forceful face, was
advancing toward them.
"Hello, Clifford," he said.
"Hello, Bradley," Clifford returned, trying to
speak calmly and for the briefest space these old
enemies, who had so often been at grips, stared at
each other, with hard, masked gazes.
Bradley turned to Clifford's companion. “So
you tried to give me the slip, Mr. Morton. I heard
16


MARY REGAN
what you suggested to Clifford. But I guess you are
keeping off the booze to-night."
“Just look this large person over, Clifford,"
mourned the young fellow; "and honest, ain't it
hell, my father wishing a party like Bradley on me
for a nurse!"
“You need one all right!" Bradley said grimly.
“But even babies get let alone for an hour now
and then," protested the other.
“You forget that the size of my check from your
father depends upon my keeping you and booze
apart."
Morton sighed. “You 're a sordid person, Brad-
ley."
“I might mention incidentally," continued Brad-
ley, “that your father has just come to town.”
“The devil!" Morton's face filled with dismay.
"I guess, then, it really is good-night, Clifford."
He took Bradley's arm. “Come on, nursie; let's
hail the captain of my perambulator."
Clifford watched the two go out, and again he had
the sense that he was glimpsing into the compli-
cated maze behind the brilliant surface of Big Pleas-
ure. The relationship between that pair might be
strange for any other period in the world's history,
but it was a definite, though small, phase of this
great pleasure life - a gay young spender bridled
and the reins put in the hands of a private officer.
Clifford felt a moment's uneasiness for young Mor-
ton: in what ways could Bradley not twist his client
17


MARY REGAN
and protégé into predicaments that would brin
him profit?
When Clifford regained his table, Uncle Gecrgo
regarded him with amazement. “I thought you hac
gone!”
“Gone where?”
“With or after Miss Regan.”
“Why?"
“I thought you were -- well, I guess you get me.
That being the case, I did n't think you'd pass up
the chance to be with her.”
Clifford hesitated, then spoke the truth: “The
last time I saw Mary Regan, I promised not to speak
to her until she sent for me."
“And it was your promise that stopped you?"
Uncle George asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
“You poor simp! I suppose you thought she'd
be thinking of you, only you, with you out of her
sight for six months — and that then there'd come
a sweet little message like them they flash on the
movie screens!"
Clifford did not reply. Uncle George had very
nearly expressed his thought.
“No woman ever lived that could keep thinking
of one man for six months, and him away!" Uncle
George leaned closer, and spoke in a low voice. “See
here, son, - while you've been keeping your promise
and remaining strictly off the premises, what do you
think the other people have been doing?”
18


MARY REGAN
my chief to be here right
“What other people?” cried Clifford, in quick
alarm.
Uncle George ignored the question. “You think
you've been an influence upon her. Mebbe so, son.
Mebbe so. But she was twenty, and two or three
more, before you ever saw her. Don't you think
those twenty years might have some influence with
her, too?"
“What other people?" repeated Clifford.
Again Uncle George ignored the question. He
looked at Clifford keenly, and spoke slowly.
“'While ago you asked me why I wanted to meet
you here. Well, son, my chief reason was because
I knew Mary Regan was going to be here — and
because I thought, on seeing her, you'd wade right
into the situation."
“See here, George, what do you know?" Clifford
cried sharply.
“Mighty little that's definite, — and telling you
that would be giving people away, and that's against
my principles, - and, besides, the little I know
might only be misleading. But, son," — the old
man's voice was grave, — "if you're at all inter-
ested in that girl, you sure ought to be busy. And
that's all I can say."
Abruptly Clifford stood up. “Thanks, Uncle
George, — good-bye –” And he was gone.


CHAPTER III
PETER LOVEMAN
CLIFFORD's first business was to make up for the
opportunity he had just let slip, and find Mary
Regan. At once he decided that his best source of
information was her brother, "Slant-Face,” once
a pickpocket of amazing skill, now the manager of
a little motion-picture house. He turned uptown to
Slant-Face's theater.
On the way he was feverishly alive with ques-
tions. Clifford's thoughts had really not been off
Mary Regan from the moment he had seen her come
down the stairway; and now Uncle George's vague
warning – he knew Uncle George would not have
spoken even so indefinitely unless there existed a
very real situation - banished all else from his mind.
Why had n't Mary Regan sent him word? What was
behind her return in such a manner? What decision
had she come to in regard to herself during these
months? What decision in regard to him?
And this danger that Uncle George had hinted at
- did it rise chiefly from the plans and influence
of other persons? And who might these other persons
be? And what might be the danger? Or might the
danger rise partly out of the complexities, the contra-
dictions, of her own nature? - that nature which had
: 20


MARY REGAN
always so baffled and eluded him. But the doubt
which lay behind this last question seemed disloyal,
and he forcibly drove it from his mind. Mary Regan,
he emphatically told himself, was the woman he
had believed her to be! She could explain every-
thing. Whatever might be wrong was due to the
unknown other persons.
Slant-Face's theater, though the hour was only
ten, was dark. He hurried to Slant-Face's apart.
ment; but Slant-Face was not there, and his wife
knew nothing of his whereabouts. Downtown again,
Clifford began a tour of Slant-Face's hang-outs; and
at length he found him standing alone at the end of
the Knickerbocker bar, before him a glass of but-
ter-milk – a slender, smartly dressed person, whose
immobile, lean face was given a saturnine cast by
the downward slant of the left corner of his mouth.
"I saw your theater was closed, Slant-Face,” said
Clifford. “What's the matter?"
“Bradley."
“Bradley! How could he have anything to do
with closing your theater?".
“Bradley has n't forgot my little part in your
stunt that got him out of the Department. He just
waited - and laid his plans. While films were being
run off and the house was dark, he had pockets picked
in my place, or had people say their pockets were
picked - pulled this three times. What with my
reputation, this was enough for the Commissioner
of Licenses, and he closed my joint."
21


MARY REGAN
“That's pretty rank. Bradley certainly does have
a long memory — and a long arm!"
“This is a five-reel picture, and it's not all been
run off yet," half growled Slant-Face through his
thin lips. “In the last reel, some one is going to get
him!” He sipped his buttermilk, then abruptly:
“Clifford, because of what you've done for me, I've
played it straight for a year. The straight game
don't pay — not for me. So I'm through. I guess
you understand what comes next."
“See here, Slant-Face, don't be —”.
“I'm through!" There was the snap of absolute
finality in the low, quiet voice.
Clifford knew that mere words could not change
the decision made behind that lean, grim visage; so
he turned to the matter that had brought him there.
“Have you seen your sister to-day?"
“Have n't seen Mary in six months.”
“You mean you don't know where she's staying?”
exclaimed Clifford.
“Down South in the woods somewhere, — God
knows why, — doing a stretch of self-imposed soli-
tary."
The obviously honest answer sharpened Clifford's
already poignant uneasiness. “Slant-Face, I saw her
an hour ago."
“In New York?".
“At the Grand Alcazar.” And then he added:
“She was with Peter Loveman.”
Even the stoic Slant-Face started. “With Peter
22


MARY REGAN
Loveman! — the lawyer that beat Bradley's case
for him! What the devil does that mean?"
"Just what I'm wondering myself."
“You mean you did n't ask her anything –
did n't speak to her?”
"No."
Slant-Face looked his bewilderment. He had had
his own private guess at what had been the situa-
tion between Clifford and his sister. But he did not
ask the "why" of this to him strange behaviour on
Clifford's part.
“Mary with Peter Loveman!” he repeated.
“Either Mary is trying to put something across —
in the old way, you understand; or else she's — well,
it looks like queer doings to me!”
“That's why I looked you up. Some one should
step in, and stop what's under way. I supposed
you knew where she was.”
"I'm going to begin to try to find out," said
Slant-Face. “And you?”
"Same here. By the way, would your Uncle Joe
know anything?”.
“Did n't you know? He's sold out everything
here and bought himself a fruit farm in California."
"Then there's just one man we're certain does
know. That's Loveman, and I'm going after Love-
man. Let me know if you get next to anything,
Slant-Face. So-long."
Clifford and the once master pickpocket clasped
hands.
23


MARY REGAN
“And Slant-Face,” Clifford added, "about that
other matter — getting money in the old way.
Don't do it.”
“I'm not promising,” said Slant-Face quietly.
Clifford privately asked Police Commissioner
Thorne to help in locating Mary Regan. Also he
hunted up little Lieutenant Jimmie Kelly, one hun-
dred and twenty pounds of grit and daring, head of
the Tenderloin Squad that free-lanced through the
hotels, restaurants, and resorts of Broadway, and of
Jimmie he asked the same help. He himself, for two
days and nights, now and then seeing Uncle George
and Slant-Face, trailed Peter Loveman from office to
courts and back again -- and particularly about the
restaurants and theaters and after-theater theaters,
which comprised Loveman's especial habitat.
But not again did Clifford see Loveman with
Mary Regan. The second night, however, he did see
Loveman with young Morton, and with the two
a middle-aged man with a masterful face. Morton's
father, Clifford guessed.;
And yet, though he saw nothing, all his senses
assured him with growing insistence that great
forces were at their hidden work-those subtle, com-
plex forces that operate indirectly, patiently, with
infinite cunning, behind the alluring and often inno-
cent visage of brilliant Big Pleasure. And also he had
a growing sense that this was not primarily a detec-
tive's puzzle; but primarily a matter of the eternal
human mystery of how human beings react, and
24


MARY REGAN
how they may be artfully stimulated. He felt him-
self just a human being in the midst of a human prob-
lem whose outlines he could not yet discern. :)
On the third day of failure it came to Clifford that
there was a chance — a bare chance - that Love-
man had no design involving Mary Regan, and he
decided to go openly to him. At Loveman's lavish
downtown offices he was told Loveman had tele-
phoned he would not appear that morning. Twenty
minutes later Clifford, after having sent in his card
by the Japanese butler-valet, was in Loveman's
study. The room, the studio of an apartment de-
signed for an artist, was furnished with a disor-
dered luxury and culture which Clifford knew to be
a genuine characteristic of the strange little notable
on whom he waited. Here were rows and rows of first
editions; old Dutch etchings, among them several
original Rembrandts; a helter-skelter gallery of auto-
graphed photographs of favorite actresses. For a
score of years, as Clifford knew, Loveman had not
missed an important first night.
Whatever might be the outcome of this interview,
Clifford knew that sometime, somehow, between
him and Loveman there would be a conflict of wits.
So he looked swiftly and curiously around the room,
for concerning this room there were current many
fables. This study, and not the downtown office, was
said to be Loveman's real workshop. Here were
created those astute plans, in which the influence
of Loveman was never traceable, that brought to his
25


MARY REGAN
downtown office those big-fee'd domestic cases, to
be fought brilliantly and sensationally in the courts
or to be settled discreetly in private. He was New
York's ablest representative of a type of lawyer that
modern social conditions have produced: a specialist
in domestic affairs — and one, when profitable dis-
sension or threatening scandal did not exist, who
knew how to create such. It was gossiped that he
kept a careful record of all tangled relations among
the rich, of the details of every delicate situation,
and watched and bided his time until at length the
affair threatened to explode into a scandal — and
then he acted. In this study there was a huge
“Scandal File," so gossip had it; but Clifford, look-
ing about, saw no such fabled article of furniture.
At that moment Loveman entered, his tonsured
head and rope-girdled dressing-gown giving him
the appearance of a somewhat jolly and rakish
monk.
“Good-morning, Clifford,” he exclaimed, cordially
holding out his hand. “Mightily like a Christian of
you, looking an old tramp up.".
“They told me at your office that you were sick.”
Loveman waved Clifford into a chair, took one
himself and crossed his small, exquisitely slippered
feet. “That's what I told the office, but I did n't tell
'em what sort of sickness it was. My boy," — with
a frank, engaging grin, which was one of the many
qualities that made this strange man so popular, -
"do you perceive any adequate excuse for a man of
26


MARY REGAN
my supposedly sensible years starting in at 11.30
P.M. on a mixed-drink Marathon?"
"I can't say," smiled Clifford, "without a knowl.
edge of the prior -".
“Don't be legally cautious with an incautious
lawyer. There was no excuse.” Loveman shook his
round head solemnly. “There was provocation,
though. You bet there was provocation. Were you
at the opening last night of 'Orange Blossoms'?"
"No."
“Congratulations. It's a dam' rotten show! And
Nina Cordova — she's all there off the stage, pretty,
and clever, and one wise little girl, don't you forget
it! — but a dam' rotten star and the voice of a guinea-
hen that's got the quinsy. And it cost sixty thou-
sand dollars to get the curtain up last night, and I
put up twenty thousand dollars of that boodle. Tell
me, oh, why" — with a quaver of mock self-sym-
pathy — "am I always going out of my own line and
letting myself be played as a sucker by some man-
ager or actress that wants extra backing? Twenty
thousand honest-to-God dollars! I kissed 'em good-
bye the very minute Nina first opened that dam'
pretty mouth, and her first note rasped across the
footlights! Ain't I the boob!".
Clifford smiled at the grotesquely disconsolate
figure, but did not answer; he knew no answer was
expected. But while he smiled, waiting, part of his
brain was remarking that these seemingly reckless
ventures of Loveman were in truth sound invest-
27


MARY REGAN
ments on which, by the devious methods or nis art,
he later realized sumptuously. That twenty thou-
sand, which would make the vain Nina regard him
as her disinterested friend and adviser, was n't
money thrown away — not in view of the whispered
affair between the voiceless prima donna, and —
“Why should I be blowing my roll,” continued
Loveman, “on these dam' musical comedies - musi-
cal, say there's some irony for you! — when what I'd
have liked would have been to help back a show like
'Justice.' Or the Russian ballet. Nijinsky — there's
some artist for you!” His last words were vividly
sincere; there was nothing more sincere about the
little man than his admiration for the highest en-
deavors in art. “And yet my coin goes into ‘Orange
Blossoms'! Is there an artistic Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde? — there is, and I'm the party — and that's
why my stomach, esophagus, palate, tongue, mouth,
and all appertaining thereunto, are this A.M. com-
posed of a faded and dusty Brussels carpet. But,
my boy, you did n't come here to listen to my woes.
What can I do for you?”
His humorously bewailing manner had suddenly
dropped from him; he was brisk and alert, and his
over-large eyes were fixed upon Clifford keenly. Clif-
ford knew that there was little chance of deceiving
this holder of the threads of destiny in a direct en-
counter.
"I came here, Loveman, to ask you for the ad-
dress of Mary Regan."
28


MARY REGAN
zar
Loveman looked puzzled. “Mary Regan- do I
know her?”
Was there something behind this evasion? “You
remember her if you remember getting Bradley off.
She was in that case.”
“Oh, yes, I remember: slender - dark - hand-
some. But I have n't seen her since the trial.”
“I don't mean to call you anything, Loveman, —
but I was told you were recently seen with her in
public."
“Where?"
“At the Grand Alcazar — for dinner — three
nights ago."
Loveman smiled. “You've caught me. I own
up. But my fib was a gentleman's lie.”
“How so?"
"She did n't want it known that she was in New
York."
“Why not?"
“Search me. Perhaps just a girl's whim."
“Do you know where I can find her?”
“Haven't the slightest idea. I was with her more or
less by accident. I was taking care of her merely for
a couple of hours— substituting for a friend of hers."
Clifford felt sure the little man was lying; but he
also felt sure he could get out of Loveman nothing
Loveman preferred not to tell. All the brains of the
Bar Association had not been able to do this when
Loveman had been before that body on charges of
unprofessional conduct.
29


MARY REGAN
"By the by, Clifford, what's your interest in the
young lady?"
“Her family heard she was back, and engaged me
to locate her."
Loveman, looking keenly at Clifford, did not be-
tray whether or not he recognized this as prevarica-
tion. Clifford stood up.
"Well, as you were my only clue, I might as well
give the matter up. Sorry to have bothered you.
Good-morning."
“Oh, you'll find her — you have the reputation of
doing whatever you start out to do. Don't hurry
away. I've got some new first editions I want to
show you. But pardon me for just a moment." He
scratched a line upon a sheet of paper, rang, and
handed the folded sheet to the Japanese butler, who
silently withdrew. “Now!” he cried briskly, and be-
gan to talk enthusiastically over half a dozen stained
and musty volumes.
Half an hour later the noiseless butler appeared,
bearing a card. Loveman begged Clifford to excuse
him, and withdrew — to reënter in five minutes.
"Something rather curious has just happened,Clif-
ford. A gentleman with whom I've had some deal-
ings just called - I had an inspiration — I made a
suggestion, and — Well, let him speak for himself.
Come right in!”
At this, through the door Loveman had left open,
stepped the square, solid figure of Bradley.
“I believe you two are acquainted with each
30


MARY REGAN
other,” remarked Loveman with his amiable brisk-
ness.
The two men nodded, and for a moment stood
silent. Clifford tried to read Bradley's purpose, but
Bradley's powerful face, with its small, brilliant
eyes, was as controlled and reticent as in the days,
now over a year gone, when Bradley used to give
him orders at Police Headquarters.
“H'are you, Clifford.” The voice was the same
even, heavy bass.
“First-class, Bradley."
“Chairs, gentlemen," put in Loveman; and when
they were seated: “Shall I say it, Bradley, or will
you?”
"I'll say it." Without preface, or reference to the
past, Bradley was in the midst of things. “I'm
building up a big business, Clifford. Another year or
so, and it'll be the biggest private detective agency
in the country. It's already getting too big for one
man to manage; besides, there are certain kinds of
cases that another man can handle better than I can.
I've been looking over the field for the right man.
Clifford; I've decided you're this right man, and I
want to ask you if you'd be willing to go into part-
nership."
“Don't speak yet — think it over for a minute,"
put in Loveman. “You two have had your little
differences, but it ought to be plain to both of you
that there's more in it for you two working together
than fighting each other.”
31


MARY REGAN
Clifford managed to maintain a composed ex-
terior, but within he was bewilderment. Certainly
Bradley was a most amazing man!
Clifford thought swiftly, if somewhat dazedly.
Was this a trap? It might be — probably was, in
view of what had previously passed between them.
But then again - it might not be a trap. Brad-
ley's offer, on the face of it, was a good business
proposition, advantageous to both parties. It was
a commonplace of business and politics and police
affairs, that competitors and even deadly enemies
may scratch the past off the books and combine in a
common effort when they vision a profit sufficiently
large in such a procedure.
And profit there certainly would be in Bradley's
proposition - big profit. First, would be the original
profit of the large fees which clients would pay to
have information secured for them. And second,
if the agency were to be run as most other private
detective agencies, and on this Bradley would doubt-
less insist, - there would be the usual large profits
secured through the pleasant and easy device of
blackmailing clients by threatening to reveal to the
public the scandals they had been paid privately to
uncover and corroborate. Beyond a doubt, tre-
mendous profits!
Yes, it might not be a trap. It might be just a
a plain business proposition. It might be —
Another thought: It might be a bribe!
Yes, whatever else it might be, it also was cer-
32


CHAPTER IV
AS MARY SEES HERSELF
As Clifford went out it seemed to him, for the mo-
ment, that his efforts thus far had resulted only in
bringing him into contact with affairs far removed
from his main business. But the next moment ex-
perience reminded him that nothing in life was ir-
relevant. Might not these seemingly unrelated frag-
ments be revealed as closely articulated parts of a
great drama of life whose working-out lay in the
unvisioned future?
Anyhow, he had new questions to put to himself.
What was behind Loveman's suave statement that
he knew nothing of Mary Regan? And what behind
Bradley's offer of partnership? They meant some-
thing: and the more Clifford thought, the more was
he convinced that Loveman was in whatever busi-
ness might be brewing; and since Loveman was in it,
it was safely and adroitly based upon the weakness,
vanity, or ambition of our common human nature.
The sense, though he had little definite basis for it,
that Mary was vitally concerned in this impene-
trable business, that she was perhaps the chief vic-
tim of its hidden workings and of its dangers, grew
in Clifford with every moment. He simply had to
find her!
34


MARY REGAN
Hoping against hope, Clifford daily expected a
note from Mary Regan – for he could not wholly
discount her promise - but no note came. And
though Uncle George, Slant-Face, and Lieutenant
Jimmie Kelly, in their divers manners, were all look-
ing for Mary, none during the next four days re-
ported a trace of her. Nor did Commissioner Thorne,
with his larger resources, turn up a single clue. She
seemed to have vanished utterly.
All these days Clifford himself kept doggedly to
the tedious routine of centering his personal en-
deavors upon Peter Loveman — following that dap-
per gentleman from home to office, to court-rooms,
to restaurants on Broadway or the Avenue for his
substitute for afternoon tea, to his home again to
dress, then to the long evening's schedule of pleas-
ures — taking rest only during the periods when
Loveman was held in court, or during the five hours
between three and 8 A.M. that Loveman allowed
himself for sleen.
On the seventh afternoon, while Loveman was
tied up in court, and while Clifford was spending an
hour at home, a note was delivered him by messen-
ger. It read:-
See me at headquarters at your earliest convenience.
THORNE.
Clifford considered. Then he sent back the mes-
sage, “Will try to come at five." It was now three
o'clock; Loveman would be out of court at half-
35


MARY REGAN
past three or four. He had decided that the best
procedure was to follow Loveman from court to club
or restaurant, and then if the lawyer seemed settled,
as usually was the case, he could safely slip down
to Police Headquarters.
At four o'clock Clifford saw Loveman leave the
Criminal Courts Building and step into the closed
car he had seen Loveman and Mary Regan enter
seven nights earlier in front of the Grand Alcazar.
Clifford, at a discreet distance, followed in a taxi.
The big car, after twisting about through the region
of clubs and restaurants, deposited Loveman be-
fore a great hotel on Fifth Avenue, The Grantham.
Clifford, following him in, saw Loveman address
the perfect young blonde who sat at a switchboard
within a grilled enclosure, wait while the blonde an-
nounced his name through the telephone, then saw
him make for the elevators.
Clifford waited several minutes, then himself ap-
proached the deity of the switchboard. “I want to
get in touch with Mr. Loveman at once, and I be-
lieve he's calling here."
“Yes, on Mrs. Gardner — twelfth floor, Apart-
ment M. Shall I 'phone up you're here?"
“I guess I'll not interrupt him. I'll catch him
when he comes down." The blonde, Clifford had at
once divined, was the sort not averse to talk. “I
wonder if this is the Mrs. Gardner I know," he said
easily. “What's she like?".
“Never really seen her," returned the blonde.
36


MARY REGAN
“Has all her meals in her suite. Goes out only at
night — about nine, when everything's dead here -
just for an hour's motor ride. She's always in black,
and veiled. Guess she's a widow."
A little more chat and Clifford drifted into the
hotel bar, from which he could watch the elevators.
He sipped his Vichy with a casual, lounging air that
required his best acting. Could that Mrs. Gardner
be Mary Regan? And if she was Mary Regan, was
she also truly Mrs. Gardner?
Half an hour passed; then Loveman came out of
one of the elevators. Clifford had a moment's fear
that the blonde would tell him that a caller had made
inquiry for him; but the blonde was answering the
questions of a guest and did not see Loveman go out.
Clifford allowed a few more minutes to pass, then he
approached the blonde's cage with a brisk air.
“There's something Mr. Loveman forgot to say
to Mrs. Gardner, and he asked me to come back
and tell her. Just say it's Mr. Loveman calling
again."
The girl spoke through the telephone as directed;
then, “You're to go right up."
Tingling with suspense, Clifford shot up to the
twelfth floor and rang the bell of Apartment M.
The door was promptly opened, and without waiting
for the maid to cry a warning because of this sud-
denly altered Mr. Loveman, Clifford walked quickly
past her through a little hallway into a sitting-room.
At a window, looking down into the Avenue stood a
37


MARY REGAN
slender figure in a gown of gold-brown chiffon velvet,
softly touched with fur. She was Mary Regan.
“Sit down, Mr. Loveman,” she said, not turning.
And then after a pause she added a bit impatiently,
but in that distant, composed tone she had so often
used toward him in other days: “Well, what else
is there? Have n't I already promised to follow
your instructions in every detail?”.
Clifford did not reply, and his silence caused her
to turn. At sight of him the tint of autumn rose
left her dark face.
"Mr. Clifford!” she breathed.
“Good-afternoon—" He hesitated; the last time
he had spoken to her, six months before, he had called
her Mary. “Good-afternoon, Miss Regan."
And then the fear that was in him caused him
quickly to add, “Or should I say Mrs. Gardner?"
“I am still Mary Regan.” She moved nearer.
“You here! The name you sent up was Mr. Love-
man."
“I used Mr. Loveman's name because I thought if
I sent my own you would refuse to see me.”
“Why?"
He had searched her out primarily to learn the
danger she was in and to save her from it, but here
he was in the first moment speaking of himself. “I
reasoned that you did not want to see me from the
fact that you have been in town a week and have
sent me no word. And I thought, after your prom-
ise
"
38


MARY REGAN
He could not finish. She motioned him to be seated,
herself took a chair, and there was a moment's pause.
Pale, a strained composure in her face, she was won-
drously striking in the gold-brown velvet with its
margin of fur; she seemed to have matured, yet to
have grown no older; and never before had she
seemed more poignantly desirable to him. The old
questions that had haunted him for six months,
surged up and he was almost choked with the im-
manence of the answer to them. Had there come
the change that they had talked about? Had she
reached the decision that he had so long been waiting
for?
At length she spoke, and the contralto warmth
and color of her voice were subdued to a neutral
monotone. “I could have sent you word,” she said.
“But I have no excuse to offer, and prefer not to
explain."
“You know what I've been hoping for – and
waiting for," he said with difficulty. “You have not
forgotten that last night in Washington Square?"
“No. And you have not forgotten the point I then
insisted upon — that I wanted to go off, alone, to
examine myself and try to learn whether I was
really the sort of woman you declared me to be."
“I remember. And now that you have been away,
and come back?"
Her voice was steady. “I have learned I am not
tiiat kind of woman."
“No?"


MARY REGAN
: “I have learned that I do not look upon life -
that is life for myself -- in the way you thought I
would.”
“Just what do you mean?"
“I know now that I am by nature more worldly
than you believed me.”
He grew suddenly sick at her even words. “I was
hoping that you would have decided that you cared
for me."
“I am and always shall be grateful to you for the
things you did for me, and I shall always appreciate
your high opinion of the qualities you believed to
exist in me. You were kind and generous — and I
shall never forget.”
“But you have no other feeling toward me?"
She shook her head.
“Then this is final - as far as my hopes are con-
cerned,” he whispered dryly. He was dazed; too
dazed to note that she had grown even more pale
than a few moments before and that her hands were
gripping folds of the velvet gown.
Presently he tried to pull himself together. He
remembered the main purpose of his presence here.
“But at least you will let me help you?”
“Certainly - if I need you."
He leaned closer. “You never needed me more
than now!"
“For what reason?”
“You are in danger - great danger!”
She started, and gazed at him with a sharp pene-
40


MARY REGAN
tration which even at that moment struck him as
peculiar. “In what danger?"
Her question took him back. In his intensity he
had forgotten that he knew so little that was definite.
“I thought you would know," he confessed. And
then, with a ring of certainty, “If you do not know
yourself to be in danger, then why are you in hid-
ing?"
She ignored his last sentence. “I am in no danger
of which I am conscious."
He seized upon the one point he was certain of.
“But you have been seeing Peter Loveman. I hope
you are not letting him get control of your affairs."
“Mr. Loveman has merely been giving me some
friendly advice. He is a very able lawyer."
“There is no abler lawyer in New York than Peter
Loveman. But Peter Loveman cannot be trusted."
“I am not trusting him — very far.” She spoke
with that supreme self-confidence that had always
characterized her. “And I believe I can take care of
myself." This last she added coldly, yet not unkindly.
Clifford felt himself baffled. And then, suddenly,
he remembered another possible source of danger to
her — or at least of danger to that Mary Regan he
had believed her to be. Could she, as the worldly-
wise old Uncle George had suggested, have felt the
pull of old associations, old points of view, and have
reverted —
But even as he was thinking of this, she with her
remarkable keenness had read his mind. “Don't
41


MARY REGAN
She hesitated, then nodded.
“And your calling yourself Mrs. Gardner - is
that, too, a part of your plan?".
“Yes — to the extent that I am temporarily us-
ing it to hide behind. Now you must go — please!"
“Good-bye — I won't bother you any further."
Sick, bewildered, and with as great a fear as when
he entered, Clifford started out. But at that moment
there was a ring at the doorbell.
“Why did n't you go before!" cried Mary; and
then, seizing his arm, “Wait, you must n't go now!"
“Why?"
“It would be misunderstood.”
“Then you know who that is?"
“Yes."
“Is it Peter Loveman?”
"No." Her dark eyes gazed at him very straight;
she spoke rapidly. “You are an old acquaintance
- you met me in Paris before the war broke out-
that's all you really know about me. Except that
my name is Mary Regan."
"I'll play the part,” said Clifford.
“Sit there by the window."
Clifford obeyed, more dazed than ever, and won-
deringly watched Mary. She stood in the middle of
the room, tensely composed. The maid had answered
the bell, and Clifford now heard a man's voice in the
hall - a familiar voice. The next moment the vis-
itor was through the doorway, and Clifford beheld
that likable young man-about-town, Jack Morton.
43


MARY REGAN
But Jack Morton saw only Mary, and his face
flushed with delight. “Mary!” he cried and crossed
to her with open arms. Without hesitation she
stepped forward and her lips met his.
Clifford experienced such a swift onrush of dizzi-
ness and sickness that he barely kept his seat.
After a moment Mary drew away from Morton.
"Jack, I want to introduce an old acquaintance to
you — Mr. Clifford.”
“Bob Clifford -- you here!" cried Morton. “You
know Miss Regan?”
Clifford remembered his lines. “I met Miss Regan
in Paris before the outbreak of the war."
Mary held her pale face steadily upon Clifford. “I
suppose, Jack, Mr. Clifford might as well know the
truth.”
“After what he's seen I guess he knows it."
Young Morton, a glowing smile on his pleasant face,
held out his hand. “Congratulate me, Bob!"
Clifford took the hand. “You—you are married?"
“We are going to be — as soon as it's safe.”
“Safe?"
“You see my -"
“Mr. Clifford does not need to know that,” Mary
quickly interrupted.
“Why -" Clifford stared; gulped. “I did not
even know you were acquainted.”
“We were not, till three months ago.” Morton
grinned happily. He slipped his arm about Mary
and Mary allowed it to remain. “Remember my
44


MARY REGAN
telling you the other night about my being away, far
from the madding crowd? - in a place where they
don't raise a thing but isolation? Well, that's where
I met Mary — at Pine Mountain Lodge. Was n't
that some coincidence, Bob?".
Clifford agreed that it was. He looked searchingly
at Mary; but her pale, proud face met his eyes with
a steadfast gaze that was blank of any offer to
apologize or explain.
“Here's wishing you luck, Morton," Clifford
said with a control that surprised himself. He gave
Mary Regan a look that was quite as composed as
her own. “And you, Miss Regan, I hope that all
your best dreams come true.”
He maintained his control until he had managed
a very decent exit. But out in the corridor, he leaned
against the wall, a very sick man, with ejaculations
and questions stabbing him through and through.
This, then, was what his long waiting had come to,
his hopes and his dreams of a different Mary Regan!
This affair with Jack Morton, a good enough fellow
of his sort, that was her plan!... Yes, but what lay
behind that plan? ... And did she care for Morton?
... And why had she not frankly written him of her
purpose? ... And Peter Loveman, where did Love-
man come in? ... And Bradley, guide and protector
of young Morton, what might be Bradley's part? ...
And what kind of person, after these months, was
really behind that exterior which Mary Regan had
presented him? ...
45


MARY REGAN
In bitter revulsion Clifford straightened up and
walked away. What she was, and what she was
doing, and what she had got herself in for, these mat-
ters were now none of his affairs. For him Mary
Regan was a closed incident.


MARY REGAN
they practiced with Jimmie's pistol, a .25 automatic
so tiny that it could lie in a closed hand and not be
seen.
“Wish you were back here with us, Bob," re-
marked Jimmie when Clifford announced that he
was due up in the Chief's office. “It would be great
stuff — working with you again!"
There was hearty sincerity in Jimmie's voice; and
the vague longing begot by it was still upon Clifford
when at length he was seated beside Commissioner
Thorne's desk.
“Clifford,” said the Commissioner briskly, his
lean, Scotch-Irish face alive with purpose, “I'm
going to lay all my cards, face up, on the table. I
asked you to meet me down here, instead of up
town, for the sake of the effect on you. That's
why I made you wait, and asked you to visit about.
I wanted you to feel the old tug of Headquarters.”
“I guess I've felt it all right, Chief.”.
“That's good. Clifford, six months ago I asked
you to become Second Deputy Commissioner. For
your own reasons you refused. I hope you've
changed your mind, for I'm now again asking you
to take the place.”
To be Second Deputy Chief of New York's De-
tective Bureau! — Clifford felt a leaping thrill — a
swift reaction from the heaviness and bitterness
which had been upon him since his scene with Mary
Regan. He considered for a moment. The controlling
reason for his previous declination, his knowledge
48


MARY REGAN
that Mary Regan would refuse him if he continued
official police work because she believed she would
interfere with his career — this reason Mary Regan
herself had just wiped out. He had lost enough be-
cause of her. Here was big work to do. Here was a
big career.
Clifford looked up. “I accept, Chief,” he said
with an energy almost fierce. “And I'm glad and
proud to accept. And I'll give the job the best
that's in me."
"Bully for you!" cried Thorne, seizing his hand.
There was a minute's further exchange of thanks
and congratulations. Then Thorne continued:
“There's a particular situation I want you to take
care of. I believe in the need of pleasure as much as
any man. But the providing of pleasure in this city
has become a vast business. I'm not referring to the
theaters; I'm thinking of the restaurants, roof-
gardens, dancing places, things like that, high and
low. And I'm thinking especially of the swellest
places, and of some of the presumably most re-
spectable places. These establishments have bred
a new variety of specialists, astute men, astute
women, who entangle and victimize the pleasure-
seekers. Especially since women began to go about
so freely to the dancing places, and it became so
easy to make acquaintances, there have developed
such opportunities — God, if the public only guessed
a tenth of what is dribbling in to us! —and even
we never get rumors of a tenth of what actually
49


MARY REGAN
happens. But you know this situation better than
I do."
"I've had to learn something about it,” said Clif-
ford..
“I want the facts. I want the situation cleaned
out. You've got a free hand — use as many men as
you like — follow your own plans.”
"I'll be on the job at once,” said Clifford.
“Good stuff!” cried Thorne enthusiastically.
“And if you succeed — and I know you will - it
will be a big thing for the Department, a big thing
for me, and we'll try to make it a big thing for
you!”
This new interest so promptly and exactly fitted
the sudden emptiness in Clifford's life that almost
without thinking he was impelled to ask, “Has any.
thing happened, Chief, to cause you to make me
this offer just now?"
Thorne regarded Clifford with a curious, thought-
ful air. “I wonder if I should tell you," he said
slowly; and then:“Well, the fact is, Clifford, I have
been holding a little something back from you.”
"Something about what, Chief?”
“About you - and a woman."
“Yes - go on!"
“Six months ago a young woman called on me
at my hotel, and asked me if I had offered you the
position of Chief of the Detective Bureau. I said
that I had, and that you had declined. She then
asked me if I still wanted you. I said yes, if I could
50


MARY REGAN
“Yes. But where does Mary Regan come in?"
“Bradley and Loveman are using her now, and
expect to use her in the future."
“Does she know she is being used?"
“I'm certain she does not even guess it."
“Then how did they ever get her into it this
far?”
“I do not know."
“But surely," cried Clifford, “You must have
some idea of what their plan is?”
"Only that I surmise that it is one individual case
of the general situation concerning which I just spoke
to you - about how very clever persons have made
a subtle business out of the manner in which the
city's Big Pleasure reacts upon human ambitions
and human frailties. Any information more definite
than this it will be part of your job to get."
Abruptly Clifford stood up and strode to a window
and stood gazing vacantly at a huge candy factory
across Broome Street — his whole being now wildly
athrob, his brain working swiftly though incoher-
ently. What might it not mean, Mary Regan's show-
ing this concern to see that he accepted the position
he had once refused because of her? . . . And how
much did she really care for Morton? ... And might
there not be motives, deeper and other than he had
guessed, that had caused her to treat him so cava-
lierly? ... And the menace of Loveman and of
Bradley -
Abruptly Clifford turned about on Thorne.
52


MARY REGAN
“Chief, I'm sorry to take back my word — but I
cannot accept that job as Chief of Detectives."
“Why not?” cried the astounded Thorne.
“That I can't explain just now. But though I
can't take the job, I'll do all I can in a personal way
to help handle that condition you were speaking
about. You'll excuse me, Chief, but I've got to do
a lot of quick thinking.”
Leaving Thorne fairly gasping at this swift transi-
tion, Clifford strode out of the office and out of
Police Headquarters. Two minutes later he was in
a telephone booth in a saloon across the way and was
asking the Grantham Hotel, in which he had left
Mary Regan an hour before, for “Mrs. Gardner.”
Soon Mary's cool, even voice sounded over the
wire.
“This is Robert Clifford,” he said. “May I see
you again — for just a few minutes?”
There was a long silence; then the cool voice
queried: “Alone?”.
“If you please.”
Another silence. He was beginning to fear that
she had hung up, when the cool voice spoke again.
“Very well" - and this time he heard the re-
ceiver click upon its hook.
He hurried for the Subway. He was athrill with
a grim elation. He felt that all that had thus far
passed between him and Mary Regan was no more
than a prelude - a long prelude, to be sure — and
that the big action of their drama lay still before
53


CHAPTER VI
MARY SHOWS HER HAND
MARY REGAN stood in the dusk of her sitting-room,
holding apart the velvet hangings of a window, and
gazing far down at the quadruple line of motor-
cars which at this twilight winter hour moves in
slow lockstep between Thirty-third and Fifty-ninth
Streets; and as she vacantly gazed upon the world's
greatest parade of pleasure vehicles, part of her
mind was wondering about her approaching inter-
view with Clifford — and part of her mind, in
subconscious preparation for this meeting, was
automatically reviewing, and checking-up, and re-
swearing allegiance to some of the decisions she
had reached concerning herself and the course she
had chosen. She was somewhat excited; but she felt
sure of herself — very sure!
During the six months she had been away, she had
studied, or believed she had, her own nature most
carefully, and also her immediate interests, and also
the bolder reachings of her ambition. She had con-
sidered these matters, not sentimentally, she hated
sentiment, she told herself, - but with cool brain,
and with no fear to admit the truth. To be sure there
had been a swift seizure and possession of her by
emotion when she and Clifford had kissed that
55


MARY REGAN
summer dawn long ago in Washington Square; and
now and again this emotional element had arisen in
her with appealing energy, but her cool intelligence
had always controlled such impulses. What did life
offer with a police official who was on the square?
Nothing! At least nothing that she cared for or
dreamed of. Honest police officials never got any-
where. And as for Clifford, marriage with him would
ruin such career for him as might be possible. It
would never do — not for either of them.
What she wanted was altogether different. She
knew, for she had analyzed herself with the apart-
ness of a scientist. Her former attitude toward
crime, acquired through a girlhood spent with those
cynical gentlemen of the world, her father and her
Uncle Joe, – that attitude to be sure was now
changed; at least such intentions as formerly she
had had she now knew to be quiescent; Clifford had
influenced her to this extent. But though the crim-
inal impulses given her by her training were gone,
the worldly attitude and instincts begotten by that
training still remained. She believed herself a world-
ling; and more, she believed herself a competent
worldling. She believed she had no illusions about
herself. The things in life that were worth while -
so in her confident youthfulness she decided — were
luxury, admiration, the pleasures that money could
buy. And these things she believed she could win.
This much, in her retreat, she had already decided
before Jack Morton had appeared in the quiet coun-
56


MARY REGAN
tryside. The coming of Jack, with the opportunities
represented by his amiable person, had made her
even more decided.
And so, as she now gazed down through the win-
ter dusk upon the shifting motor-tops, she was very
certain of herself despite her palpitant expectation
over Clifford's coming - very confident of herself,
and what she was, and what she was going to do, and
what she was going to be: just as many another
young woman, of a perhaps more careful rearing,
was preeningly confident of herself, in those limou-
sines far below her. For this was the time of all
times, and the place of all places, that young wo-
men were trained to dream of themselves; and here,
also, often the dreams came gorgeously true — for a
time!...
The ring of her apartment bell brought Mary
sharply from her thoughts. Switching on the lights,
she opened the door and admitted Clifford into her
sitting-room. She spoke first, with a formality that
held him at a distance.
"I consented to see you because an hour or two
ago you discovered a private matter of mine, and I
neglected to ask you to keep it silent."
“You refer to your engagement to Jack Morton?"
“I do. Of course you will say nothing about it."
“That you must leave to my discretion."
"You mean you are going to tell?” she demanded.
He tried to keep his business here to the front of
his mind, but now, as he sat face to face with her,
57


