NRLF 
 
 FIND 
 
 BURGES 
 
FIND THE WOMAN 
 

 I 
 
 r Oh!I beg your pardon" 
 
FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 GELETT BURGESS 
 
 Author of 
 VIDETTE, THE HEART LINE. ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 HANSON BOOTH 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
COPYRIGHT 1911 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
 
 BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKLYN, N. Y. 
 

 TO 
 
 SCHEHEREZADE, BARON MUNCHAUSEN 
 
 JACQUES CASANOVA 
 ALEXANDER THE GREAT 
 
 AND 
 
 GLENMORE DAVIS 
 
 THESE FEEBLE ATTEMPTS OF FANCY TO 
 
 RIVAL FACT ARE HUMBLY 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 12795 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 Prologue 
 
 PAGE 
 
 In which is explained how an architectural draftsman 
 came to possess three sets of names before he was 
 twenty-one, and how a portrait disturbed him 1 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 The House of the Fortune Teller 
 
 How John Fenton went downtown without an object, and 
 became involved in a picturesque adventure with a cer 
 tain strange lady 15 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 Schcffel Hall 
 
 How our hero, in the pursuit of his adventure, met at his 
 rendezvous a friend of his youth, and heard a tale of 
 j ewels and horror 24 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 The Liars Club 
 
 How our amateur adventurer fell a victim to his own in 
 experience, was relieved of his treasure, and fell in with 
 a precious company 49 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 The Reporter of "The Item" 
 
 How John Fenton achieved a pair of trousers and at 
 tempted assault and battery unsuccessfully, but was res 
 cued by a chubby scribbler 95 
 
CONTENTS Continued 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 The Suite at the Plaza 
 
 PAGE 
 
 How John Fenton encountered a friendly gentleman and 
 was given the possession of his home, and of the lady 
 who appeared there in tears 116 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 The Caxton Dining-Room 
 
 How Fenton met Belle Charmion a second time, was en 
 tertained by two professional beauties, became a hero, 
 and secured his car fare 149 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 The Subway Express 
 
 Concerning the philosophic theory of profanity as an art, 
 and its practical application as a science; and the doings 
 of Fenton s ex-master 187 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 The St. Paul Building. 
 
 Wherein John Fenton discovers a dead body, regains pos 
 session of certain jewels, and is besought to take the 
 place of a titled imposter 204 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 Wycherley Court 
 
 In which John Fenton assists at a social function in high 
 life, wears evening dress for the first time, and again 
 sees Belle Charmion... . 229 
 
CONTENTS Continued 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 The Norcross Apartments 
 
 PAGE 
 
 How John Fenton helps out a criminal scheme, witnesses 
 an arrest and an escape, waits in a deserted flat and gets 
 a new name 259 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 A Harlem Lodging House 
 
 Describing Fenton s return home in a top hat and how he 
 was welcomed by a friend and a letter, and how he 
 profited by each of them 296 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 The Brewster Mansion 
 
 In which is explained, at last, how and why Belle Char- 
 mion was so ubiquitous and the reason she offered a re 
 ward for a missing fiance 313 
 
FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 i 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 IN WHICH IS EXPLAINED HOW AN ARCHITECTURAL 
 
 DRAFTSMAN CAME TO POSSESS THREE SETS OF 
 
 NAMES BEFORE HE WAS TWENTY-ONE, AND 
 
 HOW A PORTRAIT DISTURBED HIM 
 
 WHO was Belle Charmion? If you really care 
 to know, as John Fenton did, you must go 
 with him on his quest, hither and yon over New 
 York, into strange houses and through side streets 
 at midnight, a shuttle in the secret loom of fate, 
 weaving in and out through many-colored threads, 
 until the pattern of the mystery is made clear. For 
 the warp of his strange, adventurous career love 
 and beauty and diamonds. For the woof some few 
 cross currents of crime and misery. There, in brief, 
 is the web of his drama. So, if you ask for such di 
 version, the narrative must perforce begin with a 
 
 I 
 
2 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 prelude, that you may make acquaintance with the 
 hero, and see what manner of youth and tempera 
 ment sped him on his way. 
 
 To explain why an engineer s draftsman of no 
 especial talent should, at twenty-one, have already 
 had three sets of names, the review of his history 
 should be divided into five epochs. The first, a pre 
 historic era, that of his babyhood, was, in his mem 
 ory, a mere blur of confused, faded pictures, 
 amongst which stood out one vivid, sharp recollec 
 tion a scene on a ferry boat, swept by keen brisk 
 winds, cool under a watery spring sun. He was 
 playing on deck with a little yellow-haired girl un 
 der the careless supervision of two indefinite elders. 
 With a small boy s insistence he was teasing his 
 companion, clutching at a gold heart-shaped locket 
 with a white star, which hung about her neck. She 
 pulled away from him, the chain broke, and she ran 
 crying to her guardian, leaving the locket in his 
 hands. . . . 
 
 The second epoch, that of his childhood between 
 the ages of four and eight, was somewhat more 
 clear in his mind, although there were many gaps 
 he could never account for. He was living in South 
 
PROLOGUE 3 
 
 Boston, and now his name was Michael O Shea. 
 His scarlet hair had gained for him amongst the 
 children of his street the easy sobriquet of "Reddy" ; 
 and at first he had not consented to the name with 
 out many savage protests. Living with an uncle and 
 an aunt, the O Sheas, hard by the Blind Asylum, his 
 life was a street urchin s career of conflict and rov 
 ing, with intermittent enforced sessions at the pri 
 mary school. He roamed from the Point to the 
 Dover Street Bridge; he knew the docks to the last 
 pile, from the land and from the water ; he felt, too 
 often, the missile of an opponent gang a snowball 
 enclosing a rock. Of his lineage he heard only that 
 his mother had been a mill hand in Fitchburg and 
 that his father had died at sea this information, 
 embroidered by diverse details which, little by little, 
 he perceived as lies, was always told him with winks 
 and smiles, as if, concealed within their falsehoods, 
 was some consummate joke. He grew tired of ques 
 tioning, finally, and brooded sullenly over the puzzle 
 of his birth. 
 
 When he was eight years old the O Sheas, with a 
 shiny black valise and a paper-covered trunk, moved 
 to New York. They took two rooms in a tenement 
 on the east side a place of multitudinous fire es- 
 
4 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 capes, waving blankets, screaming children and 
 dented ash barrels. But in that place, "Reddy" 
 O Shea was not to stay long. 
 
 The day after moving in, while Mrs. O Shea was 
 unpacking the trunk and Mangus O Shea was shav 
 ing at a broken triangle of mirror stuck in the win 
 dow, the boy s eyes caught a shiny something in an 
 open cardboard box. In wonder, with a queer, sick- 
 ish feeling of recognition he stooped down and took 
 it a little golden heart with a star of white stones 
 on the cover. Strange memories, as if of a long for 
 gotten dream, stirred him uneasily as he handled it. 
 The next moment he was knocked down by a violent 
 cuff on the ear, and Mangus O Shea stood over him, 
 his small reddish eyes blazing, ugly with anger, his 
 snarling lips, parted, revealing a broken row of lit 
 tle black teeth, horribly distinct in the middle of his 
 lathered face. 
 
 "Look at that what s ye ve done now!" he ex 
 claimed to his wife. "After four years av hidin 
 and pullin the wool over his eyes ! It ll be your fault 
 now if he begins to prick up his ears. Why didn t 
 ye lock it up from him ?" He turned to the boy and 
 shook a great scarred hairy fist. "If I ketch you 
 snooping round after things again, I ll break every 
 
PROLOGUE 5 
 
 rib in your body, and mind ye that!" He struck 
 "Reddy" again viciously to enforce the warning, and 
 returned to his shaving. 
 
 No sooner had he turned his back than the boy 
 slipped out, ran down the narrow, dirty stairs of the 
 tenement and was out on the street. He hurried 
 down-town as fast as his legs would carry him. 
 
 There followed two days of wandering, starva 
 tion, cold. . . . He crossed the Brooklyn Bridge 
 and lost himself in a wilderness of narrow streets 
 with rows of dreary looking houses. . . . When 
 Dr. Hopbottom found him, he was only half con 
 scious. .. . . 
 
 The third epoch, that of his adolescence, was the 
 wretchedest of all. A household drudge, enslaved 
 by Mrs. Hopbottom for domestic assistance, wash 
 ing dishes, sweeping, cooking, a hundred other de- 
 gradingly feminine tasks which went even to sewing 
 and darning the doctor s woolen socks. Joe Hop- 
 bottom, as he was now called, almost forgot that he 
 was a boy. He lived in squalor, gnawing scraps in 
 the kitchen, scolded by Mrs. Hopbottom continually, 
 and continually preached at by the doctor, a hoary 
 old hypocrite, whose face Joe loathed. 
 
6 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 The doctor s favorite occupation was to lecture 
 the boy on the simple life. "Plain living and high 
 thinking, Joe/ he would say, his cheeks bulging with 
 mince pie or suet pudding. "Don t make your belly 
 your god!" as he shoveled in loaded knife fulls of 
 hot pork. The doctor s face was greasy with exud 
 ing fat. His hands were pudgy. "Manners make the 
 man, Joe, not clothes!" he often said to his miser 
 able, ragged ward, as he strung a heavy gold watch 
 chain across his embroidered waistcoat. "I think 
 that suit of yours will do another year, with a little 
 brushing." And so it went. 
 
 The doctor did not drink or swear. He had all 
 the virtues of the Pharisees, including a goat s 
 beard ; but for every worldly vice he had an efficient 
 substitute. Instead of alcohol he used coffee with an 
 equally stimulating effect, injecting it under his skin 
 till he was as yellow as a Moor. In the place of pro 
 fanity, he made use of a highly original but perfectly 
 adequate diction composed of scientific terms. To 
 poor, terrified Joe this jargon seemed worse than 
 any oaths sanctified by custom. "You toxoleuco- 
 cyte," he would exclaim to the boy, "what do you 
 want to make a phenyltrybrompropionic hypothe- 
 
PROLOGUE jr 
 
 nuse of yourself for?" To such mysterious apos 
 trophes Joe could make no answer. 
 
 Only once did he see Mangus O Shea. That was 
 when he went to New York with the doctor to at 
 tend the meeting of a committee investigating the 
 white slave traffic. They were walking up the Bow 
 ery, the doctor absorbed in the theatrical posters, 
 when the Irishman passed them. He stopped and 
 stared. Joe, turning around fearfully to see if he 
 had been observed, caught O Shea s eager red eyes 
 upon him. He clung to the doctor s hands and 
 urged him forward. Dr. Hopbottom reluctantly 
 resumed his journey. At the next stand, bearing 
 the picture of "Pulchritude s Peacherino Bur- 
 lesquers," the boy turned round and saw that O Shea 
 had followed. At Canal Street he was lost in the 
 crowd. Joe dreamed of him for seven nights run 
 ning, but then a new interest diverted his thoughts. 
 
 Rummaging in the dusty attic one day while Mrs. 
 Hopbottom was at her sewing-circle, Joe discovered 
 some old numbers of the "Studio" left by a lodger; 
 and, between his washings and his darnings, he 
 pored over wonderful photographs of paintings and 
 sculpture, hiding the book under the eaves when 
 
8 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 he went back to work. At night, when he had a few 
 moments to himself, he copied the pictures with pen 
 cil, patiently, lovingly, abominably. 
 
 The Hopbottoms did, at least, permit him an edu 
 cation ; and he had almost finished his course at the 
 high school, before the crash came. The "Studio" 
 and a boy in his own class brought on the crisis. 
 His friend was a member of a private life class 
 which rented a studio on Tuesday and Thursday 
 evenings, hired an inexpressibly ugly model and 
 drew therefrom in charcoal. The class was com 
 posed mainly of architects ambitious draftsmen, 
 and with his friend s influence, Joe was permitted to 
 join. Finding money for paper and charcoal and 
 board seemed at first impossible, but the sale of old 
 rags and bottles filched from the Hopbottoms cellar 
 at last sufficed for the purchase of his material, and 
 the men allowed him to attend for a while, gratis. 
 The boy was already a personable, good-natured 
 youth and soon became popular. His explanation of 
 his absence was that he was attending a Bible class 
 at the Y. M. C. A. 
 
 His industry was great, if not his talent. By the 
 time he was sixteen years old, a fat roll of ter 
 rible studies from the nude was hidden away in the 
 
PROLOGUE 9 
 
 attic. Joe had become so enthusiastic in the pursuit 
 of art that he had almost forgotten the chaste point 
 of view of the Philistines. Dr. Hopbottom still 
 preached asceticism (for others) gesticulating with 
 his pie ; and still his fat increased. Still he preached 
 the simple life, the renunciation of the flesh, the 
 temptation of the senses. 
 
 One night Joe and his friend left a vaudeville the 
 ater in shocked disgust at the row of vulgar, half- 
 clad females, who were performing a suggestive 
 burlesque. As he went out, he saw Dr. Hopbottom s 
 unctuous grinning face in the audience, his eyes de 
 vouring the charms of the actresses. 
 
 It was the next morning the explosion came. Mrs. 
 Hopbottom, climbing up-stairs for a spring clean 
 ing, discovered Joe s charcoal studies from the nude. 
 There was a hysterical tumult, lightnings of her 
 flashing eye, thunder of her expostulation, a storm 
 of tattered charcoal drawings. Joe put his head 
 through the doorway to find the cause of her tem 
 per. With his ear in one hand, and the sole survivor 
 of his sketches (as a sample of sin) in her other, the 
 lady stalked into the doctor s study. His wrath was 
 sublime moral precepts, sermonettes, warnings, 
 prayers, reproaches, quotations from the Bible, Tim- 
 
io FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 othy iv, 12; Leviticus xxvi, 27-29. He invoked 
 pictures of future torment and made a closer in 
 spection of the drawing. He put it away carefully 
 in his desk, waving his wife s itching fingers aside, 
 and invoked Heaven, raising his eyebrows. 
 
 Joe could stand it no longer, told, pithily, of the 
 previous evening s vaudeville horrors (it was prayer 
 meeting night) then left the doctor and his blazing 
 spouse to fight it out together. He packed a few 
 clothes with deliberation, and walked calmly, hap 
 pily, back across the Brooklyn Bridge. He was free ; 
 a great peace was in his soul. Half way across he 
 wafted a gorgeous resolution forth upon the breeze. 
 The loathly name of Hopbottom sailed from his 
 body, never to return. Stealing a new one from 
 the first theatrical bill-board he passed, he entered 
 New York as John Fenton. So began his youth. 
 
 We may pass lightly over the next five years of 
 his life. He had been trained to take hard knocks, 
 he had industry and a savor of humor he made his 
 way. Some of his draftsmen friends busied them 
 selves for him and he soon found a position as an 
 office boy for a firm of architects. Between his petty 
 duties, he practised lettering, copied the orders, made 
 
PROLOGUE ii 
 
 blue prints and tracings. What he lacked in genius 
 he made up in determination; and, at the age of 
 twenty-one, he earned eighteen dollars a week, and 
 by frugality and a cheap Harlem lodging house 
 saved the half of it. The red of his hair had toned 
 to a deep auburn ; gymnasium work, long walks and 
 simple living had improved his looks till many a 
 girl s eyes gave him a second glance as he passed. 
 He had, even in his obscurity, the habits of a gen 
 tleman and a way of wearing his ready-made 
 clothes that took off the curse of cheapness. His 
 landlady was wont to gossip over his charms and his 
 aristocratic manners. She let many a room on the 
 strength of them. 
 
 Once, five or six years after he had escaped from 
 Brooklyn, he came upon Dr. Hopbottom in a penny 
 arcade. The doctor was looking into a moving pic 
 ture machine bearing the legend, The Story of an 
 Artist s Model." He was turning the crank slowly 
 very slowly. Something arrested his attention ; he 
 looked up with a guilty face. 
 
 "Good morning," said John affably, wondering 
 why he had ever feared this senile old fool. 
 
 "You correlated dimorphic appendix, you, what 
 
12 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 are you doing? Some blastodermic correlations mis 
 chief, I suppose?" The doctor tried to look dignified. 
 
 "Oh, I m going in for architecture. I see you re 
 at your old game, though!" said John; and, giving 
 him a withering smile, passed on. 
 
 And so at last we come to the picture which in 
 augurated John Fenton s fifth epoch. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Lucky for men that all have not the same tastes ! 
 Lucky for men that each chooses his own type of 
 beauty! Lucky that no one woman can please all 
 men ! Else, every woman might be a Helen of Troy 
 and war would rage amongst men over her everlast 
 ingly. Unlucky for "Melton s Magazine," however, 
 that there were not more John Fentons to mob the 
 news stands and buy up a certain edition of that 
 periodical. Comparatively few men, perhaps, would 
 call the girl s face pretty. Most, at least, would turn 
 the page with small regret. But to John Fenton, the 
 sight of that face was the starting of many emo 
 tions ; in that glance he achieved maturity ; his youth 
 ended on page two hundred twelve, manhood began 
 at page two hundred thirteen. 
 
 He came across the magazine in a friend s studio, 
 and, not daring to confess how much the picture af- 
 
PROLOGUE 13 
 
 fected him, he sought a chance, cut out the page and 
 concealed it under his coat. It showed the face of a 
 girl of perhaps twenty years, with soft, parted hair 
 rolling away from her forehead, eyes wide apart 
 under level brows and a smiling mouth at once de 
 mure and whimsical. So much for the outward 
 aspect. Beauty, however, is subjective. In John 
 Fenton s mind something responded as to a message 
 the secret call of a subconscious desire potent 
 as a magic charm. To win that girl he would have 
 ploughed across Arctic snows, fought his way 
 through tropical jungles, chanced peril, war or pesti 
 lence. So much he resolved at first glance. 
 
 When he got the page safely home he smoothed 
 out its wrinkles and studied it, perturbed and trem 
 bling. By a sorry trick of chance some one, cutting 
 a paragraph from the opposite side of the page, had 
 deleted the name of the girl. Not till he had had the 
 portrait on his wall for a week, not till a new ele 
 ment had begun to creep into its attraction for him, 
 did he realize that he had been a fool not to look at 
 the magazine and see its name and date, that he 
 might procure an undisfigured copy. It was now 
 impossible to trace it, and the girl must remain un- 
 riamed. 
 
14 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 As he studied it, day by day, its charm grew more 
 potent. Something more than the girl s mere phys 
 ical attraction moved him. The romance and mystery 
 of the face became more and more magnetic at first 
 vague and troublesome, it at last absorbed him; it 
 seemed to promise some hidden meaning for him 
 alone. The talk of a Theosophical fellow- worker at 
 his office began to simmer in his brain. Had he per 
 chance known this girl in some previous life? Were 
 their destinies linked ? Had they made Karma to 
 gether ? In such wise he mused. At times the strain 
 on his imagination grew so tense that he would put 
 the picture away and busy himself with prosaic sub 
 jects some competition for court house or pergola. 
 But the lady did not long hide her face. Back she 
 came to his wall again, now as expensively framed 
 as a dry-point Helleu etching and again John Fen- 
 ton s thoughts roved on the wings of romance. 
 
II 
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE FORTUNE TELLER 
 
 HOW JOHN FENTONWENT DOWN-TOWN WITHOUT AN 
 OBJECT, AND BECAME INVOLVED IN A PICTUR 
 ESQUE ADVENTURE WITH A CERTAIN 
 STRANGE LADY 
 
 JOHN FENTON returned from tfie office one 
 April evening and as usual gazed long at the 
 picture. He went out with the spell still upon him; 
 it charmed him even in the heated, sordid, common 
 place atmosphere of the cheap restaurant where he 
 habitually dined. Aforetimes, he had held inter 
 rupted jocose intercourse with Millie, his favorite 
 waitress ; but of late Millie s charms had faded. He 
 had begun to notice that her hands and ears were 
 large. After his small, squat cup of adulterated 
 boiled coffee, he took a subway express to Times 
 Square and, as was his wont, wandered down 
 Broadway into the splendor of modern Babylon. 
 
 New York was waking up to its per fervid night 
 life. The electric signs blazed convulsively, throw- 
 
 15 
 
16 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 ing spasms of red and white and green against the 
 darkling sky. The taxicabs grew nervous, hurried, 
 searching here and there like roaches in a dirty 
 kitchen. The women of the shadow began to emerge 
 into the glare, overtly stalking their prey. John 
 Fenton, still wrapped in his dream, walked on un- 
 regarding, like a machine. 
 
 At the opera house he waked up enough to take 
 his accustomed place in a shy corner to watch the 
 influx of wealth and fashion. He had a new measure 
 for their grace and beauty, now; and as they en 
 tered, one by one they failed. Once he had a sudden, 
 clutching gasp of surprise as a girl passed him cool 
 and imperious, in her long cloak of chinchilla. He 
 stared. At first he wildly thought his time had come 
 and she was the girl of the picture. But she turned 
 full upon him and he saw her mouth was selfish, 
 cruel, false. He turned and walked down-town, 
 trembling; and after a while passed still dreaming, 
 into a side street to escape the crowd. 
 
 He had not gone far when his idly roving eyes 
 encountered a sign on a door, reading "Madame Os 
 wald, Palmist and Medium." He stopped and stared 
 at it curiously. Why not, for once, seek that vulgar 
 shrine, consult the oracle and illumine his fate? 
 
HOUSE OF THE FORTUNE TELLER 17 
 
 Life, of late, while seeming duller of fact, had to his 
 fancy become suddenly stimulated. That fancy must 
 be fed a mere portrait could no longer satisfy him. 
 He was in a mood for romance, and here was one of 
 Romance s immemorial priestesses. He slowly as 
 cended the steps, rang the bell, waited. 
 
 A negro servant opened to him, and led him into 
 a front parlor, lighted by a single lamp on a table. 
 He sat down, already embarrassed, upon an uncom 
 fortable red plush sofa and gazed, fascinated, at a 
 huge painted panel on the opposite wall, whereon 
 some audacious amateur had copied some wearied 
 professional s conception of Francesca da Rimini 
 and her lover. The black eyes of the heroine held 
 him till Madame Oswald appeared, massive, blonde, 
 swathed in a purple gown. 
 
 There were the usual preliminaries; Madame s 
 quick, close scrutiny appraising him at a glance 
 an attempt to secure a "full life reading" at double 
 the ordinary price, the production of a velvet pad 
 upon which his hand should rest and the drone of 
 prophecy began. She prodded his palm with a little 
 ivory pointer, noted extraordinary lines, stars and 
 mounts, and brought forth her three inevitable 
 themes. The gentleman was of a strangely sensi- 
 
18 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 tive nature, and was much misunderstood. He was 
 worried over something, and didn t know quite what 
 to do. He had intuition, psychic power, mediumship, 
 but it was undeveloped. A course of developing 
 seances, now, at five dollars a week, would bring out 
 unexpected powers. . . . No? Well, then, let 
 him ask a question. She leaned back and closed her 
 eyes. Fenton watched her bulky satin chest heave 
 heavily as she breathed. Her large placid face, with 
 its one hairy mole, fascinated him. Then the picture 
 came into his mind, and he asked in a whisper: 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 "Who is she?" she repeated, as if to some spirit 
 guide. Her voluminous bust expanded in a gasp. 
 She quivered, rolled her head, and finally answered : 
 "I see the letters B. C." She opened her eyes sud 
 denly and shot at him, "Ain t that right?" 
 
 "Darned if I know," he replied. 
 
 At that she plucked up courage and went on with 
 out hesitation. "B. C.," she repeated. "It s Belle, or 
 Blanche or Bessie. I ain t sure which. But she s in 
 your life current, and she s attracting you her way. 
 Yes, yes, you re going to marry her, and marry 
 with money, too. I ain t sure if it s hers or yourn. 
 But look out for one thing, and that s a man with a 
 
HOUSE OF THE FORTUNE TELLER 19 
 
 split ear. Don t you trust him! Is they anything 
 else you wanted to know ? Fifty cents, please !" 
 
 Fenton never paid the fee ; for, no sooner had she 
 spoken than, with a terrified expression, she jumped 
 up and ran to the window. She turned back to him 
 a large white anguished face. 
 
 "My God ! The police ! They are a-goin to pull 
 me !" She began to pluck at her breast and moan. 
 
 Fenton rose, beginning to be frightened himself. 
 "What the devil s the matter?" He grabbed up his 
 hat and his coat. 
 
 "Oh, I knew they was a-roundin* up the mediums 
 and palmists this week," she cried, "but I come 
 across with my tax to the captain all right, only last 
 Tuesday, and he swore they d never touch me. This 
 means a hundred dollars out for me, an I ain t got 
 ten ! Say, kid, you get out quick, or they ll hold you 
 for a witness ! I don t want no more evidence than 
 I can help hurry, for God s sake ! Get out through 
 the back parlor, there !" 
 
 Even as she spoke the front door bell rang, and 
 the handle was rattled to enforce the summons. 
 Fenton did not stay to see the issue, but ran in be 
 tween the folding doors to a room cluttered by fem 
 inine garments in scandalous disorder. He opened 
 
20 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 a door into the hall, but, on the instant, heard the 
 officers entering. He could not escape that way. If 
 he could not find some other exit he would be caught 
 like a rat in a trap. He darted to the window and 
 saw a fire-escape landing. Out he climbed. 
 
 The back yard showed no feasible route of egress. 
 He ran up the iron ladder, peered into a window, 
 tried it and found it locked, then hurried up to the 
 next floor. Here the window was opened and the 
 room lighted. He glanced in and gave a suppressed 
 cry of surprise. 
 
 Stooping down to the floor, a woman, dressed in 
 Russian sables, was gathering into a traveling bag, 
 by handfuls, a profusion of gems, that, scattered 
 upon the carpet, made the place a miracle. By the 
 vivid flashes of red, blue, yellow and green that daz 
 zled his eyes, there must have been, in all, some two 
 hundred precious stones, set and unset rings, brace 
 lets, necklaces, pins and pendants. Where there was 
 not the prismatic fire of precious stones, there was 
 the dull sheen of gold. For the most part the jewels 
 lay in a puddle of gorgeous color; but, spattered 
 from this, all over the floor single sparks of radiant 
 light twinkled as if a rainbow had exploded in the 
 room, and lay in splendid fragments. 
 
I swear I am innocent 
 
HOUSE OF THE FORTUNE TELLER 21 
 
 As he stood there transfixed, the woman turned, 
 caught sight of his white face and screamed. With 
 a sudden movement she threw herself full length 
 upon the floor like a hen trying to protect her chicks 
 at the approach of a hawk. Fenton was too aston 
 ished to think of his own peril, too astonished even 
 to speak ; it was the woman who broke the silence. 
 
 "Who are you, for God s sake ?" she moaned. 
 
 Still Fenton stared, aghast, inarticulate. 
 
 "Are you a burglar ?" 
 
 His tongue loosened at last. "The house is raided ! 
 The police are down stairs they ve got Madame Os 
 wald. What in Heaven s name does all this mean?" 
 
 She paled, she faltered; then, with a shocked 
 face, arose and stood, with her hand to her head, 
 as if panic stricken. Fenton got a good look at her 
 now and saw that she was beautiful, with a piquant, 
 eager face, exquisite scarlet lips, and deep brown 
 eyes suffused with tears. Her skin had an olive cast 
 and her hair was dark. Altogether she was unlike 
 any woman he had ever seen an exotic type with a 
 sensuous prettiness made delicate, refined by great 
 intelligence. Was she Oriental ? There was at least 
 something tropical about her beauty it was too 
 vivid, too moving for an Anglo-Saxon. 
 
22 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 She had stood staring at him, thinking intently; 
 now she darted to the window and laid a gracile 
 hand upon his arm, as she looked sharply into 
 his face. She spoke under her breath: "You look 
 honest and brave. Will you help me? I have not a 
 moment to lose, if the police are in the house. 
 Quick!" 
 
 Without waiting an answer she dragged him over 
 the window sill into the room. Before he had col 
 lected his wits she was scrabbling the jewels from 
 the floor and loading them into his pockets. 
 
 "I swear I am innocent of any crime!" she ex 
 claimed passionately, as she gathered a handful of 
 diamonds, rubies, and emeralds from the floor and 
 dropped them into his overcoat pocket. "You ve got 
 to help me out there is no one else to save me 
 and the honor of a great family." 
 
 She ran to the door, listened, and returned with 
 compressed lips, to stoop for more jewels. They 
 dripped from her fingers as she rose, great drops of 
 iridescent color, the hues of blood and poison, to be 
 gathered again in her little hands. "All I want is 
 that these things should be restored to their rightful 
 owner. Why, if the police find them here it will be 
 awful I can never explain a terrible scandal will 
 
HOUSE OF THE FORTUNE TELLER 23 
 
 come out !" Again she scraped up her hands full 
 chains of fire opals, brooches of carved emeralds, 
 topazes and sapphires, a tiny enameled watch, a half 
 dozen rings, dazzling with rubies. Already his inside 
 pockets were full, the stones pressed hard against 
 his sides. She opened the flaps of his outside pockets 
 and thrust in more gems. "Don t ask any questions 
 there s no time. I hope to God you can get away 
 safe you must do your best I am being followed, 
 but they won t suspect you. Now then, be quick !" 
 
 By this time the last jewel was concealed, and Fen- 
 ton, his coat bulging with the treasure, stood before 
 her pale and trembling with excitement. Just then 
 there came a noise from the stairway, a bang upon 
 the hall door. 
 
 "Out the window !" she hissed. "Get away some 
 how, for heaven s sake and meet me at Scheffel 
 Hall and wait till I come!" In another instant she 
 had hustled him out onto the fire escape, shut the 
 window behind him and turned off the gas. As he 
 climbed the next flight of iron steps, out of sight, 
 he heard the pounding on the door grow louder; 
 some one was shouting for her to open. 
 
Ill 
 
 SCHEFFEL HALL 
 
 HOW OUR HERO, IN THE PURSUIT OF HIS ADVEN 
 TURE, MET AT HIS RENDEZVOUS A FRIEND OF 
 HIS YOUTH, AND HEARD A TALE OF JEW 
 ELS AND HORROR 
 
 SO up Fenton went with his heart pumping, ob 
 structed by his overcoat, gained the next land 
 ing and looked about for a means of escape. Three 
 or four feet away from him the roof of an ell stood, 
 its flat roof level with his landing. With no definite 
 plan of escape, he jumped across the opening, landed 
 upon the gravel roof and hurried along, dodging 
 under telephone wires, to where another roof rose, 
 a few feet higher. Up this he scrambled and looked 
 about. There was a trap door a few yards away. 
 He made his way to it, tried it, and found it un 
 locked. Lifting it, he gazed down into a black hole. 
 At first he could see nothing, but as his eyes grew 
 accustomed to the darkness he made out a ladder 
 leading down. With terror in his soul, he cautiously 
 
 24 
 
SCHEFFEL HALL 25 
 
 groped his way to the foot, bumped his head, felt 
 about for a door, opened one and found himself, to 
 his immense relief, in the upper hallway of an apart 
 ment house. Here he paused for a moment to regain 
 his breath and his courage. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to descend boldly 
 and trust his luck not to be observed. He got down 
 the first flight in safety, meeting no one, but at the 
 next landing was suddenly confronted by a young 
 girl coming up. She started in surprise, eyed him 
 keenly, but said nothing. He felt her eyes upon him 
 as he went down. In the lowest hall a negro lad was 
 dozing at a telephone desk. He did not move. Fen- 
 ton opened the front door; the boy waked, caught 
 sight of him and shouted something. Fenton hur 
 ried out, not daring to run, got down the front steps 
 with his pulse quickened to fever speed, and turned 
 toward Broadway. 
 
 One glance over his shoulder showed the patrol 
 wagon still standing at the door of Madame Os 
 wald s, a few houses away, and, by the opposite curb 
 was a shabby coupe, with its driver on the box 
 watching the excitement. Men were running up to 
 the scene of the raid; one large, pompous-looking 
 man jostled Fenton and nearly knocked him down; 
 
26 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 but at last he was free of the crowd and walked 
 south, his hands in his pockets, his fingers burrowing 
 in the diamonds. Judging the lights of Broadway 
 safer than dark side streets, he kept down to the Flat- 
 iron Building, and then, looking suspiciously to right 
 and left, crossing the street whenever he saw a pedes 
 trian approaching, he zig-zagged to Fourth Avenue 
 and gained Eighteenth Street. Once a bedizened 
 woman accosted him with a wheedling voice. Once 
 a shabby loafer hailed him, requesting money for a 
 cup of coffee. . . . "Up against it, sir. Can t 
 get work nothing to eat for two days." Fenton 
 did not reply. The burden of his treasure was a 
 horror and a menace; it seemed as if he would never 
 reach the restaurant. But, at last, he entered the 
 swinging doors and sat down at a table with a sigh 
 of relief. Here was respite for a while till the 
 woman should arrive if she ever did arrive. What 
 if she did not ? 
 
 He ordered beer and pretzels and took up a copy 
 of the Fliegende Blaetter to distract his thoughts. 
 The German letters danced on the page. The pic 
 tures had no meaning. Then, seeing a ragged copy 
 of "Melton s" on the table he took it up. 
 
 It was a tired looking old magazine, half the pages 
 
SCHEFFEL HALL 27 
 
 torn, spotted with eggs and gravy, having evidently 
 been left in the restaurant by some patron, and read 
 to death by subsequent guests. He turned the pages 
 listlessly, his mind on other things than storiettes 
 or descriptive articles. But, when he came to the 
 pages of fair women he stopped suddenly at a half 
 page. It was the desecrated portrait of the Girl his 
 wonderful girl with the whimsical smile and the 
 level eyebrows. His heart stopped then he glanced 
 at the caption under the half-tone. Half of it was 
 gone. What remained read as follows : 
 
 "Miss Belle Ch 
 One of the season s most" 
 
 "Belle Ch " it was maddening. Then, in a flash, 
 he recalled the fortune teller s prediction. What was 
 it Madame Oswald had said? "B. C Belle, or 
 Blanche, or Bessie she s in your life current 
 you re going to marry her and marry with money." 
 Strange how the girl pursued him! Would fate in 
 deed bring them together? He cut out the half page 
 and put it in his pocket. There was no time to muse 
 upon this fancy, his present situation was too com 
 pelling. He resumed his lookout for the mysterious 
 woman who had promised to meet him. 
 
28 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 He had been there a scant half hour when he saw 
 her enter the door and give a quick glance about the 
 room. Seeing Fenton, she walked smiling toward 
 his table. 
 
 "Thank God, you got here all right !" she said as 
 she sat down. "I had a narrow escape, myself. The 
 police came in, but found no evidence to hold me. 
 I told them I was rooming in the house and knew 
 nothing. All the same I have been followed, and I 
 daren t take the gems. You will have to help me 
 further." 
 
 "See here," said Fenton, "I ve had enough of this. 
 It s a little too suspicious for me, and I don t care to 
 get into trouble with the police." 
 
 "It s not the police you have to fear most," she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Who is it, then ?" he demanded nervously. 
 
 "Won t you help me?" She shot a languishing 
 look at him. Surely she was beautiful but her 
 beauty had a savage note in it it was the beauty of 
 a tigress there was strange electric force in her 
 glance, in her mysterious smile. 
 
 "I won t help you till you tell me what it all 
 means," was his answer. 
 
 She kept her gaze on him steadily, and spoke as if 
 
SCHEFFEL HALL 29 
 
 to herself. "I hardly know how to tell you. . . . 
 It s such a great responsibility. ... A family s 
 good name is in your power. . . . But I must 
 have help." Still she stared at him. 
 
 Fenton turned away his head, embarrassed. He 
 was upon the point of refusing her outright, hand 
 ing over the jewels and making his escape back into 
 the peace of commonplace things. There was some 
 thing sinister about it all. It was too dangerous. 
 As he looked abstractedly toward the door it opened 
 and a man entered. Fenton felt his blood run cold. 
 Who was the man? At first he did not know, and 
 yet there was something familiar about him, in his 
 furtive walk rather than his face, which stirred 
 vague memories. The man passed, gave a blank 
 stare at Fenton ; and Fenton recognized him. 
 
 It was Mangus O Shea, with whom he had lived 
 in South Boston, whom he had always been told was 
 his own uncle. The man had grown old, but, by the 
 small reddish eyes and the broken black teeth, Fen 
 ton knew him indubitably. As the Irishman passed 
 it was as if a chill wind had swept after him, mak 
 ing Fenton shiver with apprehension. At this look 
 at O Shea, the first for so many years, Fenton saw 
 him as a cruel and an evil thing, a man to shun and 
 
30 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 dread. It was as if his own sub-conscious mind had 
 been for years pondering a problem and needed but 
 this encounter to fan hidden coals of thought into a 
 fierce flaming idea. He was sure now that O Shea 
 was not his uncle, sure that the Irishman knew the 
 secret of his birth, had done him some fearful 
 wrong, perhaps. His look was criminal; Fenton, 
 with his pockets sagging with precious stones, felt 
 his peril increase every minute. 
 
 If the woman opposite him had noticed the epi 
 sode she did not how it. Her eyes were still on him, 
 but her thoughts seemed far away. Now she ap 
 peared to awake and cast some horrid apprehension 
 from her. She leaned forward and touched his hand. 
 
 "Listen," she said, "I m going to tell you why and 
 how much I need you. If you have any chivalry in 
 your nature you can not refuse me." 
 
 With this preamble she began her story. 
 
 THE DEAD FARE 
 
 I am going to make you my confidant in two se 
 crets one, my lover s I hoped never to divulge. 
 The other is my own I hoped to keep that for ever 
 
SCHEFFEL HALL 31 
 
 also; but it doesn t matter now. ... I have 
 negro blood in my veins; I am an octoroon. Will 
 that kill your sympathy? I hope not, . . . but I 
 have to tell you it will explain everything. 
 
 Perhaps you have noticed it already. Have you 
 suspected me, under my powder, under my wig 
 this horrible thing that I ve worn so long? Well, 
 my lover never suspected it, I know. Perhaps he 
 wouldn t have cared if he had. I like to think so 
 for he loved me. 
 
 Gordon Brewster rescued me from hell. Do you 
 know what it means to have negro blood in your 
 veins mixed with white to have sensibility, re 
 finement surely I have that and to be for ever 
 outside the pale? I can mingle freely with neither 
 my own people nor yours. One sort is too low, the 
 other too high for me. I have a college education 
 I studied for four years at Tuskegee Institute 
 after that I tried to teach. Then for three years I 
 was alone in New York, seeing almost no one. I 
 write special stories for the papers, never going 
 near the offices, and supporting myself fairly well. 
 I have a little apartment on East Thirty-third Street, 
 with a colored maid I am afraid of any other. 
 
32 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 It doesn t matter how I met Gordon Brewster. 
 There is no need of your knowing that part of my 
 life is sacred. But, in spite of everything, we fell in 
 love. Can you imagine what that meant to me ? A 
 man like him a gentleman? It was a dream come 
 true it was a fairy tale. Can you see how I hid my 
 secret my shame ? I think that my soul is as white 
 as ... well, never mind. I couldn t tell Gordon ; 
 how could I risk it ? I was so happy ! I was sure of 
 his love, but I was afraid of something stronger 
 than himself, some instinct, some inevitable revul 
 sion of race feeling. ... I didn t know how it 
 would end I didn t care, only that I resolved never 
 to marry him unless ... I wonder if I could 
 have told him ? . . . Well, it s too late now . . . 
 All I have now is his honor to protect and cherish. 
 The happiness of knowing him was all I ever had. 
 . . . We walked all that three years on the edge of 
 a precipice that he never saw. ... I saw it al 
 ways. . , . 
 
 He had plenty of money, at first. It was all I 
 could do to prevent his spending it all on me. No 
 one ever knew, no one ever talked about us no one 
 at least, except an intimate friend of his, Harry 
 Hay. 
 
SCHEFFEL HALL 33 
 
 Mr. Brewster had a string of race horses no 
 other business the family is old, and rich. He put 
 all his money into his stable and lost steadily. If I 
 had known of it in time, I might have saved him 
 . . . but it was not to be. ... 
 
 Last evening, at about half past seven o clock, 
 when I was dressing for the evening, the door bell 
 rang, and Eliza, my maid, came in to tell me that 
 Mr. Brewster had come. It was so early I had 
 not expected him for some time yet. I told Eliza to 
 show him into my little parlor while I completed my 
 toilet. As she helped me with my dressing I heard 
 him tramping up and down the room, and wondered 
 at it. 
 
 Before I had finished, he knocked on my door and 
 called out for me to hurry. His voice was so harsh 
 and excited that it alarmed me. I threw my things^ 
 on hurriedly and ran in. He was terribly excited. 
 He told me to get rid of Eliza he wanted to talk to 
 me alone. So I sent her away, and he walked 
 nervously up and down till she had left. 
 
 Then he came up to me and took both my Hands 
 in his. "Get your things packed up at once!" 
 he said. "Enough to travel with, at least. I am 
 going to marry you right away! We re going to 
 
34 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 take the train to New Orleans to-night, and then by 
 a fruit steamer for Central America. I m dished !" 
 
 No, I didn t cry. It was too critical a situation. 
 I thought then that the time had come when I would 
 have to tell him my secret. Oh, he had asked me to 
 marry him scores of times; I had always been able 
 to put him off with an indefinite answer. I couldn t 
 bear to lose him, but I was determined not to be his 
 wife until I had confessed what I was. But now I 
 saw he was as determined as I. I said, "What has 
 happened, Gordon?" 
 
 Then he told me told me what I dread to tell 
 you only, of course, you see, then I didn t under 
 stand how awful it was. He was ruined. His 
 favorite filly had cost him every cent he had in the 
 world, and he owed money everywhere. He had 
 even ... I don t think I need tell you all of 
 it ... perhaps that can be covered up, too . . . 
 At any rate he was desperate. Nothing would do 
 but for us to be married that night and get away 
 before he was arrested. 
 
 Think of it! The temptation to be alone with 
 him his wife sure of one friend for ever! But 
 the cost ! I couldn t do it ! How could I think of 
 his losing* his honor, his good name 
 
SCHEFFEL HALL 35 
 
 I don t know what I said, but I refused. I told 
 him that he couldn t marry me, that he must stay 
 and face his trouble stay and make a fight for it 
 then, when he was square with the world, if he 
 chose, I would be his wife wasn t I right? I loved 
 him too much ! 
 
 I never had time to finish. You see, he had 
 brought two pieces of luggage with him. One was 
 a suit-case, the other a smallish traveling bag. Be 
 fore I had ended my talk he was fumbling in the 
 bag. I didn t realize what he was doing till he had 
 pulled out a revolver. His look was horrible he 
 could hardly speak through his passion, but he cried 
 out : "Well, if I can t have you I ll end it all now !" 
 Then he pulled the trigger shot himself in the tem 
 ple. ... I fainted on the floor beside him. . . . 
 
 The next thing I knew the bell was ringing. I 
 don t know how long it had been ringing ... it 
 was some time before I could get up, and it kept 
 ringing persistently, horribly. It wouldn t stop 
 ringing. ... I shut my ears to it, hoping who 
 ever was there would go away . . . but the bell 
 kept on ringing . . . can you hear it? Gordon 
 dead on my parlor floor, and the bell ringing . . , 
 God ! I can hear it yet ... ringing. 
 
36 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 I managed to open the door part way a crack 
 and saw Harry Hay Gordon s best friend the 
 only one who knew of our friendship. 
 
 "For God s sake," he said, "is Gordon here?" 
 He pushed past me I couldn t answer he got into 
 the parlor and saw. ... I sat down on the sofa 
 and began to cry, then ... it was such a relief 
 to have somebody there. I couldn t look . . . 
 Gordon was dead, sure enough. There was no 
 doubt about it. ... 
 
 He felt of Gordon s heart . . . and closed his 
 eyes. . . . Then he told me Gordon had been to 
 see him yesterday to borrow money. Harry Hay 
 didn t have it, and, not knowing how serious it was, 
 had refused. Then, afterward, hearing a few things 
 about Gordon s affairs, he had raised a few thou 
 sands in a hurry and had come to offer it to him 
 . . . knowing Gordon would be at my place. . . . 
 Think of it! Ten minutes too late. . . . wasn t 
 it ironic? Harry was a good friend, God knows. . . . 
 
 Harry Hay was wonderful . . . what I would 
 have done alone, I don t know. Of course, the sui 
 cide itself was awful enough; but for Gordon to be 
 found in my room, in the room of an octoroon! 
 Think of the scandal ! It would be terrific ! . . . 
 
SCHEFFEL HALL 37 
 
 Then, there were Gordon s debts, his dishonesty. 
 . . . It couldn t be. I plead with Harry to find 
 some way out. Then we discovered the jewels, and 
 we understood how far poor Gordon had fallen ! 
 
 They were in the traveling bag which he had 
 opened to take the pistol from. It was half full. 
 The Brewster jewels . . . thousands of dollars 
 worth of them. . . . Gordon had taken them 
 from the family safe. He had the combination, and 
 his parents were away from home, in Europe, or 
 rather, they were expected back any day. Well, we 
 talked it over. What could we do? I took a dose 
 of strychnia and it braced me up. . . . Finally 
 Harry thought of a plan. 
 
 "There s a hack stand around the corner," he 
 said. "I ll go round there and see if I can jolly the 
 driver into renting his carriage. If I can, perhaps 
 we can make it. If not, the thing will have to come 
 out. It s our only chance, anyway." So he left to 
 try it. I locked the door behind him, and went into 
 my room and lay on my bed thinking . . . you 
 can imagine how my mind worked. ... I could 
 see Gordon lying on the floor as plainly as if I were 
 in that room with him . . . hours seemed to go 
 ,by before Harry Hay rang the bell. 
 
38 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 When I opened the door I didn t know him at 
 first; I was terrified. He had on a cab driver s 
 smelly coat and old high hat, borrowed, I don t 
 know how I believe he told the cabby it was a prac 
 tical joke. ... He told me to get on my hat and 
 coat and wait for him in my room. He went into the 
 parlor. . . . Once he came to my door and asked 
 for warm water and towels. Then he returned for 
 cotton wool . . . Oh, God! ... I didn t dare 
 ask him what for. . . . The third time he knocked 
 he told me that everything was ready. I gulped 
 down a drink of brandy, clenched my teeth and went 
 in. ... I wish I could ever forget what I saw. 
 . . . Gordon was huddled on the sofa, his hat and 
 gloves were on ... he seemed to be asleep . . . 
 his head was turned away . . . the hole in his 
 temple was filled with cotton. ... I felt myself 
 fainting again, went to the bath room and dashed 
 my face with water, then returned. . . . Harry 
 had the hall door open. 
 
