THE MANNEQUIN





THE
MANNEQUIN
BY
JULIE M. LIPPMA™

New York
DUFPIELD AND COMPANY
1917


PS
c
Copyright, 1917, by
JULIE M. LIPPMANN





THE MANNEQUIN
CHAPTER I
Elizabeth Tiernan sat up in bed in her
New York hotel, lifted her hands languidly to
lay them upon her head as if in self-benediction
and heaved a long-drawn, audible sigh.
"Are you awake, dear?"
Without turning to face the figure in the
doorway, Elizabeth replied: "No. By the
way, what time is it, Cousin Molly?"
"Eleven. Has anything happened to your
watch?"
"Nothing. It's on my wrist. Too much
trouble to look."
Cousin Molly, plain, middle-aged, virginal,
tripped forward with the active air of one whose
day is already in full swing.
"I've had my breakfast ages ago. It's a
heavenly morning. It seems a pity to sleep
away so much of it, doesn't it, dear?"
3


4
THE MANNEQUIN
"I haven't been sleeping. I've been awake
for hours."
"Then why didn't you get up?"
"Why should I? Nothing to get up for."
"Libbyty! What a thing to say! Haven't
you any plans for today?"
"Surely. Bath, breakfast, dress, drive. Same
old everlasting program. I tell you what it is,
Cousin Molly, I'm getting to the place where
I can't stand this sort of thing much longer."
"Why, Libbyty!"
"It's true. I've been lying here, staring
awake since any old o'clock, thinking it out in
my own mind, and the end is, there's got to be
a change or I'll do something desperate."
"Change? How do you mean?"
"Why, change in the even tenor of my way.
I don't care a continental what the even tenor
changes to . . . baritone, bass, anything. It
can choose its own range, but it's simply got to
stop being so even or so tenor."
"Why, Libbyty!"
"You've said that before. That's what gets
on my nerves . . . everything repeating itself
so. Every spring and every fall same trip to
New York to style up. Every quarter same
allowance from same father. Same amount on


THE MANNEQUIN 5
same check. Same dose of parental advice with
warning not to outrun income. Same rush to
the rescue every time I do it."
"Why, Lib .... Why, Elsie! You ought
to be grateful you're so well off."
"There you go again! Same old well-de-
served rebuke."
"But you know you have an uncommon lot
to be grateful for. Everything to make you
happy. Money, good looks, charm. . . ."
"Oh, ... !" Under the pressure of her
irritation Elizabeth brought out a syllable
shocking to Cousin Molly's well-bred ears.
"Don't I know it?" she caught herself up
promptly. "Won't I have the same old qualms
of conscience when I come out of this and settle
back to the same old dog-at-the-churn act? But
that doesn't alter the fact that I'd hail with
joy the news that Dad had gone (temporarily
of course) broke, and that I'd have to turn to
and earn my own living. Or that any one of
the boys I play with back home (I don't much
care which) had got tired of declaiming 'Give
me Libbyty or give me death!' or words to that
effect, and taken to really meaning it. Or
that . . ."
To stem the tide Cousin Molly dropped a


THE MANNEQUIN
7
began life ... I mean business life ... by
being maid (lady's) to Mrs. Jerome-Jar-
vis . . . pronounced Jerrum-Jarvis, Cousin
Molly."
"And who might Mrs. Jerrum-Jarvis be?"
"She might be Venus di Milo, but she isn't.
Far from it!"
"Ought one to know her?"
"Rather. One ought, but that's not saying
one can. She's for the elect only. Prides her-
self on her ancestry . . . what she calls her
'Blood,' her social position, her prodigious in-
herited fortune ... all sorts of special dis-
pensations. Too fine to breathe the same air
as common mortals. Widow of the late great
railroad Jerome-Jarvis. Mother of a mys-
terious specimen whose proper place ought to
be the Museum of Unnatural History, or a
freak show. From what one hears, he seems to
be a sort of heavily endowed fossil dating back
to the Stone Age, or it may be it's just a plain
case of rush of 'Blood' to the head. There's
all sorts of gossip. One doesn't know what the
truth of the matter really is. One thing's cer-
tain, he never shows. I've seen Mother at the
opera and other places scores of times, but
never, never Sonny-boy. Sonny-boy keeps him-


8 THE MANNEQUIN
self, or is kept, in strict seclusion. They say if
he weren't Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis's son he'd be
considered," Elizabeth touched her forehead
with an eloquent forefinger, "as it is he's sim-
ply 'eccentric' You pays your money and you
takes your choice.
"As for Angelique—she lived with the
family for years, first as lady's-maid, then mis-
tress of the robes, confidential companion and
several other things. She's a genius in her way.
First she made a hit with the missus' wardrobe,
trying her 'prentice-hand on made-overs, gradu-
ating into brand-news, until presently every-
body was wondering who the artist was. An-
gelique was patient. She was politic. She
didn't strike for higher pay or a better job
until she was absolutely sure of her ground.
Then she came out with her proposition. Mrs.
J. J. accepted. Angelique started out on her
own with strongest sort of financial backing
and all sorts of iny?ooence. Result: She's one
of the big A-Iers in town. If anyone whispers
The Angelique Company, Incorp., is Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis, incog., nobody contradicts. Sort
of interesting, eh? I believe I'll go to An-
gelique's for the fun of the thing, for a tryout,
just to be able to feel I've patronized the great


THE MANNEQUIN
9
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis,—contributed my modest
penny toward the support of the widow and
orphan. If you'll join me I'll stand treat for
a little toilette of the neat-but-not-gaudy, ele-
gant-but-not-expensive type."
"Thank you very much, dear, but I've all the
clothes necessary for one in my position. It
pays youth and beauty to adorn itself, but when
one gets along, as they say, one can do without
very comfortably."
"Nonsense! That's just the time when one
owes it to one's self to look one's best. I know
you think I make too much of clothes, but the
fact is, after I'm once properly outfitted I for-
get all about them. They're simply the means
to an end."
"They're certainly an end to the means,"
Cousin Molly stooped to pun.
Elizabeth took her up, charitably overlook-
ing the offence.
"That doesn't hit me. The worst is over
for this season, so far as I'm concerned, and
I'm still quite a bit to the good. I feel very
opulent and virtuous. You'd better take me
up, my lady. I mean as to the dress from An-
gelique's. What do you say to dropping in
there this afternoon and seeing what her little


io THE MANNEQUIN
Promenade amounts to? If it's any good, we
might . . ."
"No, thank you, dear, again. I understood
you were to be occupied all the afternoon, so I
arranged to attend a Civic League lecture with
Sarah Peevy. Maximum Hours and Minimum
Wage for Women Workers. I hope you don't
mind."
"Mind maximum hours for minimum wage
for women workers? Not in the least. If
they're satisfied I'm sure I have no right to
object. But I should have thought they'd
rather have it just the other way about—mini-
mum hours for maximum wage, which being in-
terpreted means least work for most money?"
"Oh, Libbytyl" sighed CoVisin Molly, smil-
ing in spite of herself at the frank flippancy.
"Hopeless proposition, am I? Well, never
mind. Try to love me just the same. And I'll
tell you what . . . that offer of the dress still
holds good and I'll throw in a little extra for
your Minimum Fund for Maximum Peevys.
Take me up?"
Cousin Molly shook her head.
"I wish you really understood," she sighed.
"And you won't even go with me to see An-
gelique's little show?"


THE MANNEQUIN
ii
"Not today, dearie."
In the light of what happened Cousin Molly
bitterly regretted her decision.
Elizabeth started out on the customary round
of trivial errands and . . . did not come back.
Afternoon dragged into evening, evening
into night.
No Elizabeth.
A secret alarm was sent in to police head-
quarters. The chief assured Cousin Molly
there was nothing to be agitated about.
"My boys will clear the whole thing up
within an hour or so."
Night passed, morning broke.
The boys failed to live up to their reputa-
tion.
Telegraph and telephone wires were hot with
incessant use.
Mr. Tiernan, mad with anxiety, came hurry-
ing on, ready to spend the last penny he had in
the world for the return of his girl.
The Press, headed off for a couple of days,
only blazed out later with appalling headlines,
libelous portraits.
From Elizabeth came no sign. It was as if
she had fallen into a bottomless pit, left no
trace behind. ~


THE MANNEQUIN
*3
rich, so 'andsome, so overbearing with tal-
ent . . ."
"Overburdened . . ."
"A-ah, out! I s'ank you. Overburdened,
that is correct. The example of him should be
a lesson to zose lazies who (how does one
say?) recline on the job? Here, there, every-
where one hears of the Unemployed. La-la!
The sympathy should go to the poor boss who
pays the wages and cannot make the unem-
ployed get ze move on, get busy. C'est epou-
vantable! But, ma chere madame, the voyag-
ing cannot be continued forever. What when
the weather grow too cold? Some ozzer di-
vertissement will then be found for monsieur,
eh?"
"Of course. It must be found. But what it
is to be I've almost despaired of finding out.
He must be interested, roused. Nothing rouses
or interests him except that hideous laboratory
of his. The moment we're on land he man-
ages to escape me and the doctors, and bury
himself in it, so he has to be dragged out, as
you may say, by main force. That's why we're
starting off right now on another cruise. If I
stayed overnight in town he'd be back in the
laboratory by six in the morning."


THE MANNEQUIN 15
wild horses couldn't drag them there again. He
either quizzes them or ignores them, but in
either case he frightens them to death."
Angelique considered.
"I think I know where the great mistake has
been made, chere madame. If young ladies
are ask to come for the express purpose of en-
chanting him, it is the manlike of it to refuse
to be enchante. But, if you produce some
pretty face before his eye, distinctly under-
standing that pretty face is not for him. . . ."
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis inclined an inch or two
toward her former lady's-maid, listening in-
tently.
"Engage a companion for . . . yourself."
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis relaxed, shook her
head.
"The trouble with companions is, if they're
natty they're naughty. If they're good they're
blowsy bores. I've had them. You know
what they've been."
"That is true, but the samples of the past
may be improved upon in the present. With
time and trouble, to say nothing of money, any-
thing can be accomplished."
"Assuredly. No question about the trouble
or the money. But the time."


16 . THE MANNEQUIN
Angelique sat silent, deep in thought.
"If it were not just at this season," she
brought out hesitatingly. "If it were not at this
critical moment of the Promenades . . ."
"Well?"
"I would let you have one of my manne-
quins."
"She might not be willing to come."
"She would do as I instruct. My word to all
who wish employment of me is: // / pay, I
say, see! When that is not agreeable they may
go elsewhere. It is all the same to me."
"But there is no time for preparation, for
packing a trunk, a bag, anything. Her ward-
robe . . ."
"In five minutes a trunk could be made com-
plete, ready to be placed on your automobile.
I have all things necessary at hand of stock
that is altogether good, if not the dernier cri.
A companion need not be gowned in the latest
models."
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis waved the suggestion
aside as manifestly negligible.
"Mr. Stuart has a special aversion for
women who dress. I mean, of course, fashion-
ably. He's obsessed with the idea they're
dolls."


THE MANNEQUIN 17
"Then our task is easy. I can collect as pretty
a wardrobe as any young lady needs."
"As pretty a wardrobe . . . yes . . . but
how about the girl herself?"
"Madame shall see."
"There is one thing to be considered. Sup-
pose I take your mannequin with me as my
companion and suppose . . . only suppose my
son were to . . . If she were a designing
huzzy she might not stop short of ... of in-
veigling him into . . ."
"Marrying her? Such a catastrophe could
not occur, chere madame. It is for you to
watch with the eyes of maternal love over your
son. The minute you see there is danger . . .
ship her back to me. I will undertake he shall
not see her again."
"But if he should happen to take a fancy
. . . it's not probable, but it might be pos-
sible. . . ."
"Pouf! It would pass. Once she is re-
moved out of his sight he would forget. Such
things with the gentlemen are mere episodes.
With the girl . . . that, I grant you, might be
a different story. . . ."
"You mean if she should care it would be
serious?"


18 THE MANNEQUIN
"For her, yes. Not for you. She could
make no trouble. Without money, without in-
fluence, how could she? Obliged to earn her
living, a girl cannot afford to take chances.
She is 'elpless."
"The girl you have in mind, are you sure
she's attractive enough?"
"Any of my mannequins is attractive enough.
To be my mannequins they must be. Attendez,
s'i'l vous plait, chere madame. The business of
mannequin is most exacting. The types may,
indeed must, vary . . . but the beauty, the
grace are essential. To preserve the good
looks is the first consideration of a mannequin
and of her employer, for once they are gone
her market value has vanish. If I see a pimple
upon the cheek of one of my young persons
. . . if she is pale, if she is flush . . . vite!
I transport her to the doctor. It is cheaper
that I pay his bill than that I lose a good man-
nequin. So rare are the best, madame. But if
I see one is really to be ill with a sickness that
will last or maybe impair her looks for a per-
manency, why then . . . naturellement . . .
she must go. I could not afford to preserve her
when her use to me is gone. In her perfection
the mannequin has, what you call, the soft snap


THE MANNEQUIN 19
. . . good hours, good pay, the best of polite-
ness . . . indeed, without all that one could
not keep her, for the theatres are always on the
lookout to snap her out of one's grasp. But
she is worthless if her looks are blemish . . .
worthless to me, worthless to the manager. Re-
cently I succeed in finding a mannequin most
extraordinary. The rest are attractive, yes,
but she . . . that Elsie ... is truly exquise.
She has esprit. . . . She has distinction. If
she is not actually a lady, as you understand it,
she is a clever imitation. Already the Fliegzelt
people are after her for the Follies. . . .
Lately my forewoman tell me Elsie appear fa-
tigued. A little rest upon the yacht would
doubtless restore her back to perfect form.
Therefore if you will take her with you for one
of those recupeful cruises, good will be gain
by everybody in the concern . . . pardon, I
should say concerned."
"I'll look at her."
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis might have made the
same announcement in the same tone if she had
been referring to a fichu of old Venetian
needle-point, or the latest thing in silhouettes.
Angelique rose to go to the door to summon
a messenger.


THE MANNEQUIN
"Come!" she whispered eagerly. "Look!
Voila!"
Peering through the glass partition into the
salon beyond, Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis saw what
looked like two mannequins in gala array, ready
for the promenade. They stood chatting to-
gether like flesh-and-blood girls, evidently for-
getting for the moment they were mere lay-
figures upon which were displayed the season's
latest models. Both were young, fair, slender,
delicately molded. One was, as Angelique had
said, "attractive enough." The other, obvi-
ously "that Elsie," was "truly exquise."
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis gazed at her spell-
bound.
"I'll take her."
"Bon! I go to give directions. Within
quarter of an hour my men shall 'ave place the
trunk upon your car. Also, I will apprise
Elsie."
She vanished.
Likewise vanished, unseen, unheard by the
watcher at the glass partition, a meager little
scrap of humanity who, waiting her chance,
slipped out from behind the screening door of
a tall wardrobe crammed with "stock," and
crept stealthily back to the workroom where


THE MANNEQUIN
No. Miss Tiernan had other appointments.
Her afternoon was full up. It was now or
never.
The saleslady pondered, anxious to please
this new and very promising-looking cus-
tomer.
"Have you a particular costume in view?"
she ventured.
"Why, yes. I thought if you had anything
especially smart in tailored suits . . ."
Apparently light came.
"Please have the kindness to wait a mo-
ment. I'll go back and see if I can arrange to
have our most stunning model shown you. The
mannequin already has it on, so it will take but
a moment. . . .
And truly in "but a moment" the magnifi-
cent one reappeared, bringing with her the
tailored suit to which she had referred. In-
side the tailored suit was a living girl.
She was about Elizabeth's own age, pre-
cisely her height and figure. Her natural
grace and style matched the grace and style of
the garment, and she was kept turning about,
walking off, coming back, until even Elizabeth,
eager as she was to see the frock from every
aspect, called a halt.


24
THE MANNEQUIN
"That'll do. I'm sure I like it. I should
think it might be becoming to me since it looks
so well on . . ."
A page hurrying toward them out of regions
beyond, proceeded to deliver a message to the
saleslady in a tone too low for any ear but hers
to distinguish. She had hardly dismissed him
with a nod when she turned to Elizabeth with
apologies for the interruption, for being obliged
to leave her for a moment. She would be back
in a second ... in the meantime Elsie, the
mannequin here, would show her. . . .
The saleslady disappeared in a shower of
reassurances.
"Elsie? Is your name Elsie . . . too?"
Elizabeth asked kindly, regarding the manne-
quin with friendly eyes. "They sometimes
call me that at home. Curious, but I think we
look a bit alike. We're of about the same
height, the same figure. The color of our hair
is nearly the same. You've more color than I
have, but . . ."
The mannequin hesitated.
"I'm not always so flushed. I don't know
why my cheeks and eyes are burning so today
unless it's because I'm nervous about the Prom-
enade."


THE MANNEQUIN
25
"Why should you be nervous about the
Promenade?"
"Oh, we're held responsible. We're trained
to walk and sit and stand in character with
each toilette. It's all studied . . . every pose,
every gesture. If we make a mistake, a mis-
step . . ." She paused abruptly, evidently
feeling she had talked too much.
"Tell me more," Elizabeth gently urged.
"There is no more to tell. I just want to
do my best. And I might not be able to to-
day, because . .
"Well?"
"I feel so dreadfully queer . - . dizzy . . .
My head aches. I . . ."
The relief of unbosoming to a sympathetic
listener threatened to break down the manne-
quin's self-control.
With a quick, characteristic little gesture
Elizabeth caught her hand testing it with her
ungloved fingers.
"Why, you're as full of fever as you can be.
And you're shivering. The minute that sales-
woman comes back I'll tell her you must be sent
right home and put to bed."
"No, no! Please!" the mannequin besought
her, terrified.