MARY REGAN
the old question recurred for which he seemed able
to reach no final answer: what was she really like
beneath this exterior she showed him?- what might
she be beneath and within the self she supposed her-
self to be?
"I mean that I am reserving the right to do
exactly what I please," he replied, looking at her
squarely. “This business of your secret engagement
is also what made me want to see you — but it is
only one of many things. I have done a lot of think-
ing since I left you two hours ago. Also I have just
seen Police Commissioner Thorne.”
“Yes?"
“Mr. Thorne honored me by offering me the posi-
tion of Chief of the Detective Bureau. I accepted
the position -"
“Then I suppose I should address you as - By
the way, just how should one address you?”
“But I immediately withdrew my acceptance,”
he continued, ignoring the cool irony which seemed
to come automatically into her voice whenever they
met. “I refused because of certain things I learned
from Thorne about you."
“About me? What are they?"
"That's what I want to learn more about - and
from you."
“Ah — then you still are a detective?".
“I suppose I am," still ignoring the irony of her
tone. “But just now I primarily am a person who
is interested in his own affairs as a man."
58


MARY REGAN
“Your affairs?" she questioned.
"Just now your affairs have become my affairs.
And I'm hoping that you'll help me by frankly
answering my questions."
“Questions about what?"
“About yourself."
“Such as?”
“Instead of leaving it for me to discover by acci-
dent, why did you not frankly tell me of your in-
tention to marry some one else? — when you knew
what for six months I had been hoping for. How
much do you care for Jack Morton?".
His determined face, and the flashing memories
of what he had tried to do for her, checked the
sharp replies that instinctively started for her lips.
The steady gaze of his intense eyes sent a warm
tremor through her, gave her a swift, tingling pleas-
ure. But that very pleasure was a warning to her:
such feeling in her was only aberration — the life
signs of some of her less important elements, which
she had adjudged to be a menace to her success and
which she must therefore suppress. The next mo-
ment she had full control of herself — and she had
decided on what should be her course with him.
“You seem to regard me as a mystery," she re-
marked with tantalizing coolness.
“You are one in a degree. And I want it
solved."
“There is nothing in the least mysterious about
me," she said in her even tone. “I'll tell you all you
59


MARY REGAN
need to know. You may be seated if you like.” And
after they were both in chairs: “First about Mr.
Morton. He is a pleasant, agreeable gentleman. He
has money and position."
“You love him?"
“I like him."
“You are marrying him, then, because it is a good
business proposition -- to put it brutally."
She met his flushed face calmly. “That is not
putting it brutally. Rather, it is merely putting it
honestly." This she had decided must be made the
final interview between them. “I told you, when
you were here two hours ago, that I had discovered
that I am not at all the woman you believed lay
undeveloped in me. You may call me worldly --
selfish — ambitious. And you will be tremendously
right."
He looked at her hard, and was silent a moment.
“But that is n't answering my first question and all
it implied: why did n't you write me before you re-
turned to New York? Why did n't you frankly tell
me of your intended marriage?"
She lifted her shoulders ever so slightly. “It
must have been because I never thought of it.”
He flushed, but she met his look with unabashed
composure. She had lied, but she had lied easily,
for the lie had been carefully premeditated. When,
during her absence, her mind's decision had gone
against Clifford, she had considered what would be
the most effective method of giving undebatable
90


MARY REGAN
conclusion to the affair; and had decided upon this
course that she had followed. No need for letters - no
chance for sentimental pleading to alter her mind;
it would be all over, and ended, before he knew a
thing. Further, since the break had to come, it ap-
pealed to her pride to seem superior and indifferent.
Clifford was angry, but he contained himself.
"To go on: was your meeting with Mr. Morton in
that out-of-the-way spot, Pine Mountain Lodge,
pure coincidence as he said? — or did cunning brains
bring it about?”
“You mean, my cunning brains?". Two spots of
conscious color appeared in her cheeks.
“I do not mean you. Did some one else, perhaps
without your knowledge at the time, plan that you
should meet?"
“What are you driving at?" she demanded
sharply.
“I don't know myself yet - exactly."
“Who could have planned our meeting? As you
know, I went to Pine Mountain Lodge to be alone.
Mr. Morton, not knowing of my presence there or
even of my existence, came to Pine Mountain to
rest up. We could n't help meeting, since the lodge
is the only place at which one can stay. That's
all there is to this amazing mystery."
"Undoubtedly all you see. But the coincidence
explanation does n't explain everything. Some one
may have been behind Jack Morton's going."
“Who? In what way? And for what reason?”
61


MARY REGAN
“Those are things to be found out." He looked
at her steadily for a moment. “I asked you this
before, but I am going to ask it again: why are you
here in hiding?”.
“After all, I guess I don't mind telling you in the
least," she returned coolly, with a sudden perverse
gratification in revealing what she knew he could
not like in her. Also she felt that here was another
detail by which she could make Clifford feel the
utter finality of the break between them. “Jack and
I came to New York intending to be married the
next day. But the very evening of the day we ar-
rived, Jack's father unexpectedly came to town and
appeared at the Biltmore where Jack is staying."
“Was that before or after the evening I saw you
at the Grand Alcazar with Mr. Loveman?”
“You saw me there the evening of the day of my
return. Jack was to have had dinner with me that
night,” she added, “and had reserved the table
and had asked his friend, Mr. Loveman, and then
he got tangled up with a friend and could not come.
It was that same evening that his father arrived in
town. I believe this is simple and clear."
“As far as it goes. But why did you go into hid-
ing?"
“Is n't that rather obvious?" she returned with
her cool frankness. "Jack and I were going to keep
our marriage secret - perhaps for a long time. The
appearance of his father, with the announcement
that he was going to stay with Jack, naturally de-
62


MARY REGAN
layed our marriage. I insisted that it be postponed
until his father was away and there was no danger
of immediate discovery."
“And Jack?”
"Jack was reckless. He was all for getting married
right away. But I refused to take the risk. Also,
under the circumstances, it did n't seem particu-
larly wise to give the father a chance to find out
about me by our appearing openly together."
“But you yourself could have gone out openly
alone, or with friends.”
“Oh, of course," she said dryly — "and have run
the risk of Jack and his father seeing me in public,
and learning all about me. No, thank you the
only way for me has been to keep under cover for
the present.”
Clifford had felt a great start, but he had sup-
pressed it; and he managed to say quite casually:
“Of course Jack Morton does n't know who you
really are?”
“Of course not. Oh, I don't mind so much what
he might learn about me," she added, a bit de-
fiantly. “You police have nothing on me — not in
the way of a conviction, anyhow. But it would not
help particularly if he learned who my father had
been, and that Joe Russell is my uncle, and that my
brother is Slant-Face Regan."
“But he'll be sure to learn some day."
"By that time he'll have become so attached to
me that it'll not make much difference.”
63


MARY REGAN
“But there's his father. What about what'll
happen when he finds out? All Jack's money comes
through his father."
"Oh, his father will come around in the end. You
see he's not to know till we get ready."
Clifford looked at her for a long moment of silence,
“I know what you're thinking; you're thinking
I'm just another adventuress," she said with a
shrug. “But what of that? Every woman is an ad-
venturess who is trying to better her position and
who is using her head to do it. And that's just what
every woman is doing!"
"I was not thinking chiefly of that; I was think-
ing of Peter Loveman. Did he suggest that you go
into hiding?"
“When Jack told him of our engagement, he said
he did n't want to know anything about it, he wanted
to keep out of any such affair. But when he learned
Jack's father was in town, he telephoned me to keep
out of the way."
“You've known Loveman some time?"
“Since I came back to America. He's been Uncle
Joe's lawyer; and naturally they're friends."
“And he could have known you were in Pine
Mountain Lodge?"
“Of course Uncle Joe might have told him."
Clifford considered a moment. “Tell me, just
what has Mr. Loveman had to do with this affair?"
“I have already told you everything I know."
Clifford was convinced that in this she was telling
64


MARY REGAN
him the truth. But all his senses informed him that
somewhere, working in some manner, behind this
affair was Peter Loveman, playing with his master's
subtlety upon human frailties, passions, and am-
bitions. Undoubtedly Mary Regan was being used.
Undoubtedly also Commissioner Thorne had been
right when he had declared that Mary Regan had
no suspicion that she was being used, that she be-
lieved that whatever she was doing she was doing
of her own free will.
He had put to her all the questions he had in-
tended; and as for a moment he sat gazing at her -
so composed, so worldly-looking, and so very young
to be saying such things as she had just said — the
more personal questions, which had shaken him so
often, throbbed through him like so many gigantic
and fiery pulse-beats: Was she through and through
and unchangeably this worldly, calculating Mary
Regan that she had so carefully depicted for him -
or was it all just a pose? Or might she believe her-
self sincere in this sophistication - and yet deep
down in her might there be the living essence of a
very different Mary Regan that she tried to deny
and ignore? He could not forget that moment in
Washington Square when her soul had seemed un-
locked; he could not forget her kiss ...
Clifford stood up as though his intention was to
leave. She also rose. His trifling strategy achieved
its end – physical proximity and the chance which
sitting at formal distance in chairs did not permit.
65


MARY REGAN
Suddenly he gripped her two shoulders; and the
energy and purpose and feeling which he had kept in
restraint during the past minutes now burst forth.
“Listen to me, Mary Regan," he declared tensely.
“You are not going to marry Jack Morton! You
hear me!"
She was so startled at the change in him that she
was hardly aware of the hands clutching her shoul-
ders. “Why not?".
His words rushed out. “I'm not going to say any-
thing about it's not being square. He's not good
enough for you! Oh, I don't mean to run down a
man I've called my friend. Jack Morton is pleasant
enough in his way. And you've seen him at his best
- away from the lights and Big Pleasure, when he
was on his good behavior – and there are few men
who can be more agreeable than Jack Morton. But
Broadway is likely to get hold of him again! And
girls! — no girl is pretty to him for more than six
months, and every pretty girl is prettier than the
last pretty girl! It's just the way Jack is made — or
the way this town has made him. I tell you it's an
awful mistake!"
"It's my own mistake I'm making!" Her dark
eyes flashed at him. "Take off your hands!"
Instead he clutched her all the tighter. “There's
a bigger reason than the mistake. Mary, you love
me!"
“Love you!" she ejaculated.
“Yes, you love me, and you know you love me!"
66


MARY REGAN
he declared masterfully. The impulse was upon
him to sweep her from her announced determination
by dominating her with a swift power comprised of
his own longing for her and her reawakened liking
for him. “You know you love me, or why did you
see Commissioner Thorne about me six months ago,
and why did you to-day suggest to him that he
again offer me the place of Chief of the Detective
Bureau? You love me, and you thought your mar-
riage to me might injure my public career. You
don't care how much marriage to Jack Morton may
injure him. Don't you think I see through you?
Don't you think I understand? You're not going to
marry Jack Morton! You're going to marry me!"
She had paled — and her dark eyes, of a brown
that was almost a black, were fixed upon him widely,
in what might have been fear, or bewilderment, or
fascination, or all of these — and he felt a trembling
go through her body. For a long moment they stood
tensely thus: he hoping that he had carried the day
- and at the same time poignantly wondering what
she was about to say or do.
“You are going to marry me! You are going to
marry me!" he repeated after the manner of those
who seek to work miracles by the power of a force-
fully iterated idea.
He felt her body grow taut; and the startled look
of her face gave place to composed decision. That
moment he knew that he had lost - for this day at
least.


CHAPTER VII
NINA CORDOVA
YES, he must prevent this marriage, he must block
Loveman, he must find out Loveman's plan, and he
must do all quickly - but how? To warn the Mor-
tons would achieve some of these ends; but he had
a strong repugnance to this procedure. He would
only play this as his last card.
Clifford thought of Slant-Face; but he realized
that Slant-Face would probably have no influence
with his sister, and possibly the ex-pickpocket might
even regard the affair from Mary's viewpoint. Also
he thought of her Uncle Joe; but the same objection
held true regarding him, and also the width of the
continent made him unavailable. As for Commis-
sioner Thorne, he could not be of service in the pres-
ent stage of affairs. And then Clifford thought of
Uncle George. Uncle George might possibly give
suggestions, for Uncle George knew as much about
the pleasure life (and what lay beneath it) of Broad-
way and of Broadway's closest territorial relative,
Fifth Avenue between the Waldorf and St. Patrick's
Cathedral, as any other hundred men in New York
put together.
An hour after leaving Mary, Clifford sat in the
Grand Alcazar restaurant, looking into the bland,
70


MARY REGAN
genial, cunning, loose-skinned old face. He had just
finished telling Uncle George of his discovery of the
whereabouts of Mary Regan and the other events
of the day.
The old man regarded Clifford with meditative,
puckered gaze - a gaze of somewhat peculiar effect,
begotten by his lack of eyebrows and eyelashes.
“Son,” he began slowly, “the thing that stands out
in this chunk of vers libre you've been handing me,
is the fact that you're so stuck on that little dame
Mary Regan —"
“Let's leave me, and what I may think of her,
out of it,” put in Clifford.
“Don't interrupt, son. You ask me a thing and
you've got to let me spiel along in my own way" —
which, indeed, was one of the difficulties not to be
avoided in consulting Uncle George. “Now, you
listen to me, son, and you'll hear something out of
the original book out of which old Solomon and
those other wise guys that have been playing big
time steady for three or four thousand years swiped
all their good gags. Son, you're too damned monog-
amous! You're insulting God: what the hell d' you
suppose he made so many pretty girls for? — and
let the others get wise on how to make themselves
pretty? Now, I like Mary Regan as well as any male
person can who's not her relative and who's not
trying to be - but if she tried any of that beautiful
female cussedness on me, I'd throw her one smiling
kiss, mail her a picture post-card of the jumping-off
71


MARY REGAN
place, and proceed to admire some of the other works
of God.”
Uncle George nodded, and started to sip his white
wine thinned with sparkling water.
"Thanks, Uncle George. But let's get back "
“Hold on, son. That was just my first sentence.
Supposing Mary Regan is trying to put something
across by holding back a little of the truth — sort
of saving it up for a rainy day. Well, what of that?
Ain't we all liars? You take it from your Uncle
George, a superannuated old burglar, president emer-
itus of that grand old alma mater, the University
of Broadway, who's played every kind of game with
every kind of male and female now decorating this
earth - take it from me, son, I've never seen the
strait and narrow road of truth congested with the
traffic. That's one road you can speed on, and not
even see a cop. So, son, if Mary Regan has been like
the rest of us, don't hold it especially against her.
And her marrying Jack Morton by holding back a bit
of the evidence, it's not going to hurt him such a lot."
“I'm thinking of what it may do to her.”
“Why, now, son, a marriage now and then seems
to improve a lot of women. And the only time a few
marriages seem to be a handicap to some women is
when they undertake to sign their names in full.”.
“You're in very good voice this evening, Uncle
George. But, if you don't mind, let's talk about
how to stop that marriage, and how to find out
Loveman's game."


MARY REGAN
what she'll do. Besides, before I take any action, I'd
like to learn how she got into this matter; I'd like
to learn just what Loveman's and Bradley's part in
the game has been, just what they plan to make of
it in the future."
“I get you," nodded Uncle George. "So that
you can plan your action accordingly. But that's
some job, son, — getting in on the inside of the game
of such a pair as Bradley and Loveman.”
“I know it. It can only be done indirectly." Clif-
ford regarded Uncle George thoughtfully for a mo-
ment, then suddenly asked: “Do you know Jack
Morton's father?".
“I've met him."
“Know him well enough to get into a friendly
talk with him?"
"Son," demanded Uncle George in an aggrieved
tone, "you mean to insult me by asking if I need
even to have seen a man before to be his best friend
inside of thirty minutes — me that could go out
now and sell old Andy Carnegie's pig-iron billets
back to him as gold-bricks!” Uncle George looked
at his watch. "Father Morton is staying at the
Biltmore. It's now six-twenty. I've noticed that
he leads himself into the smoking-room at six-thirty
for a cocktail. I feel a craving for a Biltmore cock-
tail. Son, just where is that building lot in North
River located that you want me to sell him?"
“Could you steer the talk around to his son -
make him doubt Bradley a bit — say something
74


MARY REGAN
Room, but he did not sight her. He wondered just
where she was — what she was thinking of - what
she was planning. Should he, if all other methods
failed, block her worldly plans and the as yet un-
penetrated scheme of Loveman and Bradley by tell-
ing the Mortons who she was? He felt himself a
cad whenever he thought of it; but, yes, if he had to,
he would do it!...
A hand fell upon his shoulder. “Wake up there,
you old crystal-gazer!” called a cheerful voice.
Clifford looked up. Smiling down on him was a
cherubic face: a somewhat elderly cherub, to be sure,
since where usually there is the adornment of di-
vine curls there was the glaze of baldness.
“Sit down, Loveman, and join me in a drink."
"I'm afraid of you, my boy," answered the fa-
mous little lawyer. “You might put poison in my
cup."
“Why?"
"Because I lied to you - you see, I'm not wait-
ing to be accused," the other smiled affably. “I
told you I did n't know where Mary Regan was,
and after that you followed me and I led you right
to her. She telephoned me about your finding her.
You sure caught me dead to rights."
"I'm afraid I can't do anything with you, Love
man, -- though that was the second fib you told me
about her."
“Both gentleman's lies - told for a lady's sake,”
amiably explained Loveman. “She did n't want her
76


MARY REGAN
whereabouts known. But now that you've found
her, what're you going to do?”.
"I don't know that I can do anything." And then
Clifford chanced a shot. “You see, I learned that
she is secretly engaged to Jack Morton.”
"You don't say!” exclaimed the little man. “That
is astounding! Well, well -- I'll have a look into
that and see what's to be done."
He rubbed his shining crown in bewildered
thoughtfulness, — Clifford had to admire his art
as an actor, - then again was smiling.
“Wish you'd join me after a while at supper, Clif-
ford. Little party I'm giving Nina Cordova — got
to cheer her up a bit, you understand you know
“Orange Blossoms' is one God-awful flivver, and
Nina, poor orphan-child, don't know what to do.
Gee, but it's a rotten show, and what it did n't
do to kill itself Nina did for it: she sure is one musi-
cal-comedy prima donna that ought to be seen and
not heard! And even at that, seen too oft, familiar
with her face - oh, go ask the box-office man to
finish the quotation. So I'm giving her this little
party to boost her spirits — though why should n't
somebody be giving me a party to cheer me up
for the twenty thousand United States of America
dollars that dropped through the bottom of that
show?" He gave a moan of mock self-sympathy.
"Well, you'll join us when the crowd blows in?"
“Thanks, but I'm waiting for a friend."
“Break away if you can; be glad to have you."
77


MARY REGAN
Clifford watched the strange little notable, behind
whose light chatter he knew to be the cleverest legal
brain of its sort in New York, cross to a small corner
table, which was reserved for him every night and
was known to the waiters here as “Mr. Loveman's
table.” He saw Loveman converse in turn with
various people, and in a general way he understood;
for at this table, during the play hours of the night,
Loveman transacted many of the affairs too delicate
to be brought to his office or his apartment. And he
saw Loveman, while he chatted, gaze about upon
those gathering for supper and dancing. There were
people here whose family names were daily in the
society and Wall Street columns - most of them
here with no intent more reprehensible than the rest-
less search for pleasure, which in this our present
day has become public pleasure. Loveman smiled
on them most kindly: as why should n't he, thought
Clifford, since many of them were working for him,
though they guessed it not?
Loveman's party now arrived and were seating
themselves at a large table directly beside the danc-
ing-floor. There were Jack Morton, his father, Nina
Cordova, two other actresses, and half a dozen men
and women of the smart young society set. Love-
man was at his best, keeping his party in highest
spirits: no man in New York was his superior as mid-
night host.
As Clifford watched the gay supper progress, he
wondered what other of these guests the gay Love-
78


MARY REGAN
man might be deftly drawing into some distant
entanglement.
Presently some one took the chair opposite Clif-
ford. It was Uncle George; and Uncle George gave
him a slight wink of a lashless eye.
“While we're on the subject, son," the old man
began, “I might remark that I put a bee in little
Nina's bonnet."
“Just what have you got me here for?” demanded
Clifford.
“It's always worth while, son, to watch Loveman
improve each midnight hour. See how he smiles and
talks — and yet, God, how he's working! But you're
here, son, because of Father Morton; and also, per-
haps, to see if Nina's bee buzzes. How about split-
ting fifty-fifty on a ham sandwich?"
As the two ate the best supper Uncle George
could order, Clifford kept his eyes on Loveman's
party. They were now leaving the table in couples
to dance. Nina Cordova, a slender blonde with a
soft, appealing face and quick, bright eye, was with
Jack Morton; dancing was something they both did
well; and it was easy to see that the slender prima
donna had more than a dancing interest in her part.
ner. Then Loveman danced with her; and in the
middle of the dance they halted beside Clifford's
table.
“Finish this with me, Uncle George,” coaxed the
little star.
“My dear child," returned the old man, “if
79


MARY REGAN
Cordova was to play some considerable part before
the final curtain fell.
"Peter," she was saying, “since 'Orange Blossoms'
is such a fizzle, I'm going to quit the show business,
and marry some nice young man."
“But, my child, your art!" protested Loveman.
“My art be damned!" replied the pretty one.
“And, Peter, I've decided that the nice young man
will be Jack Morton.”
Loveman gave her a sharp look. But if he felt any
alarm, his voice gave no evidence of it.
“Better think again, dearie. He'll not have for-
gotten the way you threw him down.”
"Give me a week and I'll make him forget it," she
returned confidently.
"If you are set on getting married, Nina dear,
I'll help you find another candidate," said Loveman
in his soft, advisory tone. “This town's full of
rich young fellows. Just look 'em over, make your
choice, and I'll help you out with the rest."
“I don't want any other!"
“I don't think Jack Morton will do, my dear."
“Why not?”
“I think, dearie, that there are other arrange-
ments -"
"You mean that you have other arrangements!"
she said sharply.
“There now, dearie, don't get excited. This town's
full of nice men "
“You can't bluff me, Peter! I see through you -
81


MARY REGAN
you don't want me to marry Jack.” The little
ingénue was suddenly a little fury — but a composed
fury. “Peter, I know a lot," she said quietly, “and
unless you behave about the way I want you to, I
may do something that won't make you awfully
happy.".
There was no mistaking the threat in that voice,
and that threat was not to be underrated. Love-
man had no intention of yielding; the situation re-
quired careful handling and perhaps quick action
elsewhere; in the meantime the thing to do was to
temporize.
"All right, dearie, - we'll fix it up," he said sooth-
ingly. “There's Jack Morton waiting for us; I'll
turn you right over to him.”
As Clifford saw Nina and young Morton begin
a fox-trot, a passing waiter handed Clifford a card.
On it was engraved, "Mr. James Morton," and
around the name was scribbled, “Wait for me in the
lounge just off the bar."
Clifford descended to the Grantham's lounge,
which was fitted in the manner of the smartest and
most exclusive of men's clubs. Five minutes later
Mr. Morton entered and came straight to him. Clif-
ford had already made his private estimate of this
man with the graying hair and distinguished face:
a man whose habit it was to buy men, — and women,
too, - use them, and when finished with them,
throw them aside without a thought and go on his
way.
82


MARY REGAN
“I've heard of you, Mr. Clifford," he began, when
they were seated in deep chairs beside a little table.
“They say you are a detective who's absolutely on
the square."
“Thank you," said Clifford.
“I did n't call you down to pay you compliments,"
the other said incisively, eyeing him keenly, “so I'll
go right to the point. You know my son?”
“Yes."
“It's about Jack I want to see you." Mr. Morton
spoke in the compact sentences of a master of affairs.
"I guess you know he's been some trouble. I'm
certain something's in the air now. I don't know
whether it's that Miss Cordova or something else.
I can't get anything out of Jack. I've been having
him looked over by a private detective; you know
him — Bradley; but Bradley does n't seem to be
able to learn anything either. I'm not one hundred
per cent trustful of Bradley: set a detective to catch
a detective — that might prove a good idea. Will
you undertake the job? - finding out about Brad-
ley, and finding out about my son?”.
“I can't say until I know the situation.” Here was
opening before him the chance he had been work.
ing for, but Clifford managed to speak composedly.
“If you don't mind telling me, just how do things
stand?"
“If you know Jack, you know what his idea of
living in New York was a year or six months ago.
I could n't leave my affairs and come here to look
83


MARY REGAN
after him. I ordered my lawyer, Mr. Loveman, to
take whatever steps were necessary. It was abso-
lutely essential that Jack should take a brace ~".
“Pardon me. Aside from the moral reasons, were
there any other reasons for your wanting Jack to
change his habits?".
“There was, and still is, an engagement with a
young woman back in Chicago. Not exactly an
engagement, rather an understanding between the
families. The match could not be more desirable;
the young lady has everything."
“Pardon me - do I know the young lady you re-
fer to?"
“You may have heard of her. Her father is Sher-
wood Jones. She is Miss Maisie Jones.”
“I have seen her picture in the illustrated Sun-
day supplements - among prominent young society
girls."
“Then you can partially understand why I con-
sider the match so desirable. But the family at
that time objected, and still objects — until Jack
proves that he has settled down. Three months ago
I came East and delivered an ultimatum."
"In the presence of Jack alone?” Clifford put in
gently.
“No. Mr. Loveman had been doing his best to
control the boy. Naturally he was present." .
“And the ultimatum?"
“I said that he either had to take a brace or I
was through with him.".


MARY REGAN
“Let's see whether I get the general idea." Clif-
ford was moving forward carefully. “If Jack did n't
brace up, he'd have to earn his own money. On the
other hand, if he did brace up, the idea was that he
was to quit New York and marry the young lady
you have referred to."
“That's it exactly."
“Did you suggest any particular plan for his
bracing up?"
“I said he had to spend a period at some quiet
place far away from New York."
"And what did Mr. Loveman think of this
idea?"
“He thought it was just the plan. In fact he
said he knew the very place for Jack to go to— Pine
Mountain Lodge.”
“Then he suggested Pine Mountain Lodge?"
“Yes.”
Clifford was silent a moment.
“You have told Mr. Loveman and Mr. Bradley of
your intention to consult me?"
"No."
“I suggest that you do not. Is there any other
information you can give me?"
“Nothing else that's definite. But I suspect a lot,
and I want to find out what's doing. Will you take
the case?"
Clifford spoke guardedly, masking his dislike for
the ruthless man before him. “I prefer not to con-
sider myself retained by you until I am certain I can
85


MARY REGAN
serve you. I'll have to think the situation over, and
let you know later."
It was little that Mr. Morton had told Clifford,
yet, after Morton had left him, that little set Clif-
ford's mind going like a racer. He sat thinking -
thinking; and after a time he began to perceive dim
outlines of what Loveman's plan might be. And as
with growing excitement he began to see, he began
also to consider what his own course should be. ...
He looked at his watch. It was half-past three.
He started back for the Gold Room, but on the way
up he saw Loveman and his party leaving. He
quickly secured his coat and hat and followed them
out just in time to see Loveman go off in a taxi with
Nina Cordova. He was after them in another taxi,
a discreet block behind. Five minutes later Love-
man set Miss Cordova down at her hotel, and went
on to his own home.
Clifford dismissed his taxi, waited ten minutes,
then crossed and entered Loveman's apartment
house.


CHAPTER VIII
IN LOVEMAN'S LIBRARY
The drowsy elevator boy carried Clifford to the
eleventh floor, and Clifford rang Loveman's bell.
After a moment the door was opened by Loveman's
Japanese butler, to whom Clifford, after stepping in,
gave his card. The little Oriental, showing no slight-
est surprise at a call at such an hour, disappeared
noiselessly through a door; and reappeared after a
brief delay and held the door open as a sign that
Clifford was to enter.
Clifford stepped through the doorway and found
himself in the large richly furnished library of Peter
Loveman. Loveman, in a rope-girdled dressing-gown
and with his tonsured head looking very much a
jolly little monk, crossed the room with smiling hos-
pitality. In a deep, tapestried chair, wearing a din-
ner jacket, sat the square figure of Bradley.
“This is a surprise, Clifford!” cried Loveman, tak-
ing his hand. “And a pleasure, too, — also a relief:
dropping in on a pair of grouches, just as they were
getting ready to murder each other to drive dull care
away. You there, you other grouch," — to Bradley,
- "say good-evening to our relief expedition.”
Bradley, without rising, nodded curtly. Clifford
gave back a similar greeting.


MARY REGAN
“Off with your overcoat, Clifford," the little man
said briskly, "and make yourself comfortable."
"I'll keep it on, Loveman. I can only stay a few
minutes."
“Well, anyhow, sit down," and Loveman pushed
him into a chair and gestured toward a little table on
which stood bottles and glasses and siphons. “All the
ingredients here of the Fountain of Perpetual Youth:
what'll you have — high-ball, cocktail, liqueur- or
shall I have Oni bring you a split of champagne?"
“Thanks, I'm not drinking to-night."
“Smoke, then?" offering cigars and cigarettes.
“No, thank you."
“Say, you're making a host look dam' inhospit-
able," humorously complained the little man. "How
about a little whist? I'll run the dummy. Brad-
ley there loves it: he's acting vice-chairman of the
Daughters of Brooklyn Memorial and Bridge As-
soci "
“Cut it out!” growled Bradley. “Ask him what
he wants."
"Pardon him, Clifford: Bradley's a gentleman of
no social parts. But since he has mentioned the
point — is there anything special you came for?"
“I came to talk," said Clifford.
“Talk - good! Talking's my trade!” Loveman
drew up a chair, so that the three of them formed a
square, the table of bottles filling the fourth side.
“Let 'er go — guest has the opening speech.”
“I suppose, Clifford, that this is where you'd like
88


MARY REGAN
to have me make a quick exit,” said Bradley - and
he crossed his legs, folded his arms, bit upon his inva-
riable big cigar, and gave Clifford a challenging look.
“On the other hand, Bradley," Clifford returned,
"I count it luck that I found you here, and I beg
you as a favor to remain. Bradley, Loveman," he
said sharply, “I've come here for a showdown -- to
tell you that I'm on to your little game!"
“Our game?” queried Loveman, with puzzled
blandness.
“Your game with Mary Regan and the Mortons."
“Indeed!" Loveman said softly. “Now, I wonder
if you'd mind giving a little information to an ig-
norant man?”
Bradley's face had suddenly become hard; his
little eyes were gleaming. But though Loveman's
manner was blandly puzzled, Clifford knew the
little lawyer was as alertly watchful of him as
was Bradley - and was as much to be watched.
“I'll put all my cards on the table, Loveman," he
said with deliberation. “I'll tell you exactly what
I know - which is also exactly what you know.
There's nothing at all extraordinary about it; it's
just the sort of thing that with a few variations
you're doing over and over.”
"Oh, I say, am I really so monotonous!" pro-
tested Loveman.
“You said you were going to put your cards on
the table,” cut in Bradley. “Come on, let's see
your two-spots."


MARY REGAN
“We'll go back a bit, Loveman," said Clifford.
“Morton, senior, had entrusted you with the legal
end of some of his New York affairs; and when Jack
Morton came to New York, and began to get him-
self tangled up through having too much money, the
father put it up to you to extricate his son. Good
profit in handling such affairs, Loveman: nice fee
for legal services rendered; a private split of the
sums for which the matters were settled; and an
unobtrusive arrangement whereby the son could be
drawn into further profitable predicaments. A big-
paying business, Loveman.”
“Go on," said the little lawyer pleasantly.
“Three or four months ago the father descended
upon New York in a fury. He declared he was
through settling for Jack's troubles. He was going to
send Jack somewhere far away from New York -
and Jack had to take a brace, or the father would
drop him. Also there was a marriage with a rich
girl that the father wanted to put across — and
there'd be nothing doing unless Jack straightened
up. So Jack simply had to be braced up. Right
there, Loveman, was where you saw yourself losing
a big piece of your income. But you did some quick
thinking, and you fell in with the father's idea that
Jack should be sent into retirement to reform. In
fact, you knew the very place, Pine Mountain Lodge.
And on your suggestion Jack was sent there."
"And if I did mention Pine Mountain Lodge,
what of that?" Loveman mildly inquired.
90


MARY REGAN
. “You knew Mary Regan was there, and knew she
was the only attractive woman staying at the hotel.
And you knew that Jack Morton fell for about every
pretty woman that he met. Thrown together in that
isolation, you had n't a doubt of what he would do.
It was only a chance — but it was your only chance;
and if it worked out the way you thought it might,
there would be rich possibilities in the situation for
you - without your seeming to have been mixed
in the affair. Well, it worked out just as you
thought it might — and the possibilities lie ready
to your hand.”
“In case I'm overlooking anything good," Love-
man remarked in the same gentle voice, “would you
mind telling me just what these possibilities are?"
“Of course the marriage had to be secret; other-
wise the possibilities would have been cut down by
two thirds. First item, after the marriage had taken
place, there was the possibility of getting hush money
out of Mary Regan by threatening to expose her.
You would never have appeared in this; Bradley
would have attended to this detail — perhaps
through one of his men. Second, after you had ex-
hausted the possibilities of blackmail, the next step
would have been to inform the father that you sus-
pected something was wrong with Jack. The father
would order the matter looked into; you would en-
gage Bradley for the job, and after a lengthy examina-
tion Bradley would report a secret marriage – a big
bill for detective services. Third, you would then
91


MARY REGAN
his spine against the table's edge, and Bradley drove
his head down upon the wood with a terrific thump.
“You'll stop nothing!" grated Bradley. “You've
butted into my affairs for the last time!"
Clifford tried to struggle free, but he was caught
at too hopeless a disadvantage - his spine upon the
edge of the table, Bradley's weight crushing upon
him, and that pair of hands clutching his throat. He
could move only his arms, and those to no purpose;
he could not cry out; he could not breathe. As his
chest heaved for lack of air, he read his doom in the
deadly fury of Bradley's face. And he realized, even
could he call for help, the futility of such an outcry
in this apartment at the top of a lofty building, at
this heavily slumbrous hour of four.
He had been faintly conscious of hurried fumblings
about the desk -- of the snap of a lock — of the
whine of a sliding drawer. Now, suddenly, as his
wide eyes were growing bleared, he saw a dark
something appear between his face and the face of
Bradley a bare two feet away. And then he saw
the something was a short, black pistol, and that the
pistol was Aush against Bradley's jaw, and that
the pistol was gripped in a soft, round hand that was
indubitably Loveman's. And he heard Loverman's
voice, no longer velvety, snap out:-
“Damn you, Bradley, - that rough stuff don't
go with me! Let loose of him, or, by God, I'll blow
your dam' face off!"
Clifford saw Bradley's flaming little eyes shift
93


MARY REGAN
toward the speaker. Then he saw the monk-like
figure shift the pistol from jaw to Bradley's shoulder.
“No, I'll not kill you; I'll splinter your dam'
bones," the sharp voice cried with fierce decision.
“Get off that man before I count three, or your left
arm'll be the first bone to go. One — two — "
The hands left Clifford's throat, and the heavy
figure lifted itself from his body; and, thus freed,
Clifford slumped to the floor where he sat limply,
pantingly, against the table. Loveman had stepped
around the table, and Clifford now saw that he was
looking up at Bradley, and he saw that the cherubic,
large-eyed face of the lawyer was grim with an awful
wrath.
“You dam' big boob!” cried the little man.
“You'd let yourself - and me! — in for a criminal
charge! And people have always said you have a
brain!"
“I've taken all I can from him!” Bradley said
thickly.
"Either you control your temper and cut out the
rough stuff," snapped Loyeman, “or you and I are
through!"
The pair gazed fixedly at each other. Neither
spoke. While they stood silent, Clifford became
aware of the Japanese butler, his back toward the
three of them and seemingly unaware of their doings,
on his knees picking up bottles and broken glass and
toweling up the spilled liquor from the rug.
Without replying, Bradley put his hands in his
94


MARY REGAN
trousers' pockets, resumed his chair, and crossed
his legs. With an easy motion Loveman dropped the
pistol into a pocket of his dressing-gown, and stepped
to Clifford's side. He was again the agreeable man-
about-town that Broadway liked so well.
“Too bad — but natural — the way men will lose
their tempers,” he said, as he helped Clifford to his
feet and into a chair. “How're you feeling?"
“I'll be all right in a breath or two."
“Better let me give you a brandy?”.
“No, thanks."
“Aw, it's nothing!” cut in Bradley. “Let him
finish saying how he was going to stop us!"
“Do you feel like that — yet?” Loveman queried
solicitously.
Clifford was still dazed, but he was no less set in his
purpose. “Bradley's right - a little scuffle like that
is nothing."
"Good; a great thing to be in training!” Loveman
sank into his chair, smiling urbanely. “We've for-
gotten what's happened"; and he brushed the mat-
ter into oblivion with a pleasant wave of the hand
that two minutes before had gripped the pistol. “As
I was about to remark — granting that you are
right, how are you going to stop it?”.
“Of course I could stop it,” said Clifford, “by
telling Jack and Mr. Morton about Mary Regan
and her father and her uncle and her brother. At
any rate, that would smash your game.”
“As you say, provided, of course, there is a con-
95


MARY REGAN
templated marriage, that would stop it,” Loveman
agreed pleasantly. “Why don't you do that?".
“Considering the character of the Mortons and
the fact that she's more worth while than they are,
telling on her seems to me a pretty raw deal to give
Mary Regan: to show her up to them, and give the
father, who's as sympathetic as a shark, a chance to
take the lead, break it off, make a scandal out of it,
and to humiliate her in public."
"That's dam' delicate of you, Clifford,” said Love-
man, “and I approve of your sentiments as a gen-
tleman. But if you don't do that, how else are you
going to stop it?"
Clifford spoke calmly. "I'm going to stop it
through you."
“Through me! Well, well! Do you mind telling
me, Clifford, just how I am going to do it?".
"You have some influence over Mary Regan; I
don't pretend to know what it is. You go to her
to-morrow and you tell her, saying whatever is
necessary to bring her around, that she can't go
through with the marriage. Then she breaks it off
and not the Mortons, and they'll not be any the
wiser about her."
“Well, well, you certainly do seem to think I have
a very strong influence with the ladies," Loveman
said blandly. “Very flattering, I assure you. But
supposing – all we've been talking about is mere
supposition, you know — supposing I have a mild
disinclination to do what you propose?"
wisand not the Momarriage. Then
96


MARY REGAN
“Supposing that," Clifford returned grimly, “then
I go to Mr. Morton, tell him about Mary Regan,
and tell him the whole thing was your plan. And
he'll believe what I say about you, Loveman; I've
merely got to remind him that you suggested Pine
Mountain Lodge, prove to him that you knew Mary
Regan was there, prove to him that you've been
seeing Mary Regan in New York, and he'll swallow
everything else. Result, the present scheme of you
and Bradley goes smash, and, further, you lose
all future business with your best-paying client."
"Supposing, on the other hand,” Loveman re-
marked in his same bland voice, “that I have no
disinclination to do what you suggest?".
“In that case, you only lose out on your pres-
ent plan. I'm not interested in Morton. You keep
his business. You see, Loveman, I've got you:
and what I'm offering is the best proposition for
you."
Loveman gently stroked his crown. “Clifford, do
you believe in fairies?"
“Where does that come in?"
“You ought to believe in fairies, Clifford. You
really ought. With that imagination of yours,
you'd coin money, writing fairy-stories for children
- simply coin money.” He turned to Bradley.
“What do you say to Clifford's proposition?".
“Tell him to go to hell!" said Bradley, his old
hatred flaring out.
“You'll excuse Fido's behavior, Clifford," Love-
97


MARY REGAN
man said apologetically. "He has n't had a biscuit
all day."
“The real question is," returned Clifford, “what
does Peter Loveman say to the proposition?”
“What do I say? Well, now, well," Loveman said
pleasantly, “you know I never did believe in fairies
and so I can't be expected to gulp down this remark-
able little story you've told me. But since you are
interested in Miss Regan, and are concerned that
nothing goes wrong with her — why, for your sake,
of course I'll do it — I'll do anything you say."
Clifford stared penetratingly at the round face,
which never before looked more like the face of an
amiable monk. Behind that amiable face was a swift
thought that, after all, he might slip Nina Cordova
into this situation and that he'd square matters
with Nina the first thing in the morning.
“You'll do it to-morrow?" demanded Clifford.
“To-morrow - sometime before noon.” And as
Clifford continued his keen glance: “You doubt
me? All right.” He walked to a section of his book-
shelves and came back with a large, dingy volume.
“Here's a Bible — a Gutenberg, 1455. There can't
be a holier Bible than this; just think, man, what
it cost. Go ahead — swear me."
"I guess you'll do it," said Clifford. He rose. “I
believe that's all, gentlemen. Good-night."
As he started away Bradley glowered at him; but
Loveman, slipping an arm through his, escorted him
to the door. There Loveman held him for a moment.
98