 Well, we got the body down-stairs somehow, one 
 supporting each arm. ... I held Gordon while 
 Harry looked out to see if there was any one who 
 might see ... then we carried him into the cab. 
 . . . We got the body on to the seat and I fol- 
 
SCHEFFEL HALL 39 
 
 lowed and sat down and held it up. ... Then 
 Harry ran up-stairs for the suit-case and bag, threw 
 them into the floor of the cab, got on the box, and 
 we drove off. 
 
 Was there ever such a drive, I wonder ? Past the 
 Waldorf-Astoria, past Sherry s and Delmonico s, in 
 and out through a stream of automobiles and car 
 riages ... the body lurched and swayed . . . 
 once it fell on the floor I had to lift him up. Past 
 the Cathedral, the great hotels at the plaza, and then 
 we plunged into the Park ... it was cool and 
 dark . . . my last ride with Gordon Brewster 
 . . . the last time I would touch his hand ! It was 
 the last service I would ever do for him, I thought, 
 . . . but there is still another . . . you must 
 help me ... can you have the heart to refuse, 
 after this? . . . 
 
 Gordon had lived alone in the Brewster house on 
 Seventy-second Street, with nobody but an old care 
 taker Flint, his name is I didn t quite trust him, 
 but he was our only hope. Would Flint consent to 
 help us? That was the question; if he would, we 
 could manage it. We stopped at the house, and Harry 
 Hay left me alone and went in to break the news to 
 the old man. ... He was gone some time. He 
 
40 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 must have paid Flint money big money. Had that 
 body been any one s but Gordon s, I would have 
 died, or lost my senses right then. The suspense, you 
 know. But how can you abhor the body of one you 
 love ? Our last ride together . . . was over. 
 
 Harry Hay came out at last with Flint, who was 
 shivering with terror, expostulating. Harry Hay 
 took one arm of the body, Flint the other touched 
 it, that is, and then ran back into the house, sobbing, 
 terrified. . . . Aren t men cowards? ... I 
 had to help . . . the body was stiffened with the 
 cold ... we had to fairly drag it into the house 
 . . . the boots scraped on the sidewalk ... at 
 the basement entrance, Flint was white as ashes, 
 holding the door . . . then into the shooting gal 
 lery, where Gordon had his bowling alley, his foils 
 and gloves . . . and rifles. . . . We laid him 
 on the floor. . . . 
 
 Harry Hay took a target pistol from a case and 
 asked the way to the coal cellar ... he went 
 with Flint through a little low door . . . then I 
 heard a shot. My God! It made me shriek, my 
 nerves were so on edge. It was only Harry shooting 
 into the coal to empty the cartridge. He came back 
 and laid the pistol down beside the body. . . . 
 
SCHEFFEL HALL 41 
 
 Then I turned away, sick. He was removing the 
 cotton ... we were afraid the wound wouldn t 
 bleed. . . . Oh, God ! ... it bled fast enough. 
 
 Flint was told to wait fifteen minutes, then tele 
 phone to the nearest police station. . . . He 
 was to s ay he had heard a shot . . . that Gor 
 don had let himself in alone while Flint was up-stairs 
 . . . that he probably was practising, as he often 
 did. You see, he was a noted shot ... we 
 hoped the death might perhaps pass as accidental 
 . . . that was the plan. ... I think it worked 
 all right, . . . but the police suspect something 
 I think. . . . Did you read the papers ? There 
 was a notice . . . there is to be an inquest 
 . . . the house is guarded, 
 
 We came out, at last. Harry Hay got up on the 
 box and drove off. I felt relieved. So far as we knew, 
 nobody had seen us come. I thought it was all over, 
 the strain of it, the horror, and my strength began 
 to go ... I collapsed ... it had been too 
 much. ... I was roused out of a sort of stupor 
 by finding myself slipping to the floor as we slewed 
 round a corner. When I tried to get up my feet 
 struck something the suit-case and bag. Do you 
 see? We had been so worked up over the thing, so 
 
42 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 excited, so nervous, we had forgotten to leave Gor 
 don s luggage at the house. Both of us had forgot 
 ten God knows we had enough else to think about 
 it isn t strange we forgot. Well, I thought it 
 wouldn t matter much about the things only 
 clothes. I was too upset to remember what was in 
 the small bag. 
 
 Then, as we passed an electric light I happened to 
 look down at my feet. The small bag had become 
 unfastened in some way, and the whole floor of the 
 cab was covered with jewels! . . . You ve seen 
 them, too on the floor you know how I must have 
 felt. Thousands of dollars worth of jewels! I 
 gathered them up and stuffed them into the bag. At 
 the next street lamp I looked and found more in the 
 corners, and still more ... it seemed as if I d 
 never find them all. . . . First I thought I d stop 
 Harry Hay and tell him, . . t but I waited till we 
 got to my house, . . . then I told him. 
 
 What were we to do? We couldn t take them 
 back; it was too late, then, for the police had un 
 doubtedly been notified there would be officers 
 there, and the coroner s men. Harry Hay was get 
 ting nervous about the cab-driver, and anxious to 
 return the carriage. He told me that I would have 
 
SCHEFFEL HALL 43 
 
 to see about the jewels told me to telephone Flint 
 and see what could be done to return them safely, 
 so that no one would know they had been taken. 
 ... It was a tremendous responsibility for me, 
 but, to save Gordon s honor, I consented to do it. 
 
 I got Flint on the telephone, after a while, and 
 told him. He was awfully excited, and said he had 
 found the safe door open, and had suspected the 
 theft. He proposed that I should carry the jewels 
 up to his brother s house in Harlem, where, as soon 
 as he could get away, he would meet me. Then he 
 would return them to the safe and lock the combina 
 tion. No one would ever know. But, owing to the 
 coroner, he couldn t get away till late to-night. . . . 
 I promised to come. . . . 
 
 I tried to sleep to-day, . . . but how could I 
 forget? . . . After I had concealed the suit-case, 
 my mind went over and over the horror of it all, and 
 I thought I should go mad . . . the forenoon was 
 bad enough but the afternoon was worse. . . . 
 
 As I was trying to eat my dinner the bell rang. 
 Eliza came back, grinning, to say a man wanted to 
 speak to me. ... I couldn t understand why she 
 was laughing. Then, when I saw him . . . for a 
 moment my heart stopped beating. I thought it was 
 
44 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Harry Hay, in the cabman s coat and top hat again. 
 ... It was as if I had to go through that horrible 
 ride again. ... I couldn t believe my sight. . . . 
 It was the cab-driver himself ... he had vicious 
 cross eyes. . . . 
 
 He began with a horrible, sneering grin, to tell me 
 that my friend had damaged the cab. . . . I de 
 nied knowing anything about it, but he said he had 
 followed Harry, and had watched at the corner . . . 
 he had seen us coming out . . . with Gordon. 
 Think of it! For one moment I couldn t tell how 
 much he knew, and I was tempted to kill him then 
 and there ... I almost wish I had ! . . . Then 
 he spoke of "my friend with the jag," and I saw he 
 didn t know the truth. But he knew something 
 queer had happened. He said he wanted a hundred 
 dollars. ... I gave it to him and told him to go 
 away. Wasn t I a fool ? 
 
 Of course it was a fatal thing to do. . . . The 
 moment I had done it I was in despair. He would 
 be sure something wrong had happened ... he 
 would come again . . . and again ... he 
 would find out. ... I went wild. 
 
 I didn t dare stay at home any longer, then; and 
 so, putting all the jewels loose into a velvet work- 
 
SCHEFFEL HALL 45 
 
 bag, I hid that in a large mink muff and went out 
 ... I didn t know where. ... I decided to go 
 to some restaurant, or to a theater anywhere to be 
 in a crowd, safe . . . and wait until Flint could 
 take the things. . . . 
 
 I had scarcely turned from Thirty-third Street 
 into Fourth Avenue, when I saw a cab driving up 
 slowly behind me. ... I was afraid it was the 
 man, but was not sure. ... I walked hurriedly 
 along ... he followed . . . like a horrible 
 creeping thing. 
 
 Why didn t I take a car? Oh, I don t know! I 
 was distracted . . . and, anyway, he would have 
 followed me. ... I turned west at Twenty-ninth 
 Street . . . the cab crawled along after me . . . 
 down Broadway I couldn t shake it off. I turned 
 into Twenty-sixth, and for a few minutes I thought 
 I had lost him. ... I crossed Seventh Avenue, 
 past little bake-shops, groceries, cobblers cubby 
 holes and sticky-faced children. Then, half way up 
 the block, came a cab jogging along toward me. I 
 was terrified ; I lost my head I turned and ran. . . . 
 There was no doubt that it was the cross-eyed cab 
 man. I knew him now, a quarter of a mile away. 
 ... I became confused, fearing he would stop 
 
46 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 me . . . discover the jewels. ... I looked 
 about for some escape, saw a fortune-teller s sign, 
 and ran up the steps. The front door was unlatched. 
 I went in and darted up-stairs. ... I had lost my 
 reason, now. ... I was acting through blind in 
 stinct . . . taking the first chance that occurred 
 to me. . . . 
 
 Up two flights, and I came to a door ajar. I went 
 in and locked it. Then I looked about for a place to 
 conceal the jewelry. Not a closet, nor a cupboard, 
 nor a bed. ... I knelt to rip up the carpet, think 
 ing I could stuff the things underneath, when I heard 
 a pounding down-stairs. ... I got up and grabbed 
 the muff the jewels came flying out of the bag and 
 scattered all over the floor. Then I looked up and 
 saw your face ! God, how you terrified me ! . . . 
 Well, you know the rest. 
 
 For some minutes neither spoke. The girl, as if 
 relieved of some physical burden, sighed, and rested 
 her head on her hand, gazing at the young man. 
 Fenton looked at her amazed at her story. He un 
 derstood, now, something of her strange beauty 
 the sensuous charm of the octoroon spiritualized by 
 love. That beauty which had before been tantalrz- 
 
SCHEFFEL HALL 47 
 
 ing, troublesome, urgent, disturbed him no more. 
 He looked through it to the woman whose character 
 had been revealed. With a quick toss of his head he 
 reached over and held out his hand. She took it 
 without a word, and smiled sadly. 
 
 "What do you want me to do?" he asked. 
 
 "Take the jewels to Flint s rendezvous, five-fifty- 
 five West One Hundred and Forty-sixth Street." 
 
 "You think it is dangerous ?" 
 
 "I m sure of it. That cabman is still tracking me. 
 But you don t lack courage, I know." 
 
 "I think I ll try it," said Fenton calmly. "I ll do 
 my best, at any rate. Where can I find you to let 
 you know the result?" 
 
 "I don t dare go home," said the octoroon. "I ll 
 take a room at the King William Hotel, and you can 
 telephone me there. Call for Miss Green." 
 
 She rose, cast a look about, and added : "If there 
 is anything I can ever do for you " 
 
 "Oh, that s all right," said Fenton. "You d bet 
 ter get away now while you can. Good night." 
 
 She bowed to him soberly, gave him another long, 
 heartbroken look, and then walked away. 
 
 Fenton, freed from the potent charm of her per 
 sonality, looked about, almost, wondering if she had 
 
48 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 indeed been there at all. The German restaurant 
 seemed to be the abode of the commonplace how 
 could Romance have entered ? All about were peace 
 ful, prosaic patrons, intent upon their meal. . . . 
 Then he remembered O Shea. Was he still there? 
 He scanned the people at the tables, one by one. No. 
 Fenton felt relieved. His eyes fell idly upon a stout, 
 muscular looking man leaning against a table near 
 him. He wore a shepherd s plaid suit. A protuber 
 ance behind his hip looked as if it might be a con 
 cealed revolver. Fenton wondered if he were a 
 detective. . . . But the time had come for him 
 to act, himself, and he rose to go. 
 
IV 
 THE LIARS CLUB 
 
 HOW OUR AMATEUR ADVENTURER FELL A VICTIM TO 
 
 HIS OWN INEXPERIENCE, WAS RELIEVED OF HIS 
 
 TREASURE, AND FELL IN WITH A PRECIOUS 
 
 COMPANY 
 
 FULLY convinced of the truth of this extraordi 
 nary woman s tale, and with all the chivalry of a 
 romantic youth aroused, John Fenton set out to re 
 store the jewels. With his overcoat pockets still 
 clumsy with the treasure, he left Scheffel Hall and 
 went out into a chill, misty night, intent upon his 
 adventurous errand. What danger lay in wait he 
 did not know, nor care. He was no longer a poor, 
 unknown draftsman; he was a knight-errant bent 
 upon the rescue of imperiled honor. The city had 
 become, of a sudden, strange, mysterious; every 
 shadow was a suggestion of malice. So he walked 
 hurriedly along Eighteenth Street to the Subway 
 entrance. Once he turned round, and saw two men 
 following him ... he increased his speed. The 
 
 49 
 
50 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 lights of the glazed entrance promised a safe haven. 
 
 His haste, however, brought disaster. At the en 
 trance a step was raised a scant inch from the bricks 
 of the sidewalk, upon that low projection his toe 
 caught, and he fell, sprawling, hitting his forehead 
 upon the iron plate. And as he fell his overloaded 
 pockets disgorged jewelry and precious stones all 
 about him. For a moment he lay there, stunned, 
 only half conscious. 
 
 The next thing he knew, two men were helping 
 him to rise. His head was buzzing, blood was drip 
 ping from his face; he would have fallen again but 
 for their assistance. In another moment he smelt 
 the sickish odor of chloroform, and he lost con 
 sciousness for a moment. Before he went off, voices 
 sounded strangely in his ears, and his half-opened 
 eyes caught sight of Mangus O Shea supporting 
 him ... he was too dazed even to realize his 
 danger. 
 
 When he regained partial use of his senses he was 
 walking, still supported by the two men. He could 
 scarcely support his own weight, and they held him 
 up by sheer strength of arm. He caught a few 
 words. 
 
 "There s a stable round the corner. I ll get a cab, 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 51 
 
 and we ll take him to ..." It was Mangus 
 O Shea who was speaking. 
 
 Then, as in a dream, he walked on, tottering. It 
 seemed to last for hours, that horrible journey. 
 Slowly he began to revive, and started to protest. 
 
 "Hist! He s coming round again," said another 
 voice. "Give him another whiff." A damp hand 
 kerchief was held hard to his nostrils for a few sec 
 onds; he struggled weakly and went back into 
 oblivion. So, alternately walking and dozing off 
 again, trying to shake himself free, as from some 
 awful nightmare, he was dragged on, and on, and 
 on. ... 
 
 The next thing he knew, he was in a cab. This 
 time he had wit enough not to show signs of reviv 
 ing, but sat, huddled between two men, listening. 
 His pockets were being deliberately rifled; O Shea 
 was filling his own with the spoil as he talked. 
 
 "To Peter Stow s loft," he was saying. "Peter 
 won t be there to-night; he ll be at the club, telling 
 his fool stories. . . . We can make a good get 
 away . . . take his pants off, and he ll stay 
 awhile. . . . We ll divvy up at the Norcross, and 
 catch the first boat over the pond." 
 
 Then, an indiscreet movement of Fenton s head 
 
52 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 attracted the notice of his captors. The chloroform 
 handkerchief was pressed firmly to his nose again, 
 and Fenton knew no more. * * * 
 
 He awoke, he had no idea how long afterward, 
 with chilled legs, to find himself lying on his back, 
 sick with nausea, his trousers missing. He was in 
 some dark place, and could see nothing except at one 
 side a row of dim spots that were from time to time 
 obliterated, one by one, and reappeared again like 
 holes in the dark, admitting the merest trace of light. 
 He was not out of doors, though the floor he lay on 
 felt as if covered with gravel. There was a close, 
 unfamiliar smell in his nostrils, and in his ears a 
 confused noise like cooing, a low, persistent, gut 
 tural sound he could not at first explain. So soon as 
 his brain cleared, he made out, by the fluttering of 
 wings back and forth, and the peep of chicks, that 
 he was in some sort of a large dove-cote or pigeon 
 house. Every little while he felt a sharp peck at his 
 bare legs, and feathers brushed his face. ... He 
 reached out his hand cautiously, felt a bird slip 
 away from him, and his hand fell upon some small 
 eggs, still warm from the mother. 
 
 He lay there a while longer in wonderful discom 
 fort, trying to puzzle out his situation. As the nau- 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 53 
 
 sea wore off he arose and, stumbling over pigeons 
 and smashing eggs at every step, groped his way 
 toward the light The windows were too small for 
 him to see anything outside. He started to explore 
 the garret. Bang! he suddenly fell, just escaping 
 being precipitated into a hole in the floor, square, 
 like the opening for a ladder, though no ladder was 
 there. He thanked his lucky stars that he had only 
 barked his shins, and rubbed them till he found they 
 were sticky whether with blood or broken eggs he 
 could not, in the darkness, be sure. 
 
 No light came from the trap in the floor all he 
 could see about him were vague forms that flitted 
 to and fro, all he could hear was the monotonous, 
 brooding murmur of doves. There seemed no es 
 cape till some one came. He shouted aloud, shouted 
 again and again, waited and listened. His overcoat 
 was gone, and the pockets of his coat had been rifled. 
 He found a single match. Lighting it, he gave one 
 glance about, which revealed nothing more than his 
 imagination had pictured hundreds of pigeons on 
 the floor, on the rafters, flying hither and yon. He 
 was trying to devise some means of escape, yelling 
 with all his might, meanwhile, when a light flickered 
 in the hole below him, and a voice came up to him. 
 
54 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "Who s there?" 
 
 Fenton stuck his head through the trap, and dis 
 cerned a spectacled old man with scrawny beard, 
 holding a lantern, and looking up at him, mouth 
 agape in wonder. 
 
 "Let me out, for heaven s sake !" Fenton cried. 
 
 "Who the devil are you, anyway, up in my pig 
 eon-cote?" 
 
 "Come up and I ll explain. I ve been drugged 
 and left here. By robbers !" 
 
 "You re drunk!" said the old man, holding the 
 lantern above his head. Then chuckling inanely, he 
 walked off, to return with a ladder which he lifted 
 to the trap. 
 
 Fenton protested volubly against the accusation 
 and with exclamatory eloquence described what had 
 taken place after having left the restaurant. The 
 old man still laughed as he climbed up. 
 
 Fenton grew more vehement, but his tale was in 
 credible. The old man sat down on the floor, with 
 his feet on the ladder, and roared till he wept. 
 
 "I say," he shouted, "I know where you belong, 
 and there you go, too, and that s the Liars Club, 
 right away. That story will get the prize to-night, 
 all right. Robbed, eh? Pockets full of diamonds 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 55 
 
 and rubies and truck? Fine! Say, by the time we 
 get down there you can touch that tale up a bit and 
 make it hum ! Never drunk in your life, then ? Say, 
 you certainly must have been up against some merry 
 jags this evening! Well, I like a practical joke as 
 well as any one, provided it ain t on me. Come on 
 down, and I ll have you initiated right away !" 
 
 "But I ve got to hurry up to Harlem!" Fenton 
 insisted. "I must give notice right away that the 
 jewels have been stolen." 
 
 "You re coming with me to the Liars Club first !" 
 the old man repeated. 
 
 "What the devil is that ?" Fenton wondered if he 
 had to do with a crazy man. 
 
 "Oh, just a crowd of good fellows that meet every 
 night to swap yarns, that s all. We have to tell a 
 tale apiece, lies or truth, it don t matter, so long as 
 the story s good. Only, no one can peep about any 
 thing afterward. That s the only rule; that, and no 
 newspaper men. Because why; some of our stories 
 come pretty near being the truth not like this fairy 
 tale of yours " and he poked Fenton in the ribs. 
 
 "Well, I have no time for fooling around. I don t 
 care how much fun you have. You must get me a hat 
 and a pair of trousers somewhere, and let me go!" 
 
56 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "Not a bit of it ; don t you think of it !" The old 
 man grew surly. "You come with me, or you go out 
 half naked, whichever suits you best. But if you re 
 a good fellow and don t make trouble, I ll see if I 
 can t get you something, to cover your legs." And, 
 so saying, he went down the ladder. 
 
 Fenton had no desire to go abroad upon the 
 street in his present condition. A combination of 
 blood and birds eggs had streaked his shins with 
 scarlet and yellow. The droppings upon the floor of 
 the garret had left his coat a sight for mirth. More 
 over, he found he had no hat, and no money. He 
 picked his way down the ladder, therefore, in no 
 jubilant frame of mind, but determined to make the 
 best of his situation. Perhaps some of the members 
 of this extraordinary club would take his tale seri 
 ously. But, willy-nilly, there was nothing to do but 
 follow his chuckling guide. Peter Stow, the pigeon 
 fancier, led the way down a flight of stairs, and 
 through a door in the rickety partition abruptly into 
 the next stable loft. 
 
 A whoop of laughter greeted his entry, as Fenton 
 found himself in a large room filled with tobacco 
 smoke, roughly fitted up with straw chairs and a 
 long table. About a keg of beer in the corner a 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 57 
 
 group of men turned in amazement to see his ridic 
 ulous figure, and came forward to make a hilarious 
 inspection of him. 
 
 The pigeon fancier introduced him. "Gents, 
 here s the prize live liar of the evening, captured, 
 after a hard struggle, in my pigeon loft, making 
 omelets and murdering my squabs. I say keep his 
 story till the last; cause why, it s dead sure for the 
 prize." He turned to Fenton and exhibited him as 
 if he were a curiosity. 
 
 "Gentlemen, I ve been robbed !" Fenton exclaimed 
 angrily. "I appeal to you to give me assistance !" 
 
 "Don t spoil the point of the story!" cried the old 
 man. 
 
 "I had a fortune of precious stones in my pockets 
 I ve been captured and drugged 
 
 A heavy, horsey looking man with a square jaw, 
 in a striped sweater, stepped forward and laid a 
 massive hand on Fenton s shoulder. "See here, 
 kiddo, you follow instructions, see ? They s enough 
 of us here to handle you all right, if you kick up a 
 row. You ll have your chance in good time. Sit 
 down in that chair and have a mug of beer and a 
 pipe. Now then, boys, we ll have another story." 
 
 Seeing by the cynical faces that further objections 
 
58 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 would be useless, Fenton sat down and hid his bare 
 legs under the table. Beer was set in front of him, 
 and tobacco offered. It was evident, now he had 
 time to observe the crowd, that the meeting had been 
 interrupted by his advent, so he decided to make the 
 best of it and watch his chance for escape. 
 
 The man addressed as the next speaker was a 
 merry-looking, red-faced man of forty, with a patch 
 over one eye. By his fat stomach and his tinted 
 nose he had apparently once lived well and at the 
 expense of others. Fenton labeled him as a second- 
 rate gambler or a confidence man, now out of the 
 running. His voice was good-natured and easy. He 
 stuffed his hands in his pockets, stared at the presi 
 dent with his good eye, and proceeded to tell, with 
 winks and chuckles, his story. 
 
 THE TIME OF HIS LIFE 
 
 My mother s cousin was in town last Sunday. 
 Seventy-two years old, and never been in New 
 York. Lives down on Cape Cod. Keeps a sort of 
 tavern for summer boarders, runs a general mer 
 chandise store, lets cat-boats and horses, the main 
 Henry B. Manager of the town of Barnstable. He 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 59 
 
 came up to have the time of his life at seventy- 
 two can you beat it? 
 
 I used to know Uncle Jerdon when I was a boy. 
 He was postmaster then, in the days when there 
 was so little mail that he could read off the names 
 of all the letters, morning and evening, beginning 
 with "Huldah Hoxey" and ending with "Jeremiah 
 Phillpots, all done!" Nowadays the whole town is 
 full of summer folks, and the natives pick em good 
 and plenty while the weather lasts. 
 
 Uncle Jerdon was a deacon in the Methodist 
 church, and always led the experience meetings with 
 telling how big a sinner he used to be. But, lord, 
 everybody knew he d never done anything worse 
 than swear at his old blue mare when she wanted to 
 stop at the watering trough. "Go long, thee darned 
 old slut!" was his idea of profanity. You see, his 
 folks brought him up to be a Quaker, and early in 
 fluence stuck. 
 
 Well, those experiences he used to make up were 
 the only outlet for as good a little streak of hellish- 
 ness as any man ever had. They were the only 
 chance he had to make good as a sport, and it kind 
 of got on his nerves. I remember going down to 
 Barnstable for a vacation, once, a couple of years 
 
6o FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 after I d moved to New York. Say, the old man s 
 questions would have made you yelp. He knew no 
 more about life than a Brooklyn baby, but he made 
 it up in curiosity. I recall how he used to take me 
 into a corner behind the shoe counter and ask me, 
 "Jared, did thee ever go on a bust?" And what I 
 hadn t done I had to invent, the same as him. Lord, 
 I made myself out a red-hot hellion for his benefit! 
 I liked the old man. 
 
 Well, he talked with all the drummers that came 
 along, asked about the Tenderloin and the theaters 
 and masked balls he took a particular fancy to 
 masked balls, did the old man and all the sporty 
 eating houses in this old burg. The drummers must 
 have strung him good and plenty. When I saw him 
 next he seemed to have an idea that millionaires 
 skated down Broadway in dominos and red masks, 
 and artists models in scant attire rioted on the trol 
 ley cars. Madison Square Garden, to him, was 
 something like the three-ringed palace of Nebuchad 
 nezzar or who s-this that built the tower of Babylon 
 in Sodom or was it Gomorrah? He was dying to 
 see a real gambler. 
 
 Well, leading such a confounded virtuous life in 
 Barnstable that it got on his nerves, he figured it out 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 61 
 
 that he d just got to have one good fling at real life 
 in the Metropolis to get it out of his blood, and then 
 settle down to the cat-boats and prayer meetings and 
 clams and be good for ever after. They s nothing 
 for itching like scratching, and he d never be satis 
 fied till he d had his time. 
 
 So he started to sow his belated wild oats crop, 
 with the cunning of a bank cashier contemplating a 
 trip to Morocco. He squared his insurance and his 
 mortgage debts, laid in a good stock of doodads for 
 the summer trade, bought his wife a new silk dress 
 and filled in details all along the line till they wasn t 
 a duty undone nor a debt unpaid. Meanwhile, little 
 by little, he began to salt away the coin for the trip 
 to the great city. Boston wasn t half wicked enough 
 for him, lord, no! He was going to do it big and 
 fling his hard-earned money into the Great White 
 Way. So he scrimped and saved for pretty near 
 three years, and in that time he scraped up a thou 
 sand dollars, which was what the drummers had told 
 him a good spender would need for one week in 
 Gotham. On top of that he had to collect enough 
 for the trip back and forth something like fifty 
 dollars. 
 
 Ain t that the beginning of a bumper crop of 
 
62 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 adventure ? Can you see that old hypocrite, singing 
 psalms every Sunday and Thursday night, and read 
 ing the "Police Gazette" behind the counter in be- 
 tween-times ? 
 
 I say, when I met him at the train I near laughed 
 my head off. If you can imagine a healthy sixteen- 
 months infant calling for cocktails and smoking a 
 Carolina Perfecto at the Hoffman House bar, you ll 
 understand how it struck me. Well, he wanted me 
 to show him the sights, no limit, and him to pay all 
 the expenses. If he didn t have the time of his life, 
 / certainly was going to. 
 
 Well, he blew in on a Saturday night, and, feeling 
 a little groggy myself, I induced him to turn in at 
 "the La Marquette Hotel, and said I d call around 
 next forenoon, and not to do anything rash till he 
 saw me. It was all I could do to hold him in; he 
 wanted to do Chinatown right away that night, see 
 Chuck Connors, do a roof garden and see somebody 
 shot and go on a joy ride with chorus girls. Finally 
 I persuaded him to go in and take a long breath be 
 fore he jumped into the gayety of city life. 
 
 "But it ll be Sunday," says he. 
 
 "They ain t no such thing as Sunday in New 
 York!" I told him. "They ain t had a Sunday for 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 63 
 
 forty years !" And I believed it. A lot I knew about 
 it, rounder as I was. Well, you don t always know 
 how the other half lives! Live and learn! 
 
 I slept late that night and .didn t get round to the 
 hotel till about one o clock next day Sunday. 
 There he was in the lobby, with a big carpet bag 
 and a face like a drowning horse. Buncoed? Well, 
 yes, but you ll never guess how. This is what hap 
 pened. 
 
 He had got up at about 6 q. m. like all hayseeds, 
 and went down to the news stand in his slipper feet 
 for a morning paper. Then who did he run into, 
 bang ! but the Methodist minister who had preached 
 at Barnstable four years before. A Reverend Wil- 
 ley, it was. And Uncle Jerdon simply couldn t get 
 away. He said he was on business, buying boats or 
 something, but the Reverend insisted he d got to go 
 to church with him that morning. They was no 
 visible way out of it, with Uncle Jerdon s pious rep 
 utation, and so, cursing inside, he pulled his Sunday 
 face and trotted along, clean over to Brooklyn. 
 Wasn t that rubbing it in ? 
 
 It was a clean red brick church they went to, with 
 a new minister who was crazy on Foreign Missions. 
 And at the end, after the sermon, just before the 
 
64 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 contribution, the minister turned himself loose to 
 persuade money out of stingy pockets. 
 
 "Just think of it !" he says, "one dollar will pro 
 vide red calico enough to cover the nakedness of 
 twelve of our heathen sisters! One dollar will buy 
 tooth brushes enough for a whole savage tribe in 
 the South Seas ! One dollar will provide a Bible to 
 convert a cannibal king, and one dollar will buy a 
 marriage certificate for poor pagans who have previ 
 ously lived in sinful polygatude !" He got the house. 
 Misers who had never put in a dime before sweetened 
 up the plate. Uncle Jerdon had to make good. It cost 
 him a pang to spend a cent for the Lord on this trip 
 this was his time with his long-lost cousin, the 
 devil. But he dipped into his pocket and, thinking 
 a dollar would make a good show, threw a bill into 
 the plate. 
 
 The deacon counted the contribution while the 
 congregation sang "From Greenland s icy mountains 
 to India s coral strand!" There was a hush while 
 the audience rubbered. Then the treasurer of the 
 church tiptoed up with them religious squeaky shoes 
 to the pulpit and whispered behind his hand to the 
 minister. The minister got up, coughed, and rolled 
 his eyes to heaven. 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 65 
 
 "Beloved brethren," he said, "the Lord hath 
 moved us in wondrous manner this day, and has 
 shed His blessing upon our efforts. The sum col 
 lected at the contribution is one thousand and 
 twenty-five dollars and thirty-one cents. The Lord 
 be praised!" 
 
 "Amen!" from the congregation, and everybody 
 looked at everybody else to see if Carnegie or Rock 
 efeller was there in disguise. Uncle Jerdon was as 
 puzzled as anybody, till he put his hand into his vest 
 pocket and felt for the unbroken thousand-dollar 
 bill he had put aside to spend on the primrose path. 
 It wasn t there ! He had put it into the plate, think 
 ing it was the one-dollar bill he had left from his 
 traveling expenses. Can you beat it ? 
 
 And the man with the patch on his eye reached 
 into his hip pocket for a well-gnawed plug of to 
 bacco and took a plenteous bite. 
 
 The roars of laughter had not subsided before the 
 big president rose with a surly face and pointed 
 dramatically across the table to where a young man 
 sat in the shadow of the lamp, his chair tilted back 
 against the partition. He had a chubby face with a 
 huge, good-natured mouth, and had been puffing in- 
 
66 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 cessantly during the recital, as if he wished to con 
 ceal himself behind a cloud of smoke. A couple of 
 boxes emptied of their Havana cigarettes and the 
 butts of some two dozen on the floor testified to his 
 industry. Now every one turned to look at him. 
 He stared back at them without embarrassment. 
 
 "Who is that chap?" demanded the president. "I 
 never saw him here before." 
 
 "Oh, this is Jack Richmond," said a thin, cadav 
 erous looking youth with a chauffeur s cap, who had 
 been coughing behind his hand. "Friend of mine. 
 He s all right, I guess. Met up with him at a mov 
 ing picture show. Want to hear my yarn?" 
 
 "He s a reporter!" thundered the president. "I 
 can tell by the shape of his head. Whenever you see 
 a chap with a long egg-shaped coco that hangs over 
 behind, you can bet he writes for the papers." 
 
 "Rats!" said the chauffeur. "Richmond s all 
 right, I guess." 
 
 But before he had finished, the massive president 
 strode over to the suspicious character, took hold of 
 the lapel of his coat and threw it open. With a 
 quick movement he snatched a card from the young 
 man s vest. "Look at that !" he yelled. "What did 
 I tell you? The Morning Item reporter s card! 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 67 
 
 Now get out of here ! Against the by-laws to have 
 newspaper men present. These stories don t get into 
 print if I know it." He shook his heavy hand in the 
 young man s face. "Will you leave easy or hard ?" 
 
 "I think," said the chubby young man, rising 
 hastily and drawing on a soft hat, "I ll say good- 
 by while the walking is good. I apologize for hav 
 ing that card. It was lent me by a friend to get 
 inside the fire lines while my own house and family 
 was burning up alive, last night. But of course, 
 being a liars club, I have no place here, and the 
 plain unvarnished truth is at a discount. I m a vic 
 tim of circumstantial evidence. Good day, gents! 
 Saint Ananias guide thee!" And he made his exit 
 two feet ahead of the toe of the president s brogan. 
 
 "Say, that s a shame !" said the thin young chauf 
 feur, scratching his head. "We lost a peach of a 
 good story when he threw him out, I ll bet! I ll 
 have to hump myself if I want to make up for it. 
 My turn next, ain t it ?" 
 
 "If you ve got anything on your chest," the presi 
 dent announced affably, "this here s the time to 
 cough it off." 
 
 "My text is the Psychological Rule of Three," 
 said the chauffeur. 
 
68 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "Say, this ain t no Browning Club!" objected the 
 pigeon fancier. 
 
 "No Browning sharp could ever explain the psy 
 chology of three consecutive coincidences," said the 
 youth. "It s a case for Henry James." 
 
 "Is he a member?" asked the ex-gambler. "I 
 never heard of him. What is he, a chofer, or what ?" 
 
 "He is a literary chauffeur, as you have guessed. 
 And he always exceeds the speed limit. When he 
 comes in next, I m going to put it up to him straight : 
 Why is it that no man can stand three strokes of 
 lightning without expecting a fourth? I ll put it 
 another way. When a man has three bad lucks run 
 ning, he ll manufacture the fourth himself in trying 
 to escape what he considers inevitable." 
 
 "Faster, kid, faster! Your act is flopping! Steer 
 out of the tall-word contest, and harness on to your 
 pet prevarication." 
 
 "I ll do it," said the thin one. "Take it from me, 
 the only living gasoline-eater who never eloped with 
 a rich man s wife, I m telling you the unenameled 
 truth. I ve got a tale with a wallop. This is a song 
 of my brother s submerged E-flat luck. I m re 
 minded of the trilogy of sad events by the announce 
 ment in to-day s papers of the death of a young 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 69 
 
 swell named Brewster, who blew his brains out yes 
 terday on account of losing his wad backing a 
 bandy-legged mule named Belcharmion." 
 
 Fenton looked up in amazement. Surely the name 
 of Brewster was familiar! Then the other name 
 rang queerly in his ears. He thought of the picture 
 in his pocket "Belle Ch Could Charmion by 
 any streak of chance be the name of his dream-girl? 
 He began to tremble; he could not take his eyes 
 from the chauffeur s face, as the thin young man, 
 coughing between sentences, told to the circle about 
 him his story. 
 
 THE RULE OF THREE 
 
 My brother Bill had been running a hog ranch 
 near Temple, Arizona. Despite the fact that this 
 particular town is ten degrees hotter than the boiling 
 lava of Vesuvius, he had prospered sufficiently to 
 retire a year ago with a bank roll of eleven thousand 
 dollars. With the wad and a hunger for something 
 to eat better than canned peaches, cactus and Bull 
 Durham tobacco, he pulled up stakes for Chicago, 
 spent a couple of days in the Annex Bar and hit the 
 trail for the Big Noise at the mouth of the Hudson. 
 
70 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 When it came time for him to quit the buffet car 
 and hunt his mat, he mosied back through the train 
 until he came to a sleeper named Belcharmion. In 
 it he had lower berth number three a fact which 
 may or may not be significant. Upon awakening in 
 the morning he tried to negotiate some eight dollars 
 worth of ham and eggs, with a grape fruit on the 
 side, but was attacked with a violent nausea. He 
 retired to the observation car and remained there, 
 shivering and shaking with ague until the flyer rolled 
 into New York. Then, piling into a taxicab, he told 
 the driver to take him to the nearest hospital. The 
 doctors analyzed him hurriedly, pronounced his 
 trouble a sort of cross between typhoid and the 
 bubonic plague clapped him into bed in ward num 
 ber three, and there he remained for three weeks. 
 Three separate and distinct times he would have 
 died but for the thought of the pink-haired nurse and 
 his bank roll. It s a pity he didn t take the count 
 then and there. He would have missed a lot of 
 trouble. 
 
 On the third of May the doctors declared him 
 graduated, and with seventy- four hundred dollar 
 notes in his wallet he wobbled to the exit, where he 
 collided with a weak-eyed quik whose shaky legs and 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 71 
 
 shop-worn appearance stamped him as a fellow-con 
 valescent. 
 
 "Just getting well?" says Bill. 
 
 "Yep," says the live dish rag. 
 
 "Where you bound for ?" says Bill again. 
 
 "Me for the race track," says the other, leaning 
 against the elevator shaft and panting for ozone. 
 "The docs have all my coin, but I m good for a 
 marker, and before the last goat comes rompin 
 home to the paddock my pants is goin to be lined 
 with yellow-backs or it s me for a Brodie into the 
 brine." 
 
 Bill hungered for excitement enough to hire a 
 benzine buggy, and together the two cripples went to 
 the race track. In the first race Bill backed a Hag- 
 gin horse named Tatters and spilled a hundred. In 
 the second a skate named Melon Boy went to pieces 
 in the stretch and stung my brother twelve hundred 
 dollars. Bill was feeling blue, but his friend was 
 talking pert. He was a couple of centuries ahead, 
 and together they walked into the paddock to take a 
 squint at the ponies and jocks that were getting 
 ready for the third race. 
 
 "See that swell girl there with the black plumes, 
 the big eyes, the parasol and the aristocratic ankles ? 
 
72 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 That s Miss Charmion, a society pet/ says the little 
 fellow, who was so weak he could hardly stand. 
 "They s a zebra in this race named after her. Bel- 
 charmion s the filly, and young Brewster, the son of 
 the millionaire, owns the beast." 
 
 "Sufferin Spanish mackerel!" thinks Bill. "Ty 
 phus fever in berth three of a sleeping car named 
 Belcharmion. Miss Belle Charmion on the third of 
 May, and a horse named Belcharmion in the third 
 race ! What s the answer ?" 
 
 The bell sounded, and everybody started to run 
 toward the grand stand or betting ring. Bill waited 
 long enough to take another look at the filly, then 
 hustled for the ring as fast as his bum legs would 
 carry him. Belcharmion was favorite at three to 
 five. Removing a single hundred-dollar note from 
 his roll and sticking it in an inside pocket, Bill 
 handed the entire remainder five thousand, two 
 hundred dollars to a greasy-faced bookie, got a 
 card showing that he played the filly across the 
 board, and went out. on the lawn to hold his breath. 
 
 They got away in a bunch and swung round the 
 track so fast that Bill couldn t see which was ahead. 
 Coming into the stretch ten million people com 
 menced to pound each other on the head and yell 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 73 
 
 "Come on you Belcharmion ! Oh, you Belchar- 
 mion !" and Bill knew his nag was in the lead. 
 
 A hundred yards from the finish, just as the lead 
 ers were right in front of Bill, the filly stumbled, 
 turned a double somersault, slid into the fence and 
 killed her jockey. My brother crumpled up on the 
 grass. When he came to, somebody had frisked him 
 for the hundred, and he was flat broke in a strange 
 land. He hunted up his hospital friend, who slipped 
 him a wad of sympathy, a five-case note and his ad 
 dress. 
 
 "Come round and sleep in my folding bed," 
 said he. 
 
 Bill said he would. 
 
 The address was a hundred and twelve East 
 Twenty-sixth Street, and at six o clock that night 
 Bill, after a fifteen-cent meal at Child s and a ride 
 on the Third Avenue "L," finally located the place 
 and, half dead with weakness and a grouch, made 
 for the entrance. His mind was so fussed that he 
 didn t notice anything until his feet collided- with a 
 rubber door mat in the outer lobby. On it in white 
 letters appeared the name of the house "Belchar 
 mion." 
 
 "Not for mine!" thinks Bill. "Nothing with that 
 
74 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 tag to it will ever make a hit with me. I m onto my 
 luck, this time. If I enter this cursed shack, I ll be 
 skun out of my clothes in a pinochle game, or be 
 arrested for blackmail, or fall in love with a blond 
 chambermaid, or pitch down the elevator well, or 
 something as fierce. That name Belcharmion is the 
 wrong recipe for my health, I ve found that out!" 
 And so he turns out in a hurry, thanking his stars 
 that he d found sense at last. 
 
 Just as he reached the sidewalk somebody yelled 
 "Look out!" and whing! a forty- foot swing stage 
 hit him on the top of the head for a ten week s trip 
 to the hospital again. What did I tell you ? Moral : 
 Don t dally with the Rule of Three ! 
 
 The iteration of the name Belle Charmion smote 
 upon John Fenton s ears like the ringing of a bell far 
 away in some secret chamber of his mind, behind 
 some locked door. Why should that name excite 
 him? He did not know. It seemed to be vaguely 
 familiar, but he could place it nowhere in his mem 
 ory. He was puzzling over it when his attention 
 was called to the next speaker of the evening then, 
 suddenly, a new thought excite-d him. 
 
 The man addressed by the president was a cross- 
 
THE LIARS* CLUB 75 
 
 eyed, coarse-faced individual, who, by the cut of his 
 coat and the battered top hat on the back of his head 
 was indubitably a cab-driver. Immediately Fenton s 
 mind went back to the Octoroon s story. She had 
 been pursued by a cross-eyed cabman could this be 
 the man ? Fenton listened eagerly to see if anything 
 in his speech would confirm this surmise. 
 
 "This is a perfectly true story," the cabman was 
 saying. 
 
 "Stop there !" the president thundered. "If a story 
 is funny, it s not true, and if it s true, it s not funny. 
 That principle has been proved in this club beyond 
 peradventure. Cut out this 1-knew-the-man-that- 
 died stuff ! We want no true stories here : we want 
 good ones! Wherever a good story travels, there s 
 always some fool who wants to tack it onto some 
 maternal aunt of his and ten to one he actually 
 believes what he says. All good stories come from 
 Herodotus, and the best we can do is to cut 
 em over to a nineteen hundred and eleven model, 
 touch em up with rouge and powder and send em 
 out as The Latest. No man can invent a good 
 story : but he can improve a poor one. No true tale 
 is fit to tell the naked truth must be adorned." 
 
 Peter Stow, the pigeon fancier, awoke from his 
 
;6 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 doze. "Well, is this a Browning Club or not?" he 
 asked, sleepily. "Why not play ball?" 
 - "I second the motion !" said the chauffeur. 
 The president nodded, and the cab-driver shifted 
 his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other 
 and began. 
 
 THE SLEEPY BRIDEGROOM 
 
 It was a funny story how young Michael Carnar 
 von got married. I never heard of such a wedding 
 in my life. 
 
 You see, young Carnarvon was really what you 
 might call roped in. The Schufelt girl was a mani 
 cure working in the Hotel Persimmon, and from 
 the day she laid eyes on him she began to wire 
 things up to marry him. I s pose all women do that, 
 one way or another ; she done it by listening instead 
 of talking. When he began to call on her she 
 lived over on Charles Street with her mother she 
 kept him talking about himself till he thought she 
 was the cleverest girl in New York, which, in some 
 ways, she was. What with playing the innocent 
 sympathetic, keeping her mother out o the way and 
 padlocking her temper, which was something sav- 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 77 
 
 age, she got him going till he popped the question. 
 She certainly managed it great. 
 
 Carnarvon s folks was wild when they heard 
 about the engagement, but by this time he was deaf 
 and blind to the fact that the Schufelt girl was only 
 after his money, and had the reputation around 
 Chelsea village of being a regular Rocky Mountain 
 catamount when she got mad. Lord! It must have 
 been a strain for that girl to hold her tongue, some 
 times, but she never boiled over till after the wed 
 ding. You d have thought she was half-witted, 
 almost; she was so tame when Carnarvon was 
 around. But Lord, how her mother used to catch 
 it when he left the flat! and her mother could put 
 up a pretty good jaw-fight, too. 
 
 Well, three days before the wedding Carnarvon 
 had to work like a donkey-engine to get his business 
 straightened up, so he could get off on his honey 
 moon. He was at the office night and day working 
 himself to a frazzle. In that time he hadn t slept 
 more than three or four hours, all told, and on the 
 morning of his marriage he was about as near all 
 in as a man can be, and keep awake. In fact, he 
 couldn t keep awake, and that was the trouble. They 
 tell me that last forenoon he was practically walk- 
 
78 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 ing and talking in his sleep. Black coffee didn t do 
 no good at all, for he d been living on it for a week, 
 practically. He dictated his letters staggering up 
 and down the room, and every time he sat down at 
 the desk to sign his name to em, the typewriter had 
 to stick hat pins into him to wake him up. He took 
 snuff to make him sneeze, he washed his face in 
 cold water every ten minutes, he kept the windows 
 wide open everything he could think of to brace 
 him up, but he just naturally got drowsier and 
 drowsier every minute. 
 