26
THE MANNEQUIN
"Oh, but you've got to be taken care of.
You don't know what's the matter with you.
It may be just a slight cold, or it might be some-
thing serious."
"That's what I'm afraid it is . . . some-
thing serious. Ever since I began to feel this
way, days ago, I've been trying to stave it off
. . . telling myself it was only a cold, but now
I'm afraid it's something serious, and if it
is . . ."
"Why, if it is," Elizabeth took her up en-
couragingly, "you'll just have to stay at home
for a bit and let your family nurse you while
you rest and recover."
"But I haven't any home . . . here in New
York. I just have a little room and ... my
family need what I earn and . . . Oh, really,
it's no matter. . . . This tunic . . ."
"Hang the tunic!"
"But if I don't interest you in the dress
madam will think I didn't . . ."
"You did. You do. I'll take the dress 'as
is,' pay down and carry it away with me in the
car, if that will be any great comfort to
you."
"Oh, no, you couldn't. We don't finish these
model gowns so they can go out like that. This


THE MANNEQUIN
*7
one hasn't even Angelique's name on the waist-
band or ... or anything."
"Never mind. It doesn't signify. All I
want you to know is that you've made the sale
and have nothing to reproach yourself with.
Now will you be good and go ... go where
you live and rest up?"
A wan smile passed over the mannequin's
face.
"That's easier said than done. If I should
be going to have scarlet fever or . . . or . . .
something worse that would make my hair
come out, or scar my skin, or spoil my looks in
any other way, why don't you see . . . don't
you see . . ." She shook with nervous appre-
hension.
Elizabeth dismissed the dolorous suggestion
with a hopeful smile. "But you're going to
have nothing of the sort. And even if you
must stay out longer than you'd like, of course
Angelique will see you through. That's only
human."
The mannequin made no answer. In her
desperate desire to reveal nothing she revealed
more than she knew.
"You mean you think she wouldn't?"
"I know she wouldn't. We don't expect it.


28
THE MANNEQUIN
We know, we mannequins, that if we lose our
looks we've lost what makes us valuable to our
bosses. We couldn't look to them to . . ."
"You mean . . . she'd throw you out?"
Elsie, the mannequin, nodded mutely.
Elizabeth drew a fat roll of bills from the
gold mesh-bag she carried . . . the sum of her
• father's supplementary check, received and
cashed that morning . . . and thrust it into
the mannequin's hand.
"Here! Take this. Yes, you must. Tuck
it away in your bodice until you can get at your
purse. . . . That's right! It'll tide you
over, give you a rest. And if Angelique won't
hold your place open for you till you come
back, why, I'll look out for you myself. My
name's Tiernan . . . Elizabeth Tiernan . . .
St. Louis, Missouri. . . . Don't forget! I
mean it! Call on me any time and I'll . . ."
What Miss Elizabeth Tiernan of St. Louis
would do in this special connection she was not
permitted to reveal.
With the suddenness, the unexpectedness, the
resistless power of a whirlwind, she was caught
up, forcibly led from Angelique's out into the
street. She had a vague sense of trying to
wrest herself free, of feeling the grasp upon


THE MANNEQUIN
29
her forearm only grow the tighter. She felt
rather than saw the looming female presence
to the right of her, supplemented by a looming
male presence to the left of her. Between the
two she was railroaded from the doorstep,
across the stretch of pavement into a waiting
automobile. The door closed with a bang.
The car plunged forward.
"Well, Elsie," said a deep voice at her side,
"I hope you are going to justify Angelique's
good opinion of you. I hope you are going to
be a modest, obedient companion. Angelique
said: 'Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis, I assure you, you
will find Elsie to be a most respectable girl.'
I have taken you on Angelique's recommen-
dation."
Outside in the street the flying figure of a
girl was following the flying automobile. It
kept up the pursuit for many blocks, then sud-
denly collapsed and lay upon the pavement, a
burning heap of helplessness.
The ambulance surgeon diagnosed the case
at once as "probably typhoid," and since the
patient was well-dressed, a fat roll of bills
being found tucked safely in the folds of her
camisole, she was treated with particular
consideration at the hospital, pending the time


30 THE MANNEQUIN
when she should recover from her delirium and
be able to tell who she was and whence she
came.
Elizabeth's brain whirled with the whirling
wheels of the car. What had happened to her?
What did it all mean?
Her first impulse was to force open the door
and jump out, but it did not take her long to
see the futility as well as the fool-hardiness of
this. Athletic as she was, she had yet to learn
to descend from a rapidly moving vehicle, in
a jam of other rapidly moving vehicles, with-
out risk to life and limb. Besides, there was
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis of the iron clutch.
Elizabeth's arm bore witness to the compell-
ing quality of that clutch. However bogus
Mrs Jerome-Jarvis herself might be, that
clutch was the genuine article.
A quick glance out of the tail of her eye con-
vinced Elizabeth that Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis was
the genuine article also. She had seen her too
often at the opera, in shops, looking out from
the pages of public prints, to be in any doubt
as to her identity. This was the one and only
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis, before whom social climb-
ers bent the knee, shop-keepers vied for patron-


THE MANNEQUIN
31
age, at sight of whom Elizabeth always found
herself naughtily humming:
"Who comes here?
A grenadier . . ."
Well, and what then?
Her own case still remained to be settled.
It was evident that Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis mis-
took her for Elsie, recommended by Angelique
as a modest, obedient companion. If the error
were corrected, what then? Nothing but the
hotel monotony, Cousin Molly, the same old
everlasting, tedious round.
With a sudden characteristic prompting of
impish recklessness, she decided not to correct
the error. For the lark she'd let it go. Time
enough to set herself straight when she had
got all the fun she wanted out of the situation.
In the meantime she'd wire Cousin Molly the
minute the car came to a standstill. That is,
the minute they reached wherever Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis was heading for . . . undoubtedly her
country place, since they were steadily bearing
away from the court-end of the town.
"I hope you are not a notional person . . .
homesick, and that sort of thing?" Mrs.


32
THE MANNEQUIN
Jerome-Jarvis inquired after a long term of
silence.
Elizabeth weighed it.
"No, I don't think I . . ." she was begin-
ning when her companion cut her short.
"Say, 'No, Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis.' And there
is no meaning to the phrase / don't think. Of
course you think. You must think. You can't
help it. You may think you are not notional,
not given to nostalgia, but you can't say you
don't think. That's a psychological impossi-
bility."
"Yes, Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis."
Elizabeth accepted the correction submis-
sively,
The car sped on, northward, westward, up
Riverside Drive, branching off at last from the
wide avenue into the park and so down to the
river bank. The second it came to a halt the
door was opened and Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis and
Elizabeth were assisted out and led to a launch
waiting beside the wharf.
"Oho!" thought Elizabeth, "so we're going
up the Hudson! Well, as soon as we reach
the house . . . Ardsley, Irvington, wherever
it may be, I'll telephone Cousin Molly and re-
lieve her mind. Then, tomorrow or the day


THE MANNEQUIN 33
after, when I've had enough fun and adven-
ture, I'll hie me back to little old New York.
Companion to Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis! / don't
think!"
Elizabeth was not in the least disturbed.
There was nothing in the escapade, as she saw
it, to cause anxiety. Suppose Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis should be indignant when she found out
the truth. It must be perfectly clear to her
that the mistake was her own, that she had no
one but herself to blame. In any case no harm
would have been done. In the meantime it
was as good as a play to watch the goings-on
about her. The machine-like precision with
which the boatmen brought the little launch up
alongside the great yacht looming ghostlike in
midchannel, helped the ladies to mount to its
deck, led the newcomer at Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis's
command to the stateroom assigned to her.
Before leaving the attendant delivered him-
self of a message.
"Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis says tea will be served
in quarter of an hour in the cabins. She says
you may lie down and rest after tea, until din-
ner. Dinner will be served in the dining-saloon
at eight, miss."
Elizabeth nodded.


34 THE MANNEQUIN
Evidently the country place was further up
the river than she had supposed, since they
were to dine on board.
As she was in the act of taking off her hat to
rearrange her hair and veil, she perceived the
vessel to be in motion. Her first impulse was
to rush out on deck to watch the Palisades in
the light of the approaching sunset, but before
she could carry it out, the sound of a bell from
the direction of the dressing-room sent her has-
tening to the telephone.
"Trunk, miss?"
"Trunk?" Elizabeth repeated blankly.
"Yes, miss," the voice assured her. "May
it be sent to your dressing-room, if you please?"
Feeling it was none of her business if one
trunk or a dozen were placed in the dressing-
room, she answered at once:
"Certainly. Send it along," and turning,
took a step toward the door, ready to open it
on demand. But there was no knock. Instead,
a slight sound behind her, as of a mouse in the
wainscot, made her wheel about quickly just in
time to see a panel in the lower wall-space slide
mysteriously back and a good-sized steamer-
trunk deposit itself neatly, quite noiselessly be-
side the dressing-table. The mouse in the


THE MANNEQUIN
35
wainscot stirred again and the panel was back
in its place.
If it had not been for the trunk, which was
substantial enough in all conscience, Elizabeth
would have dismissed the whole performance
as a trick of her imagination. As it was, the
idea of a panel removable from the outside was,
to say the least, disconcerting. Surely an open-
ing capable of admitting a good-sized steamer-
trunk was capable, also, of admitting ...
In a second she was down on her knees ex-
amining the wall-space at close range, search-
ing for some spring or bolt that would protect
her against intruders, animate or inanimate.
Apparently there was no such thing. Sitting
back on her heels, she gazed at the panel with
reproachful eyes.
Again the telephone-bell summoned her.
"Well?"
"What's the trouble?"
It was not the voice that had spoken last.
"Trouble? What do you mean?"
"I am simply making a rough guess at it,"
the voice stated courteously. "If you are not
bothered about anything, I beg your pardon
for my question."
It was decidedly a prepossessing voice. In


36 THE MANNEQUIN
spite of her agitation, Elizabeth noticed that.
Full, resonant, masculine it was, yet not in the
least loud or aggressive.
Listening to a voice so emphatically right is
apt to distract the mind from what may be
incidentally wrong. She hesitated.
"I am bothered," she confessed after a
pause. "That freaky contraption in the wall,
that trick panel that opens and shuts and lets
unexpected things in on me when I'm not look-
ing . . ."
"If you were not looking, how do you
know?"
"Of course I was looking then. But I
mightn't be another time. And even if I were
looking I don't see how I could prevent the
panel's sliding open and ... I don't like it.
I object, on general principles, to having my
privacy interrupted when . . ."
"I understood you had consented to the
trunk's being sent in."
"I had. But that's not the point. The
point is, I want to feel I can lock myself up if
I want to, and not that my stateroom can be
entered from outside without so much as 'if
you please.' That panel gives me the creeps."
"Why not lock it, then?"


THE MANNEQUIN 37
III „„M
1 can t.
"You certainly can. There's a switchboard
just above the dictatype, in the right-hand
corner of the cabin, behind the screen. Look
for the key labeled 'Baggage.' Crank it to.
the right."
"Will that lock the panel?"
"Absolutely. Until you crank again to the
left, operating the release."
Elizabeth weighed it. "Thank you very
much. . . ." Her voice was dubious.
"Sceptical?"
"Oh, I don't doubt what you say. Only . . .
you see, I'm from Missouri." She laughed.
There was no answering mirth in his re-
sponse.
"You mean you want to be shown. Unfor-
tunately, I'm not in a position to show you.
You must take my word for it."
Listening, she heard a premonitory click, as
if he were hanging up the receiver.
"Please don't be offended," she rushed to her
own rescue. "I take your word for it. Don't
ring off for a minute. I ... I want to know
. . . that is . . . won't you tell me . . ."
"Well?"
Face to face with the awkward personal


3«
THE MANNEQUIN
question she longed to ask, she found it was
beyond her.
"What's a dictatype machine?" she substi-
tuted lamely.
"A mechanical amanuensis. Takes dictation
and sends out typed copy practically simulta-
neously."
"Great Scott!" gasped Elizabeth.
Again sounded that ominous click.
"No, no, not yet. Not before you've told
me . . . Oh, please, who are you?"
"A friend."
"Thank you . . . but . . . suppose I want
to talk to you again, how can I . . .?"
"Get me? Switchboard. Release key labeled
'Help.' If I'm on hand I'll answer."
"You mean that key will connect me with
the servants' quarters. . . . You mean you're
. . . help?"
"I am yours to command . . . your humble
servant. ... I hope a very present help in
time of trouble. Good-bye."
There was a faint sound as of a sprung
latch. She was cut off.
She had hardly hung up the receiver when
tea arrived and she discovered she was hungry
enough to welcome it with sharp relish. When


THE MANNEQUIN 39
it was gone the prospect of her pillow was not
displeasing.
She opened her eyes to find the place full of
dusky shadows. She must have slept for
hours.


THE MANNEQUIN 41
mind that a few hours at most would settle the
matter beyond dispute. In the meantime she
would "play the game."
At table, covers were set for three. A
steward and two attendants stood like wooden^
images, each behind a chair, hands grasping^
its back.
"I warrant if I said 'Go!' they'd leap-frog
the whole outfit," Elizabeth found herself flip-
pantly, slangily musing, and would have laughed
if the vision of Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis progress-
ing majestically to her thronelike position had
not convinced her that this was no laughing
matter. Indeed, the occasion appeared to grow
more solemn with every course until at last it
developed a gloom as hard as the nuts, as black
as the coffee. And still the third place at table
remained unoccupied.
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis, vis-a-vis with nothing,
gazed blankly into space without any attempt
to hide the fact that she was seriously out of
sorts. The instant dinner was over she an-
nounced her intention to retire.
"There will be nothing for you to do this
evening, so you can go to your stateroom," she
grimly directed. "If you like to amuse your-
self, ring and one of the men will bring you


42 THE MANNEQUIN
books from the library, although I disapprove
of reading by electric light."
As it happened, Elizabeth did like to amuse
herself, though not after the fashion proposed.
As soon as she felt the way likely to be clear,
she slipped on a long, warm, woolly white coat
found among Angelique's treasures, wound a
pink chiffon scarf about her head and went out-
side.
It was quite cold, also it was very quiet.
The deck, stripped of its daytime furnishings,
stretched white and bare in the clear light of
the full moon. Only one small spot offered
shelter from the silver flood, an angle where
the superstructure jutted out and a smoke-
stack cast a shadow like a warning index-finger.
Into this shelter Elizabeth shrank, eager to be
alone, glad to escape the notice of passing sail-
ors. The wind, keen and fresh, plucked at her
skirt, set the loose ends of her scarf to caper-
ing frolicsomely. Again and again she caught
them, again and again they whipped them-
selves free. It was only when pressing back
tight against the superstructure wall to escape
the gale that she discovered herself to be stand-
ing just outside a cabin through the open deck-
port of which two voices could be heard in


THE MANNEQUIN
43
animated discussion. At first the sounds were
indistinct murmurings, then as they became
more clearly audible, perfectly distinct, she
concluded it was time to go. She took a step
forward. Something caught her about the
throat in a choking, strangling grasp.
Her hands went up to grapple with the hor-
rible thing.
It was her chiffon scarf, whose capricious
ends had evidently caught fast on some pro-
truding nail or hook just inside the port. It
was useless to try to tear or break the fabric.
It held fast, caressingly, clingingly, yet with the
resistance of unyielding iron.
Just inside the cabin one of the raised voices
rose in sharp annoyance. It was Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis's voice, never at any time melodious,
now as raucous as the croak of a bronchial
crow.
"If that's your intention, I'll ship her back
to town the minute we reach Nassau."
Elizabeth's breath caught in a startled
gasp.
"Nassau! My wordl Nassau's four days
away!"
Another voice, a man's voice, deep, metallic,
harsh, broke in malevolently, or so it sounded.


44
THE MANNEQUIN
"Why wait to ship her back? She's no
use. Spill her over the side, that's my ad-
vice.
"Nonsense!"
"By no means. Let me once lay hands on
her and I'll do it as quick as wink."
Thought Elizabeth, "He must be crazy!"
"It isn't rational for you to go on this way,"
the mother remonstrated, gently for her. "To
hear you talk anybody would think you were
unbalanced. Refusing to appear at dinner just
because . . ."
"I've never made any secret of my aversion.
I hate them like poison and you know it.
You've had 'em here before, smuggled 'em on
board just as you have this one, and . . ."
"But, I tell you, this one isn't an ordi-
nary . . ."
He gave an impatient exclamation.
"Oh, hang it! Ordinary or not, the fact re-
mains, they're all cats. The very sight of one
makes me shudder."
"I give you my word you sha'n't be an-
noyed."
"How'll you prevent it?"
"Simply . . . I'll lock her up."
"No use. She'll get out. They're sly as the


THE MANNEQUIN
45
devil. If she's anywhere on board I'll be cer-
tain to run up against her. Just my luck.
She'll be scuttling about the passageways, creep-
ing on deck after dark, blinking at me out of
dim corners when I least expect it. Jove! how
do I know she isn't outside the port this min-
ute ready to . . ."
The voice ceased abruptly. There were
sounds of hasty footsteps, the deck-port wing
was flung to, closing with the thick thud of
heavy, perfectly-fitted casings.
Elizabeth tugged frantically at her leash.
Less than ever could she liberate herself now,
for the closing of the port shortened the length
of her scarf-ends so they pinioned her fast to
the wall.
Inside Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis and her son were
still keeping it up. One could hear their harsh
voices grinding against each other even through
the closed deck-port.
A tall, official-looking figure hove in sight,
coming from the direction of the main gang-
way. Striding along at a swinging gait, as if
measuring off distance, he would have passed.
Elizabeth hailed him.
"Oh, I say . . . That is, please . . . Won't
you kindly wait a minute?"