MARY REGAN
“That was one grand fairy-tale, Clifford, you
dreamed about me,” he said with a smile through
which (perhaps purposely) there glinted ever so little
of mockery. “But supposing I do have any little
plan under way, I wonder how close you've come
to guessing it? Now, I wonder?”
Down in the quiet street, Clifford found himself
wondering too.
149844B


CHAPTER IX
THE TEST OF LIFE
Now that he had won, now that the marriage and
Loveman's plans were potentially blocked, there
should have been a let-down from Clifford's long
strain. But there was not. The settling of this affair
seemed only to give mind-room to other concerns.
He tossed about restlessly during the few hours that
remained of the night; and he realized that his rest-
lessness was not due wholly to the suspense of wait-
ing for the finality that would come with Love-
man's completed promise.
In the slow hours before the coming of the slate-
colored dawn a vague, disturbing doubt crept in
upon him. He had interfered with events, he had
tried to shape life upon his ideas: was his course
right? – that seemed to be something of the im-
palpable substance of his doubt. But what this new
doubt was, strive as he would he could not evoke
it from its vagueness into definite shape.
He had breakfast; and then, obeying an impulse
which seemed to emerge from this new, obscure maze
of his mind, he suddenly decided to see Mary Regan
again – for what purpose he had no idea. Arrived
at the Grantham he had his name 'phoned up to
“Mrs. Gardner," and was informed that Mrs. Gard-
ner would see him.
100


MARY REGAN
Mary herself admitted him, and, not even reply-
ing to his "good-morning,” she led him into the
sitting-room. There she faced him, proud and coldly
defiant.
"I suppose you have come to inform me you have
told the Mortons all about me?"
"No," he replied.
“Then, to threaten me again that you will tell?"
"No."
“Then, what have you come for?"
He knew now — at least partly. During the mo-
ment he had been in the room and had gazed upon
her, there had emerged from the maze of his thoughts
and feelings, a sharply defined repugnance to what
within the next hour or two was to happen between
her and Loveman: a repugnance, felt in her behalf,
that she should be made to yield to whatever in-
fluences that cunning little lawyer would be able
to exert.
“I have come to ask you," he said, trying to speak
composedly, but with all his being vibrant beneath
that composure, "to break off this affair with Jack
Morton of your own free will. You know you
don't care for him. You know what you are planning
to do is n't square. Why don't you be true to the best
self that is in you and end it all yourself? - and
end it now? There's the telephone," he urged — re-
membering that Loveman might any moment ap-
pear — "call Jack Morton up and tell him you've
decided not to do it!"
IOI


MARY REGAN
As he spoke, her face had grown sharp with de-
cision. “Mr. Clifford,” she exclaimed in a low, cut-
ting voice, “I'm tired of your presumption, your
interference! I'm tired of your trying to make me
be what you think I ought to be! As if it mattered
to me what you thought!"
She took a step nearer, her straight, young figure
stiffened, and her dark eyes flashed at him. “Under-
stand this, Mr. Clifford, — I've made up my mind,
and made it up definitely, finally. I am going to do
exactly what I want to do, and it is not in your
power to stop me or divert me. You may tell either
of the Mortons if you like — my real course will not
be changed — that will merely mean that I'll do
what I want to do in some other way!”.
Clifford did not attempt to answer. Her defiant
words, her young figure so rigid with its determined
spirit of worldliness, had set some strange force
working in him; a vague power seemed to be at con-
flict with the purpose he had held to for so long; a
strange revulsion seized him, a revolution was under
way which was compelling in its sweeping drive, but
whose intent and direction for a moment he could
not perceive.
He stood still, and stared at her. And then out of
the inner turmoil came a clear, bright order; and then
he realized that the restlessness, the formless doubts
of the night before, had been the first faint stirrings
of this which was grown and clarified into a new pur-
pose and a new vision - a purpose and vision that
102


MARY REGAN
astonished him. For they had come at the very time
when his old purpose was the same as achieved.
She could but notice the remarkable change in his
appearance. “Well, what is it now?" she demanded.
He drew a deep, quivering breath. A recklessness,
a defiance - but behind which his new purpose re-
mained cool — now possessed him. He was aware
that he had to act quickly, for any instant Peter
Loveman might be here.
“What is it now?" he repeated, with a provoking
smile. If he did not have power to stir her to love,
he knew that he had the power to stir her to anger.
“I was just recalling what you said a moment ago:
to the effect that you were going to do what you
pleased and do it when you pleased. Pardon me for
smiling — but when a woman boasts, it sometimes
is amusing and a bit absurd.”
“What do you mean?" she said sharply.
“Oh, I'm smiling at myself, too, for I've just
realized what a fool I've made of myself in trying to
stop you — an entirely unnecessary effort. What I
mean, Miss Regan, is that I do not believe you could
do it.”
“Why not?".
“Oh, I suppose you'd go through with your part
of it. But if put to the test of marrying at once, Jack
Morton would never go through with his part. He
may be a bit infatuated; but he's too wise to marry
a woman without money — without knowing more
about who she is — and without his father's ap-
103


MARY REGAN
off!"
proval. No wonder Jack has been putting this
She flushed hotly. “I have been the one to put it
off!" she cried.
“Indeed," he exclaimed with unbelief none too
polite. “From the way he was dancing last night
with Miss Cordova -- you know, that pretty musi-
cal-comedy star - I have an idea she's had a lot
to do with the delay. And I imagine she'll have a lot
more to do with further delay. Why, you poor
thing," — he smiled irritatingly, — "to think you
could hold a man like Jack Morton — you having
to remain inactive, under cover – he free to roam
about with all sorts of charming women — particu-
larly with Miss Cordova!"
She did not speak for a moment. She was choked
with that anger on which he had so carefully counted:
no person, he knew, would be so likely to act upon
impulse as a proud and angered woman, before the
man who has insulted her.
“So you think I can't do it!" she exclaimed. “So
he's the one who is holding back! Well, I'll just
show you! Anyhow, this thing might as well come
to a head right now. And I'll give you your chance
to tell all you know about me."
She turned and took up the telephone from the
writing-desk and asked for the Biltmore. Fortune
favored her purpose, for in a minute she had Jack
Morton on the wire.
“Can you come right over, Jack, - with your
104


MARY REGAN
car? ... No, don't bring your chauffeur; drive your
self. ... Why? I'll tell you that when you come
only bring plenty of wraps. . . . All right, I'll be
ready; come right up.”
“He'll be over in fifteen minutes," she said to
Clifford. “You may wait if you like. But you'll
excuse me.”
She passed into her bedroom. Clifford sank rather
limply into a chair. He had come to what just then
seemed the supreme crisis of his life, and he was still
dazed at the way he had willed that crisis to eventu-
ate. He sat thinking — thinking; the minutes she
was out were long minutes to him.
Presently she reëntered. She had changed to a
black velvet suit trimmed with black fur; a small
fur hat sat snugly down upon her thick, dark hair;
and she carried a fur motor-coat. She was an un-
forgettable picture for him: the high color of her
dark face against the background of soft and sheeny
blacks.
She did not address Clifford; but there was little
time for their silence to become awkward, for almost
at once the bell of the suite rang. Mary went to the
door, and admitted Jack Murton. The pleasant-
faced young fellow looked most comfortably hand-
some in his great motoring-coat of raccoon.
“I say, Mary, this is certainly fine!” he cried,
after he had kissed her. “And, hello – there's Bob
Clifford. How's the old boy?" He shook Clifford's
hand warmly. “But say, Mary, what's doing?"
105


MARY REGAN
Mary looked at Morton when she replied, but her
voice was directed at Clifford: “I've decided, Jack,
to give in to you. I'm ready to be married at once
- to-day.”
“Hurrah!” cried young Morton, seizing both her
hands. “But we'll have to keep it quiet -- same as
we planned. You're ready now?"
She did not answer. Clifford noted that her body
tautened and her breath was held — as one who
waits for a blow; and he understood that she was
waiting for, and expecting him to speak the truth
about her.
She slowly turned and looked at Clifford. Surprise
that he had said nothing was in her face. Then she
turned back to Morton.
“I'm all ready," she said distinctly, so that Clif-
ford might not miss a word. “We'll do as you sug-
gested: motor away back into the country to some
small place – get married — and a little money
spent judiciously there will keep our marriage quiet
as long as we like.” She turned again to Clifford.
“I'm sure we have the best wishes of Mr. Clif-
ford.”
He knew that her words, and her straight look,
were not now so much challenge or defiance as
the bold offering him a second time the chance to
speak, and to speak at the most effective moment
imaginable. She might be perverse - but of a
certainty she had nerve!
“You surely have my wishes that it will all turn
106


MARY REGAN
out for the very best," said Clifford; and again he
saw surprise in her gaze.
He rode down the elevator with them and walked
out to the curb where stood Morton's machine, a
black, closed car with a long hood that bespoke the
engine-power of a racer. Morton was swinging open
the door when Clifford, trying to keep down the
choke that sought to rise in his throat, remarked
with attempted good-fellowship: -
“If you don't mind, Morton, I wish you'd wire
me as soon as it's over. Here at the Grantham."
“Sure, old man. Step in, Mary.".
Mary started to obey, then checked herself. “May
I speak to you a moment, Mr. Clifford?"
They moved a few paces away. She looked at him
penetratingly.
“Why have you done this?" she abruptly whis-
pered.
“Done what?" he parried.
"Don't you think that I see now that you have
forced my hand? That I am down here now, about
to do this, because you wanted me to do it? Why
are you doing it - when you could stop everything,
this moment, with just a few words?"
He gave her back a straight look and spoke de-
liberately. “I have tried for a long time to do with
you what I saw as best - to pull the strings - and
I have failed, over and over. When you declared a
little while ago that I or nothing else could change
your purpose, I suddenly had a new vision. I realized
107


MARY REGAN
that if you were poor material I could not save you,
and that you would not be worth saving. And I
realized that if you were good material, only some
way that I had not tried could affect you; and it
came to me," he went on grimly, “that bitter experi-
ence might do for you what I had not done. And it
also came to me that if anything could arouse you
to the human realities, no experiences might be so
effective as what might lie before you in this very
marriage you had planned."
“And that is why you said nothing?" she breathed.
He nodded. “I have taken my hands off, to give
life its chance to pull the strings.”
She gazed at him a moment longer. Then she
returned to the car. But as she stepped in, she
paused and glanced back once more. Her face was
very pale and dazed – it held the look of one who
wondered, but could not understand.
Restlessly, but with a heavy heart within him,
Clifford wandered about the great lobby of the
Grantham. A slow hour passed then another.
Then he saw Peter Loveman, on his plump face an
expression which for Loveman was very serious,
come up the broad stairway and go straight for the
desk at which visitors sent up their names to guests
of the house. Loveman spoke to the blonde within
the grilled enclosure — waited — then walked away
with a sober, puzzled look. He sighted Clifford in
a deep lounging-chair, and his face on the instant
108


MARY REGAN
grown genial, he crossed and dropped into a chair
beside him.
“Need n't explain, Clifford," he said pleasantly,
offering a cigarette from a lacquered case which Clif-
ford refused. “Sure, I understand what you showed
up here for: to see if I went through with what I
promised. Well, I just asked for her, and was told
she'd gone out. I'm going to wait for her — and I
suppose you'll wait too."
Clifford nodded.
Loveman tried to draw Clifford into conversation,
but his light remarks failing to evoke a response, he
looked through first the “Wall Street Journal," and
then the “Morning Telegraph," that organ of the
theater and the other diversions close to Broad-
way's life. Thus the two sat for over an hour, neither
speaking; then a page came by, calling in the im-
personal voice of hotel pages, “Telegram Mr. Clif-
ford - Telegram Mr. Clifford."
Clifford took the yellow missive with a hand that
he tried to keep from shaking. He was quite certain
what was in it - the end of things, just as he had
suddenly planned them in his new vision of some
three or four hours earlier. Yet, none the less, he
had a moment of supreme and sickening suspense
as he opened the envelope.
Yes, it was just what he had expected. He gazed
fixedly at the typewritten lines before him - lines
which were like heavy doors swinging to and locked
between him and that of which he had dreamed.
109


MARY REGAN
Then he became conscious that the big round eyes of
little Peter Loveman were gazing at him curiously.
Silently he handed the telegram to the lawyer.
Loveman glanced the telegram through. “The
devil!” he cried. Then he read it again, this time
aloud:-
Married quiet place ten miles from here. Everybody
will keep it secret Happy you bet.
Loveman stared at Clifford. “And it's addressed
to you!” he exclaimed. “Say, this means you've
crossed yourself! What the devil are you up to?"
Clifford did not answer.
There was a moment of silence, then Loveman
whispered to himself: “And I just promised Nina
Cordova!" :
Again Clifford did not answer; he did not hear
Loveman. Such of his senses as were not numbed
by the finality of which that telegram was the token
were directed into that unfinal future which human
vision could not penetrate. How was it all going to
work out for Mary Regan? Was experience going to
do for her what he had failed to do, or was experience
going to stimulate to complete and final dominance
her worldliness? And had he played into Peter
Loveman's hands? And what would Loveman do?
But these were questions only Life could answer.
He had stepped aside to give Life full play, to let
human impulses move unhindered by him toward
110


MARY REGAN
their destiny; and he must wait until Life was ready
to speak.
He was subconsciously aware that Loveman's
round eyes were fixed upon him sharply, and he was
subconsciously aware that the keen brain behind
that round face was working swiftly, ranging in every
direction. But without looking at Loveman again, or
speaking to him, he rose heavily and went down the
broad marble stairway, muted with rugs, out into
the winter twilight. These questions that engaged
his mind were none of his affair. Mary Regan, as far
as she touched his personal life, was now become
an episode that was closed. He had other affairs to
fill his life; he must turn himself to them.
And yet, as he walked away ... he wondered . .


CHAPTER X
THE GOLDEN DOORS
THE hour was eleven-thirty of that same night.
Clifford sat in the Gold Room at the Grantham, and
kept a careful eye upon the proceedings across the
great room at the little corner table known among
the waiters as “Mr. Loveman's table."
Clifford watched many persons speak briefly to
Loveman. He tried to guess what the shrewd little
lawyer might now be up to. Among those who
came to Loveman's table he particularly noted a
dark, perfectly tailored young man, of perhaps
thirty, with the lithe slenderness of the expert
dancing male. Clifford knew him by name and
reputation, and already he had set him down as one
he must watch, together with Loveman and Brad-
ley.
But for all his efforts to concentrate upon his
present business, Clifford's mind kept shifting back
to Mary Regan. It was a most difficult situation
which she had taken upon herself: the daughter
of one famous criminal, the niece of another, the
sister of another, and herself a former participant
in criminal acts — secretly married to a rich young
man who knew nothing of her past, and who was
dependent upon the approval of an autocratic fa-
II2


MARY REGAN
ther. To succeed in the soaring worldly plans she
had admitted to him with such cold frankness would
require marvelous skill, marvelous daring, marvel-
ous self-control. Well — skill, daring, control, she
had them!
But there was Loveman to be considered. Clif-
ford asked himself if he had deduced aright Love-
man's plans concerning her? Loveman's words,
spoken in the early hours of that morning, and
spoken with mockery glinting through his habitual
amiability of manner, came back to him: “Just
supposing I do have any little plan under way, Clif-
ford, I wonder how close you've come to guessing
it? Now, I wonder?"
Looking over at the cherubic face of the shrewd
little lawyer, Clifford felt for the moment all the
doubt that these words had been intended to arouse.
Had he, perhaps, guessed only a part of Loveman's
plan? — or was he altogether wrong?
And Clifford's restless mind flashed to his last act
in the destiny of Mary Regan: the extreme meas-
ure he had resorted to in taunting her into that
impulsive marriage with Jack Morton; and then
his telling her with almost brutal directness, dur-
ing the brief moment just before she and Jack
had motored off, that he had come to realize that
only going her own worldly way, only the experi-
ence of life, could avail to awaken the real woman
that was in her..
He wondered. But only time, as it unrolled its
113


MARY REGAN
film of unborn events, could answer these questions.
He could now do no more than hope the best results
for Mary Regan — wherever she might be.
With an effort Clifford brought himself back to
his present business, and again gave sharp atten-
tion to that darkly handsome figure of the dancing
man. And then — his heart skipped a beat or two.
Across the line of his vision, coming from the main
entrance of the Gold Room, and convoyed by a
suave captain of waiters, walked Mary Regan and
Jack Morton. They were ushered to a side table,
and at once fell into intimate talk.
Clifford, after his first surprise, watched them
closely; and he quickly perceived that, though she
smiled and chatted, not more than the surface of
Mary's attention was given to her husband of a
dozen hours. He tried to look beneath, to what was
going on in the hidden deeps of her mind. ...
That mind was teeming. For her this was a mo-
ment of triumph, of exultation. As she had told
Clifford, with her cool directness, she had analyzed
herself, and had decided that she was a worldling,
and, moreover, she knew herself a competent world-
ling. The things in life that to her were worth while
were luxury, admiration, the pleasures that money
could buy. She had dreamed this dream — and
here was her dream come true!
Her quickened eyes, with a new sense, swiftly
took in this great room, decorated in gold and black
and with hangings of a kingly blue brocade, and
114


MARY REGAN
with smartly dressed people at the tables or swing-
ing in alluring rhythm in the latest dances. After
the studied maneuvers, and sometimes necessary
seclusion of life with her uncle, all this gayety, and
richness, and freedom, warmed the heart of her de-
sire. All this was now hers! — hers whenever she
wished it!
It was as if golden doors had swung open. From
her subconscious mind these two magic words had
emerged to the very forefront of her thought, had
become a mental figure of speech which she con-
cretely visualized as a glorious structure which al-
most existed — Golden Doors! ...
Clifford, watching that rapt face, hardly noted
that Jack had sighted him and was bearing down
upon him until Jack seized him by the shoulder and
dragged him over to where Mary sat.
“Look who's here, Mary, — almost my brides-
maid!” Jack cried gayly. “Sit down, Clifford,"
pressing Clifford into a chair and reseating himself.
“Now, come across with congratulations!"
Clifford tried to restrain all personal feeling from
his tone, and to speak lightly. “I can't do better
than to say what's always said — that I hope mar-
riage is going to make a real man out of you."
“Oh, you do! And I suppose" — with joyous
acerbity — "that that's what you're wishing for
Mary -- that it'll make a real woman out of her!”
Clifford still tried to speak easily. “Honestly,
now, could one make a better wish for a woman
115


MARY REGAN
than that she should never be anybody else but her
best self?”
Mary met his gaze steadily. On his side he tried
to look, and feel, the part of one who is no more than
a casual friend - but, despite his effort at this de-
tached rôle, he could not help guessing at just what
was going on behind that calm face.
“You've got a thought on your chest,” remarked
Jack. “Better cough it up."
“I am merely feeling a bit surprised at seeing you
back again.”
“Surprised? Why?".
“I imagined you'd stay away for a while.”
“I've had enough of the St. Helena life — and so
has Mary. New York's the only place!”
“Where are you going to live?”
“Right here at the Grantham. That is, till we
like something better.”
“Then you are registered here?" pursued Clifford.
“Not I. Mary is, since she's been living here. I
was just going to have my things sent over from the
Biltmore, and then register with the special hotel
pen, which has two ink drops that flow as one.”
Clifford was silent for a moment. He had noted
that Peter Loveman was watching them from his
corner, and that the lithe, dark gentleman he had
been closely observing during the evening - his
name was Hilton – was now seated at the table
adjoining them and was covertly watching Mary.
"Don't register here together," he said abruptly.
. 116


MARY REGAN
"Why not?" exclaimed Jack.
“Would you mind explaining?” Mary asked
quietly.
Clifford remembered himself. Only that very
morning he had told Mary that he would no longer
try to help shape the course of her life - that he
would keep his hands off - that hereafter he would
let Life pull the strings of her destiny. And here he
was interfering again.
"I guess I was n't thinking,” he said, trying to
be casual. “Anyhow, it's really none of my busi-
ness."
Mary gazed at him sharply. She surmised that
some idea had been behind his remark; but she did
not speak. Jack, whose gaze had wandered, gave
a start and cried out:-
“Hello, there's dad! And he's spotted us - look,
he's coming this way!”
Clifford glanced at Jack's father, an erect man of
fifty, with unchallengeable dominance in his man-
ner which the lordship of large affairs had developed
from his native self-confidence. Then quickly Clif-
ford glanced back, and managed to comprehend with
his gaze both Mary and the dark man at the next
table. Mary, grown tense as crisis approached in
the form of the elder Morton, said quickly to Jack
in a low voice: -
"Introduce me by another name: Gilmore —
anything!"
At the same moment Clifford saw her hands be-
117


MARY REGAN
neath the table swiftly remove engagement and
wedding rings and thrust them into a white glove
which lay in her lap. Also he noted that the dark
gentleman had caught this action; and he noted that
the black eyes glinted with a sudden light.
The next moment he heard Mary being intro-
duced as Miss Gilmore. Clifford watched the meet-
ing keenly.
“I'm very glad to meet Miss Gilmore," the elder
Morton said, bowing over her hand and taking her
in with a swift, appraising eye. He had a reputa-
tion of a sort as a connoisseur of femininity, and
what he saw was evidently pleasing to him.
“And I am glad to meet you," Mary returned.
Clifford knew her self-control, but he was freshly
amazed at the composed agreeability with which
she met her unsuspecting father-in-law.
“Of course, you know Mr. Clifford,” Jack went
on nervously. “Sit down, dad. We were just fin-
ishing a little supper. Can't I order something for
you?"
“Nothing for me, son. But I'll sit with Miss
Gilmore and you for a minute."
He took a chair, and fixed his gray eyes, trained
to penetrate and read what others would hide from
him, upon Mary. Clifford tautened with suspense
as these two sat face to face. And out of the tail
of his eye he saw that the dark man was covertly
watching and listening.
“I don't get to New York very often, Miss Gil-
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MARY REGAN
more," Mr. Morton continued, “but this time I'm
making it an old man's business and pleasure to try
to recapture some of my own youth by getting ac-
quainted with Jack's friends. I suppose he's known
you a long time?"
“On the other hand, we first met quite recently."
“If I knew how to be gallant in your Eastern
fashion, I might remark that Jack has lost a lot,
then. I wonder if you're one of our leading act-
resses? Jack seems to know so many stage people.”
“I'm not even the greatest motion-picture star
yet discovered; and you know there are thousands
of her. I'm just ordinary woman."
“Not ordinary!" protested Mr. Morton. “I sup-
pose - But, of course, this curiosity of a provin-
cial must be offensive to you?”
"I did not know that a Chicagoan ever admitted
himself a provincial.”
“Call it the prying curiosity of an old father.
That's just as bad."
“A father should be curious," Mary said evenly.
“I was about to say that I suppose you are a
native New Yorker?"
"Not in the sense that you probably mean - that
I am of an old family here, and have a lot of rela-
tions."
“But you are a New Yorker?”
“I was born here. But a large part of my life
I spent in France - where," she added, "both my
parents died."
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MARY REGAN
“An orphan -- and no relations! Perhaps you
are one of those independent New York bachelor
girls we read about?”.
“I live with an aunt. We have an apartment -
just a little box of a thing."
"Indeed. Would it be presuming too much on
Jack's friendship if I might call upon you and your
aunt?"
“Aunt Isabel and I will be pleased to have you,"
she returned evenly.
“Thank you. If you will find out just when it
will be most convenient for her, and let me know
through Jack, I'll be there." ;
Clifford had to admire the composure with which
she carried herself through this polite but danger-
ous inquisition - every instant of which, he saw,
was an almost unbearable strain upon the suspense-
ridden Jack. But by her invention of an aunt,
which had opened the way for a proposal to call, he
felt that she might have made a fatal slip. But
there was no telling: it looked bad, yes, — but she
had a faculty, a gift, for smoothly extricating her-
self from the worst of situations.
Before this cross-examination could proceed fur-
ther, little Peter Loveman appeared at the table.
Clifford instantly surmised the shrewd little lawyer's
motive: he had witnessed the scene, and, knowing its
dangers to himself, sought to intervene before there
could be exposure and explosion.
“Pardon me for breaking in on your party, Mr.
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MARY REGAN
Morton," he said, with his glib amiability. “But
some facts just came to my knowledge which, as
your lawyer, I feel you ought to know at once.”
"All right; I was just leaving, anyhow. Jack,
I've been wanting to see you all day - it's really
very important. I wonder if Miss Gilmore would
forgive you, and us, if we left her with Mr. Clif-
ford?"
It had been a scene that had almost crumpled
Jack. Mary saved the situation for him by speak.
ing promptly but with composure.
“It will be quite all right, Mr. Morton.”
“To pay the check with,” Jack mumbled huskily,
pushing a bank-note beside Clifford's plate.
The next moment Clifford and Mary were alone.
She gazed across at him very steadily, not speaking.
Her breath came with a slight, fluttering irregu-
larity, and her face had taken on a slight pallor; he
could guess how much the stress of the last few
minutes had taxed her. She glanced about the tables
for a brief space, then her eyes came back to him.
"I'd like to go up to my apartment,” she said
quietly.
Clifford paid the bill and escorted her out of the
great, glittering room. Near the row of elevators
she halted and faced him.
"What was in your mind a while ago when you
started to tell Jack and me not to register here
together?"
He tried to speak coldly. “Please overlook that.
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MARY REGAN
I forgot for the moment that I had promised you
I would not again interfere in your affairs.
“Please tell me what was in your mind," she
quietly insisted.
"First of all, I was surprised that you and Jack
should return to New York -- so soon."
“Why?"
“Something similar to what has just happened
was bound to happen if you appeared in New York
openly together — only it might have been a great
deal worse. And that worse thing would inevitably
have happened if you two had registered. I thought
you would have considered this danger."
“I had thought of it, yes, - that is, before to-day.
But to-day so much was happening to me - it was
all so sudden - that all day I was thinking of other
things."
He looked at her sharply, a sudden leaping at his
heart. Was he in any way concerned in those other
things? But he put the question from him.
Abruptly he obeyed an impulse that had been
growing in him. “May I break my promise to the
extent of telling you of a few matters?"
“Please do."
“You have chosen your own way," he said, in
even tones, looking very straight into her dark
eyes, “but — well, after all, I want you to make the
best of it for yourself. These few facts — perhaps
you know them already — may help you. First, and
I say this without any personal prejudice to Jack,
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MARY REGAN
Jack has the reputation of caring for many women
often rather than for one woman long. Second,
largely for business reasons, Mr. Morton desires to
have Jack marry a girl from Chicago. Third, this
girl's parents will not consider such a marriage
until Jack has proved that he has settled down;
therefore, it naturally is Mr. Morton's dominating
desire at present that Jack should become a steady
business man. He'd like to have Jack enter the
New York offices of his firm. That is all. If you
think these matters over, perhaps you will see a
way in which they may serve you."
"Perhaps I shall. Thank you." She moved to
the elevators, and stood silent until a car opened.
“Good-night,” she said, and stepped inside.
"Good-night," he returned.
He stood an instant after her car had shot up-
ward. She had chosen her own course. And this
was only the beginning of the consequences. What
might the ending be?


CHAPTER XI
MARY PLANS ANEW
THE following morning Clifford called at the Gran-
tham and asked if Mrs. Morton was in.
The clerk examined the hotel's file of guests.
“There is no Mrs. Morton staying here."
So, after all, they had not registered. He recalled
that Mary had formerly been known here as Mrs.
Gardner.
“May I see Mrs. Gardner, then?” he asked.
“Mrs. Gardner moved from the Grantham early
this morning," replied the clerk. “I'd just come on
duty when she left.”
"Was there a — was her brother with her?"
“She was alone."
“If you will kindly give me her new address "
“She left no address.”
Clifford walked out of the Grantham in deep
thought. Mary had realized her situation, she had
acted promptly. But what was her plan? — for un-
doubtedly she had evolved a plan during the night.
And where had she gone?
And how was it all going to work out? To be
sure, the penetration of the designs of Loveman
and Bradley was his real business; but he could
not help himself, he was vastly more interested in
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MARY REGAN
what Mary might be doing, and in what was to be
the end of it all for her. He called on Slant-Face;
but her brother still had not seen or heard from
her directly since her return to New York. He kept
Loveman under surveillance, and also Bradley; the
maneuvers of either might lead him to her. And
also he kept watch upon Hilton, whose eyes had
suddenly lighted when he had seen Mary quickly
thrust her rings into her gloves. But he picked up
nothing.
Clifford might have been greatly helped in his
search for Mary by Commissioner Thorne: a gen-
eral alarm might quickly have located her. But he
did not want Mary brought before the general at-
tention of the police. However questionable the
ethics of the course her ambition had planned, there
was in it nothing that was legally criminal.
For a week he kept close surveillance upon Love-
man, Bradley, and the dark young man; and learned
not a thing about Mary and not a thing about the
plans of the others. Then one day he ran across the
elder Morton, who had just returned to the city
after a trip to Chicago.
“You won't believe it when I tell you," said the
older man, “but Jack's gone to work."
“Where?"
“In my New York offices. Been working there
a week — and they tell me he's been as regular as
a clock. Remarkable change!" His voice lowered.
“ But here's a point that seems odd: though he's
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MARY REGAN
kept his rooms at the Biltmore, the people there
have hardly seen him."
The finding of Mary now seemed simple enough.
But Clifford realized that mere knowledge of her
whereabouts would not satisfy him. Clifford con-
sidered rapidly how he might achieve a private
meeting with her. Half an hour later he was sit-
ting with Uncle George in Monsieur Le Bain's
Grand Alcazar, and was telling this wise old man
of Broadway all that had happened.
“Certainly some little situation for Mary Regan!"
Uncle George looked at Clifford with his shrewd
old lashless eyes. “But, son, I hope your motor's
not missing fire over her — and her a married
woman?"
“I'm concerned because I'm certain Loveman is
planning to use her. I can protect her better, and
I stand a better chance to land Loveman, if I know
where she is.”
"H'm. And is that the three-mile limit of your
interest?"
“I'm human enough to want to know what she's
done and how she's planned to meet the future.
Knowing that will help me against Loveman.”
“Well, son, be sure you're not passing phony
money off on yourself — which is what the average
citizen does when he thinks he has one of these here
righteous thoughts. I suppose you've got me fitted
into some nice little idea?".
“You're going to help me meet her.”
126


MARY REGAN
“Oh, that's all, is it!" the old man said dryly.
“All I've got to do is to step out on Broadway,
touch her on the sleeve, and say, 'Good-afternoon,
Mary; Bob Clifford wants to one-step with you to
a bit of nice chin-music' – and in she'll come wear-
ing a smile on all four sides, you being so popular
with her!”
“All you've got to do, Uncle George, is some-
thing else. Jack likes you; Mary considers you one
of her best friends. You go into that telephone
booth, call up Jack at his father's office, and learn
where she is - and after you've learned that we'll
dope out the rest."
“I did n't think that in my old age I'd sink to be
a stool for a copper," sighed Uncle George, with
mock mournfulness.
He heaved his big body up and crossed to a booth.
Five minutes later he swayed back to Clifford's
side.
“I got a line on her. But it's up to me to do
some of this here super-delicate detective work. Sit
where you are — though it's an awful risk to leave
you alone and unprotected right over a wine cellar.
I may be back in an hour. So-long."
He was back in half an hour. “She's having tea
over at the Ritz. Come on. I got a taxi waiting
outside."
He led the way out and across the sidewalk, bulk-
ing large before Clifford. “May God pity an old
sinner for what'll be comin' to him for this!" he
127


MARY REGAN
murmured. At the door of the taxi he stepped
aside. “Get in first,” he said to Clifford; and, as
Clifford obeyed, he smartly closed the door on Clif-
ford's back. “All right,” he called to the chauffeur.
As the taxi moved away, a startled voice within
the car exclaimed: “You!"
Clifford then saw that he was sitting beside Mary.
“Miss Regan!” he ejaculated, forgetting her new
name.
“Uncle George told me we were to pick up
Jack.”
“I hope you'll forgive the deception. Don't blame
Uncle George. Blame me.”
“What does this mean?" she demanded.
“I felt I had to see you at once.”
“Why?"
“You see, I could hardly help wanting to know
what you had done."
He had thought it more than likely that she would
be angry. Her dark eyes did flash at him; but when
she spoke she spoke very calmly.
“There's no reason why you should not know;
and I have no objections to telling you everything.
What do you wish to know first?".
“What you did first."
She considered, then spoke with a cold frankness
that was in keeping with her recent attitude toward
him - to show him her calculating worldliness,
stark, unexcused.
"I thought I had passed through the Golden
128


MARY REGAN
Doors, - that's a phrase of mine, but after that
night at the Grantham when I saw you, I realized
that I still stood far without them. I saw that I
had either to vanish or be willing to wait my
time, perhaps a long time, if I would see it through.
I decided on the latter."
“Yes," Clifford prompted.
“That meant,” the unsparing voice went on,
"that for a long time Jack and I would hardly dare
be seen openly together, that we had to live in se-
clusion. I made Jack see things as I saw them, so we
sublet an apartment on Riverside Drive, and we're
known there as Mr. and Mrs. Grayson."
“And what about Jack's going to work?"
“I thought that if through my influence Jack
should settle down, it would help when his father
finds out."
“I see.”
“I realize perfectly," the cold voice continued,
"another problem that I have to face. Jack likes gay
company; further, you said it is not his nature to
care for one woman long. Well, I must make Jack
like me for a long time, and make him like me de-
spite the solitude. I shall do it.” She paused, then
added: “I believe that is everything."
They rode on in silence, Clifford covertly eyeing
the erect, contained figure beside him — guessing at
what it must have cost her to give up her dreamed-
of pleasure, to be forced into seclusion, to be forced
to undertake the responsibility of sobering down a
129


MARY REGAN
joyous spendthrift. Life certainly had not given her
what she had expected in her bargain.
Again the question rose: how was it all coming
out?
The next afternoon Clifford, following Hilton,
saw his quarry enter the Mordona, the great apart-
ment house on the Drive before which he had left
Mary the night before. He followed into the lobby
just as his man disappeared into an elevator. He had
no doubt on whom the dark gentleman was calling,
or for what reason he called.
Opening into the elaborate lobby, for whose
gilded ostentation the tenants were assessed a goodly
portion of their rent, was a florist's shop. Into the
comparative privacy of this Clifford stepped to wait
until his man came down: a move that was just in
time, for from a descended elevator, which must
have passed the one bearing Hilton aloft, stepped
the square, solid figure of Bradley. Again Clifford
had no doubt on whom the call had been made, or
why.
At last he had picked up a warm and very busy
trail. Under pretense of an indecision over the flow-
ers he should purchase, he waited for his man to
come down, trying to reproduce the scene that was
now going on in the “Graysons'" apartment, and
the scene prior to it in which Bradley had figured. A
quarter of an hour passed, then the debonair Hilton
emerged from an elevator and strode out with a
jaunty, smiling air.
130


MARY REGAN
. “It might help me greatly if I knew exactly what
he asked for," Clifford urged.
"Perhaps. But that cannot concern me."
“Then you will not tell?"
"No."
“Are you aware who this man is?"
“He's a friend of Jack's."
“Not much of a friend, I hope." Clifford still
spoke in his steady, impersonal tone. “Mr. Hilton is
one of several men that I am after and he's one
of the cleverest and most dangerous of the lot. It is
the easiest thing in the world for a crook who is well-
dressed, well-mannered, and who can dance, to make
acquaintances wherever he likes. The regular game
of these crooks is to pick out a woman with money,
or who can get money, make her acquaintance, gain
her confidence and some of her secrets, and then lead
her into a situation where she must pay or be ex-
posed. This is your last visitor's special line. You
might help me a lot if you would tell me what Mr.
Hilton wanted from you."
“He came to see me about a personal matter of
no importance," she replied.
"Pardon me if I do not believe you," he said.
She made no response.
"You will not tell?” he demanded.
“I have nothing to tell," was her steady answer.
“I might force you to tell -" he snapped at her,
but instantly cut himself off.
“Since you won't tell me," he said, stepping more
132


MARY REGAN
into the convenient privacy of the florist's shop.
Not more than two minutes had passed when he
saw Peter Loveman enter one of the elevators. So it
was Loveman she had been telephoning to. She had
doubtless sent for the little lawyer to ask his advice
- the irony of it!
Clifford waited for Loveman to descend. Fifteen
minutes passed – it was now getting on toward six;
then into the lobby, walking eagerly, came Jack
Morton. And then in the entrance, watching but
discreetly unobtrusive, appeared Jack's father.
Jack's elevator had made its trip up and had just
descended, when the elder Morton crossed the lobby
and addressed the elevator-man. The florist's door
stood open, so Clifford heard every word.
"By the way," said Mr. Morton, "what is the
name of the gentleman, your only passenger, that you
just took up? I thought I recognized him as an ac:
quaintance."
"Mr. Grayson, sir." ·
“He lives here?"
“Yes, sir."
“I suppose he has one of your bachelor apart-
ments?”
“No, sir. He lives here with Mrs. Grayson."
“To be sure. I did n't know Mrs. Grayson's health
had permitted her to come back from California.
Please don't mention my having been here; they
might feel hurt at my not having come up."
He slipped the man a bill and went out. Clifford
134


MARY REGAN
realized that Mr. Morton had been engaged upon a
bit of private sleuthing on his own account: which
might lead to — what?
Clifford thought a moment. Then he sought out
the superintendent of the building, and after some
very confidential talk, and a showing of credentials,
which the superintendent verified by calling up Po-
lice Headquarters, he departed, bearing with him a
pass-key to all the apartments of the Mordona.