 They was things that simply had to be done, if 
 he was going to git off next day, and so he kept to 
 it till late in the afternoon, so dopey he couldn t talk 
 American. "Blub-blub" was about all he could say. 
 It was something awful. His clerks implored him 
 to let them finish up, but he didn t dare trust them, 
 so he stuck to the ship. At six o clock he was like 
 a living corpse, half blind with sleep, yawning con 
 tinually and having to be hauled up off the floor 
 every five minutes. He was living on sheer nerve. 
 Blind staggers was nothing to it. But he left to go 
 home declining help from the boys and of course, 
 owing to ructions in his family, not likely to get 
 much assistance when he did get there. 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 79 
 
 Well, on the way home he dropped in at a drug 
 store for a dose of something, strychnia or some 
 such stuff, to brace him up through the ceremony. 
 After that he didn t care, just so long as he made 
 good with the minister. How he asked for the dope, 
 I don t know. He must have said something about 
 sleeping, I suppose; but anyway, the clerk thought 
 he wanted a sleeping draught, and he gave him what 
 turned out to be a twenty per cent, solution of mor 
 phine. See? There he was, hardly able to see 
 straight anyway, with a double dose of dope on 
 top of it. 
 
 He took a cab home, and the driver had to pry 
 him out of the seat when they got there. He crawled 
 up-stairs, wondering how he was ever going to make 
 it that evening. His medicine didn t seem to help, 
 much, so he took another swig at it. How he ever 
 got his clothes on, his man can t exactly explain. It 
 was a job for an undertaker, not a valet. But after 
 a regular nightmare of it Carnarvon started for the 
 Schufelt flat. He didn t dare take a cab this time, 
 for fear he d be found asleep and they d think he 
 was drunk. So he walked. It must have been hor 
 rible. Most of the time he staggered along with his 
 eyes shut, hoping he d run into somebody who d 
 
8o FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 punch him in the head or give him a good kick to 
 wake him up. No such luck. 
 
 Well, he got to the Schufelt flat, somehow, and 
 just before going in, he emptied the bottle in hopes 
 it would carry him through the ceremony. That 
 last dose made him feel as if he was living inside a 
 blanket soaked in molasses, with his arms and legs 
 tied. Lord, that man was game! 
 
 He just got in, and that was about all, for he 
 stumbled on the first rug, fell feet down on the floor 
 and began to snore. Mrs. Schufelt picked him up, 
 and she and Nanny lugged him into a bed-room and 
 tried to wake him up. By this time he was just mut 
 tering to himself something like "I don t give a 
 durn for anything. I m tired of swimming through 
 jelly blub, blub blub I want to lay down and 
 die decent." 
 
 Of course they thought he was drunk. What else 
 was they to think? But so long as she was safely 
 spliced to him, Nanny didn t care she was deter 
 mined not to make a miss of it, and as soon as she 
 was Mrs. Michael Carnarvon she knew she d give 
 him a tongue-lashing that would sober him up. So 
 they slapped wet towels at his face, stepped on his 
 toes, tickled the soles of his feet, used a few needles, 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 81 
 
 brushed up his hair backwards, and dragged him in 
 to greet the friends of the family. .Wow! He tried 
 to crawl on his hands and knees, but they wouldn t 
 have it. Everybody thought it was a disgrace; but 
 he was rich, and that always explains a lot. 
 
 After he was introduced to the minister he 
 melted down into a chair, shut his eyes and opened 
 his mouth. Nanny pinched him good. He got up, 
 in a kind of a trance, fell into Mother Schu felt s 
 sister s lap, stepped into the rubber plant, upset a 
 table full of wedding presents, and then the old lady 
 decided to hurry things and get the agony over. 
 How she induced the minister to do the job I don t 
 know. Perhaps it was the hundred dollar bill Car 
 narvon had in his vest pocket did the trick. Anyway, 
 they propped him up on each side and one behind ; 
 and the parson done his act. Everybody present 
 swore, afterwards, that they heard him say "I will." 
 
 And as soon as it was over he collapsed and they 
 laid him out on a sofa and covered him up with a 
 table cloth, while Nanny changed her clothes. The 
 guests went into the dining-room to feed and drink 
 his health. 
 
 Now, whether it was the champagne young Car 
 narvon had paid for, or just the natural tendency 
 
82 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 of wedding guests to play the goat, I dunno. But, 
 anyway, they fixed up a joke on the happy pair. 
 There was one cut-up there, a rising young plumber, 
 he was, named O Square, and first I knew of the 
 thing, he come round to my stand and wanted to 
 hire my hack. It was him what put me onto the 
 whole thing. He was fairly busting with it. He of 
 fered me twenty dollars for the use of my cab and 
 my hat and overcoat, and I surrendered. Naturally, 
 I followed round the corner to see the fun. He sent 
 away the taxicab Carnarvon had waiting, and went 
 up-stairs to see if all was ready. 
 
 The rest of them had everything fixed. They got 
 young Carnarvon down-stairs, holding him up the 
 way you do a drunk, and they rammed him into the 
 cab. Then they brought down Nanny, who was be 
 ginning to talk. Lord, you ought to have heard her 
 remarks they was something bloodthirsty. The 
 guests only screamed and laughed at her. O Square 
 got on the box we all tied up the trunks with rib 
 bons, and off they went, Nanny s language dripping- 
 out of that cab like a leaky watering cart. 
 
 O Square brought back my cab toward one o clock 
 next morning. He didn t say nothing, but I heard 
 afterward that he dumped em out, Carnarvon dead 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 83 
 
 asleep, Nanny fighting mad, and the trunks covered 
 with old boots and white ribbons, on a little cross 
 road in the middle of Van Cortlandt park. That 
 was his idea of a joke. What happened after that I 
 don t know, except that a week afterward Michael 
 Carnarvon brought suit for the annulment of his 
 marriage, on the grounds that he was asleep during 
 the ceremony. 
 
 The cross-eyed cabman paused, and felt in his in 
 side coat pocket. "If you don t believe it," he re 
 marked, "look at this here thing! I found it tucked 
 into a nook in the seat cushion of my cab, when I 
 cleaned her out the next day." He held up a 
 locket heart-shaped, with a star of white stones. 
 It flashed like a handful of sparks in that smoky, 
 dusty room. 
 
 f "I ain t sure it was Carnarvon s wedding present to 
 his wife," he explained. "It wasn t never advertised 
 for, and so I never said nothing about it. You know 
 us cab-drivers has got to have some perquisites." 
 
 The suspicions which had arisen in Fenton s mind 
 at first sight of the cross-eyed cab-driver were con 
 firmed long before the story was finished. As it 
 progressed, Fenton was amazed at the man s au- 
 
84 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 dacity in weaving in, point after point, the facts 
 of the octoroon s narrative. 
 
 The sleepy bridegroom could, of course, be none 
 other than the dead fare, Gordon Brewster the 
 picture which the cabby had seen as he watched 
 from a near-by corner was almost the identical one 
 the octoroon had described the tragic truth dis 
 guised in this comedy recital. As chorus after 
 chorus of guffaws applauded the tale, Fenton won 
 dered at the cleverness of the man who was, no 
 doubt, adapting some old narrative to fit the needs 
 of his case. 
 
 At sight of the locket, however, Fenton s thoughts 
 took a new turn. The ornament had a mystery of its 
 own connected in some incomprehensible way with 
 his own life. He had but a glimpse of it, as it was 
 displayed, but he was sure there was no mistake. It 
 was exactly the same as the one he recalled first, 
 during that half-forgotten scene on the ferry-boat, 
 when he was a mere child, afterward in the O Shea s 
 tenement, after they had come to New York. What 
 did it mean? How did the cabby really get it? 
 There was only one possible answer. 
 
 Undoubtedly it was one of the Brewster jewels, 
 spilled out of the traveling bag, as the octoroon had 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 85 
 
 said, while the dead body was being driven to Sev 
 enty-Second Street. If so, the cabby s suspicions of 
 queer work must have gained ground he had, per 
 haps, already communicated with the police. At any 
 rate, Fenton now had a double reason for wanting 
 to gain possession of it, and he was determined that 
 at the first opportunity, he would attempt to get it. 
 He would watch his chance. 
 
 With all this flashing through his mind, it did not 
 take him long to perceive that he could not safely 
 tell his own story before the driver. Once he was 
 connected with the jewels, the cabby would be on 
 his track. He determined, therefore, to invent some 
 fantastic tale anything would do which might 
 rescue him from his embarrassing dilemma. The 
 cab-driver s story suggested a plot. It was vague, 
 but he relied upon inspiration for some amusing nar 
 rative. His mind was already busy upon the fiction 
 when he was called upon for his contribution to the 
 evening s entertainment. 
 
 "We have with us to-night," said the president, 
 impressively "Hooray!" from the circle of au 
 ditors "a newcomer to our glorious midst. As an 
 amateur liar, we expect little and yet the gentle 
 man s costume warrants some hope of amusement." 
 
86 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 He turned to Fenton. "Now, bare-legs, you can 
 spiel your tale. What s all this about being robbed 
 of seventeen million dollars worth of diamonds, 
 anyway? Make it short, for we re getting tired. 
 And don t spare the ginger we need to be waked 
 up. All ready fire away !" He sat down. 
 
 Every one looked at Fenton, and laughed again. 
 He did not, in truth, present a very dignified aspect. 
 The blood and egg-yolk had dried upon his shins, 
 and he had brushed some of the dirt from his coat 
 but there was excuse enough for mirth. 
 
 "He looks like a bum Highland scavenger," was 
 the chauffeur s comment. 
 
 Fenton invoked the muse of comedy, and rose to 
 his feet. "Of course that yarn about the stolen mil 
 lions was all a bluff. I wanted to get away quick, 
 and when you hear my lively tale, you ll understand 
 why I didn t care to explain just how many different 
 kinds of a fool I was to our friend, the aged pigeon- 
 charmer, here. It was bad enough as it was. But I 
 see you re all good fellows, and perhaps if I throw 
 myself wide open, you may be moved to help me 
 out. The fact is, also, that the cabby s story is just 
 enough like mine to encourage me to go ahead and 
 tell the truth." 
 

THE LIARS CLUB 87 
 
 He was proud of himself. Already he had made 
 an impression. From the looks of the men he knew 
 he had his audience, and it inspired him. He gave 
 free rein to imagination, therefore, and warming 
 gradually to his lie, he began the story. 
 
 THE THREE WEDDINGS 
 
 I am going to be married to-night if you fel 
 lows will help me out. That will explain why I 
 touch lightly on parts of the narrative. I haven t 
 much time to lose, if I m to capture my blushing 
 bride, the pride of Harlem a lady you ll excuse me 
 for denominating Miss Daisy Peach. The name 
 don t matter, for I expect it to be Howich by twelve- 
 one to-morrow morning. My name s Claude Ken 
 sington Van Proul Howich. Age, twenty-one. All 
 right. Skip the love-at-first-sight stuff, skip the coy 
 proposal and lovers quarrels, skip the violets and 
 confectionery. Most all men make love alike. Every 
 chap thinks his chicken is a bird of paradise. The 
 only difference is, I know mine is. 
 
 The story, therefore, boils down to a question of 
 too much mother-in-law before marriage. By too 
 much, I merely insinuate that she was too much for 
 
88 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 me. Why? She wanted Daisy to marry six foot of 
 blonde Englishman with a decorated name. Call 
 him the Honorable Algernon Mudde. That ll do 
 fine. Daisy, being foolish about me, said nay, nay; 
 and set the date for our nuptials. In fact, she named 
 the day three times. Let s take em chronologically ; 
 which, being interpreted, oh grave and reverend 
 signiors, means each by one. 
 
 Wedding Number One : Parson ready, four mil 
 lion guests of the bride arrived, presents set out, la 
 beled and guarded by detectives in the billiard-room. 
 House decorated. Floral arch, orange blossoms ga 
 lore, potted plants, orchids. Little sisters in silk 
 voile, carrying baskets of rose leaves to walk on. 
 In short, everything but the happy groom, which 
 was me, who was fighting his way into an elephant s 
 dress suit, many miles away. No wedding bells for 
 her. Puzzle. Here s the answer. 
 
 Wedding was to be at nine. My best man, think 
 ing me sane, sober and responsible, had promised 
 to call at eight, with a taxi. At six-thirty (as I 
 thought) I began to dress for the execution. Now, 
 though I may not look it in my present war-paint, 
 I keep a valet or rather I share him with four 
 other chaps. Up to date that valet had been an ex- 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 89 
 
 pert, but at seven o clock he began to go crazy. 
 I. Spilt a bottle of mucilage inside my union suit 
 you know no man wants to wear another kind of 
 skin. 2. Couldn t find a clean suit ; valet had to hike 
 out and buy one. Red flannels was all he could find, 
 and me to be married at nine ! 3. Upset the ink all 
 over my "King of Broadway" dress shirt. Found 
 every other white shirt was three sizes too small. 
 Never had been before. Again to the haberdasher s. 
 Haberdasher closed, had to put oh a soft silk ar 
 rangement, like the leading man in a musical com 
 edy. 4. Laid down my dress coat on some sticky; 
 fly-paper we had there to catch early crop of mos 
 quitoes. 5. Went to telephone and found the thing 
 was struck deaf and dumb. I was furious by this 
 time, paranoiac, ready to chew glass and split blood. 
 
 You may wonder why I didn t tumble before 
 this, and suspect my valet. I suppose it was because 
 I was dreaming of my beauteous bride. Anyway, it 
 wasn t till I sent him out to a friend to borrow a 
 black suit that I began to think anything. Then I 
 went out to the elevator boy and asked the time. It 
 was nine twenty-five! That blasted menial had put 
 back my watch and all the clocks an hour and a half. 
 
 .Well, by that time I was seeing red. I went down 
 
90 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 the hall and pounded at every door, begging for a 
 dress suit. Nobody at home, or only shocked fe 
 males, who barricaded the entrance. At last I found 
 a Dutchman who let me in, and offered me a suit he 
 had owned for thirteen years. I took it to my place 
 and got into it I wrapped it around me, so to speak 
 I got lost in it. Fit ? It would have fitted a Dino- 
 saurus better. It flapped and waved about me. " I 
 looked like the last potato in the sack. But it was 
 my last hope, and in that mass of black broadcloth 
 I made my appearance at the Mansion de Peach, to 
 find every guest gone, the old man swearing mad, 
 mother-in-law-to-be calm as an iceberg, and my 
 Daisy in tears. How I squared myself I don t know. 
 I sent Miss Peach all the violets in the world, and 
 we postponed the wedding for a week. I promised 
 to be careful. 
 
 When I got back I found my valet waiting as cool 
 as a marble-top table. I promised not to murder 
 him if he d tell me exactly why he did it. What 
 d you think ! Honorable Mudde had tipped him one 
 hundred dollars to queer me for the festivity. Well, 
 it was worth knowing. Somewhere around the con 
 spiracy, I smelled my mother-in-law but I couldn t 
 follow up the trail. 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 91 
 
 Wedding Number Two : No valet this time, you 
 bet. My best man on guard, buttoning me up and 
 giving good advice, telephoning to Central for the 
 time every ten minutes. I was all ready to start at 
 eight o clock when the bell rang like an alarm clock. 
 We didn t hurry, and bing, the door was nearly 
 blown in. Best man opens the door. Enter a hoity- 
 toity-chorus girl made up for leading ingenue, and 
 one big, big, bull-necked policeman. 
 
 "That s him," says Tootsy Footlights, and the 
 cop lays a fist like a ham on my shoulder. What 
 d you think? Tootsy sprang a song about my hav 
 ing stolen six hundred dollars and banged her eye at 
 Jack s two nights before, said we were engaged, but 
 it was all off, and "Arrest him, Mr. Officer, he s 
 handsome, but he s false!" Protests from Yours 
 Affectionately, heap big talk from best man. No go. 
 
 Officer McUgly shows a warrant for my arrest. 
 I m properly identified and if I want to go to the 
 station in a taxi I can otherwise, he ll call for the 
 patrol. I tried to coax him with a fifty, but it 
 wouldn t work. My best man flew loose on a search 
 for bail, and I made the journey to jail. The ser 
 geant winked when I told the marriage story. 
 
 I telephoned I d arrive at the Peach palace in a 
 
92 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 minute, but before we raised the hundred dollars 
 bail the wedding was a fizzle. Simultaneously, 
 Tootsy Footlights wired in that she d found the 
 ring inside one of her rats, and she wouldn t prose 
 cute. Who was Tootsy? Hired by Honorable 
 Mudde, of course, like the valet. She came round 
 afterward and told me all about it, giggling, and 
 tried to get me to take her out to dinner ! She had a 
 nerve like a frog. No? Yes? Well, such are the 
 petted favorites of the mimic world. 
 
 The next day I got a session of live-wire talk 
 from Daisy Peach that gave me the shivers. "See 
 here, Claude," she says, "I m getting tired of get 
 ting married on the instalment plan. I know that 
 ma and Mr. Mudde are trying to queer you, but if 
 you can t beat a pink Englishman out on a game like 
 this, I ll be darned if I don t marry the Briton, for 
 he s the cleverest man of the two. I like you, 
 Claude, and in times of peace you seem to make 
 good. But the war is on, and I m going to marry the 
 victor. We ll get married on the thirtieth of April, 
 and I ll give you this last chance. I am aware that 
 Mr. Mudde may have cooked up a good one this 
 time to put you out of business, but if you can t de 
 fend yourself after being warned, you re no good 
 
THE LIARS CLUB 93 
 
 to me as a husband. I can t use that kind. So I ll 
 give you till midnight to show up. When the clock 
 strikes twelve, if you re not visible to the naked eye, 
 I ll become Mrs. Mudde, and begin to train for high 
 society in Surrey and that town house in Park Lane. 
 Good-by, boyo I ll always be a sister, if he wins. 
 But I do hope you won t be lost in the shuffle again !" 
 
 Wedding Number Three: All goes well till six 
 p. M. of the fatal day to-day. I had laid in three 
 dress suits, a small gent s furnishing shop, a couple 
 of welter-weight thugs from Casey s, and my best 
 man and I each had a magazine pistol ready. At six 
 the telephone bell rings and Ma Peach croons out 
 her siren song. Daisy, she said, had cold toes over 
 something. Would I come right over to see her, or 
 else the match would be off. She had sent the limou 
 sine. See the game ? Yes ? No ? 
 
 What could I do? Disobey the summons of the 
 queen of the solar system, my brave, sweet Daisy- 
 kins? Not so! I fell for it. Out I walked through 
 my barricades, jumped into the limousine. The min 
 ute I was in, two large, adult men jumped in after 
 me. One on each side. I had no time to put up a 
 fight before they got to my nose with chloroform 
 and well, I woke up in our friend s pigeon ranch, 
 
94 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 with my trousers gone. A quick finish? By Juno! 
 Yes! 
 
 Now, gents, I put it to you ! Are you going to al 
 low me to lose a twenty-six carat bride at the last 
 moment for want of five cents and a pair of 
 trousers? Seriously, my friends, I m in a hole. I 
 ask you, man to man, help me out! I can make it 
 yet. Are you willing to stand for me or not? If you 
 ever were married, you know how nervous a man is 
 I believe, honest, I ve a temperature of a hundred 
 and four this blessed minute. For Cupid s sake, 
 give me a lift! If I had a hat, I d pass it around. 
 I only need pants and a taxi. What do you say ? 
 
 Fenton paused, and looked anxiously around at 
 the members of the Liars Club. 
 
V 
 
 THE REPORTER OF "THE ITEM" 
 
 HOW JOHN FENTON ACHIEVED A PAIR OF TROUSERS 
 AND ATTEMPTED ASSAULT AND BATTERY UN 
 SUCCESSFULLY, BUT WAS RESCUED BY A 
 CHUBBY SCRIBBLER 
 
 THERE was an instant s hush when Fenton fin 
 ished. His charm and personality had carried 
 his hearers along with absorbed attention; but he 
 had little practice in impromptu romances, and his 
 tale could scarcely convince the crowd of men be 
 fore him, who were used to all manner of pictur 
 esque narratives. So, as Fenton sat down, a gust 
 of laughter applauded him. They had been well en 
 tertained by his freak of fancy, but not enough to 
 contribute the funds he had hoped might be his re 
 ward. He made another tentative appeal, but a 
 cynical laugh was his only answer, and the company 
 began to break. Men rose and yawned, started to 
 look for their hats, and began talking with one an 
 other. The president came forward and laid his 
 massive hand on Fenton s shoulder. 
 
 95 
 
96 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "Very good, lad. You nearly got us going and 
 that s no joke for a beginner. We ll have to have 
 you round again. Nothing like new blood. Well, 
 good night, kid. Come round whenever you feel 
 like hitting the pipe." 
 
 "But how the devil am I to get out of here ?" Fen- 
 ton asked anxiously. "I can t go this way. If I can t 
 borrow any money I might at least get a pair of 
 trousers." 
 
 "Oh, I guess Gerrish will fix you up all right," 
 said the president, easily, and he turned away and 
 began to turn out the lamps. 
 
 The cab driver had already come and joined 
 them. "I got an old pair of overalls, if that ll do you 
 any good," he suggested. 
 
 Fenton jumped at the proposal, for, indeed, it 
 would enable him to kill two birds with one stone. 
 If he could once get the cab-driver alone he was de 
 termined to gain the locket, and, when he might, 
 restore it to its owner and then discover, if pos 
 sible, the secret of his old memories of the trinket. 
 He accepted Gerrish s offer, therefore, and after 
 farewells to those of the club who had not already 
 gone, he left and went down a flight of stairs with 
 the cabby. 
 
THE REPORTER OF "THE ITEM" 97 
 
 He had already measured his man with his eye. 
 Gerrish was a gin-soaked obese wreck, and Fenton 
 felt sure of being able to overcome him in a fair 
 fight. He watched carefully, and knew that the 
 driver had slipped the locket into a lower vest 
 pocket. It should be easy to gain possession of it. 
 First, however, the overalls must be secured. 
 
 They went down into a stable next door, now 
 tenanted only by a few sorry nags and two disrepu 
 table looking cabs. It was lit by an oil lamp on a 
 bracket. Gerrisn went to a locker in the rear, beside 
 a small door in the wall, and drew out the garment. 
 The overalls were of brown denim, streaked with 
 oil and spotted with dirt, but they would at least 
 cover his bare shins. Fenton drew them on, watch 
 ing his man sharply. When he was clad he manceu- 
 vered toward a wagon stave that was lying on the 
 floor, seized it, and whirled suddenly upon the cab- 
 driver. 
 
 "Now then/ he exclaimed harshly, "give me that 
 locket! It s mine." 
 
 Gerrish looked up at him through bleary eyes. 
 "Well, you son of a plumber!" he ejaculated, and 
 then, with remarkable agility and force, his foot 
 shot out, caught his opponent in the diaphragm and 
 
98 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Fenton dropped doubled up, with the wind knocked 
 out of him. Before he could recover the cabby had 
 fallen on him, and was throttling him. He began 
 to punch with fervor. Fenton saw stars, then every 
 thing went black. 
 
 5} ****** 
 
 He opened his eyes to find Richmond, the chubby 
 reporter who had been ejected from the club, sitting 
 on a keg, watching him curiously. Fenton sat up on 
 the floor and looked groggily about. The cabman 
 was lying a few feet from him, supine, with his eyes 
 shut, evidently knocked out. 
 
 The reporter smiled. "Coup de savatte," he said. 
 "That cabby must have come from Paris. Dirty low 
 trick. How d you feel?" 
 
 Fenton rose, stretched his arms and legs, and 
 then, recollecting his object, turned to the cabman 
 and felt quickly in his greasy vest pockets. In one 
 was a large nickel watch, the other was empty. 
 
 "I ve got it," remarked the reporter. 
 
 Fenton sized him up, and took a step forward. 
 
 "Give it tome!" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "The locket, of course. You say you ve got it." 
 
 Fenton realized now how foolish he had been ever 
 
THE REPORTER OF "THE ITEM" 99 
 
 to speak of the robbery. He resolved to humor the 
 reporter till he could get rid of him. "That story 
 about the stolen jewels was all a joke," he added. 
 
 "It was no joke, son. I m not a fool. But what 
 about the locket?" 
 
 "That locket," said Fenton, "has something queer 
 to do with me I don t know just what. There s 
 something mysterious about it, and I want it. I 
 don t know who it belongs to, but I know I have a 
 better right to it than you have. As for the robbery, 
 if you want to believe in it you may, but I won t 
 tell you anything about it." 
 
 "In which case I keep the locket," said the re 
 porter. "And now what are you going to do in that 
 rig?" 
 
 "I m going to borrow a quarter from you to get 
 up town with." 
 
 "Right, all right ; but you ll have to earn it. Now 
 I ll tell you what I ll do. I ve got to fool around for 
 a half hour or so, looking for a girl a few blocks 
 from here. Now I don t care to hang round in the 
 slums alone, and if you ll stay with me I ll give you 
 a dollar for car fare and the locket to boot when the 
 deed is did. All I want is your name and address. 
 Otherwise I follow you till I find out for myself." 
 
TOO FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "All right. My name is John Fenton, and I live 
 at 69 West a Hundred and Twenty-seventh Street." 
 
 "We ll see. If you don t mind, I ll corroborate 
 that. Have you anything to prove it?" 
 
 Fenton pulled a letter from his pocket which 
 showed the truth of his confession. 
 
 "Looks all right to me," said Richmond, and he 
 wrote it down on his cuff. Then, he looked at the 
 cabby. "I see our cross-eyed friend is stirring in his 
 sleep. Let s get out of here pronto, and go where we 
 can talk. Don t do anything foolish like running 
 away, though; and remember that I used to be the 
 feather-weight champeen of the Rosebud Social and 
 Outing Club." 
 
 By this time they were walking rapidly away 
 from the stable, proceeding toward Canal Street. 
 To emphasize his warning, the reporter had taken 
 Fenton by the arm. 
 
 "Now see here, son," he went on, "you re already 
 somewhat in my debt. That pirate would have 
 gouged your eyes out in another minute if I hadn t 
 been in ambush. You ve got a story, and I want it. 
 Give up what you know, and I ll return the jewelry. 
 Or else there s nothing doing." He stopped under a 
 lamp post, and looked Fenton over deliberately. His 
 
THE REPORTER OF "THE LT&M." 101 
 
 words were coercive, but his eyes twinkled with 
 good nature. 
 
 "You ll have to keep it, then, unless I can get it 
 away from you," said Fenton gloomily. "I don t see 
 that the story s any of your business." 
 
 "All news is my business. I represent the people 
 of New York, who have a right to know what s go 
 ing on especially when it s as queer as you hinted 
 at. When I saw you up there they all thought that 
 yarn about a jewel robbery was a bluff. I knew well 
 enough it wasn t. I don t know what story you told, 
 finally, but I ll bet it wasn t the right one. So when 
 they bounced me, I hung around to see what you d 
 do. Murder was the last thing I expected. And even 
 now, if you ve lost seven millions worth of dia 
 monds, more or less, I fail to see how it is worth 
 your while to jump this cabby just to get back one 
 gold locket set with rhinestones. To the casual debu 
 tante, it doesn t seem to be worth the risk. Hence, 
 this request. Put me onto the story. At present I m 
 out on another assignment, but I may be able to 
 work em both. What are you afraid of? If you 
 want honestly to get your fortune back, I may be 
 able to help you. If you know anything, you know 
 that a good reporter can beat any detective in the 
 
102 F?ND THE WOMAN 
 
 central office. And I m the star of the "Morning 
 Item." 
 
 "The fact is," said Fenton, "I ve given my word 
 of honor not to tell." 
 
 "Ah," said the reporter, "compounding a felony? 
 All right, then, I ll tell you what I ll do. One last 
 proposition; going, going, gone! I ve got to hang 
 round Eldridge Street to catch a girl who ought to 
 be due there pretty soon, according to my tip. My 
 paper wants her, and also I have some important 
 news to give her I ve got to break a sad tale. We 
 reporters get queer jobs. Now if you ll come along 
 with me decent, while I wait for her, I ll stake you 
 to a cab afterward, and you can get up town for 
 your pants. Meanwhile, I keep this locket as an evi 
 dence of good faith. It s your bail, till I get ready 
 to go after you professionally. That s the best I can 
 do. While we wait, I ll enliven the vigil by as pretty 
 a little tale of middle-class life as you ever heard in 
 the papers." 
 
 Fenton reluctantly consented. He was not anxious 
 to become conspicuous by attacking the reporter, 
 much as he wanted the locket and Richmond s 
 proposition seemed the easiest way of getting up 
 town. They walked along Canal Street, therefore, 
 
I m going to tell you why I need you 
 
THE REPORTER OF "THE ITEM" 103 
 
 and turned into Eldredge Street. In the middle of 
 the block Richmond turned Fenton up to a pair of 
 tenement-house steps that commanded a view of 
 both sidewalks. 
 
 They sat down, perched a little above the dirty 
 pavement where the submerged tenth traded, played 
 or promenaded in front of them. Keeping his quick 
 eye alert upon the passers-by, Richmond produced a 
 roll of Havana cigarettes and, lighting one from the 
 other, smoked them in a chain as he narrated his 
 tale. 
 
 THE MIDDLE-CLASS GIRL 
 
 Take it from me, Old Top, the bromidic center of 
 New York City is situated at the corner of Broad 
 way and Ninetieth Street. That s where Mr. Mid 
 dle Class lives ; call him a bromide, a philistine, or a 
 man-in-the-street, he s bound to have his nine-room 
 apartment and bath somewhere thereabouts. Mr. 
 Average Man is a broker. He owns an eighteen 
 hundred dollar motor car and hunts in the Adiron- 
 dacks or up in Maine two weeks every fall. His 
 wife is a good looking, middle-aged woman in black 
 satin, with the gray spots in her hair modestly 
 
104 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 touched up. She plays bridge and has a manicure- 
 masseuse come in every Friday or so. There s one 
 son who seldom leaves Broadway at night, and who 
 is putting up margins during his lunch hour, and al 
 ways getting stung. Such was the Baker menage 
 business and theaters and bridge and an occasional 
 dance. But Miss Baker Bessie Baker was the 
 lovely duckling in this family of male and female 
 hens. 
 
 At thirteen Bessie changed her name to Eliza 
 beth, did up her hair, lengthened her skirts and 
 began to open her eyes to the fact that she was hope 
 lessly middle-class, and doomed to marry an insur 
 ance agent if she didn t look sharp thence to a 
 small flat on a Hundred and twenty-sixth street, a 
 baby and a gossiping life across the dumb waiter of 
 the next apartment. Elizabeth had aspirations, and 
 began to make plans for Bryn Mawr. She went 
 through the high school (pa was strong for the 
 public schools and no nonsense about swell semi 
 nary life), and was just about to try for the en 
 trance examinations when a flurry in P. D. & Q. put 
 father Baker in a hole, and zip! the university edu 
 cation was out of the game for poor Elizabeth. 
 
 Did the old man care? Not so; he never took 
 
THE REPORTER OF "THE ITEM/ 105 
 
 much to the idea of making high-brow of Bessie. 
 He thought it would spoil her chances for matri 
 mony you know the old idea. But the girl was 
 really terribly cut up. Middle-class society was be 
 ginning to get on her nerves. All she heard talked 
 was bridge and business, theaters and teas, from 
 morning till night. In her world romance was un 
 known. Nobody ever eloped, nobody ever did any 
 thing great or criminal. Girls grew up, had children 
 and died without ever knowing an adventure. Men 
 had mysterious vices she knew of them as shame 
 ful, sordid acts that could never attract her but to 
 her vision gents were always well dressed, gloved 
 and caned, paying silly compliments, talking bosh 
 and sending violets. What was over the other side 
 of the wall which surrounded her? that was what 
 she wanted to know. She knew no millionaires and 
 no paupers. Not even a suffragette. No friend of 
 hers ever got into the papers. No girl had a secret 
 she could not and did not babble to all her friends. 
 In her world the fairyland of science was unknown, 
 the charm of philosophy unheard of. Literature 
 was confined to the fifteen-cent magazines and art 
 to the thirty-five. And there was a great big world 
 outside her door a world brilliant with blood, bru- 
 
io6 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 tality, crime, poverty, suffering, private yachts, di 
 vorces and luxury. She had never been south of 
 Twenty-third Street. She had never seen the water 
 except from Riverside Drive. Oh, for a man who 
 could explain Nietzsche to her ! Oh, for a man who 
 knew the difference between De Maupassant and 
 Balzac! Can you tell why Mendel has superseded 
 Darwin? No more could Bessie. What was Prag 
 matism? Who were these new post-impressionists 
 she read of in skimpy paragraphs in Scribner s? 
 How could intelligent men and women perceive 
 charm in Debussy s discords? Yes, she had been 
 abroad with her mother and Baedeker but they 
 had to stay indoors every night in Paris. They had 
 never seen an anarchist or a slum, or a tea-taster or 
 a live poet. 
 
 Now a girl who had something to do with the 
 Delancy Street settlement house happened to meet 
 Bessie at a toy tea one day, and when the two got 
 together for four minutes Bessie s horizon moved 
 north, south, east and west ten degrees. The lit 
 tle middle class girl discovered that while she and 
 her ilk wandered through the desert of culture far 
 from both the upper and the lower strata of society, 
 the prince and the pauper foregathered at wonderful 
 
THE REPORTER OF "THE ITEM." 107 
 
 houses in the purlieus and communed with each 
 other at close range. She heard of university exten 
 sion courses, of celebrated men who lectured to shop 
 girls, of artists who made music, of socialist million 
 aires who married working girls exhibitions of 
 paintings and books and classes and clubs and politi 
 cal economy and sometimes W. and Y. An^i Bessie 
 dreamed a dream. 
 
 How she made the break and got away I don t 
 know. She didn t tell me, but from what I saw of 
 her I knew that her will was stronger than the old 
 man s and her mother merely fainted away when 
 Bessie packed her suit case. Was it the socialist 
 millionaire story which reconciled them, finally ? All 
 I know is that Bessie Baker moved down to Riving- 
 ton Street and got a job rolling cigars in a little to 
 bacco factory at six dollars a week. She roomed 
 with two Jew girls, over a delicatessen shop and 
 spent every night making hay with the social ad 
 vantages presented by the Delancy Street Social Set 
 tlement. Nobody knew that she wasn t a poor girl, 
 and so she was allowed to mix with millionaires and 
 philosophers and high society ladies and visiting 
 "Who s- Whos" to her heart s content. 
 
 Perhaps you think I m exaggerating; but if I 
 
io8 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 could describe one week of her new existence you d 
 see how much fussier her life was on the east side 
 than in Philistia. There were automobile rides to 
 the residences of wealthy patrons on Long Island. 
 There were boxes at the opera for the sweat-shop 
 girls ; they were even taken to the horse show. That 
 first week Bessie met Paderewski ; she held the basin 
 when he dipped his $25,000 hands into warm water 
 before doing his stunt, and her eyes were within 
 four feet of his facile fingers when he played his 
 own minuet! Henry James? When he called and 
 gave a talk on the "Metaphysics of Rhetoric" she 
 almost ate him alive ! She was one of thirteen wom 
 en wage workers who dined with the Prince of Bul 
 garia, then studying American Sociology; and she 
 got to know the Swami Gecchachavanda so well he 
 told her his real name ! Say, you ought to have seen 
 Bessie dancing with President Roosevelt at a shirt 
 waist ball! And meanwhile she was learning to 
 speak in double negatives and rubbing burnt matches 
 into her finger nails for local color, building out her 
 pompadour and wearing brass rings so as not to be 
 caught as a middle-class impostor in that ineffable 
 mixture of extremes. Nobody ever suspected that 
 she worked because she liked it. By means of a few 
 
THE REPORTER OF "THE ITEM." 109 
 
 choice solecisms she had butted into the most exclu 
 sive circles of brains and fashion and wealth. She 
 was clever, all right. I m for Bessie, strong ! 
 
 Meanwhile she was working, and working plenty. 
 She made cigars so much faster than the Yiddish 
 girls in the factory that she got into trouble and the 
 foreman had to rescue her. For the first time in her 
 life she saw a man knocked down the foreman did 
 it to a chap who called her a scab and then she 
 realized that her blood was as red as a squaw s. 
 The foreman took a fancy to her after that, and 
 used to sit on the steps of the tenement where she 
 lived and talk to her till midnight. He was a Rus 
 sian, and had been in the fighting organization of 
 the Revolutionists all through the campaign of 05. 
 He explained the theory of the Terror, he told of 
 shooting behind barricades, of the manufacture of 
 bombs, of plots, conspiracies, heroes and martyrs 
 of fifteen, spies and assassinations and gore till she 
 gripped his wrist and gasped for breath. He had 
 killed men he had seen men hanged, he had 
 worked in the Siberian mines, and had had five es 
 capes from prison. Life was opening up big for 
 poor little Elizabeth of West Ninetieth Street. 
 
 Meanwhile she rolled stogies by day, and by night 
 
no FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 she put on a hand-washed shirtwaist and did high 
 society at the settlement. Celebrities came and went, 
 lectures and musicales exemplified to her all that 
 was finest and best in modern culture. Just watch 
 Elizabeth, the president of a club of eighty women 
 who did things! They fought for a public play 
 ground and got it, they shut up thirteen saloons, 
 they established a self-supporting day nursery, they 
 gave a fair and Mrs. Ralph Waldo Billion was on 
 the same committee as Elizabeth Baker. Didn t this 
 beat life as lived at the corner of Ninetieth and 
 Broadway? Elizabeth drank the intellectual life to 
 the dregs and listened spellbound to the foreman s 
 prophecies of the great Social Revolution. 
 
 Then, just like in the yellow papers, came the 
 Millionaire Socialist. He lectured, he spent his 
 money on Braun photographs, Barye lions and trips 
 to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, he started 
 equality leagues and co-operative consumers fed 
 erations, he contributed to the Settlement Magazine, 
 fraternized with the working class and, at last he 
 met Bessie Baker. Fate rang the bell her time had 
 come! When Mrs. Baker, up at Ninetieth Street, 
 anxiously waiting for news from the front, heard of 
 it she was measured for a new forty dollar tailor- 
 
THE REPORTER OF "THE ITEM." in 
 
 made corset and an acreage hat, and .began to make 
 a study how the mother-in-law of a millionaire 
 ought to eat asparagus. She cut a few old outworn 
 friends and began to study restaurant French. She 
 at last realized that Bessie had made good. 
 
 The socialist millionaire was a rather effeminate 
 youth who wore soft collars and black Windsor ties, 
 glib spoken and so frightfully anxious to be a work 
 ing man that he laid bricks in overalls on his coun 
 try place. The wall had to be pulled down and 
 rebuilt, but Tolstoi s precepts had been obeyed. 
 From the moment he set eyes on Elizabeth Baker, 
 any woman could have seen what was coming. He 
 haunted her, discussed propaganda, the materialistic 
 conception of history, the child-labor law and the 
 adulteration of milk. He made love, sterilized with 
 philosophy, and for a month or so they engineered 
 a precarious courtship, in the committee rooms of 
 the Settlement House, in the subway and in chilly 
 art galleries. And then he proposed. I d like to 
 have heard it. The man was dead in earnest he 
 was quite fond of Bessie, but marriage was mainly 
 an opportunity for co-operatively managing a higher 
 life for the welfare of the race. He believed in 
 eugenics. 
 
112 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 .Well, Bessie had about forgotten her high-school 
 English by this time. She made a wild effort to 
 atavize back to the idiom of Ninetieth Street, but 
 her fascinating life in a cigar shop had accustomed 
 her to the speech of those who really live. She was 
 actually human at last. 
 
 "I m sorry, Mr. Seymour," she said. "It s tough 
 on you to throw you down, but when I marry my 
 husband he s got to be something more than a mere 
 theory. I ve seen all kinds, now rich man, poor 
 man, beggar man, thief, doctor, lawyer, Indian 
 chief and I know what s good. Me and the fore 
 man Petrovsky s going to hitch up and have a cigar 
 factory of our own, after Christmas. Take it from 
 me, he s the only white man in the world !" 
 
 The reporter rose, yawned, and pulled out his 
 watch. "Ten fifteen. Yes, fate moves in a mys 
 terious way her wonders to perform, et cetera, et 
 cetera. It just shows that water will reach its own 
 level. Elizabeth Petrovsky is going to be the Joan 
 of Arc of the Labor Movement. No, Mrs. Baker 
 didn t show up at the wedding I hear the family 
 has moved to Philadelphia to live down the disgrace. 
 But you ought to have seen Bessie, the pride of the 
 
" By Jove ! I believe that s her now," he whispered 
 
THE REPORTER OF "THE ITEM." 113 
 
 Ghetto in cotton lace and silkolene, as happy as a 
 queen, last night. It was she gave me the tip about 
 this Belle Charmion affair." 
 
 "Belle Charmion?" Fenton was on his feet at a 
 bound. "Would you mind telling me who the devil 
 Belle Charmion is? I ve been hearing about her all 
 the evening." 
 
 "You have?" It was the reporter, now, who was 
 eager. "What have you heard about her?" 
 
 There was little enough for Fenton to tell, except 
 that the name had come to him, repeated time after 
 time, often enough to arouse his curiosity. He men 
 tioned the fortune teller s prediction, the chauffeur s 
 story and the magazine mention he had found. The 
 reporter was disappointed. 
 
 "I thought I told you she was the girl I was trail 
 ing," he explained. "There s a big story broken to 
 night, and she s wanted, bad." 
 
 "But what is Belle Charmion doing down in this 
 part of town?" Fenton asked puzzled. 
 
 "Oh, she s got the sociological bug or something, 
 too. Why, it was Miss Charmion told Elizabeth 
 Baker about How the Other Half Lives and all that. 
 I knew she was interested in settlements and so on, 
 and so I hiked down here, and chased up the Social 
 
ii4 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Uplifters. I got a tip that she was living along here 
 somewhere under an assumed name, and gets home 
 about half past ten. That s why I wanted to wait. 
 If she doesn t show up by eleven you can have my 
 best breeches." He suddenly darted back into the 
 doorway, pulling Fenton with him. "By Jove, I 
 believe that s her, now !" he whispered. 
 
 Fenton saw a young lady approaching, walking 
 briskly toward them. She was quietly clad in gray, 
 and neither her carriage nor her costume were those 
 of a working girl. There was a street lamp in front 
 of the entrance to the tenement house, and as she 
 approached it she was more and more clearly illu 
 minated. Something about her face struck him 
 clearly as if he half recognized it then, just be 
 fore the shadow of the lamp blotted it out, his heart 
 suddenly stopped beating. It was the girl of the 
 photograph it was the girl of his dream it was 
 the girl with the level eyebrows, the whimsical 
 smile 
 
 " It is Miss Charmion, by jimminy!" the reporter 
 exclaimed, and he advanced toward her. 
 
 The girl appeared to catch the words, for she 
 turned with a quick glance at the two young men. 
 Her eyes fell upon Fenton, and rested there for a 
 
THE REPORTER OF "THE ITEM." 115 
 
 moment, with an expression of surprised interest. 
 Her glance met his, and in that instant a flash almost 
 of recognition seemed to pass between them. Then 
 Richmond approached and accosted her. She an 
 swered without stopping, and, still speaking to her, 
 he walked along by her side. In another minute the 
 two, conversing with animation, Miss Charmion 
 showing eager interest, had turned the corner and 
 were gone. 
 
VI 
 
 THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 
 
 HOW JOHN FENTON ENCOUNTERED A FRIENDLY GEN 
 TLEMAN AND WAS GIVEN THE POSSESSION OF 
 HIS HOME AND OF THE LADY WHO AP 
 PEARED THERE IN TEARS 
 
 THERE he was, therefore, alone, without a 
 cent in his pockets, without a hat, without any 
 thing to pawn for his fare up town in dirty brown 
 overalls. He had not even the locket to gain which 
 he had taken so desperate a risk. But worse, far 
 worse than all that, he had lost his only chance 
 of finding the girl whose picture had for four 
 months exercised so potent an effect upon his heart. 
 He knew, now, from that one glance at her face 
 that he was in love with her. All that he had read 
 into her features, during his lonely hours of com 
 munion with the portrait, he had seen, living and 
 charming and piquant and kissable, as she paused 
 under the lamp. And now she was gone again into 
 the night, into the mystery. . . . Their paths had 
 crossed once would they cross again ? When ? 
 
 116 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 117 
 
 He wandered along with this thought, up to the 
 Bowery, where at the curb beside a taxicab he saw a 
 large well-dressed man in a shaggy overcoat and 
 silk hat lighting a cigar. Instantly Fenton awoke to 
 his mission, and the necessity for getting up town. 
 The octoroon and the care-taker should be notified 
 as soon as possible of the loss of the diamonds. 
 
 He walked up and touched the gentleman s arm 
 just as he was about to enter the cab. Before Fen- 
 ton could speak the man threw him an angry look. 
 
 "See here," said Fenton, "I m not a beggar. I ve 
 just had an accident, that s all, and I want to get up 
 town. I haven t a cent on me." 
 
 The man looked him up and down, through his 
 eye-glasses, then began to laugh. "Well," he said, 
 "that s a new story on me. What s the little game ?" 
 
 "As I said," Fenton insisted, "I ve got to get up 
 to Harlem, where I can get some money and a hat 
 and a pair of trousers. Will you give me a lift or 
 not?" 
 
 Again the gentleman looked him over, pulling his 
 long black mustache the while. His face was hand 
 some and genial, a type of the affable, experienced 
 man about town. Finally he laughed and said: 
 "Well, I ll take a chance. I m only going up as far 
 
n8 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 as the Plaza, but you can come along if you want to. 
 Jump in." 
 
 They entered the cab and it started off up town. 
 The stranger still eyed Fenton interestedly. "Bun 
 coed ?" he asked finally. 
 
 By this time Fenton had learned discretion. "Oh, 
 no a rather poor practical joke, that s all. A lot 
 of my fool friends got me drunk. My wedding day, 
 you know. That s why I m in a joyous hurry." 
 
 The explanation went as it had gone before, and 
 again the stranger laughed. "Oh, if that s the case," 
 he said, "I guess I can fix you up. Come up to my 
 place and I ll give you a hat and a pair of trousers, 
 anyway. Make it a whole suit, if you like. That 
 coat of yours is hardly fit for a marriage ceremony." 
 