46
THE MANNEQUIN
The official-looking person came to a halt.
Saluted.
"I'm caught," explained Elizabeth.
The man raised expressive eyebrows squarely
set over dark, keen, resolute eyes.
"I see. Caught in the act."
"Not at all. Caught in the window."
Elizabeth's voice had a deliberate edge. She
resented his inference and she wished him to
know it. Her feeling of indignation was the
more acute because she was practically certain
she recognized in his voice the voice she had
listened to over the telephone with so much
Inner satisfaction a short while ago.
"Not window . . . porthole," she heard
herself corrected.
"I don't care what you call the horrid thing
so long as you open it."
The officer ruminated.
"I'm afraid I can't do that. You see, it's
the owner's port. To open it I'd have to go
round to his stateroom. Orders are he's never
to be disturbed. Then, I belong to the Trades
Union. The Society for the Prevention of
Overwork of Deep-seagoing Able Sailors. Our
regulations are exceedingly strict. We are
bound to keep within our own line of employ-


48
THE MANNEQUIN
hours in which your idle hands will give Satan
any innings on the mischief-still game."
"It's very kind of you to prepare me."
He bowed, starting to pass on.
"Don't mention it. As among shipmates,
you know."
"In the meantime I'm being hanged by the
neck until I am . . ."
The officer's level eyebrows flickered.
"Oh, surely. I had forgotten. It just oc-
curs to me . . ."
Drawing a combination penknife from his
pocket, he snapped open a minute pair of scis-
sors and proceeded to cut her loose.
"D'you mind?" he asked, considerate of her
scarf.
"Not in the least . . . it's not mine. By the
way, whom have I to thank for the service?"
m . . . er . . .
She noticed a quizzical glint in his eyes as
he hesitated.
"I suppose you think I ought to know at
once who you are. ... I suppose I exhibit
great ignorance in not being able to tell at a
glance by the braid and buttons on your coat
everything about you . . . age, color, previous
condition of servitude. I may as well confess


THE MANNEQUIN
49
right here I'm not in the least nautical. I
wouldn't know a ship to clapboard if I saw one
in the offing, or the awning, or whatever they
call it. I'm like the kiddies in 'Babes in Toy-
land' ... I can't do that sum.
"'// a steamship weighed ten thousand tons
And sailed ten thousand miles,
With a cargo large of overshoes
And carving-knives and files.
If the mate were almost six feet high
And the bos'n near the same,
Would you subtract or multiply
To find the captain's name?'"
She broke off suddenly in the midst of her
humming. . . . "By the way, you're not the
captain, are you?"
Then, without waiting for him to answer,
she shook her head negativing her own ques-
tion.
"Of course you're not. He's in there talk-
ing to his mother. No, of course you're not
the captain. D'you mind disclosing who you
are?"
"How would petty officer suit?"
"Petty officer is all right, I suppose, if you


THE MANNEQUIN
He weighed it, nodded in assent.
"Precisely . . . stewing."
"Why don't you change your situation?"
He fixed his eyes on her in a way that, curi-
ously, compelled her own.
"I'm beginning to think ... I may."
"What would you like to be?"
She asked the question without in the least
wanting to know, rather from an instinct of
self-preservation, as something that might
release her from an influence she found it hard
to resist. His steadfast gaze suddenly had the
effect of making her flush. When he spoke
his voice was low, but of an extraordinary
clearness.
"I think I'd like to be . . . er . . ."
Again she noticed that tendency to weigh his
words before committing himself.
"I think I'd like to be first-mate."
"First-mate? Is that a . . . cinchl"
"Not necessarily."
"If you were first-mate you'd be practically
boss, wouldn't you?"
His eyes still held her.
"Lord no. Not likely."
"Would first-mate be a better job than what
you've already got?"


52 THE MANNEQUIN
"I didn't use to think so. . . . I think so
now."
"Well then, steward, I hope you'll be first-
mate."
"Your hand on it."
Their palms met in a frank clasp. /


CHAPTER V
"Returning to Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis's son,"
said Elizabeth with a desperate effort to re-
cover, with her hand, a self-command there
was no obvious reason for her having lost.
"Returning to Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis's son . . ."
"He has an identity of his own," her com-
panion courteously suggested.
"Has he? Well, what's it like?"
The prospective first-mate pondered.
"A petty officer should not criticize a su-
perior," he hedged deliberately.
"Oh, I understand. He's criticizable and
superior. Takes after his mother. I begin
to see him ... in my mind's eye, Horatio."
"Then you haven't actually seen him?"
"Not I. He f-efused; to appear at table be-
cause I was there.'r J""
"How do you know that?"
"Just heard him say so. He's a misogynist,
steward, if you know what that is. If I weren't
too proud to descend to depths below depths
53


54
THE MANNEQUIN
I'd say a misogynist is a mister that's
missed her . . . but that would be impossible,
wouldn't it, steward? The point is, he hates
women. Hates them like poison (italics are
his.) It would be belittling to sit down at table
with one. (His mother doesn't come under
that head, being sui generis, heroic size.) /
come in two classes . . . both under the ban
. . . woman and menial."
"I hold no brief for Jerome-Jarvis," her
auditor let fall, not regarding her now, throw-
ing it out as if for the benefit of whom it might
concern. "But I happen to know he'd prefer
a working-girl any day in the week to a Social
Butterfly. The women he loathes are the Lit-
tle Sisters of the Rich. And I, for one, don't
blame him . . . shallow, purposeless para-
sites who think of nothing but being amused.
Dressing themselves up like dolls. All vogue
outside, all vague inside."
The shot struck. Elisabeth's cheeks flamed.
"I never heard anything so abominable.
You may not be in a position to know, steward,
but there are scores upon scores of rich girls
who are just as womanly and earnest as . . ."
"As you are?"
"I didn't say that. I don't hold myself up


THE MANNEQUIN
55
as a criterion. But I'll tell you this, it's no
proof a girl is a doll just because she dresses
well. I'm a very poor . . ."
To her burning shame and indignation her
voice caught in a quick gasp that barely
escaped a sob.
"Don't grieve about your poverty," the
petty officer advised, his languid utterance tak-
ing on a new quality, becoming very humanly
sympathetic. "It's better to be a mannequin
from necessity than from choice. It's the real
mannequin, the girl who chooses to be a man-
nequin, that I . . . that Jerome-Jarvis de-
spises."
Elizabeth's scorn was not to be so easily
appeased.
"Oh, he! Who is he, I should like to know,
to despise anybody."
The petty officer made as if to speak. Eliz-
abeth checked him with a gesture.
"Don't defend him. I know what he's like,
and I don't like what I know he is, poor wretch.
My only consolation is the minute we reach
Nassau I'm to be shipped back to town to be
out of his way."
"Oh, you are, are you?"
"Yes, but the joke is on him, for if he only


56
THE MANNEQUIN
knew it, he isn't half so anxious to have me
shipped as I am to be shipped."
"Are you perfectly sure Jerome-Jarvis him-
self . . ."
"Sure? I heard him say so a few minutes
ago. I wish he'd say it to my face, but he
won't come out and play fair . . . won't
meet me in the open. He's not a manl He's
a maiden-hair fernl"
"Oh, I say!"
"His lady-mother offered to lock me up.
No use. The dear boy is so sensitive he'd
know if I were anywhere around. Almost as
delicate as the princess in the fairy tale who
was aware when a pea was in her feather bed.
But, I suppose, he's really not altogether re-
sponsible. They say . . ."
"It seems to me you're bearing down pretty
hard on a chap you yourself admit you never
even saw."
"But I've heard him, haven't I? Isn't that
enough? He said I'd always be scuttling
about the passageways, peering out at him from
corners, creeping out on deck after dark . . ."
she stopped abruptly, brought up with a round
turn by her own words and the quizzical glint
in the petty officer's eyes.


THE MANNEQUIN
57
"We ell?"
It would have been impossible to compress
more satirical meaning into one little syllable.
There was a second's pause before he said:
"The joke, as you call it, is not on Jerome-
Jarvis alone, nor on you alone. It's on all con-
cerned. There's not going to be any Nassau."
She swung about.
"Not going to be any Nas"
"Latest orders are we're not to touch at
Nassau."
He saw her hands clutch each other in a
tragic little gesture.
"Oh, we must, we must! I've just got to
get off there. And she . . . Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis has got to ship me. Unless she does I'm
done for. . . . You see . . . she grabbed
me and took me off and ... I haven't a cop-
per cent to my name."
"Good!"
She stared. . . . "What did you say?"
"I said 'Gad!'" he declared mendaciously.
All the while they were speaking the two
just within the stateroom had never stopped
disputing. Now, all of a sudden, something
like a discordant shriek rang out through the
quiet of the night, followed by a smothered gasp,


58 THE MANNEQUIN
mysterious shufflings, then . . . silence. Be-
fore Elizabeth could clutch the petty officer's
sleeve, demanding to know what the trouble
was, he had dashed away, but not so quickly
as to hide the concern written plainly on his
face, mute confession that he knew.
In spite of her conviction that it would be
impossible to rest, haunted as she was by un-
imaginable horrors she was powerless to pre-
vent, Elizabeth not only slept that night, but
slept soundly far into the next morning.
Before her mind was consciously astir she felt
it contending with something troublesome,
something that had borne down hard, like a
tormenting finger pressed on a nerve, all the
while she was asleep. Gradually, as her brain
grew active, the vague impression took shape.
She bathed and dressed, still trying to puzzle
out the nature of the mysterious catastrophe
that had sent the petty officer, hurrying away
with such a troubled face, but she was aware
that the real cause of her depression was not
that. It was the look in the petty officer's
eyes, the tone of his voice when he spoke his
mind on the subject of the social butterfly. At
last she could endure it no longer. She did not
stop to ask herself what was to be gained by


THE MANNEQUIN
59
talking to him about it; all she knew was that
she wanted to talk to him. But when she had
following his directions and sought out "Help"
on the switchboard, had stood before it,
strangely hesitating, shaken by some powerful
inner current she had never felt before, some-
thing that sent joyous shocks quivering through
her from head to foot, she found it was not so
easy to talk. Words would not come. Even
when she had braced herself and brought her
balky breath clean over the hurdle in her
throat, it took a prodigious effort to ring up
and say "Hello."
She waited. There was no answer.
"Hello!" she repeated, then "Hello" again,
and again "Hello!"
No use. . . . Evidently the petty officer
was not "anywhere within range." It was
while she was standing staring before her with
moistening eyes, as crestfallen as a cheated
child, that she noticed the dictatype machine
just underneath the switchboard. She had not
been instructed in the use of the dictatype,
but she was ingenious enough as well as des-
perate enough to learn the trick for herself.
"Molly . . . oh, my dear!" she gasped in
a burst of pent-in confidence. With almost


60 THE MANNEQUIN
human intelligence the hidden mechanism
sighed, then settled resignedly to its fate.
"You never could guess where I am . . on
the Jerome-Jarvis's yacht! Making for Nas-
sau, only we're not going to make it. I'll tell
you later all about how I happen to be here.
It was a joke. I'm bound to confess it doesn't
seem quite so funny to me today as it did yes-
terday. I thought it was a great lark then,
but now . . . I'm afraid you wouldn't think
it amusing at all, not even proper, maybe. I'm
afraid he wouldn't. By he I mean the petty
officer. Oh, I forgot, you don't know about
the petty officer. He's really steward . . .
very tall, very handsome, very . . . my word!
but he's very perpendicular . . . for a steward.
He must be head-steward, for he didn't show
at dinner last night. Neither, for that matter,
did the great and only Jerome-Jarvis . . .
Mr., I mean. Thereto hangs a tail, as long as
a kite's . . . but I won't go into it now. Tell
you later. But wasn't it curious my getting on
the topic of Angelique and the Jerome-Jarvises
yesterday and then going off and being tangled
up with them so goodness knows when I'll be
able to undo the knot? D'you remember I
said J. J. fils was believed to be not all there!


THE MANNEQUIN
61
As Dad would express it, 'hasn't all his but-
tons.' On the other hand, the steward has all
his buttons . . . figuratively and literally. He's
positively embossed with them. He doesn't
object to girls as girls, as 'the owner' does.
It's the rich ones he can't bear, so if I want
him to like me I've either to 'renounce me for-
tune' like a herowine in a cheap mellow-dramer
or keep quite still and allow him to remain
under the impression that I'm Elsie out of
Angelique's atelier. I meant to tell him the
truth about myself last night when we were
talking in the shadow of the smoke-stacks, but
it isn't easy to own up to being one of a class
that's so unmistakably in wrong with someone
you'd like to be in right with. That's weak, I
know, but it's the truth and I can't help it. If
you were here, Cousin Molly, and could hear
the petty officer holding forth on the subject
of shallow, purposeless parasites, I guess you
wouldn't be particularly keen on announcing
you belong to the species. Besides, when you
come to think of it . . . it's none of his busi-
ness what I am. I don't have to care what his
opinion of me is, do I? He's only a steward,
and stewards don't rank very high, so far as I
ever heard. At least, I never thought they


THE MANNEQUIN
63
once? "Not in the least pleased, but piously
resigned," Elizabeth had to bite her tongue
from replying.
The Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis who presently put
in an appearance was so different from the
high-and-mighty one of previous occasions
that, in spite of herself, Elizabeth was moved.
"Oh, you're hurt! You're sick!" she cried
impulsively, forgetting everything in her con-
cern for the sufferer. "Why, your face is ter-
ribly bruised ... all black and blue. And
your arms and hands have been scratched until
the blood came! What has happened? What
. . . whoever could have done it?"
To Elizabeth's consternation two tears
oozed from between the discolored eyelids and
trickled down the swollen cheeks as Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis sank into a cushioned chair.
"It's nothing. I had an accident last night.
I was trying to lock up my Angora so she
wouldn't get out and annoy my son, and she
scratched me. She's wild if one tries to lock
her up. In the confusion I ran into my locker-
door (carelessly left open) and hurt my eye.
It's of no consequence, but the shock and now
the motion (it's uncommonly rough, isn't it?)
have made me feel rather upset."


64
THE MANNEQUIN
There was a pause. Elizabeth would have
spoken but words would not come. There was
something in Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis's story, or
her way of telling it, that had a tendency to
lower sympathetic temperature. She found
herself in the position of having to try to be
sorry, to try to believe in the truth of what
she had just been told.
"It is possible you may have heard," the
husky voice continued slowly, cautiously feel-
ing its way, "it is possible you may have heard
that my son is . . . eccentric."
Elizabeth nodded, indicating that she had
heard so, by courtesy admitting "eccentric" to
be the descriptive term.
"He is so very . . . unusual," the mother
continued, "that he is greatly misunderstood
. . . that is, he would be, if he went about
among people, mingled with his own class in
society. As it is, he . . . er . . . chooses
not to mingle. He prefers to go his own way.
He is very temperamental, highstrung . . .
that sort of thing. He has certain extremely
strong . . . er . . . prejudices. For instance,
an aversion to . . ."
"Cats," supplied Elizabeth ironically.
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis looked surprised for an


THE MANNEQUIN 65
instant, then nodded, accepting the fact of
Elizabeth's knowledge without further com-
ment.
"Why, yes. And another thing ... he
objects to having anyone outside the . . . er
regular . . . er . . . personnel on board. . . ."
"I understand," Elizabeth assured her ser-
enely. "But you can settle that by shipping
me the moment we reach Nassau, can't you?"
Again Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis looked struck.
Her interlocked fingers gripped one another
hard.
"I have just heard . . . this morning . . .
we are not going to Nassau," she explained
with an effort.
"Do you know where we are going?"
"No."
"Pour I'amour de Michel!" Elizabeth
breathed aghast.
"What did you say?"
"I said . . . that is, I meant: 'Captain,
captain, stop the ship; I want to get out and
walk!'"
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis raised her head from
the cushion that had been propping it.
"You are a very amazing young person,
Elsie," she remarked sternly. "It is unbecom-


66
THE MANNEQUIN
ing in one of your station and circumstances
to have so much . . . self-possession, so much
. . . er . . . audacity. It doesn't look well.
It disquiets me. It makes me nervous. I am
disappointed in you. I feel I have made a mis-
take in bringing you along. Nothing is as I
had intended it to be, everything has gone
wrong."
"If you mean me," said Elizabeth, "I'm
sure I haven't gone wrong."
"That remains to be seen. I am going to
be quite frank with you. I had counted on
your being pretty, but not so . . . conspicu-
ously so. I had counted on your being intelli-
gent, but not by any means to the extent that
you are. I don't like young women . . .
especially young women of your class to be so
. . . quick. You have an answer ready for
everything. It won't do. I have my doubts
as to your being docile. . . . But this, import-
ant as it is, is not what I came here to say. I
really meant to have a plain talk with you last
night. In fact, I sent my maid here to your
stateroom shortly after I came from the din-
ing-saloon, but she reported your lights were
out, so I gathered you had turned in, and I
didn't disturb you."


THE MANNEQUIN 67
"What time was that?" Elizabeth felt her
way.
"I don't recollect the precise hour. Shortly
after dinner. It doesn't signify."
"And you wanted me to come to your
cabin?"
"Yes."
"But you weren't in your cabin, Mrs.
Jerome-Travis."
"What do you mean? Of course I was in
my cabin. I've been there ever since I left the
dining-saloon last night until now."
Recollecting what had taken place between
her and her "temperamental" son in the latter's
stateroom, the night before, Elizabeth felt the
helplessness of trying to cope with such bare-
faced falsifying.
"I'm all turned round, I guess," she equivo-
cated lightly. "I thought your stateroom was
to the right of the companionway."
"So it is."
"Then your son's is to the left?"
"Certainly, though I don't see what that has
to do with it."
Still Elizabeth tried again.
"One likes to get one's bearings," she pre-
tended to explain. "The Fire Commissioner


68
THE MANNEQUIN
has got us in the habit, with his neat little
notices in theatre programs and things: 'Look
NOW and choose the nearest Exit.'"
Mrs. Jerome-Travis lifted her chin.
"That leads straight to what I have to say,"
she pronounced solemnly. "You are young
and I presume it is natural for youth to be
heedless. But I do not approve of one of your
class and means, Elsie, aping her betters and
wasting money on useless extravagances."
Elizabeth stared. She did not get the drift.
"A working-girl should not squander her
hard-earned wages on theatre tickets and
paste."
"Paste!" gasped Elizabeth.
Once fairly started Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis had
no difficulty in keeping it up.
"A working-girl should be thrifty. She
should save up against a rainy day. I noticed
at dinner last night, that you had on a string
of wax beads and a number of conspicuous
rings which, if they had been genuine would
have been priceless. Now, Angelique may not
have objected to your bedecking yourself with
mock jewelry, but / do. I won't have anyone
in my service going about like an animated
Christmas-tree, covered with tinsel."