CHAPTER XII
A GENTLEMAN OF PLEASURE
THERE were at least four persons that Clifford knew
it was desirable to keep under surveillance - Brad-
ley, Peter Loveman, Mr. Morton, and Hilton; but
the professional ladies' man he regarded as the best
clue to the immediate situation. “Yes, you stick
to Hilton," Uncle George agreed decisively that
evening at dinner. “When it comes to twisting
women, that dear limber guy is a better committee
on ways and means than any charmer that ever
adorned himself in a smile, pumps, and a dress
suit."
That night Clifford trailed Hilton from restaurant
to theater, and then to three of the smartest hotel
ballrooms, and then, toward three in the morning,
saw him to his hotel. He picked Hilton up at noon
the next morning; lunched (it was Hilton's break-
fast) at a table near him at the Ritz Carlton; fol-
lowed him to a few restaurants where afternoon
dancing was under way; and at exactly half-past
five he followed him into the Mordona.
He gave Hilton a minute's start, then rode up
to the “Graysons'” apartment. Hilton had evi-
dently been admitted, for the corridor was empty.
Muffling the lock with a handkerchief, Clifford slipped
136


MARY REGAN
in the pass-key, and swiftly, but with velvet cau-
tion, he opened the door. Inside, he closed the door
with as great care, and stood, unbreathing, listen-
ing kitchenward for the maid — fingers on lips and
a bill held out to check immediately any words
should that young lady appear: a needless stratagem,
since Mary had given her maid that afternoon out.
Hearing nothing, he moved softly to the curtained
doorway of the drawing-room, and glanced in. Ap-
parently Mary had planned to go out to an early
dinner, for she wore an evening gown. She was stand-
ing erect in the middle of the room, gazing with level
eyes at the immaculate Mr. Hilton..
"I am here at five-thirty, as I said I'd be," Hil-
ton was saying, smiling pleasantly. “I hope you
have seen the wisdom of my remarks and have re-
considered your defiant attitude of yesterday. You
undoubtedly have a very good plan, and it would be
most unfortunate" — his voice was soothingly ar-
gumentative - "if you compelled me to tell Mr.
Morton about the marriage, and tell them both
who your relatives are, and just who is Mary Regan.
Most unfortunate, I assure you."
“You need not squander your emotion. I have
the money.",
“I approve your good sense! You have the full
amount?”,
“You may count it for yourself.” She held out a
little roll.
“Ten five-hundred-dollar bills. Correct. Though
137


MARY REGAN
it pinches me that you could not make it the ten thou-
sand I asked for. However! I suppose" — in high
good humor — "you'd like a receipt for this. It
might help you in court if you ever decided to bring
action against me."
“Your jocularity is not greatly appreciated. Now
that you have the money, I suggest that you go.”
"As pleases you.” Drawing back the lapel of his
slender afternoon coat — it had been a warm after-
noon, and he had worn no outer coat — he slipped
the bank-notes into the top pocket of his vest. “In
leaving you, Mrs. - ah — Grayson, let me wish
your little enterprise the most complete success.
Good-afternoon."
Clifford was on the point of springing into the
room, when, to his amazement, from the door which
opened into the library, there emerged the plump
figure of Peter Loveman. On the face of the shrewd
little lawyer was a bewildered, almost sickly look,
the like of which Clifford had never beheld on that
usually amiable and ruddy countenance.
“Just a minute!” said Loveman.
Hilton whirled about. “Oh, it's Loveman!
Hello, Loveman."
Loveman crossed toward the other. “What are
you doing here?” he demanded.
“Just making a little afternoon call. Will you re-
turn the courtesy and tell me how you come to be
here?"
“I was here when you came, and was waiting
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MARY REGAN
until you had gone to finish my talk with Mrs.
Grayson.” Clifford could see that the control which
had slipped away from Loveman was regained, for
the little man was benign again — therefore, dan-
gerous. “Are you sure, Hilton," he said softly,
“that your purpose here was only to call?”.
“Merely social, Loveman," the other replied,
smiling.
“I think, Hilton," continued Loveman, in his
soft, pleasant tone, “that anything you got here
you'd better return to Mrs. Grayson."
“I have nothing to return."
“I think you'll find it wiser and more profitable
in the end to return it," went on Loveman's pleasant
voice.
“I have nothing to return," repeated the other,
drawing on his gloves.
The two men gazed at each other steadily. Clif-
ford could see that beneath Hilton's smiling polite-
ness there was defiance, that beneath Loveman's
soft manner there was menace. He was puzzled by
this hostility, for he had figured that the pair," with
Bradley, were working together. But he instantly
perceived why this hostility should be masked; the
two spoke thus indirectly because neither, or at
least not Loveman, wished Mary to understand
what lay between them. And Mary did not under-
stand; the bewildered look she gave the pair told
Clifford that.
Hilton ended the brief tableau by picking up his
139


MARY REGAN
hat and stick, which he had carried into the room
with him. “Good-afternoon, Mrs. Grayson; this
has been a most pleasant occasion. So-long, Love-
man.”
He was turning away when Clifford sprang through
the doorway and upon him. Clifford seized his right
wrist and swung the arm upward and backward
with a vicious twist — an old police trick — and
thrust a hand through the flaring front of the ex-
quisitely tailored coat and possessed himself of the
bank-notes. Hilton's stick and hat went flying; he
let out a cry of surprise and pain; but before he
knew what had happened to him there had snapped
about his wrists a pair of handcuffs.
Clifford jerked him forward, so that their faces
were within a foot of each other. “Well, Hilton,
this time I've got you with the goods on!” he
snapped. “This will be the last woman you'll squeeze
money out of for about five years!"
"See here, I've done nothing," gasped the
breathless Hilton. “That's my own money - I
had it when I came here."
Clifford turned to Mary. “I warned you what he
was one of the cleverest of that new trade whose
specialty is squeezing big money out of women!"
“He's done nothing," Mary affirmed, looking di-
rectly at Clifford. “You - how did you get in here?
I heard no ring."
“Pass-key. That story does n't go, Mrs. Gray-
son - it does n't go, Hilton. I was right on Hilton's
140


MARY REGAN
heels when he entered. I heard him demand the
money on threat of exposure. I saw the money
passed."
He turned abruptly on Loveman. “And you,
Loveman, you fit into this pretty little game, too!”
“Me, Bob, my dear boy?” protested Loveman.
“Why is it,” he demanded, in a tone of mourning,
“that the innocent bystander is the one that always
gets the copper's stick over his new spring derby?"
“Your suspicions against Mr. Loveman —" be-
gan Mary.
"Don't say a word, Mrs. Grayson,” Loveman cut
in quickly.
“Your suspicions against Mr. Loveman are mis-
taken," persisted Mary. “Mr. Loveman gave me
that money."
“Gave you the money!" exclaimed Clifford.
“Mrs. Grayson!" appealed Loveman.
But Mary went on, speaking very steadily and
with a formal precision. “You are right about
Mr. Hilton. He came yesterday afternoon, demand-
ing money which had to be paid by half-past five
to-day. I at first refused; afterwards I recognized
I did n't dare not pay. I did not know where to
get such a sum, so I telephoned Mr. Loveman that
I wished to see him. He came at once, and I told
him of my situation and that I could not possibly
raise the amount upon such short notice. Jack did
not have the money, and I could not have asked
him for the amount, anyhow; and my uncle is away
141


MARY REGAN
out on the coast. I asked Mr. Loveman's advice.
He saw my predicament, and himself offered to give
me the money. Half an hour ago he came, bringing
the money which you have. I believe that com-
pletely exonerates Mr. Loveman.”
“Yes, Bob,” Loveman said cheerfully, “I guess
that lets me out."
Clifford looked keenly at the little man's round,
good-natured face -- behind which played an un-
matched shrewdness. Clifford did not disbelieve
Mary, yet it seemed to him out of the man's char-
acter to play such a rôle as Mary had described.
This was one more aspect of the whole situation
which for the moment bewildered him.
“I think, Peter, we'll soon figure out just where
you fit into this case," he said shortly. He turned
to his prisoner. “At any rate, I've got you for fair,
Hilton," he said grimly. “Loveman, kindly oblige
Mr. Hilton by picking up his stick and hat."
"You may have me all right,” said Hilton, with
a pale, twitching smile that he tried to force to be
jauntily indifferent, “but when the evidence against
me is produced in court what will happen to Mrs.
Mary Regan Morton Grayson?"
"Oh, I say, Bob,” Loveman spoke up quickly,
“call it square if he gives the money back to -"
But his words were cut off by the ringing of the
apartment bell. They all suddenly became as fixed
as so many statues. Then Mary spoke, and her
words came rapidly:-
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MARY REGAN
“It must be Jack, home from the office. He's
probably forgotten his key. Mr. Loveman, you go
to the door and prevent his coming in. Say what-
ever you like."
Loveman slipped through the curtained doorway,
and the next moment Clifford heard the outer door
open. Then he heard an amazed voice exclaim: -
“Well, if it's not Loveman! Now what the devil
are you doing here?".
Clifford and Mary both started. The amazed voice
in the next room was not Jack's voice.
“I'm here — on a little business — with Mrs.
Grayson," stammered Loveman.
“So am I," said the voice.
“But she's engaged — I assure you —"
“I'll only take a minute or two. Come on; you
shall introduce me. Don't hang back."
The next moment Loveman was pushed through
the door, and behind him appeared the tall figure of
Mr. Morton, evening clothes showing beneath his
overcoat. He stopped short at what he saw.
“Why, Mr. Clifford!" he exclaimed. And then:
"Why, I beg your pardon, Miss Gilmore! Or should
I say Mrs. Grayson?"
Clifford saw that Mary had gone almost white.
He sensed, and he knew that she sensed, that one
of the supreme crises of her new life — the life that
was to make her or break her — was unexpectedly
before them.
Mary spoke calmly. “It is Mrs. Grayson now."
143


MARY REGAN
“How rapidly events do happen in New York,"
Mr. Morton remarked politely, his keen gray eyes
full upon her. “Miss Gilmore when I saw you at
the Grantham — Mrs. Grayson within a week.
He must be a young Lochinvar, Mr. Grayson, the
way he does things.”
Hilton had been standing beyond Clifford, blocked
out of Mr. Morton's first swift survey of the scene.
He now shifted forward, and Mr. Morton saw him,
the grip of Clifford fastened on his upper arm, and
the glinting handcuffs on his wrists.
“What's this all about?" Mr. Morton exclaimed.
Hilton was swift to see what advantage for him
lay in the situation. He stepped nearer Mr. Mor-
ton.
“It means that I am the victim of a most unfor.
tunate misunderstanding," he spoke up quickly.
“Mr. Clifford believed, mistakenly, that I had come
wrongfully by some five thousand dollars in my pos-
session, and he took the money from me and placed
me under arrest."
“It's none of my business, I suppose," Mr. Mor-
ton said, “but is this correct, Mr. Clifford?".
Clifford remained silent for a moment. In a flash
he saw that for him to answer with the full truth
would lead to Mary's instant ruin: this after he had
declared that he had stepped out of her life, that he
was going to leave to experience and her own de-
cisions the shaping of her fate.
“The last part of his statement is correct," replied
144


MARY REGAN
Clifford - "that I took the money from him and
placed him under arrest."
“But he declares the money is his. If not, whose
is it?"
In the passing moment Clifford had decided to
put it squarely up to Mary, to thrust the tangled
threads of her destiny into her own hands. But
Hilton beat him to the very reply he intended
making.
“Ask Mrs. Grayson whose money it is," cried
Hilton, and, wheeling, he gave Mary a meaning
look.
But Mr. Morton's eyes waited on Clifford. Clif-
ford turned and gazed at Mary.
“Yes, ask Mrs. Grayson," said Clifford.
“Mrs. Grayson," said Mr. Morton, “the owner-
ship of this disputed money seems to rest on your
word.”
She hesitated. Clifford read beneath that white,
calm face: realized that she was on the thinnest of
thin ice — if indeed she were not already through
it and in the black waters. He believed, and was cer-
tain she believed, that Mr. Morton already knew of
the marriage - but did he know of the other things?
“Whose is it, Mrs. Grayson?" prompted Mr.
Morton.
She indicated Hilton with a nod. “The money is
his; give it to him, Mr. Clifford," she said.
Clifford quickly weighed his conflicting responsi-
bilities. To give Life the chance to test Mary out
145


MARY REGAN
to the end of this experience weighed more impor-
tant than the mere capture of Hilton.
"Here it is,” he said; and thrust the bills into one
of the handcuffed hands — and as he did so, out of
the tail of his eye he caught a look of dismay on
Loveman's face.
"Since your affairs seem to be adjusted,” put in
Mr. Morton, “I dare say you'd like to be saying
good-afternoon."
Clifford removed the handcuffs, Loveman gave
Hilton his hat and cane, and the professional en-
tangler of women, though ruffled somewhat as to the
perfection of his apparel, bowed himself out with
exquisite manner.
There was a moment of silence — a strain upon
all except Mr. Morton, who had the light, easy bear-
ing of a man of the world at an afternoon tea. If he
knew or guessed anything, he did not show it - and
his pleasant surface made him seem all the more
dangerous.
He gave Mary a slight but gracious bow. "I hope
you'll forgive my dropping in so informally. But I
had learned your address by chance, I happened to
be in the neighborhood, and I wished to advance
my acquaintance, begun when you were Miss Gil-
more."
-"I'm sure I'm glad you called," returned Mary.
“Then we'll have a little visit — yes?" He
slipped off his overcoat. “Mr. Clifford, I know Mrs.
Grayson would be glad to have you remain as our
146


MARY REGAN
chaperone. Mr. Loveman" — with the faintest of
ironic smiles — "I know I would not have a ghost
of a chance with such a famous lady's man in the
company, so I am going to have the audacity to ask
you to call again."
He had spoken with lightness, but there had been
autocratic demand behind his words. Loveman dis-
appeared into the room whence Clifford had seen him
emerge, and returned with hat and coat. He tried to
speak an offhand good-bye — though Clifford read
that his soul was agitated with acute uneasiness -
and started out.
“I'll be back in a moment," Clifford said to the
two, and followed the little lawyer. He caught him
in the hallway and held him with a hand on either
shoulder.
“Loveman," said he, looking down into the round
face, “I certainly was up in the air for a time. But
I've sized up the whole situation now."
“What situation?".
“The situation between you, Miss Regan, - Mrs.
Morton, I mean, — and Hilton. I thought that, of
course, you, Bradley, and Hilton were in the game
together."
“Well?”
“I thought there was just one scheme on foot to
blackmail Mrs. Morton. I've just tumbled to the
fact that there were two schemes - and that there's
just been a head-on collision between the two."
“Bob, my boy, please elucidate."
147


CHAPTER XIII
MR. MORTON TAKES A HAND
ALL thought of the sickly-smiling Loveman, and
all his ironic jocularity, slipped from Clifford as he
stepped back into the graver situation which existed
in the drawing-room. The pair had seated themselves
during his absence; Mary was regarding Mr. Morton
with a composure that must have heavily taxed
her nervous capital.
Clifford took a chair slightly apart. He felt that
he had become merely an onlooker. The scene was
to be played out between Mr. Morton and Mary.
He judged that the easy manner of Mr. Morton was
a ruthless fury, marvelously controlled. Watching
them, he pulsed with suspense as to how Mary
would bear herself during this scene, as to how it
would come out.
Clifford had found them silent when he had re-
entered, and this silence, pregnant with big drama,
continued for a moment longer. Then Mr. Morton
smiled.
“I don't believe in beating about the bush, Mrs.
Grayson. It's awfully hard on the shrubbery. So
I'll come to the point. Of course you know why
I'm here."
: "You said you came to renew your acquaintance
with Miss Gilmore," she managed to say.
149


MARY REGAN
“Oh, that, of course. But there's another reason.
You see" — with his pleasant smile — “I happen
to know Mr. Grayson."
(Why in God's name, Clifford asked himself,
did n't the man set loose the anger and denunciation
and defiance customary in such situations, and not
play this cat-and-mouse game!)
“And Mr. Grayson being such a good friend,"
Mr. Morton continued, “in fact, a most intimate
friend, I naturally was most eager to become ac-
quainted with Mrs. Grayson. Please do not con-
sider that I am descending to mere flattery, Mrs.
Grayson, when I say that I applaud his taste."
“Thank you."
“I do not mean to depreciate him, but he has
shown a finer discrimination than I thought Mr.
Grayson capable of.”
Clifford saw Mary stiffen. He knew her instinct
to rush forth to meet an inevitable danger.
“I also do not believe in beating about the bush,"
she said quietly. “We both are aware that in speak-
ing of Mr. Grayson we are speaking of your son."
The veiled keenness in Mr. Morton's eyes became
open. “I perceive, Mrs. Grayson, that you are not
only beautiful, but that you are an unusual woman."
He did not speak for a moment; then, “Let me add
that I not only applaud Jack's taste, but approve
his choice."
Both Clifford and Mary started. “You approve
Jack's choice!” she breathed.
1.50


MARY REGAN
“How could I help it?" he returned.
Clifford and Mary could only stare at him. They
had expected outraged fury — and this had come!
They were so dazed that they did not know Jack
had entered until he stammered:-
“Father — you here!"
“The evidence indicates such, my boy,' returned
the elder Morton.
“Why - why —” He looked about, frightened,
helpless, at the three; and then stammered on: “I
went to the Biltmore to meet you, as you telephoned;
but they told me you were out, and I thought I'd
run up here for a minute and then get back —"
“My engagement with you," interrupted Mr.
Morton, “was merely a fatherly subterfuge to keep
you away from here while I had a little visit with
Mrs. Grayson."
"Then" — he choked, swallowed — "then you
know everything?"
“Not everything. But I know the essentials."
“Oh, my God!” And Jack collapsed almost bone-
lessly into a chair and covered his face with his
hands.
“Come, brace up - there's nothing to worry
about,” half growled Clifford.
“It's all right, Jack,” explained Mary. “Your
father says he approves your choice!"
Jack was on his feet as though an electric cur-
rent had hurled him upright. “Is that so, dad?”
Mr. Morton nodded.
150


MARY REGAN
In two eager steps Jack was across the room
wringing his father's hand. “You don't know how
relieved I am!"
“Why should you think I'd object after really
meeting Mrs. Grayson?"
“Call her Mary, dad.”
“Mary, then, with your permission. Plainly Mary
is a young woman of exceptional sense, and I am
sure she and I will understand each other splen-
didly."
Jack crossed swiftly to Mary. “Mary!" he ex-
claimed, seizing her hands, “Mary!" And then in
a lower voice, though Clifford heard him: “It's all
coming true, Mary, - it's all coming true!”
The Golden Doors had marvelously swung open!
Mr. Morton was speaking again: “Let's get back
to sensible talk — which is what I came here for. I
wish to commend your discretion in this matter.
Boys will be boys, but usually they're boys in such
a noisy way. I'm sure the discretion was yours,
Mary."
“Discretion? I don't know what you mean," said
Mary.
“I mean that you have done everything so well,"
he continued pleasantly. “You've not laid the affair
open to instant recognition by thoughtlessly flaunt-
ing yourself about with Jack. You've even taken
the precaution of wearing the conventional rings.
It's the Riverside Drive affair done in the best
Riverside-Drive-affair manner."
152


MARY REGAN
Clifford saw Mary go white again, and whiter
than before, as Mr. Morton spoke; and he thought
she was going to fall as she gathered the meaning
of his words — gathered what, since he had first en-
tered, had been his real conception of the relation-
ship.
“But, dad —" began Jack in a throaty voice.
“You don't know what you're saying! You don't
understand. The truth is "
“Jack!" cut in Mary.
“Oh, yes, I do understand," his father assured
him. “And don't try to shield Mary with protesta-
tions. She does n't need such flimsy protection."
“Dad,” demanded the young fellow huskily,
“what do you think this situation is?".
“The obvious and usual one: you're living here
together; as they always say it on the stage, she's
your mistress.”
He turned to Mary. "Jack's a sentimentalist.
But you're a sensible woman and don't humbug
yourself by hesitating to call a thing by its right
name."
His last words were an even-toned affirmation
of a commonplace, not a question. Clifford watched
Mary closely: of a certainty, Life was testing her!
He waited tensely for her reply, and so did Jack-
and Clifford realized what vague worlds of different
events hung upon the words yet within her lips.
"I am Jack's mistress — yes," she said, looking
very straight into Mr. Morton's eyes.
153


MARY REGAN
“Mary, that's —".
“Jack!" she ordered sharply.
“There's no nonsense about you, Mary,” said
Mr. Morton approvingly. “Jack has braced up so
much recently —"
"If I have braced up, it's been because Mary
has made me!" put in Jack.
“I don't doubt it, and I want to thank you,
Mary. He's braced up so much that a long-contem-
plated marriage, which has been delayed by his
irresponsibility, can now go through; and I want it
settled and over with, quick, while Jack is still in
a reformed mood — before he breaks loose again. I
know you'll be sensible and reasonable about this
matter, for I know you went into the affair knowing
could not ja how you wand reaso,
Jack seized his father's arm. “Father, you've
got to listen —"
"Jack!" Mary again cried peremptorily.
“She's taking it with a lot more sense than you
are, son. I'll see that you have no reason to com-
plain, Mary. I'll ask Mr. Clifford to talk over the
arrangement with you. He can speak in better
taste for me than I can speak for myself.”
He took her hand, and there was a very real ad-
miration — of its sort — in his gray eyes. He spoke
in a lowered voice.
“Merely because Jack must go, I don't want it to
be the end of things between you and the Mortons.
I hope I may have the pleasure of seeing you soon."
154


MARY REGAN
"Perhaps," said her lips.
“I shall count on it!" — pressing her hand.
He turned away. “Well, son, are you ready?
I've made an engagement for you for to-night."
But Jack sprang to Mary's side, and seized in
both of his the hand his father had just relinquished.
His handsome if weak face was working with indig-
nant, protesting passion; for the moment he was
strong and sincere and fine to the capacity of his
nature.
“Mary, I'm not going to stand for this! I'm not
going to leave you in this way — I'm not that kind
of a rat!”
"We're going to do just as your father says, Jack,"
she said with quiet dominance, her face very pale.
“What he suggests is wisest for us all."
Jack stared at her; he could not read whether
there was subterfuge or utter finality in her words.
But whatever her purpose, he recognized that in
this situation her way had to be his. His figure
slumped down, and he turned about.
“Put into a suitcase whatever you may need at
once; you can send for your other things," said his
father, and pressed him through the door. “Mary,
after a few minutes in the next room with me, Mr.
Clifford will return for a talk with you. For myself
this must be good-night."
“Good-night.”
Bowing, he went out. As Clifford — mere audi-
ence — followed him, he saw that Mary stood un
155


MARY REGAN
changed: stiffly erect, and pale and composed —
though he had a sense that her dark eyes were
unnaturally wide.
When Clifford reëntered the room fifteen minutes
later, Mary was lying face downward on the couch,
her whole figure taut. She heard him come in, and
· at once spoke, not changing her posture: -
“You've been talking all this while?"
“We spoke for only a few minutes. The rest of
the time I've been sitting in there, thinking." Then,
with a savage burst: "I would n't have let Morton
use me, only I wanted to see you again!"
“What did he say?"
“He told me to settle with you on any reason-
able terms." Clifford stopped and waited, but she
did not speak. “Want to know what he might pos-
sibly give?" he demanded.
“What else did he say?" she asked, not moving.
“A lot of things — to the general effect that you
were a damned decent, square little sport.'
She made no response to this.
"Why did you accept the position he put you
in, of being Jack's mistress?" he burst out roughly.
“I could not help myself — unless I wanted to
ruin everything."
"Surely you do not still hope to save that situa
tion?" he exclaimed.
She did not answer, and again there was silence.
Then the doorbell rang.
156


MARY REGAN
"Shall I answer it?" he asked. “It's probably
Jack slipped up for a private word.”
“I'll answer it,” she said.
She rose from the couch. He had expected signs
of conflict, agony, perhaps tears or hysteria; - if
only there should be a real outbreak of hysteria!
But her face was composed and clear-eyed.
She returned a moment later, bearing a large box,
on its top in gilded letters the name of the florist who
had a shop opening on the Mordona's lobby. She
removed the lid and disclosed a rich mass of orchids.
On their top lay a small envelope such as florists
have in stock for the convenience of patrons. From
this she drew a card, which she read and then
passed to Clifford without comment. It was Mr.
Morton's card, and on its two sides was closely
written: -
I am going to be a lonely man to-morrow. Won't you
save me from myself by dining with me at the Ritz? -
and then an act or two of a play, and then supper wher-
ever you like? I'll telephone you. — The West Indies are
heaven just now, and I'm thinking of chartering a yacht.
A cruise of a month or so in those waters — But shall
we talk it over to-morrow night?
Clifford gazed at her, automatically handing her
back the card. Rage surged up in him, and he seized
the box from her arms and, stepping to the window
near which they stood, he raised it, and threw far
out into the Drive some fifty dollars' worth of or-
chids. He drew down the window and turned back to
157


MARY REGAN
her. But her look expressed neither approval nor
disapproval.
“Well, you see where you are!” he said grimly.
“And you once called them the Golden Doors!”
She nodded, but otherwise did not respond. Her
face, fixed absently on his, was intently thoughtful.
Her silence, her control, her look of far-away
thought, stirred both anger and consuming curiosity.
“Well — what are you going to do? What's the
way out?"
“It's not the way out I'm thinking of — it's
the way in," she returned slowly, quietly. “The
Golden Doors are going to open."
“Open! How?"
“I do not know."
“Through that Mr. Mor—" he was beginning,
when he noticed that her fingers had mechanically
torn the card across.
“I do not know," she repeated quietly. “But
they are going to open. And now, please go — I
want to think."
He gazed at her a moment, marveling that such
unforeseen manipulations of Life, Life the great
moulder and remoulder, had not seemed to change
her ambition, her pride, her will, her girlish confi-
dence: he understood her - yet she was the eternal
mystery! Then he left her, standing in the middle
of the hired drawing-room, mechanically tearing
into tiny sifting flakes the invitation to a voyage
among perfumed seas.


CHAPTER XIV
MARY FACES A CRISIS
CLIFFORD had just gone, and Mary now sat alone
in the ornate drawing-room which for a brief week
she had occupied as “Mrs. Grayson," and considered
rapidly the situation in which her own will and the
unforeseen working-out of life and human nature
had, within the last half-hour, suddenly placed her.
Concrete questions, with their inseparable diffi-
culties and dangers, rushed upon her: What was
Clifford going to do? What was Jack going to do,
whose mistress she had just declared herself to be
before his father? And what would be the next move
of Jack's father, amiable forgiver of what he con-
sidered Jack's discreet liaison, whose invitation to
a yachting tour for two among West Indian seas
lay in tiny fragments upon the floor? — which invi-
tation, she knew, he would soon repeat and press for
an answer. And most especially, just what was she
going to do herself to make her way safely through
all these dangers which beset her plans?
Again she recalled Clifford's grim words: he was
through interfering with her, he was going to leave
it to Life, to the shaping forces of Life's experiences,
to make her or ruin her. Well, she was going to show
him! She was going to make Life her tool, her ally,
159


MARY REGAN
her servant — she was going to bend all its currents
to carry her in the direction of her desire!
And then for a space she felt herself at a loss in
this new turn of affairs. She felt the instant need
of the guidance of some one near to her. Clifford?
No, she would have nothing to do with him now.
Her brother Slant-Face? But her present situation
was not the sort in which the skill of her brother,
whom discretion had necessitated her neglecting,
could possibly avail her. And then she thought of
Uncle George. He was her friend, he would under-
stand her; and no one could give more shrewd coun-
sel, could plan more cunningly, than this urbane
old master of the follies of the world and of the
stratagems by which the world could be made to
believe his wishes to be its own inborn desires. Yes,
she would call in Uncle George.
And then, suddenly, she had a different vision of
her situation. For the present, at least, she must
act alone. She arose quickly. Those questions that
had been so prompt to ask themselves, those dan-
gers that had presented themselves so vividly, they
indeed pressed her sorely; but most pressing of all,
she decided, was that she should move from here
where all could find her to some obscure hotel, where
she might remain undiscovered for a few days and
have time in which to plan and act. She ordered the
trunks up; and at once, with the help of her maid,
she set about the packing, which was quickly finished
since she and Jack had brought nothing to this
160


MARY REGAN
richly furnished apartment except their clothes. All
her own things for which she would have an early
need she put into one steamer trunk and a bag.
She had changed into a traveling-suit, had paid and
sent away her maid, and was standing in the hall of
the apartment watching the baggageman tag the
trunks and taking from him the claim checks, when
the apartment door opened and in stepped Jack.
He stared at Mary, at the trunks, at the change
that had been made in their brief home since he
had left it two hours before. But he stood quietly
at one side, until the baggageman had shuffled into
the corridor with a trunk humped upon his shoulders.
“Mary, what does this mean?" he demanded
sharply.
"I'm just leaving; I have n't time to tell you
now. I'll write you or telephone you."
She started past him, but he caught her arm.
“Mary, I'm going to know this now! And I'm going
to understand everything else!"
He was white, and so wrought up with excitement
that she perceived that whatever problems she might
be facing, the most pressing and the most dangerous
was the barely suppressed frenzy of the young man
before her - which frenzy, if not controlled and
insulated, might bring about an explosion and cause
half a dozen other explosions. “Come on," she said,
and led the way from the stack of trunks through the
drawing-room, so recently the scene of unforgettable
drama, into the study, where there was a heavy door
161


MARY REGAN
that gave privacy and in which minor explosions
could take place unheard. Jack closed the door, and
stood with his back against it - a tense, white, hag-
gard figure, made to seem all the more haggard by
the contrast of the unemotional formality of evening
clothes.
“I was at dinner with father and Maisie Jones
- she's the girl they want to marry me to - and a
few others, but I managed to give them the slip!"
he said rapidly, by way of explaining his presence.
“Tell me" — his burning eyes were fixed on her
“what do those trunks mean?”
She told him the truth; not the whole of it, but
what she did tell was true enough.
“You're not going to do anything of the sort!"
he declared. “But we won't argue that point now.
First tell me this — why, in the name of God, when
my father discovered you here at the Mordona {wo
hours ago, did you admit that you were my mistress?
Yes, and made me admit it!"
She spoke quietly, hoping to calm him by her
reasonable voice. “It began with your father's mis-
taken conception of our relations. His mistake saved
us. It would have been foolish not to have fallen in
with his mistake. Surely you understand that?".
"I did n't understand it, and it made me sick!"
he cried. “I backed you up, just because I knew you
wanted me to. But I'm not going to stand any
longer for this lying, this living in secret! I'm going
to end it!”
162


MARY REGAN
"End it? How?"
"I'm not going to let my father, or any one else,
think of you as my mistress! I'm going to tell him
we're married! And from now on everything's going
to be in the open!"
She had never liked him more than just then,
Whatever else he might be in the future, she would
never be able to forget him as he was at this his
highest moment - frenzied, outraged, dominated by
reckless impulse. But she saw the danger to her
dreams in this attitude.
“It's fine of you to say that, Jack, but you must
not do it.” .
“Why not?" he demanded.
She strove to keep her reasoning, soothing tone.
"It ought to be plain to you, Jack. You are entirely
dependent on your father. If he were told of our
marriage -- particularly since he's so eager to have
you marry that other girl — he'd be sure to cut you
off in every way, and I'm not going to have that
happen to you." Within herself she was also saying
that if Mr. Morton were told of the marriage, and
if she and Jack lived in the open, father and son
would inevitably and swiftly learn who she really
was — and that would end everything. “We must
keep it all quiet, Jack," she went on, “and keep on
waiting, and after a time we'll have our chance to
win your father around. You leave it to me."
His face had suddenly darkened at mention of
his father. “What did Clifford offer you in my
163


MARY REGAN
father's behalf, after we'd gone p” he demanded
abruptly
"Mr. Clifford told me that your father would give
me in settlement any sum I might mention."
“And your reply to that?”.
"I didn't make any reply. There was none."
“He'll expect a reply. He'll come for it himself,
if necessary."
“That's one reason for my moving — because I
knew he would come.”
“Was that all dad offered?” Jack demanded.
“You made a big hit with him.”
She thought it best that the inflammable youth
should remain ignorant of the father's invitation,
convoyed by orchids each worth a bank-note, to the
supposedly disespoused mistress of his son to join
him in a very exclusive cruise.
"That was all that happened," she answered
steadily.
Quickly, but without seeming haste, she shifted
from this dangerous subject, back to their difference.
“Of course you agree, Jack,” she pressed him, “that
we must still keep things quiet, and keep on wait-
ing?"
His desperate mood was instantly back upon him
again. “Even if we could keep up that pretense,"
he cried, — "why, you're forgetting Maisie Jones!
You're forgetting my predicament!"
“Your predicament?".
“I can't keep it quiet, even if I want to! Don't
164


MARY REGAN
you see? Now that I've settled down into a steady
business man - your doing! - all parties are willing
that Maisie and I should at once be formally en-
gaged and then be married in a very short time.
Father's pushing it across as though it were a big
option that expired to-morrow. Get the fix that
puts me in? There are only three things for me to do.
Run away from it all, in which casé dad 'll be done
with me as long as he lives. Or say I won't go
through with the thing with Maisie, and give no
reasons — which means the same result. Or else
come right out with the truth that I'm married to
you. See my fix?”
Mary saw; and swiftly judging her many-angled
situation she saw that, however pressing other
matters might be, this matter of the other girl was
the first business that must be somehow adjusted
if she were to realize her vaulting dreams — if she
were to pass through the Golden Doors. And as
she perceived this, she had an instant's realization,
that this business of gaining the worldly heights,
which had at the inception of her plan seemed so
simple and easily achievable, was every day becom-
ing more complicated, more tortuous. Again Clif-
ford's grim words flashed briefly back: "I'll leave
it to Life to test you.”...
“So, you see, I might just as well come across with
the truth about our marriage!" Jack exclaimed.
“It's the best way out of the fix!"
Mary hardly heard him; she was rapidly consider-
. 165


MARY REGAN
ing this new problem. “You've never told me how it
came about, this arrangement with Miss Jones."
“Oh, just the way such matters usually happen.
Maisie and I have known each other for a long time;
there's been a sort of unspoken understanding in our
families that some day we'd get married - and I
guess I fell right in with it. You see, I rather liked
Maisie, and I'd never thought much about such
affairs, and it did n't make much difference. But
- well, you know, I have n't been behaving very
well; and her people said there'd be nothing doing
unless I straightened out. Since you've set me to
work and kept me working, they've recalled their
veto — and it's all right with them. That's about
the size of the situation."
“What's her attitude toward you?"
“Maisie's? I guess Maisie rather likes me. In
fact,” he confessed, “though I don't deserve it,
Maisie really likes me a lot.”
“What's she like?" Mary asked quickly.
“You mean looks, or — or personally?"
"Personally."
"Maisie's an awfully fine girl," he answered
soberly.
“Does she have any special interest? — some-
thing through which an appeal might be made to
her?”
“I don't quite understand?”
Mary saw that for her purpose, it might not help
any if he did understand. “Where is she staying?"
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MARY REGAN
“At the Grantham.”
“Who's with her?".
“An aunt; her father's sister, who thinks she
manages Maisie. But Maisie does just as she pleases.
- But what are you driving at with all these ques-
tions about Maisie?”
"I don't know myself yet. You can avoid com-
mitting yourself for a few days?".
“I suppose I can stall for that much longer."
“Then listen, Jack, - here's just what we've
got to do,” she said rapidly, dominantly. “No
matter what you think, or feel, we've got to keep
our affair quiet for the present, and go ahead just
as we originally planned, except that you're to stay
with your father. I'll not consent to any other ar-
rangement, so it's no use arguing. You go every day
to your office just as you've been doing; I'll call
you up there when I want you. And don't be sur-
prised at anything you see."
“But what are you going to do, Mary?” he in-
sisted.
“I don't just know yet; I'll let you know when
I do. If we keep our nerve it will all come out all
right. Here are the claim checks to your trunks;
I have ordered all the baggage sent to the Grand
Central Station. You must go now, Jack, — you
really must!"
She fairly pressed the bewildered, unwilling Jack
from the apartment; and then for a few moments
she stood in the hall, now cleared of her luggage,
167


MARY REGAN
rapidly planning. Then she shot down the elevator
and hurried out of the Mordona to a taxi, - fortu-
nately just missing Loveman, who she knew was
coming here to see her, and some twenty minutes
later, again registered at the Grantham as “Mrs.
Gardner." She was the occupant of a suite on the
same corridor as Miss Maisie Jones, and had ordered
her trunks brought from the Grand Central Station.
Settled here, she continued her planning. There
seemed no end to the plans that had to be thought
out, to the dangers that must be eluded and averted,
And yet she felt confident - very confident.
But mixed with her confidence was an intermit-
tent apprehension. She believed she had avoided
the others. But Clifford - if Clifford would only
not interfere.


CHAPTER XV
LOVEMAN SHOWS HIS CLAWS
But the next morning came, and as yet there had
been no signs of Clifford.
At half-past ten Mary rang at the door of Maisie
Jones. Her plan for beginning their acquaintance
was very simple, merely the adaptation of an an-
cient device belonging to her past with her father
and her Uncle Joe Russell — the preparation of two
letters addressed to Miss Maisie Jones, which were
in fact nothing more than modistes' engraved in-
vitations to inspect new spring styles.
Miss Jones herself answered Mary's ring. “My
name's Mrs. Gardner -- these letters somehow got
mixed in my mail,” Mary began, smiling with the
engaging frankness she knew how to assume. “I
could have returned them to you by the maid; but
the maid - it seems you and I have the same maid
- told me that your aunt was ill, and I thought I'd
bring them myself and make it an excuse to do such
an un-New-Yorkish thing as to ask how a sick neigh-
bor is.”
“Aunt's not seriously ill," said Maisie Jones.
“But I suppose her illness means that you must
stay pretty close to your rooms?”
Yes."
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MARY REGAN
“I can sympathize with you. I'm convalescing
from pneumonia, and am supposed to rest the whole
time. To confess the truth to you" — with a smile
of guiltily humorous candor - "my real reason for
bringing the letters myself was that I saw in it a few
minutes' relief from this awful boredom of getting
well."
Miss Jones hesitated. “Won't you please come in?"
Mary entered. The rest was natural development,
a development which with her skill she made rapid.
She was humorously frank about herself, and from
personal bits which she adroitly dropped here and
there, she let Miss Jones gather that she was the
daughter of a New York family who moved among
the city's smarter set, that her husband was in the
far West, on business, and that the other members
of the family — they were an irrational and self-
centered lot — were at Florida and California
resorts gratifying their various individual predi-
lections.
Frankness begot frankness. Maisie Jones, a shut-
in, was most willing to talk; but Mary, though mak-
ing a show of lively interest in what was said, was
shrewdly studying the girl. Maisie was strikingly
handsome — a specimen of the American girl who
has been through a fashionable school and then had
a successful year or two in society. Mary catalogued
the qualities her plans must take account of: she was
spoiled, willful, proud, jealous — possibly vindictive.
This first study of Maisie completed, and the open-
170


MARY REGAN
quiet until you were fixed solid with Jack, and until
conditions developed so that you could win over
his father. Yes, a fine little idea. It would have
landed you at the top, where nothing ever could
have touched you."
“What are you thinking of now?" she asked
sharply.
“Nothing, my dear, - only we both know that
fine little idea has had a great fall, and all the
king's horses and all of God's angels can't ever put
that idea together again."
“What are you thinking of?” she repeated.
He did not reply at once, but smiled affably and
softly rubbed his hairless crown. The shrewdest
brain of its kind in New York had done a lot of think-
ing in the last sixteen hours. Certainly the first
stages of the plan, the plan as he had planned it for
himself, had fallen down calamitously. And he had
seen the further stages of the plan (as the plan, un-
known to Mary, concerned him) menaced with sud-
den danger -- and had seen even himself, personally,
on the brink of uncalculated misfortune.
“Isn't it plain what I'm thinking of, Mary?"
he said after a moment. “After what happened
yesterday, it does n't count for much that for the
time you made Mr. Morton believe you were only
Jack's mistress. He's certain to learn the facts very
shortly; your whole plan is the same as exploded.
You may stave off the end for a day, two days -
but hardly longer."
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MARY REGAN
She refrained from speaking of her present enter-
prise. "What do you think we ought to do?"
“This has always been a business proposition for
you," he replied in his amiable, reasoning manner,
“and the way things have turned, it naturally is
going to be a business proposition for me – Mr.
Morton being my client, you know. So let's con-
sider how we can make the most out of it. Now,
first item, Mr. Morton is bound to find out the truth
in a few days. If he finds it out for himself, nobody's
going to profit. We simply lose, say, ten thousand
dollars. My first proposition - this is small money,
of course — is that we arrange to beat Mr. Morton
to this discovery. You know, for some time I have
been under directions from Mr. Morton to follow
up Jack's doings. Now, let's say that to-morrow I
turn in a report that the detectives I've employed
have just discovered that Jack is married -- which
will mean a bill for detective service of at least ten
thousand. Right there is ten thousand saved out
of the ruin. Of course I'll split it with you."
Mary managed to control her expression; she saw
a few things regarding Loveman she had not sus-
pected. “And after that?".
“Of course Mr. Morton will want to institute
proceedings for a divorce, and naturally I'll be
retained as his attorney. You 'll make him pay big
for the separation; and I being on the inside can
tell you the limit that you can make him pay
over."
173


MARY REGAN
He smiled at her genially as though it were a
settled matter which Mary's good sense would ap-
plaud. Now that the time had come to do business,
and since he considered that Mary was in this with
him, he had not hesitated to reveal a fragment of his
method as a specialist in domestic affairs — which
was to play both ends and every point between.
Smiling, he expectantly awaited Mary's approval.
“And after that's done, then what becomes of
me?" she asked.
“Why, my dear, it will be handled so that you'll
come out of the proceedings with a pretty fair rep-
utation and holding tight to the name of Mrs. Jack
Morton. With such a handsome woman as you
are, and such a start, there's nothing I could n't
do with you if you privately put yourself under my
direction! Nothing!"
He rubbed his soft, finely manicured hands in
excited anticipation, and let his speech run free.
“Honest, Mary, this is the big thing I've seen in this
business from the beginning. I never thought any-
thing really big or permanent would develop from
that marriage. Compared to other prospects, that
was only pin-money — only the starter - only the
prologue. The curtain really goes up when we're
through with this. Mary, my dear, if I were to tell
you what I've done for some women in this town
- you'd certainly sit up! I don't know now just
what I'll do with you; I'm an opportunist — I al-
ways play for the biggest chance that comes along
174


MARY REGAN
at a given time, or for the biggest chance that I can
develop. But what I'll do for you will be strictly
within the law — it may even be most thoroughly
respectable. I tell you, Mary,” he enthused, “with
me handling you, with my knowledge of New York
life and of the strings to pull, there is nothing I
can't do for you! — I tell you nothing!”
His large eyes were shining on her brilliantly.
Rarely had this master of domestic intrigue, this
marvelously keen student of human nature and
subtle manipulator of human weakness and ambi-
tions, been stirred by his own excited imagination
to such a frank, if incomplete, statement of the
methods of his art. For a moment, despite herself,
Mary felt half carried away by the power of the
little man; saw herself for a moment as perhaps at
some future time being fitted into one of his amazing
plans.
"And for all this what would you expect?" she
asked.
“Naturally a manager would expect a manager's
share." And as she did not respond, he prompted
her briskly: “Well, now, let's get back to the first
proposition — though that's mighty small peanuts.
I suppose to-morrow will suit you all right for me
to give Mr. Morton my detectives' report that his
son is married?”
“No."
“No! Why not? It won't be safe to put it off any
longer."
175


MARY REGAN
“Mr. Loveman," she said quietly, looking at
him very steadily, “I'm going straight ahead with
the original plan."
He sprang from his chair, fairly sputtering sur-
prise. “Why, you're crazy! You can't do it!"
“I'm going to try.”
“But you'll fall down flat! You can't possibly
keep this thing going for more than a day or two!”
"I'm going to try,” she repeated.
“If you do, you'll not only ruin yourself, but
you'll ruin some more of us, too,” he said in con-
sternation. “Why, yesterday, when Mr. Morton
found me in your apartment at the Mordona, I had
the closest sort of shave. And now, if you try to keep
on with your plan, and the certain explosion comes,
don't you see that Morton will learn that while re-
tained by him I've also been sitting in the game with
you? Don't you see you'll ruin me?"
“So that's why you've come to me with these
new propositions?" she said keenly — "to save
your own skin?"
“Yes,” he said defiantly, “though those new prop-
ositions, the last one at least, were always part of
the plan I'd had for you."
They were now standing face to face, she almost
half a head the taller. “Peter Loveman," she said
slowly, distinctly, "despite your skin, and my skin,
I'm going straight ahead."
“What!” he exclaimed, astounded; and then:
“You can't! There's that explosion, due in a day or
176


MARY REGAN
So - and after that you'll be nothing but smoke
and dam' thin smoke!”
"I have my own idea of how to do it, and I believe
I can succeed. Anyhow, I'm going straight ahead.”
“No, you're not!” he said sharply. In a moment
the usually amiable face had become grim with men-
ace — and few faces could be more truly menacing.
“If you won't play this game with me, Mary Regan,
then this minute I cut you out of it and play the
game alone."
“Just what does that mean?"
“It means that I'll not get as much out of it as if
we worked together — but I'll get it, and get it cer-
tain. It means that in half an hour Mr. Morton will
have my detectives' report telling of the discovery of
his son's secret marriage and telling all about who
the wife is. And it means that I'll handle the suit
for separation — and that I'll collect for both sery.
ices. And it also means that I'll deny, and deny
successfully, any statement that you may make as
to any relations between us. I guess that fixes you!"
“So, you'd do that!” she breathed, staring at him.
Then, without another word, she crossed to her desk
and took up the telephone. “Central, please give
me Broad 9000.”
In a moment Loveman was across the room and
had seized her arm. “That's Mr. Morton's office!"
he exclaimed. “What're you up to?"
Giving him no heed, she spoke into the instru-
ment. “Is this Broad 9000? ... Please tell Mr.
177


MARY REGAN
Morton, Senior, that Mrs. Grayson wishes to speak
to him."
One of Loveman's hands closed with a swift, spas-
modic grip over the telephone's mouthpiece, the
other hand fiercely gripped Mary's arm.
“What's this you're up to?” he demanded
huskily.
She gave him a calm, defiant look. For a moment
they stood so, silent, the telephone clutched by both
of them.
“I'm going to beat you to it — that's all, Peter
Loveman. I'm going to telephone Mr. Morton about
Jack's secret marriage and about who his wife is -
and there'll be no big bill for detective services for
you. And I'm going to tell Mr. Morton that I shall
not oppose any kind of divorce or separation or
annulment proceedings, and that I shall not ask for
or accept one dollar in the way of settlement - and
that means there will be no big fee for you for han-
dling a difficult case. Out of this you'll get exactly
nothing. Now, I guess that fixes you!"
His large eyes gazed at her with an almost super-
penetration. But there was no doubting that she
would do as she had said. His usually ruddy face,
gone pale the moment before, now took on a yellow-
ish tinge. Then he laughed with forced joviality,
and removed his hands from the telephone and her
arm.
“That certainly was once that one of my jokes
was taken seriously.” He laughed again. “Why, you
178


MARY REGAN
poor child — of course I was n't going to double-
cross you!”
She was not deceived by this swift change of front.
She knew that she had shown the higher card.
“Is what you say to be interpreted as meaning
that you will not interfere with my plans?"
"Go right on!” he said heartily.
“All right." She hung the receiver on its hook
and set down the telephone. “But if ever there is
any interference which seems to come from you, I'll
do exactly what I said."
"Oh, come, Mary, forget my bit of gun-play. You
ought to know that I was only fooling." He was
now thoroughly amiable again, as far as smile and
manner went. “Just how are you going to do it,
Mary?"
“I'm going to do it — that's all I can definitely
say as yet. And now, I have a lot to think about —”
“And you'd like to have me go. All right, I'll go.
But say, Mary, — you sure have nerve!” he ex-
claimed, with a sincerity that was sincere. “Nerve,
and a lot of other things. And remember this: I'm
counting on putting you across, a little later, in the
way I just told you about. You're just the woman
I could do it with — big! Big — you understand!
Good-bye.”
As the little lawyer went out, Mary took a deep
breath. That was one danger, and an unexpected
danger, that she had narrowly averted. ... Her
quick, eager mind flashed ahead to a picture which
179


MARY REGAN
his words had suggested: “Put you across - big!"
Perhaps later, if her present plans went awry, she
might want to be put across in some magnificent
way — who knew? — and Loveman was the one
man to do it.
But for the present, Peter Loveman was to be
trusted just so far as he could be trusted.