 Fenton played his part, thanked the man effu 
 sively, and the trip was made up town with consid 
 erable friendly conversation. The man s name, 
 he learned, was Sproule. He was married, but 
 his wife was out of town and not expected home till 
 to-morrow. Sproule had just finished up a big busi 
 ness deal, and was off for a three months trip on 
 another as soon as he could pack his grip at the 
 Plaza and get away. He had an easy good nature, 
 a facile manner, and had evidently seen much of the 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 119 
 
 world. But, in spite of his jokes and glib stories, 
 Fenton noticed that Mr. Sproule had something 
 serious on his mind. Was it his intended trip to 
 South America on business ? Why, then, should he 
 keep such a sharp lookout to right and left, as the 
 cab drove rapidly up Fifth Avenue? Once, when 
 the cab was forced to Stop because of a block near 
 Thirty-fourth Street, Sproule grew visibly nervous, 
 and cursed under his breath. 
 
 At the Plaza Hotel he jumped out, gave a quick 
 look around, told the chauffeur to wait, and mo 
 tioned to Fenton to follow. As he entered the ele 
 vator Fenton caught in the tail of his eye a man 
 coming into the hotel where had he seen him 
 before? As the elevator stopped at the tenth floor 
 he placed him the man in the shepherd s plaid suit 
 he had noticed at Scheffel Hall ! It was queer. On 
 the Fifth Avenue side Sproule opened a door with a 
 key he took from his pocket. Fenton entered with 
 him. 
 
 They found themselves in the private hall of the 
 suite, already lighted, and Sproule led the way to a 
 small bedroom, opened a closet and took out a suit 
 of gray tweeds and a derby hat. 
 
 "Here you are," he said. "Get into these, and 
 
120 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 you can return them when you have time. No hurry 
 about it. They belong to my man, and I think 
 they ll fit you well enough. Not much of a wedding 
 suit, but I guess the blushing bride won t care. Now, 
 excuse me a minute; that confounded telephone 
 bell s ringing." 
 
 He left Fenton and walked to the end of the hall, 
 and into a parlor. Here his voice could be heard 
 speaking, though the words could not be distin 
 guished. Fenton began to take off his overalls, 
 looking about the room with curiosity. It seemed 
 to have been used by Sproule s valet. A few flashy 
 pictures had been pinned to the walls, photo 
 graphs of race horses, actresses and flying machines 
 were stuck about the mirror. Fenton, getting into 
 the tweed trousers, walked to the glass. Upon the 
 dresser was a business card reading "Nailery Mining 
 and Investment Company, St. Paul Building, New 
 York." 
 
 He was half dressed when Sproule came in, look 
 ing anxious. 
 
 "See here," he said, "I ve had an important call, 
 and I ve got to get down town in a hurry. D you 
 mind if I leave you here? You can just shut the 
 door when you re dressed. I guess I can trust you." 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 121 
 
 Fenton stared at him in amazement. "What! 
 Leave me here all alone in your apartment a 
 stranger ?" 
 
 "Sure !" said Sproule. "You re all right. I know 
 faces pretty well, and I ll take a chance that you re 
 honest. Anyway, I got to go right away." 
 
 "I can be ready in a minute," said Fenton. 
 
 "I can t wait a minute. It ll be all right. Good 
 by!" 
 
 And cramming on his top hat and lighting a cigar, 
 Sproule waved his hand and disappeared. Fenton, 
 left alone, stood for a while in wonder, then slowly 
 finished dressing, and finally looked about. As he 
 had entered the private hall the suite showed by 
 its furnishings evidences of wealth, luxury, taste. 
 How could the proprietor trust him there alone ? It 
 was too much for him. At any rate, he would leave 
 as soon as possible, before anything happened. Per 
 haps it was some clever trick to accuse him of 
 theft or worse. It looked bad. . . . 
 
 He had just opened the door of the chamber to 
 make his exit, when he heard a key turn in the door 
 to the corridor. Instantly he drew back, almost 
 closed the door, and listened. Somebody came in. 
 Then he heard sobbing a woman s heart-broken 
 
122 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 voice. She passed into the parlor, at the end of the 
 hall; the electric lights were turned on. The weep 
 ing kept on continuously, now rising in hysterical 
 bursts of agony, now falling into low convulsive 
 sobs. What was he to do? Leave silently, unper- 
 ceived ? But he might be caught in the act. For a 
 while he hesitated, then he sat down on a chair to 
 think. 
 
 Suddenly he sprang up ; steps were coming down 
 the hall he heard the clack of heels upon the par 
 quetry. Then, before he could think what to do, his 
 door was slowly opened and a woman came in, still 
 weeping, caught sight of him, and stood still, star 
 ing, her lips parted, her blue eyes dewy with tears. 
 
 She was a lady of some thirty years, tall and 
 beautiful blond, with masses of fluffy yellow hair 
 under an enormous white beaver hat, picturesque 
 with white plumes. Her mouth was curved in a 
 tremulous bow, and little white teeth sparkled de- 
 liciously. As she stood there, framed in the opening 
 of the door, all in white broadcloth, touched at the 
 neck and wrists with white fur, she looked like some 
 sudden delightful apparition come to haunt him. 
 But great as was his surprise, hers was evidently 
 greater forbidding, for a moment, her speech. She 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 123 
 
 stood with a smallish black leather case in her hand, 
 looking at him. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," Fenton began, in embarrass 
 ment, "but Mr. Sproule left me here to put on these 
 clothes he lent me." 
 
 "Who?" she stammered. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Sproule your husband, I presume 
 is he not?" 
 
 "My name is Mrs. Elkhurst I don t see what 
 you re doing here I don t understand." And she 
 backed into the hall, still staring as if frightened of 
 him. 
 
 "He said he lived here. A large gentleman 
 with a black mustache and a red face he wore 
 glasses" 
 
 "Oh !" She gave a little cry and covered her face 
 with her hands. The package she had been holding 
 dropped to the floor. 
 
 "He lent me this suit as by an accident I had 
 injured mine." 
 
 She was sobbing again. 
 
 "He said his wife wouldn t be back till to-mor 
 
 row." 
 
 "Where has he gone?" she demanded, turning to 
 him, her face suddenly set, hard and stern. 
 
124 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "He was called away on urgent business. He had 
 a telephone call. I don t know from whom." 
 
 Without replying, the lady turned, ran into an 
 adjoining chamber, and Fenton could hear her pull 
 ing open drawers, opening and shutting doors, 
 searching here and there. He waited a few minutes, 
 uncertain what to do, when, looking down, he saw 
 on the floor the package she had dropped. The case 
 had opened, and half in and half out of it lay a 
 string of brilliant red stones shining like hot coals of 
 fire. He bent down and was picking up the neck 
 lace when she burst out of the room. 
 
 Disregarding Fenton, she walked unsteadily to 
 the end of the hall and into the parlor. He followed 
 her, awkwardly enough, the necklace dangling from 
 his hand, to find her with her head on her arms, 
 sitting at a boule secretary. Fenton approached her 
 with misgivings. 
 
 "Here s something you dropped," he said, and 
 placed the jewels upon the table. Then, distressed 
 at her emotion, he added : "Can t you tell me what 
 the matter is? Of course I am a stranger to you, 
 but Fate seems to have led me here, and perhaps it 
 was that I might help you. I wish I might do some 
 thing if you could trust me." 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 125 
 
 She threw up her head and dashed away the tears, 
 then looked at him with her brows knitted. Fenton 
 saw that she held, crushed between her fingers, a 
 letter. "Who are you?" she asked. 
 
 For a moment Fenton hesitated. At first his im 
 pulse was to confide in her, but the events of the 
 night had made him cautious. He told her, there 
 fore, only his name and business, and of his meeting 
 with Sproule on the Bowery. The mention of the 
 man renewed her distress. She rose, walked up and 
 down a moment, then returned to him as if decided 
 upon something. 
 
 "It is good of you to offer to help me," she said, 
 "but I am afraid my trouble is past mending. You 
 look kind and honest. I believe that you have told 
 me the truth. You must believe the same of me, for 
 I am going to tell you my story. You will see that 
 I have good enough cause for tears." 
 
 She took the ruby necklace and sat down on a 
 huge couch. As she told her story she fingered the 
 jewels nervously, pausing to control herself from 
 time to time as her emotions swept over her like a 
 storm. 
 
126 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 THE TWENTY-SEVEN DROPS OF BLOOD 
 
 We have to pay for everything, in this world, 
 everything. Even when we think we ve paid, there s 
 more, and still more. I thought I had paid for this 
 necklace, paid in blood and tears ; but I ve had to pay 
 again and again. And still it isn t paid for. I 
 wonder when it will be over and the score crossed 
 off! 
 
 You have heard of kleptomania? No doubt 
 you ve often smiled and thought it a polite name for 
 common theft. It isn t ! Oh, believe me it isn t. It 
 isn t a mere habit, either it s a disease ; it s one of 
 the hardest things in the world to cure. Ask any 
 alienist. All the same, I have cured myself. But, 
 God ! what a fight ; night and day, day and night for 
 years before I won. It cost me years of struggle; 
 my sufferings have been indescribable, but I per 
 sisted against all kinds of temptation. But even 
 then I knew I would never have won but for my 
 love for a man. And now but let me begin at the 
 beginning. I want you to understand. 
 
 My family is one of the best known and most 
 highly respected in Philadelphia. I have had every 
 thing youth, beauty, wealth, education, social po- 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 127 
 
 sition. You wouldn t think it possible for such a 
 girl to go wrong, would you? And yet, somehow, 
 it is usually just such persons who have this disease. 
 Why is it? I don t know some subtle perversity 
 in human nature, some complex reaction to environ 
 ment well, it doesn t matter. Psychologists seem 
 to know little about this abnormal condition. I ve 
 talked to all the authorities on nervous disorders. 
 Dr. Mitchell, Dr. Prince everybody of any fame. 
 I ve tried Moll and the English authorities, the 
 Salpetriere people in Paris hypnotists, even The- 
 osophists and Christian Scientists. They simply 
 don t know anything about it. My own theory is 
 that it s a form of dissociated personality a sort of 
 Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde duality struggling in one 
 for the mastery. Perhaps it s a form of insanity. 
 I don t know. Nobody knows. 
 
 It s a curious thing, kleptomania. Oh, it s inter 
 esting enough to one outside of it ! I can talk about 
 it, now. One of its peculiar features is that one 
 becomes so extraordinarily sly there seems to be a 
 sympathetic intellectual stimulus that sharpens one s 
 faculties wonderfully. One s mind has, while one 
 has the obsession, a touch of genius. It is like de 
 generacy we can scarcely tell cause from effect, 
 
128 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 There s a "vicious circle" one can t tell whether 
 mental keenness produces the desire to steal, or the 
 desire to steal educates one s wits. The point is, one 
 becomes clever at it. 
 
 I know now, positively, how great criminals think 
 how they plot and contrive how they stake their 
 brains against law and order. I know how they 
 develop, how they progress. Their first, amateurish 
 schemes are intricate and complicated. It isn t till 
 later in life that they achieve the more daringly 
 simple crimes which succeed by their very audacity. 
 Have you read Poe s "Purloined Letter" ? You 
 know the man who hid a valuable letter in plain 
 sight ? That s the sort of acumen we have, the best 
 of us those who have developed a special sense for 
 it, a craft, a refined cunning. You hear of the arrest 
 of ordinary shoplifters every day, but my kind is 
 seldom caught. They can t be detected. They are 
 inspired by something too sapient, shrewd, acute. 
 
 Well, the first time let s see ... I was about 
 eighteen. I was visiting an old school friend in the 
 South. She had a Scotch cairngorm, one of those 
 common brooches with colored stones you can buy 
 in any shop in Edinburgh for ten shillings. Some 
 how it attracted my fancy. You see, it seems to be 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 129 
 
 characteristic of our mania to be fascinated by ob 
 jects without regard to their intrinsic value. I ve 
 stolen things I d never think of using burnt 
 matches, old newspapers, tooth brushes, even. 
 When the fatal impulse conies, one has to steal, 
 that s all. I ve risked my reputation for a birch- 
 bark napkin ring! That s the way we are. 
 
 The cairngorm lay on Ethel s dressing table. She 
 and I were in the room, with a colored maid. When 
 neither was looking I took the brooch and hid it in 
 my dress ; I waited till the maid had gone, and then 
 I asked for it. The maid was accused, and, when 
 she denied all knowledge of it, poor girl, was dis 
 missed. She had been with the family all her life. 
 Wasn t it awful? But it was curious how little it 
 affected me. There s some sort of moral opium it 
 distills. One doesn t care what wretchedness or in 
 justice one inflicts. Oh, it s hideous ! 
 
 So it went on, year after year, the stealing. Some 
 times in shops, sometimes in the houses of my 
 friends, in public buildings anywhere the fit seized 
 me. I took everything my mania fancied. Often I 
 threw the things away as soon as I had secured 
 them. Sometimes I replaced them. You have no 
 idea what queer vagaries one has, how one will 
 
130 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 wait for days, weeks, for a chance to act. The ob 
 session is, for the time being, the most important 
 thing in one s life. 
 
 But there s one thing you must understand, and 
 believe. It was only one particular detail that was 
 wrong with my moral sense, not a general perver 
 sion. It s like paranoia ; it seems to have nothing to 
 do with other parts of one s morality. One can be 
 kind, pure, temperate, unselfish in everything else 
 in everything that doesn t bear on this special act. 
 You re a man, and you must perceive how such a 
 thing can be. Haven t you known dissipated men 
 who are generous and loyal? If a man is selfish, 
 he s usually bad all over, but if he is a drunkard, he 
 can still be affectionate. So, I hope you won t think 
 of me then as wholly vile. I stole in this freakish 
 way because I was irresistibly impelled to; but 
 otherwise I think I was as good as any woman could 
 be. Indeed, knowing my fault, I tried the harder 
 to make my life better in other ways. 
 
 Have you ever heard that sometimes, when a 
 man s shot, they don t remove the bullet? If it 
 lodges in a part where there s no danger or incon 
 venience, they let it stay, and a cyst is formed 
 around it so that it is completely surrounded and it 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 131 
 
 can t poison the system. Well, this thing seemed 
 like that, with me. It seemed to be apart from my 
 normal moral sense. But a moral sore can t really 
 heal like that, I suppose. It s always malignant. It 
 has to be cut out, or it grows. 
 
 Well, this trait did grow. I took more and more. 
 I became more cunning. I have never been caught 
 or even suspected to this day. I grew bolder with 
 every success; bolder, but never reckless. Every 
 move was thought out like a game of chess. Then 
 came the necklace affair. That was the climax. 
 
 A year ago I was in Paris with my mother. We 
 had many acquaintances in the best circles, in the 
 Sorbonne, in the Academy, in the Deputies, in the 
 old noblesse of the Faubourg Saint Germain. One 
 of my best friends was the Contessa da Scarpi, a 
 Roman lady of an old Italian family. She had a 
 little necklace of rubies. . . . Here it is. Pretty, 
 isn t it? Yet I always think of it as twenty-seven 
 drops of blood. 
 
 That necklace I had to have! I knew I should 
 try for it, knew I should get it, knew I should not 
 be discovered in the theft. I did succeed. Here it 
 is! Have you examined it? The stones are small, 
 but flawless. It is exquisitely designed seven- 
 
132 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 teenth century workmanship; it is worth, I should 
 say, about forty thousand dollars. But I have never 
 worn it, scarcely even looked at it, since I got it. 
 All my pleasure was in the winning of it. 
 
 It cost me nothing, I thought. Nothing? God! 
 The cost was terrific ! Listen : Because of my theft 
 two sisters became estranged. An ambitious and 
 talented young naval lieutenant shot himself. Oh, 
 he was so handsome, so splendid ! A half dozen 
 family servants lost their places and could never 
 find other employment. All this I knew, but I didn t 
 care. Can you imagine it? I didn t care! It was 
 as if I were drugged. All I thought was, "The 
 necklace is mine !" 
 
 You must loathe me, now, but you must hear me 
 out. I want you to know to what degradation I had 
 fallen how lost I was, how hopeless, how pitiful. 
 I want you to see what I had to climb out of. 
 
 I got out of the country with it all sorts of re 
 wards were offered for it, numberless detectives put 
 on the search and I sailed for home. When I 
 passed through the custom-house I hid it in my hair. 
 You should have seen me look that young inspector 
 in the eye ! I had a sort of insolence, I was so sure 
 of myself. I m sure all great criminals must feel 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 133 
 
 that sense of power. It s wonderful, exhilarating! 
 It s like the courage of a brave soldier under fire. 
 Nothing could possibly harm me, I was sure. It 
 was as if I dealt in potent magic. So I got home 
 with my mother. Poor mother ! if she only knew ! 
 Strange, one can never tell the most important 
 things in our lives to one s best friends! One lies 
 only to those one loves. . . . 
 
 Then, I met a man the man of all the world for 
 me the only human being who could ever change 
 me. Love has a strange alchemy one can t explain. 
 Why try to explain it? One is attracted, or one is 
 repelled in spite of one s self. Schopenhauer calls 
 it the Spirit of the Race, seeking reincarnation. . . . 
 I prefer the poetic interpretation . . . "for me, 
 Romance!" . . . never mind! . . . Anyway, I 
 fell in love immediately, desperately. Love is a ter 
 rible thing ... it took hold of me. . . . 
 
 To me Herbert was perfect all that was best 
 and finest of manhood. I thought of him almost as 
 one thinks of the great heroes of history Wash 
 ington, Goethe, Alexander he was my Bonnie 
 Prince Charlie ; my king could do no wrong. And 
 so, as soon as I found my heart was gone, I got my 
 first real sight of my mania I saw the horrible 
 
134 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 thing it had become. I felt as if I were a leper. If 
 he had found me out I would have died of shame. 
 And later, when I saw that he actually loved me, 
 . . . it was wonderful! . . . I spent night after 
 night weeping at the impossibility of my ever mar 
 rying him. For to me he was as spotlessly pure and 
 honorable as a god; and I was unworthy to be his 
 wife. So when he proposed, I refused him. When 
 he wanted to know my reason I couldn t tell. Then 
 he began to make love to me so ardently that I was 
 alternately delirious with joy and tortured with hor 
 rible remorse. It was unbearable. 
 
 One night he swept me off my feet and I accepted 
 him. Oh, in my heart, I promised myself, at the 
 same time, that I would never marry him till I had 
 cast out the devil that was possessing me. It seemed 
 so easy at the time ! His strength seemed to make 
 me strong. I felt that the inspiration of his love 
 and trust would exalt my will. Wait! can you 
 imagine a young man who has sown his wild oats, 
 converted, and taking holy orders, and feeling sure 
 that nothing could ever tempt him again? That 
 was how I felt. I thought that my love would 
 change my whole character in a single day. Things 
 aren t so easy as that, in this world. We have to 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 135 
 
 pay, always we have to pay ! We have to pay again 
 and again ! 
 
 I suppose you have never taken morphine, or 
 opium, or cocaine ? I hope not. But you must have 
 heard what a fight it is, how terribly difficult it is to 
 stop the habit. It isn t impossible, though. Why! 
 one time I took cocaine steadily, every day, for two 
 months I just had to see if my will was diseased, 
 too, if I had any strength at all left in me. Pshaw! 
 I stopped in a day. I laughed at it. It was nothing. 
 But this thing was different. It had grown like a 
 monster in me I was so in its power that, to keep 
 my fingers from anything I craved well, can you 
 refrain from drinking when you re thirsty? It was 
 like that worse, a thousand times worse ! I fought 
 it night and day, though. I was determined to win 
 for his sake. I fought it as one fights a terrible 
 nightmare. For a long time I made no headway. I 
 stole things even while I was with him! Can you 
 imagine anything more horrible? Remember how 
 I loved him. It was damnable. . . . 
 
 Then, one day, I was nearly caught. I had 
 slipped a red morocco-bound book into my muff, at 
 a house where I was calling for the first time. I 
 dropped my muff by a queer chance it fell on end, 
 
136 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 and stood on the floor, curiously upright. He bent 
 down to pick it up for me I was just a second too 
 quick for him. How my heart beat! He would 
 certainly have seen the book I couldn t have ex 
 plained it, possibly. It would have ended every 
 thing. So I redoubled my efforts to cure myself by 
 sheer will. I went scarcely anywhere, and never 
 alone. I had pockets put in my coat, and kept my 
 hands in them. I schooled myself to think every 
 minute, to be on my guard incessantly. 
 
 Well, I improved rapidly after that. When I had 
 taken nothing for six months I set the day tor the 
 wedding. That was a happy time. . . . My only 
 bugbear was the necklace. You ve been wondering 
 why I had not already returned it? It was impos 
 sible. 
 
 Even had I been able to go abroad I knew of no 
 safe way of returning it. Had I sent it, it would 
 surely have been traced. Think it over (as I did 
 through many a sleepless night) and you ll see huw 
 difficult it would have been. There were the cus 
 toms again the post-office authorities to suspect 
 and examine any package the express company s 
 invoice there was the danger of theft. But the 
 Scarpis were traveling in the Far East; I didn t 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 137 
 
 even know their address. The only thing I could 
 do was to wait for my chance. I had no one to 
 trust, no one I dared tell. 
 
 After we were married I kept the necklace hidden 
 in a secret compartment of my jewel chest. I 
 dreamed of it, all through my honeymoon the most 
 delicious honeymoon any bride ever spent except 
 for that. 
 
 That was six months ago . . . now it seems 
 six years. Ah, well ! . . . When I first met Her 
 bert I thought he was a broker. Every one thinks 
 that now except those few that know. But after 
 I was married he confessed to me that he was a de 
 tective. He told me he was employed by several 
 big corporations at a large salary to work on espe 
 cially difficult or delicate cases. His value depended 
 upon people not knowing his real occupation. Pass 
 ing as a broker, he could go into the best society and 
 no one suspected him. 
 
 It was a shock to me at first, but I got used to it. 
 Now that I had recovered from my mania, my spir 
 its went up sky high. It was like getting my youth 
 back again. I was like a young girl. How Herbert 
 used to laugh at my spirits! I was free, now, to 
 love him freely, as wildly as I wished. I let myself 
 
138 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 go. No woman was ever so proud of her husband. 
 And I was proud of myself, too. Why shouldn t I 
 be? I had conquered as desperate an evil as any 
 woman ever fought. But there was still the neck 
 lace twenty-seven drops of blood. ... A de 
 tective is a dangerous person to attempt to hide a 
 thing from. I was mortally afraid he would dis 
 cover my secret. 
 
 We went everywhere I had a wide acquaintance 
 Baltimore, Washington, New York. Herbert 
 went with me. He seemed to like the dinners, the 
 musicales, dances, teas, bridge parties. I was proud 
 of him. Everybody liked him. He was a social 
 success. He never refused an invitation unless his 
 duties called him away. Sometimes he had to be 
 absent for a week or so at a time; and, of course, 
 owing to the nature of his profession he could tell 
 me nothing of his affairs. Occasionally he was un 
 expectedly out all night. Except for these ab 
 sences and the necklace I was gloriously happy. 
 Herbert was still a lover more than a husband. He 
 gave me presents often. 
 
 A week ago an old Vassar friend of mine came to 
 me with such a pathetic story ! It s her private af 
 fair, and I can t tell it to you. It doesn t matter. 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 139 
 
 anyway, except that, for a particular reason, she 
 was most anxious to make an impression at a dance 
 in New Haven. Her whole future was at stake. 
 She was awfully hard up she had nothing and 
 asked me to help her. So I lent her a gown, gloves, 
 and a few things like that. She was so pathetically 
 grateful and happy that, just before she left, I 
 thought of the necklace, and, carried away by my 
 sympathy, I offered it to her for the dance. At first 
 she didn t want the responsibility of it; she refused; 
 but I could see that she was crazy to wear it. It 
 was the finishing touch to her costume. So I in 
 sisted and she took it away. I was glad, after all. 
 The necklace had caused so much suffering that it 
 seemed to me it was right to use it, for once, to 
 make some one happy. 
 
 Last night, when my husband came home, I felt 
 something was wrong. You know a woman gets 
 things I didn t feel "right" near him I can t ex 
 press it in any other way. There was some con 
 straint about him I had never felt before. I simply 
 "got" something near him, and it made me fear 
 fully nervous, depressed. But outwardly he was the 
 same as ever, and my first impression wore off a 
 little. Then, when he said he had a present for me 
 
140 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 I was all rieftt again, and hated myself for thinking 
 anything sinister. The reaction carried me into 
 high spirits ; I loved him more than ever ; I thought 
 him the purest and the best. Oh, how I tried to 
 make up for my momentary injustice! A present! 
 He had such an adorable way of presenting things 
 it made them vastly more valuable. I buzzed 
 round him like a humming-bird in my delight. 
 
 He took a package out of his pocket and 
 handed it to me, after I had paid him in kisses. I 
 was as happily impatient as a child. I snapped the 
 string, laughing, tore off the paper, opened the little 
 leather case . . . this necklace was inside! . . . 
 my necklace, which I had lent my friend a few days 
 before . . . twenty-seven drops of blood ! 
 
 I suppose I must have thanked him, somehow. I 
 may have kissed him again, with that horrible thing 
 in my hand. Women are strange creatures. , . . 
 The most ignorant woman can become a great ac 
 tress, under the stress of emotion. . . . The ages 
 have taught us to defend ourselves . . . some ma 
 ternal instinct inspires us. . . . 
 
 But what I did, or what I said, I don t know. It 
 seems so long ago and it was only last night! I 
 think he suspected nothing. I remember that I 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 141 
 
 pleaded a headache, and got off to my room, some 
 how, locked the door, and went to bed. He knocked 
 later and said "Good night, girlie!" It comes back 
 to me now, but at the time I hardly realized it. 
 
 The ruby necklace! My brain whirled with it! 
 It was the most horrible night I had ever spent. 
 What did it mean ? Oh, I went over and over it till 
 I thought I should go mad. Had he discovered my 
 secret? Had he had a similar necklace made? I 
 thought of every explanation except the right one. 
 
 This morning I found I couldn t stand it unless 
 I learned the truth immediately. When he left I 
 told him I was going to visit a friend in Pough- 
 keepsie over night. He said he might be gone him 
 self when I returned. We parted as we had never 
 parted before something horrible was between us 
 I thought at the time that he felt it too. Now I 
 know he did. 
 
 I took the first train to New Haven. On th^ way 
 there a fearful thought came to me. You know I 
 told you we used to visit together ? Well, I recalled 
 that soon after my marriage we spent a week-end 
 with some friends in Wilmington. A few days 
 afterward burglars entered the house and stole con 
 siderable jewelry and silverware, Nobody thought 
 
142 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 anything of it till another house was robbed in 
 Richmond, shortly after we had been there. Then 
 they began to call me a hoodoo, and laugh at me. It 
 was a good joke for a while, especially as it hap 
 pened once or twice later. I thought of it only as a 
 queer coincidence. Now, as I recalled the facts, the 
 idea grew like wildfire it burned me up ! I couldn t 
 stand the suspense. It seemed as if I pushed the 
 train all the way to New Haven. 
 
 I found my little friend in tears. Oh, I suppose 
 you have guessed what I never suspected. Her 
 house had been robbed the day after the dance, and 
 the necklace was gone. I was the wife of a burglar, 
 or at least my husband was the associate of bur 
 glars. The man for whom I had fought my fight, 
 for whom I had won, the man whose love inspired 
 me, was a criminal! 
 
 You can imagine my situation. I had to comfort 
 my friend, who was almost distracted at the loss of 
 the necklace and I had it in my purse all the time ! 
 I had to tell her I was sure it would be found I 
 had to leave her with that burden on her conscience 
 knowing that she would probably work her fin 
 gers off trying to make up the loss to me. How 
 could I tell her the truth! What could I say! I 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 143 
 
 could only hope some time to arrange it so that the 
 thing might seem to be recovered. I left her with 
 a broken heart. Well, mine was breaking, too ! 
 
 Then, on the way back to New York, I began to 
 see things more plainly. My love pleaded for him. 
 After all, was he much worse than I? He was a 
 thief; but had not I been a thief myself for ten 
 years ? I had fought for my own salvation and won. 
 Couldn t I fight for his and win, also? My love 
 came back in a great flood. I determined to save 
 him. I almost rejoiced at the opportunity it would 
 give me of showing how much I loved him. Wasn t 
 it my duty what a wife should do? The thought 
 uplifted me. 
 
 None the less, when I entered the door, here, and 
 saw all the old, familiar sights, the place where I 
 had been so happy, I couldn t help breaking down 
 and crying. I thought it was all over for ever, the 
 secrecy, the pain, the struggle, the danger. But I 
 nerved myself, and determined to go on through 
 with that, and worse, if necessary, for Herbert s 
 sake. And, God willing, I would win him back as 
 I had won myself. 
 
 Well, you must have heard me crying. Do you 
 know what stopped my tears, what was too deep, 
 
144 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 oh, far too deep for tears? On my dressing table I 
 found a note saying that he had left me for ever. 
 
 John Fenton, confronted a second time that night 
 with a woman s broken heart, knew not what to say. 
 Mrs. Elkhurst arose deliberately, with a hard, set 
 face, and replaced the ruby necklace in the case. 
 Then she shrugged her shoulders and turned to him. 
 
 "You understand, now, why I think of those 
 stones as drops of blood! Well, what shall I do? 
 That s the question. Of course, I can arrange to 
 have the necklace found, to say it is, without pub 
 licity, or else my friend s life will be ruined also. 
 But what about my husband ?" 
 
 "I can t think of him as a burglar," Fenton said. 
 "It seems impossible. He was so good-natured, so 
 refined. He had so much charm." 
 
 "Oh, it was precisely that which made him use 
 ful," said Mrs. Elkhurst. "Of course he did none 
 of the actual work himself he didn t have that kind 
 of skill. I ve been thinking it over, and I have 
 come to the conclusion that he must have merely 
 located the jewels or whatever they were after. 
 Don t you see? That s why he was so willing to 
 visit at my friends houses. I can remember, now, 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 145 
 
 that he used sometimes to excuse himself, when we 
 were all down-stairs, and run up for a handkerchief, 
 or something like that for an excuse. He was look 
 ing about. I have no doubt that he watched outside, 
 too, while the house was being entered. " 
 
 "Do you know any others of the gang?" Fenton 
 asked. 
 
 "I suspect only one, an Irishman. He came once 
 or twice here to see Herbert, but my husband always 
 managed to keep me away from him." 
 
 "An Irishman?" Fenton immediately thought of 
 Mangus O Shea. 
 
 "A rough, ugly-looking man, with little reddish 
 eyes, and black, broken teeth. I think his name was 
 Nailery." 
 
 Fenton jumped up and ran back to the room 
 where he had changed his clothes, returning with 
 the business card he had seen on the valet s bureau. 
 He handed it to Mrs. Elkhurst. 
 
 "Do you know anything about that ?" he asked. 
 
 She looked at it and knit her brows. "Look in 
 the telephone book," she said finally, "and see what 
 the number is. I think it s let s see a queer num 
 ber something like Wall nine, nine, nine, one. I ve 
 heard my husband call it up." 
 
146 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Fenton picked up the telephone directory and 
 found it. "Wall nine, one, nine, one," he read. 
 
 "Yes, I think that s it. And now I remember 
 overhearing Herbert talking about some diamonds, 
 once or twice." 
 
 "Perhaps it is the headquarters of his gang. I 
 believe it will pay investigating, at any rate." Fen- 
 ton arose as if to go. 
 
 "Investigating! What d you mean?" said Mrs. 
 Elkhurst. "Are you you re not a detective ?" She 
 grew pale. 
 
 Fenton narrated the incidents that had made that 
 night for him one long, extravagant adventure. The 
 tale was so incredible that he was almost ashamed 
 to tell it, but the lady s interest was keen and deep. 
 When he came to the Mangus O Shea part of his 
 story she frowned and nodded. "Ah," she said 
 when he had finished, "that settles it. I can see now 
 what happened. Herbert and Nailery, or O Shea, 
 as you call him, have undoubtedly been on the track 
 of the jewels, watching their chance. How they 
 ever suspected the octoroon had them I can t see, 
 but the rest is easy. Once having followed her, and 
 seen you, they suspected that she had given them to 
 you for safe keeping. I would eliminate the cross- 
 
THE SUITE AT THE PLAZA 147 
 
 eyed cabman entirely he probably stumbled on to a 
 part of the thing accidentally, and was only trying 
 for blackmail. Still, the gang may have got hold of 
 him, too. When they took you to the pigeon loft 
 Herbert stayed outside on the watch, and perhaps 
 he was given a few of the smaller stones to raise 
 ready money upon at some pawn shop. It s the 
 more likely, because of late my husband has been 
 complaining of being hard up I remember he said 
 he had bought the ruby necklace on credit. At the 
 time I was too excited to wonder at that. What 
 can we do? If I can not reform my husband, I can 
 at least try to prevent his crime from being success 
 ful. It seems to me I must do that." 
 
 "There is nothing you can do, that I see," said 
 Fenton. "But as for me, I am determined to follow 
 them up right away. I doubt if I can do anything 
 against them, for the gang must be clever and des 
 perate. But I can at least try. Now I am into this 
 plot, I am going to do what I can. The first thing 
 is to get hold of the octoroon and report." 
 
 He took up the telephone and called up the King 
 William Hotel. No Miss Green was registered 
 there. That puzzled and worried him, but he got, 
 after much talk with "Information," the number of 
 
148 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 the Flint Flat at One Hundred and Forty-sixth 
 Street, though there was no answer to the phone. 
 He hung up the receiver in disgust. 
 
 "Well," he said, "I must get down-town immedi 
 ately. What shall you do ?" 
 
 "I am going to my mother in Philadelphia, the 
 first thing in the morning,", she said. "I am going 
 to tell her everything. I hope it will not break her 
 heart, but, oh, I am so lonely!" 
 
 After Fenton had pressed her hand, bid her good- 
 by and walked to the door, he turned back to look at 
 her. She was sitting at the table with her head 
 bowed in her hands, sobbing. 
 
VII 
 THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 
 
 HOW FENTON MET BELLE CHARMION A SECOND TIME, 
 WAS ENTERTAINED BY TWO PROFESSIONAL 
 BEAUTIES, BECAME A HERO, AND SE 
 CURED HIS CARFARE 
 
 JOHN FENTON did not forbear casting a glance 
 at himself in the narrow mirror as he descended 
 the elevator. The gray tweed suit fitted him miracu 
 lously and it bore the cut of a good tailor. The 
 change of costume excited him deliciously he felt 
 ready, now, for a new adventure, ready to play a 
 courageous part. He fingered the fine, soft wool 
 with surreptitious delight. He set the brown derby 
 hat at a careless angle on the back of his head. 
 He flattered himself that he knew how to wear 
 clothes, and was not averse to showing himself in 
 this spotless, well-pressed costume in the lobby of 
 the hotel. Mrs. Elkhurst s narrative had steadied 
 him, but he was still young and full of the joy of 
 life. The touch of vanity in him only gave him a 
 trace of boyishness. 
 
 149 
 
150 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 He plunged into the aromatic maze of feathers, 
 silks and furs that thronged the lobby, with his 
 head erect. He was as good as anybody. He wove 
 jauntily in and out between the ladies and gentle 
 men in evening dress that crowded the corridors, 
 caught glimpses of merry diners, kindled to the 
 strains of an orchestra, drinking in the atmosphere 
 of wealth and pleasure. Then, round a corner came 
 Belle Charmion! It was as sudden as that. 
 
 She gave him a quick look and paused. He got 
 as an impression of her, only two soft hazel eyes 
 glancing humorously at him, and the smooth shad 
 ows of black lynx furs. He came to a stop to gaze 
 at her, and she suddenly turned. 
 
 "I beg pardon," she said, "but aren t you " 
 Then she blushed vividly. "Oh, I beg your par 
 don," she added hastily, "I thought you were 
 someone else." She cast down her eyes, confused, 
 and walked hurriedly away. John Fenton turned 
 and stared after her, his heart beating. What new 
 mystery was this that brought his dream-girl to 
 him, face to face ; that made her pause, speak, only 
 to hasten away? For a moment he was inclined to 
 start after her but already she was lost in the 
 crowd. He had, a second time, let his opportunity 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 151 
 
 slip away from him. Who was she? For whom 
 had she taken him ? What had she wished to say ? 
 Belle Charmion ! 
 
 Too much excited by the encounter to enjoy the 
 scene any longer, he went out the revolving door, 
 and turned west at Fifty-ninth Street toward Col 
 umbus Circle, making for the subway. He was 
 half-way across Seventh Avenue before his mind, 
 wandering from Belle Charmion for an instant, lit 
 upon the subject of carfare. Eagerly he went 
 through the pockets of the gray tweed suit. Not a 
 dime, nickel or penny did he find. Nothing save a 
 quill toothpick and a leaf from the wrapper of a 
 Wheeling stogie! He had dallied too long at the 
 Plaza; already the lady of the ruby necklace must 
 have left for the train to Philadelphia. 
 
 From Fifty-ninth Street to Wall Street is five 
 hard, weary miles. To walk it would take an hour 
 and a half, at least. If he could not think of some 
 way to raise at least five cents his adventure would 
 conclude in nothing more exciting than a midnight 
 tramp to a lonely bed, there to vanish in misty 
 dreams of what might have been. 
 
 He turned down Seventh Avenue, therefore, his 
 wits working at the problem, keeping his eyes open, 
 
152 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 the while, for any possible answer to it which 
 might casually approach him. But Seventh Avenue 
 was almost free of wayfarers. A policeman re 
 garded him with an icy eye. He passed a flushed 
 youth saying good-by to a pretty girl with an 
 eighty-five-dollar hat. He passed a small horde of 
 waiting conductors and motormen at the car barns. 
 In none of these did he find the answer to his rid 
 dle. Past the blinking electric signs heralding the 
 glad fact that "H. & L. Corsets make the Female 
 Form Divine," past theaters just ready to belch 
 forth their victims, John Fenton, betweeded and 
 anxious, strolled. He was thinking, thinking. Not 
 of Belle Charmion or Mrs. Elkhurst, now, not of 
 the octoroon or the Liars, but of the one elusive 
 nickel he needed for carfare to carry him further 
 on this Arabian Night s Entertainment. 
 
 He came to the Hotel Caxton and paused. Here 
 he was at the center of New York s night life, the 
 half-way station of gay rounders, one of the light 
 houses of Longacre Square, one of the many pal 
 aces of oysters, lobsters and champagne. Fenton 
 was a sober enough youth he knew this aspect of 
 the metropolis mainly through the newspapers, but 
 he was stimulated by feeling that he was now in the 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 153 
 
 locus of lively things. In a minute a rush of thea 
 ter-goers was upon him and he was swept along. 
 Hardly knowing why, he entered the Caxton and 
 stood in the lobby to devise some plan. He won 
 dered how confidence men worked their games. 
 He knew that in this part of the city clever wits 
 were as good as ready money. How could he work 
 it? But there was little need for Fenton s solici 
 tude. Fate had him in hand that night and there in 
 the lobby of the hotel two lovely ladies had already 
 marked him for their own. 
 
 They might have posed as "Night and Day," so 
 brilliantly were they contrasted. One was a spark 
 ling brunette, black of hair and eye, red of cheek, 
 vivacious, radiant, most gorgeously alive. The 
 other was a super-blonde. Her hair, sportive in 
 ringlets, charmingly careless, was shaded from gold 
 to silver, her eyes were violets. She was the sunny- 
 languorous type, passive, yet more compelling than 
 she of the dark, darting eye. Fenton, at his first 
 glance at her, knew that hundreds of men must 
 have been inflamed by her beauty. In it there was 
 little subtlety; it was a highwayman beauty, it 
 cried: "Hands up!" The other, the brunette, was, 
 however, something more than pretty one looked 
 
154 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 twice, and found something new to admire. Her 
 attraction had depths one longed to penetrate. 
 
 They stood, these two, attired in furs and 
 feathers, silks and lace, waiting by the door of the 
 dining-room and looked at him. Fenton felt some 
 thing extraordinary in their glance it was sus 
 piciously friendly. When they smiled and nodded 
 at him he felt uncomfortable; their beauty was 
 something too dangerous, and he walked uneasily 
 away. In a moment, however, a hall-boy overtook 
 him. Fenton was informed that the two ladies 
 wished to speak with him., So, amazed at the 
 honor, and wondering what new trick was now to 
 be turned, he walked over to them, and lifted the 
 brown derby. 
 
 The brunette s black eyes sparkled and she showed 
 her pretty teeth as she held out a white-gloved hand. 
 
 "Say, kid, you ain t going to cut an old friend, 
 are you ? Don t do anything like that !" 
 
 Fenton mumbled a kind of blurred apology. 
 
 "Why, I believe you don t remember me!" she 
 complained. The blonde s lip curled in a faint 
 smile; she shrugged her fur-clad shoulders and 
 looked away. 
 
 "Where was it I saw you ?" said Fenton puzzled. 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 155 
 
 fishing for some hint that would give him his cue. 
 
 The brunette laughed merrily. "The last time 
 I see you, you was hanging to the ropes when Jack 
 Ketchell was given the decision. No wonder you 
 forgot me!" The blonde looked dreamily off to 
 ward the theater office desk. She seemed to be in 
 a world of her own. 
 
 Fenton realized that the mistake was sincere. He 
 had evidently been taken for some pugilist with 
 whom the brunette had had a passing acquaintance. 
 The question was, who was he? He searched his 
 memory for the name of Jack Ketchell s unfor 
 tunate opponent. No answer. The only knowledge 
 Fenton had of current fistic events was derived 
 from the smart talk of a precocious office boy 
 at the drafting-room. Still, any port was good 
 in a storm, and Fenton thought he might turn the 
 mistake to his advantage in some way. Perhaps 
 these two beauties would pilot him out of his 
 straits. He grinned his best, therefore, and shifted 
 his feet. 
 
 "So you was at the fight?" he asked. Then it 
 occurred to him that the part of pugilist needed more 
 color. He emulated the tough office boy and his 
 talk. "Say," he said, getting into the swing of it, 
 
156 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "say, was you wise to the fact that I fit them last 
 t ree rounds with a broke thumb? Look at there !" 
 He held out his j-ight hand and wiggled the thumb 
 trickily. The brunette felt of it daintily. "Wot 
 you expect I could do with a pin like that?" he 
 asked triumphantly. 
 
 "I thought you was a little off your feed," the 
 brunette said. 
 
 "I was overtrained. Too fine," said Fenton. 
 "Next time I ll get him, and I ll get him good!" 
 
 Then, hoping to discover his name by the ruse, he 
 added, "Say, give me a knock-down to your friend, 
 Miss Peach-a-/a Melba." 
 
 The blonde so designated turned her head, and 
 seemed to approach slowly, from miles away. Her 
 smile was but a shadow, as she looked at him, as if 
 for the first time conscious of his presence. 
 
 "Miss Diamond," said the brunette, "shake hands 
 with Whack Harrison, ex-middle-weight champion 
 of the U. S." She turned to Fenton. "Is that 
 right, Whack?" 
 
 Fenton was thus much relieved. He at least 
 knew his name. How long he could maintain the 
 impersonation was another matter. It was a par 
 lous role. The blonde named Diamond extended 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 157 
 
 her fingers. Fen ton thought it not out of character 
 to squeeze them with a nut-cracker grip. It might 
 at least bring the yellow-haired girl to life. It did. 
 
 "Gee!" she exclaimed, shaking her hand in pain, 
 "you must think you re shaking with Kilgore before 
 a fight. That ain t no way to shake hands with a 
 lady !" She tossed up her head in scorn. 
 
 "That s right," said Fenton, "but you see when I 
 do make connections with a wonder-worker like you, 
 it s hard work breaking away from the clinch. I 
 guessed you hypnotized me for fair. I ain t used to 
 gold queens, much. Sort of takes my breath away 
 and I act foolish." 
 
 The blonde could not help smiling, and the ice 
 was broken. Fenton began to wonder what the 
 brunette s name was, and how to find out, when 
 Miss Diamond herself supplied the information. 
 She elevated her golden eyebrows and said, "Say, 
 Millie, how about the eats ? I m all in !" 
 
 "That s right," said the brunette. "Whack, we 
 was just going in to dissect a lobster and do a little 
 drown in the fizz. Won t you be among them pres 
 ent?" Her black eyes tore through him. 
 
 Fenton was conscious that every one in the hotel 
 lobby was staring at them. "Sure thing," he said, 
 
158 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 and then added, commandingly, "That is, if you eat 
 on me." 
 
 "Nothing like that in my family," said Millie 
 gayly. "I just drew my alimony. I m just padded 
 with greenbacks." 
 
 "None of that suffragette stuff!" said Fenton 
 sternly, keenly conscious that he could not pay for 
 a postage stamp. 
 
 "Don t you get gay, boyo ! Don t you know I in 
 vited you? Be good, now, and come on in!" 
 
 "Well, we ll settle it later," said Fenton, and 
 threw all responsibility to the winds, leading the 
 way to a table. He threw out his chest and his el 
 bows as he walked, strutting as nearly like the pic 
 tures he had seen in "Puck" as he could do it. Oh, 
 if he had only listened more carefully to that office 
 boy! 
 
 As they sat down, every one in the restaurant 
 turned to look at the party. Was it on account of 
 the miraculous blonde? She would have attracted 
 attention in a herd of angels. Was it on account of 
 the saucily pretty brunette, the dainty devil in petti 
 coats, with her flashing eyes ? No. Fenton realized, 
 with a sudden pang of alarm, that they had turned 
 to stare at Whack Harrison, the ex-welter-weight 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 159 
 
 champion of America. The responsibility of his 
 role almost overcame him. If he were to act the 
 pugilist there might be deeds as well as words re 
 quired. Who could tell what turn of the wheel 
 might force him to make good with his fists? Such 
 hero-worship as that with which the two ladies flat 
 tered him might be a bit too dangerous. He had 
 never had a real, out-and-out fight in his life ! Lo, 
 he had swaggered into the hotel full of cheek and 
 confidence ! Already the admiration he had so vicari 
 ously received had made him three parts a coward. 
 Would he have to make his exit in an ambulance ? 
 