THE MANNEQUIN 69
Elizabeth was on the brink of a helpless fit
of laughter.
"What makes you think my . . . ornaments
. . . are tinsel?" she brought out tremulously.
"Why, anyone with half an eye can see that
they are. No one in his right senses would
doubt it for a minute. If the things weren't
wax and paste they would be worth a young
fortune, and in that case ... so much the
worse for you."
Elizabeth's laughter died on her lips.
"I'd like to know what you mean, Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis, by 'so much the worse for
„„ >>>
me.
"I mean precisely what any other woman-
of-the-world or man-of-the-world would mean.
Either that stuff you have on is cheap trumpery
that wouldn't deceive a blind beggar who knew
what you are and where you come from, or
. . . it is genuine ... in which case . . .
you drive me to speak bluntly, you have it
from some man."
"And then?"
"Then . . . your respectability is out of
the question."
The nails of Elizabeth's clinched fists bit so
sharply into her palms that the pain recalled


70
THE MANNEQUIN
her to herself. After all, why should she be
agitated? For the moment she had forgotten
she was not actually Angelique's mannequin,
Elsie, who must 'take what was coming to her'
or lose her job, which meant her bread-and-
butter.
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis eyed her narrowly.
"Well, what have you to say for yourself,
Elsie? Are you ready to admit the stuff is
sham and take it off, like a nice, modest, self-
respecting girl, or . . ."
"The 'stuff' is not sham," Elizabeth main-
tained stoutly.
"Be careful. Consider what you say. It is
either sham or . . . shame."
"What?"
"No man whose intentions are honorable
would give a girl such things. No girl with a
grain of modesty would accept them."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. You confess a man did give them
to you?"
"Yes, I confess it."
"You have the face to own up to a fact so
compromising?"
"I don't own up to anything of the sort. I
admit a man gave them to me. And if you


THE MANNEQUIN 71
want to know who the man is . . . he's my
father."
For the fraction of a second Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis looked staggered. She recovered her-
self instantly.
"I don't believe a word of it."
Elizabeth gathered herself together.
"The fact is, Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis, you made
a little mistake yesterday," she explained pa-
tiently. "You brought away the wrong goods
from Angelique's."
"The wrong goods!"
"The wrong party. As I make it out, you
and Angelique had negotiated for Elsie, the
mannequin. What you really drew was . . .
what you see before you. Saving your pres-
ence, I'm Elizabeth Tiernan, daughter of
Dennis Tiernan of St. Louis, Mo." ,
"You mean Dennis Tiernan, owner of . . ."
"Almost anything you can mention that ever
lay around loose in Missouri and elsewhere."
Followed a long pause.
"Elsie," intoned Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis in
deep, penitential accents, "I am sorry to be
obliged to be strict with you. But you must
stay here in your stateroom until we touch at
some point from which you can be sent back


72 THE MANNEQUIN
to New York. Your meals will be served on
a tray. But you can't be at large. You must
be segregated."
This time it was Elizabeth's turn to gasp.
"Seg . . ."
"Regated. Quite so. You can't impose
upon me, my girl. You imposed upon Angel-
ique. That's enough. Too much. If she was
deceived, I am not. Angelique assured me you
were modest and respectable. You are noth-
ing of the sort. Plainly you were not so rash
as to flaunt those . . . er . . . wages of sin
before her eyes. Take them off. Give them
to me."
Elizabeth laughed.
"My word, Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis, why should
I? It seems to me you have enough wages of
sin, of your own, if that's what you call them."
"GIRL!"
"Well, haven't you? Really, I can't see for
the life of me why I should give you my jewelry.
As you say, the things are valuable. In the
name of fair play, why should I trust you if
you don't trust me?"
"You have the effrontery to say that to . . .
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis?"
"Why not, if Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis has the


THE MANNEQUIN 73
effrontery to say it to Miss Elizabeth Tiernan?
And, by the same token, as Dad says, he'll be
in a pretty state when he finds I'm among the
missing. I must go home, Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis.
You must get me off this boat at once and ship
me back to Dad."
Her auditor distended her nostrils, as though
she were listening with her nose.
"Bosh! Do you think I believe that . . .
that Dennis Tiernan is your father? Don't
fancy for a moment that you have succeeded in
drawing the wool over my eyes. I know who
you are. You are Elsie, Angelique's manne-
quin, and no one else. I don't believe a word
of your cock-and-bull story about your 'Dad'
and the way you came by those . . . orna-
ments you're wearing."
"Then permit me to say, I don't believe a
word of your cock-and-bull story about your
Angora and the way you came by the orna-
ments you are wearing."
They eyed each other in silence with the
level, calculating gaze of wrestlers about to
clinch.
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis had risen and now, in
spite of her weakness and the lurching of the
boat, she managed to reach the door with


74 THE MANNEQUIN
amazing quickness and surprising dignity. A
second later she had passed through it, closed it
after her. There was a sharp metallic sound
as of a bolt shot home.
Elizabeth darted to the door and tried the
knob. It was fast. To the sound of drums in
her brain and fifes in her ears she set upon the
door as if it had been Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis her-
self, grappling with it, determined to fight it
out to a finish. She did, in fact, give a dislo-
cating pull or so, but as nothing seemed to be
affected by the wrench but her own strained
arms, she gave it up.
Locked in 1 Caged! Imprisoned!
All the free, bog-roaming blood of her for-
bears rose up in her and brandished shillalahs.


CHAPTER VI
The mental riot subsided as suddenly as it
had arisen, and Elizabeth sank into the chair
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis had just quitted.
The thing to do was think it over quietly,
sensibly. To "get a line on" the situation as
well as on herself, not to allow her hot head to
lose her a trick in the game. Oh, if only she
had someone to talk it over with, someone who
would understand, give her good advice . . .
her father . . . Cousin Molly. . . .
The suggestion reminded her of the dicta-
type—Cousin Molly's proxy.
"Oh, Molly-my-dear! Never again, so help
me, shall I complain that life is monotonous.
It's the greatest show on earth, a circus, a
variety performance, a song-and-dance ... an
anything-you-choose-to-call-it! I told you in my
first installment I was on the Jerome-Jarvis's
yacht. I'm still on it. It's a case of I don't
know where I'm going, but I know I'm on my
way. In the meantime things have happened.
75


76 THE MANNEQUIN
"I'm segregated.
"Did you ever?
"Outraged Virtue in the person of Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis has segregated me, locked me in
so I can't possibly get out.
"Of course, she doesn't really think what she
pretends she thinks. She pretends she thinks
I'm a Social Evil just because I happen to be
wearing a few of the little trinkets Dad has
given me from time to time. She says no man
whose intentions are honorable would give a
girl such things. I wonder if Dad's intentions
are honorable. But, seriously, she doesn't be-
lieve a word of it. The fact is, she was hard
pushed for an excuse to shut me up and she
had to shut me up because . . . her son is
mad . . . stark, staring mad. That's the
whole truth of it, Molly. She 'smuggled me
on board' because she was lonely or something,
and when he found it out he was in a terrible
tantrum. I heard him 'bullyragging' her last
night through the deck-port, when the petty offi-
cer and I were chatting, out on deck. He . . .
son . . . has a voice like a rasp and she . . .
mother . . . has a voice like an un-oiled hinge
and between them they kept it up. At last he
grew 'woildloike,' as Dad says, with the result


THE MANNEQUIN
77
that the poor lady is decidedly the worse for
wear this A. M. Eye black and blue, hands
and arms all scratched and torn. The petty
officer rushed to the rescue, but too late,
apparently, to save her. He must have put the
wretched creature in a straight-jacket or some-
thing, for after he arrived on the scene all was
quiet on the Potomac for the remainder of the
night. Meanwhile, I gather, the poor lady-
mother has found it doesn't do to thwart a
crazy man, so she concocted a scheme to keep
me securely out of his way, and I suppose she'll
hustle me off the boat the first time we touch
land. Come to think of it, I'm rather glad I'm
segregated. It wouldn't be a pleasing joke to
run up against the unbalanced one and have
him 'throw a fit 'ferninst me, would it? There!
I knew you'd help me out, Molly-my-dear.
You always do, you know.
"Another thing! This whole queer affair
has set me thinking.
"Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis insists I'm Elsie, An-
gelique's mannequin. I've told her I'm not.
I've explained I'm Dennis Tiernan's daughter.
She won't hear of it. Insists I'm lying, or pre-
tends she thinks so. The point is . . . what
if I really were Elsie!


78 THE MANNEQUIN
"Somehow, that thought has been haunting
me ever since I discovered what sort of little
scheme she and Angelique had cooked up be-
tween them. Elsie was sick, and frightened to
death for fear the trouble was going to prove
something serious, something that would drag
its weary length along through weeks or even
months, and maybe leave her scarred or a
nervous wreck, in which case she'd lose her
'job' and might starve before she'd get another.
I don't believe Angelique ever asked her if
she wanted to go with Mrs. J. J. . . . just
bundled her off without so much as a by-your-
leave. Then Mrs. J. J., believing me to be
Elsie, or pretending she thinks so, talked to
me like the proverbial 'Dutch uncle' and still
expected me to be 'respectful,' which means not
to answer back. I tell you, Molly, it set me
thinking.
"Yesterday, when I saw how wretched that
poor child was, I gave her the 'little extra' Dad
had sent me and told her to take a rest on it,
but I don't suppose one could count on that
sort of thing occurring every day. It might be
possible some Flibbertigibbet with more money
than was good for her would take a notion to
toss a purse to a sick, overworked Elsie, with


8o THE MANNEQUIN
the more I think of it the more I'm wild to
begin." . . .
Throughout the rest of the day her mind
was so busy with the new idea, and some others,
that twilight came before she fairly knew it.
From force of habit she dressed for dinner,
even while she realized it was to be brought in
to her upon a tray, as her luncheon had been.
It was only after the tray had been removed,
that she recollected last night and what fun it
had been out on deck, watching the stars, and
the phosphorus and . . . yes . . . the petty
officer.
On a quick impulse she switched off the light,
went to her porthole and tugged it wide.
"Good evening."
Elizabeth started.
"My word! You out there, steward?"
"I've been here for some time, yfhy don't
you come?"
"Can't."
"Too rough?"
"No, indeed."
"Then, why not?"
"Locked in."
For a moment she thought he was too
shocked for words, or that he was indifferently


8a
THE MANNEQUIN
escape by way of solid doors or closed port-
holes. Those two exits are the only ones I
know of that lead to liberty out of this."
"There are others."
"You may know them. I don't."
"Oh, yes you do."
"Evidently you have inside information on
me all along the line. You know I know things
I don't know I know at all."
"Not in the least. It's simply that, begging
your pardon, you are not using your brains.
Your temper is working overtime, but you
shouldn't let your brains knock off so early in
the day."
"Perhaps they belong to the union, steward
. . . the same as yourself."
"Perhaps. Still, if I were you, I'd make
them do me at least one more turn before they
quit."
"What kind of turn."
"Think back to last night. It seems to me
I recollect hearing a certain young lady say
something about a 'freaky contraption' in the
wall that let any old thing that happened to
care to skate into her cabin. . . ."
"Well?"
"If any old thing could skate in, why doesn't


THE MANNEQUIN
83
it follow that some particular young thing
could also skate out?"
"But that was . . . er . . . baggage."
"Well?" he tossed her question back to her.
"I'm not a baggage, even if Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis does say . . ."
"Never mind that now," he hurried her
over the dangerous ground. "If pretending
you're baggage will help you out of a hole, why
shouldn't you pretend?"
"Good work, steward! That's an idea! If
pretending I'm a baggage will help me out of
a hole, why, who's to blame me for pretending
I'm a baggage? Could you manage to be inter-
ested in the sea-scape for a minute, while I
skate through that freaky contraption in the
wall?"
A few moments later she was beside him,
leaning upon the rail, her arms comfortably
crossed upon it.
"Steward, you may not know it, but this is
'eavenly."
"I do know it."
"And the most celestial part of it is knowing
I'm a trick ahead of the Jerome-Jarvises."
He regarded her steadily, without smiling.
"And looking at you, just as you stand there,


84
THE MANNEQUIN
I was reminded of The Blessed Damozel," he
mused.
"Instead of which . . . well, I can't help it.
I don't love the J. J.'s, steward. That is to
say, I don't bear him any malice, poor wretch.
But she . . . Mrs. is certainly the limit."
"Don't you think," he proposed after a mo-
ment of silently turning it over in his mind.
"Don't you think we can get on without slat-
ing the Jerome-Jarvises quite so frequently? I
may or may not have my own private opinion
of them, but after all, they're human beings,
you know, and even the devil may not be so
black as he's painted. If you knew them better
maybe . . ."
"I don't want to know them better, steward.
Since this morning I feel I know them both
quite well enough."
"Why since this morning?"
"Oh, this morning I discovered 'beyond the
peradventure of a doubt' what ails him."
"What does ail him?"
"He's temperamental . . . without the men-
tal. Tell me . . . honestly . . . wasn't that
tow-row last night in his stateroom, and didn't
you rush in there to rescue the perishing?"
The petty officer meditated.


86 THE MANNEQUIN
So you see, he was 'narvus' even then.
Well, poor thing, I'm sure I'm sorry for him,
but all the same, 'narvus' people give me the
fidgets."
"Then aren't you a bit 'narvus' too?"
"Maybe. Let's talk about something else."
"For example. . . ."
"You. Tell me, how does it happen that
having been to college and knowing Rosetti
you . . . you're . . ." she hesitated . . .
"you're a . . . steward?"
"How does it happen that having been to
college and knowing Rosetti you're . . . er
. . . Elsie?" he parried.
"Oh, that's easy. I was at Angelique's.
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis wanted a companion and
she . . . just wished me on her."
"Perhaps it was the same with me."
"Nonsense. She wouldn't have wished you
on her for a companion, unless ... oh, I
see what you mean . . . you mean for her
son."
"Precisely. For her son," he returned.
"You look after him, in addition to your
other duties?"
"Quite so."
"Well, you must have your work cut out for


THE MANNEQUIN
87
you, if he often starts in to do her up as he did
last night."
"'Do her up?' What do you mean?"
"Pooh, you know well enough what I mean.
What's the use of your trying to cover up their
family skeleton? You admitted a few minutes
ago that you rushed in to rescue the perishing.
You found you weren't any too soon, I guess.
She was terribly mauled, poor lady, wasn't
she? Did you ever see such a sight as she is
this morning?"
The petty officer started, turned on her
sharply.
"I didn't see her this morning. I haven't
seen her today. She's kept her cabin. You
say she was hurt?"
His voice sounded almost as harsh and
peremptory as Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis's own.
"Hurt? Well, rather. Assaulted and bat-
tered. To turn me off the track she invented
a pretty little fable about her Angora and . . .
I say, what's the matter, steward?"
For he had wheeled about, biting off in the
middle a word that was short enough as it was.
"Her Angora, you say?"
"Aided and abetted by the locker-door.
That's the tale as she tells it, but of course ..."


THE MANNEQUIN
89
articulate through compressed lips, "only one
way. That's to end the whole business. Finish
it up and have done with it."
A sudden fit of shivering seized her.
"You don't mean," she gasped, clutching his
sleeve with desperate intensity, "you don't
mean you'd take the life of a helpless crea-
ture?"
"Helpless nothing. A creature may not be
able to reason, but if it can bite, if it can
scratch, it is not helpless. It's a menace, that's
what it is."
"But life is always life," she pleaded.
"On the contrary, quite frequently it's death.
Take parasites and pests. Take microbes and
moccasins and maniacs. Such things ought to
be exterminated for the best good of the race.
I'm with Nietzsche there."
"You don't mean you'd . . .?"
"Put them out of the way? Quick as a wink
I would."
"Oh, I know you're not in earnest. I don't
believe it. I won't believe it. Not of you,
steward."
He gave her a quick, searching look, then
shrugged her ardent words from him with a
touch of impatience.


9o THE MANNEQUIN
"Save your sentiment, my dear young lady,
for a worthier object."
If ever there was a slap in the face, that was
one.


CHAPTER VII
Finding herself "at large," as Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis expressed it, standing beside the petty
officer at the ship's rail, Elizabeth had been
again tempted to take him into her confidence,
tell him who she was, how she came here, and
why (oh, especially why) she must get away at
once. Last night she forbore because, as she
explained to Cousin Molly's proxy, his unquali-
fied repugnance to rich girls was not precisely
encouraging to one belonging to the class. But
during her day of imprisonment she had
thought the whole thing out.
It was manifestly absurd to stand in her own
light for the sake of a subordinate's petty
prejudice. She saw that with perfect clear-
ness. What was not so clear, what was, as a
matter of fact, most puzzling was that face to
face with the subordinate it was his prejudice
that bulked large, her personal plight that
proved unimportant.
As she had gone over it behind her locked
91


92
THE MANNEQUIN
stateroom door, her plan of bidding for his
co-operation looked simple as sunlight. Why
shouldn't she "put it up to him" in plain terms
of hard cash?
"Now, steward, my good man, I've a propo-
sition to make. I don't know what your cir-
cumstances are, but holding the position you
do I gather they're not precisely affluent. And
even if you're unusally well-fixed for a steward,
isn't it natural to suppose that a couple of cool
thousands coming, as one might say, out of the
blue, would be acceptable? Well, I can put
you in the way of earning a couple of cool
thousands; earning them honestly, earning
them, if it comes to that, meritoriously, with
minimum work for maximum wage. All I
need is my chance. If you'll furnish the chance
I'll engage to make the most of it. Then, when
I'm safe and sound, back in St. Louis in the
arms of my dear old Dad, he'll acknowledge
your timely help to me with (what shall I call
it?) a suitable honorarium ... a tidy little
check for, let's say, two thousand, which, imme-
diately I mention his name, you'll see he's
perfectly 'good for.' If that isn't a sure thing,
if that isn't 'easy money,' I'd like to know
what is."


94 THE MANNEQUIN
me-Libbyty-or-give-me-death attitude she had
told Cousin Molly bored her to distraction.
In making her calculations, she did not count
on the petty officer as swelling the ranks
of such. She rather more than suspected,
shrewdly, that if, as steward, he would not
naturally fall within the eligible class, he would
never descend to do so factitiously. He would
"put it up to her" to remove any obstacles that
were to be removed, if indeed, she wished him
to meet her on her own plane, but this did not
in the least raise any doubts in her mind as to
her particular power to get what she wanted.
In her cabin it had all been as simple as sun-
light.
Standing beside the petty officer at the ship's
rail, under the vast lowering plate of starless
gun-metal sky, her little equation looked less
certain. Discounting the effect of the superb
physique, the immaculate uniform, there still
remained an unknown quantity ... an X that
she had yet to learn the exact value of.
It was not owing to the darkness of the
night that she could not "see" herself putting
it to him straight to the tune of a cool two
thousand. It came to her slowly, but with
increasing definiteness, that this wasn't in the


THE MANNEQUIN
least because two thousand was not tempting
enough, but because no sum whatsoever would
be tempting enough. Simply the steward was
not one to whom honorariums could be offered.
On the other hand, she was not one to profit
by services from subordinates for which she
could give no quid pro quo. So there you
were! Where would be the point of telling
who she was, courting his contempt as one of
the shallow, purposeless parasites he loathed,
unless to explain why she must be assisted to
escape, given her chance to return to her father
who, by this time, must be in a pretty stew.
And if she couldn't offer a recompense for her
chance to escape, and wouldn't accept her
chance unless she could offer a recompense
. . . Well, it looked like a deadlock.
All the while they were discussing Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis, her fabled Angora, her mythi-
cal locker-door, her very real, unfortunate son,
Elizabeth had a feeling that in addition to
"keeping it up" with the petty officer she was
"having it out" with herself, a sort of double-
barreled feat that reminded her of a juggler
at a show who perilously poises and balances
to retain his footing on a revolving ball, what
time he nimbly tosses and catches other lesser


96
THE MANNEQUIN
balls over which his fingers must never lose
control. It was a "stunt," no doubt about it.
Then, suddenly, as she was wondering at her-
self, the balls stopped revolving. She could
almost have sworn the biggest ball of all, the
earth on which she stood had come to a dead
stop with a jolting shock, while dizzy and
shaken she heard the petty officer say without
the least hint of levity, gravely, meaning every
word:
"Kill them? Quick as a wink I would."
"I don't believe it. I won't believe it . . .
not of you, steward."
Her voice fairly quivered with passionate
denial.
If, as soon as they were out, her own words
froze her blood, his following quickly after,
made it boil. Wasn't it bad enough to have
what one said come out sounding so different
from what one intended, without people's
jumping at odious conclusions? It was obvi-
ous the petty officer thought she was trying to
be tenderly flirtatious, playing to the gallery
. . . and was determined to nip it in the bud.
Her eyeballs smarted with mortification. She
turned on her heel that he might not see the
signs of disturbance in her face.