CHAPTER XVI
THE STRINGS OF HUMAN NATURE
LOVEMAN had been gone no more than fifteen min-
utes, and Mary was thinking upon her plans, bal-
ancing this prospect against that danger, when her
telephone began to ring. She took it up, and to her
dismay the voice that greeted her over the wire
was the voice of Jack's father. His first words she
did not hear at all — her senses were almost wholly
concentrated in dismay that two of the persons
from whom she had sought seclusion had within a
single hour learned of her whereabouts! How soon
before all would be about her again?
“How did you learn where I am?" she asked
automatically.
“Why, you called me up awhile ago, and said
Mrs. Grayson wanted to speak to me," he replied.
“When I tried to answer, you had hung up. But Cen-
tral located the telephone the call had come from."
Mr. Morton went on to ask to see her at once-
anyhow, not later than luncheon. She considered
whether she should see him again, after her ad-
mission of her liaison with Jack, after that orchid.
smothered invitation to a voyage in tropical waters
- or should she evade him by once more running
away? But running away would mean the abandon-
181


MARY REGAN
ment of her plans involving Maisie Jones - and that
she could not do. Besides, at the best she would only
delay the meeting with Mr. Morton; the meeting
itself was inevitable.
While her lips replied to him, her mind considered
rapidly. Should she see him alone — or in public?
Only by a solitary meeting could she reduce the
ever-present danger of accident prematurely re-
vealing her identity to him; but a solitary meeting,
in view of what he supposed to be her character,
might prompt him to make open advances of a sort
suggested by his perfumed invitation - which
advances she dared neither permit nor too bluntly
repel. And then she thought of what might be a way
out — the small Japanese Room just off one of the
large dining-rooms: this would give her the protec-
tion of both privacy and publicity. She suggested it
to Mr. Morton, and he promptly said he would re-
serve the room and would meet her at half-past
twelve. “Please remember this,” she ended,“ here
at the Grantham I am known as Mrs. Gardner."
She slipped down shortly after twelve, to avoid
the danger of recognition by any one in the crowd
of lunchers who would come in a little later. But as
she passed through a hallway on the main floor, she
glimpsed a square figure behind a newspaper -
Bradley. She went on without pause and slipped
into the Japanese Room. So Bradley, too, had
learned of her whereabouts!
Ten minutes later Mr. Morton entered, looking
182


MARY REGAN
as sprucely young as fifty can look, smiling admira-
tion in the gray eyes that were more accustomed to a
gaze of autocratic command. Mary had previously
placed herself at the table so that she could see into
the larger room without being seen, and during the
preliminaries of their conversation her main facul-
ties were surreptitiously directed beyond the hang-
ings. Presently she saw Loveman enter the larger
room. Instinctively she knew Loveman had fol-
lowed Mr. Morton here, to keep close watch over
what he did and what might develop. After her
scene that morning with Loveman, she knew he
would strike the instant he saw she was failing, or
thought she was about to fail. Loveman and Bradley
– her seemingly simple plan certainly was growing
complicated!
And then a little later she saw Clifford enter. Her
heart skipped a few beats: so, then, he was watch-
ing her, as she had expected! What might he intend
doing? ... Well, whatever it might be, she would
go straight ahead!
Presently she had to give more heed to Morton,
for he was touching upon things that were vitally
personal. “Let me again applaud the discretion
you showed in your affair with Jack, Mrs. Gardner,”
he was saying. “And again let me compliment you
on your sensible attitude when you saw the affair
had to be broken off.”
“Thank you."
"Pardon my referring to the sordid money side
183


MARY REGAN
of things," he went on. “I was prepared to meet
whatever you had in mind — but Mr. Clifford has
reported to me that you would accept no settle-
ment. I do not quite understand.”
"I did not enter into the affair with Jack expect-
ing to be bought off," she replied.
He looked at her keenly, but said no more on the
subject. “There is one thing that has surprised me
a bit, though, in so discreet a woman as you are,
Mrs. Gardner: that is, your coming to the very
hotel at which Miss Jones is staying."
“It is the hotel at which I usually stop."
“I was merely thinking that your being under
the same roof might lead to some unexpected hap-
pening that would let Miss Jones learn- you under-
stand. But you are very sensible and careful."
He leaned over the little table. “And now let's
talk about you and me,” he said softly. “What is
your answer?"
“My answer?” she evaded.
“To my suggestion that we explore a more ami-
able climate — together."
Her back was against the wall. “I'd rather not
have to answer.”
“But your mind is made up?".
She hesitated. “Yes,” she admitted. “But I'd
rather not speak — not just now.”
“Why not?”
“There may develop complications; complica-
tions which I can't now explain.”
184


MARY REGAN
“But at least,” he urged, “can't you give me a
hint of what your answer will be, if complications
do not interfere?".
She thought rapidly. He was pressing her hard
from one direction, and outside sat Loveman, a
danger from another direction - watching her,
ready to expose and destroy her at the slightest
sign of failure. Of the two she just then feared Love-
man the more. She had to put Morton off — she had
to have some weapon against Loveman.
An idea flashed into her brain — a desperate idea,
but she was now playing a desperate game.
“Won't you please give me a hint?” he insisted.
"Well," she said, with the air of one consenting,
“here is a proposition that may sound to you absurd
- but then a woman is supposed to be irrational.
For my own reasons I can't now tell you what my
answer is, but I'll write it out in a letter and give it
to you if you 'll promise not to read it until you have
my permission. That way you'll always have my
answer with you. I may telephone or telegraph you,
when I'm ready for you to open the letter."
"I promise," he agreed.
“Then I'll write it here,” she said.
The waiter brought heavy stationery, and with
Mr. Morton's fountain pen she began to write.
He watched her closely until he was certain she was
engrossed in her note, then stealthily he possessed
himself of her handbag which she had left upon a
third chair beside the table. This he cautiously
185


MARY REGAN
opened, and into it he slipped an envelope which he
took from his pocket. Then he closed the bag and
returned it to its place.
Mary finished her letter, thrust it into an en-
velope, which she sealed. This she held tentatively
above the table.
“On your honor as a gentleman you promise not
to open this until I give you the word?”.
“Promise? I swear!"
“And you promise not to try to be — too friendly
until I give you the word?"
“That comes hard — but I promise that, too."
She held out the sealed envelope. He took it, and
also caught her hand.
“Even if I'm not allowed to read, I'm allowed
to guess — and hope," he said softly; "and in the
mean time, I'm going to call on you now and
then — and for the sake of discretion, I'll take
my chances and come unannounced.” And smiling
expectantly he slipped her letter into the inner
pocket of his coat.
A little later, when they had parted, she met
Uncle George near the elevators. It was evident
that he, too, had just finished lunching.
"Mary," he said solemnly, "excuse me for not
having failing eyesight, as a man of incurable senility
should have — but really I could n't help lamping
the would-be gazelle you were eating with.”
“What's wrong with my doing that?" she asked
defensively.
m going te of discreti And sn
186


MARY REGAN
“Nothing at all, dear — nothing at all: only just
remember that no matter what his song is nor how
soft he sings it, he's an old goat in a canary's skin.”
“I believe I can manage him," she returned con-
fidently.
"I hope so, Mary- I hope so. But he's descended
from one of the first families of Sodom and Gomor-
rah, and he's a wise party, and he knows what he
wants and he knows how to get it, and he usually
gets it, too.”
Uncle George paused a moment, then added:
“Excuse my seeing it, dear — I've got the habit of
seeing things and can't break it. But did you notice
that he put something in your bag?”.
"No."
“ Then if you don't believe my old eyes, you might
take a look for yourself.”
She opened her bag. There was the envelope
Mr. Morton had slipped into it, unsealed and fat.
Surprised, she drew from the envelope a folded
packet of bills and rapidly fingered them.
“Ten one-thousand-dollar bills!" she breathed.
Uncle George nodded. “Just so. That's how he
sings a little love song. But he can sing a lot of
different sorts of songs, and he's a swell performer
at a lot of other acts besides singing. That's all,
Mary – except here's hoping you beat him in the
end. But, though you're clever, I'm not placing
any bets on you. Good-bye, dear."
Up in her apartment Mary considered the matter
187


MARY REGAN
of this money. Mr. Morton, she perceived, was
playing the game as he saw it; and for the present,
she decided, she must seemingly play the game in
the same way. She returned the notes into the
envelope, and slipped the packet into a drawer of
her desk.
She thought over her situation as a whole for a
few minutes. Her original plan involving Maisie
Jones would have been difficult enough had she been
permitted the few days on which she had counted
in which to work it out uninterrupted, but this
prompt injection of Loveman, and then of Morton,
into her scheme, doubled the number of human
objects which she must juggle without a slip. The
situation was difficult, yes, — it would require the
sharpest alertness of all her wits, — but she could
do it!
Mary composed herself and went in again to see
Maisie Jones, on whom she had promised to call
after she had lunched. While they chatted Mary
studied the girl with new intentness, dropping in
adroit questions which would bring out revealing
remarks. Instinctively she despised this daughter of
plutocracy: a fluffy blonde, who had had every good
thing in life served to her, unasked for, upon a
golden platter, who had never once had to think
for herself. She deserved just what was being
planned for her! But despite Mary's scorn - which
was, perhaps, composed in part of that hate which
human nature feels toward its contemplated victim
188


MARY REGAN
- Mary perceived that beneath the girl's fluffy
worldliness, she was fundamentally the sort of girl
who develops into a woman whose life is centered
upon her domestic affairs and domestic happiness
-- who demands and subsists upon loyalty. And
Mary now knew enough of Jack to know what Jack,
with his instability of purpose and affection, would
in the years to come bring into the life of this girl.
Again, as in the morning, Mary one by one drew
out the other qualities that lay beneath Maisie's
girlish charm. She was spoiled, selfish, full of tem-
per, vindictive - and also she was proud to the last
degree, and she seemed inflexibly a Puritan in mind
and impulses. It was upon the last two qualities, of
pride and inflexible Puritanism, that Mary's quick
mind based her now swiftly maturing plan.
Presently Mary, in her rôle of a member of the
smarter New York set, brought her light, humor-
ously cynical talk about to some of the men she
knew - to rumors of their none too circumspect
amours; and then, quite casually, she mentioned
Jack Morton.
“You know Jack Morton?" Maisie Jones asked.
“I've met him — yes."
There was a quick flash of jealousy in the blue
eyes. “I happen to know him, too, — a little. Is
he — is he like those other men you spoke of ?".
“You mean in regard to women?"
“Yes."
Mary appeared not to be aware that this topic
189


MARY REGAN
had a personal interest for Maisie Jones. Also she
had swiftly calculated how she must handle this
particular business. If she told Maisie outright some
scandal concerning Jack, Maisie in her pride might
refuse to believe her, and the matter would end right
there. Maisie had to be so led that she believed
herself to be leading, and whatever she learned she
must apparently find out for herself.
“Miss Jones, these men are all alike," Mary an-
swered lightly, “and they say Jack Morton is the
most alike of them all.”
“But — but I'd heard that Jack Morton was
very steady just now.”
-“That's the little way men have.” Mary gave
the soft, cynical laugh of the wise young woman of
fashion. "The more that men have to hide, the
more steady and proper do they try to appear.”
“You mean that he is — that there is a woman
-" Maisie Jones could get no further.
“So they say. And I'm told he's the same as en-
gaged to a nice girl in Chicago — poor thing!"
There was a brief silence. Mary discreetly avoided
looking in Maisie's direction.
“Are you — are you certain about that other
woman?” asked a strained voice.
“I've seen him about with her several afternoons."
“Afternoons? I thought he was busy till five
o'clock.”
“That's a man's oldest pretense, being busy all
day.”
mo
190


MARY REGAN
Again a brief silence; then again the strained
voice, trying to be steady and indifferent:
“What is she like?”
“I tell you what," said Mary casually, "if you
really want to know, I think I can show her to you
— with him. I've noticed them having tea together
at the Biltmore several times recently. If you like
we can go there for tea this afternoon – it will do
us both good to get out - and in the big crowd
there at tea-time we'll never be noticed.”
“All right,” said Maisie.
“Then suppose you call for me at my apartment
at four."
It was so agreed. Mary said that she might be a
few minutes late because of an errand she had to do,
but that she would leave her outer door unlatched
so that Maisie might come right in and wait for her,
and she told Maisie she need not ring, as her bell
was out of order.
Mary went away with a sense that her delicately
devised plan was now under full way; and she saw,
as though the event were now concluded, just how
Maisie Jones would react when she, Mary, pulled
the strings of human nature. On learning what she
believed to be the truth, Maisie's Puritanic soul
would be so horrified that she could have nothing
more to do with Jack; and further, her pride would
not permit her ever to let the public know that she
had been neglected for another woman, or possibly
even jilted. Her pride would make her keep Jack's
191


MARY REGAN
secret for her own self-protection, and make her
forestall the possible appearance of being jilted by
herself doing the jilting first.
All that now remained, before Mary should be
safe again — barring interference from Clifford -
was for human nature to react according to human
promptings.


CHAPTER XVII
THE OTHER WOMAN
ck she kethrough the would
MARY sat on the bed in the bedroom of her suite,
trying to moderate Jack, who had furtively stolen
up five minutes before in response to her telephone
summons. The stage was set for the last act of her
carefully planned version of the eternal triangle, -
the time for the curtain to rise was near at hand, -
and as she talked to Jack she kept her ears alert
for any sound that might come through the open
door connecting with her sitting-room. This would
denote the entrance of Maisie, and was to be the
cue for the action to begin on which she had staked
everything. To prevent any misadventure to her
plan through the automatic habit of ringing bells,
Mary had disconnected the wire.
She had not told Jack of the rôle that he was
to play, for she had not dared to trust him with the
knowledge that he was playing a rôle — he might
balk; so she had the added difficulty of so managing
him that he would play a part without even guess-
ing that he was play-acting.
“I can't stand this situation any longer, Mary,"
Jack fumed. “I want to come out with it all! Think
of me having to sneak up here to see my own wife!
And think of the other angle of my damned situa-
193


MARY REGAN
tion - being fairly shoved to the brink of the altar
with another woman. I can't stall that thing off for
more than a day or so longer. Then I'll simply have
to come out with the truth — our being married."
"Jack," she said sharply, for there had been
dynamite in his temperish speech, "you must re-
member what you just agreed upon — that even
when we're alone you are not to refer to my being
your wife, or to our marriage. You are not to
speak of those things again until I give my consent.”
“All right, Mary," he groaned.
“For the present we've got to keep up the pre-
tense that our relationship is what we admitted be-
fore your father. You promise that, too?"
“All right — I promise. But this is certainly
hell!” And he looked his misery; for his habit of
life had accustomed Jack Morton neither to suffer-
ing nor self-restraint. “But say, I don't see that
you're working out anything with Maisie Jones –
at least I've felt no relief."
“You will if you keep your promises."
She looked at the little gold clock — Jack's gifi —
on her dressing-table; the hour was exactly four.
She must now, with her utmost carefulness, steer
the dialogue without Jack's guessing that it was
being steered.
“What we're doing is for the best, Jack, - you
must trust me as to that,” she said. “But, of course,
things were a lot more comfortable when we were
at the Mordona."
194


MARY REGAN
“Why, our flat there was heaven!” he ex-
claimed. She had him talking on the right tack now,
and he held the course enthusiastically. Her ears
reached out for other sounds than his words; and
after a minute or two she heard a slight noise in her
sitting-room — and she knew that Maisie Jones had
entered; and she knew — in fact she was visual-
izing it — that Maisie had heard Jack's voice, that
Maisie had suddenly paused and was breathlessly
listening.
“It was pleasant, Jack,” she said distinctly —
her mind's eye seeing the effect on the tense figure in
the next room.
“I'll never forget that little flat, sweetheart,” he
enthused. “That week we spent at the Mordona
— say, that was living!”.
“And as Mr. and Mrs. Grayson — "
“I wish we were back there now, Mary!" And
he seized her hands.
“Perhaps when you get things straightened out
- and suspicion quieted down —"
“You mean about Maisie Jones?".
“Yes. Perhaps then we can go back to our flat
in the Mordona.”
"No. Not back there. The Mordona won't be
safe for us until — you know! But this old town is
full of other nice little flats — where we'll be quiet
and cozy and nobody'll ever find us out. And we'll
do it the minute you say the word!”.
“And I'll say the word just as soon as it is safe.
195


MARY REGAN
You must go, Jack, in just a minute, for I'm ex-
pecting some one."
Enough had been said; her little scene was now
complete; the listening figure in the next room could
put but one interpretation upon what she had heard.
Mary let Jack hold her hands and his ardent gaze
she returned with a seemingly equal ardor. But her
faculties were really all in the next room, witnessing
what was happening there. She visioned the girl as
standing transfixed at this evidence of Jack's faith-
lessness; and then in pain, in a fury of pride, stealing
silently away — later to say, if by any chance she
ever again spoke to Mary, that she had changed her
mind and had decided not to come that afternoon.
That stricken, creeping figure was what Mary
visioned; that was the way she had calculated hu-
man nature would react. What she actually saw,
the next moment, was Maisie Jones standing in the
doorway, her hands clenched so that her white
gloves had burst at a dozen seams, her figure trem-
bling, her blue eyes blazing fury.
“I've heard everything!" she gasped. “Oh,
you -"
“Maisie!" breathed Jack, staring.
“Oh, you sneaks — you liars — you beasts —
both of you!"
"Maisie — you don't understand — listen —".
“Don't come near me!" She backed through the
door. “Don't come near me!"
He followed her in consternation, Mary behind
196


MARY REGAN
him, until all three were in the sitting-room. “Lis-
ten, Maisie, for God's sake!” he cried. “You don't
understand —"
"Oh, yes, I do understand!" the furious girl
flamed at him. “After what I heard, I could n't
help understanding! You're simply a low, vicious,
lying beast of a man, Jack Morton, you with
your pretense of having steadied down and become
a worker! And this woman you've been living with
- your — your "
He had seized her wrist. “Maisie,” he said, "say
what you like about me. But don't say a word
against Mary — for Mary —".
"Jack, stop!” Mary cried sharply, thrusting her-
self between the pair. She was dismayed by this un-
expected development of her carefully constructed
triangle — but if she could end this scene quietly the
situation might somehow be saved. “Stop, Jack!”
she added warningly. “What she says won't hurt
me.”
Maisie, her control now all gone, turned her fury
and scorn full upon Mary. “You adventuress!
You common street woman! You cheap seller of
yourself! You — you — "
Jack gasped at her enraged words, then broke
through Mary's intervention.
“You shall not say such things about Mary!" he
cried in an almost equal rage. “Mary is my wife!”
“Your wife!" repeated Maisie.
“Yes, my wife!"
197


MARY REGAN
"Jack, be still!” cried Mary. “Miss Jones, he's
lying to protect me. I don't like the words you
used about me; but in substance they're the truth."
“They're not the truth, Maisie!” Jack, for that
moment, had passed beyond Mary's control. “She's
my wife, and nobody can say such things about
her! She's my wife, and I can prove it!” Swiftly he
took a wallet from an inside pocket of his vest, drew
a slip of paper from it, and thrust it into Maisie's
hands. “There — look at that!".
There was neither time nor chance for Mary to
interfere. Maisie glanced at the slip of paper. Her
volcanic wrath suddenly subsided; her face blanched.
Then mechanically her lips repeated the script in
the printed form she held: “John Harrison Morton
and Mary Russell Regan."
She looked up; she was in a daze. “Your marriage
certificate, Jack," she said in her mechanical tone.
And then questioningly: “But Mary Regan?”
“That's Mary's real name — she just borrowed
the name of Mrs. Gardner," Jack explained. “You
see we were married secretly because Mary thought
father would object to her; and also because — don't
take this in a wrong way, Maisie — because of what
father wanted you and me to do."
“I see," said the heavy lips. She turned to Mary,
“But those things I just overheard? And your
pretending not to be Jack's wife?".
Mary's plan had gone so far from its calculated
course, and so swiftly, that upon the instant she saw
198


MARY REGAN
no better way than to tell the truth — even if she
should not tell it all.
“Miss Jones, I planned for you to overhear, and
believe, what passed between Jack and me — though
Jack had no knowledge of what I was doing. I
thought that if you discovered that Jack was in love
with another woman — and had been living with
her — your insulted pride would cause you to break
with Jack and give no reason.”
“Yes — go on,” breathed the girl.
“You see, Jack was in the worst sort of a predica-
ment. He was married to me; he was dependent as
to his future upon his father; and his father was try-
ing to press him into an immediate marriage with
you. It was a matter of days. Had he told the truth
or had he for no explained reason broken with you —
either would have ended him with his father. There
was only one way out of the situation that would
not ruin Jack, and that was for you to be the one to
break it off. To play upon you so that you would do
that, that's what I've been trying to do."
"I see.” The girl, grayish pale, regarded Mary
in dazed wonderment. “But why did you, just a
moment ago, try to make me believe that you were
Jack's — his — his mistress?".
“To keep Jack's father from learning the truth.
Don't you see it? If you should tell his father
that you had learned that Jack had a mistress, it
would not injure Jack's prospects nearly so much as
if you told him that Jack had a wife.”
199


MARY REGAN
“And, Maisie," Jack cut in, “if I have steadied
down, it's because Mary made me! I want you to
know that!"
The blue-eyed girl, standing very still, and breath-
ing very tensely, made no response, but kept her
gaze fastened upon Mary. Mary tried to guess what
was passing in the mind of this girl — young, will-
ful, of proven jealousy and temper, who, holding
that marriage certificate in her hand, held also
Mary's fate. What was that girl going to do?
A minute or more passed, all three of them mo-
tionless and silent - a space Mary was never to
forget. Then the tableau was sharply broken by a
soft knocking at the door of the suite. The three
turned about, just as the unlatched door swung
cautiously open and into the room stepped the elder
Morton, his masterful face bouqueted with a smile.
He stopped short and the smile was plucked away.
No one of the four moved or spoke; then followed
tense silence which, though but a moment long,
seemed an epoch to three of the group -each of
whom sensed a different charge of human dynamite,
its fuse sputtering, in this scene. ... The elder Mor-
ton, here on such other business, looked penetrat-
ingly at the unexpected trio: did the presence of the
three mean that Maisie had learned the truth about
Jack and Mrs. Gardner? - which would disrupt one
of his dearest and most patient plans. And also did
they suspect why he was here? ... As for Jack, he
was merely stricken dumb and powerless with a
200


MARY REGAN
sense of unavertable disaster - the axe was already
falling. ... And Mary, her will nullified for the
moment by a sense of futility, breathlessly watched
the grayish face of Maisie Jones, who, in the hand
that now held the crumpled marriage certificate, also
held the swift finale to all her planning; each second
she expected the outraged, jealous, and vindictive
girl to speak, or hand the crumpled paper to the
gray-templed man beside the door.
It was the elder Morton, trained by his worldly
experience to keep on playing his part whatever the
circumstances, who ended this hour-long moment.
"I just started to call on you, Maisie," he ex-
plained evenly, pleasantly, “and at your door I
learned from a maid that you were with Mrs. Gard-
ner. I pressed the bell-button, then knocked, but
as there was no answer, and as the door was open,
I ventured in — and here I find the three of you."
Mary felt the uselessness of further effort, since
the other girl held her fate in her tightly clenched
hand; but her inborn quality of keeping on me-
chanically forced words from her lips — though as
she spoke them she recognized her words as a lame
explanation. “Miss Jones was going out with your
son, and as she was passing she stopped in for a
moment."
Mr. Morton looked keenly at Maisie, and waited;
and Mary looked at her, in suspense yet sure of the
end, and waited.
Then the gray-faced girl spoke for the first time
201


MARY REGAN
- and her fingers twitched about the document she
held.
“Yes, Jack and I were passing, and just dropped
in."
Mary maintained her outward composure, but
inwardly she started. So! — Maisie Jones was hold-
ing back her weapon, waiting her chosen time to
strike.
Morton seemed to accept Maisie's words; but
before another word could be spoken, while all the
dangerous human elements of the situation were in
suspense, Mary saw a new figure press open the
unlatched door — Peter Loveman. In a flash she
understood the little lawyer's presence: that dread
which had caused him to be forever hovering about
her and Mr. Morton had made him follow Mor-
ton here - that he might be beforehand and save
himself, in case of mishap to her impossible plans.
Her mind, working with incredible speed, had
another instantaneous fear. Every instant she ex-
pected Clifford to enter and add to the complica-
tions swarming upon her.
Loveman's round, keen eyes swiftly took in the
situation. To him this coming together of the four
of them face to face, of Mr. Morton, Jack, Mary,
and the girl Jack had been directed to marry, could
have but one meaning, one outcome. His speech
followed his conclusion so promptly that there was
barely a moment between his entrance and his first
word.
202


MARY REGAN
"Pardon my coming up here, Mr. Morton," he
said rapidly, stepping forward, “but the matter is so
immensely important as to abrogate formalities. I
have just made a discovery ".
“Mr. Morton,” Mary interrupted sharply, press-
ing between the two men. She knew that yet a
new destruction was in Loveman's next eager words;
and her instinct to keep on fighting to the very end
instantly controlled her. “Mr. Morton — before you
hear him, read my letter!”
“Your letter?” queried Mr. Morton, taken aback
by the suddenness of all this.
“The letter I gave you in the Japanese Room. The
letter I told you to hold until I gave you permission
to read it. You have it with you?”
“Yes, here it is, Mrs. Gardner." He drew an en-
velope from an inner coat pocket.
“Mr. Morton, I've just discovered—".
"Read my letter first," Mary again broke sharply
in upon Loveman. “The time has come that I spoke
of, Mr. Morton, - the time when you have my per-
mission to read my letter. It tells you all that Mr.
Loveman has discovered and more!" . .
“Mr. Morton -"
“You wait, Loveman. Mrs. Gardner first.",".
Mr. Morton ran a forefinger beneath the em-
bossed flap. The little lawyer was yellowish-pale,
there was a spasmodic quivering of the soft folds
beneath which his Adam's apple was throbbing.
Mary saw Loveman's condition, and with a seem-
203


MARY REGAN
ingly involuntary action, laid a hand upon the finger
of Mr. Morton's that was sheathed in the envelope.
“That letter contains everything, Mr. Morton.
I was n't quite ready for you to know it. I'd rather
you did not know it yet -- but Mr. Loveman has
forced me.” She turned to Loveman, and her next
words had in them a hidden meaning for him, and
another meaning for Mr. Morton. “Since you are
determined, Mr. Loveman, that Mr. Morton must
know it, I prefer that he learn it from me - and
that he learn everything."
In her steady glance, the sallow little man read
reckless defiance - and beneath her words he read
the offer of a bargain. And he had a swift sense,
vague as yet, that the situation might not be as
desperate as he had at first believed.
“If Mrs. Gardner really prefers that nothing be
said about it just now "
"I do prefer," she interrupted him.
"Why, then, naturally, I'll not say anything at
present - provided Mrs. Gardner agrees to say
nothing."
“I agree.”
“And the letter?” softly suggested Loveman.
"With your permission, Mr. Morton," and Mary
deftly slipped the envelope out of his hands.
“But, see here, the letter was mine!” Morton ex-
claimed. “Where do I come in?"
“It is my confession, is it not? - and has n't a
woman the right to choose the time when she makes
204


MARY REGAN
it? You shall know everything when the right
time comes."
She turned to the little lawyer. “I believe that is
all, Mr. Loveman."
“But the letter?" he prompted.
She understood. “You definitely promise?"
“Yes.”
“Very well, then" - and slowly, all eyes upon
her, Mary tore the sealed letter up and dropped the
pieces into the waste-basket.
There was a moment's pause. Each of the four had
his own belief as to the revelation in that letter she
had so calmly torn to fragments. As for Mary, she
was outwardly composed enough; she believed that
the crisis with Loveman was safely passed – per-
haps; but every second she was poignantly aware
of the danger represented by that motionless girl
who still held the marriage certificate in her hand.
Mary could not guess what that emotional, jealous,
pampered girl would do, nor at what instant she
would do it.
Mr. Morton turned from Mary to Jack and
Maisie. “Run along, children," he said pleasantly,
“and do whatever it was you were planning to do.
I may pick you up later somewhere."
Almost mechanically the girl walked out. With a
quick glance of fear at Mary, Jack went after her
- and Mary followed her with her eyes, wondering.


CHAPTER XVIII
HOW MAISIE JONES REACTED
MR. MORTON turned upon Mary the instant Jack
and Maisie Jones were out.
"Mrs. Gardner, how much did Miss Jones learn or
guess about you and Jack?” he demanded sharply.
“You saw the scene, you can draw your own con-
clusions,” replied Mary. “If you wish to know def-
initely, I suggest you ask Miss Jones.”
“U'm. She did n't seem to know just what to
make of the scene — but I don't believe she sus-
pected anything. You carried it all off mighty well,
- Mrs. Gardner, — mighty well; in fact you saved
the situation. Loveman" — with sharp rebuke —
"you damned near spilled everything, trying to
blurt out your discovery before Miss Jones!”
“That's once I did n't stop to think," apologized
Loveman.
“Then suppose you excuse yourself and do some
thinking outside. I want a few words with Miss
Gilmore – beg pardon, Mrs. Gardner I should say."
“But — first I'd like a few words with Mr. Love
man,” said Mary, -"alone."
She stepped out into the corridor ahead of Love-
man, walked a few unsteady paces, and turned a
corner. This corridor was empty. She halted.
206


MARY REGAN
“What did you want to see me about, Mary?".
the little lawyer asked nervously.
"I did n't want to see you — I wanted to get out
of that room - after what I've been through." ;
She leaned dizzily against the wall, and breathed
like a runner at the end of a race. The situation she
had just been through had, indeed, taxed her full
strength; but her mind went on to dangers yet
ahead. That girl with the marriage certificate in her
hand - she had held back because she was waiting
a better time, and a more effective method, to strike!
And when she struck, she would strike hard — no
doubt of that! Mary wondered in what form of cold
fury the girl's natural feminine vindictiveness would
express itself.
She opened her eyes. Peter Loveman was still
waiting beside her.
“I guess I did n't quite get the situation when I
broke in on that scene awhile ago," the little man
began apologetically. “I thought it was all up with
you - and I thought I might as well save myself
if I could.”
“I know," she said wearily. And then vigor came
into her voice and bearing. “But don't forget this,
Peter Loveman, — if you ever try to cross me again,
I'll finish you off with Mr. Morton just as I said
even though I finish myself, too!"
“That's never going to happen, Mary," the little
man said propitiatingly. “And remember, Mary,
what I said to you this morning — that if this
207


MARY REGAN
affair gives any sign of going wrong, just privately
leave your end of it with me - and after that let
me manage you—and there's nothing I can't do with
you! Nothing!"
She regarded him absently - although the vision
his words had created registered itself in her sub-
conscious mind as something that might come to
pass in the future. Without answering him, she
turned away and reëntered her apartment. Beside
her door she came to a sudden pause. Bending over
her desk was Mr. Morton intently working over
something which she could not identify. But the
next moment she knew. Mr. Morton had recovered
from the waste-basket her torn letter and was fitting
its fragments together.
Instantly she was across the room, and had caught
his arm. . "Mr. Morton, you must n't do that!" she
exclaimed, reaching swiftly for the letter.
He easily warded off her clutching hand. She
struggled to possess the fragments. But he was too
powerful a man for her to contest with on equal
physical terms, and she dared not cry out — so after
a moment she gave up.
"Really, Miss Gilmore, you know, you can't trust
a man's curiosity too far," he said coolly, though
pleasantly; and holding her two wrists in a powerful,
yet gentle grip, he read the torn letter through.
He looked up. His face was without expression.
“And so, Miss Gilmore — this is your confession?"
She nodded.
208


MARY REGAN
"And also your answer to my suggestion about
our little cruise?".
Again she nodded. ?
"So!" He turned back to the ragged mosaic of
heavy note-paper, and slowly he read aloud:-
"'I can no longer keep my secret from you. I am
really a married woman. Further, my husband is
very jealous. He may be back any time. I must be
most discreet.""
Morton raised his gray eyes to her; and then sud-
denly his strong, worldly face softened into a smile.
“My dear, what a little fool you are! This is
nothing to make such a fuss about. Your being
married does n't necessarily make the slightest dif-
ference to me — and I'm sure the Caribbean winds
will be just as soothing - and that the moonlight
will be just as soft. The yacht will be ready next
Thursday."
He tried to slip an arm about her. But she evaded
him, and spoke quietly.
“But my husband is now in New York!”
“Oh, the devil!” And then he smiled again. “But
I'm sure a woman of your quickness of mind can
invent an excuse that will take care of your hus-
band. You can trust that my end will all be man-
aged quietly."
Again she avoided an attempted embrace. “But
he is now in this hotel - and he knows I'm here -
and he's so jealous —"
“The devil!" This time he did not smile. "That
209


MARY REGAN
is some complication! You certainly do have to be
discreet!" He thought quickly. “You'd better
move from this hotel to some place where you will
not be so easily under his eye. Anyhow, I was going
to suggest your moving on account of Miss Jones.
Being this close to her, she might any time stumble
on to — you know, between you and Jack.”
“I'm going to move to-night," she agreed, her
mind all on how she was going to rid herself of him,
and yet not offend him.
“Good! Now, as token and seal of our under-
standing —" He bent toward her with pursed lips.
She checked him with the thrust of a stiffened
arm. “Not now!"
“Some day, then? And soon?”
She eyed him steadily. “Sometime, perhaps —
if when that time comes you still want to.”
He had no suspicion of what was in her mind. He
smiled.
“Oh, I shall want to! But don't set the time too
far "
The telephone on her desk began to ring. In relief
at the interruption she seized it — but the relief
was gone as she heard the voice that came over the
wire.
“Yes, I'm alone,” she replied into the mouth-
piece. “You may see me right away."
“Who was that?" asked Morton as she hung up.
“My husband.”
“My cue for a quick exit! Remember, my
210


MARY REGAN
trying to justify her by saying that Maisie, as now
she saw her, was too good for Jack, and that her own
action, whatever its motives, had saved Maisie from
a life of certain unhappiness. Just then she was
dazed by the uncalculated twist of the girl's action;
unsuspected, unanalyzable things were tumultu-
ously stirring, quickened into life by that swift, tear-
wet kiss which still thrilled her cheek — by the fer-
vid declaration that she was fine and wonderful.
That girl, tears in her eyes, had called her fine and
wonderful!...
She seemed, with all those sudden strange things
surging within her, to be sitting there a woman un-
known to herself. And then out of this chaos, there
rose a clear-cut, definite sentence, that remained
fixed before her mind — a sentence of Clifford's,
spoken with impersonal grimness: “There is a big
woman in you -- but if you are to be changed, only
Life can do it."... Was this what it meant, that
chaos within her? After all, had Clifford been right?
Was Life doing something to her?
Bewildered, breathless, almost fearfully, she sat
regarding this strange, unknown woman stirring
within herself. ...