 "Say, Whack," said Millie, leaning to him confi 
 dentially, "D you know why I wanted to see you 
 so bad? I ll put you wise. There s a fresh little 
 crab out there in the lobby that s been getting too 
 gay with us girls altogether. D you mind going 
 out there a minute and stroking him just one jab 
 for luck?" 
 
 Fenton s stomach flattened with fear. Miss Dia 
 mond turned her violet eyes upon him. He could 
 scarcely bear to look at her. "Hand him one for 
 me, Mr. Harrison," she said dreamily, and smiled 
 a bewitching smile. "I won t have no appetite till 
 I know he s good and lame," 
 
160 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "Who is he ?" Fenton inquired, trying to keep his 
 knees from knocking together. 
 
 "That s him, now!" Millie pointed to a man 
 standing in the narrow doorway. He had an evil 
 face. Fenton estimated his weight at over two hun 
 dred pounds. "It s Billy Presto, you know, Whack, 
 Lightning O Donnell s sparring partner. Lord, 
 you can eat him up ! Don t be long !" and she sped 
 him to his doom with a flashing smile. 
 
 Fenton rose and walked out, trembling all over. 
 His only coherent idea was to make a quick escape. 
 The cloakroom boy had taken his hat, but he would 
 forego that. He would escape out the side entrance. 
 He had, indeed, already hurriedly started that way, 
 when Mr. Presto approached him, and slapped a 
 heavy hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 "Hello, Whack," he said. "How goes it? Have 
 a cigar !" 
 
 Fenton s wits buzzed. "Say, I was just looking 
 for you, Presto," he said. "They was a couple of 
 swell skirts round here looking for you a half an 
 hour ago." 
 
 "Oh, is that so? Who were they?" Presto was 
 immediately intrigued. 
 
 "In a limousine car, they were. A little one and 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 161 
 
 a bigger one. Nectarines!" Fenton improvised. 
 "Crazy to find you. But wouldn t tell their names. 
 Said if I see you to say they d wait for you at the 
 Cafe Martin. Important!" Fenton gazed, with a 
 fine air of candor, at Billy Presto, but ready to 
 jump away from his fist at the first sign of incre 
 dulity. 
 
 The scheme worked. "Thanks, old man, bye-bye, 
 I ll skip right down there!" and Mr. Presto had 
 gone. 
 
 Fenton returned to the dining-room a little faint 
 and wobbly. "Well, I threw a good scare into 
 him," he explained, as he sat down. "I guess he 
 won t try to do no more goo-goo work round here 
 for one while. What d you want to eat, Millie?" 
 
 "Oh, we ve ordered." Millie looked at him ad 
 miringly. "Say, you re a wiz," she commented. 
 "Now, if that guy over at that table there don t try 
 any cute business on me, we can have supper." 
 
 "Where is he ?" Fenton demanded. 
 
 "Now, Millie, we don t want no fuss here," said 
 Miss Diamond. 
 
 Millie subsided, but was pleased. Fenton s appe 
 tite was gone. With every fond look his compan 
 ions lavished upon him he became more craven. 
 
162 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Well, he must at least put on a "front." He cud 
 geled his brain for memories of the office boy s talk. 
 
 "When are you going to meet Jake Kilgore 
 again?" Millie asked him. 
 
 "Next month, I guess. Say, you leave it to me 
 this time! I m going to train on nitric acid and 
 iron filings and live rats. Take it from me, girl, 
 I ll make him think of home and mother before the 
 first round is over. When I unhook my right and 
 connect with his dial, he ll act like a ferry boat with 
 a boy captain in a smoky fog. Say, did you ever 
 see a Mogul locomotive run over a pin ? That s me 
 and Kilgore. I m the choo-choo, see? Why, he ll 
 be a Royal Stuart plaid all over when I finish. 5 
 
 At this moment the waiter, pouring Millie s 
 champagne, hit the chair with his elbow, and the 
 wine spilled in Millie s lap. She gave a cry of 
 anger and began to mop her skirt with her napkin. 
 Fenton turned pale. Must he kill the waiter? He 
 jumped up and looked wildly about him for an es 
 cape. Miss Diamond put a fairy hand upon his 
 arm. 
 
 "Oh, don t make a fuss, Mr. Harrison !" she be 
 sought. 
 
 "I ll smash him into a biscuit Tortoni !" he roared. 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 163 
 
 Millie laughed. "Oh, Whack, really it was my 
 fault! Don t hurt him !" 
 
 Fenton heaved a sigh of relief, sat down, glow 
 ering, and the waiter made bold to approach and 
 tender his apologetic services. It was a narrow 
 escape. 
 
 "If I d unloosed that lariat wallop of mine," said 
 Fenton deliberately, glowering at the unfortunate 
 waiter, "I d have cut his head off just like slicing 
 an apple. But, good Lord, what s the use of muti 
 lating a Swede? It would muss me all up." He 
 turned modestly to his oysters. 
 
 "My, but you re savage !" murmured the blonde, 
 and she looked at him in a dreamy rhapsody that 
 made Fenton turn his eyes away for fear of being 
 hypnotized. Yes, she was too beautiful; she made 
 him feel weak. A dozen admiring sentences rose 
 to his lips but he knew so well she had heard them 
 all before that he would not speak them. He turned 
 to Millie, better able to compete with her sprightly 
 smile. It stimulated him. She plied him with ques 
 tions. She was curious as to everything connected 
 with his supposititious profession. Between her 
 catechism and Miss Diamond s ravishing smiles 
 Fenton found it hard to keep his head. His fictions 
 
1 64 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 grew wilder; he narrated impossible battles in the 
 squared ring. He professed to know every one 
 they mentioned, and indulged in fanciful flights of 
 biography. But, all the while, he was waiting for 
 his bluff to be called. His exposure was momentar 
 ily imminent. 
 
 He was aroused from these forebodings by the 
 sight of a colossal man standing in the doorway, 
 looking over the throng. He was a human masto 
 don, with a sour and ugly look that made Fenton s 
 flesh creep on his bones. The man s face was bat 
 tered and crooked, he had the jaw of a bulldog. To 
 Fenton s horror, he looked over at the ladies and 
 scowled meaningly. 
 
 "My God," said Millie, "it s Jim! What ll we 
 do? He ll be terrible jealous. Oh, Whack, you 
 will protect me, won t you?" She laid her hand on 
 Fenton s with a quick, convulsive grasp. 
 
 Even Miss Diamond awakened from her dreamy 
 pose. "He ll make a fuss, sure! Oh, Mr. Har 
 rison, don t hit him ! We d better get away quick !" 
 Her eyes shot blue sparks, now; she was wide 
 awake and without coquetry. Fenton trembled. He 
 half arose to fly, but was held by Millie s eager 
 hand, The man stalked sullenly over to the table. 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 165 
 
 "See here; what the devil does this mean, Mil 
 lie? I thought you was a-goin to eat with me?" 
 His voice thundered. All eyes in the room turned 
 to him. Millie was too frightened to speak. So, 
 for that matter, was Fenton. 
 
 "Who is this little shrimp, anyway ?" the stranger 
 demanded. "Say, young fellow, you better light 
 out before I kick you out." 
 
 Fenton jumped up and looked about, ready to 
 dodge the first blow. 
 
 "What s that you called me?" he demanded, with 
 what belligerency he could muster. His heart was 
 in his mouth. 
 
 "For God s sake, Whack, don t hit him! Don t 
 make a scene." It was the violet-eyed blonde who 
 screamed. 
 
 "Hit me!" the big man ejaculated. "Why, I ll 
 make mashed potatoes of him in three minutes, if 
 he don t get out of here!" 
 
 Millie shrieked. "Don t you touch him, Jim! 
 He ll kill you, if he turns himself loose. Why, it s 
 Whack Harrison, you fool!" 
 
 The big man stared. At that minute a waiter 
 came by with an armful of dishes, looking the other 
 way. Smash! he charged full tilt into Fenton s 
 
i66 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 back. Fenton fell forward toward Jim, and put 
 out his hands to save himself. At the same instant, 
 a fat German with a napkin tucked into his collar, 
 who was stolidly cutting a dill pickle at the next 
 table, punctured the rind, and the juice gushed 
 forth. The two accidents were exactly timed. Fen- 
 ton s outstretched hands fell hard on the big man s 
 chest, and a stream of brine hit Jim in the right eye. 
 He stumbled, fell backward, wildly waving his 
 hands. All over the room spectators shouted and 
 rose to their feet to witness the fray. The head 
 waiter came running up. Fenton, too, had fallen, 
 and fallen upon his prostrate foe. His companions 
 mingled their shrieks with those of the crowd. 
 
 "Don t let him get at him! He ll murder him!" 
 the girls entreated. "If he gets mad, he ll beat him 
 to pieces! He s Whack Harrison!" 
 
 Fenton hardly knew what had happened before 
 three waiters pulled him off Jim s supine body. 
 They raised him respectfully, however, anxiously 
 protecting themselves from his rage. The head 
 waiter came up to him and tried to calm Fenton 
 down, apologized, promised no further annoyance, 
 protested his own regrets, and then majestically 
 ordered the stranger to be removed from the room. 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 167 
 
 Angry as a trapped gorilla, shouting out hideous 
 oaths, Jim struggled against some seven or eight 
 waiters and guests. The war raged all the way to 
 the door of the dining-room, where the porters took 
 a hand. There the house detective had already tele 
 phoned for the police. The lobby was rilled with 
 strugglers and profanity till the law arrived and two 
 stalwart officers hustled the unfortunate man into 
 the patrol wagon. Then the guests who had left 
 their tables to watch the riot returned, gossiping 
 and laughing, to the cafe. Men stared at Fenton 
 in awe. Ladies gazed at him and talked under 
 their breaths. It took some time for the confusion 
 to simmer down and order to be restored. 
 
 All this while Fenton sat, proudly, staring at 
 vacancy with a forced smile upon his lips. The talk 
 around him buzzed of upper cuts and hooks, 
 punches, wallops and knockouts. The blonde tim 
 idly put the question that was agitating the whole 
 room. 
 
 "What was that punch you gave him, Mr. Har 
 rison?" she inquired with the lovelight in her melt 
 ing violet eyes. 
 
 Fenton considered it at leisure. "Oh, that smash ? 
 That was a new one my own invention. I call 
 
1 68 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 it the straight-arm double dill jab. It s got the 
 corkscrew to the solar plexus beaten to a whisper. 
 You work it like this." And Fenton illustrated a 
 complicated evolution with his left fist directed 
 against a champagne bottle. 
 
 "What are you doing now ?" Fenton asked, as the 
 supper proceeded. So far he knew little of his com 
 panions, and, if he was to get help from them, he 
 must make haste. 
 
 " The Girl in Red/ " said Millie. "Ain t you 
 been to see the show yet?" 
 
 Fenton confessed his ignorance of the play. 
 
 "Pm wearing twelve thousand dollars worth of 
 costumes," said Miss Diamond. "Four changes. 
 You ought to come." 
 
 It was then Fenton disclosed the full depths of his 
 innocence. "What part do you play?" he asked. 
 
 The ladies screamed with mirth. "Play a part! 
 That s good! Say, Whack, do we look foolish 
 enough to spend our time learning lines, with our 
 shape? What s the use of being a perfect thirty- 
 six? Forget it. You can always get girls to work 
 for a living. We re clothes-horses. Why, kid, d you 
 really think we could keep motor cars and wear gen- 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 169 
 
 nine blue fox, if we had to bark, mew and bray 
 when a dub stage manager told us? Not on your 
 mezzotint !" 
 
 "Oh," said Fenton, edified. "Then you re show 
 girls?" 
 
 "Professional beauties," murmured Miss Dia 
 mond. "We re what men buy opera-glasses for." 
 
 "But I had no idea showgirls got such good sal 
 aries!" 
 
 The girls looked at each other, shook their heads, 
 and then smiled at their interlocutor. Millie patted 
 Fenton s hand. "Say, kid, you may be all right 
 with your ring tactics, but you never ought to be 
 caught thinking in public when they s ladies present. 
 Eighteen a week is our regular pay. The rest is 
 perquisites." 
 
 "Oh, I got a trade, too. Ever traveled on the 
 subway?" Miss Diamond added. "I m the lady 
 with After-Dinner Gumdrops on a three-sheet. 
 That s right. Also the T. D. Slick Overshoes and 
 the O-I-Wansum Beer. " 
 
 She yawned and tapped her red lips the while, as 
 if she were playing a tune. "I say, Millie, did you 
 read in the paper where Janey Davis had made a 
 horrible punch in London?" 
 
1 70 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "Sure. She s starring what d you think of that! 
 Why, I knew her when she was an extra girl, too! 
 She was a freak, for fair. Did I ever tell you 
 about her and Mansfield ?" 
 
 Miss Diamond shook her head disinterestedly, 
 but as Fenton politely professed a desire to hear, 
 Millie took a final sip of champagne and began the 
 story : 
 
 THE GIRL WHO KNEW MANSFIELD 
 
 Yes, her real name was Jane Davis. Ain t that 
 a scream? For Heaven s sake, what s the use of 
 going on the stage if you can t beat the label you 
 had when you lived back in Baraboo ? When I asked 
 her about it she only said : "Why, that s my mother s 
 name; and I guess if it s good enough for her it s 
 good enough for me." Then she looked at me with 
 her big, hungry, brown eyes, like a little kid on the 
 corner watching a hokey-pokey cart. 
 
 She certainly was a queer one. Never had no use 
 for men and not much for women, either, at least 
 not them in the company. She used to sit around 
 in corners watching the rehearsals while the bunch 
 was carrying on and having fun. She used to talk 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 171 
 
 queer, too. Never was up-to-date at all; couldn t 
 jolly up for a cent. Remember how we used to guy 
 her for saying "not having had" and "were it not 
 that?" Why, she couldn t understand our slang 
 half the time. Sort of country, you know. Talked 
 like a reading-book. 
 
 That was when we was in the "Sinfire" company 
 my name then was Gloria Moyle and I was just 
 one of the bunch in the chorus trying to get solid 
 with the stage manager. Jane Davis was drawing 
 twelve a week. She had one line in the third act. 
 She lived with her mother in one room way over 
 on East Nineteenth Street. 
 
 Well, say, she was hard up, all right. Believe me, 
 she used to walk all over New York barefoot. 
 D you know what I mean? She had what looked 
 like shoes, but they wan t nothing really but a pair 
 of uppers. The soles were wore clear through, and 
 so was her stockings, I give her an old pair of 
 rubbers one day, and she wore em regular after 
 that. The girls used to guy her about it something 
 fierce. 
 
 Hard up ? You bet ! Didn t I tell you her mother 
 had rheumatic fever? That s right! The landlady 
 put her out of the house once, she groaned so loud 
 
1 72 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 when she was took bad. O course it cost Jane 
 about all she could hold out for doctors and medi 
 cines and all that. Twelve dollars don t go far. 
 
 Nobody in the company ever thought Jane was 
 anything more than a fool. You see, she was so 
 queer, and she d never make up to men or anything. 
 She wasn t pretty, but Lord, she could have grafted 
 all the free eggs she wanted if she d just thrown a 
 grin or two round plenty of the boys would have 
 staked her to an eat. But no, nothing doing with 
 Janey. Strictly on the prim. She had straight 
 black hair that she wore funny not a blessed rat in 
 it- a freak style of her own; say, it was a scream! 
 She did have pretty hands, though ; and that was a 
 funny thing, too; she could almost talk with em. 
 Her mouth was just like a baby s sort of trembly 
 and changing all the time, always different you 
 know how a kid s face works no repose. All the 
 same, when Janey Davis got mad believe me, then 
 she was a devil! She could just make the chills 
 crawl up and down your back. But you d never 
 believe it, to see her sitting in a corner reading a 
 book. You could almost tell what the story was 
 about just by watching her face. 
 
 Now, what was I going to tell you? Oh, yes! 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 173 
 
 About Mansfield. Why, a gentleman friend of 
 mine, Dusty Mclntyre, it was, him and me was 
 pretty thick that year, he gave me a couple of seats 
 for Mansfield at the New Amsterdam one day. He 
 got em off one of the stage managers you know 
 how Mansfield used to carry around about twenty- 
 seven different varieties of em? Of course, I nat 
 urally didn t go much on that high-brow stuff like 
 "Peer Gynt," and I was sore the pass wasn t for the 
 "Follies of 1907." But Janey was in the dressing- 
 room when I got a piece of a burnt match in my eye, 
 and she took it out for me after everybody else 
 wouldn t do it, and so I asked her did she want to 
 go. Say, you ought to seen that girl! She was as 
 excited as if Rockefeller had asked her to get mar 
 ried. So we went. Believe me, I near went to 
 sleep in the theater. The show didn t have no gin 
 ger in it. Slow. 
 
 Well, you take it from me, if that girl had just 
 come intoi town from southwestern Missouri, she 
 couldn t have acted more like a fool. She didn t 
 hardly speak only just twice in the whole show. In 
 the first act, you know, where Peer Gynt comes on 
 like a fourteen-year-old boy and lays down on the 
 stage and kicks up his heels, Janey turned round 
 
i/4 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 and looks at me with her big brown eyes, and 
 she whispers, "Who s that?" I says, u Why, that s 
 Mansfield, you little jay!" "Oh," she says, "I 
 thought he was a man!" Lord, how she stared! 
 Then in a minute what does she do but begin to 
 cry. Can you beat it? There he was, as funny as 
 a kitten with a catnip ball, doing kid stunts so you d 
 split laughing, and Janey blubbering away for fair. 
 Didn t I tell you she was queer? I never got an 
 other word out of the girl till the last act. You 
 know where they have that auction scene and 
 Mansfield comes on as an old man. Then Janey 
 asked me again just like before. She says, "Who s 
 that?" I says, "Ain t you got a program, or what? 
 That s Mansfield, o course ! Who else would it be 
 Clyde Fitch ?" And then she begins to cry again, 
 soft, to herself. I sat and watched the tears drip 
 down her face like a leaky hot water bag. She 
 certainly was a fool. 
 
 Well, we blew into Riker s to have a pistache 
 soda after the show and I just asked her what she 
 was crying at. She says, "Oh, he made me see all 
 sorts of things that wan t on the stage, at all. I 
 thought I was somewheres else," she says. What 
 d you think of that! What s a theater for, any- 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 175 
 
 way ? It s to show the act the author wants showed, 
 and that s all. Ain t that right? But I couldn t 
 make Janey see it that way. Would you think a 
 yap like her could ever act ? 
 
 Well, next noon I run down to her room to get 
 her to put a touch on a hat I d just bought. I d 
 paid eighteen dollars for it, but it wan t quite right. 
 Janey had a way of pulling ribbons round so you d 
 swear a hat was just imported. Clever, she was, 
 too, in a way. Ought really to have been a milliner. 
 Her mother was in bed as usual, groaning away 
 something fierce, and Janey was writing on an old 
 brown paper bag, ironed out flat. I offered to give 
 her some paper, but no, she wouldn t never take 
 nothing from nobody. I asked her what it was, and 
 she looked up kind of queer and she said she was 
 writing a letter to Mr. Mansfield. Can you beat 
 it? Mashed! And him getting his thousands a 
 week! 
 
 "What are you writing to him?" I says. 
 
 She smiled awful queer, and she says, "I m tell 
 ing him something I ll bet nobody has ever told him 
 before," she says. "I know a lot of things about 
 him nobody knows," she says. Well, that got me 
 mad. Didn t she have a nerve? Nothing but an 
 
1 76 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 extra girl, practically, at twelve a week, and him a 
 star! I was paralyzed. 
 
 "If you know all that," I says, "it s a wonder you 
 ain t starring yourself !" And she says, "there s an 
 other day coming," she says, "and I ll have my 
 chance yet !" She made me sick. Just one line was 
 all she had in the production. Why, she never even 
 had her name on the program! Mine was in with 
 the Butterflies and Patagonian Peasants and the 
 Merry-Marys, three times in all ! 
 
 You may not believe it, but about a week after 
 that she come into our dressing-room and says, "See 
 here, I want to show you something!" What d you 
 think? She sure had a photograph of Richard 
 Mansfield, with his name, and some writing on it, 
 too. "What is it, Latin?" I says. "No," says 
 Janey, "it s French." I asked her what did it say, 
 and she smiled and said, "You wouldn t understand, 
 Moyle, but it s something like Look inside! 
 Well, I certainly didn t understand, all right, nor I 
 don t yet; and I doubt if she did. I s pose Mans 
 field only sent it to her just for a cod. 
 
 Say, it was funny, though, when you come to 
 think of it, wan t it? Why, Mansfield was a holy 
 horror everybody knows that. Nobody could ever 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 177 
 
 get along with him, women or men. Why, his peo 
 ple used to leave him every week. He used to fire 
 about twenty every night and then take em back. 
 What in the world d you figure he sent Janey that 
 photo for? It beats me! 
 
 Anyway, Janey was tickled to death with it. 
 You d think it was a doll ; she used to carry it round 
 with her all the time. One time Floradora Billings 
 gate found it and drawed, a mustache on it with 
 grease paint, and say, wasn t Janey mad? She 
 snatched up a pair of scissors and went at Flo like 
 a Rocky Mountain wildcat, and the girls had to pull 
 her off. That was just before Janey was put into 
 the caste. 
 
 We never knew how she made that jump. Some 
 said she had money left her, and bought the part; 
 but I know better, Janey never had a cent in them 
 days. I expect she wasn t quite as country as she 
 looked, after all, and worked the manager. She 
 couldn t act, anyway! Lord, didn t I know her 
 when she was an extra woman ? The idea ! I guess 
 I know something about the stage. Why, Janey 
 actually had an idea that it didn t matter where you 
 put your feet or your hands. Now, anybody who s 
 ever been to a dramatic school knows when you put 
 
178 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 out your right hand you have to put out your right 
 foot, and a lot of rules like that. And Janey 
 couldn t read a line right to save herself. It 
 sounded just like ordinary talking it wasn t acting 
 at all. And she knew no more about how to use 
 her eye-brows than a cat. Oh, she paid for her pro 
 motion some way, you bet ! That s always the way. 
 Talent ain t no use whatever, compared to influence. 
 
 The day she was given the part of Alfalfa, in 
 "Sinfire," I came across her back near the property- 
 room. She had Mansfield s photo in her hand, and 
 she was a-kissing it. Ain t that the limit? I was 
 kind of mad to see a gawk like her put ahead and 
 I says to her, "If you got to kiss him, why the devil 
 don t you kiss him on the mouth?" She just give 
 me one scared look, and she says, "Oh, Moyle," 
 she says, "he s married!" What d you know about 
 that ! Didn t I tell you she was a fool ? She made 
 me sick. 
 
 "What, are you stuck on him?" I says. She 
 says, "If it hadn t been for him, I d never have been 
 promoted." Now you couldn t make me believe he 
 had anything to do with it I ain t so easy as all 
 that. So I asked her what she meant. She was 
 half laughing and half crying, and sort of silly. 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 179 
 
 She says, "I ve learned how to look inside ! " she 
 said. Can you beat it? She was foolish. Just 
 naturally foolish! Hadn t never seen him off the 
 stage ! 
 
 Well, it was about three weeks after that Janey s 
 mother died. Janey was all broke up. Anybody d 
 expect she d be glad to have it over with. Wouldn t 
 you think it would have got on her nerves to have 
 the old lady mewing like a tomcat every time her 
 shoulder-blade ached? She sure was an awful 
 bother. I didn t see Janey a stage hand we called 
 "Violets" told me. He had blue eyes and a broad 
 grin. He must have been kind of stuck on her 
 he used to claim she could act. You know how 
 them stage hands are, they think they know a lot. 
 He had an awful nerve. But wait. 
 
 He told me the funeral was going to be Sunday, 
 but I d just made a date with Dusty Mclntyre to 
 motor down to Luna Park, and so of course I 
 couldn t go. At least I had no idea I could, at the 
 time. Dusty looked too good to me. So I just 
 dropped Janey a post-card telling her I was sorry, 
 and all that, and if I could do anything to let me 
 know. 
 
 That was on a Friday. After the matinee next aft- 
 
i8o FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 ernoon, Janey come round to see me, and she asked 
 me would I lend her a quarter to pay for a telegram. 
 Of course I told her I d send it for her. I felt kind 
 of sorry for the little mouse, and she handed it over. 
 Oh her mother was at a little cheap undertaker s 
 over on the East Side. 
 
 Well, when I read that wire, I nearly had a fit. 
 Who d you think it was to? Richard Mansfield! 
 He was down at his country place in New London. 
 It only said : "Mother died yesterday. JANE DAVIS." 
 Wasn t she the crazy thing? She d got just one 
 photo out of him, and on the strength of that she d 
 gone to work and took him right into the family ! O 
 course I never sent it. I knew it wouldn t do at all. 
 He d have been wild. I told "Violets" about it, 
 though, and he said it was a nervy thing to do. I ve 
 often wondered since if he didn t send it himself, 
 though, after all. 
 
 We started out on Sunday, Dusty and me, about 
 ten o clock, in his Panhard. I had one o them two- 
 toned violet auto veils and a yellow silk coat on. 
 Just as we was half-way over the Williamsburgh 
 bridge something happened to the car and Dusty 
 got out. I looked back and I seen a funeral coming 
 and I got awful nervous, You know it s bad luck 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 181 
 
 to have one overtake you. But I looked round. 
 First come an open barouche, just crammed with 
 flowers. I give you my word, if they was one dol 
 lar s worth, they was five hundred. They was 
 fairly spilling into the road. After that was the 
 tackiest hearse I ever see. Then come one solitary 
 hack that s all. Gee ! It was the bummest funeral 
 procession I ever seen. Just as the hack passed I 
 saw Janey through the window, with a man setting 
 side of her; I couldn t catch his face. Then they 
 went by and Dusty fixed his machine and got in. I 
 told him about it, and I says to him, "Dusty, you 
 got to follow that funeral wherever they go. We 
 can run down to Luna Park later. They s certainly 
 something doing when Jane Davis has a hack-load 
 of flowers for her mother s funeral, and I want to 
 see who s putting up for it !" So we run along easy 
 behind em. 
 
 I thought, of course, it would be the potter s field 
 for hers, cause Janey hadn t got any relations at all 
 only her mother. But no, where did they go but out 
 to Greenwood Cemetery, and turned in up to a lot 
 under a big elm tree. 
 
 Of course we couldn t take the car in, but we 
 stopped where we could see who was there. First 
 
182 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 a man got out of the hack with a silk hat on; I 
 couldn t make him out, at first. Then come Janey. 
 Will you believe it, she didn t wear black and it 
 was her own mother s funeral, too ! She had on the 
 bum little blue suit she always wore. Wan t that 
 disgraceful? She might have shown some respect, 
 even if her mother had led her a life. Then the 
 man turned round, and my God, I see it was Rich 
 ard Mansfield! Say, can you beat it? Richard 
 Mansfield in a Prince Albert coat and a top hat 
 with his arm round Janey Davis like she was his 
 own daughter! And I give you my word he d 
 never seen her before that day ! 
 
 Well, I just sat there and gasped! Wouldn t you 
 think that a man like Mansfield would be above be 
 ing there at a little, miserable two-cent funeral 
 with a girl nobody had ever heard of, too? I should 
 think he d have been ashamed of himself! If a 
 man don t respect himself, who is going to respect 
 him, anyway? 
 
 Well, that was queer enough, but when I see they 
 didn t have no minister I nearly died. And, what 
 d you think? When they had the coffin on the 
 ground, side of the grave, I couldn t see that Janey 
 was crying a bit Mansfield took a little black book 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 183 
 
 out of his pocket and stood up straight at the 
 head of the coffin and begun to read. His voice 
 was so loud and clear we could almost hear it from 
 where we were. I was almost ashamed of the 
 profession by that time. But then, I always did 
 think Mansfield was a good deal of a bluff. 
 
 Then Dusty says to me, "Glo, I ain t never seen 
 Mansfield act. I m going to sneak up near there 
 and get a good look at him and hear him. This is 
 where I get an orchestra seat free!" Well, I let 
 him go, and I waited there in the car. 
 
 Well, Dusty walked up near 0ie lot. I could see 
 him standing there, listening, and after a while he 
 drew up nearer. When they begun to lower the 
 coffin into the grave Dusty come walking back slow. 
 I called out to him to hurry, for I was terrible 
 afraid Janey d spot me rubbering. In that yellow 
 coat, too! When he got a little nearer I see the 
 tears was just rolling down his cheeks. Dusty Mc- 
 Intyre was crying like a kid ! Ain t that the limit ? 
 I asked him what in the world he was crying about, 
 and he said it was something about his voice 
 Mansfield s voice. It got to him, some way, I dun- 
 no. I guyed him about it all the way to Luna Park, 
 but somehow Dusty wan t like himself all day. 
 
184 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 That was in nineteen seven. You know Mans 
 field died about six months after that; in Septem 
 ber, it was. 
 
 Well, I met Jane Davis at an agency the week 
 after he died, and what d you think ! She was all in 
 black ! When I said something to her about Mans 
 field she broke right down and cried. Now, what 
 d you know about that! A girl who wouldn t put 
 on mourning nor shed a tear for her own mother, 
 had the nerve to rig out in black for the swellest 
 star in the business! I call her a thoroughbred 
 snob! 
 
 Fenton looked at the girl, now, with a revulsion 
 of feeling. She no longer amused him, and Miss 
 Diamond seemed less beautiful. Already he had 
 stayed too long. And yet his object had not been 
 accomplished. 
 
 Miss Diamond yawned again. "Say, Millie, I 
 got to get home," she said. "Let s go." 
 
 At that, Millie called the waiter hovering near, 
 and asked for the check. He handed it to her. Fen- 
 ton made a feeble protest, but she waved it aside, 
 and tossed him a gold-linked purse across the table 
 cloth. Fenton glanced at the bill, found it was 
 
THE CAXTON DINING ROOM 185 
 
 $9.40, and took out a crisp, new ten-dollar bill. 
 The waiter fled. 
 
 There would be sixty cents change, thought Fen- 
 ton. Part of that he must have and make his 
 escape. He watched the waiter to the cashier s desk 
 and saw him returning. He calculated the time to 
 a second, and, just as the man was within six feet 
 of him, he called out, pointing to the door : 
 
 "Gosh! there s your friend back already!" 
 
 The girls turned and gazed. Fenton took the 
 dime from the proffered plate, slipped it into his 
 pocket, and handed Millie her purse. It was a vic 
 tory. The waiter stood and stared contemptuously. 
 What did Fenton care ? Not a whit ! Now, to get 
 away! 
 
 The cloak room boy brought him his hat, and, as 
 he waited for a tip, Fenton eagerly collogued the 
 blonde. The three walked to the hotel lobby. 
 Obsequious head waiters gazed at them in admira 
 tion. A buzz went through the corridor when Fen 
 ton, alias Whack Harrison, appeared. He was the 
 hero of the place. He glanced at the clock. Both 
 hands stood at eleven. He must hurry. 
 
 "Say, you can take us home, if you want, 
 Whack !" Millie s fond eyes shot sparks at him, 
 
i86 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "All right," he said, "just wait till I get some 
 cigarettes." 
 
 He turned, walked to the cigar counter and be 
 yond. Once out of sight, he ran for the side door. 
 
VIII 
 THE SUBWAY EXPRESS 
 
 CONCERNING THE PHILOSOPHIC THEORY OF PROFAN 
 ITY AS AN ART, AND ITS PRACTICAL APPLICA 
 TION AS A SCIENCE; AND THE DOINGS OF 
 FENTON S EX-MASTER 
 
 WITH a grim smile upon his lips and a great 
 strain off his mind, John Fenton emerged 
 stealthily from the side entrance of the Hotel Cax- 
 ton and walked rapidly toward Times Square. His 
 adventure had been like a dream like a dream it 
 had been silly, but splendid. What he had been 
 through that evening, since first he approached 
 Times Square, as he was approaching now ! He had 
 a dime in his pocket as he walked into the lobby of 
 the Hotel Knickerbocker to collect his thoughts and 
 lay his plans. 
 
 Should he try again to get the octoroon on the 
 telephone and leave it to chance to get back from 
 down-town? He sat down at a table and looked at 
 his dime thoughtfully, then grimly decided to leave 
 
i88 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 it to Fate. Fate evidently had him in mind, that 
 night, so let come what would. Heads for precau 
 tion, and the saving of five cents for his return; 
 tails for communication with the octoroon and luck. 
 He tossed up the coin, and it fell tails up. So mote 
 it be! He walked to a drug store and rang up the 
 King William Hotel. Miss Green had registered, 
 said the clerk, but did not answer. Selah! The 
 fates would provide, and, with a smile on his lips, 
 like a desperate traveler who casts himself into a 
 stream without a ford, hoping to get to the other 
 side safely, Fenton plunged into the subway and 
 took a local train to the Grand Central Station, 
 where he transferred to a down-town express. 
 
 He must get to the St. Paul Building. What he 
 could accomplish there, how he could possibly re 
 cover the jewels, he had no idea. But, once launched 
 upon this adventurous emprise, he was determined 
 to see it through and make what fight he could. It 
 worried him that he had to work in the dark, with 
 no help or guidance, but he had no choice. 
 
 There were only two passengers in the car he en 
 tered. One was a stout man-o -war Jackie consid 
 erably under the influence of a joyous shore-leave, 
 the other a globular, puffy gentleman with a pirat- 
 
THE SUBWAY EXPRESS 189 
 
 ical mustache which he seemed to be continually 
 eating. Fenton sank into a reverie, and his thoughts 
 wandered like a homing dove to Belle Charmion. 
 Who was she? what had she intended to say to 
 him? what mysterious fate was bringing them 
 continually together? 
 
 Suddenly, he awoke from his musing to find the 
 train had stopped. He waited for several minutes 
 and it did not start. Local after local passed them 
 by, with the exasperating way that locals have of 
 beating the express when the track is blocked. He 
 went forward to speak to the guard, and found the 
 door locked. There was some trouble ahead. 
 
 The sailor began to swear. His impatience grew 
 more and more profane. He would lose his ship, 
 he would be rebuked, he didn t care so much for the 
 money, but to think that he had to be at the mercy 
 of a landlubber s hole-in-the-ground. All this em 
 bellished with horrid adjectives. 
 
 Fenton smiled and returned to his seat. The 
 puffy gentleman came over and asked what was the 
 matter. Fenton didn t know. Well, they had to 
 make the best of it. The man-o -war s man became 
 more and more abusive. 
 
 Again the man with the fierce whiskers remarked 
 
190 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 that one had to make the best of it. Nobody could 
 hurry a subway train. One couldn t put a burr un 
 der its tail to make it jump, you know. When he 
 was not chewing his mustache he was wiping it off 
 with the flat of his hand. 
 
 That Jackie can sure swear some/ said Fenton, 
 finally. 
 
 "Swear? Nonsense! Profanity is a fine art! 
 That illiterate chap knows only the merest rudi 
 ments." 
 
 "Well, they re good Anglo-Saxon rudiments, any 
 way," Fenton said, smiling at his friend s serious 
 tone. 
 
 "H m! Anglo-Saxon! It takes an Arab to really 
 swear. You can get a real sensation in Semetic 
 we re afraid to really use English to its greatest ef 
 fect. Queer, isn t it, how we are the domination of 
 language? We have certain words that are arbi 
 trarily considered vulgar. And we so-called civil 
 ized people have come to the point when the only 
 way we know to emphasize our sentiments is by 
 spicing them with impropriety. If that is the correct 
 method, why the Spanish have done the best of all. 
 The English come next, perhaps especially the 
 Elizabethan literature great power of invective 
 
THE SUBWAY EXPRESS 191 
 
 they had look at John Webster ! but Lord ! think 
 of the French and the Germans! Child s play, sir! 
 Mere child s play ! How can an intelligent man con 
 sider he gains force by mentioning a pot of thunder 
 or a sacred color ? Or calling upon the thunder and 
 lightning." 
 
 "Oh, the secret of it is sacrilege, I fancy," said 
 Fenton, willing to humor him. "Men like to defy 
 higher powers it shows courage." 
 
 "Is Thousand Pots a higher power ?" the stranger 
 replied. "No, sir. The basis of all profanity is 
 sound. The appeal is not to the mind, but to the 
 ear. I defy you to name a single oath, modern or 
 ancient, that is not euphonious that doesn t have 
 an oral magnificence. Wait a minute. We will 
 probably have to stay here a while. I ll tell you a 
 story to prove what I mean. There s one man in 
 Brooklyn who has perfected profanity and made a 
 science of it." 
 
 "Here we go, now," said Fenton. "I guess that 
 was only a fuse blown out. I once knew a man " 
 he began. 
 
 The train had started, but the little man had al 
 ready started also, and, as station after station was 
 slowly passed, he narrated his story. 
 
192 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 THE AFFILIATED NON-CURSERS PARADE 
 
 D you know, Brooklyn is one of the queerest 
 places in the whole world! All sorts of strange, un 
 canny things happen; when you once cross the 
 bridge, you re in a new world. Your brain changes 
 you begin to see things pink. I live in Brooklyn 
 myself in some ways it s as good as living abroad. 
 I imagine Mars, when they have an election on, is 
 something like the Borough of Brooklyn. 
 
 They call it the City of Churches. Huh! I call 
 it the City of Brainkinks. Nobody really knows 
 anything definite about the town. Ask a cop how 
 to get to Flatbush Park Terrace, and he doesn t 
 know. Nobody knows. If you get there, you ll 
 never find the way back. 
 
 You wouldn t believe half the things that are 
 true about Brooklyn. Ever hear of the "King s 
 County Croquet Club" that meets at Prospect Park? 
 I thought not. What did I tell you? What sane 
 person would believe that there was a city in the 
 United States that played croquet nowadays? 
 Championship games, too. Ain t it awful? 
 
 Why, there s a chess club that you can see work 
 ing at the job in full daylight from the Brooklyn 
 
THE SUBWAY EXPRESS 193 
 
 "L"! Believe me some of these games last for years 
 at a stretch like a Chinese drama. Men grow old 
 during a single gambit. Then there s the "Flatbush 
 Brides Cooking Class." Can you beat that? Think 
 of the biscuits like-your-wife used to make! 
 
 Why, mister, I know human beings, over there, 
 that sleep under violet glass all night to cure sore 
 eyes. The banks fail regularly every year. They 
 have a children s procession in May nobody knows 
 what for. They sell real estate that s under water, 
 and you have to get a glass-bottomed boat to find 
 your front yard. 
 
 No, if you re a Brooklynite, when you come back 
 from work at night you have no idea what your 
 wife s been elected to, during the day. It s all one 
 co-operative, co-educational madhouse; but the one 
 craziest thing of all is the Affiliated Non-Cursers. 
 Ever heard of it? No? I thought not! 
 
 Well, a lot of religious high-brows, a few years 
 ago, formed this society to suppress swearing. 
 Every member is pledged never to use a cuss-word, 
 and to frown on all blasphemy and sundry. Oh, 
 when the executive committee gets into a good, fat 
 row, it s worth being present. They have to mix 
 Volapiik and Esperanto ! 
 
194 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Well, the president of the society, this year, is old 
 Dr. Hopbottom. What s the matter? Every heard 
 of him? An old, yellow-skinned, goat-bearded 
 quack doctor, one of these psalm-singing skinflints 
 you know ! This year he proposed a parade of the 
 Affiliated Non-Cursers; and the idea caught on 
 great. It was a big show, but Brooklyn thought 
 nothing of it. Why, over there, when the circus 
 comes to town, they have to paint the elephants in 
 Scotch plaids and put side whiskers on the zebras 
 before any one will turn round and look. People 
 in Brooklyn see too much woozly stuff every day to 
 be surprised at anything. So the parade didn t at 
 tract much attention at first. 
 
 They had all the school children out little girls 
 in white muslin and blue ribbons, boys in pink sailor 
 suits with little white flags. P. D. Q. Y. M., the 
 Social Uplifters, the Sons of Jehu, the Ethical 
 Army, the Ancient Order of Goheevians, the Mys 
 tic Livers, the Anti-Dope Fiends, the Shu pm-pu- 
 pm and everything. Dr. Hopbottom certainly 
 rounded up a good big bunch of non-cursers. He 
 had em in platoons, with banners and badges and 
 brass bands and decorated drays and marshals with 
 batons, just like a regular procession of the Native 
 
THE SUBWAY EXPRESS 195 
 
 Sons of the Golden West. He was at the head of 
 the parade on a white horse, with a tall hat tied 
 round with white ribbons, like Napoleon crossing 
 the Delaware, solemn as the Archangel Gabriel. 
 Pleased ? Why, the doctor was one broad, voluptu 
 ous grin! He took off his hat right and left regular, 
 every block. 
 
 So far, so good. The parade was a great success 
 till it got to a given point down by the Borough 
 Hall. Then came the big wind. 
 
 There was an ex-sailor named Gilhooligan driv 
 ing up a side street on a dray loaded with railroad 
 iron bingety-bang-slam-smash-rumble-rattle-z/>- 
 clattery-c?w#/ You know how a load of steel rails 
 can yelp, when they re properly loaded on a truck. 
 Gilhooligan had four big black Percherons, and he 
 had an idea he was operating an ancient Roman 
 chariot and the whole world had to get out of his 
 way. He tried to drive smack through the middle 
 of the procession, but the non-swearing enthusiasts 
 wouldn t have it ; they sat tight. 
 
 Then for a few minutes, there was a sprightly 
 duel of verbiage and diction. Gilhooligan went at 
 them with a thousand franetic figures of speech, 
 and the white-ribbon purists came back with a lot 
 
196 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 of sterilized and highly perfumed talk on the other 
 side of the question. Gilhooligan got rather the 
 best of it "Fiddlesticks!" and "Oh, bother" and 
 "Mercy me!" had no show at all with the way he 
 handled English. Why, he swung eighteen-syllabled 
 oaths round by the tail, hitting right and left. But 
 still, they didn t let him through. The little boys 
 yelled "Oh, pickles!" and the ladies attacked him 
 with "Ain t he horrid!" Of course they couldn t 
 go farther though for a little while, several resig 
 nations from the society were momentarily expected. 
 Gilhooligan talked to them the way an army driver 
 pets a mule. Yes, the gift of tongues certainly de 
 scended upon Gilhooligan, till the air was a deep, 
 exquisite magenta for miles around. You could 
 actually smell his language. 
 
 At last the news traveled from one Sunday school 
 to another, clear up to the head of the procession 
 where Dr. Hopbottom was straddling his stately 
 steed. When he found out what was doing, he 
 turned that white horse, and came back toward 
 Borough Hall at a wild-bull gallop, the white rib 
 bons streaming out from his top hat and his whis 
 kers flying. It was like General Sheridan twenty 
 
THE SUBWAY EXPRESS 197 
 
 miles away. It was like Paul Revere it was like 
 the ride from Ghent to Aix. 
 
 You say you ve heard of Dr. Hopbottom? Well, 
 then, you know what an ingenious old crank he is. 
 Of course he doesn t swear it s wicked! But he 
 had long ago figured it out, like I told you, what 
 was the psychological motive for curses. Brain 
 storms have just got to happen, sometimes, and 
 what a man needs at such times is a good, satisfac 
 tory bunch of exclamations to hurl into the mess. 
 Being a scientific man he knew not only the cause, 
 but the remedy. So it was easy; he invented his 
 own inocuous expletives whenever the time came. 
 
 Well, he came galloping down toward the row. 
 Gilhooligan s profanity carried for about thirteen 
 city blocks, so that by the time the doctor got with 
 in range, he had his fires lighted and steam up. He 
 reined up, and let out a stream of talk, something 
 like this : 
 
 "What the hypo-fenyltry-brom-propionic-hiatus 
 is the purple matter here, anyway? Why the syn- 
 . copated, Senegambian high-ball don t you move on, 
 what?" 
 
 A thousand voices answered; a thousand trem- 
 
198 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 bling hands pointed angrily to Gilhooligan. The 
 doctor two-stepped his horse up to the Irishman. 
 
 "You get the deoxidized Dalmation way out of 
 here, you epigrammatic blastoderm, d you hear?" 
 
 Gilhooligan broke loose again. I can t really 
 quote his speech aright. Shorn of its linguistic 
 splendors it read something like: "Move your 
 blankety-blank-dashed line of unquotable objects 
 open, and let me get through, you blanked dash of 
 an indescribable animal, I want to get by !" 
 
 The doctor then proceeded to get mad. He shook 
 his fist at Gilhooligan and yelled: "See here, you 
 clavodeltoid compresbyterial galravaging Gonop- 
 teryx, do you think I ll take any of your pansper- 
 matic post-eocene retromorphosed labefaction? 
 You inebriant heliometric hallan-shaker, you; you 
 giscoderm, you green-gilled sesquipedalian, if you 
 give me any more of your cognominate gargaristic 
 fumentatious benzaldehyde, I ll have you pragmati 
 cally arrested." 
 
 I wish I could give Gilhooligan s answer, but I 
 daren t. If it were printed for use in the public 
 schools, it would have to be printed almost exclu 
 sively in dashes and asterisks. 
 
 But it made the doctor really angry. The mem- 
 
THE SUBWAY EXPRESS 199 
 
 bers of the league held their breaths, and gathered 
 round in a circle now, knowing that the event of the 
 evening was about to take place. A hush. The Hop- 
 bottom mouth got ready to act. The doctor shook 
 his fist again and started in earnest. His voice be 
 gan with calmness and deliberation, but soon rose 
 high it swept forth in a majestic declamation full 
 of all sorts of forte, staccato and crescendo effects to 
 the noble climax. 
 