THE MANNEQUIN 97
The movement was so quick it challenged
his attention. Watching her straight young
back he was impressed with its unnatural
rigidity.
"What's up?"
He put it to her left shoulder, as out of a
conscience void of offence.
She would, in any case, have scorned to
answer his flippant question, even if she had
not been seized at the moment with a fresh
confusion.
The trunk-slide!
How could she hope to make an effectively
haughty, even a half-way dignified exit when
it was a question of going down on hands and
knees and crawling through that detestable aper-
ture! It was as if the yacht and everyone on
it had made common cause against her to abase
her, bring down her pride.
"What's up? Tell me. I can see something
is wrong. We were all O. K. a minute ago,
wern't we?"
"I wish to go in."
They were standing near the gangway. He
stood aside to allow her to pass through before
him. She flung him a look full of stern
reproach.


THE MANNEQUIN
99
Elizabeth laughed ironically.
"Of all the wonderful things on this won-
derful boat, you, steward, are certainly the
most wonderful."
"Thank you."
"And now ... if you'll leave the deck,
I'll go in."
"I didn't leave the deck when you came out."
"Quibble. Be so kind as to do as I say."
"I'm far from sure that to do as you say
would be kind."
"It's always kind, it's alway chivalrous, isn't
it, for the gentlemn to give way to the lady?"
"Piffle! That sort of effeminism went out
when what-you-call feminism came in, didn't
it? Equal rights, if it means anything, means
a fair field and no favor."
"Precisely. It's no favor . . . the fair
field . . . and yet, you men expect us to say
'thank you'! What I'm asking now is a fair
field . . . not you all over the place."
She thought she heard a low chuckle, but
when he spoke his voice was as completely
under control as ever, as level, as low-pitched.
"My better judgment tells me to see you
safely inside. You tell me to go about my
business and leave you alone. Only weaklings


IOO
THE MANNEQUIN
listen to the siren-song. I never could get up
much of a glow over the blind obedience of our
pious little friend Casabianca, et al. But, for
once in a way, I'm willing to 'make believe' I'm
a perfect gentleman . . . yours to command
and so forth, as I said before. Behold me,
then, like the Light Brigade, obeying footless
orders I'd much better resist. 'Mine not to
question why,' Mine but to say good . . .
night!"
"Good night," she answered.
A quick salute and he was gone.
She had her way, she was rid of him. But
instead of going directly to her stateroom she
turned back to where they had stood together.
Folding her arms on the deck-rail, looking out
over the dark, mysterious depths beneath, the
same cold, racing current buffeted her cheeks,
the same whistle of wind and waves echoed in
her ears, yet her sense of "this" being
"'eavenly" had. utterly passed. She was deso-
late enough now to have laid her face between
her hands and wept, after the fashion of The
Blessed Damozel to whom he had likened her.
What was the trouble?
Homesick? It sounded plausible enough.
Given a Flying Dutchman craft, scudding


THE MANNEQUIN 101
through turbulent waters to nowhere in particu-
lar, a crazy man in command, his fatuous
mother locking her up for impossible fantastic
reasons . . . why wouldn't one be homesick?
Yet Elizabeth knew she was not homesick.
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis and her abominable im-
plications?
Pooh! After the first quick gust of anger
had spent itself Elizabeth had clean forgotten
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis.
The petty officer's shocking confession of
faith in Nietzsche and his murderous doctrine?
No, for she didn't believe the petty officer
was in earnest about Nietzsche, and besides,
even if he were, how could that concern her?
She wasn't her brother's . . . the petty offi-
cer's keeper. Certainly not. It was none of
her business what his philosophy was.
His calling her down when he fancied she
was getting sentimental? We-ell, that had
been upsetting for a bit, to be sure. One never
relishes a snub direct. But after all, one should
consider the source. Why mind when it was a
plain case of the man's forgetting his place.
When one came right down to it, he was only
a steward ... he didn't count. . . .
All of which, being absolutely logical, abso-


102
THE MANNEQUIN
lutely correct as calculation, yet quite as abso-
lutely failed to fill the bill as the "right answer"
to her troublesome problem. In other words,
the sum of the causes didn't tally with the
degree of their effect.
Six bells had struck before she was aware,
and she was still standing by the rail, chill and
huddled in her long, dark storm-cloak, with
her puzzle still unsolved.
From time to time dim forms had flitted past
on noiseless feet, busy batlike creatures speed-
ing about on mysterious errands (in daylight
mere sailors doing their prosaic duty). Once
one of them had paused. Keeping her shrouded
head turned from him, she could only guess
that his impulse was to warn a reckless land-
lubber of the lateness of the hour, the rough-
ness of the night, the risk of trusting to the
rail in so high a sea. But evidently he de-
cided that discretion was the better part of
valor, that to interrupt the midnight vigils of
a "narvus" skipper might have dire results.
At any rate he passed on, leaving her unmo-
lested on the deserted deck, a shadow merged
in deeper shadows. When he was gone Eliza-
beth gathered herself together with a shiver,
glad enough now to creep into the shelter of


THE MANNEQUIN 103
her warm cabin. Her hand was on the panel,
she was on her knees, heading in through the
low slide, when just midway, betwixt and be-
tween, she stopped short in her tracks, paralyzed
by the sound of stealthy footsteps drawing near
and nearer, laboriously straining forward as
under some ponderous burden, or in spite of
some powerful impediment. Slowly they ad-
vanced, and as the shuffling, scuffling sounds
grew more audible, so did other sounds, the
sound of heavy breathing ... a smothered
sob, low, hoarsely whispered protests . . .
pleadings.
"Steward, you sha'n't do it! It's barbarous!
You daren't do it, steward!"
Elizabeth's heart missed a beat, leaped
throat-high, then started in again pounding
double-quick to make up for lost time. She
could not catch the steward's reply, only the
sounds of struggle as he and Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis strove with renewed desperation.
Why, oh, why didn't the woman call for
help? Why didn't she summon the crew, have
the steward overpowered?
In her agony of mind Elizabeth was herself
ready to fly to the rescue, but at the first move
she felt herself checked, as by a thwarting hand


io4 THE MANNEQUIN
upon her garments. She tugged herself free
. . . felt the hold relax, with a tearing sound,
and then, liberated, free, was still unable to
budge, for the struggle on deck had waxed
more furious and all she could do was to kneel
by, hypnotized by the horror of it.
There was a smothered gasp, a wild animal-
like yet terribly human cry . . . then silence.
What her actual senses missed Elizabeth's
mind's eye supplied.
She saw the mother's last frantic efforts to
save her son, saw them fail, heard his shriek
of terror as the pitiless hands that clutched
him worked their will, saw the steward with
the brand of Cain on his brow, and saw, as in
a flash of blinding light, that at last she had the
"right answer." The right answer that would
make everything in life wrong for her from
now on to the end of time.
She loved
There are some facts too terrible to face.


106 THE MANNEQUIN
how, to make a sweat-shop victim of Dennis
Tiernan's daughter?
Elizabeth stood before the pyramidal pile,
folded her arms and tossed her head defiantly.
Not a finger would she lift in the direction of
the rags. If she hadn't been brought up to do
that sort of thing for herself, it wasn't likely
she would do it for anyone else. . . . Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis least of all. But . . .
"It's not what you've been brought up to half
as much as what you've been brought down to
that counts in this life," her father was fond
of saying, proud of the fact that he had never
been brought down to anything for which his
girl need hang her head.
He was a self-made man. True. But in
choosing the pattern he had fashioned himself
after, he had had an eye to the best as he saw
it. The kind of thing that would bear hard
usage and still retain its shape. He had stood
for good lines, the right sort of cut and hang.
Nothing showy, just a plain, standard article.
His boast that he had played the game and
played it straight was no idle one. He had
never backed out when it came to "a show-
down." He was neither a shirk nor a quitter.
How about his daughter?


THE MANNEQUIN 107
Deliberately to take a situation, then "put up
a kick" was what Dennis Tiernan would have
called "playing it pretty low down." From the
moment Elizabeth had suffered herself to be
drawn into this thing she was bound, so she
knew he would say, to see it through, to stick
to her bargain.
She sat down to "tackle the rags" with a
sense of furious resistance against her father's
rectitude which was also her own, before which
she knew (was glad to know) she was helpless.
With work came a calmer mood.
There was this about keeping your fingers
busy, while you were stitching your thoughts
couldn't have it all their own way. If half of
your mind had to be directing your needle,
there was only the other half left to torture
you with. All of it couldn't be "on the job" as
had been the case during the night. The haunt-
ing visions were there, but less horribly vivid.
Instead of repeating themselves with madden-
ing insistence there would be times when they
would give way to others less painful . . . the
recollection of herself in Angelique's studio.
Elsie showing off the model-gown . . . poor
little flushed, feverish Elsie, who, it was plain,
ought to have been at home and abed instead


108 THE MANNEQUIN
of at work posing, posturing, going through
her paces like a mechanical lay-figure exhibit-
ing the season's modes for the benefit of . . .
what was it the steward had called them? . . .
"Mannequins from choice, not necessity; frivol-
ous fashion-plates . . . parasites" like herself,
who, he maintained, ought to be eliminated as
cumberers of the earth.
The little pronoun dragged back to mind a
troop of unhappy memories, memories not in
themselves unhappy, quite the contrary, but
unhappy now by poignant contrast. . . . The
two of them, he and she, on deck under the
stars. Again, when there were no stars, he
doing sentinel-duty outside her porthole, wait-
ing, showing her how to break prison, make a
clean getaway that she might come out and
join him.
She could see now why she had been so
wretched after she sent him away. At the
time, she now remembered, she couldn't figure
it out. The right answer had only come in the
light (or rather the desolate gloom) of what
happened later, every detail of which she could
see as plainly now as when, in her mind's eye,
with back turned, she had watched it taking
place, sixteen hours ago.


THE MANNEQUIN 109
Quickly she thrust the nightmare from her.
That way madness lay. For safety's sake, back
to Elsie again.
How and where was Elsie now? It was
comforting to recollect that at least the girl
had a well-filled purse in her pocket to tide her
over in case of need. Suppose she had had no
such purse? What happened to the great army
of luckless, ailing Elsies whose "bosses"
wouldn't give them a day off to rest up in,
when they were "down and out"?
The answer to her question came vaguely,
as out of the mist of long-forgotten things, and
she seemed to hear Cousin Molly's voice firing
over some tale of destitution, death or worse,
while she, Elizabeth, only pretended to listen,
the words really going in at one ear and out at
the other, what time she stole eager looks at
the pages of the latest novel in her lap.
But now, out of the clutter of half-heard
scraps, reports, statistics, general oddments in
the back of her consciousness, returned enough
clearly defined impressions to convince her that
the way of the wage-earning Elsie is hard.
What Cousin Molly had wanted Elizabeth to
do was help make it easier. But Elizabeth had
never been sufficiently interested. Now she


112
THE MANNEQUIN
Realizing which, most inconsistently she glowed
as with personal vainglory.
If before she had kept the port fast because
she was so hard on him, it occurred to her that
she was keeping it closed now because she was
so soft on him. But even that reflection did
not make her open it.
Time slipped away, Elizabeth keeping tab
on every hour so that she could have told off-
hand, to the minute and second, how long ago
it was since she and he had talked together on
deck, out under the overhanging armor-plate
sky. Then, late one evening, a determined
knuckle was laid on the outside surface of the
heavy glass pane. At first the tap was light,
persuasive, then as it met with no response,
firmer, more mandatory.
"I'll not answer," she told her heart, which
was behaving like a fool.
"You surely will answer," tatooed the
knuckle.
At last, the port held open just far enough
to breathe her protest through, she spoke:
"Please stop knocking. It makes me nerv-
ous as a witch."
"I'm sorry. But it's not the knocking that
makes you nervous. You're nervous as a which,


THE MANNEQUIN 113
all right, I've no doubt, but that's owing to
your having been mewed up in there so long.
Come out. A breath of fresh air will make
you sleep."
"No, thank you."
She tried to close the port, but his hand was
in the way, pressing it inward, his firm, pliant,
well-formed, well-kept hand, so obviously the
hand of a gentleman, so never, never the hand
of a . . . As the old horror swept over her
again Elizabeth's cheeks grew ashen.
"Coming out?"
The steward peered in at her, his keen eyes
fixed on her face in a searching gaze.
What was the use of resistance? She would
have to meet him some time. Better get it over
and done with. Her cloak hung where she had
put it the fateful night of their last meeting.
She caught it up in her trembling fingers.
"Oh, by the way," he casually dropped.
"The door's unlocked. You can come that way
if you want to."
Elizabeth hesitated.
"But . . . Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis . . ."
The petty officer's answer was thrown off
with an air of easy unconcern that fairly
stunned her.


H4
THE MANNEQUIN
"Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis thinks she has suffered
a mortal bereavement. She chooses to sequester
herself. Like Rachel, she mourns and will not
be comforted."
"You mean . . .?"
Elizabeth had no doubt as to what he meant,
but the will to disbelieve was too strong.
"You mean . . . him?' she whispered, her
breath catching in her throat.
"I mean . . . it."
She saw the curl of his lip, heard the scorn
in his voice. Her cloak dropped from her
shoulders to the floor.
"I'm not coming," she said hoarsely.
"Why not?"
"I don't want to."
"Incontrovertible under ordinary circum-
stances, but at present, as a reason, insufficient.
It's not what you want, it's what you need. Be-
sides, you do want."
"I don't."
"Pardon, you do. But even if you didn't,
the case would be the same."
"I don't understand you."
"I mean, you'd come anyway."
"You'd make me?"
"Yes, after a fashion."


THE MANNEQUIN 115
"What fashion? Force?"
"Not muscular, if that's what you mean.
Let's call it magnetic induction. Much more
potent. Ever see iron filings resist a lode-
stone?"
The very magnitude of his cool impudence
held her motionless for a second. Then she
wheeled about, turning her back on him in a
passion of resentment. She felt the inner storm
rising, swelling, threatening to break in audible
gusts, visible floods of fury. For him to see
her thus react to the stimulus of his boundless
audacity was unendurable. She struggled.
"It's a mistake to allow oneself to be over-
awed by the personality of another," the im-
perturbable voice outside the port observed.
"Not to dare take the law into one's own hands
when one knows one is in the right. I'm sur-
prised you've no more stamina. I thought you
were made of different stuff. If someone had
turned a key on me, d'you suppose I'd tamely
submit, as you are doing? I'd see them to
Hel . . . iopolis first."
Her hand plunged for the cloak. Its folds
were whirled about her, she was out of the
cabin before she fairly realized what she was
doing.


n6 THE MANNEQUIN
As she stepped out on deck she saw the
steward stationed at the rail, his straight, up-
standing figure sharply silhouetted against the
star-studded sky. His cigarette flashed like a
tiny semaphore as he took it from his lips to
fling it overHoard into the water.
"Come here, child. Let me show you some-
thing. See that faint hairline of black, 'way
out at the far edge of the sky? D'you know
what it is? Land."
If he noted the fact that she neither "came
here, child," or otherwise responded to his
friendly overture, he gave no sign. Quite as if
they had been chatting comfortably for hours,
he went on reminiscently:
"Elsie, you may not know it, but this is
'eavenly."
"I do know it."
The answer leaped from her lips. She hated
herself the minute it was out, hated herself the
more because it was true.
His eyes were fixed on her probingly.
"I wonder if it's the moonlight that makes
you appear so white, or if you've really fallen
off in your looks. There's nothing like being
cooped up to make one peaked. You haven't
been out for . . . How long is it since we


THE MANNEQUIN 117
stood here together last? D'you know? I've
forgotten."
She could have slapped him. He had for-
gotten when she had it down to the fraction of
a second. How tactful of him to have reassured
her as to her looks. White . . . fallen off
. . . peaked . . . happy suggestions all. She
wondered if he were doing it "on purpose,"
exulting in doing it? If he were not so tall and
straight and top-loftical one might almost sup-
pose him to be playing tricks like a mischiev-
ous boy, "taking it out of her" for fun, to see
what—an easy mark she was.
"I'm perfectly all right," she answered,
steadying her voice with an effort.
"Why haven't you come out all this time?"
"Too busy."
"Boshl"
"Very well. Have it your own way. Choose
your own reason."
He nodded at her, smiling approval.
"That's better. Now you sound more like
yourself. I've been wondering what made you
sit so tight all this time, and why it was so hard
to strike a spark out of you. You don't by any
chance stitch on that trash nights, do you?"
"What trash?"


n8 THE MANNEQUIN
"The stuff Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis unloads on
you, fresh and fresh the first thing every morn-
ing.
"How do you know what she does?"
"I've made it my business to find out."
"Thanks, but won't the union protest if you
take on duties that are outside your province?"
"Polite way of suggesting that I should mind
my own business? No matter. I pass it by.
But, to return to Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis ... if
she piles it on too thick, packs it on too heavy,
why don't you chuck the job . . . throw the
whole thing over . . . in other words, strike?"
She shook her head.
"I came aboard this boat as a paid compan-
ion, not as an invited guest. It's up to me to
do what I'm expected to do. For the sake of
my own self-respect I must earn my board and
keep, like Little Orphant Annie. If I didn't
the gobbeluns 'u'd git me . . . they have al-
ready. As Mrs. J.-J.'s paid companion I . . ."
"But she's not treating you as a companion,
paid or otherwise."
"No, because she thinks . . . She's told
you what she thinks?"
His nod was a grim admission that she had.
"Do you believe it?"