MARY REGAN
and difficult — and that was also leading into what
for her were undiscovered and uncomfortable areas
of the human soul.
To be sure, for the immediate present at least, she
had apparently averted the danger of the discovery
of her secret marriage to Jack Morton. But the dan-
ger of that discovery would keep on recurring — at
least until she had finally won out. And there was
the ever-present danger that her husband, and her
husband's father, might somehow learn who Mary
Regan was and had been. And there was the elder
Morton, eager in his amorous suit. And there was
Peter Loveman, who might any time, to serve his
own ends, proceed swiftly upon some course that
would mean disaster for her.
And then, there were those queer feelings which
had been stirring in her since Maisie Jones, a choke
in her voice, had called her fine! — wonderful! -
and since Maisie, loving Jack, had declared Mary
had proved that she would make far the better wife
for Jack. Mary did not understand these strange
emotions. She did not like them, and she tried to
force them out of her being. But despite this ef-
fort there were fear-stricken moments when, with
all her dangers, she felt that she could not even count
upon herself.
The next morning she called up Jack, telling him
where she was. He could telephone her as often as
he liked, she told him, if he would be careful to
speak only when he was alone. But she forbade
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MARY REGAN
him coming to see her; that would be unsafe, as
he might be followed. Jack protested against this
order, but she was firm, and at length he gave his
promise.
As the days passed, days when she had no com-
pany except her own thoughts and Jack's telephone
messages, she reasoned herself out of the influence
of those strange feelings begotten by the behavior
and the words of Maisie Jones (at least she believed
she did), and she reached a clearer conception of her-
self (or believed she did) and of what must be her
future procedure. And the way she saw herself, her
plans, her motives, was anything but unfavorable.
She was just like most other women. She wanted po-
sition, yes — she wanted money, yes; and she was
getting them in exactly the same way that the most
proper and honored women were winning them, by
playing her cards as a woman. As for what she was
hiding — well, was n't all the world hiding some-
thing? She was merely doing what all were doing.
She came to see herself - despite the methods by
which she would attain her end — as making a
figure as a wife that Jack would be proud of before
the world. As Jack's wife she was going to give him
her best. No man's wife was going to be better-
gowned or of more distinguished appearance, and
no wife could do more than she, with the will and
the brains which she knew she had, to hold her hus-
band up to the standards expected of a man of large
affairs. Later, after she had made Jack into a real
217


MARY REGAN
man, and through that service had somehow man-
aged to get Jack's father reconciled, and after she
had thoroughly established herself with them and
as a noteworthy figure in their circle — later she
would tell them just who she was and what she had
been, and by that time Mr. Morton would recog-
nize that she was the one woman in the world who
could have brought, and could still hold, Jack to
such a position of worldly success.
Thus she thought, as the lonely days went by. But
as more and more she saw Jack as the foundation
of her plan, so more and more did she see him in an-
other possible aspect. This second possibility grew
to be her chief concern.
All this while her mind had been reverting again
and again to Clifford. After a time Clifford and her
dominating concern began to be linked together.
At length there came a day when, obeying an im-
pulse, she called Clifford up.
Within an hour she was opening her door to him.
Silently she led the way across the dingy, chintz-
furnished sitting-room, and with a rather stiff for-
mality the pair seated themselves.
“You sent for me," Clifford began, quietly
enough.
“Yes. I want you to help me."
“Would you mind explaining?"
Already she had taken on that cool, defiant, chal-
lenging manner which seemed instinctive with her
in all her dealings with him. “You helped get me
218


MARY REGAN
into my marriage with Jack Morton. You said that
experience was the only thing which could make me
over - and that this marriage might prove to be
the best possible experience by which Life could
change me. Remember that?"
“I did say something to that effect," he replied
quietly, watching her and still wondering.
“Well, I am not going to be changed; I have
told you that. But I have accepted your challenge,
and I'll play the thing through to the finish. But
you are partly responsible for my position. That's
why I have the right to ask you to help me."
He stared. Only one so essentially defiant in
spirit, so audaciously self-confident, could be say-
ing such things so quietly.
“You want me to lose out,” she went on, “but
even so, I know you 'll help me if you promise to do
so. I'll admit that there is no other person I can
call on who can really help me.".
“Help you? How?".
"With Jack."
He was accustomed to her calm audacity. But
none the less he was for the moment taken aback
by her request -- that he, a rejected suitor, should
be so coolly called in to assist with the husband.
He recovered his speech. “Before I answer that,
perhaps you will tell me something."
“What?"
“Something that has a bearing upon your plan
with Jack. Excuse my curiosity — but perhaps you
219


MARY REGAN
will tell me just what was the outcome of your affair
with Maisie Jones?"
She was no less curious than he in regard to one
point in that experience — why he had refrained
from action at the Grantham. She had been won-
dering about this, over and over, all these days.
“You know about that?" Her words were as
much an affirmation as a question.
“I have had to know about it,” he said. “I knew
of Jack's engagement and its pressing character, and
when you went to the Grantham and took the suite
next to Miss Jones, I surmised, with the help of a
few facts, the general nature of your purpose there."
“Then if you knew, why did n't you interfere?"
“When I surmised what your plan was, I felt it
was no affair of mine. I was close at hand, but I
kept myself in the background. I felt that it was
your game, for you to play out alone."
She drew a deep breath. So that was his reason!
~ he had given her her leash, he was letting her run
free. Though watching her, he was, as he had said
before, leaving it to experience to make of her what
it would.
She recalled his initial inquiry. “The affair
ended," she said briefly, "by my being forced to
tell Maisie Jones, in confidence, that I was secretly
married to Jack."
“And Maisie Jones? I know she loved Jack."
“She promised not to tell, or interfere."
“Is that all? And if so, why?".
220


MARY REGAN
“She seemed to think - I did not try to deceive
her; she deceived herself she seemed to think I
would make Jack a better wife than she would. And
she said that, so Jack would n't get into trouble
with his father about the engagement, she would
have a letter written to Mr. Morton breaking the
engagement off because she did not love Jack.”
“Is that all?"
She met his gaze with composure, showing nothing
of the strange and persisting emotion Maisie Jones
had awakened in her. “That is all.”
"Thank you." He did not pursue his inquiry,
though his eyes regarded her keenly. “To come
back to your request that I help you with Jack.
Whether I help you depends upon what you intend
doing. First, how do you happen to be here?"
Her answer was prompt and direct. “After all that
has happened, it seemed safest and wisest for me to
disappear. Too many persons were becoming mixed
up in my affairs -- I wanted to be free from them."
“How about Jack? Is he also in the dark as to
where you are?"
"Jack knows. But I do not dare see him."
“And these are the only reasons you disappeared
so suddenly from the Grantham?"
“The only reasons," she returned steadily. But
consciously or unconsciously Mary here withheld
part of the truth. There was something else: the
unadmitted influence which the action of Maisie
Jones had had upon her.
221


MARY REGAN
“Next, if I am to help you," continued Clifford,
"what are your general plans for the future? You
don't mind telling?"
“I don't mind telling you everything." And she
went on to tell him those things which she had
thought out more definitely during her solitary
days. “My general plans are what they have been
since I married. My main purpose. at present is
to keep Jack going straight — until through my
influence he shall have become established as a
responsible business man; this I expect to be an
achievement for which I shall secure acknowledge
ment and which will win Mr. Morton's favor. And
then, a little later, after I have established myself
with them, and have been openly before the public
as Jack's wife, I shall tell them just who I am and
what I have done."
“And having done that, what do you think will
happen?"
"I shall have proved to them that I am the one
person who can hold Jack to the job of being a man;
and I shall have proved to them that, despite my
being Mary Regan, I can make a figure as a woman
that Jack and his father will be proud of before the
world. That is my plan.”
The calculating worldliness of her frank scheme
was amazing. Here was the strangest part of their
recent relationship — she had made it a point always
to show him her most worldly side.
"I see,” said Clifford. “But there are a few diffi-
222


MARY REGAN
culties. How about the older Morton and his urgent
invitation to a cruise for two passengers among the
West Indies?"
"So long as I can keep in hiding, that's not a
pressing problem. And if somehow he learns where
I am, I shall be evasive; I can manage that."
“And Peter Loveman, if he finds you are here?"
“I can handle Peter Loveman," she replied con-
fidently; and then added : “Not long ago he wanted
me to give up my plan concerning Jack. In fact he
threatened me."
“Why?" Clifford asked quickly.
“He said I could not possibly succeed. Also there
was something else he wanted me to do."
“And you replied to him?".
“I told him I was going straight ahead. And I
showed him that I was stronger than he was. He
then suddenly became pleasant again, said his threat
had been only a joke. If I called the turn on him
once, I guess I can call it again if necessary."
Clifford made mental note of this threat. “Let's
come back to Jack. Would you mind being more
explicit why, and in what way, you want me to
help?"
“All my chances of success are based upon mak-
ing a man of Jack. As matters now stand, it would
ruin everything if I were to see him often. Jack is
very susceptible to the influence of the people imme-
diately around him — and if I dare not see him, how
can I influence him? That is my supreme difficulty."
223


MARY REGAN
“I see,” said Clifford.
"Just there is where I want you to help me. Jack
likes you. I want you to see a lot of him — help
keep him working - help keep him straight."
Clifford stared at her. Her calm audacity was
almost unbelievable - and yet it was just like Mary
Regan.
"I'll help you,” he said after a moment. “Is there
any special source of danger you fear?"
"Only the general situation. Everything depends
on Jack's being a man. Just now I can't help him
much; and Jack — you understand — is likely to go
in the direction of the person who is nearest him.”
"I'll do what I can," said Clifford.
Then, for the first time since his entrance, she
showed emotion. Impulsively she thrust out her
hand and clasped his.
“Thank you!" she said.


CHAPTER XX
CLIFFORD'S NEW ASSIGNMENT
WHEN Clifford left her, though still amazed at the
task she had set him, he was more occupied with a
new possibility — Life worked so strangely!- that
had come upon him during their talk. Had Mary,
through her scheming to achieve worldly place and
fortune by means of Jack, come by slow degrees and
perhaps unknown to herself to have a real respon-
sibility toward Jack? And if so, how would she react
under that responsibility if ever a crisis should arise?
At once Clifford began work upon this strange
assignment. And at once this assignment, strange
as it was to start with, took on an even stranger
twist - though this new turn was not at once
definitely apparent.
Clifford was curious concerning Jack in his new
rôle as a business man; and half an hour after leaving
Mary he was shown into an office in a large suite
down in the financial district. Jack sprung up eagerly
from a littered desk.
“Hello, Bob! Say, this is great, your dropping
in on me like this — a regular relief expedition to
a strayed North-Pole-hunting outfit! Only, as a
financier, I'm no Commodore Peary; I'm in the
Dr. Cook class."
225


MARY REGAN
Clifford returned the smile of the pleasant, almost
boyish face. “How goes the work, Jack?"
The young fellow made a grimace at the papers on
his desk. “They've turned over a one-cylinder min-
ing proposition to me to handle. Oh, ye gods!
Bob — has science yet discovered an anti-toxin for
work ?"
“Then you're getting tired of it?" Clifford asked,
studying him keenly.
"Tired, you bet! — and also tangled. But I'm
going to stick it out." He lowered his voice: “You
know, it's all Mary's doing, my starting to toil in
this old foundry. She said I had to make good -
and you can just bet I am going to make good!”
Clifford nodded. “It's great stuff; hang on with
all your teeth. But you can't be on the job all the
time. Suppose we have dinner together this evening
and then see a show?"
: "Sorry, Bob, but I'm dated up with dad to-
night. If you'll make it to-morrow evening, though,
you're on.”
“All right. Say we meet at seven in the Gold
Room at the Grantham."
It was so agreed. Clifford left Jack with one
dominant impression: at least this phase of Mary's
scheme was visibly succeeding -- Jack, whom no
one had ever been able to get to go to work before,
seemed tightly anchored to his job.
The next evening Clifford was at a table in the
Grantham at seven. He waited until eight - un-
226


MARY REGAN
troubled — but Jack did not appear and no message
came from him. It puzzled him somewhat, but pro-
voked him more. But, remembering his promise to
Mary, he swallowed his resentment and the next
afternoon he called Jack up at the Morton offices.
He was informed that Jack had not come down at
all the day previous, nor had he appeared this
day.
Clifford began to think. That same afternoon, at
six-thirty, which he had learned was the elder Mor-
ton's cocktail-time, he wandered into the lounge of
the Biltmore bar. Here he found Mr. Morton, and
casually he inquired for Jack.
“I was afraid the boy would n't stick," said the
handsome, middle-aged man of the world, “and
now I've had proof of it. Here's a telegram I re-
ceived from him this afternoon, filed on board the
Canadian Express, saying he'd suddenly decided
to run away for a bit of shooting. Just like him, to
disappear without a word's notice.”
Clifford read the telegram, and returned it to the
Western financier; and after a few commonplace re-
marks he walked away with a casual air. But within
his calm exterior he was seething with suspicions,
ideas, questions. He dropped into a chair in the
wide corridor, and eyes fixed on an evening paper, he
rapidly studied this new situation. That telegram
was a fake. Jack Morton, however irresponsible,
would never so behave while he felt as he did toward
Mary Regan. Jack Morton had disappeared, and
227


MARY REGAN
some will other than his own had controlled his
disappearance.
Who had brought about this disappearance? If
there was a plot here, just what was the plot? — and
what its purpose? Was Jack himself the victim
primarily aimed at? — his father? — Mary? — some
other person?
Into his mind there flashed something Mary had
spoken of: that menacing demand of Peter Love-
man, coupled with Loveman's jovial declaration that
his threat had been only a joke. Was that shrewd,
far-scheming lawyer behind the disappearance of
Jack? And if so, what was his ultimate object? —
what was his present plan?
A new idea occurred to Clifford. A minute later
he was in a telephone booth talking to Mary.
“What have you heard from Jack since I saw
you?"
“Not a word.” There was concern in her voice.
“He always telephones me two or three times a day."
“And you've had no telegram?"
“No."
“There's nothing to worry about," – and Clif-
ford told her of the telegram Jack's father had re-
ceived.
“But why should n't he have telegraphed me,
too?" she demanded.
“You know Jack is inclined to be careless, even
with the people he likes best,” he assured her. He
gave her no hint of his suspicions; already it was
228


MARY REGAN
part of his vaguely forming counter-plan that Mary
must be kept from guessing what he suspected.
He hung up and returned to his chair. He had
picked up one point — perhaps. The fact that Mary
had received no telegram, did it not signify that the
person behind the scheme, whoever the person was,
while wishing to reassure Mr. Morton, desired to dis-
turb Mary? Might it not be an essential part of the
scheme that Mary should be disturbed? It seemed
possible.
Sitting there in the corridor, Clifford had still
another idea — and during the days that followed
it became the backbone of his plan. Here was mys-
tery enough: the sudden disappearance of Jack in a
manner so in keeping with his known character as
to cause no public commotion. But he now saw this
case as a double case. He was going to try to clear
up Jack's disappearance, yes; but though profes-
sionally the solution of that disappearance was his
chief interest, as a man he was more interested in
Mary Regan - for though he knew her so well, she
was to him still the supreme mystery. He was go-
ing to do all he could do, yes; but he decided that he
was going to keep himself in the background of this
new development of affairs, and direct the action,
or leave it to its own direction, so that whatever sit-
uation arose, Mary would have to face it squarely
and alone. He was going to force a show-down of
Mary's real nature — to make Life test her. That
was his second, and dominant, task.
229


MARY REGAN
The search for Jack Morton was the foundation
for this second task, and Clifford sensed Loveman
to be his best lead. That night, with all the appear-
ance of merely killing time, Clifford sat at a little
table in the Gold Room at the Grantham. But while
he dawdled, he slipped an occasional glance across
the big glittering room at the small round table
known as “Mr. Loveman's table." The table was
as yet empty: Clifford did not wonder at this — the
hour was only eleven, this was the opening of a new
play, and Loveman was an habitual first-nighter.
Presently a hand fell on Clifford's shoulder.
“Hello, Bob, — what's wrong with the world?”.
Clifford looked up. Beside him was the plump,
smartly dressed person of Peter Loveman, smiling
amiably.
“Nothing much is wrong, Loveman, - except
most of my war-babies have whooping-cough.”
“Buck up, old scout, and come over to my table,
and let me buy you some bubble-water."
“Can't, thank you. I'm waiting for a party."
And then Clifford, with seeming carelessness, but
watching Loveman all the while, played a bold card:
“What d' you think - I was to have had supper
here with Jack Morton. And I just learned from his
father that the young scamp has gone to Canada on
a shooting trip."
Loveman showed a mild surprise; in him the
stage had lost an admirable actor. “You don't say!
I had n't heard that."
230


MARY REGAN
“His father showed me Jack's telegram. Jack
might at least have sent me word before this,” said
Clifford.
“Just like Jack: a good fellow, but you can't count
on him.” Loveman's voice lowered. “I wonder if
our common friend, Mary Regan, has heard anything
from him.”
“Not unless he thinks a lot more of her than he
does of me," Clifford grumbled.
"Queer situation there, is n't it?" mused Love-
man. “Would n't be surprised if he had treated her
the same as he has you.” The lawyer's tone became
humorously lugubrious. “Well, we all have our
troubles. Here's that little Nina Cordova. After
I've said a fond, swift, and eternal farewell to
twenty thousand dollars backing her in that awful
frost 'Orange Blossoms' - honest, a guinea-hen
that'd half-swallowed an open safety-pin would pull
out its hair and eat bichloride if it had a voice like
Nina's - here's Nina begging me to back her in a
new piece that's a crippled and half-witted twin to
‘Orange Blossoms. Can you beat it! And yet I sup-
pose I'll come across. That's just the sort of sucker
game I always fall for."
With a gesture of mock despair, the little lawyer
- true lover of the best in music and the arts, and
patron of the worst - crossed to his table. Clifford
knew that Loveman, as well as himself, had been
fencing. He wondered whether he had made Love-
man believe that he believed in Jack's northern trip,
231


MARY REGAN
and that he was unconcerned about Jack and Mary.
He thought he had.
Clifford, alert for every possible clue, managed to
keep an eye on Loveman's table. Presently he saw
a lithe, handsome young man in close conversation
with Loveman. It was Hilton, whom from a previous
experience he knew to be a suave adventurer in this
brilliant border-world wherein smart fashion and
glossed scoundrelism mix in easy fellowship. So then
Hilton and Loveman, for mutual advantage, had
adjusted the financial contretemps which had risen
when their plans had crossed that afternoon at the
Mordona. This undoubtedly meant that something
was brewing. Clifford would have given his balance
at the bank and all he could have borrowed there,
to have known the exact substance of their talk.
After a few minutes Hilton nodded as if some
point had been settled, and with the grace of the
professional dancer, crossed the great room and
went out. Clifford's first impulse was to follow him,
but he thought better of it and kept his place. He
had his recompense, for a little later the dainty Nina
Cordova entered with an escort. Soon, as if by the
ordinary drifting of after-midnight merry-makers,
she, too, was conversing with Peter Loveman.
Again Clifford would have been glad to trade his
cash and credit that he might hear. He knew that
this girlish-looking creature had been privately fitted
into more than one of Loveman's adroit plans of
this pleasure world; and he remembered, too, that
232


MARY REGAN
less than a year before there had been the beginning
of an affair between Jack and Nina -- that she,
with fame glittering before her excited vision, had
dropped Jack for what she always spoke of as “her
art"; and he guessed that now, having been pushed
by managerial enterprise beyond her meager merits
as a singer in musical comedy, and having toppled
ingloriously from her lofty dreams, she might have
quite other plans. ,
If there was a plot, could Nina be in it? And if she
was in it, what was her part? And if Hilton was in it,
what was that gentleman's rôle?
Nina and Loveman went off together toward three
o'clock. Clifford, alive with suspicion, followed in a
taxi — only to see Nina set down at her hotel, and
see Loveman drive straight to his apartment house
and enter. Clifford watched the windows of the
lawyer's studio apartment, wondering if any person
had been waiting within to consult with Loveman;
but promptly at four o'clock — Loveman's regular
hour for going to bed the studio windows dark-
ened.
Clifford had learned nothing that was definite.
But he had the sense, the result of long experience,
that he was on the trail of the parties chiefly con-
cerned, and that he was close upon something big -
though that something was provokingly intangible
and elusive.
There was but one way to handle so obscure a
situation: that was by an intensive study of every
233


MARY REGAN
picion to explain the disappearance of Jack Morton.
Jack could not have vanished more clearly had gravi-
tation become suddenly invalidated and had he been
shot off into space in the night.
Clifford kept doggedly at his method. It was all
slow work, painstaking work, and tedious, tiring,
undramatic work — as all good police work is and
necessarily must be, except for now and then a turn
of luck, a moment of inspiration. But after the fifth
day following Jack's disappearance a change was
noticeable: from the various sources of information
which Clifford had set to work, little details began
to be accumulated — bits of action that had been
seen, fragments of talk overheard by the patient
listeners on the wires. His accumulation of tiny
facts increased rapidly; and fitting the fragments
together he began to perceive the outlines of a plan,
though as yet he had no proof — a plan which, if
he was conjecturing truly, was a typical case of how
clever powers may operate through and behind the
brilliant activities of Big Pleasure -- of how such
powers may subtly twist persons to their own ends,
the person never guessing what has really hap-
pened.
On the seventh day there came to him another
fragment which made him see his conjecture as an
even stronger possibility, which made him feel that
this hidden plan was drawing toward its climax -
and which caused him hastily to send off the follow-
ing note to Mary:~
235


MARY REGAN
If you wish me to help you, then you must take no
action without first referring it to me. And if any person
asks you to do any particular thing, I want you to learn
all the details of any proposed plan and then tell me,
before you give your answer. You can invent plausible
excuses for any delay.
The next day proved how correct had been the rea.
soning that had prompted the sending of this note,
for in the afternoon he had a message that Mary
wished to see him at once. He hurried to her apart-
ment, quickened with suspense.
“Mr. Loveman has found that I am staying
here," she began.
“I knew that. He was bound to find you sooner
or later. Has he asked for anything?".
"He has invited me out for the evening."
“You are to go with him alone?"
“So he said.”
“You learned definitely where he was going to
take you?"
“Yes. To dinner at the Ritz - to a play at the
Empire Theater -- to supper at Delmonico's —
then dancing at that new café, Le Minuit. Shall I
accept?"
Clifford thought rapidly. “Certainly."
“What do you think is in his mind?".
“Merely to entertain you,” – though Clifford
did not believe his own words, — "to try to reëstab-
lish himself in good standing with you."
“Then how should I behave?".
236


MARY REGAN
“Just have as good a time as you can."
Clifford was cool enough until he was out of her
presence; then feverishly he considered what she had
told him. Whatever this subterranean affair might
be, if this invitation had any part in it, he reasoned
that nothing would happen at such discreet places
of entertainment as the Ritz-Carlton, the Empire
Theater, or Delmonico's. Instinctively he knew that
the design would unfold itself, if it were to be un-
folded that evening, at Le Minuit, an establishment
which had just then caught the errant fancy of some
of the smarter social set, and naturally, therefore,
of members of the smarter set of the demi-world and
underworld.
His business, therefore, was to be at Le Minuit.


CHAPTER XXI
AT THE MIDNIGHT CAFÉ
MONSIEUR LE BAIN, proprietor of the Grand Al-
cazar, was a man of ideas and was by way of being
a bit of a monopolist in his chosen business. But
he was careful not to be his own competitor; so
when he had prospered to the point where prosper-
ity could be enlarged only by a second restaurant,
he took great thought that he should not injure
that excellent proposition, the Grand Alcazar. The
result of this thought was Le Minuit, which he
so named because its doors did not open until mid-
night.
Shortly after twelve Clifford, turning a few paces
off Broadway, mounted a brilliant stairway. By be-
ing off the street floor, “The Midnight" gave a sense
(an effect carefully thought out by Monsieur Le
Bain) of privacy and also of piquant naughtiness.
He was in evening dress; patrons of the place,
male or female, had to be so garbed to pass the gold-
braided guardian who held the outer door.
Inside the café, Clifford was approached by a
head waiter.
“I want to see Monsieur Le Bain — at once," he
said in that manner which head waiters instinc-
tively obey.
238


MARY REGAN
The head waiter vanished. The next moment
Monsieur Le Bain was approaching.
“Joe," Clifford began shortly, “this joint is being
watched, and I've got my eyes on it, too."
“Honest to God, I ain't pullin' nothin' crooked
here," responded Monsieur Le Bain, lapsing from his
French accent into the one more natural to him.
“You'd better not try to," Clifford warned
grimly, looking coldly and squarely into his dark
eyes. Seeing that he had made his impression, Clif-
ford inquired: “Mr. Loveman come yet?”
"No."
“But he has a table reserved for two?"
“Yes."
"Joe, you give me a table for one, close to it, so
I can see Loveman, without being seen."
“I can fix you up with a cabinet particulier," the
other said cringingly, “if it's privacy you want."
“I don't want to be alone in any cabinet particu-
lier. I want to be alone where I can see. You're
going to fix that up, Joe, and you're not going to
pass any tip along to Mr. Loveman. Otherwise
you'll be hearing something from the Bureau of
Licenses that won't be healthy for your business.”
“Aw, now, don't get sore," said Monsieur Le Bain,
“it's goin' to be just like you say."
It was. Two minutes later Clifford was in a nook
at one end of the big after-midnight restaurant, a
tubbed palm insuring him privacy from any save
those who should purposely come investigating. A
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MARY REGAN
Of the three or four hundred persons who by this
time were in the room, Clifford knew some by name,
all he knew by types. There were a few indubitable
members of the smartest social set for whom the
wildest was becoming tame and cloying; and there
were men and women hardly less well dressed, who
lived by every means except honest effort — who
were looking for pleasure and looking for prey; and
in between these showy extremes were a few work-
a-day persons who had come hither in a spirit of
daring exploration.
Presently Clifford saw Mary Regan, obsequiously
led by Monsieur Le Bain himself, and followed by
the urbane little Peter Loveman, make way through
the hilarious room and take possession of the reserved
table. Clifford keyed himself to watch and listen. He
sensed that he was now about to have revealed to
him the heart of this whole business.
Evidently Loveman had given full orders in ad-
vance, for almost immediately supper, with cham-
pagne in an ice pail, was brought to the table. The
talk at first was chiefly the amusing, disarming
chatter of which Loveman was a master. Then by
degrees it became more serious, then it shifted to
Mary and her plans.
“Let's face the whole situation squarely, Mary,"
Clifford heard the little man say in his most plaus-
ible voice. “I'm perfectly willing to back you up
in the original proposition - stand right behind
you — the same as I promised - if you still want
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MARY REGAN
woman!" Loveman hastened to reply. “But I'm
not talking about that. I'm talking about what
comes before that — your plan to make a man out
of Jack. You never can do that.”
“Why not?"
"Several reasons. Chiefly because Jack can't be
made a man of."
“I can do it."
"Mary, let's quit kidding ourselves,” Loveman
returned gravely, quietly. “Unless you're with
Jack constantly you can't influence him. And if
you've seen Jack during the last ten days you've
done more than any one else has.”
Mary tried to speak calmly. “Jack recently left
New York on a hunting trip."
Loveman shook his head. "Shooting would never
take Jack away from New York; certainly not for
ten days. He's just — I think you understand.”
He regarded Mary keenly. “You know Jack's old
reputation; he used to show more speed than any
man who ever entered the Broadway Free-for-All.
He never cared much for song — but he was all for
the other two members of the old trio. The last
bottle was Jack's quitting place, and daybreak was
his bedtime."
"Well?" demanded Mary.
Loveman answered slowly. “There's a rumor
about that Jack's his old self once more; that se-
cretly he's been in New York all the while, and
that Broadway's got him again."
243


MARY REGAN
"I don't believe it!" cried Mary in a low voice.
“And I do," Loveman said solemnly -"though
I have no proof."
Clifford could see that Mary, gazing across at the
little lawyer, had turned very white. For all her
confident exterior, he guessed she now feared that
Jack had done just what Loveman had said.
“Well?" she challenged.
“If Jack has, - and I'm sure he has, - is n't it
perfectly plain that you can never make a respon-
sible man of him? And if you can't make a man of
him, it's perfectly plain that you can never put
your plan across.”
“Well?" repeated Mary...
Loveman leaned farther over the table and spoke
in a low voice — though Clifford got his every word.
“Drop the game, Mary. It's a dead one. There's
not one penny for you, or any one else, in trying to
play it further. Drop it, and come in on the basis
I spoke of a week or so ago.”
Mary's face gave no sign of what she might be
thinking. “Just what was that if you don't mind
outlining it again?”.
“First item: I don't need to remind you that
I'm retained by Mr. Morton to look after Jack;
say in a week I bring in a report that Jack has con-
tracted a secret marriage — which means a bill for
ten thousand for detective services, which I'll split
with you. Second item: he'll want a divorce; I'll
handle the case and get a big fee - that's where I
244


MARY REGAN
come in. You'll not fight, if he'll pay high enough;
that's where you clean up between a hundred thou-
sand and half a million - and being on the inside
I'll be in a position to tell you the top figure that
Morton will pay. And third item: freed of this mess,
and with Mrs. Jack Morton as your legal name,
there's no end to the big propositions I could put
across for and with you — you with your looks and
brains, and I with my inside knowledge of New
York domestic life. Big stuff - big, I tell you! I
could land you close to the top!" .
His enthusiasm, which had mounted as he spoke,
now abated to a tone of solid, unanswerable argu-
ment. “That's why I say to you to drop your
present impossible game, and come into these new
propositions."
She did not answer at once; so that he was led to
prompt her: “That's plain enough, is n't it, Mary?
that the thing to do is to stop thinking about
Jack and come in on these other lines?".
"Perhaps," she answered steadily. ."But first,
I've got to find out about Jack. I don't believe what
you believe."
"Well, I'm disappointed - though perhaps I.
don't blame you. But the proposition stands open."
With the philosophic sigh of the man to whom the
world has taught patience, he fell upon the remainder
of his half of the guinea-hen. Clifford saw him rub
his napkin twice across his mouth, place it upon
his knees, from where it slipped to the floor - which
245


MARY REGAN
may or may not have been a signal. But, at any rate,
the next moment a waiter, who had been standing
close at hand, opened the door of the nearest cabinet
particulier. “Did you ring?" he said, and stepping
inside left the door open. Mary's gaze, wandering
from her table-mate, went through the doorway,
and she saw, what Clifford also saw from his retreat:
Jack Morton, his features soddenly loose, leaning
in a stupor against the shoulder of a woman.
She stared fixedly at this picture so unexpectedly
enframed by the doorway; then involuntarily there
burst from her lips: -
“Good God - look!"
Loveman raised his eyes from his guinea-hen, and
followed her gaze. “Well — of all things!"
The waiter, coming out, closed the door, and
the brief picture was gone. Then Loveman turned
on Mary, his big eyes wide with amazement.
"That certainly is some jolt! Not that I'm sur-
prised at the fact — only surprised at our coming
on it like this."
Clifford saw that he regarded her keenly. She was
very pale and strained, but said nothing.
“Well, who guessed right?” he ventured after a
moment. Then, more confidently: “That ought to
settle matters, Mary. There's nothing else to it
- you're coming in on the new line.”
Again Mary did not speak. But for Loveman
there was no need for her to speak. Clifford easily
guessed what was passing in his mind. The danger
246


CHAPTER XXII
MARY MAKES AN OFFER
Mary, gazing at that little door, was, for all her
composed exterior, sick of soul: contrary emotions
and impulses clashed within her. A fury suddenly
possessed her. She had lost — been defeated in her
great plan by the invertebrateness of one man. Well,
Jack could go his champagne-bottled way to the in-
evitable end of such as he! She was through!...
And then she remembered Maisie Jones, admiring
tears in her proud eyes, and she recalled her trem-
bling words of belief:“You can do what I can never
do — you've proved that you can make a real man
of Jack.”
She rose quickly. “I'm going to get him," she
breathed huskily.
“Wait — you must n't!" cried Loveman in alarm,
starting up and clutching at her wrist.
But she eluded him, and made for the little door
of the cabinet particulier, he at her skirt — and Clif-
ford just behind them. What they all saw was a
tricksy, ornate room, lighted with imitation electric
candles; Jack now toppled forward limp and uncon-
scious among the dishes; and about the table Nina
Cordova, Hilton, that polished adventurer of the
smart hotels, and Nan Burdette, high-colored, bold-
eyed café favorite.
248


MARY. REGAN
Mary moved inside, Loveman at her heels. But
Clifford remained without, waiting. The situation
was Mary's — for her to face, for her to reveal her-
self by.
Mary stepped quickly forward and shook Jack's
shoulder. “Jack — wake up! Come on out of this!”
Jack, a limp weight, showed no life, but the other
three did. Nan Burdette sprang up..
"Stop that! What d' you think you're doing?"
Mary flamed at her — and at Nina Cordova -
and at Hilton. “I'm going to take him away from
you blood-suckers,” she said with cold fury.
"You call me that "the café beauty was be-
ginning angrily, when Nina Cordova, the petite,
rose and checked her. "Shut up, Nan!" She leaned
toward Mary, and spoke cuttingly, “Why, if it
is n't the little dame that Jack lived with, and got
tired of, and then gave the grand shake. Well, little
one, what are you going to do with your darling
sweetheart who loves you so much that he's run
away to avoid the sight of you?"
Mary's voice was chokingly composed. She re-
turned the other's ironical gaze with a glare of con-
tempt.
"I'm going to take him away from you people
- to where he can sober up — have a chance to
think about it all — become himself. That's what
I'm going to do."
“And what good 'll that do you?” pursued Nina
cuttingly — “since he's all through with you?"
249


MARY REGAN
“What he thinks of me has nothing to do with the
case,” Mary returned.
“Mary, it's no use — keep out of this!” cried
little Loveman. He took her arm to draw her away,
but she shook him off.
"I'm going to do exactly what I said I'd do.
Come on, Jack.”
“No, you're not!” Nina cried, suddenly sharp and
venomous, leaning farther across the table. “You
just try to start anything like that and I'll tell the
Mortons who you really are — Miss Mary Regan !”.
Hilton, finished gentleman of hotel, café, and
ballroom, had moved around the table to her side.
“And start anything, and I'll tell what I know," he
said in a hard voice, his hands twitching. “And it'll
be something besides what Miss Cordova will tell.
I believe you get me, Mrs. Mary Regan Grayson!”
“And we won't put off telling till to-morrow!"
cried Nina Cordova. She moved quickly to a little
wall telephone, tinted in gray-and-gold to match
the room, and took down the receiver.
“Give me the Biltmore.... The Biltmore? Con-
nect me with Mr. Morton. ... Mr. Morton, this is
Miss Cordova. Will you please hold the wire a mo-
ment."
She muffled the mouthpiece with a palm and
turned upon Mary. “Get out of this - or your
finish will come in just one second!”
Clifford's eyes, taking in all, were centered on
Mary, who was gazing at all these faces bent upon
250


MARY REGAN
her in menace. He saw that her impulses had come
to a sudden halt; that she realized that these persons
could, and would, do exactly what they threatened;
that their telling would mean an immediate end to
the ambitious plans for which she had schemed and
worked and waited so hard.
There was silence in the little cabinet particulier;
all the figures, save Jack's, stood in tense tableau —
waiting. Clifford, looking through the aperture of
the door, recognized that this was a climax in Mary
Regan's life. Events, with some guidance from
him had arranged a supreme test. The next instant
would prove something — what? He was as taut as
those within.
Mary, with slow calm, drew a deep breath; her
figure stiffened. “Mr. Hilton, Miss Cordova," she
said steadily, slowly, her eyes not leaving them, “you
may tell everything you like. I am going to take
Jack away from here."
At her words an exultant thrill leaped through
Clifford. She had had her choice — and had chosen
the way of her own destruction!
Mary put an arm under Jack's shoulders. “Stop
that!” cried Nina, in sudden fury, dropping the tele-
phone receiver and clutching the unconscious Jack,
so that he was torn away from Mary's arm. With
energetic fury she turned on Loveman. “Peter
Loveman, make her stop! You promised me, if I'd
come into this, you'd fix up a marriage between
Jack and me!" .
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MARY REGAN
“Shut up, Nina!" Loveman cut in sharply, in
half panic. “Mary," he cried, seizing her arm,
"come on — let's leave her - quick!"
But the lithe Hilton did not depend upon the in-
fluence of mere words. From somewhere out of his
elegant person he drew a small pistol, and this he
thrust against Mary's side.
“Get out of this,” he snapped, “or this gun goes
off! And we'll all swear it was suicide. The gun's
a lady's size, and suicides are common in joints like
this. Get out!”
Mary did not quiver — she looked Hilton squarely
in his handsome, evil face. At that instant Clifford
stepped swiftly into the room and closed the light
door behind him. The next instant he had wrenched
the pistol from Hilton's hand, and pocketed it, and
had seized both Hilton and Loveman by their col-
lars.
"Cut out that rough stuff, Hilton, or I finish you
off here!” he said. “And so, Loveman, I've got you
at it again?"
The little lawyer twisted about — gave Clifford
a startled stare — and then forced a smile intended
to be tolerant, but which was sickly. “Why, Bob,
I don't know a thing about this "
"Shut up!" snapped Clifford.
He turned to Mary, who was still bewildered by
his sudden appearance, and again the leaping thrill
went through him. “Mary, you've gone through
this great! Great, I tell you. And these people
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MARY REGAN
don't worry about them another minute. You've
won out!”
Mary stared at him, now breathing quickly. “I
don't quite -- understand.”
“You were not supposed to understand. There
has been a big, careful, subtle plan, - a plot de-
vised by Peter Loveman, — and you, without know-
ing it, were to have been the goat!"
“Oh, I say now, Bob!" protested Loveman;
"you're talking like a melodrama. Why should I
plot against Mary?”
“Why? Listen to your own words - you know
whom you said them to." And Clifford quoted,
driving his words savagely at Loveman: “Say,
but this is one hell of a situation! Here I went into
a game to clean up in three or four directions, rely-
ing chiefly on the criminal instincts of a clever girl
to see the game through — and, damn it, if the girl
has n't turned straight on me! Or, if she is playing
a crooked game, she's trying to play it straight.
And the original game is no good now — is sure to
fail. I want her to quit it, and come in on some other
big proposition; but she won't quit it- she still
dreams she can put it over. And if I openly block
her, she'll blow on herself and me, and break with
me, and that'll end everything. How's that for a
hell of a fix!' Remember saying that, Loveman?"
Loveman had paled. “I don't know what you're
talking about."
"And remember saying this, Loveman?" Clif-
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MARY REGAN
ford drove at him: “I've got to have Mary Regan
with us. But the only way out of this mess is to
handle affairs so as to make her believe, from her own
experience, that she can't succeed in her respectable
game — then she'll come around to our way of
thinking, and she'll try to clean up with us. And
there's only one way to reach her — and that's
through Jack Morton.""
Clifford turned sharply upon Mary. “Is n't it
clear to you now? — Jack's disappearance and all
the rest? Loveman was determined your plan with
Jack Morton should not go ahead. Since he did n't
dare openly oppose you, he concluded that the best
scheme to defeat you would be to get hold of Jack
and handle him so that he would give himself over
completely to dissipation — that would show you
how hopeless your plan was, and you'd drop it.
You've been framed, and Jack's been framed; and
this wine party in here was part of the frame-up;
and Loveman's letting you have a glimpse, as if by
chance, of Jack in here, a hopeless débauché, was to
have been the clinching argument that would make
you give up and join in with him." .
"Clifford,” blustered Loveman, "everything you
have just said is a lie! — and Mary knows it."
"Loveman," returned Clifford in grim wrath,
“even though you are a small man, I'd hit you in
the face if I did n't think it might improve your
features.” He turned again to Mary. “Hilton and
Nan Burdette have been Loveman's chief tools for
254