 "See here, you slack-salted transubstantiated in- 
 terdigital germarium, you rantipole sacrosciatic 
 rock-barnacle you, if you give me any of your cap- 
 rantipolene paragastrular megalopteric jacitation, 
 I ll make a lamellibranchiate gymnomixine parabolic 
 lepidopteroid out of you ! What diacritical right has 
 a binominal oxypendactile advoutrous holoblastic 
 rhizopod like you got with your trinoctial ustilagi- 
 nous Westphalian holocaust blocking up the teleos- 
 tean way for, anyway ! If you give me any more of 
 your lunarian, snortomaniac hyperbolic pylorectomy, 
 I ll skive you into a megalopteric diatomeriferous 
 auxospore! You queasy Zoroastrian son of a heli- 
 copteric hypotrachelium, you, shut your logarithmic 
 epicycloidal mouth! You let this monopolitan ma- 
 crocosmic held form procession go by and wait right 
 
200 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 here in the anagological street. And no more of 
 your hedonistic primordial supervirescence, you rec 
 tangular quillet-eating, vice-presidential amoeboid, 
 either!" 
 
 Mr. Gilhooligan slowly descended from his dray, 
 approached Dr. Hopbottom, and took off his hat. 
 "I beg your pardon, sir," he said, weakly, "but 
 would you mind repeating them last three remarks ? 
 I didn t rightly hear." 
 
 The doctor, with sweat dripping from his yellow 
 cheeks, did it again, and then some. By the time he 
 had finished the dictionary was pretty well disem 
 boweled. The crowd cheered. 
 
 "I beg your humble pardon," said Gilhooligan, 
 when the doctor had finished. "I had no idea it was 
 as bad as that. I take off my hat to you. Man and 
 boy, I have followed the sea for forty years. I have 
 been a Mississippi River pilot, I have run a whaler. 
 I have been the mate of a cockroach schooner and 
 I ve blackbirded all along the west coast of Africa. 
 I know mules and I know niggers, and how to coax 
 em. But I see a plain, sea-faring man has no show 
 with a doctor when it comes to exhibiting language 
 in public. I ll say this for you ; they ain t your beat 
 for square-rigged, black-and-tan cursing in the seven 
 
THE SUBWAY EXPRESS 201 
 
 seas. And I think that if this here society what s 
 running this here procession can turn out graduates 
 of the noble art of profanity like you are, I want 
 to say this : Give me the pledge, and I ll sign it. I 
 need some of your talk in my business!" 
 
 The doctor led the way, amidst awed thousands, 
 to a great white dray, decorated with lilies. There, 
 upon a black walnut reading desk was exhibited the 
 pledge book, a huge brass-bound tome, covered with 
 white vellum. Gilhooligan mounted the dray, and, 
 with great effort, and much chewing of his tongue, 
 he signed his name. A chorus of hurrahs was given, 
 followed by the Chautauqua salute of waving hand 
 kerchiefs. 
 
 Then, after tying white ribbons to the tails of Gil- 
 hooligan s black horses, and pinning a pink satin 
 badge two feet long on the breast of Gilhooligan s 
 jumper, the procession parted in the middle. He 
 drove his clanking truck-load of railroad iron into 
 the space and Dr. Hopbottom, victorious, galloped 
 proudly back to the head of the line. 
 
 Twenty little blue-eyed girls in white muslin were 
 lifted up beside Gilhooligan the convert, and, as the 
 procession slowly started they set up, in their child 
 ish treble, their marching song; 
 
202 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "Angry words ! Oh let them never 
 
 From the tongue, unbridled slip ! 
 May the heart s best impulse ever 
 Check them ere they soil the lip! 
 
 Fenton laughed freely, for the first time that 
 eventful evening. His memory of Dr. Hopbottom 
 was still fresh enough in his mind for him to pic 
 ture the scene. "What s the doctor up to, lately?" he 
 inquired. 
 
 "Why, the last time I saw him, he told me he had 
 some great scheme to make a thousand dollars 
 easy," was the reply. "It seems he s doing a little 
 detective work, on the side." 
 
 The train now began to slow down, approaching 
 a station. Fenton glanced out, saw the sign "Wall 
 Street" and rose to go. "Detective work?" he in 
 quired, hurriedly, "what did he mean?" 
 
 "He s looking after some lost boy, I believe. 
 There s a big reward offered for him, and " 
 
 The train had already stopped. Fenton had no 
 time to hear more, and the words bore no meaning 
 for him. After he had run out, however, and had 
 begun to ascend the stairs of the subway exit, the 
 words came back like a retarded echo "a lost boy 
 a big reward," and he stopped suddenly and be- 
 
THE SUBWAY EXPRESS 203 
 
 gan to think. Dr. Hopbottom after a lost boy? Per 
 haps it was he himself, Fenton! The reappearance 
 of Mangus O Shea into his life had already stirred 
 up conjectures. If it were himself what could it 
 mean? Well, there seemed to be no answer of all 
 the strange questions he had put to himself con 
 cerning this night s adventures nothing as yet had 
 any answer for him. He seemed destined to go from 
 one mystery to another blindfold. Of one thing, 
 however, he was sure ; the one mystery he most de 
 sired to have solved was the riddle : "Who is Belle 
 Charmion?" 
 
IX 
 THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 
 
 WHEREIN JOHN FENTON DISCOVERS A DEAD BODY, 
 
 REGAINS POSSESSION OF CERTAIN JEWELS, AND 
 
 IS BESOUGHT TO TAKE THE PLACE OF A 
 
 TITLED IMPOSTOR 
 
 HIS mind was busy with her, as he walked down 
 Broadway. Belle Charmion! Surely she was 
 worth conjecture. Belle Charmion! The two 
 glimpses he had had of her, the few words they had 
 exchanged, had fanned the flame of fancy which 
 her portrait had first ignited. Her whimsical face, 
 her graceful, expressive hands, her lithe, slim fig 
 ure something in the quality of her warm, fresh, 
 olive skin made him feel actually weak when he 
 thought of her. He confessed to himself that he was 
 pretty far gone. Belle Charmion ! Belle Charmion ! 
 He wanted her more than anything on earth ! But, 
 meanwhile, he had to go through what he had 
 planned to do. A wild-goose chase, no doubt, but 
 he would follow it to a finish. 
 
 He finally reached the entrance of the St. Paul 
 204 
 
THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 205 
 
 building, a twenty-one story pile of granite carved 
 into Romanesque shapes, and had turned in to enter, 
 when he saw a man waiting in a doorway he had 
 just passed. Fenton stopped and took a second look 
 at him a muscular man in a brown derby hat, and 
 a shepherd s plaid suit. There was no possible doubt 
 of it; it was the same man he had first seen in Schef- 
 fel Hall with the outline of a revolver bulging from 
 his hip pocket it was the same man he had caught 
 a quick glimpse of in the lobby of the Hotel Plaza. 
 Here was another puzzle ! Was he being followed, 
 and if so, why? A mad night, indeed! How would 
 it end? 
 
 He went in, struggling with this new problem, 
 looked at the directory table on the wall, and found 
 the name of "Nailery & Co." Opposite was the num 
 ber of the firm s office, 1376. Only one of the three 
 elevators was running. In the car a negro boy was 
 sitting on a stool, reading "Middlemarch." Fenton 
 entered. 
 
 "Thirteenth floor," he said, and the boy reluc 
 tantly closed his book, slammed the door and pulled 
 back the controller. The elevator shot up. 
 
 "Round on the left," said the boy, as Fenton 
 emerged, and the car descended. 
 
206 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Fenton walked round a corner of the corridor and 
 came point-blank to a door painted with the name of 
 "Nailery & Co., Mining Brokers." There he 
 knocked. He had no idea what he should do when 
 the door was opened; he had made no plan. He 
 would make up his mind what part to play as soon as 
 the situation was found. Meanwhile, as he waited, 
 he thought he heard a hurried sound of feet . . . 
 the soft click of a closed door. ... He listened 
 now, more carefully. Still there was no answer. He 
 knocked again, louder. All was silence. Then, angry 
 at the delay, wishing to bring matters to a crisis, he 
 turned the handle, opened the door and walked in. 
 
 He found himself in a small office, part of which 
 was shut off by a wooden railing. Behind this were 
 a couple of roll-top desks, a letter press, a type 
 writer, a filing cabinet, and other ordinary pieces of 
 cheap office furniture. There was nobody there, 
 however, and so, seeing a door in one wall marked 
 "Private" Fenton went through the gate, strode up 
 to it and knocked with determination. 
 
 Still no answer. He hesitated for a moment. It 
 was carrying things rather far to force himself in, 
 this way, but he wanted to come to an end of the 
 adventure as soon as possible. He knocked again, 
 
THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 207 
 
 then, impatient at the silence, boldly opened the 
 door. 
 
 He saw a carpeted room with a single roll-top 
 desk and several chairs. Two of these were over 
 turned and, between them, supine upon the floor was 
 the body of a man, lying in a puddle of blood. 
 
 Fenton stood, for a moment, in the doorway, fas 
 cinated by the aw fulness of it he was unable to 
 move. It seemed unreal, impossible, like a wild 
 dream. His first impulse was to stifle his exclama 
 tion of alarm, shut the door and make his escape as 
 quietly and quickly as possible. Next, despite his 
 sick feeling of horror, despite a dominant fancy 
 that this thing was not, could not be true, came the 
 realization that he should go to the rescue of the 
 man, and give him aid, if it was not already too late. 
 He forced his will to move his body, stepped for 
 ward and knelt beside the form. One look into those 
 open, staring eyeballs told him that the man was 
 dead. 
 
 But, as he looked at the pale face more deliber 
 ately, the horror gave way to pathos. The dead man 
 was wonderfully beautiful, picturesque, even poetic. 
 By his crisp, curling hair, the finely molded fea 
 tures, the width of his forehead, the small delicate 
 
208 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 mustache, the body might have been that of Edgar 
 Allan Poe. The skin was as fair as a child s, the lips 
 sensitively parted, showed perfect teeth ; the slender 
 hands were like a woman s gracefully expressive in 
 their relaxed gesture. All this would have pre 
 vented the corpse seeming dreadful, had not that 
 oozing red spot upon the shirt front told a tale of 
 murder. Fenton drew down the lids over the glassy 
 eyeballs with scarcely a feeling of revulsion, and 
 then slowly arose, still held by the potent fascination 
 of death. Then his eyes wandered about the room, 
 and stopped at a gray ooze-leather bag some little 
 distance away from the body. He walked over to it 
 and picked it up. He pulled it open and received a 
 new sensation. 
 
 The bag was crammed with jewels ! For the sec 
 ond time, that night he was in possession of the 
 Brewster collection. That fact decided him. What 
 ever had happened in this dreadful office, it was his 
 plain duty to take the jewels, and deliver them as he 
 had promised. His own safety and theirs, de 
 manded that he make his escape without delay 
 there was no knowing when some one might come 
 it would be dangerous, disastrous to be discovered 
 there with the corpse. 
 
THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 209 
 
 Buttoning the bag under his coat, therefore, he 
 gave one swift look at the dead man, and went into 
 the outer office. Here he paused a moment to con 
 sider. It was improbable that any other exit than 
 the front door of the building would, at this time of 
 night, be open. The safest way, if indeed, not the 
 only way, would be to go boldly down the elevator, 
 as he had come up. He must take his chance, at any 
 rate. A glimpse into a mirror showed his face a 
 deathly white. He took a towel from the washbowl 
 and rubbed his cheeks violently, till the color had 
 returned. If he could only efface the horror in his 
 heart as easily ! The image in his eyes had faded so 
 that, now the door was closed, he could hardly be 
 lieve that what he had seen was true, but a feeling 
 of faintness warned him that the shock had gone 
 deep. He waited a moment for his weakness to pass, 
 then summoning all his resolution, left the office and 
 rang the elevator bell. 
 
 He scarcely dared look at the elevator boy as the 
 car descended. The air seemed close and stifling. 
 Without a glance to right or left he walked unstead 
 ily out the great doorway. On the sidewalk the night 
 breeze revived him, and he started to walk briskly 
 north along Broadway. At each step his courage 
 
210 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 and his relief increased. He shook off his obsession, 
 pacified his conscience with the thought that there 
 was nothing he could haye done, and turned his 
 thoughts to planning his next move in the curious 
 game of chance which he seemed destined to play 
 that night. 
 
 Here he was again with the Brewster treasure, 
 but again without a cent in his pocket and now still 
 farther away than ever from his destination. As he 
 walked along the canyon of high buildings the 
 clocks rang midnight. How was he to get up-town ? 
 
 He had not gone many blocks deliberating this 
 question, when he heard a motor-car coming his 
 way, behind him. It was proceeding slowly, a chauf 
 feur driving, and a gentleman muffled up in a pep 
 per-and-salt coat in the tonneau. He was a little 
 blonde man of forty with a patient, resigned look, a 
 man with a pale, careworn face and a lizard s chin. 
 His mouth was slightly open; he had white eye 
 brows; altogether, his face betokened no great 
 strength of will. He looked at Fenton anxiously, as 
 he passed, and turned to look again almost as if he 
 intended to speak, but didn t quite dare. 
 
 Fenton grasped the possibility and hailed the car. 
 "Give me a lift up-town?" he asked. 
 
THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 211 
 
 The man looked him up and down. "How far 
 d you want to go ?" he asked, almost whining. 
 
 "Harlem," said Fenton. 
 
 For some moments the man in the car stared, 
 without speaking. Fenton grew embarrassed; he 
 wondered if the bag, concealed under his coat, 
 showed too plainly. But the man finally changed his 
 expression. A wan smile spread over his face, fol 
 lowed by an expression of timid resolution. 
 
 "I ll tell you what I ll do," he said. "If you ll do 
 me a small favor it won t take more than half an 
 hour I ll send you up to Harlem in this car after 
 ward anywhere you want to go." 
 
 "What is the favor?" asked Fenton. 
 
 "Get in here, and I ll tell you." 
 
 Fenton opened the door and entered. The man 
 who had invited him was so mild that there could 
 be no great danger to the jewels. 
 
 "Go on home, Karl," said the stranger, "but go 
 slowly; I want time to talk to this gentleman." 
 Then he turned to Fenton, stared at him anxiously 
 for a few moments, and then asked, "Can you act ?" 
 
 "What d you mean ? I m not an actor, of course !" 
 
 "What I want you to do, is to impersonate a Hun 
 garian count for about ten minutes." 
 
212 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Fenton gasped. "Me? A count?" In spite of the 
 tremor he was still in, he laughed. 
 
 "Count Capricorni," the stranger explained. "I ve 
 got to produce him at my house this night, and oh, if 
 you would do it! I ll fit you out with a dress suit 
 and a red ribbon, and introduce you to a few guests. 
 As soon as that s over, you can be taken sick 
 cholera infantum, gout, epilepsy or housemaid s 
 knee anything you like and then you can go up 
 to Harlem. What d you say? Will you, please!" 
 
 "Are you talking in your sleep, or what?" Fenton 
 inquired. 
 
 "I m trying to save my sister s reputation, that s 
 all. Perhaps, if you re incredulous, I d better give 
 you a few details." The gentleman sighed. 
 
 "I think so, too," Fenton replied, "this seems to 
 be my night in Arabia, and I might as well do it 
 good. I ve already crowded about sixty ordinary 
 years experiences into six hours of this evening. 
 Romance seems to have it in for me to-night. Well, 
 I guess I can stand a little more of it. What s your 
 line, comedy, tragedy, farce, musical drama or bur 
 lesque?" 
 
 "Say, you re not crazy, are you?" The stranger 
 seemed anxious. 
 
THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 213 
 
 "No, are you? 
 
 "Well, sometimes I think I am. I m a fool, any 
 way. Perhaps I d better tell you my story and let 
 you decide." 
 
 "All right," said Fenton, leaning back in the 
 cushions. 
 
 The stranger folded his arms, scowling ludi 
 crously, and began: "My name is Stillwell Mor 
 gan." 
 
 Fenton sat up and looked at him eagerly. "Not 
 the Stillwell Morgan? Not the nephew of James 
 Pierpont?" 
 
 "No, not that one!" the stranger replied, sadly. 
 "And that s the whole story !" 
 
 "It s a mighty short one !" Fenton grunted. 
 
 "Oh, what I mean," said Morgan, "is that that 
 very natural mistake of yours is what s just got me 
 into trouble. Everybody makes that mistake. And 
 thereat he proceeded to tell his tale . 
 
 COUNT CAPRICORNI 
 
 I have a sister named Marguerite Maganel Mor 
 gan. She s part angel, part Vassar, and part darned 
 fool. Being her only brother, of course I adore her 
 
FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 on six days of the week, and swear at her on the 
 seventh. If you ve ever had that kind of a sister 
 you know. Sisters either run you, or you run them. 
 I m not ashamed of admitting that Marg runs me. 
 It saves a lot of trouble. 
 
 Everybody seems to think I m rich, because my 
 name is Morgan, but I m not. Oh, well, I make a 
 fair income. Real estate. Wait I ll give you my 
 card. We live a plain, self-respecting life up-town 
 in an $85 apartment that is, we did, till a month 
 ago. Ah, well ! I wish we lived there now ! We had 
 a pretty good sized bath-room where I could do my 
 pulley-weights, and we had a view of the Hudson 
 only about one inch of it, but I was satisfied. We 
 had a Swedish maid, too, and on Thursdays Marg 
 made a Welsh rabbit, we re Welsh, you know, and 
 I opened the beer. I never drink anything stronger 
 than that Doesn t agree with me. We were happy 
 and contented. I was, anyway. All I want is to go 
 to a good musical show once in a while, and wear 
 slippers when I m home. I never had much use for 
 style ; I hate those stiff stand-up collars, for instance. 
 I believe in comfort and bath robes and things you 
 know, good American habits with no nonsense about 
 them. Marg goes in for the latest thing. But then 
 
THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 215 
 
 she s ambitious. So she made me a velvet smoking 
 jacket I smoke three cigars a day, one after each 
 meal. 
 
 Well, last month Marg began to fret. She wasn t 
 a bit interested in real estate or musical shows. I m 
 reading Gibbon s "Decline and Fall" this winter, 
 and even that seemed to bore her. You see, she s 
 higher spirited than I am, somehow. She likes a 
 crowd. So, to please her, I said we d spend a week 
 at Atlantic City at a real swell hotel. She bright 
 ened up right away. I was glad of a week off, too 
 it would give me a chance to finish up the "Decline 
 and Fall" and perhaps I could start in on "The An 
 atomy of Melancholy." I ve never had time to read 
 that. 
 
 I took a small suite. At first they thought we were 
 a bridal couple and I nearly died of mortification. 
 But it was worse than that when I found the bell 
 boys thought that we were the Stillwell Morgans 
 the rich ones. I gave only dime tips, but that didn t 
 seem to convince them. I suppose some rich people 
 are stingy sometimes. Of course I told the clerk all 
 about myself, but people stared at us so I dreaded 
 to go into the dining-room. 
 
 The second day after we arrived at the Bucking- 
 
2i6 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 ham Hotel I met a nice looking fellow in the bil 
 liard-room, while I was watching a game of pool. 
 I don t often speak to strangers, but I was so lone 
 some with no business to do, that I offered him a 
 ten cent cigar, and afterwards we played a game of 
 pool. Oh, not the regular game I never tried that 
 it s a bit hard for a beginner this was that game 
 where you roll the balls from one corner. I beat the 
 stranger two games. Nice fellow, I thought. Af 
 fable, you know. Interested in things. I didn t care 
 much for women, neither did he. We got on beau 
 tifully. 
 
 After he left I asked the clerk who he was, and 
 the clerk switched round the visitor s book and 
 pointed to a name. Well, I nearly fainted. "Count 
 Capricorni and valet, Bnda-Pesth." There I had 
 been laughing and joking with a real, live count ! 
 
 When I told Marg about it she got awfully ex 
 cited sent for the manicure girl and asked her all 
 about the count then she interviewed the telephone 
 girl and the chambermaid. Marg has a way of get 
 ting right at things. She s resourceful, by Jove ! She 
 told me I must invite the count to dinner, but I said 
 I d never dare in the world, now I knew who he was. 
 
 I d never seen Marg with men much. I usually 
 
THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 217 
 
 go into my room and read when they come, they re 
 so silly. She was a revelation to me now, the way 
 she went at it. She got into my lap and began to 
 fool with my hair and teased me to introduce her 
 to the count. I told her how the count had made fun 
 of American women, and I guess that made her 
 mad. When Marg gets her blood up, she s great. 
 She said that I d simply have to have him to dinner. 
 I tried to get out of it, and then she began to cry. 
 What can you do when a woman cries ? I agreed to 
 let her have her own way. 
 
 Not that I blamed Marg much. If you d seen the 
 count you d have been impressed. Any one would. 
 He looked just like a count sort of distinguished 
 looking, poetical kind of chap, he was. Wide fore 
 head, crisp black curly hair, and a little bit of a 
 mustache say, I ll tell you! He looked for all 
 the world like Edgar Allan Poe, at twenty-five. 
 What s the matter? He did, really! Slender hands, 
 like a woman s and he used them in a foreign sort 
 of way when he talked. Then he wore a black soft 
 tie with his evening dress, and a broad ribbon on 
 his glasses, and some kind of a little red button in 
 his button hole. I liked him when I got better ac 
 quainted. I don t mind admitting it, I really did. 
 
2i8 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Marg had only twenty-four hours to get up a cos 
 tume. She sent six or seven telegrams to Faustine, 
 on Fifth Avenue, and had a hair dresser from 
 Philadelphia. I had to buy a lot of orchids, and we 
 got mother s pearls out of the safe deposit. It cost 
 about four hundred dollars in all, but Marg was 
 happy. The only thing was I didn t have a dress 
 suit. Marg wanted me to hire one of a waiter, but 
 I drew the line. I can be firm when I want to! I 
 hate those hard shirts. 
 
 The count came up to our sitting-room and Marg 
 came in smelling of some kind of cologne she bought 
 for four dollars a bottle. That was the first time she 
 had ever had her hand kissed, in the European 
 fashion except in private theatricals, of course 
 but it didn t embarrass her one bit. She acted just 
 as if they did it to her every day. Ain t women won 
 derful? We went down to dinner, with me behind, 
 and when we walked into the dining-room there was 
 a buzz that you could have heard to the board-walk. 
 You see, every girl in the hotel had been hot after 
 the count for a week, and he never had paid any at 
 tention to any of them. I was proud of Marg, then. 
 Every woman there was hating her like mischief; 
 and you know how that improves a woman s looks 
 
THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 219 
 
 the one they hate, I mean. The count was lan 
 guid and aristocratic and talked to Marg all the 
 time. I didn t have a chance to say much. Marg 
 was awfully animated, though. 
 
 When we went up-stairs somehow I felt in the 
 way, so I took my "Decline and Fall" and went into 
 my room to read. I heard them laughing afterward, 
 for an hour an a half. Then, when he left, Marg 
 came in to see me. She told me she was dead in love 
 with Count Capricorni, and what were we going to 
 do? If he ever discovered we weren t the Still well 
 Morgans she was afraid he d cut us, and she d pine 
 away and die. 
 
 That was how the trouble began. You see, Marg 
 wanted to entertain him in New York, but how 
 could we invite him to our little flat ? He d scorn it. 
 Marg said we d have to move, and move quick. 
 When Marg decides on a thing I give up the fight. 
 
 Just then Aunt Jane died, and we knew that she d 
 surely leave us some money. Marg figured on a 
 hundred thousand or so, but I doubted it. On the 
 strength of it, however, Marg began to make her 
 plans. She went up to the city next day and rented 
 a suite at Wycherley Court. 
 
 Ever seen Wycherley Court? It s on Riverside 
 
220 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Drive a French Renaissance pile, Marg calls it 
 with an entrance hall that looks as if it was carved 
 out of different kinds of colored soaps. There is a 
 lot of plush and hall boys and bronze tables and 
 fountains and things when you go in, and a mar 
 quise in front. You know the kind. Our suite cost 
 $15,000 a year. Marg spent a day in those antique 
 furniture dens on Fourth Avenue, and got in a lot 
 of Sheraton stuff and Turkish rugs to take the 
 nouveau riche look off. 
 
 I didn t mind the expense so much, although I 
 was sailing pretty close to the wind by this time. It 
 was the style we had put on that I hated. Of course, 
 it wouldn t do for the Count Capricorni to find us 
 living the bourgeois way we always had, so she got 
 a lot of gowns I thought they were awfully low- 
 necked and she made me get into a dress suit when 
 the clock struck six every night, whether we had 
 company or not. I tried to learn to drink Burgundy 
 but it s no use I hate it ! 
 
 Then she got a butler. Ever tried to act natural 
 with an English butler looking at you? You can t 
 do it, unless you re a woman. Women love it it 
 really seems to stiffen em up but I always felt 
 shriveled when he was in the room. 
 
THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 221 
 
 The count didn t like ordinary American cooking, 
 so Marg got a chef and I never had any appetite 
 after that. That Swedish girl we used to have could 
 made grand griddle cakes but that was all over! 
 We only had stewed-up stuff in little casseroles, and 
 everything tasted of onions. Marg said she loved 
 his cooking, but I noticed she didn t eat much. But 
 then, she was in love, I admit. 
 
 The count came several times a week. He seemed 
 to like the place, though I thought by the way he 
 talked it was nothing compared to his castles in 
 Hungary. He used to sit and smoke cigarettes out 
 of a mouth-piece six inches long and tell us about 
 his family. He told us that he was going to come 
 into a whole lot of money when he married. He 
 showed us a little miniature of his mother and an 
 other of a young countess his mother was trying to 
 make him marry. That picture got Marg furious; 
 she used to go and order a new hat and two or three 
 new gowns after every time he showed it to her. 
 
 Well, at the pace we were going, I didn t see how 
 we could last. It was all I could do to pay running 
 expenses, and I had to work down town almost 
 every night figuring on new deals to put us through. 
 What with wages and tips and things at Wycherley 
 
222 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Court, I was at my wit s end. Marg said it didn t 
 matter if she only married the count; because then 
 we d all have plenty of money. But all the same it 
 worried me. 
 
 Of course Marg talked to folks about her count, 
 and naturally all our friends got pretty curious to 
 see him. She gave several teas, but somehow he 
 never managed to come to any of them. The first 
 time he sent word he was ill, the second he had to go 
 out of town, the third time he promised to come but 
 didn t and so it went. Her girl friends began to 
 laugh at her, and then they got nasty. They said 
 she was awfully stingy with her old count, prob 
 ably afraid that some of them would catch him. 
 Some of them even said they didn t believe she had 
 any count at all. I was kept busy explaining about 
 him, and apologizing and everything. Marg felt 
 dreadfully upset about it. 
 
 Well, one night she came into my room half cry 
 ing and half laughing, and said that the count had 
 proposed to her and she was going to marry him and 
 be a countess and wear a coronet and live in a ruined 
 castle just like in a story book. Of course, then, I 
 knew I was in for it. Her picture would be in the 
 Sunday papers, and perhaps mine, and there d be 
 
THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 223 
 
 reporters and all sorts of things. It made me groan 
 to think of it. Marg just loved it. 
 
 She decided that she d have to give a big recep 
 tion to announce the engagement and introduce the 
 count. That would stop all gossip, and people would 
 see that we were just as good as the Vanderbilts and 
 Goulds and Astors, and wasn t I proud of my little 
 sister ? Well, I was proud enough of her, but I shud 
 dered when I thought of the expense and the pub- 
 licity and the style we d have to put on. I only 
 hoped that after it was all over, I could get a big 
 sunny room somewhere near Forty-second Street, 
 and wear my bath-robe and slippers every evening 
 I didn t go to a show. 
 
 So I went in for it. I sold my mother s pearls 
 and got an automobile because the count said trol 
 ley cars and subways were vulgar. I mortgaged a 
 little farm in Connecticut that had belonged to the 
 family for a hundred years and Marg hired a foot 
 man and a lady s maid and a valet for me. I used 
 to send him on errands all the time to get rid of him, 
 but her maid worked hard. The count began to call 
 me Stillwell and said Americans weren t so bad 
 after you knew them well. He also began to talk 
 about my investing in Hungarian mines, and I con- 
 
224 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 sidered it favorably until Aunt Jane s will was filed 
 for probate. Marg and I were left two hundred and 
 fifty dollars apiece, which I spent for garage ex 
 penses, and a portrait of her third husband, which 
 Marg insisted on hanging up in the dining-room. It 
 was our ancestral portrait. The count said he had 
 em by dozens in his castles 
 
 We set to-day for the reception, and the count 
 promised on his honor he d be there on time to meet 
 all our friends. We invited about three hundred peo 
 ple, but all the week folks have been telephoning to 
 Marg to ask couldn t they bring a friend or two, so 
 that this afternoon, to be on the safe side, I tele 
 phoned the caterer to provide for seven hundred 
 guests. Marg insisted on my hiring an empty suite 
 below us for dancing, and got an orchestra and a 
 whole lot of gilt chairs. I figured it out to-day that 
 I was about $37,000 in a hole up to date. The count 
 had come high, but Marg had to have him, and so 
 long as she was happy and I could keep out of jail 
 I didn t care. Knowing that it was a love match, 
 and the count wasn t after Marg s money, it didn t 
 matter. I could stand it. 
 
 That s the way it stood this morning, when I went 
 
THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 225 
 
 down town to my grind. Florists all over the house, 
 men nailing down canvas on the floors, footmen in 
 everybody s way, a lot of extra maids and servants 
 fussing about, and the caterers stewing things in the 
 kitchen. I was glad to clear out and get down to my 
 office where I could be quiet. Worked like a China 
 man all day, and tried to forget we were marrying 
 into the nobility. 
 
 I was so nervous and excited, though, that I 
 couldn t stand eating lunch in a restaurant where I 
 would be likely to meet any of my friends, so I 
 dropped into one of those little cheap quick lunch 
 ham-and-egg places under the Brooklyn Bridge. I 
 ordered some weak tea and milk toast, and was try 
 ing to read the paper when I heard a voice that sim 
 ply paralyzed me. It was behind a flimsy wooden 
 partition in the kitchen and it was yelling "draw 
 one !" or something like that. Perhaps it was "ham 
 and over!" 
 
 Then a waiter in a dirty duck suit came out of 
 the doorway, with about sixteen dishes balanced 
 along his arm, and an apron on. It was the Count 
 Capricorni. Yes, that s right! That miserable 
 waiter was the man that about eighteen servants and 
 
226 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 six hundred guests were preparing for up at Wych- 
 erley Court. And I had spent something like $37,- 
 
 000 so that he wouldn t be ashamed of Marguerite ! 
 
 Morgan stopped and smiled sadly. "I don t think 
 he saw me at all. He turned to put some things on 
 a table, and I bolted without waiting for my lunch. 
 You see how I m fixed, don t you? I thought that 
 if he did show up to-night, so that we would get the 
 reception over with, I coul d get rid of him to-mor 
 row, forever. But he didn t appear." 
 
 Fenton shook his head. "No," he answered, "and 
 
 1 don t think you ll ever see him again. I guess he s 
 done for, poor fellow." 
 
 Morgan construed the remark according to his 
 own lights, probably thinking that the count had 
 suspected that his real identity had been discovered. 
 Fenton did not explain; he dared not say that he 
 was virtually sure that the bogus Count Capricorni 
 lay dead in an office on the thirteenth story of the 
 St. Paul building. He wanted to forget what he had 
 seen at least until he had performed his duty. The 
 reverie it threw him into was broken by Morgan. 
 "You see what I was up against." 
 "Must have been embarrassing," said Fenton. 
 
THE ST. PAUL BUILDING 227 
 
 "Embarrassing? Well, I guess! When eleven 
 o clock came, and he hadn t come, I told Marg all 
 about it, and she near went crazy. What are we go 
 ing to do? she said as if I knew! There we were 
 again without the guest of honor. Hamlet, with the 
 prince left out. The place was beginning to fill up 
 and everybody was asking questions." 
 
 "Well, what did you do ?" said Fenton, beginning 
 to be amused. 
 
 "Marg was splendid; she took right hold of it. 
 She told me that I d simply got to get somebody to 
 impersonate the count, or she would be disgraced 
 forever, and meanwhile she d tell everybody that the 
 count had been delayed in Washington, and would 
 arrive at midnight. That would give me an hour to 
 work it out. I confess I was frightened to death. I 
 didn t like to deceive people, but what else could I 
 do? Marg would be insane if I didn t save her repu 
 tation. 
 
 "Well, the only person I could think of was Har 
 old Ringrose, a college mate of mine. We often 
 played bezique together. He s a manufacturing 
 chemist, down on Vesey Street. I rung up his house, 
 but they said he was down town. I tried his office ; 
 no answer. There was nothing for me to do but go 
 
228 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 down there and find him, and try to get him to play 
 the part. I thought I could play the old friendship 
 and family honor strong enough to induce him. He 
 knows hardly anybody, and no one would ever sus 
 pect him. So I drove down there. There was a light 
 in the sixth story window, but I couldn t get any 
 answer to the bell ; and after I d shouted as loud as 
 I dared, a policeman told me to move on. So I drove 
 back, not knowing what to do, till I met you." 
 
 Morgan suddenly turned and grasped Fenton s 
 arm with both his hands. "Do this for me, for 
 Heaven s sake," he exclaimed, and weakly burst into 
 tears. "God knows I never wanted all this fluff and 
 feathers," he sobbed. "I m a simple man with sim 
 ple ways. I don t like fashion and footmen and 
 things I want to be let alone only, Mar- 
 guer ite !" 
 
 "Oh, brace up, old man," Fenton cried heartily. 
 "I ll save your face for you. Depend on me. It ll be 
 a good joke on all these snobs. Is everything 
 ready?" 
 
 "Yes. Here, we re aimost home, now. Home! 
 God, I wish I d never seen Wycherley Court." 
 
X 
 
 WYCHERLEY COURT 
 
 IN WHICH JOHN FENTON ASSISTS AT A SOCIAL FUNC 
 TION IN HIGH LIFE, WEARS EVENING DRESS FOR 
 THE FIRST TIME, AND AGAIN SEES BELLE 
 CHARMION 
 
 THEY had been going up Riverside Drive, and, 
 as Morgan spoke, they approached a tall mar 
 ble apartment house from which an awning 
 stretched, across the sidewalk, to the curb. Here a 
 line of carriages and automobiles were in line wait 
 ing to discharge their passengers. 
 
 Morgan leaned forward and tapped his chauffeur 
 on the shoulder. "Round to the side entrance!" he 
 commanded. 
 
 Here he and Fenton got out, and made their way 
 rapidly in, and along a corridor to the back stairs. 
 They climbed ten stories and arrived panting at the 
 back door of the Morgan apartment, were let in by 
 a staring servant, and conducted rapidly along the 
 hall. As they passed, Fenton heard the continuous 
 
 229 
 
230 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 sound of gabble the intermingled talk and laugh 
 ter of many guests, inarticulate, confused, an un 
 steady murmur of voices. It sounded to him as if it 
 might come from some monstrous, horrid beast with 
 innumerable mouths. Servants of all kinds skeltered 
 past him as he made his way waiters loaded with 
 dishes, maids with ladies wraps, men servants, gos 
 siping, loafing, gaping. A high, clear laugh rose over 
 all this subdued tumult. 
 
 "Marg s holding the fort!" said Morgan, admir 
 ingly, and led the way in to his own chamber. 
 "Now, for heaven s sake, hurry !" he exclaimed. 
 
 Fenton had but time to see a wide white bed laid 
 out with a complete outfit, evening dress clothes, 
 shirt, tie when two man-servants fell upon him and 
 tore off his coat, vest and trousers with the fury of 
 maniacs. As they held the dress trousers for him, 
 a young lady put her head through the door, ex 
 citedly. 
 
 "Has he come ?" she cried. And then, "Oh, there 
 you are ! Thank goodness !" 
 
 Fenton took a leap into the black trousers and 
 turned his back just as she burst into the room. 
 
 "Is he ready?" she cried, eagerly. "For heaven s 
 sake hurry, you idiots ! I can t wait a minute longer. 
 
For heaven s sake, hurry ! " 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 231 
 
 Stillwell, put on his shoes, quick! Here, you crazy 
 loon, you ve got that collar upside down! For 
 heaven s sake, let me do it, if you re all half-wit 
 ted!" And Fenton found himself suddenly con 
 fronted by a tall, pretty, blue-eyed girl with flushed 
 cheeks, all in white, with three ostrich feathers nod 
 ding in her hair. 
 
 "Hold your head still!" she commanded. "I 
 can t do anything if you move that way! Here, 
 you, put his gloves on quick!" A man attacked 
 each hand. Stillwell Morgan still fussed at the 
 bows of Fenton s shoes. Marguerite Maganel Mor 
 gan, in white gloves, with orchids on her breast, 
 her flushed face within an inch of his, worked over 
 Fenton like a window dresser with a wax figure. 
 Her sweet breath was in his face, her curls brushed 
 his cheeks as she patted and pulled at his tie. He 
 saw her pretty mouth working with nervousness. 
 Then she stepped back and looked at him. 
 
 "Mercy!" she shrieked, "this isn t Mr. Ringrose! 
 Who is it?" She stared at him with big eyes, and 
 turned scarlet. 
 
 "I believe I have the honor of being Count Capri- 
 corni," said Fenton, bowing low. 
 
 A maid tapped at the door, and entered half way. 
 
232 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "Mrs. Grahamson-Davis wants to see you, Miss 
 Morgan," she said. "She has to go home. Says 
 she can t wait any longer." 
 
 Miss Morgan grabbed Fenton by one arm. 
 "Come!" she commanded, savagely, "I don t care 
 who you are you ll do! If I can only satisfy that 
 old Mrs. Grahamson-Davis, I m safe!" and she 
 dragged him out of the room into the hall. Here 
 he asserted himself, offered his other arm, tossed 
 his head erect, and stepped off with her. If he were 
 to play a part he decided it would be that of a man, 
 not a puppet. Miss Morgan looked up at him with 
 admiration. 
 
 "It was awfully good of you to come!" she 
 breathed. 
 
 "It s about time for something like that to be 
 said," he replied, haughtily. "You treat me right, 
 or I ll spoil the show." 
 
 "Oh, I ll do anything anything!" she exclaimed, 
 then, dropping her voice she added, "I wish you 
 were the Count Capricorni !" 
 
 With this exquisite compliment pleasantly ring 
 ing in his ears, he navigated his way through star 
 ing, whispering groups of guests and entered the 
 reception room. A buzz of comments greeted them. 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 233 
 
 Everybody stared; they were immediately sur 
 rounded, innumerable introductions began. 
 
 Fenton, for the first time in his life in evening 
 dress, with a foolish wild longing that Belle Char- 
 mion might see him, played his part like a veteran. 
 As one eager, curious person after another was pre 
 sented, he bowed, shook hands, uttered a pleasantry, 
 laughed and gestured and shrugged his shoulders as 
 if he had been the petted hero of society all his life. 
 
 Of all the remarkable situations he had found 
 himself in that mad night, this was perhaps the 
 most dangerous. The very peril of it, however, in 
 spired him. The gayety of the scene went to his 
 head like a cocktail; his mind worked like an ex 
 quisitely adjusted high-speed machine. The crowd, 
 elaborately dressed, wove about him, smiling, pretty 
 women and attentive men, the lights of electroliers 
 and cut glass and precious stones flashed in his 
 eyes, the perfume of frangipanni and peau d Es- 
 pagne mingled with the wafted odors, from the 
 dining] room, of oysters and terrapin. The clink 
 of glasses tinkled with laughter-laden voices. The 
 music of an orchestra sobbed and swelled, with the 
 voices of heart-broken strings and twittered with 
 love-lorn wood instruments. 
 
234 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 It all stimulated his imagination to the boiling 
 point. He talked as he had never talked before 
 of things he knew nothing of, things he didn t be 
 lieve, things as far outside of his life as Chimbo- 
 raza or Cambodia. It was the more easy when he 
 perceived that nobody listened every one was hys 
 terical, hypnotized, eager to add his or her nonsense 
 to the general babel. He talked wildly of bridge 
 and golf, of plays he had never seen, of countries 
 he had never visited. But he might as well have 
 said anything that he was dead and buried that 
 he had forgotten to wear a shirt, that his mother 
 had whiskers. No one would have noticed. He 
 gossiped of kings and princesses, he mentioned at 
 least seven new wonders of the world. The ladies 
 giggled, the men said "Really!" and no one knefw 
 but that he had been speaking commonplaces. 
 
 "You re doing fine fine!" Miss Morgan whis 
 pered to him at the first respite. "I m proud of 
 you !" She looked up under her lashes coquettishly, 
 "What a pity we re not really engaged ! The poor 
 Count!" 
 
 At that there came to him, suddenly, a flash of 
 remembrance of the adventurer, dead in the St. 
 Paul building. The memory swept like a chill wind 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 235 
 
 over his soul and awakened him to his almost for 
 gotten duty. The jewels! He had forgotten all 
 about them. At this minute he should be speeding 
 up-town to Harlem, to keep his promise. What 
 right had he here, in this absurd disguise! The 
 charm of the adventure had gone to his head. Now 
 he must be about his business without delay. 
 
 Just as he was casting about for a pretext to go, 
 his ears caught the sound of a name "Miss Belle 
 Charmion," and he turned, shocked and trembling, 
 to see before him the girl of his dreams. There 
 she was, olive skin and soft hazel eyes, whimsical 
 mouth the pretty, slender girl he had already 
 seen twice that evening. She was staring at him, 
 and her brows were knitted. 
 
 "Haven t we met before?" she asked, hesitat 
 ingly, as she held out her hand. 
 
 What could he say? Surely he could not dis 
 claim her acquaintance, neither could he stultify his 
 hostess. For a moment everything seemed to go 
 black in front of him, then that very feeling sug 
 gested an excuse for not answering. He put his 
 hand to his heart and dropped upon a chair. 
 
 "I feel faint!" he murmured. "Will you pardon 
 me, Miss Morgan, if I " 
 
236 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "You d better go into Still s room for a mo 
 ment," she suggested. She beckoned to her brother, 
 who came crowding up. "Take him out, he s faint 
 ing!" she commanded. "This crush is too much for 
 him you know he hasn t recovered from that at 
 tack of yesterday, yet." 
 
 Fenton staggered out on Morgan s arm, and, as 
 the crowd made way for him, he saw Miss Char- 
 mion s eyes still upon him, with a puzzled, question 
 ing expression. He felt base and mean. 
 
 "I must get out of here right away!" he ex 
 claimed, as soon as they were alone in Morgan s 
 chamber. "I ve spent too much time already I ve 
 neglected a terribly important errand." 
 
 "You ve saved my life, old man," said Stillwell 
 Morgan, effusively. "I don t know what we ever 
 would have done. You ve made an awful hit. Peo 
 ple are crazy about you ! Why, Marguerite says " 
 
 "Damn Marguerite! Where s that bag I 
 brought?" Fenton looked eagerly about the room. 
 
 "I don t know who you are, but I d be glad to 
 have you consider me your friend, and if I can do " 
 
 "Find that bag!" Fenton exclaimed excitedly. 
 "Lord, man, if you knew what was in it " He 
 groped under the bed. 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 237 
 
 "Why, isn t it here? Say, I ll call one of the 
 men. * Morgan went to the door. 
 
 "If that isn t found I m ruined!" cried Fenton. 
 "Haven t you any detectives here?" 
 
 Morgan s valet came running up. "A bag, sir? 
 What kind of a bag?" 
 
 * A soft bag gray ooze-leather! Hurry find 
 it right away. What did you do with it ? By heav 
 ens, I ll send for the police!" 
 
 "Perhaps it was taken into the ladies room, sir; 
 I ll see!" 
 
 While he left to inquire, Fenton fumed. Morgan 
 fussed about, anxious and embarrassed. "Was it 
 really valuable?" he asked, weakly. 
 
 Fenton did not answer, but opened drawers, 
 looked in closets, overturned piles of overcoats, 
 looked in hats, in frantic haste. Every instant he 
 grew more excited. At last, as he stood, flushed 
 and tumbled, trying to think what to do whether 
 to call for the police, ask that everyone be searched, 
 or appeal to Miss Morgan the valet returned with 
 the lost bag. Fenton grabbed it from him, and 
 tremblingly looked inside. A blaze of color flashed 
 up from its dark interior. 
 
 "Miss Charmion had it, sir," the valet explained. 
 
238 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "They thought, of course, it belonged to one of the 
 ladies, and she was there getting ready to go home." 
 
 "Did she look into it?" Fenton demanded with 
 anxiety. 
 
 "Oh, no sir, she just took it, looked at it, and 
 said it wasn t hers. She was too worried to pay 
 much attention. Some one had just telephoned to 
 her, and she was rather upset over it, sir." 
 
 Fenton heaved a sigh of relief, and turned to 
 Morgan. "Is your automobile ready ?" he asked. 
 
 The valet interposed. "Ready at the door, sir." 
 
 "I ve got to get away in a hurry, then." 
 
 Morgan laid a hand on his arm. "If you don t 
 wish to wait to change your clothes, Mr. Mr. " 
 
 "Fenton. John Fenton." 
 
 "Mr. Fenton, you can send back the suit you have 
 on when you find it convenient. It s no importance, 
 really, and I ll give you a silk hat and an over 
 coat" 
 
 Even in the whirl of his excited haste, even with 
 the memory of the dead man always in the back of 
 his mind, even with the responsibility of the jewels 
 keeping him in a fever of unrest, even with the 
 thrill of Belle Charmion s near presence disturbing 
 him, the offer tingled a pleasant fancy. He had 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 239 
 
 never worn a silk hat in his life how he had 
 longed to! now, in evening clothes, it would be a 
 satisfaction to go forth, robed as a gentleman, clad, 
 cap-a-pie in formal garb! He grinned, blushingly 
 accepted the hat, and gazed at it. He smoothed the 
 nap against his sleeve. Perhaps he might catch a 
 glimpse of Belle Charmion again but no, how dis 
 appointing! He had, of course, to exit by way of 
 the servants staircase. It was too bad. 
 
 In two minutes he had slipped out and was run 
 ning down-stairs with Morgan s valet. The motor 
 car was not at the side entrance; they went round 
 to the front of the building in search of it. They 
 found it, drawn up in the line of waiting vehicles, 
 and Fenton was just about to enter when, turning, 
 he saw Belle Charmion coming out under the awn 
 ing. He paused in surprise; she looked eagerly to 
 right and left. Catching sight of him, she smiled 
 faintly, and walked rapidly up. 
 