THE MANNEQUIN
reasons why she couldn't, even if she wanted to,
and she doesn't want to. But, in any case, what
I start out to do, I do. Now this is what I
want to say: I can sneak you off as smooth as
oil with enough cash to cover all expenses, and
no one will be the wiser until it's too late to
prevent. You have only to say the word and
the thing is done. . . . Tonight. Now."


CHAPTER IX
Elizabeth had a disquieting sensation as if
the ship had taken a sudden plunge to bottom-
less depths, coming up only to take as sudden
a leap toward the stars.
Dizzily she stared at the steward, wondering
at the curious look that had stolen into his eyes,
unconscious a look still more curious had stolen
into her own.
"You've only to say the word," he repeated.
"In four days you'll be back in New York."
"And . . . you?"
Her hand was gripping the rail. His cov-
ered it, closed over it in a firm, fast hold.
"Does it signify to you where I . . .?"
She tried to speak. Gave it up. Nodded.
"Then, if it does, I want you to . . . to . . ."
She waited. It was a century before he
went on.
"I want you to help me."
Again that sinking sensation.
"How, help you?" she managed to bring out
121


122
THE MANNEQUIN
with surprising steadiness, considering how her
heart shook her.
"Help me to 'change my situation.' That's
the way you yourself phrased it our first night
out. You've not forgotten?"
No. She had not forgotten.
"But how can anyone in my position help
you? I've no influence . . . here. Anywhere,"
she added quickly to cover her tracks.
"Here more than anywhere."
"Oh, no. I'd be glad, of course, to help.
But it's no use. There's nothing I could do."
"I told you the first night out what my am-
bition was. You gave me your hand on it.
Hoped I'd succeed. I want more than your
hand on it this time. I want your word . . .
your promise that you'll give me my chance."
"Your chance?" she could only foolishly re-
peat the word after him.
"Make me first-mate. Naturally, I hope
there won't be a second. But in any case, I'm
putting in my bid right now for first. How
about it?"
Her mind was in a riot. What was he up
to? What was one to make of him? She was
morbidly afraid of blundering in a way that
might expose her to his ridicule and she felt


THE MANNEQUIN 123
she was as apt to blunder as much if she were
silent as if she spoke. She had never experi-
enced such sensations before. Lewis Carroll
came to her rescue.
"D'you remember Alice and the Jabber-
wocky? 'It seems very pretty, but it's rather
hard to understand. Somehow it seems to fill
my head with ideas, only I don't exactly know
what they are.'"
"I'll make it clear," he promised. "I'll . . .
just wait a minute. . . . We won't have the
least trouble straightening it out when . . .
when we're both less . . . less agitated."
Elizabeth laughed.
"Less agitated! You? Magnificent, im-
perturbable You! How can one be less than
not at all. And, as for me . . . I'm as un-
ruffled as ... a tailor-made suit."
"Trade-mark simile," said he.
"Fits," said she.
"That's trademark too."
"Well, what do you expect ... of a man-
nequin?"
"Not this."
He raised her hand gently, displaying a
needle-pricked forefinger.
Again she tried to wrest the hand from him,


THE MANNEQUIN 125
ing less than Jupiter, or Mars, or Taurus, or
the Great Bear would satisfy you."
"I want to know if you've been lying awake
nights. If that is why . . ."
"Why what?"
"You've changed so."
"I didn't know I had changed. I hope it's
not into something too rich and strange."
"When you came aboard you were a live
wire. A touch brought a spark. Now it takes
high voltage to start you off, and even then
you don't always flash."
"Polite way of telling me I'm dull. Thanks.
Anything more?"
"When first you came aboard I thought:
'Jove, she's good to look at!'"
"And I'm not good to look at now. Again,
thanks!"
He shifted uneasily on his dangerous
ground.
"I didn't say that. You'd always be good
to look at. You don't need to be told.
But . . ."
"Go on. Never mind me!"
"But there's a difference. Something's not
as it was."
She deliberated. "Perhaps it's my hair. I'm


126
THE MANNEQUIN
doing my hair another way. Maybe you don't
like my hair."
There was a pause while he studied her hair
with troubled, critical concentration.
"Why are you doing it another way? The
old way was all right, wasn't it?"
"Yes, but it was a lot of trouble. My hair
is naturally straight. It takes time to put a
wave in it."
"Then for heaven's sake take the time."
"Is it as bad as all that?" She laughed.
"I don't know how bad it is. . . . I don't
even know if it actually is your hair. . . . Per-
haps it's something else. . . ."
"My silhouette, maybe. You don't like my
silhouette?"
"What the mischief is a silhouette?"
"Outline . . . profile."
"You mean you change your profile? Great
Scott!"
"Of course I change it. What's more, one
has to 'step lively' about changing it, to be up
to date. Nowadays, if one wants to keep up
with the fashions, one has got to gather one's
skirts about one and run. For instance: Last
season, if you noticed, everybody was thin and
flat. Perhaps you don't remember, but that's


THE MANNEQUIN 127
how they were. This year they're going to the
other extreme. The thin, flat effect is all out
now. The last cry in silhouettes is full and
puffy."
He groaned.
"I dare say that's it, then. I don't like the
effect of your thin, flat silhouette. I strongly
advise you to get into step and march along
with the 'full, puffy' crowd. Now you've drawn
my attention to it, that's what's the matter.
You looked fuller and puffier in the face when
you came aboard than you do now, and it was
no end more becoming. Eat more, sleep more,
rest more ... do whatever's necessary to
change your profile. But get back your full,
puffy silhouette."
His whimsical manner had more than a mere
note of earnestness in it. She could see he was
seriously moved.
"Don't you think," she presented it to him
gently, as a debatable question, "don't you think
you're a little inconsistent?"
"How so?"
"Who was it jeered at well-dressed women,
when I first came aboard? Called them 'friv-
olous fashion-plates,' 'clothes-horses,' any in-
sulting thing that came to mind. You resorted


128
THE MANNEQUIN
to . . . language. I tell you, it was a shock.
I'd never looked at it in that light before. It
was good for me, no doubt. It has made me
think, but at first it certainly was a shock. You
see, I had had a sort of theory that when one
chooses the finest things one can afford . . .
rugs, period-furniture, bibelots ... I should
say, bric-a-brac . . . instead of cheap, taste-
less stuff . . . one is a sort of benefactor, be-
cause, don't you see, one is putting oppor-
tunity in the way of the art-workers. Giv-
ing them a chance ... at the same time de-
veloping public taste. And the same thing ap-
plies to clothes. I don't know that I can ex-
plain myself so you'll understand just what I
mean, but my idea was that the woman who
buys beautiful gowns and hats . . . lovely
fabrics, rare laces {if she can afford them) is
encouraging labor to become skilled . . . lift-
ing it from a lower to a higher plane. The
designers at Angelique's are artists . . . even
the mannequins are artists in their way . . .
they have to be to carry out the designers'
plans. I never used to think it was thriftless
and extravagant for people who had the means
to buy the best. It seemed to me rather to be
putting a premium on the best . . . refusing


THE MANNEQUIN 129
to compromise on second-best. It seemed to
me the same rule that applied to conduct ap-
plied to other things as well. But I see I was
mistaken. I've come round to your point of
view. I see it's exceedingly inferior to care
how one looks."
"You misunderstood me. I—never . . ."
"Oh, excuse me, yes you did. You laid down
the law. There was no halfway business about
it ... no exceptions. A little Sister of the
Rich who dressed the part was 'a shallow, pur-
poseless parasite.' 'A doll.' 'A Vacuum Lean-
er.' Those were only a few of your descriptive
titles. They were damned as an individual and
as a class. You had them coming and going.
I'm not quarreling with your argument, please
remember. I'm just reminding you that you
were explicit."
"Well, then ... I'd like to modify . . ."
"Goodness no! Please don't do anything of
the sort. Why, I've only just got around to
your point of view. At that rate, trying to keep
up with you would be just as bad as trying to
keep up with the fashions. One would never
know where one stood. You've shown me
once and for all, I hope, how despicable it is
to care what one has on. In the old days I


130 THE MANNEQUIN
used to care a great deal. In my own poor
little way I took a great interest. ... It was
natural, wasn't it? . . . Being a mannequin
. . . I actually planned and designed things
for myself. Really studied effects and all that
sort of thing. But once the gowns were com-
plete I forgot all about them. All the same,
I'm done with that now. I'm going to give up
being a mannequin. You've given me a new,
broader, higher ambition. When I get back
I'm going to strike out in a different field. No
more foolishness, no more fripperies. I'm go-
ing seriously into Something for the Advance-
ment of Something Else."
"Good Lord!"
It seemed she was not to be silenced.
"I see now why you spurned the sort of
woman who gives time and study to effects.
She wastes time. If you want to achieve effect
you have to study . . . you can't do it off-
hand. You can't be sketchy. It takes time,
yes, and money, even to keep clean . . . soap,
you know, and lots and lots of clean linen.
But, as you have pointed out, the play's not
worth the candle. The sort of girl who, as we
used to say at college, majors in dress is neces-
sarily all vogue outside, all vague inside." She


THE MANNEQUIN 131
glanced up at him sidewise, out of mocking
eyes.
He bent his tall head.
"Touche! At least you've proved you're
not all vague inside. And that brings us back
to our beginning. It won't do for you to be-
come any vaguer outside. So . . . how about
letting us ship you back to New York ... to-
night . . . now?"
"Us? Used imperially, diplomatically, edi-
torially, or . . . plurally?"
"I retract the us. Let me ship you."
"Shall you go along?"
"Jove, I wish I could. But New York is not
for me at present. New York is not for me
until . . ."
He brought his jaws together with a savage
snap.
"Until what?"
"Until there's no more danger."
She forebore to ask him danger of what.
She knew. Her Nietzsche theory might, did
satisfy her. It wouldn't satisfy the law. She
had forgotten her Nietzsche theory, forgotten
the law, forgotten that the steward was a
transgressor against it? What did such vital
forgettings indicate unless, indeed, that she had


i32 THE MANNEQUIN
forgotten herself? One might commiserate,
but it was the part of duty to shrink from such
as the steward. Instead of which . . .
"Well?" he patiently jogged her wandering
attention.
It seemed obvious to her that he was pressing
her for an answer. The realization brought a
quick reaction. Why was he trying to hurry
her into a decision? Why must it be tonight,
now? Did he want to get rid of her? Clear
decks, as it were? Relieve himself of a com-
promising passenger? Was that all his cryptic
sayings meant?
"You wish me to go?" she steadied her voice
sufficiently to ask.
"I must wish you to go, having your good at
heart. But before you go I want that promise
I spoke of. . . . I want to get that first-mate
business settled. You'll relieve my mind, won't
you?"
A sailor could be seen coming toward them
at a brisk pace. Before he got within speak-
ing distance her companion had wheeled about,
managing to interpose himself between her and
the intruder.
There was a whispered dialogue, brief but,
evidently, momentous, then, without any waste


THE MANNEQUIN 133
of time or words in explanation or apology, the
petty officer marched off in the sailor's wake,
leaving Elizabeth staring blankly into space.
Now what was brewing?
She did not have to grope long for an an-
swer. Her imagination supplied one without
the least delay. She was to be shipped back
to New York tonight, now. Her having been
consulted was a mere matter of form. Her
consent was taken for granted. Actually she
had no choice. She was being treated as a
child or a servant. Her spine stiffened with
indignation, resistance. Then, suddenly, she
was aware of a change in the ship's rate of
speed. Or was it only that she fancied they
were ripping up the waves at a slashing pace,
making for land, as it were, on the run?
It was difficult to tell. One thing was cer-
tain, the shadowy line near the horizon, pointed
out to her as land, was no longer visible. Either
a mist, not to be detected at close range, had
gathered, cutting off the distance, or the ship's
course had abruptly changed.
In the face of so much that was uncertain,
it was a comfort to have even one clear-cut con-
viction.
She must prepare to leave the yacht at a


136
THE MANNEQUIN
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis, still quaking, did not
relax her hold upon Elsie's arm.
"Come into my cabin. Shut the door. Per-
haps I am not quite normal just now. ... Sit
down."
She sighed. Her harsh voice was husky with
self-pity. Tears suffused her eyes.
"I say, perhaps I'm not quite normal just
now, but you don't know all I've gone through
during the last few days. The weather alone.
. . . Abominable! Such gales, such seasl
I've been mortally ill. And there have been
other things. One night I had an accident . . .
was painfully injured. . . ."
"By your pet Angora and the locker-door
. . . yes, I know," Elizabeth supplemented
with impressive distinctness. Her fine-spun
irony failed to trip its intended victim. Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis showed a puzzled face for a
second, but for a second only.
"To be sure. I'd forgotten you knew," she
recovered herself nimbly. "And even that's
not the worst. I've suffered other shocks. I
don't—believe I can go into them. My
son . . ." the word caught in her throat, she
choked it back, shaking a disconsolate
head.


THE MANNEQUIN 137
"It's no use. I can't talk about it. It was
too cruel! My own son ...! I begged and
pleaded. He wouldn't listen. He said my life
was endangered. It was mad to run such risks.
I promised to protect myself in the future. He
actually sneered in my face. Said talk was
cheap. If I could protect myself in the future,
why hadn't I done so in the past? He pointed
to my eye, my torn, scratched arms that I'd
never meant him to know about. . . that I
don't know to this day how he ever came to
know about. Of course, what he said was true.
But even so. . . . To do what he did! I
couldn't have believed it! My own cherished
son! Right bef ore my very eyes!"
Elizabeth's heart swelled. A quick, unpre-
meditated cry broke from her.
"Oh, you poor thing! Poor Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis!"
The compassionate words, the tone in which
they were uttered struck away the last frail
underpinning on which Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis
relied for self-support. For a moment she for-
got who and what she was, remembered only
that she was a woman whose trouble had
moved another woman to commiseration. Tears
coursed down her cheeks. She sopped them


THE MANNEQUIN 139
"You were referring to something wrong
with the boat. Has anyone told you what it
is?"
"Told me? That's it! No one will tell me
anything. I've asked and asked. They put me
off with foolish equivocations that wouldn't de-
ceive a Chow dog. But I've found out in spite
of them."
"You've found out . . . what?"
"We've been followed."
"I don't understand."
"We've been followed by another boat. I
overheard the sailors disputing. They called
her a cruiser or a trawler or some such non-
sensical name. No two of them agreed as to
what she was, but all were convinced she was
heading straight for us, hunting us down."
"For mercy's sake . . . what for?"
"Goodness knows. We didn't wait to find
out."
"You mean, we ran away?"
"As fast as we could steam. Didn't you
notice, yesterday?"
"No ... I ... oh, why didn't we stop,
I wonder?"
"These are uncertain times. We're no longer
in neutral waters. If you care to take chances


140
THE MANNEQUIN
stopping to chat with a belligerent vessel, /
don't."
"But you say we didn't stop. We ran. We
got away."
"That was yesterday."
"You mean they're chasing us again today?
Is that why we're going so fast?"
"I can't swear to it. But I'm afraid so."
"How dare they? Aren't we flying the
American flag? Doesn't that protect us? Oh,
I'm sure it must. Besides, they may not intend
any harm."
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis elevated her eyebrows
into two peaks as if pointing the heights of
absurdity one may reach if one definitely sets
about it.
"Possibly not. If they are after us again I
dare say it is only to take off their hat and say,
'How d'ye do?' Don't be foolish."
"You think they mean business?"
"I know it."
"In that case, why in the world didn't we
hurry out of the danger-zone yesterday when
we had the chance? Why didn't we stay out?"
"That's precisely what I'd like to know. For
the life of me I can't imagine what made us
come stealing back toward Nassau when we'd


THE MANNEQUIN. 141
once got clear of it. Fool-hardy, that's what
I call it. We outstripped them yesterday, we
may not be so lucky today . . . tonight, I
mean."
Elizabeth was silent. She thought she knew
why they had come stealing back toward Nas-
sau. What was it the steward had said: "For
your own good I must wish you to go . . .
tonight . . . now. . . ." He shared Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis's fears, then. He knew that
there was danger.
"If worst comes to worst," she heard her
companion whimper tremulously, "and we
should be sunk, I suppose we can go down like
cwr-cur-rageous women. . . . But if ... if
they should stop us and . . . take possession
... it won't be quite so simple."
Elizabeth didn't quite get the point of that,
but let it go.
"It is possible that, since you came aboard,
you may have heard . . . seen . . . things
that . . . that are somewhat out of the or-
dinary. If you have, no one must ever know.
You must give me your word you'll never
breathe a syllable to a living creature."
Elizabeth's hands were snatched, held in a
viselike grip, pumped up and down in a passion


THE MANNEQUIN 143
by all means go and prepare it. I'll stay here
and, as you say, try to rest."
Elizabeth's first act, making for prepared-
ness, was to moisten her front love-locks, twist
them on hairpins into three hard little knobs,
one at each temple, one square in the middle
of her forehead.
"He thinks I'm a fright with my hair straight.
I could see it in his eyes," she mused the while
her fingers were busy with her hair. "It doesn't
take a minute to make it wave and if he likes
it that way . . . goodness knows it's worth
the trouble. I won't let him see me again in
any of Angelique's old back numbers. I'll wear
my own clothes . . . plenty .more where they
came from."
She had barely got her "own clothes" out of
the locker ready to her hand when there was a
crisp rap upon her port-hole.
"Hello, you've not turned in, have you?"
It was the steward, of course.
"No."
"Then come out. I want you."
Her presence of mind astonished even her-
self. Her hands were steady, her brain com-
posed. She realized from the steward's tone
rather than from his words that the emer-


144
THE MANNEQUIN
gency had arrived. She was preparing to meet
it at point-device, down to the last invisible
snapper fastening her belt. Her thought for
details included even the pink chiffon scarf, the
great, white wooly coat she had worn the first
night out.
It was only after she was out on deck that
she discovered her presence of mind to have
lapsed in a rather important particular. Rais-
ing her hand to readjust the scarf which a
sportive light wind was trying to blow back to
Nassau, she suddenly came in contact with a
hard knob in the middle of her forehead.
Without investigating further she knew there
were two more of the same sort decorating her
temples. A shudder passed through her. She
felt as if a chilly angleworm were slowly inching
its way down her spine.
"Cold?" asked the steward, noticing the
tremor.
"No."
Nevertheless she flung a loose end of the
scarf over her head.
"I'm afraid," he went on, "we'll have to call
off that plan for getting you away to-night.
I'm sorry. But it looks as if it couldn't be
helped."