MARY REGAN
keeping Jack drunk and out of sight; they're both
experts at such business. Miss Cordova has been in
it to help out in some of the finer points; she's an
old-time friend of Jack, and you've just learned of
an ambition of her own. That's the case, Miss Re-
gan. I don't feel like praising Jack, but it's only
fair to him to emphasize that he's not here because
he tired of you, as they've tried to make you think.
I want you to understand clearly that Jack is the
victim of this smooth bunch; that whatever he felt
toward you two weeks ago, he doubtless still feels;
that whatever he then was, he probably still is.”
“A lot of good that'll do her, when I tell what I
know!" burst out the infuriated Miss Cordova.
“And I can tell a little that will help," grimly
added Nan Burdette.
There was a glitter in Hilton's dark eyes, and he
bared his white teeth. “And what I've got to tell
will jam up her game even worse! You and she are
not going to get away with this!”
“The three of you are going to say exactly noth-
ing! Nan Burdette," — with sudden incisiveness,
-"I know your part in that Gordon affair. Miss
Cordova, I've got more than a hunch about that
pearl necklace Mrs. Sinclair gave her husband to
have repaired and which strangely disappeared. And,
Hilton, I've got a lead about a certain lady who
fainted — she really drank drugged tea — at an
afternoon dance at the Grantham and whose dia-
mond brooch was not afterwards found. I'd run
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MARY REGAN
every one of you in this minute - only I'd rather
keep things quiet and give Miss Regan her chance
to do just as she pleases concerning Jack Morton.
But if there is one word — and I'll know it, if there
is — if there's one word from any of you that
touches on Miss Regan, I'll get every one of you!"
He turned sharply on Loveman. “These are
your people, Peter Loveman; working under your
orders. You tell them to keep their mouths closed
about Miss Regan; if there's a peep, something
very unexpected is also going to happen to you."
“See here, Clifford,” protested Loveman, “I've
no control over them!"
"Believe it or not, Loveman, but I've got you,
too," Clifford retorted sharply, “only I'd rather
not close in on you just yet unless you make me.
You'll give them that order and see that they obey
it, or you'll get what you'll get!"
Loveman gazed for a moment longer into Clif-
ford's set face. Then with a feeble attempt at a
pleasant smile he turned to the others:
“I guess you all understand that I'd like to have
you do as Mr. Clifford says."
"That's all," said Clifford sharply. “Now, get
out of here - all of you. You can settle your bills
outside. I give you just one minute."
Within the minute they were gone. Mary and
Clifford, alone in the little room, Jack still pitched
unconsciously forward upon the table, looked at
each other for a long space. Despite the fake Ha-
256


MARY REGAN
waiian music and the laughter of the mixed world
of Le Minuit, which sounded through the thin par-
titions, there was in reality a deep silence between
them.
“I want to thank you — I want to thank you very
much," breathed Mary, at length.
He seemed not to hear her halting words. “Do
you know what is the really big thing about all this?"
“What?”
He spoke very quickly. “By your action a few
minutes ago, you proved that you are not wholly
the worldly person you thought you were. The risks
you then took were not to save your ambitious
plan; you took them to save Jack. You forgot your-
self. Through your own scheming Life placed a re-
sponsibility on you — and you accepted it. That
is the big thing!"
She stared at him, bewildered questioning in her
pale, dark face. He saw that she still did not under-
stand herself - the impulses which had moved her
- and which might still be moving her. For a mo-
ment she did not speak. Then she asked, looking
down at Jack:-
“But what am I to do now?"
“That is for you to decide. When you have de-
cided, I'll help you."
"If I take Jack from here " She broke off; and
stood gazing thoughtfully at the stupefied boy.
“It would do no good unless - unless —"
Again she left her sentence uncompleted. The
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MARY REGAN
insistent ringing of the little telephone, whose re-
ceiver was still dangling, caught her attention. She
walked with a manner of decision to the telephone.
"Central, please get me the Biltmore," she re-
quested steadily. “This the Biltmore? Please con-
nect me with Mr. Morton. ... Is this Mr. Mor-
ton? Mr. Morton, this is Mrs. Grayson — Miss
Gilmore, you know. I am now at Le Minuit. I
wonder if you would care to meet me here. ...
Very well, in ten minutes, then. I'll be waiting in
a taxi-cab down in front. ... My answer to your
invitation? Yes — if you want my answer, I'll
have it ready."
She hung up.
“He was referring to that cruise with him?".
asked Clifford.
“Yes."
Clifford regarded her curiously: What was her pur-
pose in summoning Mr. Morton into this situation?
“I want to get Jack down into a taxi-cab," Mary
went on. “How can I do it? — and without at-
tracting attention?".
“That's easy. Nothing of that sort attracts at-
tention at Le Minuit.”.
He pressed a button, and from the waiter who
appeared he demanded the immediate presence of
Monsieur Le Bain. Two minutes later the proprie-
tor entered.
“Joe," Clifford ordered briefly, “get Mr. Mor-
ton's things, whatever they are, and have two of
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MARY REGAN
your waiters help him down into a taxi, and have
the taxi wait till we come down. Everything quiet,
mind you."
"Sure,” said the Frenchman from somewhere
below Fourteenth Street.
Presently two waiters supported the still stupe-
fied Jack out of the room; a little later Clifford
and Mary passed unheeded through the hilarious
patrons of Le Minuit, down the stairway, and
across the light-flooded sidewalk out into the wait-
ing taxi-cab, in one corner of which Jack huddled
limply. Here they sat silent, waiting. Clifford had
a sense that it was not the old Mary Regan beside
whom he sat - but that new Mary Regan who did
not know herself: and he had a sense that, with her
at least, big issues were still at stake.
Presently another taxi rapidly turned the corner
and came to a pause just behind them. Out of this
the elder Morton stepped.
“Wait here for a moment, please," Mary said to
Clifford. She stepped out upon the brilliant side-
walk — and Clifford looked on, wondering.
"Oh, Miss Gilmore!” cried Morton, swiftly com-
ing to her with an eager, expectant smile. "You
were an angel to call me up-after not letting me
see you for so long! Though,” he quickly added in
soft complaint, “it was n't very kind of you to run
away from me as you did.”
“You advised me to leave the Grantham," she
reminded him.
were
259


MARY REGAN
sighted the limp, exhausted figure. Then he saw
Clifford. “You, Clifford!” he exclaimed sharply.
“Where'd you find him?"
Clifford stepped from the car. “I did n't find
him. Miss Gilmore found him.”
Morton turned swiftly upon Mary. “So you've
broken your promise and had him all this time!"
he cried harshly. “You brought him to this!"
"Hold on, Mr. Morton," Clifford shot in. “Miss
Gilmore had not seen him till to-night. To-night
she found him in the drunken company he's been
in for ten days. She got him away from them and
sent for you. The least a gentleman — particularly a
gentleman who has taken such poor care of his son
- can do under the conditions is to try to apolo-
gize." .
Morton glowered at Clifford. “If that's the case,
of course, I apologize. But the question is, where's
he been all this time?"
“It seems to me," put in Mary in the same quiet
voice, “that the most important question is, what
are you going to do with him?".
"Do with him?" demanded Morton, staring at
her. “What's in your mind?”
Clifford had been, and still was, asking himself
those same questions.
Mary, standing between the two men, gazed very
calmly at Mr. Morton. “You've had Jack in charge
for twenty-five years and in there you see your
work. He was with me awhile; during that short
261


MARY REGAN
time he tried to be, and was, a man. It's up to you
to choose.”
Morton stared – blinked his eyes - drew a deep
breath. “Am I getting you right? Are you suggest-
ing that Jack come back to you?"
Clifford now began to understand; though he had
no idea — nor perhaps did she, for that matter, - of
the degree to which she was moved by the tearful
figure of Maisie Jones, breathing, “You are big —
wonderful!"
“I think I might make a man of him," she said.
“You mean to resume on the old basis — the dis-
creet Riverside Drive affair - and all that?”
“Just that. I'll do my best for him — provided
he comes with your knowledge and consent."
He gazed at her intently. “You're a new kind to
me!" Then, dryly: "No, thank you."
"I shall never ask you for a single thing," she
urged.
He gazed at her, hesitating. It was not given to
any of the trio to see then what a moment of great
crisis this was. It was like the apex of so many of
Life's crises — very quiet, very composed.
“No, thank you,” Mr. Morton said with decision.
"I have other plans for him. I shall now handle him
myself."
"Just as you say. But remember, I made you
an offer." Her calm expression did not change by
a flicker. “Under the circumstances, the simplest
arrangement would be for us merely to exchange
262


CHAPTER XXIII
LOVEMAN'S FINAL PLEA
As the taxi-cab spun northward through the two-
o'clock streets, Clifford continued to gaze at the
taut figure of Mary Regan, and at her white, set
face. It had certainly been an hour to try her soul,
that experience ending a few minutes since at the
Midnight Café.
To Clifford it seemed that all Mary's shrewd
scheming had brought her up at last against an un-
surmountable wall. Again Clifford wondered what
was passing behind that pale face: wondered what
was going to be the ending of her great worldly plan,
which thus far had had so many undreamed-of de-
velopments: wondered how all this tangled affair was
going to come out for her — and again wondered
which of the two persons he knew in her was to be
the dominant Mary Regan when this matter had
played itself through to its unguessable conclusion.
The taxi-cab halted, and Clifford escorted her to
the door of her apartment house.
“What are you going to do next, if you don't mind
telling?” he asked.
"I don't know yet — perhaps nothing," she said
absently. And then, with quiet vigor: “Jack's not
to blame so much for what he is. It's chiefly his
264


MARY REGAN
father's fault. I wish I could make his father pay!"
Her dark eyes flashed, her figure tensed with sudden
purpose. “Yes, somehow I am going to make his
father pay!”
She held out her hand, and gave him a steady
look. “At any rate, I want to thank you. You've
done all you could for me. Good-night.”
“Good-night."
He watched her in — this strange, confident
young woman, so tangled in the web of her own
spinning, whom he had drifted into so strangely
helping, and whom, though she could now have
no part in his life, he knew he still loved. But back
in the taxi-cab, his mind at once was on another
matter. He had glimpsed Peter Loveman lurking
within the doorway during the end of that scene in
front of Le Minuit; and he knew that keen little
lawyer was no man to give up merely because he
seemed to be beaten. In fact Loveman would act
all the more quickly for just that reason.
Clifford drove two blocks to the south, a block
west, and a block north, then, ordering his cab to
wait, he stepped out and walked north to the next
corner. He peered around this and waited. Pres-
ently he saw what he more than half expected to
see — Loveman crossing from a taxi to the entrance
of Mary's apartment house. He saw him press
Mary's button, and after a space saw Loveman
push open the door and enter.
Clifford tried to guess what plan the little lawyer,
265


MARY REGAN
whose wiles he had exposed to Mary only an hour
before at Le Minuit, could regard as so important
that it had to be undertaken at two o'clock in the
morning, without the loss of a single possible minute.
He wanted to slip down the street, enter the house,
and try to watch and overhear; but the chauffeur in
Loveman's waiting taxi might also be Loveman's
lookout and personal guard. There was nothing for
it but to wait where he was and watch.
Within, up on the fourth floor, Mary stood out-
side her open door, looking down into the dark,
narrow stairway, with its sharp turns and tiny land-
ings. When the dim, mounting figure started up the
last flight and she saw it was Loveman, she drew
sharply back and tried to close her door. But Love-
man, quick despite his plump figure, sprang up the
final steps and thrust his walking-stick into the clos-
ing aperture. He tried to force the door with his
shoulder, but Mary's strength on the other side was
fully equal to his own and the door did not budge. He
desisted, but kept the advantage held by his walk-
ing-stick.
“Come, Mary, my dear, don't be so inhospitable,"
he said through the crack, in a pleasantly com-
plaining voice. “You know, I would n't have come
at such an hour unless it was important. And you
know I'm your friend."
The door did not move.
“This is a raw way to treat your old nurse and
playmate," complained Loveman. “Particularly
266


MARY REGAN
when I've come to tell you something that it's your
business to know — something about Jack."
There was a moment's silence. Then suddenly
the door swung wide open, and Loveman found
himself looking at a small automatic and beyond that
at the cold face of Mary.
“Come in, but behave yourself," she said briefly.
He entered and closed the door. “Your suspicion
hurts me, Mary, dear," he said in his amiably in-
jured tone. He raised his two hands, one holding the
cane and the other his silk hat, high above his shining
dome. “Just to allay your suspicions, so we can talk
as good friends should talk, I suggest that you first
frisk me."
"Don't be a fool, and don't try to be humorous.
Put down your hands. I don't care how many guns
you have — I can beat you to the first shot — and
there'll be only one shot. What do you want?"
Loveman lowered his hands and laid stick and
hat upon a table. "Mind if an asthmatic, dropsical,
and almost moribund gentleman sits down while he
talks?" He eased himself into a chair without wait-
ing her consent. "Sit down, too, Mary. If you're
going to murder me, let's make it a comfortable
affair for both of us."
She took a chair, and sat alert with automatic
held in her lap. “What do you want?" she re-
peated.
“First?" he replied with a smile of amiable frank-
ness, “I've got to say that on the surface you do
267


MARY REGAN
upon your making a man out of Jack. Mary, -
I'm talking straight goods now, -- I saw you could
never make a man out of Jack. Nobody could or
can. The stuff's not there. I saw you were headed
toward certain failure - and wasting good months,
and big chances, in trying to put your grand dream
across. I told you all this and tried to talk you
out of it, but you would n't listen to me. So I de-
cided to try to prove my point by showing you the
facts. I decided to frame you.
"To-night, I let you stumble across, as if by ac-
cident, Jack chloroformed by grape juice and in
the company of those ladies. I admit I helped lead
Jack into that. But I hoped you would see it as the
real thing, see how hopeless any dream was that
was based on making a man of Jack — and that
you would quit the game right there. But my little
act was a fizzle. Still, Mary,'' - and the little law-
yer's voice was persuasively emphatic, — “even
though Jack was led into this to-night, the picture
you saw of him, that wine and woman stuff, is an
honest-to-God picture of what Jack will be in a few
months. Broadway has n't yet got him completely
- but Broadway is going to get him! I'm telling
you, Mary!"
Mary's face was expressionless. “You did n't
come here merely to deliver that speech, Peter
Loveman.”
“Naturally, there is something else." His round,
large eyes regarded her meditatively; then he leaned
269


MARY REGAN
put you wise to the very limit he'll pay. What you
get there will be all your own; I'll get mine out of
handling Mr. Morton's end. And that business all
settled, and you with the name of Mrs. Jack Morton
- why, there's nothing big we could n't put across
as team-mates! And everything safe - and every-
thing big! And a little later, if you wanted it, I
could, by watching chances and playing the cards
right, help you make a marriage that would be a
headliner in regard to wealth and respectability and
position. Don't you see it all!"
She saw it, and it was a dazzling vision of its own
kind. Moreover, she knew this shrewd little lawyer
could bring it all to pass. And among other things
his plan offered was the definite and immediate
chance to strike vengefully at Mr. Morton, who an
hour before had so coolly rebuffed her when, swayed
by unaccustomed emotion, she had made him the
proposal to devote herself to Jack.
At length she spoke. “That was another good
speech, Peter,” she said quietly, “but you did n't
come here merely to deliver that speech either.
Just what is the big thing that's in your mind?”
“Why, that you should drop your present game,
instanter, and switch to something worth while.”
“That's not what brought you here between two
and three o'clock in the morning," she insisted
steadily.
He shifted slightly. “It's like this, Mary,” he said
abruptly, changing from his persuasive tone - "you
271


MARY REGAN
and I went into this thing together, and I hope
we're going to stick it out together along the lines
I've just suggested. But matters took such a twist
with to-night's events that I had to know defin-
itely, at once, whether you were going to work
along with me."
"And that's the question you really want an-
swered?"
“It is. And I'm hoping your answer is going to
be 'yes.""
“I do not know what I am going to do," she said
quietly, her dark eyes fixed upon his large blue ones.
“But whatever I do, I shall do alone and exactly as
I please.”
He slowly wet his full, loose lips. “Is that
final?"
"It is." .
“You mean that you are going to leave me out
of it."
"I am not going to think of you one way or the
other.” She stood up. “If that is all you came for,
I suggest you now say good-night.”
His soft hands gripped the arms of his chair.
Fury flamed within him; words of menace surged to
his lips. But Peter Loveman never had more self-
possession than when his situation was most danger-
ous - and dangerous he certainly now felt it to be.
So as he rose he smiled with good-natured regret.
"I'm sorry it's all off, Mary; it would have
been big for us both. But you have the right to
272


MARY REGAN
do as you choose. Well, good luck to you - and
good-night.”
With a look of almost fatherly benignity, Love-
man went out. Mary suspected that regretful,
genial smile but she thought of it only for a mo-
ment, for the next instant her mind was on other
things. She switched out her lights, and stepping
to a window she looked out into the deep silence of
the night.
What should she do? At last she was alone face
to face with her life's greatest crisis. She had played
for big game — for wealth and worldly position -
and she had played daringly - and now, at the
end, after all her time and bold dreams and care
and cleverness, it seemed that she had lost, and
lost finally, unalterably. And after all, even had
she won, would the winning have been worth the
while? ...
And then there was a resurgence of that self-con-
fidence, that determination, which were such strong
elements of her nature. Should she not make one last
desperate effort to carry through her plan, despite
them all? Her resentment toward Jack's cold,
worldly father suddenly flamed high. Just to balk
the older Morton she would like to save Jack and
win out herself.
But how might it be done? ... Almost uncon-
sciously her mind began to revert with nervous in-
tensity to certain methods of that period spent under
the influence of her father and later of her uncle Joe
273


MARY REGAN
- that period of artful criminality that she had
long thought of as forever ended. By use of her old
skill she might so outwit Jack's father, might so
involve him, that he would gladly come to terms.
She stood there in the silent dark, thinking fever-
ishly.


CHAPTER XXIV
TWO PLEASANT GENTLEMEN
WHEN Clifford saw Loveman leave the apartment
house and cross rapidly to his cab, he waited to see
no more. His next move, as he had planned it, was
based upon conjecture, and it had to be executed
without a lost moment. He ran back to his waiting
taxi-cab, gave the chauffeur Loveman's address, and
thrust a ten-dollar bill into the man's hands.
“Keep the change, and forget the speed laws,"
Clifford exclaimed as he sprang in.
Five minutes later the rocking machine turned
into Loveman's street. Save for his own car, the
street was empty. Not waiting for the machine to
slow down, Clifford called “Beat it!” to the chauf-
feur, leaped to the curb and walked rapidly into
Loveman's apartment house. At the end of the cor-
ridor a negro youth lay loosely a-sprawl and snoring
on the telephone switchboard, and the elevator
door stood open. The sight reassured Clifford on
one point: he had beaten Loveman to his home-
that is, if Loveman's purpose had been to come
home.
Noiselessly, Clifford crossed to the stairway beside
the elevator and ran up flight after flight, until he
came breathlessly to the twelfth floor, the floor above
275


MARY REGAN
“There's no telling where his wires run. Besides,
there's not time. There's a chance that he may be
trailing me here —".
“Come on, then," snapped the brusque voice of
Bradley. “If he comes up, let's croak him. Leave
your door open and we can pull him in here and do
the job. Then you can say he got into your flat and
you shot him in self-defense, thinking he was a
burglar."
Voices ceased; footsteps crossed the room below.
Removing the annunciator, Clifford slipped out into
the hallway and cautiously peered down the well
of the stairway. On Loveman's landing he saw two
shadowy, crouching figures, and in the hand of the
lawyer he saw a dim something which he knew to be
a pistol. Instinctively he drew his automatic and
waited.
Five minutes passed – ten minutes. The figures
below still maintained their moveless ambuscade.
Every moment Clifford expected them to turn their
suspicion and their search upwards; in that event,
with that pair in their present mood, it would mean
bullets to the finish. Clifford did not wish such a
turn to the situation, even were he to come out the
victor; he wanted to carry this case much further,
to have much more direct evidence of the practices
of the pair, before the end should come. But he held
himself tensely ready.
But his foresight and quick action had saved him
an encounter: the pair thought only of the possibil.
277


MARY REGAN
ity that Clifford might have followed Loveman, and
never that he might have preceded Loveman here.
Presently, a low voice ascended to him — Brad-
ley's.
“Guess he's not trailed you, Loveman. Come on,
I want the dope on what happened to-night. Clifford
can't have your whole joint wired; let's go into your
bathroom — he can't have touched that."
They withdrew and a moment later Clifford heard
a door close. He slipped down, waited a space at
Loveman's door, and then, after a few moments' ma-
nipulation with a skeleton key, he noiselessly opened
it and softly stepped inside. The hallway was dark,
but at one end was an open door from which light
streamed. Toward this he slipped with a cat's tread,
and peeped in. He saw the bathroom, as large as an
ordinary New York bedroom, finished in marble and
white-tile, and in it sat little Loveman and the big-
chested Bradley.
In a low voice Loveman briefly outlined the
fiasco of their careful scheme at Le Minuit. Bradley
swore - and Clifford was the chief object of his
guttural fury.
'“What we goin' to do next?"
“I've done one thing already. I beat it straight to
Mary Regan.”
"What for?"
“She's too good a thing to lose if we can hold
her; so I tried to con her into believing I'd framed
her for her own good. But that's not the real reason
278


MARY REGAN
- the big reason.” Loveman's usually smooth
voice was now nervous and tense. “Don't you see
the fix she's got me in? She knows enough about
me to get me disbarred, if she cared to talk — and
perhaps get me a prison sentence on top of it —
and perhaps get you sent away, too. So I simply
had to have her on our side, if I could get her."
“Well, what did she say?"
“She turned me down cold - said she was through
with me."
Again Bradley swore. “Well, if you're afraid of
her, why don't you beat her to that big stiff Morton
— tell him who she is and what she's done? You
can get away with it."
“Telling Morton has got to be my last move.
It's too dangerous — I might implicate myself.'
“Well, what you going to do?”.
"My chief business has got to be Mary Regan,"
Loveman answered grimly - "fixing her so she
can't hurt me, and doing it quick.”
“You mean croaking her?"
“That raw stuff don't go with me, Bradley. I'm
not so tired that I'm willing to run the risk of sit-
ting in the electric chair up at Sing Sing."
“There's a lot of things besides being croaked
that can happen to a woman in this town," said
Bradley. “The way that Mrs. Dormer case was
worked ain't so bad; it's always good for a re-
peat. Mysterious disappearance until the danger
is over. You can always handle a woman so she 'l
279


MARY REGAN
have nothing much to say about the time she was
missing."
“Too risky."
“How about smearing her? That would help
some, if it was done proper."
“I don't know what it's going to be yet — but
it's going to be something mighty soon." He spoke
with nervous incisiveness. “With you and Hilton
and Nan Burdette and Nina Cordova, there'll be
plenty of people. Your first job will be to keep Mary
Regan covered night and day, so we can act the
minute we're ready. I'll have something doped out
by morning, and I'll let you know. Come on, let's
see if there is n't a cold bottle in the ice-chest."
Clifford stole swiftly and noiselessly out. Fifteen
minutes later he was calling his name through Mary
Regan's door; and after a ten minutes' wait he was
in her presence. During those minutes he had done
much thinking.
“Do you still control the lease to the apartment
you had in the Mordona?” he asked quietly.
She was bewildered. “Yes. Jack and I took it
until the first of October. Why?"
“Then you still have a key to the apartment?"
“Yes.”
“How much baggage do you have here? Not
much, I hope."
"A steamer trunk, and a bag.".
“Pack them. In half an hour you move back to
the Mordona.”
280


MARY REGAN
“Back to the Mordona!” she exclaimed. “What
for?"
He told her something of the formless danger in
which she stood. “To be safe for the present, you've
got to be where no one will find you. And the Mor-
dona is about the last place any one will look for
you. I'll get a car from Headquarters to move you,
and you'll leave no trail from here."
There was rapid packing - a silent carrying-
down of baggage – a ride through the night in a
car that could be traced from no taxi station - and
Mary Regan was once more in the apartment in the
Mordona, where, months before, her glowing dream
had changed to a sober, patient, cautious struggle to
re-make Jack Morton into a man.


MARY REGAN
Then Uncle George permitted his bald left eyelid
to droop in a slight wink.
"Son, I been doing a little private blood-hounding
- in my own special delicate motor-truck fashion.
The czar and the little czarovitch have fled from
the capital to Siberia.”
“Meaning who?"
“Meaning Mr. Morton and one freshly recovered
son.”
Clifford was at once interested. “You talked with
them?"
“Yes. Over at the Biltmore. The father don't
suspect how good I am - therefore he does n't
mind chinning with me a bit when we meet.”
“Where are they going? — what are they going
to do? Did he tell you?".
“Son, my intellect may not be, what it once was,
but a gentleman does n't have to tell me anything
for me to know what he's going to do. We talked
baseball; I was willing to put two bits on the
Giants to win the pennant next season - from
which I learned that Mr. Morton was going to beat
it far from the night-blooming anemone of Broad-
way and the tender folk-songs of the cabarets-
and that he was going to give his only offspring the
advantage of his direct, undivided, and unsleeping
personal attention.”
Clifford nodded. This fitted in with Mr. Morton's
determination announced the night before in front
of Le Minuit when he had refused Mary's offer -
283


MARY REGAN
his cool decision that he was now going to handle
Jack. Well, he was a master at directing men, at
bending them to his will; now that he had set him-
self to the task, perhaps he might also really manage
Jack.
Though Mr. Morton was out of the city, Clifford
privately kept watch on Mary, half expecting that
her pride and her temperish self-confidence would
get the better of her caution and impel her into that
vaguely hinted action against Jack's father. He
tried to think out what course might be brewing in
her mind. He remembered that Mr. Morton, ignor-
ant of her true relationship to Jack, had tried to
make love to her the passing love of a worldly
man; and he knew that Mary was capable of play-
ing any part. She might, in her desire to even mat-
ters with Mr. Morton, and reckless of herself and
her own name, lead him on, always eluding him,
until — well, there was no guessing what Mary,
bitter and reckless, might attempt. But whatever
she might try, she would carry through.
Also — with the help of Lieutenant Jimmie Kelly,
and the confidential aid of Commissioner Thorne ---
he privately watched Bradley and Loveman, alert
for signs of attempt to carry out their self-protecting
scheme against Mary. But Mary's hiding was a
temporary check alike to herself and the two men,
and the next development in this complicated human
drama was to have its inception in another quarter.
Uneventful weeks passed; spring grew into sum-
284


MARY REGAN
met; and then one evening Clifford was surprised
with a message from Mr. Morton asking him to call
at once at the Biltmore. Clifford went to the Bilt-
more, wondering what lay behind this unexpected
summons. Mr. Morton admitted him to his sitting-
room and asked him to be seated.
There was a litter of mail upon the table — evi-
dently an accumulation of correspondence that had
not been forwarded. As Clifford sat down his eyes
were caught and sharply arrested by an open letter.
He recognized the writing - it was Mary's; and
almost before he knew what he was doing he had
read this fragment:-
I have been thinking your suggestion all over - and
possibly, possibly, if it were repeated
Mr. Morton, who had followed Clifford's eyes,
reached sharply forward, and snatched up the letter.
“Pardon my seeing it — I could n't help it," said
Clifford. And then:“ I remember you offered to take
the writer of that letter on a very private cruise. I
suppose she has now consented?".
“That's none of your business!" snapped Mr.
Morton, pocketing the letter.
So, then, Mary did have some plan under way!
"Mr. Clifford," Mr. Morton said abruptly, then
paused. Clifford now perceived that the usually
composed and masterful financier was in a state of
nerves which he was trying his utmost to control.
“Mr. Clifford, some time ago I asked you to help me
285


MARY REGAN
with my son. I have sent for you to ask you that
again."
"Help you!" Clifford wanted a bit of information
on a certain point, so he pretended a greater ignor-
ance than was actually his. “Why, I supposed you
had taken Jack off, braced him up, and brought
about the marriage you once told me was your chief
desire for Jack— to Miss Maisie Jones. I supposed
Jack and she were on their honeymoon.”
“That affair is all off,” the father said briefly.
“What! Definitely?”
“Her aunt wrote saying that Maisie no longer
cared for Jack. I wrote to Maisie, and she con-
firmed it. She was unchangeable."
So, then, Maisie Jones had fulfilled her promise
to Mary.
“To repeat,” Mr. Morton went on, “I have sent
for you to ask you again to help me with Jack."
"My answer now must be the same as when you
asked help of me before: I can't say until I know
the situation. And even then I must reserve the
privilege to act as I think best.”.
“All right. Have it your own way.”
“First, tell me what has happened since you took
charge of Jack that night at Le Minuit?"
“I took him to a mountain hotel in Maine, hoping
that away from all his old associates I could manage
him more easily. But he kept me awake night and
day, and even then he was always eluding nte and
finding road-houses where the prohibition law did n't
286


MARY REGAN
me & Somewher day he .
exist. Yesterday he got away altogether. I know
he's somewhere in New York. I want you to help
me find him."
“I thought you had Mr. Bradley retained for such
service."
“I have, and I've already notified him. But I
don't trust Mr. Bradley as far as I once did. That's
why I'm asking you to help. Will you?"
Clifford felt the irony of it — that he should once
more be called in to save the man Mary Regan had
married instead of himself. But he nodded.
“That may be easy enough if Jack is in any of
the regular joy-joints. But it will be hard if any
of the sharps have got him in tow. Come on.”
Leading the way, Clifford began a careful search
of the gayer restaurants of Broadway. He picked
up Lieutenant Jimmie Kelly. The search was rapid,
for it had not to go beyond the entrances; Clifford
knew the door-men and managers of every resort,
and Jack Morton was a well-known figure to all. To
them Clifford put the same question — “Young
Mr. Morton in here?" — and all answered honestly,
having a very substantial fear of Clifford and Jimmie
Kelly, and an earnest desire to retain their licenses.
At length, toward one o'clock, they came to Le
Minuit; and of the proprietor, Monsieur Le Bain,
Clifford asked the usual question. Monsieur Le Bain
replied that Jack was there, and led the way through
the din of his “authentic Hawaiian orchestra" and
the hilarity of his hundreds of pleasure-fevered
287


MARY REGAN
guests, down a little corridor off his "imperial ball-
room.” He started to open the door at the end of
this little hallway, — the door to his most exclusive
private room, — but Clifford checked his hand.
“Need n't bother, Le Bain, — you can go on
back," said Clifford. “And, Jimmie," - to the
little lieutenant, as Le Bain went gliding away, -
“I wish you'd hang around, where you won't be
noticed much, so you'll be handy if needed."
“All right, Bob,” returned Lieutenant Jimmie.
Clifford opened the door and pressed the elder
Morton ahead of him into a dining-room of gray-
and-gold. What he saw was almost the same as he
had seen in Le Minuit many weeks before: here were
Nina Cordova, Nan Burdette, Hilton, and Jack -
the only difference being that Jack, then in a stupor,
was now joyously maudlin.
"Why, h’lo, dad,” he said, swaying up, a hand-
some, flushed, boyish figure. “Welcome home! Pull
up chair, have li'l ole drink, 'n' meet m' frien's.
'N' there's Clifford - good ole scout Clifford — meet
m' frien's. Everybody have 'nother li'l'ole drink."
The other three had risen. “I'll take it as a
favor if you'll all say good-night," Mr. Morton said
shortly. “I want to speak to my son.”
"So do we," returned Nina Cordova in her most
pertly charming manner, which she figured as irre-
sistible. "Jack invited us to his little party, and
we're not going to insult the dear boy by walking
out on him."
288


MARY REGAN
“Get out all of you!" Mr. Morton's jaws
snapped together.
"See here, we don't stand for that line of talk,
and we're not going," bristled Hilton.
Clifford caught Hilton by the wrist, and gave the
arm a twist that made the man drop sidewise to one
knee and groan. “You are all going, and, Hilton,
you go first," - and he thrust him through the
door. He turned to Nan Burdette, and the star of
the long-faded “Orange Blossoms.” “If you two
want to avoid trouble," he said shortly, "you'll fol-
low Mr. Hilton right out."
They glowered at Clifford, but started to obey.
“See here," hiccoughed young Morton, “f my
frien's go, I go too," - and he swayed toward the
door.
But Clifford sharply closed the door upon the
pair, blocked Jack's way, and laid a detaining hand
upon Jack's shoulder. “Stay with me, Jack," he said,
“and we'll have that little old drink together."
"Don'wan' drink with you. Goin' with m'
frien's.”
A stubborn, vicious look had come into Jack's
face, a look that Clifford knew meant trouble. “Just
one little old drink, Jack, and then you can go with
your friends."
Jack regarded Clifford's impeding figure, and
grinned cunningly. “All ri' — jus' one drink."
"He's already had too damned much,” growled
the elder Morton.
289


MARY REGAN
Clifford gave the father an imperative, knowing
look, pushed Jack down into his chair, and pressed
a button. “Send Monsieur Le Bain," he said to the
answering waiter; and to Jack: “I'm going to order
the drinks, Jack, and we're going to switch to high-
balls — and we're going to see if this dump has
some Scotch that's really Scotch."
As Le Bain appeared, Clifford stepped quickly to
the door, spoke in a low voice, and returned to the
table. Presently Le Bain himself entered with three
glasses which he set down in careful order before the
men, and then withdrew.
“Here's how," said Clifford, and sipped his glass.
Jack tossed his down and rose unsteadily.
“Now, guess I'll go find m'frien's,” he de-
clared.
“Not yet, Jack," – and Clifford pushed him
again back into place. “There's going to be one
more round, and it's on you. I gave Le Bain the
order."
Mr. Morton, not touching his glass, sharply
watched the two. Jack grinned cunningly at Clif-
ford; then his face became vacuous, heavy; and then
he slumped forward, and head and shoulders lay
inertly among the wine-glasses and the dishes of
the interrupted supper.
“What's happened to him?" the father asked
sharply.
“Doped.”
“Doped? What for?"
290


MARY REGAN
“Did n't you see there was no handling him in the
mood he was in? Le Bain keeps his own knock-out
drops for use on customers who become obstreper-
ous — and I ordered him to fix Jack's drink. The
dose is light — it won't hurt him.” Clifford ab-
ruptly changed the subject. “Well, you've got
Jack. What are you going to do with him?"
Mr. Morton did not answer; his proud, powerful
face, now pale, was fixed upon his son. Clifford also
shifted his gaze to the huddled figure. Despite
everything, Clifford really liked this good-natured
piece of driftwood which washed so irresponsibly
upon this great tide of pleasure. But what he felt
most strongly at this moment was the ironical
caprice of Destiny, which had enlarged so minor
and will-less a figure, a mere pawn in this big
human game, into so all-important a factor in Mary
Regan's life, and his own — and in the designs of
many persons.
Clifford turned to the father. “Well — what
next?” he prompted.
"I wish to God I knew!" Mr. Morton burst out,
his reserve suddenly leaving him. “See what he's
come to! See what he's done to himself!"
“He did n't do it - at least not all," Clifford said
quietly.
“Who did, then?".
“Several persons — but chiefly his father."
"His father!" An angry flush tinted the older
man's cheeks.
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MARY REGAN
"Jack was not unusually bad or weak, and he was
naturally most likable. He would have turned out
well enough if his father had trained him right from
the start and placed a man's responsibilities —"
“I don't want to hear any damned sermon!” the
other interrupted. “What's done, is done! I've got
to face the present. I've done all I can to save him
- and I've failed!"
He paused, then went on in savage desperation.
“And if anything is going to be done, it's got to be
done quick! I've controlled him, to an extent, by
controlling his money. But a fool aunt of his died
the other day, and left him a legacy of two hundred
thousand which automatically becomes his on his
twenty-fifth birthday - and he'll be twenty-five in
a month. If he's not got hold of before he gets that
money, then the last chance is gone!"
He was silent a moment. Then came another
burst, even more desperate.
“God, can't you see what it means to me? - my
only son! — all the plans I've built on him! - and
him come to this! For God's sake, is n't there any-
thing that can be done to save him!”
Clifford regarded him steadily. But there had
suddenly begun a wild pounding of his heart.
“There is just one thing that might possibly save
your son."
“What's that?" the other cried quickly.
Clifford hesitated, while the struggle which had so
swiftly arisen within himself fought itself out.
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MARY REGAN
In spite of all that had happened, a dream
had persisted in him. If he spoke the thought
that was in his mind, and if that suggestion were
accepted and carried to a successful conclusion,
it would mean the end, forever, of this persistent
dream....
And yet — there was that plan and purpose that
had guided his attitude toward Mary Regan these
many months: that Mary should be allowed to play
her hand out — that Life should test her.
And then, in a flash, he was seeing again the letter
he had glimpsed when he had entered Mr. Morton's
room at the Biltmore — that letter with its unmis-
takable intimation. A flame of anger went searingly
through him. Well, given into his hands was a
method of putting Mary to the uttermost test — of
proving who and what she was: and a method of
bringing this whole matter to a head — for Mary -
for everybody.
“What is it, man?" Mr. Morton repeated.
“You would n't pay the price," said Clifford.
“If I could get results I'd pay any price!”
“I'm not so sure you would, but I'll try you."
Clifford stepped to the little wall telephone, done in
gray-and-gold to match the room, and asked for
Mary's number at the Mordona. After a long wait
Mary's voice sounded on the wire.
“This is Clifford," he said. “I want to see you
at once at Le Minuit — very important. Ask Le
Bain to show you where I am. .. . All right."
293


CHAPTER XXVI
HOW MARY'S DREAM CAME TRUE
A TINY dressing-room opened off this very private
supper-room, and into this they moved Jack and
drew the curtains. Then the two men sat down and
in a silence which had as its background the laughter
and the wild, harsh dance music without, they
smoked for half an hour — Clifford wondering how
this pale, grim man was going to bear himself, and
how, and as what, Mary would emerge from the
double situation toward which she was hurrying.
Presently there was a knock. “That's our party,"
said Clifford, and crossed and opened the door.
But instead of Mary, there entered Bradley and
behind him little Peter Loveman. Both halted in
seeming surprise. Instinctively Clifford knew that
Hilton had sent quick warning to the pair.
"Been on the track of your son, Mr. Morton,"
explained Bradley; "and we just trailed him here.
Was going to shoot you word we'd located him.”
“You're right on the job,” Morton said curtly.
“But since I have him in hand, I guess I won't need
you gentlemen. Good-night."
Loveman stepped quickly forward; Clifford could
guess the nervous fear that prompted the keen-
witted little man to want to be at hand in what he
295


MARY REGAN
sensed as a moment of peril to himself and the deli-
cately balanced edifice of his schemes.
“Pardon me, Mr. Morton," he said firmly, in a
voice of sympathetic concern, “but I'm sure we
might be of some service, and should remain.”
“I'm giving orders here," snapped Mr. Morton.
“Good-night!"
They stood a moment, Morton's cold gray eyes
commandingly fixed on them; then they backed
toward the door. Clifford thought rapidly: These
two, leaving here, might stumble across Mary Regan,
so long searched for by them, and prepared as he
knew they always were to act on the instant of dis-
covery, they might somehow manage to put their
daring plan, whatever it might be, into instant exe-
cution. That risk must be avoided.
“Wait!" Clifford called sharply to them. “Mr.
Morton, I prefer to have them remain."
Mr. Morton stared. “Just as you like."
“Loveman, Bradley, your request is granted,"
said Clifford.
And then a further possibility flashed upon
Clifford. Since Hilton had communicated with
Loveman and Bradley, what more likely than that
they should still be able to communicate? — which
would mean that Hilton was close at hand on the
lookout. And if that were true, what more likely
than that when Mary drove up-
Before this thought had completed itself Clifford
had started out. But even as he laid hand upon the
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MARY REGAN
He turned back on Morton, and spoke in the same
dominating voice. “And you, Mr. Morton - I told
you a little while ago that there was just one thing
that might save Jack. Miss Gilmore here is the only
person who has in recent years had any influence on
Jack. For a time she had him working and behav-
ing. You recall her offer that night to take Jack
back to that Riverside Drive apartment and make
a man of him. You turned her offer down — you
said you could manage your son — and you've seen
the result.” He spoke more dominantly, more driv-
ingly. “That was your big chance. No matter what
you may think of Miss Gilmore, she is still your
big chance, and your only chance."
Clifford paused and waited. Mary, very pale,
gazed at him, her lips apart. Morton, his proud,
masterful face also pale, stared fixedly at Mary, but
said nothing. .
“Well,” Clifford prompted him sharply, “here's
your last chance. Speak up."
“First of all,” said Mr. Morton, his voice steady
with an obviously great effort and his gray eyes now
piercing, "I'd like to ask Miss Gilmore a few ques-
tions. Miss Gilmore, how did you and Jack — "
“One moment!" cut in Peter Loveman, stepping
quickly between Mary and Mr. Morton, and seizing
the latter's arm. Clifford had seen a quick fear leap
into the little man's face, and he knew the little
lawyer's impulse was to be first at the explaining
and save himself if possible. “I can answer what I
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MARY REGAN
know to be your questions,” Loveman said rapidly.
“That's one reason I wanted to hunt you up to-
night with Mr. Bradley, because I've just learned
some things.”
“Loveman!” snapped Clifford, swiftly drawing
his automatic and aiming it over Mary's shoulder.
The little lawyer turned, and all the color left the
face, ruddied by high living. “Loveman, Miss
Gilmore and Mr. Morton have the floor!”.
Loveman, dropping Morton's arm, stepped from
between the two. Mary had not seen what argument
had brought about the lawyer's subsidence; her
eyes, which had shifted to Mr. Morton, had re-
mained steadily upon him, waiting.
“Mr. Morton, you have the floor," Clifford
prompted him.
Mr. Morton seemed to swallow something -
something so large that it would hardly go down.
Then he spoke.
“Miss Gilmore, I've done all I can to save Jack
- but I've failed. The Broadway life seems to have
got him at last. Here is what he seems to have
come to." He drew apart the curtains of the little
dressing-room, revealing the huddled form of Jack,
and then let the curtains swing together. “As Mr.
Clifford has said, I see that there is only one chance
left, and that you are the only chance. Will you be
willing to undertake what you offered to do that
night down in front of this café?".
The moment of Mary's great test — her great
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MARY REGAN
Idly dress for month. adroit win.
"Of Mrs. Graveantair'? That Cermed the
opportunity, if she saw it as such — had arrived.
Clifford watched her – waiting - his whole being
taut. Her face had become a mask; she looked with
cold, direct eyes upon the man on the adroit win-
ning of whose favor she had for months striven to
build her great worldly dreams.
“I suppose you mean undertake it on the condi-
tions that were then mentioned," she said quietly
- “that it is to be what you once termed the
'usual Riverside Drive affair'? That we are to be
Mr. and Mrs. Grayson?”
“Of course, I'll make it worth your while.”
"No, thank you," she said quietly.
“But I will give you any present allowance you
may desire," he urged, “and will make any perma-
nent settlement upon you that is in reason.”
“I do not care to run-".
“But, Mary - Miss Gilmore," gently interrupted
Loveman. This affair was taking an amazingly
different turn from what he had expected. After all,
bewildering as it was, matters were falling out in
a way to make his original plan seem once more
possible. “Mr. Morton's offer is fair. Take it."
Mary did not heed him, but spoke directly at
Mr. Morton. “I do not care to undertake to con-
duct a sanitarium for one person for pay — and
then have the patient removed as soon as a cure is
effected."
“But if you were willing to do it before, why not
now? I don't understand!”
300