 "Could you take me up-town?" she asked. "I ve 
 ordered a taxicab, but it hasn t come, and I m in a 
 great hurry. I ve had an important message a 
 relative is dangerously ill I must get up there im 
 mediately. I m awfully worried about it!" 
 
 "Why, I shall be delighted!" said Fenton. He 
 
240 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 was trembling in every limb. The idea of being 
 alone with her at last sent him into a fever of ex 
 citement. He turned to lead the way. "Right over 
 here," he said. 
 
 As he turned suddenly the bag he was holding in 
 one hand struck sharply against one of the iron 
 stanchions of the awning. It fell to the sidewalk. 
 He looked down; to his horror some half dozen 
 pieces of jewelry had fallen out a ring or two, a 
 brooch, a bracelet, and, half in, half out, a con 
 fused pile of precious stones, sparkling under the 
 light. He looked up to see Miss Charmion star 
 ing pale-faced at the revelation. The next min 
 ute a uniformed porter ran up to her and touched 
 his cap. 
 
 "Your taxi, Miss Charmion/ he said, and, bow 
 ing, pointed the way to where a green car waited 
 at the curb. 
 
 Fenton was too embarrassed to speak. He stood 
 foolishly staring as she looked at him coldly, and 
 said: "Then I shall not need to impose on you, 
 Count. But thank you just the same." And, 
 drawing herself up, she walked proudly to the taxi- 
 cab, turned and gazed at him, then got in and drove 
 away. 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 241 
 
 Not till her car skived the corner and disap 
 peared did Fenton take his eyes from her. Then, 
 with a sigh, he stooped, scraped the jewels into the 
 bag as the porter stared, and walked to the Mor 
 gan s touring car. 
 
 "Where shall I drive, sir?" the chauffeur in 
 quired. 
 
 It was some moments before Fenton could col 
 lect his senses enough to recall the address the octo 
 roon had given him. Where was it? The stirring 
 events of the night had all but obliterated her 
 words. Somewhere in Harlem. . . . Oh, yes, 
 The Norcross, 505, no, 555 West One Hundred and 
 Forty-sixth Street. That was it. He gave the ad 
 dress, got into the car beside Karl, the chauffeur, and 
 they whirled away. 
 
 He crammed his silk hat down hard over his 
 ears and leaned back in the car to enjoy the ride. 
 The brisk, mild wind ran merrily past him. I The 
 winking lights on the Jersey shore flashed brightly 
 across the Hudson. His brain cleared. Surely he 
 had much to think of; much had happened since he 
 left his Harlem home a careless, thoughtless boy. 
 But there was only one thing he could think of now 
 he put all other things aside, and revelled in his 
 
242 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 dream. He thought of nothing but Belle Charmion. 
 He wanted no one but Belle Charmion. Belle 
 Charmion, in low cut, pale blue voile, Belle Char 
 mion of the olive skin and whimsical smile who 
 was Belle Charmion? What fate had led him con 
 tinually in crossing and recrossing paths towards 
 Belle Charmion ? Did she know, or care, what des 
 tiny allied them in this mysterious way John Fen- 
 ton and Belle Charmion? He loved Belle Char 
 mion; could Belle Charmion love him? When 
 would they meet in peace, in joy? When would 
 they talk and tell what he so longed to hear, he and 
 Belle Charmion? Oh, the smooth, soft contour of 
 her cheek, the exquisite gesture of her hand! So 
 he dreamed, fancy-free in joyous abandon of Belle 
 Charmion! Belle Charmion! Belle Charmion! 
 
 "Say, this is one great night, ain t it?" 
 
 Fenton came down with a thud from the clouds 
 of romance to the chauffeur s commonplace. He 
 gave the remark a mumbling reply: "Fine!" 
 
 "Yes ; it s the wrong kind of a night to go home 
 in/ as Ruby Diamond used to say." 
 
 " Diamond ? " Fenton queried, remembering the 
 phenomenal blonde of the Caxton, "do you happen 
 to know Miss Diamond? That s queer." 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 243 
 
 The chauffeur laughed. "Know her? I drove 
 the front cab with her and young Framingham 
 when they busted up the Yale funeral !" 
 
 "D you know a girl she runs with named Millie 
 something a little black-eyed devil?" 
 
 "Millie St. Valentine ? Well, I guess yes ! She s 
 the one that drove the hearse with John Adams 
 Quincy, 3d." 
 
 "The hearse ! What the deuce w as the Yale fu 
 neral, anyway? Say, I guess you d better tell me 
 about it if it isn t too long a story." 
 
 The chauffeur chuckled to himself. "It was 
 lucky for Quincy it wasn t a longer story," he said. 
 "It was short, but it certainly was lively. I ll tell 
 jyou about it." And, as he gave the steering wheel 
 a sharp turn and turned the car into Ninety- fourth 
 Street, he began : 
 
 THE GREAT YALE FUNERAL 
 
 Why, this was Thanksgiving Day a year ago 
 you remember the football game when Harvard 
 trimmed Yale for the first time in nine years ? Six 
 to four the score was, and every Cambridge man 
 in New Haven went crazy. I wasn t there, but I 
 
244 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 hear it was like a matinee in an ancient Roman am 
 phitheater. After the preliminary orgies the Har 
 vard rioters went to Boston to celebrate. The pride 
 and chivalry of Yale was due in New York to 
 drown their sorrows in a theater party at the "Mar 
 rying Mary" show. 
 
 Well, there was one Harvard rooter who was so 
 spifflicated by the triumph that he couldn t box the 
 compass any more. That was John Adams Quincy 
 3d. He was genially kidnapped by some of the 
 speedy Sons of Eli with no hard feelings, and the 
 first thing he knew they had him in the Yale train 
 pulling out for New York. When he began to look 
 out the window for New London he suspected that 
 something was wrong, but it was too late to do any 
 thing by that time. He would have to miss the 
 crimson fire and the gilding of John Harvard and 
 the Cambridge police after all. The Yale men gave 
 him the "ha-ha" and told him little old New York 
 would have to do. So he made the best of it and 
 went, reminding them of the score and the snake- 
 dance every time he opened a bottle, which was 
 plenty often. 
 
 He was a thoroughbred, that Quincy 3d. He 
 was a spender, and he had money to spend. He 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 245 
 
 was fairly poisonous with greenbacks. Old man 
 Quincy was a triple-dyed billionaire, in the first 
 place; and in the second, young Quincy had backed 
 the Harvard eleven for about $5,000 at 2 to 5. He 
 had something like $16,000 in his pants when he 
 got off the train at the Grand Central Station. By 
 that time almost every Yale man in his car was 
 down and out, but John Adams Quincy 3d was 
 walking on the atmosphere, shedding $10 bills at 
 the slightest provocation. 
 
 I was running a taxicab then, and of course I 
 never knew anything about his start till afterwards 
 when Millie told me all about it. My first sight of 
 the fun come when I was standing in front of the 
 Abbots , on Forty-fifth street, waiting for a fare, 
 and young Quincy blew round the corner from 
 "Jack s." 
 
 Now I wouldn t want to say Quincy was soused, 
 exactly. That s an ugly word for a gent like him. 
 But you might say he was well glorified, like. 
 Exhilarated transmogrified I don t know what 
 you d call it. I never had $i 5,000 between me and 
 working- for-a-living, and I ain t sure how it feels 
 but Quincy was happy, there was no doubt about 
 that. His hat was dented in and his collar was 
 
246 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 marked all over "6 to 4," and he was singing his 
 Harvard lay to the tune of "Three Blind Mice." 
 
 "Yale is dead, Yale is dead, Yale is dead, 
 Eli said, Eli said, Eli said, 
 
 They might grow crimson, but we d grow blue! 
 They gobbled our money at five to two ; 
 We let them have it, then WHAT DID WE DO? 
 Yale is dead !" 
 
 You know the Abbots ? It s mostly a press agents 
 club theatrical men, anyway. Well, Johnny Hobbs 
 of the Hippodrome was just coming out the door 
 with Nat Goodwin and a bunch of actors. Quincy 
 recognized the big chap, so he come up and slapped 
 him on the back and said : 
 
 "Hello, Nat; how are you?" 
 
 Goodwin beamed. "Why, I m a hygienic dream!" 
 he said. 
 
 "Yale s dead !" says Quincy. 
 
 "Then you ought to give her a first-class fu 
 neral," says Nat Goodwin. He took Quincy s arm 
 and spoke confidentially. "None of these cloth-cov 
 ered pine boxes with two hacks at $85 you ought 
 to have at least twenty-seven carriages and a band!" 
 
 "By the jumping John Harvard, I will!" says 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 247 
 
 Quincy. "But not twenty-seven hacks twenty- 
 seven hearses and then some!" 
 
 Nat walked away with his bunch, laughing; 
 Quincy stood thinking it out. Johnny Hobbs looked 
 him over thoughtfully. 
 
 "D you mean it?" he asked. "If you do, I got 
 an idea." 
 
 "Do I mean it! Ain t I alone in a great city 
 after the first time we ve busted into Yale in nine 
 years? I m certainly going to celebrate if it costs 
 me my inheritance!" And Quincy pulls a roll of 
 yellow-backs out of his hip pocket and shows 
 enough money to make Johnny Hobbs fairly sick 
 to his stomach. 
 
 "You come right in here," says Johnny. "I ll 
 fix you, for fair! Wait till I get to the telephone 
 and I ll have all the dead wagons in New York here 
 in half an hour. You won t have to celebrate alone 
 neither. I ll present you to the smashingest little 
 brunette in town, and if she don t drive that Yale 
 hearse for you, she ll never get another engagement 
 on the stage while I m alive!" 
 
 With that he pulls Quincy into the Abbots . My 
 fare come out just then, and I clocked him to the., 
 Astor Hotel. 
 
248 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Well, just as I was pocketing my tip, this young 
 Framingham chap come by with a bunch of men 
 with Yale flags, all as sizzy as sky-rockets. 
 
 Ever heard of Montrose Framingham? Why, 
 old President Framingham s son, you know ; the N. 
 Y. & Penn. R. R. man the man they used to call 
 "Gold Socks" Framingham after he cornered that 
 western timber pool. The old man had money 
 enough to wrap up the Metropolitan tower in and 
 tie it with a gold string; and he never was stingy 
 ,with Montrose. It was him give Yale that big 
 Ancient History building in his freshman year. 
 That s why he never got fired, although he certainly 
 was some lively round about New Haven. 
 
 Well, as I was saying, young Framingham come 
 up to me (I d driven him all over town once I took 
 him to Richmond, Va., in my cab on a bet), and he 
 says 
 
 "Hello, Squash" (the fellows call me that be 
 cause I like squash pie with a layer of red pepper 
 on top of it) "What the name of Eli are you driv 
 ing a red taxi for? I thought you was a good Yale 
 man." 
 
 "I hear Yale s dead !" says I, grinning. 
 
 "You yellow-eyed clockwork crook," he says, 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 249 
 
 "for two cents I d drown you in cylinder oil ! Who 
 told you that?" 
 
 "I got it from John Adams Quincy 3d/ I says 
 "and what s more, he s going to give Eli a funeral 
 in New York right away to-night!" 
 
 "Is that right?" he says; "Honest?" 
 
 I told him what I d heard in front of the Abbots 
 and he called after his gang to come back and hear. 
 When I gave them the tale they yelled like Co- 
 manches. 
 
 "Get into here," says Framingham, and he gets 
 up side of me and the rest pile into the back, and 
 I took em round to the front of the Astor. 
 
 There Framingham got out and ran up to the 
 cab starter. 
 
 "Order all the taxicabs you can get!" he says. 
 
 The starter was staggered. "What d you mean, 
 sir?" he says. "How many do you need?" 
 
 "Anything up to a hundred and have em here 
 in half an hour round the corner!" says Framing- 
 ham. 
 
 Then he comes up to me and asks me who is the 
 press agent for the Metropolis Theater. I told him 
 it was Abey Moonstone, and we started to look 
 him up. 
 
250 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "What are you going to do?" I asked Framing* 
 ham. 
 
 "I m going to bust up that funeral," he says, "if 
 it costs me my degree !" And I knew he meant it. 
 
 Well, it didn t take us long to find Abey at the 
 Knickerbocker bar, and it didn t take Abey long to 
 see what they was in it for him and the Metropolis 
 Theater. He hurried out and rung up Ruby Dia 
 mond, his first prize show girl, and by the time we 
 got round to the Woodstock Hotel, where she lived, 
 she was ready for us in a pale blue slippery skin 
 tight dress and a millionaire hat. The rest was 
 jewelry and ermine. Say, you ve seen Ruby Dia 
 mond no man can look on her and live! She s 
 the ultimate peach ! Abey introduced the two prin 
 cipals of the anti-funeral crusade and we proceeded 
 to get out and look for a band. 
 
 Well, there wasn t a blessed band we could get 
 Quincy had caught the only one for sale, coming 
 home from a Schiitzenverein hullabaloo, and we 
 was up against it good. 
 
 "Say," says Ruby, "what s the matter with a Sal 
 vation Army band? They make a whole lot of 
 noise, and they wear blue." 
 
 "You can t get em," I says. 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 251 
 
 "I ll endow a hospital!" says Framingham. "I ll 
 give em a million new uniforms I ll put up for 
 the Christmas dinner for all the bums east of the 
 Alleghenies! You drive down to the headquarters 
 and I ll fix the commander-in-chief if I have to de 
 posit my gold-bearing bonds! I m going to have 
 a female band in blue, or I ll eat it! Rah for 
 Yale!" 
 
 So we clocks down to see the general. I never 
 heard what it cost young Framingham. They must 
 have taxed him something savage, but he got three 
 bands. They was on their way to the big Thanks 
 giving Day free feed, and was ordered to meet us 
 at the Flatiron Building. 
 
 When we got back to the Astor we found a pro 
 cession of taxicabs about three-quarters of a mile 
 long, waiting. There was red, green, yellow and 
 black cars, and a Yale man in each. Moreover, 
 about every one of em had a chorus girl out of the 
 Metropolis "The Curly Girlies" was running then 
 and the crowd was beginning to gather some 
 plenty the traffic cops was near crazy. 
 
 I took the head of the line and led the string 
 down Eighth avenue and across Twenty-second to 
 where the three bands was waiting then we set 
 
252 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 out looking for Quincy s funeral and trouble. Our 
 scouts had come in and located a line of about thir 
 ty-three hearses forming on Second avenue and 
 Thirty-fourth street. Anyone who had any sense 
 could be sure that that procession would head 
 straight for Times Square. John Adams Quincy 
 3d was no yap, and we were sure he d calculate to 
 hit the middle of New York City good and hard 
 before he got pulled. So Montrose Framingham 
 give the word to steer up Broadway. The Salva 
 tion lassies struck up 
 
 "Are you washed, 
 Are you washed, 
 Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb? * 
 
 and off we went. 
 
 There was some good yelling when we struck the 
 Great White Way, and you needn t think we didn t 
 draw a crowd ! It was about half past seven by this 
 time and the Tenderloin was beginning to get busy. 
 At Thirty- fourth street we formed in line two 
 abreast, and the cornets switched to "Onward, 
 Christian Soldiers!" It was going fine. The cops 
 couldn t stop the Salvation Army because they had 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 253 
 
 permits and as for the taxis ain t they got a 
 right to the street ? 
 
 It was smooth sailing till we got to Forty-second 
 Street and we sighted the funeral. There it was, 
 held up east of Broadway with the Schtitzen band 
 playing the "Dead March" in Saul and a row of 
 hearses as far as the eye could reach, and a crowd 
 running up and growing bigger every minute. 
 
 And what d you think? Driving every hearse 
 was a Hippodrome chorus girl in evening dress! 
 Johnny Hobbs had certainly done it well. Abey 
 Moonstone was wild. 
 
 Our fares give the Yale yell and it was answered 
 by Harvard "Rahs !" from the Hippodrome girls 
 Quincy stood up and begun to sing "Yale is Dead !" 
 and then they got the traffic cop s whistle to cross 
 Broadway. 
 
 On they come. It was so funny you wanted to 
 cry. By this time they was a million people spilled 
 around there and some fool pulled the fire alarm 
 just to help it along. 
 
 Now, whether the traffic cop at the corner got 
 rattled and really did blow his "come on" whistle, 
 or whether it was a riot-call or something, I never 
 
254 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 knew. The cop denied it. Anyway we all heard a 
 whistle, and young Framingham yells to me : 
 
 "By the seven pink Salamanders of Shiraz, 
 Squash, go at em! If you ll bust -that Harvard 
 guy s hearse I ll give you a hundred dollars and go 
 bail!" 
 
 I turned back and waved to the line "Come on!" 
 I says, and on we went. There was a yell from the 
 mob you could have heard to the Flatiron, and I 
 charged for Quincy. I caught his nigh hind wheel 
 and busted it right to smithereens. Then a mounted 
 cop galloped up and got me. 
 
 Well, it sure was funny ! The hearse keeled over 
 on the hubs and spilled out Quincy and Millie St. 
 Valentine. They jumped just in time and landed 
 on their feet. And in less than two minutes the 
 place was so tangled up with hearses and taxicabs 
 and Schiitzenvereins and Salvationists that you 
 couldn t tell which was which. The crowd swarmed 
 into the mess like flies and then come the fire en 
 gines two steamers from each point of the com 
 pass, and after them the ladder trucks and the water 
 tower and then two patrol wagons full of reserves. 
 Then the police got busy. 
 
 Well, I was taken to the station about that time, 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 255 
 
 and so I missed it. But I got the story from Millie 
 St. Valentine. 
 
 The minute John Adams Quincy 3d struck the 
 ground he seemed to come to, and wake up to the 
 fact that he d got in bad. 
 
 "By Jupiter!" he says to Millie, "this is going to 
 cost me about four million dollars !" 
 
 "Oh, it ain t so bad as all that !" says Millie. "It ll 
 probably be only ten dollars or ten days. 
 
 "Don t you believe it!" says Quincy. "I know 
 better. Why, I m ruined. We ve got to beat it!" 
 
 Millie said she thought he was a piker for fair, 
 then ; she didn t have any idea that he d more n just 
 got cold feet. He took her hand and ducked through 
 the crowd with her and rushed her into Rector s. 
 Then she found out what he was worrying about. 
 
 It seems young Quincy had been in hot water be 
 fore and his folks was sore. He d been featured in 
 the police news in Boston papers so often, in fact, 
 that his old man had give it to him straight that if 
 it ever happened again he d disinherit him. 
 
 See how it was? Quincy had already kicked up 
 a row that would make more talk on Broadway 
 than anything that had happened since the Dewey 
 parade. The morning s papers would be full of it 
 
256 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 he could just see the scare-heads "Young Million 
 aire Plays Ghastly Joke on the Rialto" and all like 
 that. 
 
 Millie kind of felt for him. Quincy was a nice 
 boy and she liked him. So she said, "Well, the only 
 thing to do is to fix the papers but it ll cost a lot !" 
 
 "I don t care if it costs two hundred thousand," 
 says Quincy. "It ll be cheap at the price. Will you 
 come with me, O Queen?" 
 
 She said she would. 
 
 Well, if you know anything about city editors 
 you can imagine what happened. The minute they 
 see the girl it was all off, and the more money 
 Quincy offered, the more stubborn they got. What ! 
 kill a story like that son of a millionaire and the 
 prettiest brunette in N. Y. C. ? Not much. Look 
 at the pictures ! Look at the society slush they could 
 throw in! Think of the "well-known clubman" 
 stuff and the "strikingly beautiful brunette." It 
 was too good to keep back. Quincy was no sooner 
 out of the office with his grouch than the city editor 
 was telephoning to the police stations, ordering 
 photographs and sending for his star reporter. 
 That was the tale all over town. Quincy was per 
 fectly sick. 
 
WYCHERLEY COURT 257 
 
 Well, he took Millie home and she tried to jolly 
 him up but it was no use. He figured that he was 
 out three millions at least by his folly, and he left 
 her reception-room talking a lot about suicide. 
 Millie allows she was pretty badly scared. 
 
 Well, of course all this time Johnny Hobbs had 
 been good and busy. He phoned in the story as a 
 "friend of the paper" to every city editor, he sent 
 about a thousand photographs of Millie down-town 
 by messengers, and then he waylaid the "Ten 
 O Clock Club" the theater details from the papers. 
 He tipped them off with all sorts of fancy details 
 he d doped up, and then he went to bed happy; so 
 did Abey Moonstone, who d been on the same job 
 with three stenographers. 
 
 Of course that was what saved Quincy them 
 press agents done it too well. Every city editor in 
 town smelled a "plant" and give orders at midnight 
 to "kill" the story. 
 
 So when John Adams Quincy 3d got up at five 
 o clock next morning at the Plaza and sent down for 
 the papers, expecting to see his name in a three- 
 column scare-head he spent two hours going 
 through them with a fine- tooth comb to find that the 
 funniest thing that happened on Broadway within 
 
258 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 the memory of man hadn t been so much as men 
 tioned in a single paper ! All the same it didn t save 
 him his money. Millie married him three weeks 
 afterward and got most of it after all. 
 
XI 
 THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 
 
 HOW JOHN FENTON HELPS OUT A CRIMINAL SCHEME, 
 
 WITNESSES AN ARREST AND AN ESCAPE, WAITS 
 
 IN A DESERTED FLAT AND GETS A NEW 
 
 NAME. 
 
 THE chauffeur had hardly finished his story be 
 fore the car drew up to the curb in front of a 
 brick apartment house on One Hundred and Sev 
 enty-fifth Street, and stopped. Fenton descended, 
 felt in his pockets in vain for a tip, and bade the 
 chauffeur an apologetic good-night. He went into 
 the vestibule and looked along the row of letter 
 boxes for the name of "Flint," and pressed the 
 electric button above. A muffled "hello" came, di 
 minished and faint, through the speaking tube. He 
 replied. 
 
 "What the devil is it?" the invisible speaker 
 asked. 
 
 "I ve got the jewels," Fenton shouted through 
 the mouthpiece. 
 
 259 
 
26o FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 A spasmodic clicking of the electric latch came in 
 answer. By its nervous rapidity Fenton could easily 
 imagine that his information had caused some ex 
 citement. He pushed open the front door and ran 
 up-stairs. The halls were dimly lighted, and he 
 looked in vain for any indications of a greeting. Up 
 to the second, up to the third floor, and then, look 
 ing higher, he heard a man s gruff voice calling 
 stealthily, "One flight more!" Up Fenton went 
 with his bag. 
 
 At the top a man, unrecognizable in the semi- 
 darkness, seized his arm and hurried him toward a 
 lighted hallway, spun him round and looked at him 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Who are you, anyway?" 
 
 "My name doesn t matter," said Fenton. "I ve 
 got the stuff right here." 
 
 "Well, I ll be hanged!" he ejaculated, and then 
 he looked at Fenton again. "Where in the devil 
 did you get em?" 
 
 Fenton had, by this time, learned discretion, and 
 replied only by a question. "Is Flint here ?" 
 
 The man stared; his expression changed, then he 
 controlled himself. "Yes, I m Flint," he said 
 finally. 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 261 
 
 Fenton breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, then, I 
 suppose it s all right. You ll take em right back to 
 the Brewster house, I suppose? You ll lose no 
 time?" 
 
 "Oh, that s all right, I ll get em back, the first 
 thing in the morning." 
 
 Fenton handed him the bag somewhat reluctantly. 
 There seemed to be nothing else to do, but it seemed 
 a mild ending to his night of adventure. There was 
 no doubt that it was Flint, by the octoroon s de 
 scription. He grabbed the bag fiercely and looked 
 inside, then snapped it shut. Fenton became un 
 easy. 
 
 "Then I can tell Miss you know, the girl, that 
 it s all right?" he said. 
 
 "Yes, it s all right, son." Flint held the bag be 
 hind his back. "They ll be in the safe by nine 
 o clock, before the coroner comes. But you d bet 
 ter skip, now. There s no need of exciting sus 
 picion. Go home and go to bed. You ve done 
 well." He crowded Fenton to the doorway nerv 
 ously and stood guarding it. 
 
 Fenton turned hesitatingly. "I hope I can find 
 her," he said. "She was awfully worried about 
 this but I ve done all I can, I suppose." 
 
262 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "Good night!" said the man abruptly, and sud 
 denly slammed the door. Fenton heard the lock 
 dick. 
 
 Then, for the first time, he grew actively sus 
 picious. Flint was a tall, gaunt, grizzled creature, 
 wrinkled and weatherbeaten, with deep-set gray 
 eyes. As he turned for his final word, he showed 
 a great, misshapen ear. The lower lobe was split 
 half in two. Suddenly, as if spoken by an audible 
 voice, came the fortune-teller s words "beware of 
 a man with a split ear!" Fenton s suspicions grew 
 blacker. But he had done exactly what he had been 
 asked to do if there were any mistake it was surely 
 not his. He turned slowly to the staircase, and 
 walked down, thinking. Well, it was too late, now. 
 Perhaps it was all right. Why should he worry? 
 So thinking he went down-stairs and out to the 
 street. 
 
 Should he go home ? He smiled at his costume 
 his dress clothes and top hat seemed to demand an 
 other adventure. He felt abstractedly in his 
 pockets for a cigarette, and noticed for the first time 
 that again his pockets were absolutely empty. What 
 a night ! He yawned, and walked up One Hundred 
 and Forty-sixth Street thinking of Belle Charmion. 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 263 
 
 Just as he turned the corner two men, walking 
 rapidly, passed him. He caught but a momentary 
 look, but that sight made him turn eagerly and gaze 
 at them again. There was something familiar about 
 both of them by Jove! It was O Shea and Elk- 
 hurst or, as it appeared both had aliases, Nailery 
 and Sproule. Neither had recognized him, for 
 tunately. He stopped, in a trance of wonder. What 
 did this encounter mean ? 
 
 He could still see them walking rapidly toward 
 the Norcross Apartments. As Fenton stood there, 
 gaping at the sight, they turned up the steps and 
 entered the building. Then, in a flash he began to 
 suspect them. Of course both were after the jew 
 els and, if they, were going up to the apartment, 
 either they would attack Flint or wait! Now he 
 had it! Flint was probably a member of the same 
 gang! It was as plain as a photograph, at last. 
 
 Evidently Flint had been notified of the capture 
 of the gems. Well, no wonder he had been surprised 
 when Fenton had handed them back to one of the 
 gang itself! Fenton cursed himself for his stu 
 pidity. 
 
 But all this was surmise. He wanted to make 
 sure, and hurried back to the entrance of the Nor- 
 
264 FIND THE .WOMAN 
 
 cross Apartments, and found that, by some accident, 
 the outer door had not latched. He crept up four 
 flights, approached the door of Flint s apartment, 
 put his ear to the keyhole and listened. 
 
 A hoarse burst of laughter greeted his ears. There 
 was no doubt of it. Even now, no doubt, with 
 blood on their hands, they were dividing the spoil. 
 
 What could he do ? Nothing, it seemed ; and yet 
 he would not leave the place. He walked down 
 stairs trying to think of some plan to retrieve his 
 blunder. On the floor below he looked about, saw 
 a door without a nameplate, tried it, and found it 
 was unlocked. He opened it and walked in there 
 was no carpet on the floor. It was evident the flat 
 was vacant. 
 
 He groped his way along the inner, hall, a long, 
 straight passage toward the rear; and emerged, 
 finally, after bumping into several corners, into a 
 small kitchen faintly illuminated by the moon. 
 Through the windows he saw a fire-escape. He left 
 his precious silk hat upon the washtubs, lifted 
 the sash, crawled out, and cautiously ascended the 
 iron ladder. The windows of the kitchen above, 
 however, were dark, and they were fastened. There 
 could be nothing done that way, and he returned. 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 265 
 
 Cruising about on a little voyage of discovery, he 
 found a candle end and a few matches on the kitchen 
 shelf. He struck a light and sat down on the top 
 of the tubs to think. He had not waited long be 
 fore he heard footsteps on the floor above; then 
 there was a rattle in the shaft, and he heard the 
 dumb waiter descending. 
 
 Holding his lighted candle in one hand, Fenton 
 opened the sheet-iron door and saw the rope run 
 ning. He held the candle nearer and looked up. 
 The dumb waiter was now visible, slowly descend 
 ing. He watched it, with his heart in his mouth. It 
 came to the level of his eyes, and he saw that both 
 shelves were empty. The next moment he was sur 
 prised to see two feet, patent leathered, shining in 
 the candle-light, standing on top of the apparatus. 
 Slowly the waiter moved down, creaking. Panta 
 loons appeared, a coat, then hands carefully work 
 ing at the rope. Another minute and the lower half 
 of the body had disappeared in the hole and he was 
 confronted by the astonished eyes of Elkhurst, alias 
 Sproule. The little car stopped. Sproule looked as 
 queer as an actor in a Punch and Judy show, 
 like some curious Jack-in-the-pulpit, though too 
 amazed, too fearful, apparently, to speak. Fenton 
 
266 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 stood with the lighted candle dripping grease upon 
 his evening coat, with his tall hat rakishly ajar upon 
 his head. The moment was dramatic ; there was an 
 instant of fine sustained suspense, and then the 
 gentleman who had seen the more of the world 
 spoke. 
 
 "By Jove ! it s the chap I gave that tweed suit to ! 
 For Heaven s sake help me out, and be quick about 
 it." 
 
 There was indeed need of haste, for above were 
 now heard cries of rage and anger, hurrying foot 
 steps, and finally a bang at the door of the shaft in 
 the kitchen overhead. Sproule made a quick dive 
 from his perch and landed in Fenton s arms. This 
 extinguished the little light. 
 
 The cries, meanwhile, had increased in vigor, and 
 some one began violently pulling up the dumb 
 waiter. Sproule landed with stocking feet upon the 
 kitchen floor. He released himself from Fenton s 
 arms, then silently shut the door of the shaft. 
 There was a riot overhead. 
 
 "Wait till I lock the front door! Are the win 
 dows bolted? Fasten them and we ll wait in the 
 passage-way. Is there a key to this confounded 
 door ? Yes, all right. Now then, come on, quick !" 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 267 
 
 Fenton fastened the kitchen windows and joined 
 Sproule in the hallway. The kitchen door was 
 locked, then Sproule went to the door to the stair 
 way and saw that it was also fastened. The clamor 
 up-stairs had ceased, or at least it could not be heard 
 from where they stood. But, in another moment 
 they heard men rushing up the stairs, a pounding at 
 the hall door above, then a smash as it was bro 
 ken in. 
 
 "What s that?" Fenton asked, anxiously. 
 
 "By Jove, I believe they re pulled!" said Sproule. 
 "I got out just in time." 
 
 "The police ?" Fenton inquired breathlessly. 
 
 "There has been a plain-clothes man following 
 me all the evening. I thought we had thrown him 
 off the scent at the Knickerbocker, before we came 
 up here. But he must be up there with the cops. 
 Wait till they come down." 
 
 They waited for ten minutes without speaking, 
 listening to the excitement up-stairs, and finally 
 the clumping of footsteps was heard on the 
 stairs as a half-dozen men came down. As soon 
 as they had passed Sproule opened the door a crack 
 and looked out, then, seeing that they were almost 
 down the next flight, ran to the banisters and 
 
268 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 looked over. Fenton joined him, and saw the last 
 of the group go round the corner: It was the man 
 in the shepherd s-plaid suit whom he had already 
 seen that evening, at Scheffel Hall, at the Plaza, 
 and at the St. Paul building entrance. 
 
 "Jove, that was a narrow squeak if they don t 
 search the house! Let s come into the front room 
 and look." He led the way to a small front parlor, 
 and up to the window, where they saw a patrol 
 wagon standing. O Shea and Flint were being 
 helped in, and the man in the shepherd s-plaid suit 
 was talking to a policeman on the sidewalk. As 
 Fenton watched, these two also got into the wagon 
 and it drove off. 
 
 "He s been watching me for a week, trying to lo 
 cate the rest of the gang," said Sproule in a low 
 voice. By Jove, if I could only get out of here 
 they wouldn t see me in New York for one while ! 
 Say, boy," he took Fenton by the arm, "it may be 
 hard for you to believe that I m straight, but I can 
 prove it. O Shea knows it by this time, but luckily 
 he daren t revenge himself on me for trying to 
 queer this job with the Brewster jewels. For a 
 week I ve been trying to give him the double cross." 
 
 Fenton drew back suspiciously, but, despite the 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 269 
 
 evidence against the man, his manner had candor. 
 It was hard to believe him a murderer, yet it was 
 hard, too, to believe his last assertion. "A week ! 
 I don t see how that can be," he said. "Why, the 
 jewels were stolen only yesterday!" 
 
 "Yes, but they might have gone at any minute. 
 Flint and O Shea have been planning to blow that 
 safe at the Brewster house for a long while. Before 
 they had things ready, Brewster got away with the 
 stuff himself. As he left the safe door partly 
 open, of course Flint discovered it, and when 
 that girl brought home Brewster s body he sus 
 pected where the jewels must be. He was sure 
 when she phoned him about them, and promised 
 to bring them up to-night. But O Shea was sus 
 picious of her he judged every one by himself 
 they were too valuable to trust to her care, at any 
 rate. So he watched her. She acted so queerly 
 that I doubted her honesty myself, and was soon 
 convinced that she was trying to get away with the 
 stuff. 
 
 "Well, we shadowed her to the fortune-teller s 
 house, and saw you go into the same place. After 
 the raid you came out of another house, so I fol 
 lowed you, leaving O Shea to chase the girl. 
 
270 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 When we found you two together at Scheffel Hall 
 we were sure that you had fixed up some game; in 
 fact, we could see easily enough by the look of you 
 you were pretty scared that you had the jewels. 
 So we didn t take any chances; O Shea and Phillips- 
 born went after you. I was half a block behind, 
 watching for the police, when they got you." 
 
 "Phillipsborn ?" Fenton queried. 
 
 "Why, yes. He was a waiter O Shea had known 
 for some time. Queer chap, and clever, too. He 
 had just about pulled off a queer game with a young 
 chap named Morgan. He made up to Miss Mor 
 gan, posing as a foreign count, and got engaged to 
 her. He was after a batch of pearls they had. 
 O Shea got him to help us follow the girl we sus 
 pected this evening, and as soon as that was finished, 
 Phillipsborn was going back to the Morgans as 
 Count Capricorni and close up that job." 
 
 "But he s dead !" said Fenton. "He must be the 
 man I saw on the floor of Nailery s office in the St. 
 Paul building!" He drew away from Sproule with 
 renewed suspicion. 
 
 "That s right," said Sproule soberly. "And it 
 was a pretty bad piece of business, too. Do you 
 wonder I m anxious to get away? But it was 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 271 
 
 O Shea that murdered him, and O Shea will go to 
 the chair for it, safe enough. You see, as soon as 
 we had the jewels, I took a couple of stones and 
 pawned them for ready money as we were terribly 
 short of cash arranging to meet them and Flint at 
 the Bartholdi to divide up the loot. Flint was to 
 wait up at the Norcross, here, in case we missed you. 
 Well, after I got up to the Plaza for my grip, so as 
 to be all ready to leave town, O Shea telephoned me 
 that he was afraid that he was followed, and asked 
 me to meet him in the St. Paul building, where he 
 had his fake office, as Nailery & Co. I went down 
 there, hoping to get some chance to get away with 
 the stuff myself; at any rate, I was determined that 
 this would be my last job with O Shea. Phillipsborn 
 stood out for a full quarter, as his share, but O Shea 
 wouldn t have it. Phillipsborn pulled a gun and 
 then O Shea went at him with a dirk, like a butcher. 
 Phillipsborn went down with O Shea s knife be 
 tween his ribs. It was horrible ; he was gasping and 
 bleeding on the rug when O Shea and I were terri 
 fied by a knock at the office door." 
 
 "It was I," said Fenton breathlessly. 
 
 "Well, we had to decide everything in a few sec 
 onds. We hadn t money enough to get away with ; 
 
272 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 the only thing to do was to get up to Flint s and get 
 him to give us some. I couldn t escape from 
 O Shea, anyway. He was frightened white, and he 
 clung like a leech. I knew that there was a detec 
 tive after me; he had followed me from Scheffel 
 Hall to the Plaza, and was probably in the St. Paul 
 building. But I had to take a chance that he 
 wouldn t arrest me till I had led him to the rest of 
 the gang he was after. He was running down a 
 New Haven burglary, I was sure something we 
 had pulled off a few days before. I could only 
 hope that we could get up to Flint s, where I could 
 get away from O Shea before the place was pulled. 
 Well, I saw that plain-clothes man out of the tail 
 of my eye as we left, and we led him a chase, dodg 
 ing up one street and down another, in and out of 
 saloons, into hotels, even into one theater. He kept 
 on our trail like grim death for an hour, then I 
 thought I had thrown him off the scent. By this 
 time O Shea was a pulp of fear and suspense. 
 When we got to Flint s, though, and when Flint 
 told of how you had handed over the jewels, 
 O Shea laughed like a fool. Flint didn t laugh, 
 though, when he saw O Shea in the light. The 
 man s coat was streaked with blood, antf his hands 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 273 
 
 were red with it. Flint took the Irishman into the 
 bathroom to clean up a little, leaving me in the 
 kitchen. That s when I grabbed the bag and jumped 
 into the dumb-waiter." 
 
 He paused, rose and looked out of the window 
 anxiously. 
 
 "They ll want you as a witness, anyway, won t 
 they?" Fenton asked. 
 
 "I expect they will, but they won t have me. 
 They ve got evidence enough. They ll convict 
 O Shea easily. This isn t the first thing they ve 
 got on him. Why, they re after him now for that 
 Courtenay kidnapping business, and that was sev 
 enteen years ago!" 
 
 Seventeen years ago! Fenton s mind had, more 
 than once that night gone back to O Shea s part in 
 his own childhood. He knew he must have been 
 about four years old when he first knew O Shea 
 and the house in South Boston. Fenton was now 
 twenty-one ; he made a rapid subtraction, and trem 
 bled at a sudden thought. He had begun to suspect 
 that O Shea was not his uncle what if the mys 
 tery were at last to be explained ! He tried to speak 
 calmly, but his mind was whirling as he asked : 
 
 "What was that case? I never heard of it." 
 
274 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "I ll tell you about it while we wait," said 
 Sproule-Elkhurst. "It was certainly a curious af 
 fair. The story of a biter bit/ you know." So, 
 taking a position where he could look out of the 
 window, he began. 
 
 THE COURTENAY KIDNAPING CASE 
 
 Seventeen years ago, Mangus O Shea was a petty 
 crook who was ready for any odd job that would 
 bring him in a few dollars. He had begun life as 
 a plumber, but gradually drifted into evil ways and 
 had already done a two years "stretch" in San 
 Quentin, California, for sneak-thieving. After 
 leaving the "pen" he came east where his face was 
 not so well known to the police, and worked, off 
 and on, at his trade, trying to keep straight. You 
 see, he was one of those uncertain, half-way char 
 acters whom you can respect neither as an honest 
 man nor as an out-and-out crook courageously pit 
 ting his wits against the police. His face was ugly, 
 red eyes and little black teeth a mongrel with a 
 mongrel s temper. He was pretty generally dis 
 liked in South Boston, where he lived. 
 
 Well, he picked up an acquaintance with a bunch 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 275 
 
 of crooks that frequented the "Nucleus" saloon, on 
 the Point, and they soon had him back in the game. 
 He was quick-witted enough ; cunning, rather than 
 clever, though ; a good man to do their dirty work. 
 
 It was about this time let s see, in 94, it must 
 have been that he met Pye. "Lemon" Pye they 
 used to call him, on account of his red hair. 
 "Lemon" was a Nova Scotian, and he was a genius. 
 Bold and clever and versatile he was, a big man 
 every way. He had a big body, a big voice and a 
 big laugh with a mind that could bore through 
 things like a gimlet. "Lemon" was one of the 
 finest confidence men in the business, and he put 
 over some sensational jobs in his time. He had 
 absolutely no moral sense he believed the world 
 was his oyster and he opened it. He would have 
 made a great general, if he had had the chance. 
 
 Well, Pye, "Lemon" Pye, tolerated O Shea, be 
 cause the Irishman could be so easily teased. 
 "Lemon" would sit drinking with him, chuckling 
 at O Shea s temper, and every little while landing 
 a jab that would make O Shea writhe. I never 
 saw two men who were not friends fraternize so. 
 It seemed as if O Shea sought "Lemon s" company 
 all the time, always hoping to get even with the big 
 
276 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 man. But try as O Shea would, "Lemon" always 
 won, and O Shea grew surlier and surlier; which 
 pleased Pye immensely. 
 
 One night O Shea read in his paper that a mil 
 lionaire named J. O H. Courtenay, down in Jersey, 
 had made a couple of millions on a big deal in cop 
 per, and mentioned it to the big fellow who was 
 with him. 
 
 Pye remarked that he d like to get a slice of that 
 profit; then he rolled his cigar over to the other 
 corner of his mouth calmly and added that he in 
 tended to get it, too. 
 
 "Why, you fool," said O Shea, "you don t expect 
 he carries it around with him, or keeps it in the 
 dining-room silver safe, do you?" 
 
 "Oh, something like that," Pye answered, confi 
 dently. "I happen to know where he does keep 
 one prize piece of portable property." And "Lem 
 on" rose and yawned like a menagerie lion. 
 
 "I suppose you think you can con him out of his 
 money," snarled O Shea. "You ll find these big 
 chaps know that game themselves." 
 
 "Well, if I start anything, I ll have a pretty good 
 argument to make him come across, O Shea. You 
 ought to study psychology. But you can t teach a 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 277 
 
 rat mathematics." He grinned down into O Shea s 
 angry little red eyes, chuckled, and walked out. 
 
 O Shea forgot all about the conversation till one 
 day, about two months later, he picked up a paper 
 and stared, fascinated, at a three-column scare- 
 head. Courtenay s little four-year-old son Bruce 
 had been kidnapped and there was the devil to pay 
 about it. 
 
 Of course you re too young to remember the af 
 fair, but it was the talk of the country. The story 
 ran on the front pages of the newspapers for three 
 weeks, and inside for at least two months more. 
 Every sheriff and policeman in the country was try 
 ing to get the reward. Old man Courtenay nearly 
 beggared himself paying for detectives and the 
 thousand expenses of the search. 
 
 Now, as soon as O Shea read the news he made 
 up his mind that Pye had the child. So, having in 
 side information, and a few hundred dollars laid 
 up against a rainy day, O Shea decided to have a 
 try for the reward. So far, so good ; but what had 
 become of "Lemon?" O Shea started to find out. 
 
 First he located Mrs. Pye in a lodging house on 
 Tremont street, Boston, and took a room there. 
 Then he began to watch her mail. Three days after 
 
278 .FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 he moved in, he noticed a letter addressed to her, on 
 the hall stand. He sneaked it up into his room, 
 opened it with a knitting needle, and read this : 
 
 "Am holding the goods for a rise. Expect to 
 make a good sale. Add. H. C. Stevens, 325 Duluth 
 Place, Chicago." 
 
 O Shea grinned and patted himself on the back 
 for getting ahead of Pye at last. He considered 
 his fortune as good as made. He resealed the en 
 velope, put the letter back on the stand and jumped 
 on to the first train for Chicago. No police assist 
 ance for him. He knew that if he tipped them off 
 they would collect the reward themselves and give 
 him the laugh. What he had to do was to locate 
 the kid, and then wire Courtenay to come on. 
 
 As matters stood then there was a reward of five 
 thousand dollars for the return of the child. Mr. 
 Courtenay had offered three thousand, the City of 
 Orange a thousand, and the police a thousand more. 
 It was well worth working for. O Shea was jubi 
 lant. 
 
 He found that the address given in Pye s note 
 was that of a small family hotel. O Shea took a 
 front room and interviewed the chambermaid who 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 279 
 
 corroborated the note. Mr. Stevens and a young 
 boy with black hair not red, mind you had a 
 two-room suite on the floor below. O Shea spent 
 three hours at the window watching the street. At 
 about four o clock he saw "Lemon" coming in with 
 the boy, and he was sure of his quarry. He ran out 
 and wired Courtenay to come on immediately. 
 When he returned from the telegraph office he 
 found, from the chambermaid, that Mr. Stevens and 
 his pseudo son had already left. 
 
 O Shea was wild. Not only had the boy slipped 
 through his fingers, but he had given Courtenay evi 
 dence against himself, and he might be followed. 
 There was nothing to do but get away and start on 
 a new search. He cursed his indiscretion with the 
 chambermaid, packed up his valise and came back 
 to Boston, determined, next time he located "Lem 
 on," to steal the child himself. Meanwhile, Mr. 
 Courtenay had raised his reward to five thousand 
 dollars, making seven thousand in all. 
 
 Mrs. Pye had moved. It cost O Shea fifty-odd 
 dollars, two weeks time and a lot of trouble to dis 
 cover her. She was found, finally, in Plymouth, 
 where she was living alone in the Samoset House, 
 as Mrs. Stevens. O Shea made the acquaintance of 
 
280 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 the clerk, posing as a federal secret service agent, 
 and finally got possession of a letter from Pye, giv 
 ing his address in Detroit. O Shea was off again, 
 mad and tired and anxious. 
 
 This time, when he got to the address, he ran 
 bang into Pye, who was coming out the door alone. 
 O Shea had tried to disguise himself with a red wig, 
 some court-plaster patches and a bandage, but his 
 little red eyes and his little black teeth gave him 
 away. "Lemon" gave one look at him "Lemon s" 
 eyes bored in like a corkscrew and he chuckled. 
 
 "Well," he said good-naturedly, "was you look 
 ing for me, Mr. O Shea?" He was no more afraid 
 of O Shea than a bull would be of a puppy, and it 
 made O Shea furious. 
 
 "I m looking for that Courtenay kid," said the 
 Irishman, "and you d better let me in on the deal, 
 or I ll make it hot for you !" 
 
 Pye looked him over. Pye laughed till he shook. 
 "Oh, you can have the kid when I m through with 
 him," he said. "I didn t know you wanted him so 
 bad. I ll let you know when it s your turn." And 
 Pye walked off as cool as a snowball. 
 