THE MANNEQUIN 145
"Never mind."
Elizabeth's face was averted. He saw her
fingers tragically clutch her brow with what
looked to him like a gesture of despair.
"I'm mighty sorry. It's one of those con-
founded accidents one couldn't foresee or fore-
stall."
"An accident?"
"Yes, in a sense. I say, I wish you wouldn't
turn your back on me. Don't take me for one
of those promising beggars who promise . . .
and stop right there."
His hand on her shoulder gently, master-
fully compelled her right-about-face. Her
scarf slipped back, disclosing the hump-backed
hairpins, exposing her in all the humiliation
of her three-horned dilemma.
His eyes gathered her in, dwelling longest
with a look of curious appraisement on the new
fashion of her hair.
"If you ask me," he said at last, "I still like
the first way best."
With incredible quickness she made a snatch
at the hairpins, tore them out, tossed them
away, ran her fingers through the loosened love-
locks, till they rippled above her forehead in
soft undulating waves.


146
THE MANNEQUIN
"Oh, to think of vanity at a time like this!"
she orated, shuddering.
For a second he stared down at her, won-
dering, perplexed. Then suddenly his rare,
low laughter sounded in her ears, joining with
her own.
"Jove! But you have resource."
He had seen and understood and had not
minded. She was saved.
"Tell me about the accident," she urged.
"Another boat is trailing us."
"Why?"
"Ask it."
"But we're making our escape?"
"We're trying to. We did it O.K. yester-
day, got a rattling good gait on, showed them
a clean pair of heels. Tonight we're . . .
Lord, what's that?"
Looking up, she saw his face grow rigid as
he stood intently listening. To her there
seemed nothing particularly alarming in the
fact that the yacht had stopped for an instant
to catch its breath. The next moment the
engine was throbbing almost as steadily as ever.
It kept it up for a space, but now the throb-
bing was weaker, more irregular. Then . . .
silence.


THE MANNEQUIN 147
This time her companion did not wait to be
summoned. He was off and away before she
could ask him the first futile question. Pres-
ently he was back, explaining in terms she could
not understand, something too involved for her
to follow, that had occurred to a part of the
machinery she had not known existed. All she
could gather was that they were now at the
mercy of the oncoming ship. They could wait
and let her overtake them, but that was all
they could do.
"You mean we won't show fight? We won't
resist if they start in to attack?"
Her eyes were blazing.
"Resist? We're not armed, child. How
could we resist?"
"Aren't there any guns?"
"A couple of revolvers, perhaps."
"Can you shoot?"
"Yes. Can you?"
"Yes. I can shoot ... but I can't hit."
Again his rare, low laugh.
"All the same, I can make a bluff at it," she
contended. "For mercy's sake don't let us
tamely give in without a try at self-defense.
Get your revolvers. Have the crew up, every
soul on board. Quick! Don't lose a second!"


148
THE MANNEQUIN
She fairly thrust him from her, urging him
to action.
He was gone a long time, or so it seemed to
her. What could be detaining him, she won-
dered. At length she decided to go herself and
find out. Again she came face to face with
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis just inside the saloon.
From her livid, drawn face shone two danger-
signal eyes.
"It's cornel" she announced in her husky
undertone. "It's come just as I knew it would.
I said so all along. Murder will out. I don't
know how it got abroad, but it must have been
discovered somehow or other or they wouldn't
be after us."
"What in the world do you mean, Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis. Who must have discovered
what?"
Elizabeth's heart stopped to wait for the an-
swer which all the while she knew perfectly
well.
"Someone, some one of the crew, perhaps,
has played the spy and passed it on by wire-
less to others on the look-out."
"Wireless!" Elizabeth gasped. "You say
there's wireless aboard and I never knew it?
Why did nobody tell me?"


THE MANNEQUIN 149
"Why should anybody tell you? Besides,
you could see for yourself, couldn't you?"
"When I was shut up in my cabin all this
time? If I'd only known I could have sent a
message to . . ."
"No matter what you could have done. It's
not what you could have done, but what he
has, that concerns me."
"He. Who? Done what?"
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis shook the questions out
of her way as if they had been gnats.
"What he's done in the face of everything
I could say to prevent. I prayed. I entreated.
If they've discovered he'll have to answer for
it. He'll suffer the penalty."
Elizabeth's blood turned cold in her veins.
"You mean the . . . the . . ."
"Stuart, of course."
The answer was mechanical, coming from a
mind but half-conscious of what the tongue was
saying.
"And you don't want him to be punished
. . . after what he's done?"
The question was ignored.
"You promised," whispered Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis breathlessly. "You promised to stand
by me."


150
THE MANNEQUIN
"I will. Tell me how."
"Help me to keep them back . . . away
from . . . my son's quarters. I can't explain.
But it's there the danger lies. If they go in
there they'll see . . . they'll know. Besides I've
locked . . . him in to be out of harm's way."
All Elizabeth could do was stare. Her brain
was solidifying.
"He came in a while ago, searching for
something. I watched through the crack of the
door. When I saw my chance I turned the
key on him."
"But, will he bear it, being locked in? Oh,
I'm sure it's wrong! He'll never endure it.
He'll batter down the door."
"He hasn't yet. If they try to get at him,
that locked door will give him time to save
his . . ."
"Life. I see. But suppose they torpedo us?
Then he'll have no chance. He'll be caught
like a rat in a trap."
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis's eyes grew glazed.
Through the growing confusion outside broke
the sharp report of a gun.
A shadowy figure dashed past.
"A shot across our bows!" they heard it
pant.


CHAPTER XI
Chief of the Bureau of Missing Persons!—
Cousin Molly was a fairly well-informed mem-
ber of society, yet she had never dreamed there
was such a department, much less such an offi-
cial at the head of it. The existence of both
was revealed to her together with one or two
other more or less important items, hitherto
undiscovered, by the sudden calamity of Eliza-
beth's disappearance. In the course of a couple
of days she learned more about life, death and
the vast forever than she had hitherto deemed
possible. She found one could live a long and
active existence without being aware of certain
tendencies in one's own nature, to move among
the crowd of one's fellows without realizing
the unseen, unheard machinery that curbs cer-
tain currents of human inclination and holds
civilization together.
She had always insisted she couldn't endure
suspense. She didn't mind work, she wasn't
as dependent as some on food. She preferred


152 THE MANNEQUIN
eight full hours of sleep each night, but if she
couldn't have it, she could do without. But
when it came to suspense . . . she just couldn't
endure it.
She found she could. What was more, she
found she could brace up and help others en-
dure it.
At the outset she was encouraged by the
confidence of Headquarters. Headquarters
insisted there was nothing to be agitated
about.
"Don't you worry, miss. My boys will clear
the whole thing up within an hour or so."
Night passed, morning broke. The boys
had failed to live up to their reputation.
Cousin Molly's face grew haggard. She
told herself they were doing their best and tried
to be patient. But the perfectly good clues
they were following up succeeded in landing
them precisely nowhere.
The first to be interviewed was, naturally,
the chauffeur in charge of Elizabeth's car.
Certainly he would have some valuable infor-
mation up his sleeve or in his pocket or wher-
ever such persons keep such things. He had,
as a fact, nothing of the sort. Elizabeth's
chauffeur, under cross-examination confessed


156 THE MANNEQUIN
might be, poor thing. The nurses said she had
a "very bad case."
And that tied a hard knot in the end of that
thread.
"Don't be downhearted, miss. We'll trace
her yet," said the boys, and the Chief of the
Bureau of Missing Persons corroborated them.
It was at about this stage of the proceedings
that Dennis Tiernan made up his mind.
Nassau had not advised. The boys had
scoured the upper levels in vain. They were
now "making tracks for the underworld." It
wasn't thought necessary or advisable to "let
the lady in on this ... it might upset her,"
they explained, but Dennis Tiernan knew and
set his square Irish jaw with dogged endur-
ance.
"I tell you what it is, Moll," he said at
length. "I've a feeling a lot of this is groping
in the dark. And groping in the dark is wast-
ing time. What we've got to do is locate that
girl . . . that mannequin, or whatever Madam
Angie Leek calls her. She's the last one we
know of who had any sort of line on Libby.
It's her we've got to get track of. That's the
clearest ray of light / get on the subject."
"But, uncle dear, don't you remember?


THE MANNEQUIN 159
was honest conviction, she knew that, and it
heartened her.
Her faith in him was unlimited. If Uncle
Dennis had ever failed in any undertaking so
far, she didn't know it. He had an almost
uncanny habit of winning out in the face of
obstacles that would appall many a more boast-
ful man. He never bragged that he "got there
with both feet" but that was precisely how he
always did get there. So, when he spoke of
taking a hand in the game, without in the least
knowing what his plans were, or if indeed he
had formulated any plans, she felt her dying
courage take a new lease of life.
It was in the course of her chat with Uncle
Dennis that the telephone-bell rang. One of
the boys was on the wire to report that he had
"dug up" a witness who might be supposed to
be the last up to date who had a line on the
mannequin. And if the mannequin was the last
who had a line on the missing daughter of
Mr. Tiernan, why . . .
"Go on," commanded Mr. Tiernan, gruffly.
"A parlor-maid living in a private residence
opposite to Angelique's says she happened to
be looking out of one of the front windows the
afternoon of the disappearance. She deposes


THE MANNEQUIN 163
"Well, then, if she couldn't ... if it would
be impossible, Moll, you may rest assured that's
how it is. But in any case, the girl is the one
it's up to us to get a line on. Too bad the
transportation people can't run their Nassau
steamer on schedule time, isn't it? The boiler
burst, or something, and they've got to make
other arrangements, which means there's noth-
ing doing in the Nassau direction for us until
further notice."
"You mean you had intended going to
Nassau?"
"I'd been thinking of it. In fact, I'd engaged
passage for both of us. We were to have
sailed tomorrow at six . . . A. M. ... in
the morning."
"Oh, Uncle! What a disappointment!"
"I thought it would be better than hanging
around here."
"Much, much better! I don't feel as if I
could bear hanging around here any longer."
"You never know till you try how much you
can bear, Moll. Now's the time to try."


THE MANNEQUIN 165
fate hung in the balance, a loaded balance.
"If we sink now," the thought flashed through
Elizabeth's brain, "nothing could save us.
We'd be swallowed up in the bottomless pit.
No one could see to help, even if they Wanted
to . . . and they wouldn't want to . . . the
pirates!"
Pressing forward to the point where most of
the officers and crew were gathered, she heard
sounds of voices raised high above the sough
of the moving waters, the whiffling wind, the
noises of the ship. Nothing said or done was
clear to her. She saw as through a glass darkly,
heard as through a megaphone resoundingly.
All was confusion, uproar.
Icy fingers closed about her hot hand. She
swung about with a low cry.
"Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis!"
"Hush! Listen! They're furious because
we've not answered Nassau's signals. Nassau's
been trying to get us for days. We're wanted
there. You can guess what that means. They
are furious because we didn't stop yesterday
when they . . ."
"Who are 'they'?"
"How can I tell? They're coming aboard.
That's all I know."


i66
THE MANNEQUIN
"Can't we prevent them?"
"Half a dozen officers? A handful of men?
Three women . . . counting Minette. No
arms!"
"Oh, tell me what I can do. I'm ready for
anything."
"You're young. You're strong. You're
. . . beautiful! Go inside. Stand guard at
that door. Don't let him out. Don't let them
in. For God's sake, help me. Everything
depends on it."
In her eagerness Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis fairly
pushed Elizabeth from her.
The accommodation-ladder had been low-
ered over the side. At the rail officers and
crew were drawn up in grim alignment. Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis stationed herself a little apart
from the rest, square between them and the main
gangway. She who had never in her life
stooped to read a "shilling shocker," who
would have spurned cheap melodrama, had, it
appeared, simply waited, in all the grandeur
of her exalted place and pose, to live them.
For what could be more absurdly sensational
than this midnight hold-up on the high seas by
persons unknown for purposes piratical or
punitive, one didn't know which.


THE MANNEQUIN 167
Over the heeds of the group near the rail
she caught sight of a reflected point of light.
It shone back from the vizor of an officer's
cap. The wearer, as he rose into fuller view,
she saw to be in uniform. Followed another
officer, then another. Then a man of giant
stature, mighty, Herculean. He wore plain
clothes, bore himself quietly without the least
suggestion of swagger or self-assertiveness and
yet Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis, the minute her eyes
fell on him, was impressed with the idea that
he was the head and front of all the offending.
At the first sound of the leading officer's
voice she stiffened with a new antagonism.
"Where's the owner of this boat?"
"I'm the owner. What do you want with
me?"
Her sinews felt as if they were ossifying.
Her words sounded as if they already had
done so.
The group of officers and men shifted so she
and her interlocutor stood face to face.
He saluted.
. "Nothing with you, madam."
"You asked for the owner."
"If you are the owner, you are not Mr.
Jerome-Jarvis. My business is with him."


THE MANNEQUIN 169
private yacht. It is outrageous to have it
taken possession of in this way. I . . ."
Her voice broke under the strain of her
passionate resentment.
The man in plain clothes took a step toward
her.
"We don't want to make things unpleasant
for you, ma'am," he announced mildly, yet
with unmistakable inflexibilty of purpose.
"It'd be much better for all concerned to have
it out, man to man, than mix you up in it.
We're here to settle with your son."
"Settle! You've nothing to settle with him."
"Oh, yes we have. We've not been trailing
you for two days for nothing. Nassau hasn't
been breaking her neck for nothing, trying to
locate you for this I-don't-know-how-long. An'd
when she got you at last by wireless and called
you in, it wasn't for nothing you sheered off
and tried to skip by the light of the moon. No
ma'am! Not for nothing!"
"I . . . we . . . didn't understand!" Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis declared meticulously.
"That's what we concluded. So we came to
explain. But in the meantime . . ." he low-
ered his voice. "It would make everything
about twice as easy all round, if you wouldn't


CHAPTER XIII
Acting under the stimulus of Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis's powerful hand Elizabeth found herself
speeding straight for her mark as an arrow
from its bow.
She could not "see" the steward submitting
to the indignity of shot bolts, turned keys, yet
there was no sign on his part of resistance, so
far as she could hear. Beyond the locked door,
outside of which she stood, intently listening,
all was still. Perhaps he had not noticed yet, or
something of greater concern to him was ab-
sorbing all his attention.
"Steward!" she called softly, pressing her
flushed cheek to the cool mahogany. Then,
stooping until her lips were on a level with the
keyhole, "Steward! O . . . steward!"
From somewhere beyond—she could not lo-
cate it—came the sound of a muffled detona-
tion. For a second the yacht trembled.
i Through the side-ports of the open gangway
she could see dim figures hurrying. They did
172


174
THE MANNEQUIN
They clung together in a rapture of re-
union.
A second and he had set her aside.
"I'd think 'twas my heart had exploded at
the flash of your bright eyes, my darlin' . . .
only the shock happened before I'd got sight
of you at all. As it is we've no time to lose till
we find out what's happened. They say 'All's
well' . . . but till I see for myself I won't be
sure. Stand by and I'll take a look in that
room beyond there, through the door you've
your back against. It seemed to me the noise
was in that direction."
Instead of obeying Elizabeth set her shoul-
ders still more firmly, barring his entrance.
"You don't want to go in there, Dad," she
said wheedingly.
"Why don't I?"
"Because it's the owner's cabin. Nobody
outside the family has cards of admission.
That's the law."
"Necessity knows no law, Bess. I'm neces-
sity, see?"
"All the same, you don't want to go in
there."
"The dickens I don't! Get a move on!"
"What's the use, Dad? I was here when it


THE MANNEQUIN 175
happened. I'd know if the explosion or what-
ever it was, was in there, wouldn't I?"
He checked her with a gesture.
"Talk shorthand, Bess. What's in there
anyway?"
"I don't know."
"I get you. You mean you know but you
won't tell. You're standing by the old lady for
some reason unknown to me. Well, have it
your own way. I can dig it out for myself. As
a digger I'm some shovel. This is Jerome-
Jarvis's stateroom, you say?"
"Yes, Dad."
"Who's in there now? Anybody?"
"Yes . . . No ... I ... oh, what dif-
ference does it make, Dad? What I want to
know is however did you get here?"
"On my own borrowed boat. Boss yacht, I
tell you! Costs me a cool thousand per to run
her, and then I've the loan of her free from a
friend. But that's beside the point now. I'm
here to see Jerome-Jarvis ... if there is such
a person."
"You . . . you can't, Father."
"Why can't I?"
"Because . . . he's not in there. He . . .
listen, Dad! He was crazy. Quite, quite


180 THE MANNEQUIN
"I understand all that's necessary and I
mean precisely what I say. Don't apologize
for me, if you please. I don't go so far as to
declare there's anything amiss with you . . .
yet, Elsie. I give you the benefit of the doubt,
but as I told you before, no respectable girl
receives attentions such as you have received
without . . ."
"Clear off this boat, Bess!" Dennis Tiernan
controlled himself with difficulty. "It's no
place for you, I say."
"But I ... I can't go like that, Dad. . . ."
"Don't be afraid, Bess! You've got me,
now. I won't let you be browbeat. Run along
and get your duds, my dear. I'll settle with
this . . . this lady."
Still Elizabeth did not move.
At her delay the expression of puzzlement in
her father's eyes grew until he looked like a
bewildered boy.
"You've got me, now," he repeated encour-
agingly.
"I know, dear. I know . . . but . . .
there's someone else ... I mean . . . there's
somebody who's been very kind to me. I must
see him. I couldn't go without . . . without
thanking him, could I?"