MARY REGAN
“Whatever I may have said or thought against
you, I'll say this in your favor," Mr. Morton con-
tinued, rapidly as before — "that you were so dis-
creet in your affair with Jack, you kept it all so
secret, that I'm sure there will be no scandal. We'll
not have that to face. So I ask you, as a favor, to
marry him.”
Clifford, still dazed by the swift manner in which
his plan had leaped beyond itself, breathlessly held
his gaze on Mary. Her dark eyes were wild, her lips
loosely parted — the figure of one bewildered be-
yond realization of what had happened. Then she
caught a sharp breath and high excitement came
into her face. At that same instant Clifford saw the
magnitude of what had suddenly been opened to
her — and he saw that she was seeing it, too. At
last, by a strange twist of circumstances and of
Clifford's attempt to guide events, she had won !
Won all that was included in her original plan! And
most amazing of all, what she had thought to get
as the reward of scheming, she was now being begged
to accept as a favor - wealth, worldly position,
and all that each could bring!
And Clifford, in this high moment, realized an-
other thing. All these months of her big dreams, of
her indomitable and skillful scheming, she had had
one great, ever-present fear — thai some one might
expose her identity and her past, and bring to in-
stant nothingness her magnificent dreams. How she
had fought exposure — desperately and daringly,
302


MARY REGAN
In an instant what had been a bewildered tableau
became a whirl of activity. Bradley's right hand
darted for the electric-light switch, and before
Clifford could move there was a click and the room
was in darkness. A shrill two notes, which Clifford
knew to be a signal, sounded from Bradley's lips.
Clifford sprang toward where he had last seen
Bradley, and collided with that burly figure with
so great an impact that both went crashing to the
floor, Clifford on top.
Clifford had not drawn his automatic; he wanted
no shooting affray — not in this darkness where
bullets would be impartial and irresponsible. But
instinct told him Bradley's probable first tactic;
and he reached for Bradley's right hand, and fortu-
nately caught the wrist. Sure enough, the right
hand was jerking out a heavy pistol. With both
hands Clifford seized the weapon, and tried to twist
it from the other's hand; and grunting, twisting,
the two old enemies fought in the darkness.
Clifford heard the door open and sharply close,
heard Mary cry out — and then heard another
struggle, with Mary gasping. He gave a desperate
wrench, and the pistol was his: he did not then know
that his comparatively easy victory over the power-
ful Bradley was over a half-dazed man — that his
catapultic leap had driven the falling Bradley's
head against the corner of the table. Raising the
pistol, held club-wise, Clifford twice struck at where
Bradley's head should be. At the second blow
304


MARY REGAN
comparatively of no importance. I wrote you that
letter, yes. That was weeks ago. I wrote it the very
night you refused to entrust Jack to me. I was
angry. I was determined you should suffer, too. I
was going to lead you on – get you caught in a
predicament that would make you writhe — and
then would come public humiliation.”
“What kind of a predicament?" asked Mr.
Morton.
“It does n't matter now. But I had my plan -
and I think I could have made it work. You got
only that one letter, Mr. Morton. That was because,
when I calmed down, I changed my mind. I did not
want to do what I had planned to do."
Somehow — though Mary Regan could mean
nothing in his life — this statement brought great
relief to Clifford.
She went on in the same quiet voice. “The rest
of what I have to tell you is of more importance.
My name is not Miss Gilmore nor Mrs. Gardner, and
never was. My name is Mary Regan. My father
was 'Gentleman Jim' Regan, a confidence-man;
I've helped my Uncle Joe Russell, another con-
fidence-man. I've been something of a confidence-
woman, a crook, in the past. Now I'm what you'd
probably call an adventuress.”
“What!” exclaimed Mr. Morton.
Clifford blinked at her, hardly believing what he
was hearing. She had feared exposure — she had
fought to ward it off — and now that she had won
307


MARY REGAN
all that she had ever dreamed of winning, here she
was quietly exposing herself!
“I met your son," she went on. “I saw the chance
to get something I wanted through marrying him.
So I married him.”
“What — you are already married to Jack!"
ejaculated Mr. Morton. “Why — why -".
“It does n't sound believable, I know. You once
called the engagement and wedding rings fakes,
which I wore as Mrs. Grayson. I have them with
me." From a bag which hung from her wrist she
took two rings and handed them to him. “You
may look at them. They are both engraved."
He glanced at the engraving within the golden
circles.
“Married!" he repeated.
“I have been your daughter-in-law all the time
you believed me Jack's mistress. I made him keep
the marriage secret. Jack knows nothing about who
I really am. If the marriage became public there
was the danger of you and Jack learning I was
Mary Regan; I did n't want this to become known
until I had made myself indispensable, and then
you'd have to accept me. That's why I tried to
make Jack settle down and go to work. It was all
part of my game."
“So — you're a crook!” breathed Morton, dumb-
founded.
She went on in her even, controlled voice. “Also
it was part of my game to break off the affair be.
308


MARY REGAN
tween Jack and Maisie Jones — you remember that
time at the Grantham.”
“What-you were behind Maisie Jones's action!”
“I told her that I was married to Jack, and that
we had to keep the marriage secret. And so she
wrote you, breaking the engagement. She did that
to help Jack — and help me; she did n't know me,
did n't understand me, therefore she overestimated
me and believed I could make a strong man out of
Jack and could make him happy. For that part of
what I did, even though it was trickery, I am glad.
Maisie Jones is too good for Jack; he would have
broken her heart. I saved her from life-long misery."
Mr. Morton stared. And then: “But why have
you told me all these things now? — when you had
succeeded in your plan?"
“Because I see things differently now," replied
the same quiet voice. “Jack — he was attractive,
and I liked him— but I never really loved him. I am
sick of the things I tried to do, sick of the things
I dreamed of. You may have Jack's freedom any
way you like. I'm through with it all.” She re-
peated the last sentence, still quietly, but vibrantly.
“I'm through with it all!"
In Clifford there was wild exultation — a thrilling
sense of triumph, too new as yet for him to think
of its possible relation to himself. He had tried
to influence her by influencing the events which
touched her life - but never had he foreseen just
such a dénouement of events, just such a dénouement
309


MARY REGAN
Morton drove at her. "It's your duty to fulfill
it!"
"My duty!" Her eyes grew wide, and she shiv-
ered. Her wide eyes remained fastened in their
sickly stare upon Mr. Morton's grim mandatory
face; she was thinking, weighing the wide alterna-
tives of life; influenced perhaps by the new point
Mr. Morton had made, but not influenced by his
attempted dominance.
"My duty!" she breathed again. Then the life
seemed to flow out of her. Her straight, slender
body drooped and swayed, but a hand clutching
the back of a gilt chair held her up. “Very well,”
she said in a thin dry whisper. And then: “Very
well — if you 'll let me tell Jack all I've told you,
and if Jack then still wants me."
“You must n't tell him!” cried Mr. Morton
sharply. “Even your hold on him is precarious.
Telling him might ruin everything. Why, I guess
you'd better not even let him know that I know,
Take him back to the Mordona — be Mr. and Mrs.
Grayson for the present — pretend to be working
toward a reconciliation with me. Keep everything
a secret until Jack is established.”
She smiled. The irony of it! How circumstances
had reversed their positions: here was Mr. Morton
urging almost the same arguments for secrecy that
she had formerly used upon herself!
It had been a very little smile. She was instantly
sober.
311


MARY REGAN
“Very well — I'll keep it secret and I'll do what
I can,” she said.
Clifford gazed at her heavily, a great, numb pain
where his heart was. Then he slowly turned to
Lieutenant Kelly.
“Let 'em all go, Jimmie,” he said briefly. “A
pinch means publicity, and publicity is just what
this situation does n't require."
Jimmie removed the handcuffs and the three went
out, Bradley glowering vengeance as he passed.
“There'll be a next time, you bet!” he growled.
Clifford made no reply.
“Mr. Morton, you go next," Clifford said
brusquely. “You should n't be found here by Jack
when he comes to — which may be any minute.
Mrs. Morton can take care of Jack. I'll follow you
as soon as I've had a word with her."
A moment later Clifford was alone with Mary.
He tried to keep his voice steady, but it did not
altogether obey him.
"I merely wanted to say that Bradley, Loveman,
and the others may not be satisfied. You exposed
yourself completely, but you exposed no one else.
You let them off easy, but they may be afraid of
you. What they tried to-night they may try again.
I wanted to ask you to be careful."
“I will be," she said.
“And I wanted to say that I hope everything is
going to work out for the best for you. For you
know" – he ended lamely, not very sure of what
as so
312


MARY REGAN
Mary to appear with her charge . . . wondering now
over Loveman's soft remark about cards yet to be
played ... now wondering about that gray, drawn
look with which Mary had followed him out. ...


CHAPTER XXVII
JACK MAKES A RESOLUTION
For an hour — two hours — Clifford continued to
stand in the shadowy doorway near the entrance
of the Midnight Café. Presently Mary came down,
Jack with her. The light drug which Clifford had
slipped into his drink to render him more manage-
able and prevent his going with his carousing
companions, had spent its power. Jack was now
sober, though plainly his nerves were still badly
shaken.
Clifford stepped out of his doorway. He wanted
Mary to see him, that she might have the reassur-
ance which would come of her knowing that he was
keeping his promise to watch over her and Jack-
to ward off any possible attempt of Loveman and
Bradley - until she got Jack safely in the apart-
ment at the Mordona, which, months since, they
had occupied as “Mr. and Mrs. Grayson" and
which they were again to occupy under that name.
Mary saw him; but Jack also saw him, which last
Clifford had not wished for.
“Hello, there, Bob, — come here," Jack called.
Clifford crossed to him, and the young man gripped
his hand in a hand that twitched. “Bob, old man,”
he went on, his unsteady voice full of feeling. “I
315


MARY REGAN
action. Loveman had lost Mary out of his schemes
forever; he realized that she would no longer protect
him in order to protect herself; he hated her for
having blocked him; and he feared her, feared her
daily, for she had it in her power to secure his dis-
barment, to send him to prison.
There was no doubt in Clifford's mind that Love-
man was planning — that Loveman would act. And
he believed that Loveman, in daily fear, would act
quickly. But what would Loveman do?
There was but one way to learn, and that was to
keep Loveman under constant and discreet surveil-
lance; and this now became the all-consuming rou-
tine of Clifford's life, in which he was aided by
Lieutenant Jimmie Kelly and special men supplied
him by Commissioner Thorne, and concerning which
he took counsel with Uncle George. But days,
weeks, went by; nothing happened. As far as the
closest scrutiny could reveal, Loveman was going
about his daily round of legal business and his
nightly round of pleasures, and in no way was he
concerning himself about Mary Regan. And like-
wise Bradley seemed to be confining himself to his
own affairs.
This behavior puzzled Clifford. Why were they
holding back? But behind this seeming quiet,
Clifford knew that things were brewing — and big
things. But as to just what they might be, he
could get no clue. However, he kept doggedly at
his secret watch. There would come a time when
319


MARY REGAN
they would doubtless act, and he must be ready
and on the spot to take action when the moment
came.
One day when Clifford was talking the situation
over with Commissioner Thorne, the Commissioner
remarked: “They're undoubtedly up to some-
thing - and you'll get them in the end, Clifford.”
And then: “I hear that young Jack Morton has
braced up?"
“Yes."
“And I understand that it's the influence of his
wife that's keeping him in the strait and narrow."
“Yes."
There was no further reference to Mary Regan.
But each understood what was in the other's mind:
Thorne knew of Clifford's regard for Mary Regan,
and Clifford knew that Thorne knew it.
“Clifford,” the Commissioner went on after a
moment, “I've twice offered you the position of
Chief of the Detective Bureau. I have a man in the
place now, but he does n't like it and I'm going to
shift him as soon as I can. Clifford, I'm offering
that job to you again.”
“Thanks, Chief. I appreciate the honor" and
he did. In former times Clifford had looked up to
that position as the glory-crowned but unattain-
able peak in his professional career. He hesitated.
"It's a mighty big thing, Chief, — but do you mind
if I don't give you my answer until this job I'm on
is closed up?"
320


MARY REGAN
“All right, Clifford. But remember - I'm count-
ing on you."
While Clifford kept at his appointed task — al-
ways with the sense that something big was gath-
ering, and always wondering why Loveman was
holding back — the summer grew toward its prime.
Jack he occasionally saw; the young fellow seemed
to be keeping his promise made that night out in
front of Le Minuit. And occasionally Clifford saw
the elder Morton, who was remaining in town de-
spite the heat, to watch over his son in this latest
testing of Jack's fiber. But all this while Clifford
did not again see Mary.
· And then in the early days of August there hap-
pened what perhaps had been inevitable this long
while — something which was perhaps, despite halts
and hopeful upward turns, merely a following of
the direction in which this affair had been fore-
doomed to move since he had first come into it.
Clifford first learned of it when Mr. Morton sent for
him. He found the financier with his grim power
of control trying to repress his agitation.
“Day before yesterday was Jack's twenty-fifth
birthday," said Mr. Morton, “and Jack came into
that legacy left him by his aunt — two hundred
thousand cash, you remember. That same day it
was deposited in his name. And that same afternoon
he began drinking. He was at it yesterday; he did
not appear at the office at all. And last night he
did not go home; Mary has not seen him since yester-
321


MARY REGAN
day morning. God!” — with a burst of emotion-
“I don't like to be asking you this again - but
do what you can to find the boy!"
“I'll get him if I can," Clifford said quietly, and
went away.
Clifford did some quick thinking. Jack at last
might just naturally have reached the limit of the
endurance of his good resolution - yes, that prob-
ably was the case. But even if so, the weakness of
the eaten-away structure of Jack's will was not
alone responsible for his break-down and disap-
pearance. All Clifford's instincts, and all his cold
reasoning, told him that Loveman was concerned
in this latest relapse of Jack. It was, as he well
knew, an easy matter to keep a man – either with
or against his consent - hidden in the vast human
wilderness of New York.
More intently, and more carefully, than before
Clifford now followed the little lawyer - about his
downtown legal work by day, about the restau-
rants and roof-gardens at night. Every hour of the
twenty-four either Clifford, or the men assigned to
help him, had the little man under surveillance. As
far as eye could discern, Loveman was preserving
the established routine of his life: a figure at various
public resorts until three — then to bed - up at
eight — at his office at nine-thirty — then with his
dinner at seven beginning the round of pleasure for
the night.
But on the fourth evening after Jack's disappear-
322


CHAPTER XXVIII
THE HOUSE OF MONSIEUR LE BAIN
MONSIEUR LE BAIN, from catering to the reckless
rich and to spendthrifts who had large sums that
abode with them for a flitting month or so, and to
monied persons about whose characters and designs
he preferred to remain safely ignorant — Monsieur
Le Bain had discovered that such as these, on oc-
casion, desired a greater privacy than his Grand
Alcazar or his Le Minuit or any other restaurant
afforded them - a sumptuous exclusiveness in
which, without danger of being seen by uninvited
eyes or their merry-making marred or restrained by
the propinquity of strangers, a party might dine or
sup en famille. Quick to see and seize opportuni-
ties, Le Bain had devised the material equipment to
please such patronage. In addition to the Grand
Alcazar and Le Minuit, which he advertised and to
which he welcomed all, he had set up another es-
tablishment which he did not advertise, and of
which few even knew, and to which even fewer ever
gained admission.
This was an old brownstone house in the upper
Forties between Fifth and Sixth Avenues, outwardly
most discreet and decorous — and, moreover, in-
wardly so most of the time. The house was furnished
324


MARY REGAN
as a private residence, and richly furnished, too,
albeit somewhat garishly since Le Bain's latter-day
æsthetics had been founded upon the gilt and rococo
of Broadway restaurants. There was a large drawing-
room whose windows were so deftly curtained that
no inner light ever filtered into the street; behind
that a large dining-room, in which one might be as
merry as one liked without passers-by being halted
by laugh or song — or by any possible sound of a
less happy character that might originate therein.
And in the basement there was a perfect kitchen,
which, on those occasions when the house was
briefly inhabited, Le Bain peopled with his most
efficient and reticent retainers — it being under-
stood that after the dinner or supper had been
served, and if the host so directed, these cooks and
waiters and ladies' maids should vanish. And that
the party might not suffer from such withdrawal,
there was installed in the butler's pantry an ingeni-
ous refrigerator in which foods were kept cold and
wines properly iced — and from which host and
guests might serve themselves.
Such was Le Bain's other establishment. For the
time paid for it was actually the lessee's "home" -
as much immune from police interference as any
other man's castle. This Le Bain would sub-let pos-
sibly two or three times a week, possibly once a
month, to some one he knew or some one with trust-
worthy introduction — always at a price commen-
surate with the extraordinary privacy he supplied.
325


MARY REGAN
for him. But his clever scheming, whose original
outline the interference of Clifford and the uncal-
culated elements of human nature in Mary Regan
had thrown repeatedly into disarray, was now
nearing the culmination of what was its latest re-
adjustment.
Loveman had held back his many-elemented new
plan - two big plans they were, in fact — because
each was dependent in a degree upon the other. He
had not dared act too quickly in the matter of
Mary, for such a course might, by some twist of
circumstances or human nature, affect Jack, and
therefore upset what he had contemplated concern-
ing Jack. To succeed in either he had to succeed in
both; and to succeed in both he had to synchronize
them. Whether he had done this, the hour or so
ahead was to prove.
Loveman frankly admitted to himself that his
affairs and his own personal safety were in a critical
condition - critical to a degree never before reached
in his career. As he now had matters planned, he
stood to win everything — or almost everything;
and also he stood to lose everything — or almost
everything. In such a crisis, where all was at stake,
he had to be on hand - despite any added risks —
to watch over, and if necessary direct, the final
moves of this his ultimate plan
Loveman stepped into the great dining-room, and
stepped also into a scene that was typical of how
the forces which are behind Big Pleasure, which are
327


MARY REGAN
about checks and banks, but I know it would take
three."
“All ri'," he said good-humoredly, tickled by her
ignorance. He drew out his pocket check-book.
“How much?”
“Oh, I don't know. Could n't you just sign your
name, and let me fill those spaces when I buy the
things?"
"Sure. Peter, you always carry ole fountain pen.
Lemme have ole fountain pen jus' one minute."
The pen was handed over. Jack signed three
checks and passed them to Nina. She murmured
warm thanks, and then looked from them to him,
apologetic doubt in her eyes.
“A woman's clothes cost an awful lot, Jack, -
more than you guess. Would it be all right if I had
to fill these in for perhaps as much as five hundred
dollars apiece?"
Again Jack laughed. “Sure — you pre' li'l'
fool!”
“You can laugh, but I want to be certain," she
protested. “I don't want to get in trouble by having
people come after me for having passed checks that
had no money behind them.”
Again Jack laughed. “S all ri', Nina. Listen.”
He leaned toward her confidentially. “Other day,
you know, I'm twenty-five; came into nice li'l' ole
pile money. Soak it away in bank. Since then I buy
tha' nice li'l' ole car — the car I drive you up here
in, Nina — some li'l' ole car when I turn her loose —
331


MARY REGAN
decanting almost as much of the amber fluid upon
the cloth as into the glasses, Nina filled out the
checks; and as she wrote she three times repeated
aloud: “Payable to – Cash — Five — Hundred –
Dollars."
She returned Loveman's pen, waved the checks
daintily until the ink had dried, then slipped them
within her sex's invariable postal box. Loveman
glanced at his watch and rose briskly.
“Excuse me a minute or so," he said. “I promised
to call up a party at two o'clock, and it's almost
half after."
He disappeared through the heavily curtained
doorway through which he had entered. The next
moment he reappeared.
“Nina, just as I started to use the 'phone, there
came a call for you. A woman, but she refused to
give her name."
When Nina had stepped into the hall and the
heavy curtains had swung behind her, Loveman si-
lently held out his right hand. Also in silence Nina
reached within the bosom of her gown, drew out the
checks and handed them to him. He unfolded them,
scrutinized them sharply, refolded them, and slipped
them into an inner pocket.
“Nina, you certainly did it great,” he said in a
whisper. “If you were as good on the stage as you
are in a play like this, Dave Belasco would be paying
you a thousand a week. Great stuff, Nina!”
And then rapidly: “Go on back in. Remember
333


MARY REGAN
With that he hung up and stepped out of the
closet, wiping away the moisture begotten by the
stilling air of the cubicle. The full-bodied little man,
that Fifth Avenue and Broadway knew best as an
amiable, unflurried smile, was now set and grim of
face, excited with suspense and calculations. All
had thus far gone well with his plan. Immediately
before him was the next vital development, swiftly
approaching its culmination. If all went there, too,
as planned — why, he would be safe — no man could
touch him — and once emerged from the desperate
methods into which his present danger had forceri
him, he would be more careful in the future.
Resuming his amiable smile, Peter Loveman re-
joined his companions in the dining-room.


MARY REGAN
whoever might be within and would spoil every-
thing. And then he might ring the bell, and before
the person who answered could slam the door upon
him, he could drive his way through — but this
again would give alarm and would ruin everything.
The very essence of the plan forming in his mind
was to try to keep himself in the unseen background,
to discover just what Loveman and his associates
had under way, to let them carry their plan through
to its completion, and then, when he had the goods
on them, to act swiftly. That is, if he could. There
was no other way.
With Uncle George he reëntered the waiting taxi-
cab and hurried toward Le Minuit. On Broadway he
met two of Lieutenant Jimmie Kelly's plain-clothes
men who were willingly impressed into his service.
At the blazing entrance to Le Minuit Uncle
George halted. "I guess I'll not go up with you,
son,” he said. “I'll do more good if I don't openly
mess in police affairs. But I'll hang about."
Clifford nodded. With the two plain-clothes men
he mounted the wide bright stairway that led to the
Midnight Café.
"Tell Le Bain I want to see him in his office," he
said to the door-man, and moved quickly among
the tables and passed thrrugh a gray-and-gilt door.
In less than a minute Le Bain entered.
"Joe," Clifford began brusquely, without prelude,
“I want the key to that private house of yours, and
I want it damned quick."
337


MARY REGAN
and entertain this gentleman for two hours. He can
do anything he likes except talk to people — or talk
into that telephone."
Clifford caught the twitch in Le Bain's face, and
he knew he had forestalled the other's intent to
telephone warning to the brief tenants of the house.
Clifford was down in the street two minutes after
he had entered Le Minuit. Here he found Uncle
George, waiting.
“Hate to use you as a messenger boy, Uncle
George,” he said rapidly — “but you're the best
possible man for the job. Mind skirmishing around
Broadway until you find Jimmie Kelly and some
more of his men?".
“I'm hired," the old man replied promptly.
“Tell Jimmie to hang around the Knickerbocker
on the chance that I may telephone him. And you
might hang around the 'phone yourself.”
“I'll never leave it!" said Uncle George.
Clifford hurried from Le Minuit, and five minutes
later he was unlocking the heavy outside door, and
then the door within that, of the dark-faced house
in the upper Forties. He crept down the dim hall,
muted with Persian rugs, and soon he was gazing
through cautiously parted curtains into the oak-
paneled dining-room, and at the six celebrants of
Jack Morton's third birthday party of that week.
Clifford watched and listened, every sense alert.
The last of that little scene between Jack and Nina
Cordova over the checks was being enacted: he saw
339


MARY REGAN
Loveman left the booth and rejoined the com-
pany. Clifford had noted a slit of light at one side
of the darkened drawing-room, and toward this he
now noiselessly made his way. The slit proved to be
a parting in the heavy curtains between the drawing-
and dining-rooms. Motionlessly Clifford watched
the group of six — and all the while he wondered
what Loveman's telephoning could be about. There
was drinking, and banter, and reassertions of Jack's
determination to prove himself a free spirit, and
two stumbling attempts by Jack to dance with
Nina to the music of his own singing - and thus
half an hour passed.
Presently there was a ring. At a word from Love-
man, the evilly handsome young man — "Slim"
Harrison, Clifford knew him to be, a crack driver of
racing-cars, and a proficient in all the evils of Broad-
way - rose and left the drawing-room and passed
forward through the hallway. Clifford heard him
open the front door, and remark courteously:"Come
right in - Mr. Clifford is waiting for you."
Footsteps — two pairs of them — returned down
the hallway, and then Clifford saw Slim Harrison
swing apart the other pair of tapestries, saying,
“They're waiting for you in here.” And then step-
ping into the brilliant light of the great dining-room
he saw Mary Regan.
Two paces within the doorway she suddenly
halted. “Where's Mr. Clifford and Lieutenant
Kelly?" she exclaimed. Clifford saw her stiffen and
341


MARY REGAN
sharply eye the group at the table. Then her gaze
fixed upon Jack, and she said quietly enough: “Jack
- I've come to take you home."
Jack swayed uncertainly to his feet, his face sag-
ging with amazement. “Why — why — Mary -"
But Clifford heard nothing of the next few sen-
tences. That instant he understood it all — or
thought he did. He knew now the substance of
Loveman's telephone message. He saw now the
magnitude of this present situation just before him.
Loveman's great scheme — the whole of it — had
been planned and drawn together, and timed to
take place within that hour. Clifford did not yet
prevision the exact character of the further develop-
ments — but what better place for it than Le Bain's
house, from which no sound issued, which kept
secret all it saw and heard?
Swiftly, silently, Clifford slipped out into the
hallway, into the telephone closet, and closed the
sound-proof door. He got the Knickerbocker Hotel
on the wire, and a few minutes later he was snap-
ping out sentences to Uncle George.
“What, Jimmie has n't showed up yet!... For
God's sake, get hold of him somehow — tell him to
come right over to Le Bain's house — you know the
number — with three or four of his men. Something
big is going to break! - big! — you get me? And
tell him to round up Mr. Morton on the way and
see that he comes here after his son. I'll put the
key under the doormat, so he can get in without
342


MARY REGAN
disturbing any one. I want the thing to come to a
head before we act."
Noiselessly Clifford crept out and hid the key.
Then noiselessly he slipped back to his post at the
curtains in the drawing-room.


MARY REGAN
have li'l' fun," Jack said obstinately, his eyes still
fixed on Mary.
“Are you coming, Jack?" she repeated in the
same quiet voice.
He wavered. Clifford sensed that the young fel-
low's finer instincts were trying to struggle through
the murk of his being; and mixed with his disgust he
felt a pity for this likable weakling who had been
brought to this low estate.
"All ri'," Jack said sullenly, and started to leave
the table.
“One moment, Jack," cut in the soft, even voice
of Loveman - and Clifford saw Loveman give
Mary a quick, vindictive glance. “Before you go
with her, Jack, I think you ought to know who she is.
I only just now found out myself. Her name is Mary
Regan, all right, but she comes of a crook family,
and she herself has been a confidence-woman and
all-around adventuress. She married you solely to
do you out of your money. Ask her to deny it!”
“It's true, Jack. But —".
“Understand now why she wanted to keep your
marriage secret?" Loveman cut in. “Plain enough:
she knew that if it were generally known that you
had married her, you would quickly learn the truth
about her and that would finish her game. And that
self-sacrifice business in letting your father believe
that she was your mistress, all in order to protect
you — can't you see that she was really doing it to
protect herself, and protect her own little scheme for
345


MARY REGAN
playing you along as a sucker? Want to go along with
her now, do you, so she can soak you some more?".
Jack, steadying himself with hands on the table,
was staring across at Mary. “'S tha' so?” he de-
manded thickly.
“Part of it. But, Jack, listen —".
“I'll not listen! Tha's enough!” he burst out.
He had irked at the restraints she had put upon him;
and since for him she represented the routine life,
he had unconsciously begun to weary of her. And all
the while he had been sneakingly ashamed that he
had accepted this supposed sacrifice from her. “I'll
not go home!" he shouted across at her. "Un'er-
stand? I'll never go home! Un'erstand? I'm through
with you! Un'erstand? You crook, you — you li'l',
dam', sneakin' crook!"
Mary stared at the inflamed, wine-flushed face
thrust toward her. Then she drew a deep breath —
a breath tense and quivering. Then a heavy voice
sounded behind her.
“Guess you've got the right dope at last, Morton,
on this Regan dame."
As Mary turned quickly, Clifford's eyes went to
the other curtained doorway. Just inside it stood
the broad, powerful figure of Bradley. So engrossed
had Clifford been in the scene between Jack and
Mary that he had not heard Bradley's entrance -
which had doubtless been effected by one of Le
Bain's many duplicate keys.
Clifford gasped within himself. The affair was
346


MARY REGAN
fired his animal anger. “Oh, I guess you're not,
sister!” he said with crunching grimness. “I've
had to hold off on you too long, but at last I've got
you where I want you! You ain't going to expose
me, and you ain't going to expose anybody else, and
you ain't ever goin' to hurt anybody! Do you get
me, sister?”
He was glowering with malignant purpose. Clif-
ford was wildly a-pulse with the desire to leap out
and hurl himself on Bradley. But the time had not
come; he had to wait and see the full purpose of this
night's design.
“And, let me tell you, Mary Regan,” the heavy
voice gritted on, “that I've come here myself be-
cause I want the personal satisfaction of attending
to you - and because I did n't want any slip-up on
the job. And I'm going to tell you in advance
just exactly what's going to happen to you. Why?
Because your knowing that is going to make you
suffer all the more — and, damn you, you're going
to suffer the limit! I ain't afraid to talk out, because
we're all in this together!"
He paused a minute; then demanded: “Want to
know what's coming to you?”
She stood silent, eyeing him steadily. Breath-
lessly Clifford waited. Without being aware of it,
he had drawn his automatic.
“I ain't going to croak you. That would be too
soft for you - it would be over too soon."
“Help!" she called, with all her voice.
348


MARY REGAN
Mary still gazed at him in white steadfastness.
Clifford clutched his automatic with steely tenseness.
“And waiting in the harbor of Greenport, out at
the end of Long Island, is a swell little motor yacht.
The crew has all been fixed. In two or three hours
- Slim here can make the run in about that time —
the four of you go aboard and begin a joy-cruise
among those islands and bays out there where
nobody is ever goin' to bother you. In about ten
days the police will be tipped off as to who stole the
necklace and where you're to be found — and you'll
be pinched in this crowd here, and the necklace
found in the bottom of your bag. This bunch will
swear that you came along voluntarily — that you
really helped get up the party. And the crew will
testify how you and the others behaved — and the
bunch here will admit it. Booze all the time - Slim,
here, your special guy — the lid off everything. I
guess you get me!”
If she did not, Clifford did. He drew a deep
breath. It was all devilishly cunning. But tense and
excited though he was, Clifford recognized that the
situation was far larger than just this one case on
which he looked; that in a limited way it was typical.
Many a woman, in this world where he had been
working these many months, had been the victim
of kindred daring enterprises when necessary for
the safety or the projects of these subtle entrepre-
neurs of Big Pleasure. And these women had never
dared tell what had happened to them.
350


MARY REGAN
you as anybody else. She's always played you
rotten, ain't she? Well, we're just fixing her so she'll
be showed up in public for what she really is - and
so she can't squeeze any dough out of you, and so's
you have it easy getting a divorce. So back up, you
boob!"
He glanced at the group at the table. “Get your
things on, Burdette and Hilton," he ordered. He
turned again to Mary and her keeper: “All ready,
Slim," he announced sharply.
His slow taunting of his prisoner now changed to
swiftest action. He drew from a pocket a heavy
strap which he threw in a loop over Mary's head and
with his huge strength buckled tightly at her el-
bows. In the same instant Slim seized her head from
behind, and with a fierce, practiced grip forced
a gag into her mouth, which the next instant he
tied.
“Where's that cloak?" Bradley demanded. Nan
Burdette handed it to him, and he flung it about
Mary. “Slim, got your car all ready?”.
“Yes."
· "Then gimme that motor-veil, Slim.” It was
handed over. “And you keep out of this, Morton,
- remember we're doing it to help you. Just hold
her, Loveman."
Nan Burdette and Hilton stepped forward and
held apart the curtains — while Jack, his face still
wine-flushed, looked on waveringly, Nina holding
his arm.
352


CHAPTER XXXI
WHEN OLD FOES GET TOGETHER
BUT Clifford dared wait no longer for his reinforce-
ments — and he dared not shoot, with Mary stand-
ing between him and his most-desired target,
Bradley. He sprang through the curtains, his auto-
matic in his right hand, and swung his left fist
mightily just beneath the ear of the unsuspecting
Slim Harrison, who went down like a dead man.
“Look out!” shrilled Loveman, loosening Mary's
arm.
Bradley whirled about, instinctively holding Mary
before him, from whose shoulders the unloosened
cloak was falling, and from whose face the as yet
unknotted veil fell away.
“Come on, boys," Clifford cried, as if to a squad
behind him. “Guard the front door, and round up
the whole bunch!"
“Beat it through the basement!" Bradley roared
to the others. And at the same instant he hurled
Mary straight at the on-coming Clifford. As she
struck Clifford, Bradley leaped upon him and
knocked his pistol flying from his hand, and then,
brushing Mary aside with a powerful sweep, he
grappled Clifford in his bear-like arms. The two
men went swaying heavily. Clifford had a brief
354


MARY REGAN
into his chest, his right arm was drawn out straight.
He gave a grunt and set his muscles contemptuously
against this unknown maneuver. Not yet did the
man dream what was happening to him.
Grimly Clifford began to exert his strength, him-
self wondering if he could carry this thing through.
This hold that he had upon Bradley was a hold that
he had practiced in some fractional degree of its
potentialities in friendly contests — but never had
he seen that hold used upon a human being to the
reputed limits of its effectiveness. He recalled the
avarice of this man, the brutal cunning, the ruth-
lessness, the devil's misuse of power — the thou-
sands he had bled financially, the unnumbered ones
he had "framed” and whose freedom he had coldly
sworn away - and Clifford was aflame with retrib-
utive rage for all those whom this man in his might
had made suffer. It was as though the strength of
all these sufferers had been transferred into him.
Certainly he never had had such might before.
Slowly, inch by inch he drew Bradley's right arm
back and downward - Bradley straining with out-
standing muscles and corded ligaments to withstand
the terrific leverage.
The right arm reached its lowest arc, then Clifford
began to bend it back and pull it up. A groan burst
from Bradley - then, “Take a chance, Slim; for
God's sake, shoot!"
There was a report: a bullet grazed Clifford's
scalp — it must have missed Bradley's head by
359


MARY REGAN
inches. Clifford, raising his set face, his eyes bulging
from his own effort, saw the dazed Slim on one elbow,
aiming at him again. He swung Bradley about, so
that his body was a better protection, and, heaving,
panting, went on drawing that straining arm up-
inch by inch.
Suddenly the curtains parted and Jimmie Kelly
entered, behind him three of his men, Mr. Morton
and Uncle George. Jimmie saw Slim's pointed
weapon following the pair, waiting its chance; and
leaping in he tore it from that deadly hand.
“Steady, Bob," he cried, "and I'll get Bradley
for you!"
"Keep out of this!" Clifford panted hoarsely.
“I've got him myself.”
They all stood back and stared at those straining,
locked figures. The two seemed hardly to move, so
tensely was the force of one set against the force
of the other. But slowly, slowly, Clifford forced
the right arm of Bradley up behind his back. Then
summoning his all of strength, he heaved sharply
and mightily upwards, as though he was lifting the
very foundations of the house. There was a sharp
report, almost as if Slim had shot again. A cry of
agony burst from Bradley, and he went staggering
across the room, and was saved from falling only by
the embrace of one corner. Even so, he swayed on
his feet; gasping groans came from his lips; and his
right arm hung loosely at his side at a weird angle.
“By God!" Uncle George ejaculated slowly. “I
360


MARY REGAN
was his best and only way. Getting Jack where he
now sat had been simple. “Come on, Jack, — the
police will get you for this, too!" he had cried. And
Jack, befuddled with drink, and feeling that his lot
now lay with these friends, had obeyed instantly
and without question. Into Jack's waiting car Love-
man had sharply ordered those essential to his re-
vised plan.
“You know the Long Island roads? — the way to
Greenport?" he had asked Jack after they were in
their seats.
"Sure.”
“Then make Greenport as quick as you can. Re-
member that motor yacht Bradley spoke of?" He
spoke with a cunning tone of excitedly pleasant
anticipation. “We're going to be a bunch of pirates.
-- going to capture the old tub — and you and
Nina and Hilton and I are going to have a nice
little cruise and wine party all to ourselves. How's
that?"
"Gre' stuff!" had been Jack's enthusiastic com-
ment.
The wheel of his new speedster in his hands, there
automatically came on Jack an exhilarating sense
that here was another lark. It was just like so many
other parties of months and years before that had
started out hilariously from Broadway for a meteor-
like rush through the dark to distant roadhouses —
just one more party, but with a thrill and excite-
ment that topped all others.
364


MARY REGAN
“None of your business," said the woman.
“I guess I understand - if they were pinched
you did n't want to get pinched with them, so you
waited to make your getaway." Then, very sharply:
"But what did they do with Mary Regan?"
"I don't know," she answered sullenly.
“Hold her, officer," Clifford ordered. “Lieuten-
ant Kelly may have a definite charge against her in
the morning."
Just then Jimmie Kelly and Uncle George emerged
from a shadowy doorway beneath the stoop. There
was some one between them, and at sight of this
person Clifford stepped quickly toward the two.
"Mary!" he ejaculated. “Mary -- where were
you?”
"Mr. Loveman pushed me into the pantry and
locked the door.”
"I see,” said Clifford rapidly. “Their plan against
you would now not help them — you were now just
excess baggage to them and they merely wanted
to get you out of the way for a while.”
There was no time then for fuller explanations.
“We're just starting after Loveman and Jack."
Mr. Morton had moved toward them. “Mary,"
he said, his voice steady only through great effort,
“I'd like to have you go along to help bring Jack
back — if Mr. Clifford does n't mind."
She hesitated, then glanced questioningly at
Clifford. Clifford nodded.
“All right,” she agreed.
368


MARY REGAN
Clifford — and good-bye.” The habitually hard face
softened yet further, and his voice lowered. “And,
Clifford, — you're a lucky man, if it turns out the
way I think it will!"
It did. In the deepening dusk of a month later,
from an interior and out-of-the-way county seat
whose records were rarely looked over by inquisitive
eyes that had an interest in transmitting what they
saw to New York City, Clifford was driving a small
roadster at an easy pace, one passenger beside him.
A few minutes before that passenger had undergone
a change of name. In New York City, if all went
as expected, it would merely be known that she
had changed her name from Mary Regan to Mary
Clifford.
The marriage had been the ultimate achievement
in privacy. No one had journeyed here with them.
But one person, who had insisted on being taken
into their confidence, had appeared discreetly and
anonymously at the brief ceremony in the little
court-house — Uncle George. And after the cere-
mony was over, he had kissed Mary with a sim-
plicity, a sincerity, a tender dignity that sophisti-
cated, cynical Broadway would have been amazed
to see in its favorite.
"Mary," — his hands on both her shoulders, his
voice quavering a bit, - “I'm glad I've lived long
enough to see the daughter of one old pal, and the
niece of another old pal, definitely turn into this
382