THE MANNEQUIN 181
"Not if you're the girl I take you for you
couldn't."
"And, Dad, there's no mannequin on board.
I mean, none except me. I'm the girl Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis took from Angelique's. She
mixed me up with the real one and . . ."
Elizabeth laughed a tremulous little laugh . . .
"I thought it was a joke."
"God knows it was no joke!" said Dennis
Tiernan.
"So, you see, there's nothing for you to look
into now, is there. Everything's all right.
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis will feel happier if you and
. . . and the others . . ."
"Precisely so," Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis inter-
rupted, backing her up emphatically.
"Generally speaking, what this girl says,
goes" Dennis Tiernan responded quietly.
"All things being equal I'd get off this bloom-
ing ferry-boat of yours with her and . . .and
my other friends, so quick you couldn't see us
for dust. But in this instance, all things ain't
equal. Not by a long shot. As a matter of
fact, they never are equal, but that's neither
here nor there. Elsie, you trot along and
gather up your togs, if you've got any . . .
and thank the party that's been kind to you and


i82 THE MANNEQUIN
. . . and here . . . here's a little something to
pay him for his trouble. . .
Before she could reject the proffered yellow
bill, Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis had thrust herself
between, fronting Elizabeth.
"I see it all now. It's you . . . you who
have betrayed us. I knew someone had been
spying. I told you I was certain we'd a traitor
aboard, reporting back to shore. But I never
suspected you. You and this man are in league
. . . have been all along. You're his tool . . .
a decoy. You've allured one of my crew . . .
enticed him into betraying secrets for which
that money is to pay. Bribery! Corruption!
I'd cry shame on you if you weren't already
beyond shame."
There was a moment when it looked as if
Dennis Tiernan were on the point of reverting
to type, responding to her with the instinctive
energy of his cave-man forbears. He recovered
himself in time.
"Look sharp, ma'am, look sharp! You're
skating on thin ice when you jump on this girl
in my presence. What you say about her ain't
worth noticing, but you've said some things
on your own account that give you dead
away."


THE MANNEQUIN 185
love with him! Don't believe her. She is.
I'm a woman and I know. 'For the steward's
sake' . . . And the steward is a married man!"
At sight of his girl's face the cave-man
leaped to life. "Shut up!" he vociferated,
brandishing a clenched fist.
Elizabeth's eyes became fixed. She gazed at
her father in consternation.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Which isn't to say I
take it back . . . just put it different."
Then turning to Elizabeth . . .
"If it's for the steward's sake, you don't
want me to go in there, Bess, why, don't you
see, that means he, the steward, is mixed up
with what this lady in trying to keep dark . . .
and the something she's trying to keep dark is
what I'm going to bring to light."
Elizabeth made no sign. Not so Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis.
"Nothing of the sort. The steward is mixed
up with nothing I have anything to do with. /
do not stoop to intrigue with inferiors."
Again the cave-man charged her, full-tilt,
head on.
"Oh, don't you, though? But come to think
of it, the Angie Leek woman't ain't your in-
ferior. You're on a par, the two of you."


186 THE MANNEQUIN
"How dare you?"
"I'll tell you quick enough, ma'am. You
say you don't intrigue with inferiors. What
do you call it when you and your modest dress-
maker friend put your heads together and cook
up a scheme to carry off an innocent young girl
to throw her into a tiger's cage ... so to
speak. You pretend you brought her along to
be your paid companion. You know, and the
Angie Leek woman knows, and I know, what
you brought her along for. To be an amuse-
ment for your peculiar son when he wasn't in
one of his fits . . . biting, tearing and scratch-
ing like a wild-cat."
"Man . . . you're crazy!"
"No ... but he is."
"My son?"
"Sure! Your son."
"It's false! My son is . . ."
"Dad, Dad!" Elizabeth implored, trying id
stem the tide. "Don't! He . . . her son
. . . is . . .deadl"
For one second Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis glared
at her in stupified silence, denial, horror, doubt,
all in her eyes at once. Then, suddenly, she
lost control . . .
"It's a lie," she cried with frantic vehemence,


CHAPTER XIV
A uniformed officer stepped forward, sal-
uting.
"This is as we found it, sir. Deck-port
blown out by means of explosive, making way
of escape for someone locked up inside. Neat
as a cracksman's job. Party made a clean get-
away. No sign of him anywhere. They're
scouring the ship now, but up to this . . ."
"Quick! The lady's fainting!"
With difficulty they got Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis
to a couch, leaving Elizabeth to the work of
restoring her.
"You don't think the fellow, whoever he is,
has . . . gone over the side?"
Dennis Tiernan put the question only after
he had made sure their patient could not hear.
"Certainly he's not been found aboard, so
far."
"But deliberately to do away with himself!
Nothing but a guilty conscience . , ."
"Exactly. Drowning isn't the worst death.
188


198
THE MANNEQUIN
The official scowled.
"This is no time for merry-making, Demp-
sey," he snapped. "Now you've shown us
you're the devil of a funny fellow, get down to
business . . . and stay there."
Elizabeth sensitively shrank under the
withering rebuke. Not so Dempsey. Grinning
broadly, he proceeded . . .
"My theory is, a lady skinned through that
apperchure and paid toll to the tune of some of
her fluffy ruffles."
"That all?"
"Well, I really wouldn't like to go further
along that line, sir. Perhaps the rest wasn't
trimmed. Oh," he pretended to pull himself
up quickly. "I get you. That's all for the
present . . . excepting ... I would like for
you to cast an eye on that dictatype machine.
It's a daisy! Likewise the wireless Talk-
Transmitter and . . . Jumping Jupiter! Some-
one round here has a brain that's the limit.
It'll pay you just to look . . ."
He cast a beseeching glance at Dennis Tier-
nan, entreating him to back him up in his re-
quest.
"Sure. Run along, Inspector. Just let me
have the loan of those . . . those exhibits for


THE MANNEQUIN 199
a minute, while you're gone. They're per-
fectly safe with me."
The Inspector relinquished them with obvi-
ous misgiving. At the deck-port through which
his aide had preceded him, he paused.
"Don't let them out of your hands, Mr.
Tiernan. We're up against a stiff proposition.
And those are . . . clues."
Father and daughter stood as he left them,
regarding each other in silence until a slight
movement from the direction of the couch took
Elizabeth to Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis's side.
"How is she?" asked Dennis Tiernan indif-
ferently.
"Just the same. At first I thought she had
waked. But she seems to be dozing again.
She's exhausted, poor thing."
"Come here, Bess. I want to talk to you.
We'll speak low, and never disturb her."
He beckoned her to him. Then, when she
was at his elbow, he began:
"I'd be the last to ask you to split on a pal.
But it's a different thing begging you to say, as
man to man, how you're mixed up in all this
coil. What motive have you for working in
with that woman over there, bad cess to her!
Why are you aiming to shield the fellow that


THE MANNEQUIN 201
did you ever let yourself be kidnapped, in broad
daylight ... a big, strapping girl like you,
as bright as they make 'era?"
"I wasn't kidnapped. It was a case of mis-
taken identity, as I told you. Angelique had
lent Mrs. J. J. her mannequin and Mrs. J. J.
thought I was Elsie. That's how it was. As
simple as smoke. I went of my own accord
. . . wasn't dragged or drugged or anything
like that. I thought the yacht was going up the
Hudson a short distance and I could run back
in the morning. It looked like a lark, pretend-
ing I was a companion for twelve hours or
so. . . .
"But when you found you weren't going up
the Hudson?"
"Why . . . then . . . then . . . you see,
Dad, things had begun to happen thick and fast
so I hardly knew where I was."
"How? ... 'happened thick and fast?'
What things?"
"Mrs. J. J. evidently expected son to appear
at dinner, but it seems, he had an ineradicable
aversion to girls. When he heard I was
aboard he refused to venture out of his state-
room for fear he'd run across me, scuttling
about the passageways, creeping out on deck


204
THE MANNEQUIN
Elizabeth continued: "She insisted I must
be segregated."
"She had the nerve to lock you up? She
turned the key on you?"
"Turned it all the way 'round."
"And what did you do?"
"Literally . . . got out from under."
"You mean . . . you escaped by way of
Dempsey's trick-panel?"
"Precisely."
"Then this . . ." fingering Dempsey's bit
of silk and lace . . .
"Belongs to this." Daintily she indicated her
petticoat.
"I see."
"Was there any harm, Dad, if I did slip out
to see the . . . st . . . the stars?"
"No. Were the st . . . stars all you ever
saw out there, Bess?"
"No, Dad."
"What else?"
"I can't answer," came in a lowered voice
over her shoulder.
"Am I right? You were there when . . .
that poor creature was . . . put out of the
way?"
She nodded, her head still averted.


206
THE MANNEQUIN
him down or hoist him up' to the level of this
lofty young woman here. Give him to her for
a lover, since he can't be her husband. Here
he is!"
The steward stood on the threshold.


CHAPTER XV
There was a second of silence. Elizabeth
darted forward.
"But, Dad, this isn't . . ."
His outstretched arm made a barrier before
her.
He as well as Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis, by the
sheer force of their dominating personalities,
thrust her into the background. Whenever
she tried to speak, she was either deliberately
talked down or shoved out of the arena to
give the two mighty duellists uninterrupted
sway.
"Steward," Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis addressed
him calmly, "how many times have you and my
companion met clandestinely on deck, under the
stars, when the rest had turned in?"
The impeccable servitor straightened an al-
ready rigid spine, until he attained a perpen-
dicularity that was appalling. When he spoke
it was in a low but no uncertain voice.
"Never, madam."
207


208
THE MANNEQUIN
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis's eyebrows lifted.
"You are a married man, are you not?"
"I am, madam. That is, I was. I'm a . . ."
"Scoundrel!" the caveman shouted.
"One moment, sir. I was on the point of
saying, I'm a widower now."
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis caught back a gasp of
surprise.
"Why wasn't I informed?"
"I could hardly flatter myself that my re-
cent bereavement would interest you, madam.
Besides, are we not told to 'Go bury thy sor-
row'? I should always strive to do as I am
told, madam."
His Adam's apple appearing above the rim
of his collar, like something peeping over a
whitewashed fence, ducked instantly back again.
"You may thank your good luck rather than
your good management, Elsie," Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis felicitated Elizabeth, "that things have
turned out as they have. Now the steward is
free, I dare say he'll be willing to marry you.
You'll be willing to marry her, now you are
free, eh, steward?"
"Willing!" snorted Dennis Tiernan, rearing
like a war-horse. "You betcha he'll be willing.
He ought to go down on his shin-bones and


2 10
THE MANNEQUIN
"What d'you mean?"
"Why, Elsie simply cannot tell the truth.
That's all."
"You dare say that?" the cave-man stormed
in savage defense of his own. "You'd better
talk when every word that comes out of your
mouth contradicts the one that went before?"
Her nostrils dilated, her chest heaved. She
scorned to reply.
"Didn't you tell me," he went on, undis-
mayed, "didn't you tell me first-off that your
son was ailing and couldn't be disturbed?"
"I did. And it was true."
"Afterwords, didn't you tell me he was dead,
or something to that effect?"
"No."
"You did. You said he was no more.
What's that but dead, or its equivalent?"
Her brows contracted as her memory groped
its way back to the phrase she had used.
"I recollect saying my son was sick and now
he's no more . . . Is that what you refer to?"
"It sure is."
"Naturally I meant he is sick no more."
Dennis Tiernan stuck out his lips.
"I'm a plain man, ma'am. United States is
good enough for me. I don't understand
■
-■


2i2 THE MANNEQUIN
"His aversion to felines amounts to mono-
mania. When he found his mother had
smuggled one on board he was most violent.
The very afternoon we sailed from New York
. . . as soon as she got back to the yacht with
the young lady here, she went to his stateroom
and he took it on himself to be very harsh with
her. ... I heard him. He said then he
would 'spill her over the side,' meaning the
Angora. Then, when she scratched the old
lady ... I should say, madam, he was an-
grier than ever. He commanded me to drown
her."
"The old madam? ... I should say . . .
the old feline?"
"The Angora."
Appeared at the deck-port embrasure the
Inspector, bristling.
"We've got him."
"Whom?"
"The ... the patient."
"What patient?"
"Her son . . . that was said to have been
drowned."
Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis looked on the verge of
another "swound."
"Man alive!" Dennis Tiernan reached him


THE MANNEQUIN 213
in a stride. . . "Her son is no patient.
He's 'marvellously, miraculously recovered . . .
within the last ten days.'"
"Nothing of the sort, boss. He's locked up,
battened down below decks, fathoms deep, in
an out-of-the-way galley no one but one of my
boys would ever have discovered. But there
he is, yowling, scratching, clawing, as mad as
a missionary."
"The Angora!" groaned the steward.
Dennis Tiernan swung round as if moving
on a swivel.
"You said you'd drowned the Angora."
The steward, speechless, looked to Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis as if for help. She had none to
give him.
"The fact is," interposed the Inspector, "this
thing has got to be straightened out right here
and now. No more fooling. No more tem-
porizing!" His fist came down with force
upon the wooden top of a mahogany box near
by. Instantly issued from within sounds of
muffled voices, angry, disputatious ... a man's
voice and a woman's. The little group sur-
rounding the machine drew closer as the In-
spector raised the lid, liberating the imprisoned
sounds. Listening, they heard:


2i4 THE MANNEQUIN
"// that's your intention I'll ship her back
to town the minute we reach Nassau."
"Why wait to ship her back? What use is
she? Spill her over the side. That's my ad-
vice."
"Nonsense!"
"By no means. Let me once lay hands on
her and I'll do it as quick as wink."
"It really isn't rational for you to go on in
this way. To hear you talk, anyone would
think you were unbalanced . . . refusing to
appear at dinner just because a . . ."
"I've never made any secret of my aversion.
I hate 'em like poison and you know it. You've
had 'em here before, smuggled 'em on board,
just as you have this one and . . ."
"But I tell you this one isn't an ordinary .. ."
"Oh, hang it all! Ordinary or not, the fact
remains . . . they're all . . ."
Suddenly all was still. The machine had quit.
Quickly the Inspector brought the lid down,
got back to business.
"It's up to these friends of ours here," he
waved impartially toward Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis
and her steward, "to explain the presence of
that rampaging Something that's caged down-
stairs. ... I should say, below decks. Be


THE MANNEQUIN 215
good enough, madam, and you too, whoever-
you are, sir, to come along and identify your
Angora ... if you can. I'd like you, boss,
to be on hand as an eyewitness while they do
it."
The rest starting to file out, Elizabeth me-
chanically made as if to follow, but before she
had taken more than a step or two, her mind
changed. She paused, hesitated, turned back.
She could not bring herself to face the awful
thing that was to be revealed to the others.
She shrank instinctively from it, as one natur-
ally shrinks from any monstrous exposure.
There was nothing to be gained by subjecting
herself to the shock. The Inspector had not
demanded it. She felt she conscientiously could
stay behind.
All the while she was pondering, her troubled
eyes moved restlessly about, unconsciously tak-
ing note of the cabin, up to this a place of hid-
den mystery to her. It was just outside this
deck-port that she and the petty officer had
met, her first night out, when the two of them
had overheard the mother and son wrangling
over . . . not her, it seemed, but an Angora
cat. It came back to her, their quarrel, as if
she had heard it but five minutes ago. . . .


2l6
THE MANNEQUIN
A quick little exclamation, and she stood
beside the curious encased machine the Inspec-
tor's thunderous thump had smitten into au-
dible speech. Surely the sounds it had emitted
were echoes of those she had heard that fateful
night ... or were the sounds she had heard
that fateful night only the echoes of others the
steward had actually heard in the afternoon?
She would find out.
Down came her fist upon the lid in vigorous
imitation of the Inspector's.
There was no answering sound. She tried
it again.
"Give it up, child, give it up," observed a
calm voice from the gangway. "You can't
smash it more thoroughly than it's smashed
already. It was done for that night, your first
on board, when I let it run down and it ended
up its brief but unsuccessful career in a ripping
old riot in here all by itself . . . remember?
I tried to save it. Too late!"
"Then it wasn't Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis you
rushed to rescue?"
"Lord, no! It was this poor little invention
that I never could get to work as I wished. It's
no loss."
"But I thought . . .**


218
THE MANNEQUIN
"He is not your steward. He'll never be
anyone's steward again!" Her voice thrilled
with the glorious knowledge of all she could do
for him. "He's my . . . my . . ."
"First-mate."
The petty officer's keen eyes softened as
they dwelt on her.
"First-mate! Only mate . . . for ever and
ever."
Again that passionate note of appropria-
tion. It shook Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis as it shook
Elizabeth, but for reasons with which rapture
had nothing to do.
"Who are you, that you dare ... ?" she
panted jealously.
"You know who I am. I have told you."
"Yes, you've told me. But do you think I
believe you? The daughter of a man everyone
knows to be a multi-millionaire. Absurd!
You're Angelique's model . . . her manne-
quin . . . my paid . . ."
In the gangway stood a unifomed figure, ut-
tering an admonitory cough. He bowed apolo-
getically.
"Well?"
"A wireless from New York. For Mrs.
Jerome-Jarvis."


THE MANNEQUIN 219
The paper changed hands.
"What is it?"
Elizabeth looked in amazement at her stew-
ard casually making a demand so out of place,
so presumptuous. She waited for Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis to wither him with a look. Instead of
resenting the question as a piece of effrontery,
however, Mrs. Jerome-Jarvis gave a helpless
sort of headshake, intimating he might read
for himself. She did not care. He picked it
up and read:
"Fever patient at St. Gertrude's Hospital
regained consciousness. Identity established.
Elsie Abbott . . . mannequin. Whom have
you on yacht, if anyone?
"Angelique."
"Whom have I on yacht?" Mrs. Jerome-
Jarvis repeated dazedly. Then turning slowly
to Elizabeth: "Who are you ... if anyone?
. . . That detective person said you are his
daughter. . . ."
The petty officer looked at Elizabeth.
"It's not so," she insisted. "What she says
is not true. The detective never claimed I was
his daughter. How could he when my own
father stood ... O steward, you do believe
me, don't you?"


THE MANNEQUIN 223
"Then why . . . why are those terrible
creatures here? What right had they to chase
us, shoot across our bows . . . frighten us to
death . . . take it upon themselves to go below
and pry into . . ."
"What's that?"
His question leaped out at her as if a spring
had released it. She hesitated . . . searching
for the right answer. Elizabeth came to the
rescue.
"Something very awful . . . something mad
. . . violent, dangerous, has been discovered
below decks. . . . They've gone to find out
what it is. Here they arel . . . Coming
back."
For a moment the three stood silent, listen-
ing. The sounds of approaching footsteps,
voices, grew louder, more distinct. A man
came through the deck-port embrasure. The
petty officer by Elizabeth's side started, while
at the same time Dennis Tiernan made a quick
bolt forward.
"John Jerome! By all that's lucky!"
"Mr. Tiernan!"
The two wrung hands.
"So this is why my wires didn't reach you?
.You've been on this blasted yacht all the time?"





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