 O Shea nosed about a bit; found "Lemon" was 
 living alone in the house. No trace of Bruce Cour- 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 281 
 
 tenay. Next day he got a clue that led him post 
 haste to Minneapolis. Nothing doing. It was hard 
 work. No chance for him to get his linen washed, 
 economizing with his food, his money giving out, 
 hot, tired, mad fighting mad but more and more 
 determined to get that boy. From Minneapolis to 
 Charleston, in a smoking-car he couldn t afford a 
 sleeper now and there the trail fizzled out. And 
 meanwhile he was reading in the papers that the 
 reward was raised to fifteen thousand. Sometimes 
 he almost had his fingers on the kid; next day he 
 was miles off the scent. Why, Pye just played with 
 him ; it was a game of hare and hounds. 
 
 After a month of this sort of thing, O Shea 
 stumbled against a woman named Lily Dean, Pye 
 used to know. Lily said he had gone back on her, 
 and told O Shea, weeping into a lace handkerchief, 
 that Pye was in Washington up against it, and out 
 of cash. O Shea followed up the tip, and found it 
 was straight. Pye was hiding with a little boy with 
 red hair, in the negro quarter of town. 
 
 O Shea pawned his vest, his watch and his revolv 
 er, and went after the kid. He watched his chance 
 till Pye left the house, then broke into his room and 
 found a little boy crying in a rocking chair. 
 
282 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 O Shea went wild. He not only had the kid, but 
 he found forty dollars in bills in the top bureau 
 drawer. With these he got to Wilmington, took a 
 room in a hotel, and wired a red hot message to Mr. 
 Courtenay again. Then it occurred to him to search 
 the child for marks of identification. The kid began 
 to talk about "Lily" and O Shea had a panic. 
 Finally, he found a note in the little boy s trousers 
 pocket. It read, "Not yet, but soon" O Shea 
 caved in, and cried. It wasn t the Courtenay kid at 
 all, but some boy Pye had borrowed for the purpose 
 of throwing O Shea off the track. Well, that broke 
 up what was left of O Shea s enthusiasm for the 
 reward. He left the kid in the hotel, and went home 
 stone broke. His wife was away in Fitchburg with 
 her sister, who was ill, and O Shea sulked about the 
 house, hungry, cold, and disappointed, till, in de 
 spair, he got a job at his trade and tried to forget 
 the reward. 
 
 Meanwhile the reward had been increased again 
 till it stood at twenty thousand dollars. O Shea, 
 knowing Pye had the child, was, of course, crazy to 
 use that information, but his telegrams to Mr. 
 Courtenay, and his stealing of the other child pre- 
 yented his daring to use what he knew. 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 283 
 
 Well, as I said, Pye was a genius. The way he 
 collected ransom for Bruce Courtenay has never 
 been beaten. Of course Mr. Courtenay was nearly 
 insane by this time, and ready to do anything to get 
 his son back. The police seemed able to do noth 
 ing. One day he received a letter accurately de 
 scribing Bruce and offering to give him up for five 
 thousand dollars. With the advice of his detectives 
 Mr. Courtenay decided to accept the bargain, pay 
 over the money and arrest the one who received it. 
 
 The letter directed him to leave the money, in 
 thousand dollar bills, tucked into the cushion of a 
 certain easy chair in the public parlor of a New 
 York hotel, at a certain time. This was done, and 
 the chair was watched. A stylishly dressed young 
 lady Pye s friend Lily Dean, it was sat down in 
 the chair, took a letter from her bag, read it calmly, 
 then rose, and walked to another chair and sat 
 awhile. The detectives watched her till she left the 
 parlor. Then they nabbed her. Of course she pro 
 tested her innocence, but in spite of her anger she 
 was taken to a room and searched. No money was 
 found on her, and, after some delay, in the hope 
 of identifying her, she was discharged from cus 
 tody. D you see how the trick was done ? She had 
 
284 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 removed the money from the first chair, gone over 
 to the second and hidden it there, in a similar place. 
 Then, during the excitement of her arrest, another 
 person had gone to chair number two, got the bills, 
 and made off. It was a daringly simple plan and 
 succeeded perfectly. The girl s confederates were 
 never traced. The money was obtained, but the kid 
 nappers did not return the child. No doubt they 
 were afraid of the risk. It made a tremendous 
 amount of talk when the facts were published; the 
 whole subject became prominent in the papers again. 
 
 O Shea read of it, of course; and his opinion of 
 "Lemon s" cleverness went up. He was consider 
 ably afraid, too, that his own part in the business 
 might be traced, and kept pretty quiet. He was des 
 perately hard up now, and kept his eyes open for a 
 means of raising money more easily than by work 
 ing for it. 
 
 His wife s sister, meanwhile, had died. He had 
 to pay the funeral expenses and send his nephew to 
 an orphan asylum. O Shea was not happy, these 
 days. 
 
 One day he was riding in a Columbus Avenue car, 
 in Boston, when two men came in and sat down be 
 side him. They were discussing something ear^ 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 285 
 
 nestly, and O Shea, always with his ears open for 
 news, listened. For a while he couldn t make out 
 what they were talking about, but finally it devel 
 oped that one was telling of a basket of silverware. 
 A large basket, it appeared, fitted up in compart 
 ments, containing a complete assortment of solid 
 silver dining plate. This sounded good to O Shea. 
 He listened more closely. The house, one said, 
 was vacant, the family being away in the country. 
 
 "Seems to me it s kind of dangerous leaving that 
 silver there alone all night," said one of the men. 
 
 "Oh, it s all right ; you get it early in the morning 
 and ship it down to Marblehead. I can t bother to 
 stay out there all night," said the other. 
 
 "Pretty handy for burglars, though. Easy to get 
 away with. All packed up like that." 
 
 "Oh, they never have burglars out Brighton way. 
 It s a small house and don t look like they d ever be 
 anything worth stealing there." 
 
 "On Harvard Street, is it? How ll I know which 
 house it is?" 
 
 "Why, it s just the other side of the Brighton 
 road, toward Allston village. Don t you remember 
 that little yellow house with the stable on a rise of 
 land at the turn of the road?" 
 
286 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "Oh, I expect I can find it all right. I ll call about 
 seven o clock. Where is it, in the dining-room ?" 
 
 "Yep." The first speaker handed over a house 
 key. "You can t miss it. Be sure and have it in 
 sured. It s all sealed up and addressed." 
 
 The two men got off the car and O Shea grinned. 
 He decided to go after that silver himself that night, 
 giet it home and melt it up as soon as he could get a 
 furnace. He could easily sell it at one of the 
 "fences" he knew. 
 
 That evening he hired an old covered wagon, and 
 drove out over the milldam, and out the Brighton 
 road to Harvard Street. The house was easily 
 found. O Shea left his wagon outside, slipped 
 round to the back of the house and jimmied the din 
 ing-room window. It was nothing at all to do. He 
 got in, found a huge wicker basket tied up, sealed 
 and addressed, as had been described, and lifted it. 
 It was heavier than he expected, but he opened the 
 front door and got it out that way, though it was 
 a hard job. He watched till he was sure there was 
 no one passing, hoisted the basket into his cart and 
 drove back home in a high good humor. It was 
 two o clock when he reached the little side street 
 where he lived, and got the basket into his house, 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 287 
 
 and called his wife. She was anxious as he was, to 
 see the swag. They; cut the ropes and threw up the 
 lid. 
 
 There, resting on old bed quilts, carefully ar 
 ranged so that he could not be harmed, was a child 
 of four years of age apparently dead. O Shea stared 
 in horror; his wife nearly fainted. One look at the 
 child told the story. It was Bruce Courtenay the 
 boy O Shea had spent three months and his last dol 
 lar trying to capture. His hair, at first sight, seemed 
 black, but at the roots it showed reddish, proving 
 that it had been dyed. Around his neck was a gold 
 locket set with a star in diamonds, pictures of which 
 had appeared in all the newspapers. If there had 
 been any doubt about the boy s identity, the note 
 pinned to his breast would have settled it. It was 
 from "Lemon" Pye and said : "You can have him, 
 now. I m through with him. L. P." 
 
 You can imagine O Shea s feelings. With the 
 hue-and-cry after Bruce Courtenay, it was like re 
 ceiving a present of a stick of dynamite with the 
 fuse lighted. Despite the fact that twenty thousand 
 dollars reward had been offered for the boy, his 
 presence was the most dangerous thing possible. 
 
288 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 How could O Shea ever explain how he had found 
 him? He could not confess to a burglary he was 
 already in none too good repute with the police and 
 his movements where the boy had undoubtedly been 
 could probably be traced if he disclosed the inform 
 ation. But, worse than this, what if the boy were 
 dead ? It would be almost impossible to dispose of 
 the corpse. The case was desperate. O Shea sum 
 moned his nerve, took up the boy, and found that 
 he was still breathing, but in a deep stupor. At all 
 hazards he must be revived if it were possible. 
 
 While O Shea hurried out for a 8octor, Mrs. 
 O Shea undressed the child, put him to bed and dis 
 posed of the basket. It was two in the morning 
 when the doctor arrived. He looked at the boy, and 
 looked again. Then he turned to O Shea. 
 
 "Is this your child ?" he asked sharply. 
 
 Mrs. O Shea answered, quickly, as women will 
 in an emergency. "It s my sister s boy, Doctor. 
 She died last week and we re going to adopt the 
 poor little fellow. Will he live, d you think?" She 
 burst into tears. 
 
 Well, that settled it. Luckily she had talked with 
 her neighbors of her sister s death, and they all 
 knew of the boy. The O Sheas took the bull by the 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 289 
 
 horns and made the best of a pretty bad bargain. 
 Bruce Courtenay became Michael O Shea. He re 
 covered from the drugs, had his head shaved, and, 
 in a week was in a fair way to grow into a South 
 Boston tough. 
 
 But when the reward was again raised for the re 
 turn of Courtenay s son, O Shea looked at his wife 
 and sighed. 
 
 "He s worth twenty-five thousand dollars as he 
 stands," he groaned, "and I dassent claim one cent 
 of it. This kidnapping business ain t what it s 
 cracked up to be. You can t get no money easy, in 
 this world. We ll have to put the boy to work ; he s 
 a bad investment for them what can t afford him." 
 
 This thought was rubbed into him well by "Lem 
 on" Pye who, fat and complacent at the end of his 
 victorious campaign, one day met O Shea as he was 
 going to work with his soldering iron and lead pipes. 
 
 "You was in too much of a hurry for that silver, 
 O Shea," he said. "We had bare time to feed the 
 poor kiddie the knock-out drops before you was in 
 at the window. I would have come down-stairs and 
 helped you with the basket, only I was laughing 
 that hard I couldn t move. I hated to part with the 
 lad for I was growing fond of him, but the detec- 
 
2 9 o FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 lives was getting too lively for me and, besides, 
 you wanted him so bad I thought it was a shame 
 not to let you have him." 
 
 Long before Sproule-Elkhurst had finished his 
 story, Fenton, or, as he undoubtedly must begin to 
 call himself, Bruce Courtenay, had gone off into a 
 reverie. Was he Bruce Courtenay? There could 
 be no doubt of it. Everything tallied with what he 
 knew of his own history and the evidence of the 
 golden locket was alone sufficiently convincing. 
 What it could mean to him, in the future, he could 
 not guess; but it kindled his imagination and his 
 pride. If this could be proved he would be no 
 longer the obscure, unknown architectural drafts 
 man. He would have a legal name, relatives, and 
 perhaps money. It came to him in a flash that, 
 above all, this might give him a position which 
 would enable him to meet Belle Charmion more 
 easily. He dared not trust himself to speak, how 
 ever; he was not yet sure of Sproule. There were 
 the Brewster jewels, too, to be accounted for. What 
 had become of them? Should he still have to fight 
 for them. 
 
 Sproule, who had given another long, careful 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 291 
 
 look out of the window, now returned and inter 
 rupted Fenton s day-dream, by a light touch on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Do you believe I m straight?" he asked seri 
 ously. 
 
 It was hard for Fenton to reply. He knew 
 Sproule for a pal of O Shea s, a crook and perhaps 
 worse. Might he not, in spite of what he had told, 
 be an accomplice to the murder, as he was undoubt 
 edly an accessory after the fact? And yet, the man 
 also had candor that could scarce be doubted. 
 There was something Fenton liked about him; he 
 had charm. 
 
 "Oh, I don t know!" Fenton stammered. "How 
 do I know you re telling me the truth? You say 
 you tried to queer O Shea s job, but here I find you 
 with him right in the game all through!" 
 
 "I think I can prove it," said Sproule, calmly. 
 He unbuttoned his coat, drew forth a soft leather 
 bag, and poured from it a glittering collection of 
 jewelry, sparkling with precious stones, upon the 
 floor. 
 
 Fenton stared. For the third time that night he 
 had come strangely across the Brewster jewels! It 
 seemed impossible. Despite the seriousness of the 
 
292 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 occasion, he had to smile, as at some grotesque joke. 
 It seemed that, despite all his blunders, he could not 
 lose this mysterious treasure. He looked up at 
 Sproule in wonder. 
 
 "Will you take this stuff back to the Brewster 
 house ?" Sproule asked quietly. 
 
 Fenton nodded, still staring with wonder. Then 
 he added, "I ll try it again; but for heaven s sake 
 explain your part in all this !" 
 
 "All right," said Sproule. "I will. I admit that 
 I have been a crook. For five years I have been a 
 member of one of the cleverest and most desperate 
 gangs in the country. But I ve broken away or 
 tried to. To-night, if I succeeded, was to end it all. 
 Maybe I can do it yet. I hardly know how to make 
 you believe what I want to say. If you only knew 
 my wife I think you might understand." 
 
 "I do know your wife," said Fenton. "She came 
 into your apartment at the Plaza before I left. I 
 had a long talk with her." 
 
 "You did ?" Sproule s voice trembled with excite 
 ment. "Did she but of course you couldn t know 
 she d never tell if she suspected " 
 
 "She knows that you re a crook," said Fenton 
 quietly. 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 293 
 
 "Oh God !" Sproule buried his face in his hands. 
 
 Fenton put his hand on the man s shoulder. "See 
 here, old man," he said kindly. "If you re honest, 
 if you want to be straight, the best thing you can do 
 is to go right to her if you can possibly get away. 
 She s going to take the first train to Philadelphia 
 to-morrow. You d better meet her there." 
 
 "Oh, I can t face her! I daren t!" 
 
 "You must. You ll find she ll forgive you she ll 
 do more than that she ll help you to turn over a 
 new leaf. I know, for she has said so to me." 
 
 Sproule spoke between gritted teeth. "If you 
 knew how I love her, you d believe me. My love 
 for her has kept me in hell for a year trying to 
 break away from this gang. You don t know what 
 a fight it has been. O Shea is a devil he has it on 
 me for so many things I ve done in the past that 
 she doesn t know about. Oh, I d have done my time 
 and been happy enough in jail to get away from 
 O Shea, but I couldn t disgrace her; she loved me 
 so trusted me so. I ve tried and tried to break 
 with him, but each time he s pulled me back into the 
 net, threatening to expose me. It was no use. So, 
 yesterday, I decided to leave her. If I was caught, 
 at least it wouldn t drag her name into it. I had an 
 
294 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 idea she had already begun to suspect me, so I de 
 cided never to come back to her, and let her think 
 what she would. Do you really think that she d 
 give me a chance ?" 
 
 "If you d explain a matter of a ruby necklace, I 
 think she would." 
 
 "Oh God! Did she tell you that? That was 
 something I ve almost died about, since. It was a 
 horrible thing to do, but I was distracted. I didn t 
 know what I was doing, really. I knew. I had to 
 leave her, and I wanted to give her something in re 
 membrance of me. We had cleaned up a house in 
 New Haven I got hold of this necklace out of the 
 swag, without O Shea s knowing it and I gave it 
 to her. It was a crazy, horrible thing to do, I see 
 it now it might be discovered on her any time 
 but I was distracted, I tell you. I didn t think. I 
 only knew I loved her, and I had lost her for ever. 
 I had to do something." 
 
 "That necklace has been her curse, but you can 
 make it her blessing if you want to," said Fenton. 
 "Go to her and she will tell you something about it 
 and something that should make you two love 
 each other more than ever." 
 
 "I ll try!" said Sproule. "If I get out of this 
 
THE NORCROSS APARTMENTS 295 
 
 safe, I ll take her abroad somewhere and begin all 
 over again!" 
 
 It was nearly four o clock by this time. Fenton, 
 cramped and stiff, rose and walked about the room 
 and looked out for the first signs of dawn, while 
 Sproule-Elkhurst reconnoitered from the hall door. 
 After fifteen minutes he came back. 
 
 "Well, I m going to try it," he said. "Good-by! 
 And, if they get me I want you to do one thing 
 for me." 
 
 "I know," said Fenton. "You want me to tell 
 your wife that you had tried to be straight?" 
 
 "For love of her," Sproule added. Then he 
 wrung Fenton s hand and slipped down the stairs. 
 
 Fenton watched from the window, saw him walk 
 with an apparently careless, leisurely stride along 
 the street toward Broadway, and disappear round 
 the corner. Then Fenton brushed his silk hat lov 
 ingly, put it on, buttoned the bag of jewels inside 
 his waistcoat and walked down-stairs. 
 
XII 
 A HARLEM LODGING HOUSE 
 
 AND HOW HE WAS WELCOMED BY A FRIEND AND 
 
 A LETTER, AND HOW HE PROFITED BY EACH 
 
 OF THEM 
 
 THE sky was streaked red with the flush of 
 dawn when John Fenton emerged from the 
 Norcross Apartments and set out at last for his 
 home. There was no hurry now, he had no further 
 fear of pursuit. O Shea and Flint were in custody, 
 and Sproule had proved his honesty. So, with the 
 leather bag of jewels buttoned snugly under his 
 waistcoat, Fenton decided to walk. 
 
 He had much to think over. The events of the 
 past night passed before his eyes like a dazzling, in 
 credible moving-picture show, but ever in and out 
 of its fantastic scenes appeared and disappeared a 
 mysterious, fascinating heroine, Belle Charmion. 
 Would she ever re-enter his melodrama? Some in 
 tuition told him that she would that, in some 
 
 296 
 
A HARLEM LODGING HOUSE 297 
 
 strange way their lives were entangled, and the 
 threads of their destinies must meet again. 
 
 The fresh, cool air revived him and he strode 
 along with as much spirit as if he had but just 
 awakened from a restful night. As the sun rose, 
 it grew warmer; there was a touch of spring in the 
 air. It sent his spirits several degrees higher. He 
 grew more boyish, and swung along, whistling a 
 lively march. So down Broadway boulevard all 
 the way to One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, 
 and then eastward. 
 
 As he approached his boarding house, one of a 
 row of dreary looking wooden buildings with high 
 stoops, painted each one a separate color, lead, 
 and molasses yellow, and brown, he saw, with sur 
 prise, that some one was sitting on the front steps, 
 drinking from a milk bottle. Who was it? The 
 figure was familiar, and something about the jaunty, 
 audacious attitude still more so. Fenton stopped to 
 watch. The man rose and waved a newspaper. It 
 was Jack Richmond, the star reporter of the Item. 
 
 Fenton s heart sank. For a moment he was in 
 clined to turn and escape rather than encounter 
 this persistent news-gatherer. He feared the report 
 er s inquisition. Once on the scent of a story, Fen- 
 
298 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 ton knew well enough that the man would not soon 
 let go. But Richmond could not easily be evaded; 
 Fenton knew that well enough, too. He could run 
 and he could fight as well as he could question. Fen- 
 ton s momentary indecision settled the question, at 
 any rate, for Richmond came running up before 
 Fenton could flee. 
 
 "Well, by Jove, you ve decided to show up at 
 last, have you?" Richmond called jovially. "I ve 
 been waiting two solid hours for you, and I m 
 nearly frozen stiff. If a milkman hadn t happened 
 past I d have been starved as well. Say, you seem 
 to have gone up in the world some, old man ! Some 
 different from that Highlander costume with broken 
 eggshells for stockings!" And he tapped Fenton s 
 white tie. "Where in the devil have you been, I d 
 like to know?" He took Fenton s arm familiarly 
 and walked toward the boarding house. 
 
 "Where have you been ?" Fenton asked. "I have 
 as good a right to ask as you." He tried to shake 
 himself loose, but Richmond held him close. "What 
 are you chasing me for, anyway?" he demanded 
 sullenly. 
 
 "Because I want that story," said the reporter. 
 "The jewel robbery, you know." 
 
A HARLEM LODGING HOUSE 299 
 
 "Oh, that was all a fake," Fenton began. 
 
 "Bosh! But how about that locket?" 
 
 Fenton stopped suddenly. "Well, so far as that 
 goes, how about Belle Charmion? Who is she? 
 Where is she? What do you know about her? 
 Where is the locket? What have you found out? 
 Where did you go? Where can I find her?" 
 
 Richmond laughed and laughed. "Say, you ought 
 to be a reporter, not me ! You could beat Li Hung 
 Chang for questions ! See here, I ll tell you what 
 I ll do. I ll swap you story for story. You tell me 
 what you ve been up to, and I ll tell you where I ve 
 been!" 
 
 Fenton hesitated. "I m afraid I can t, Rich 
 mond. You see, it isn t my story it mustn t get 
 into the papers it s a question of honor." 
 
 "See here, old man !" Richmond drew him down 
 on the doorsteps. "You don t seem to be onto this 
 newspaper game. I m as keen for news as any one 
 in the business, but I m a gentleman as well, and 
 when I give a promise, I ll keep it. Not a word will 
 be published that you don t consent to. If you 
 know anything about the ethics of the profession, 
 you ought to know that any information is safer 
 with a good newspaper man than with any one else 
 
300 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 in the world. Why, the president of the United 
 States tells things to correspondents in Washington 
 that politicians would give their heads to know! 
 And that confidence has never been violated in the 
 history of journalism. I ll just remark that I m 
 straight." 
 
 The reporter s manner put Fenton s mind at rest. 
 After all, it would be a great relief to get such a 
 man s help and advice. "All right," he said. "Go 
 ahead first, though. Tell me about Belle Charmion." 
 
 "Good. It isn t too much, old man, but here 
 goes. It s this way. Early this forenoon we got 
 the tip from police headquarters that a man named 
 Gordon Brewster had committed suicide in his house 
 on West Seventy-second Street. There was some 
 thing funny about it, and I was sent out on the 
 story. The coroner had viewed the remains, and 
 he had had the body removed to an undertaker s 
 place on Broadway because there was nobody there 
 in the house. That s the first queer thing. The 
 caretaker had skipped out while the cops were there. 
 The only relative was his half-sister your beaute 
 ous friend, Belle Charmion. What s the matter?" 
 
 "Belle Charmion is Gordon Brewster s half-sis 
 ter?" Fenton cried. 
 
A HARLEM LODGING HOUSE 301 
 
 "Why not ? Didn t you know it ? .Why shouldn t 
 she be?" 
 
 Like an electric shock the thought swept through 
 Fenton s mind the jewels then were perhaps Belle 
 Charmion s, stolen from her by her half-brother. 
 But he dared not speak yet. "Go on !" he said, but 
 he was almost too dazed, too occupied with this new 
 light on the mystery to listen to Richmond. 
 
 "Well," said the reporter, "Miss Charmion was 
 missing. Why? At first I scented some mystery, 
 but it was simple enough. She and Brewster never 
 did get on very well together, and they quarreled 
 about two months ago, and Miss Charmion went 
 with her maid to the Hotel Plaza and took a suite 
 there. I found this out from a Harry Hay, who 
 was Brewster s most intimate friend. Hay had 
 heard that Miss Charmion was interested in settle 
 ment work, down on the East Side, and so I hiked 
 down to see my friend, the middle-class girl I told 
 you about, Mrs. Petrovsky (formerly Miss Bessie 
 Baker), for a tip as to Miss Charmion s probable 
 whereabouts. Mrs. P. knows the whole East Side, 
 especially the uplifters connected with the settle 
 ment, and I finally caught Miss Charmion, as you 
 saw. Now comes the funny part. You saw me 
 
302 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 meet her. I began to speak of her half-brother, but 
 before I had a chance to tell her what had happened, 
 and what I wanted, she asked me who you were!" 
 
 "She wanted to know who I was?" Fenton 
 could scarcely believe it. 
 
 "Yes, and she took your address as well! I 
 walked along with her and we talked as we went 
 She said she was in a great hurry, going up-town, 
 but all the same she had time to pump me about 
 you. Well, I knew very little but your interest 
 in the locket, which I showed her. She got excited 
 when she saw it. I couldn t understand why, but 
 I had no time to figure it out. I told her that her 
 half-brother had sent me, down to find her, and he 
 wanted to see her immediately. She said that was 
 impossible ; she had an engagement that night go 
 ing up to a reception at the Morgans , she said. 
 Lucky I caught the name. Well, I didn t want to 
 blurt it out that her half-brother was lying dead in 
 an undertaker s shop on upper Broadway, so I 
 thought I d break it to her easy, you know, let it 
 out a little at a time. So I walked along, and she 
 kept asking about you. We went down the subway 
 entrance, and I bought two tickets just as a train 
 came along. We ran for it; she had just time to 
 
A HARLEM LODGING HOUSE 303 
 
 slip in, and I was following right behind her, when 
 a big fellow came along behind me like he was shot 
 out of a thirteen-inch gun. Bing! He bowled me 
 over and my hat fell off. Bing again, the door was 
 shut by the guard, and the train pulled out. What 
 d you know about that? Pretty lumpy work for a 
 star reporter, eh?" 
 
 "She got away?" 
 
 "With the locket!" 
 
 Fenton stared at the reporter thoughtfully. "And 
 she wanted to know about me?" 
 
 "Do you wonder I wanted to find you again?" 
 
 "So you haven t seen Miss Charmion since?" 
 Fenton inquired, ignoring the remark. 
 
 "You wait. I telephoned to the office that I had 
 fallen down on the story, and there was some rough 
 talk from the city editor. He said he d try to locate 
 her somehow, and meanwhile he ordered me to look 
 up a girl Gordon Brewster was supposed to be en 
 gaged to. One of our hotel men had phoned in that 
 he had seen her in the King William Hotel, where 
 she had registered as Miss Green. That looked 
 funny, too, so I went after it. Say, I d like to have 
 omitted that." He passed his hand across his fore 
 head. 
 
304 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Fenton s heart sank with foreboding. He re 
 membered the last glance the octoroon had given 
 him it was tragic in its despair. It could mean 
 but one thing, he knew, and the question leaped to 
 his lips. 
 "Suicide?" 
 
 "For Heaven s sake, how should you guess that?" 
 Richmond demanded. 
 
 "Oh, I knew her. Tell me about it." 
 "I asked for her, and the girl phoned up. No 
 answer. Well, I had to see her. They rang again and 
 again, and then I went up on the elevator with a cab- 
 driver who said Miss Green had cheated him out 
 of his fare. The minute I reached the door I 
 smelled gas, and suspected what had happened. I 
 went down, got the hotel detective, we went back 
 with one of the clerks, and they smashed the tran 
 som and put a boy through. Well, I ve seen dead 
 bodies enough; I ought to be used to it. But she 
 got me, some way. You say you knew her?" 
 
 "Yes," said Fenton quietly. "She was a wonder 
 ful woman, I think." 
 
 "Yes. I wonder if Brewster knew." 
 
 "You mean that she was not white?" 
 
 "For God s sake, did you know?" Richmond de- 
 
A HARLEM LODGING HOUSE 305 
 
 manded. "Nobody else ever did, so far as I can 
 find out, in the wide world!" 
 
 "She told me that she had negro blood," Fenton 
 replied. 
 
 "Yes. Well, some people might have thought it 
 merely ridiculous,- the hotel clerk did but some 
 how she did have a fine face you know and the 
 expression was beautiful exquisite somehow 
 I don t know it made me feel like a kid the old 
 story no color line in Heaven, and all that sort of 
 thing rich and poor alike in His sight confound 
 it, I tell you, I couldn t think of anything but that, 
 thank God, it was all over for her the contempt, 
 and the scorn and the oh, well, everything! No, 
 I couldn t laugh when I saw that pretty blonde wig 
 twisted off her head, showing the nigger kinky wool 
 underneath. I don t know it was a piece of sym 
 bolism, I suppose." And the star reporter of the 
 Item, in his embarrassment at such sentimental con 
 fession, delved in his pocket for a cigarette. 
 
 Fenton himself had too much to think about to 
 speak. Richmond lighted his cigarette and blew out 
 a cloud of smoke. 
 
 "Well, I wrote the story and sent it down to the 
 office there wasn t much that could be said, and 
 
306 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 as we couldn t find out anything from her about 
 Brewster it became absolutely necessary to get hold 
 of Miss Charmion. Luckily I remembered that she 
 said she was going to some reception at the Mor 
 gans . But what Morgan s? D you know that 
 there are exactly thirty-five Morgans with residence 
 telephones, not to speak of those in apartment 
 houses whose names are not in the book? Well, I 
 eliminated about twenty, and then began ringing up 
 the other fifteen. It was after twelve that I found 
 the right one, and had a talk with Miss Charmion. 
 I had to tell her, right out, what was up. You can t 
 mince matters much over a wire. Of course she 
 was terribly agitated to hear her half-brother was 
 dead while she was at a reception, and she hung up 
 before I could ask her when I could see her. I 
 didn t have the nerve to call her up again and I de 
 cided to wait till this morning to interview her. 
 Now, Mr. Fenton, I m ready to listen to your 
 yarn." 
 
 "Let s come up to my room first," said Fenton, 
 and he opened the front door and led the way up two 
 flights of narrow stairs, past alcoves decorated with 
 dusty plaster casts, along smelly, shabby little halls 
 where they could hear lodgers still snoring, to a 
 
A HARLEM LODGING HOUSE 307 
 
 small bedroom on the third floor. As he threw open 
 the door he noticed a note on the floor that had been 
 pushed under the crack. He stooped and picked it 
 up, read it, then handed it to the reporter. "Well, 
 what d you think of that !" he said in surprise. 
 Richmond read it aloud: 
 
 " Will Mr. John Fenton be kind enough to call 
 at No. 300 West Seventy-second Street at his very 
 earliest opportunity, and greatly oblige Miss Belle 
 Charmion ? 
 
 "Well," he said, "I thought she seemed remark 
 ably interested. I suppose she wants to return the 
 locket." 
 
 Fenton shook his head. "I m afraid it s more 
 serious than that," he said. "By Jove, I can imagine 
 what she thinks of me this time! See here, Rich 
 mond, I ve got to tell you the whole thing now, any 
 way. And you ve got to help me out. She wants 
 to see me because she thinks I ve stolen the Brew- 
 ster family jewels !" 
 
 Richmond jumped off the bed in triumph. "Aha, 
 then that tale of yours wasn t a fake, after all !" he 
 said. "Well, did you steal them, old man?" 
 
 For a moment Fenton hesitated, studying the re- 
 
3o8 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 porter s face. In it he saw, with all its sharpness 
 and eagerness, a rare kindness and sympathy. He 
 felt confidence in the man ; and he needed a friend. 
 With a quick gesture, he took the leather bag from 
 its hiding place, and emptied the contents upon his 
 table. Out rolled the jewels, and spread in a glit 
 tering mass before the reporter s eyes. 
 
 "There," said Fenton calmly, "how s that for cir 
 cumstantial evidence?" 
 
 Richmond gasped. "But I thought you said they 
 had been stolen from you?" 
 
 "Richmond, you may not believe it, I can hardly 
 believe it myself, but I ve found these jewels three 
 times, this night, and lost them twice!" Then, as 
 the reporter s brown eyes drew together in an ex 
 pression of incredulity, Fenton began with the stoiy 
 of the eventful evening. He told of his visit to the 
 fortune-teller s, and of the raid, his discovery of 
 the octoroon and how she had confided the jewels 
 to his care, his escape to Scheffel Hall, and the stoiy 
 she had told him there, of Gordon Brewster s death, 
 how she and Harry Hay had carried the dead body 
 to West Seventy-second Street, and of their subse 
 quent discovery of Brewster s theft of the jewels. 
 Then he narrated his own promise and attempt to 
 
A HARLEM LODGING HOUSE 309 
 
 deliver them, and his failure. The description of 
 how he was chloroformed, robbed, and left in the 
 pigeon-loft brought him to the Liars Club, where 
 he had first met Richmond. 
 
 "Ah," said Richmond, "that restores my faith in 
 my own powers of observation. I was sure that 
 first tale of yours was true." 
 
 "You see why this story can never be printed, 
 though?" Fenton asked anxiously. 
 
 "I m not a cad," Richmond replied simply. "But 
 go on. That s a pretty lively start; see if you can 
 keep up the pace." 
 
 Fenton smiled. "Keep it up!" he said, "it isn t 
 over yet ! I won t wake up, probably, till I see Belle 
 Channion." He went on to tell of his visit with 
 Elkhurst, alias Sproule, to the Hotel Astor, and of 
 Mrs. Elkhurst s appearance and story, proving her 
 husband to be one of the gang that was on the trail 
 of the jewels. Her information had led him down 
 town to the St. Paul building, where he discovered 
 the jewels with the murdered body of the bogus 
 Count Capricorni. 
 
 "By Jove!" Richmond cried, "there s a story, 
 anyway! I ll wire that in immediately over the 
 phone ; there s a good chance we can get a scoop on 
 
310 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 that murder for the first afternoon edition!" and 
 he was off down-stairs to the telephone while Fen- 
 ton restored the Brewster jewels to the velvet bag, 
 and pored over Belle Charmioirs note. 
 
 At Richmond s return Fenton completed the 
 night s adventures with an account of his meeting 
 Miss Charmion at the Morgans reception, and his 
 afterward innocently handing over the jewels to the 
 very gang that had been after them. Sproule-Elk- 
 hurst s escape and his confiding of the jewels again 
 to Fenton s care, finished the narrative. 
 
 "And now/ he concluded, "what am I to do? I 
 must return the jewels to Miss Charmion, immedi 
 ately, of course. But she will have to know that her 
 half-brother stole them. I wish I could spare her 
 that, for the sake of that poor girl who has just 
 committed suicide." 
 
 Richmond thought it over. "Let s see," he be 
 gan. "You say that the caretaker, Flint, discovered 
 the safe door open. Did he lock it? that s the 
 question. He may have just shut it, without lock 
 ing the combination, and so it s possible for us to 
 open the door. I don t say its probable, but it s 
 worth trying. See here. Suppose I go with you 
 to see Miss Charmion I ve got to talk with her 
 
A HARLEM LODGING HOUSE 311 
 
 anyway, and I ll see what I can do about it. We ll 
 just wait our chance. It may come, or it may not! 
 At any rate, you can trust me!" He grasped Fen- 
 ton s hand and shook it warmly. 
 
 "But if Miss Charmion should know the jewels 
 are gone? She may have looked in the safe al 
 ready," said Fenton. 
 
 "That s unlikely. Why should she suspect any 
 thing? She s too much disturbed, probably." 
 
 Fenton pointed to the note; "She s not too dis 
 turbed to write to me, at any rate! What else 
 would she want to see me for?" 
 
 "The locket, of course!" said Richmond. 
 "There s some mystery there. You d better tell me 
 something more about it." 
 
 Fenton briefly sketched his own remarkable biog 
 raphy his life with the O Sheas, and later with 
 Dr. Hopbottom. Finally he mentioned Sproule s 
 story of the Courtenay kidnapping and his own 
 memory of the little girl on the ferry-boat. 
 
 "That s it! You are Bruce Courtenay, and that 
 little girl was Belle Charmion, of course and she 
 suspects, somehow, who you really are! By Jove, 
 let s hurry it s eight o clock. She ll surely be up 
 by this time. I want to see the denouement !" 
 
312 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Fifteen minutes afterward, Fenton having 
 plunged into a cold bath and changed his evening 
 clothes for his own modest business suit, the two 
 young men set out, blithe and enthusiastic, for West 
 Seventy-second Street. Richmond discoursed upon 
 the events of the night, and the material he would 
 find therein for stories for the Item without violat 
 ing the confidence of the dead octoroon. 
 
 Fenton did not listen. His thoughts were only 
 of Belle Charmion, whom fate, after having tossed 
 across his path so many times, was perhaps now pre 
 paring to link still more closely to his life. He had 
 gone far with his emotions that night, and now he 
 found himself thinking of her as actually his. What 
 else could mean that mysterious attraction he had 
 felt when he first saw her portrait? at the thrill 
 the first sight of her gave him? his agitation at 
 trie first sound of her voice? Belle Charmion! The 
 name rang in his ears like a bell. Why, it seemed 
 as if he had known her always! It seemed as if, 
 when he saw her, words would be unnecessary as 
 if she, too, must know that they two were made for 
 one another! And so he walked as if on air. Rich 
 mond s talk had turned to base-ball and theaters. 
 Fenton heard not a word, 
 
XIII 
 THE BREWSTER MANSION 
 
 IN WHICH IS EXPLAINED, AT LAST, HOW AND WHY 
 
 BELLE CHARMION WAS SO UBIQUITOUS AND THE 
 
 REASON SHE OFFERED A REWARD FOR A 
 
 MISSING FIANCE 
 
 THEY reached the house and rang the bell. 
 Fenton, expecting a maid to answer, was com 
 posing his mind to wait in excited suspense the ten 
 or fifteen minutes that would probably elapse before 
 Miss Charmion should appear, looked up suddenly, 
 to find her the very girl of his dreams at the 
 opened door. He turned white. Belle Charmion 
 blushed vividly. The two might have stood there 
 staring at each other indefinitely, had not the re 
 porter, smiling at their embarrassment, taken off 
 his hat, and introduced John Fenton. 
 
 She looked at him how she looked at him! 
 as if he were a ghost but recovering her equanim 
 ity before he did, she graciously invited the two 
 men into the back parlor. 
 
 313 
 
314 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "You ll pardon my surprise, Mr. Fenton," she ex 
 plained, "but I hadn t expected to see you so soon. 
 Indeed, I had sent my maid for you, only just 
 now!" 
 
 Richmond spoke before Fenton could answer. 
 "I m sure you must want to see Mr. Fenton alone," 
 he said. "Suppose I wait in the dining-room." 
 He gave a glance at Fenton, for the reporter had 
 the bag of jewels ready under his overcoat. 
 
 "Oh, I have nothing I m not willing for you to 
 hear, Mr. Richmond," she said. "Indeed, if I m not 
 mistaken, it may give you a good story !" 
 
 Mr. Richmond reluctantly sat down, and Fenton, 
 still beauty-struck, and dumb, still feasting his eyes 
 on Belle Charmion, followed his example. 
 
 She turned to him gravely. "Mr. Fenton," she 
 said, "you have no doubt wondered why, at such a 
 time as this, with my half-brother lying dead, I 
 should ask you, a perfect stranger, to come here to 
 see me." 
 
 Fenton tried to speak. The words "a perfect 
 stranger" hurt him keenly. But she went on. 
 
 "The fact is, that if what I suspect is true, finding 
 you is almost as important to me as losing my half- 
 brother. As to him, I need only say that there was 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 315 
 
 never much love lost between us. I could never 
 either like or respect him. But he is dead I need 
 not enlarge on my reasons. When my mother mar 
 ried Mr. Brewster it was a great blow to me, and I 
 have never reconciled myself to it. After she died, 
 a year ago, I knew that it would not be possible for 
 me to keep even the semblance of a friendship with 
 Gordon for long. As you may know, two months 
 ago I left this house to live at the Plaza Hotel, and 
 I have scarcely seen Gordon Brewster since." 
 
 "Miss Charmion," Fenton said, at last finding his 
 tongue, "before you go on I ought, I m sure, ex 
 plain why, the last time I saw you, I was pretending 
 to be some one else. Really, it was with the best in 
 tentions " 
 
 She laughed. "Oh, I rang up Marguerite Mor 
 gan and asked about you. She explained all that, 
 and I understand. What I want more to understand 
 is what you know about this little ornament." 
 
 She handed him the golden heart-shaped locket 
 set with the diamond star which he had tried to get 
 from the cab-driver. "When I met you at the Hotel 
 Astor," she said, "I was going to ask you then ; but 
 I feared I had made a mistake. You see, you were 
 dressed in gray tweed, while, only an hour before, 
 
3i6 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 I had seen you in a brown coat and overalls." 
 Her eyes twinkled. "I would have asked you at 
 the Morgans , in spite of your having been intro 
 duced to me as the Count Capricorni but that tele 
 phone message left me no- time. It was lucky that 
 Mr. Richmond had given me your address, earlier 
 in the evening. Now, that locket has a history. I 
 scarcely dare ask you what you know of it, whether 
 it is yours or not but if it is, I have much to tell 
 you. 1 
 
 "Miss Charmion, I believe that is my locket," 
 said Fenton, examining it excitedly. "At least, I 
 remember seeing it when I was about eight years 
 old, in the possession of a man named O Shea, 
 whom, I have reason to believe, kidnapped me. 
 And, if that is true, my real name is Bruce Courte- 
 nay!" 
 
 Miss Charmion gazed at him with heightened 
 color, her lips parted, her face strangely expressive. 
 She had stretched out her hand to him, and was 
 just about to speak when she was interrupted by a 
 long ring at the front door bell, and hurriedly ex 
 cusing herself, saying that it must be her maid re 
 turning, she left and went into the hall. 
 
 "Now s my time, Fenton!" cried Richmond, 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 317 
 
 jumping up. "I ve located the dining-room, back 
 there. I m going to have a look at that safe !" And 
 he darted to the doorway, gave a look down the 
 hall, and disappeared toward the rear of the house. 
 
 Fenton, for a few minutes paced up and down 
 nervously. It was annoying to have the conversa 
 tion interrupted just at the moment when, appar 
 ently, he was to find out whether his suspicions 
 about his own identity were correct, when he was to 
 find, too, what secret connected him with Belle 
 Charmion. But, if Richmond could succeed in re 
 placing the jewels in the safe without her knowing 
 it, the accident was well-timed. Then, as he listened 
 for her return, he heard a strangely familiar voice, 
 which rose steadily higher. He went to the door 
 to hear more clearly. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that I have made an incip 
 ient octagon of myself running around this holo- 
 gastric town for nothing?" some one thundered, 
 and Fenton was amazed to recognize it as Doctor 
 Hopbottom. 
 
 "I m very sorry," said Miss Charmion. 
 
 "But, by the pancyclic septuagint, wasn t it on 
 your business ?" 
 
 "It s too bad you were forestalled." 
 
318 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "Forestalled! D you mean you d take the word 
 of a seventeen-cent hypercorrosive blastoderm like 
 that brompropionic reporter rather than mine?" 
 
 Miss Charmion burst out laughing. "You re a 
 day late, Doctor. But I m very busy at present, and 
 I ll have to say good morning !" 
 
 "Well, by Zarathrustra, you ll have to give me 
 that superhyphenated locket, or pay for it, then !" 
 
 "I think I shall have no trouble in proving that it 
 is my property or that of Mr. Fenton," said Miss 
 Charmion calmly. "And so, unless you wish me to 
 call him, or his friend, I really think you had not 
 better stay." 
 
 Fenton appeared in the hall at the same moment. 
 Doctor Hopbottom took one look at him and put on 
 his hat. Then he opened the front door and shook 
 his bony finger at his former ward. 
 
 "You ll come to a helciform end, sir!" he de 
 claimed; "you see if you don t! I knew you were 
 nothing but a semi-colonial anthropoid anacoluthon 
 when I first saw you! Good day, Miss Charmion. 
 Good day ! The next time I spend my time looking 
 up a post-impressionistic, Pliocene friend of yours 
 I ll jimpriculately well know it!" And he stalked out 
 of the door and slammed it. 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 319 
 
 At that moment Richmond touched Fenton on 
 the shoulder. "Great!" he whispered. "Just as I 
 thought the door of the safe was shut but not 
 locked. The jewels are safe." 
 
 "At last!" Fenton replied. "I only hope I ll 
 never have to see them again." They moved back 
 from the doorway just as Miss Charmion returned. 
 
 "Well, it seems that wasn t your locket after all !" 
 she cried, smiling. "Look at this!" And she held 
 out one exactly similar. "Where in the world did 
 that extraordinary old doctor get it, do you sup 
 pose?" 
 
 "I see," said Fenton. "He must have got it, 
 somehow, from O Shea. But how in the world 
 should he look it up?" 
 
 "Oh, that s simple," Miss Charmion volunteered. 
 "Don t you know that for a year I have offered a 
 thousand dollars reward for you?" She blushed 
 prettily, and gave him her hand. 
 
 Richmond groaned whimsically. "I wish I d 
 known that !" he said. 
 
 Miss Charmion turned to him. "Oh, it doesn t 
 matter. You are the one who brought him, and the 
 money is yours. I can never be grateful enough for 
 what you ve done, Mr. Richmond. Isn t it strange 
 
320 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 that when I first saw Mr. Fenton or, of course, I 
 must say Mr. Courtenay now I had an intuition 
 that he was the man I wanted to find ? Then, when 
 I saw the locket and heard what you told me 
 of it, Mr. Richmond, I was sure." 
 
 "But," interrupted Fenton, "would you mind tell 
 ing me why you were so anxious to find me? I m 
 dazed. I know well enough why I wanted to find 
 you, but " 
 
 "Do sit down, and I ll begin at the beginning/ 
 said Miss Charmion. "I don t mind Mr. Richmond s 
 hearing it, for there s no reason why this shouldn t 
 be known." 
 
 They took chairs near her and she began : "My 
 mother, then Mrs. Charmion, and yours, Mrs. 
 Courtenay, were great friends. Well, you and I 
 were born on the same day. Twins, so to speak. 
 We were brought up together as near neighbors and 
 friends, that is, till we were four years old. That 
 scene you have described on the ferry boat I recall 
 perfectly. You see, we each had a locket like these ; 
 and it was mine you snatched away from me. In 
 deed, you had it when you were kidnapped, the same 
 day ; and that is the one Dr. Hopbottom has so mi 
 raculously restored just now. You see, there seems 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 321 
 
 to have been some queer fate all through it we 
 couldn t be separated, in spite of everything. Well, 
 your disappearance was a terrible thing. Your 
 mother became ill, and she really died as a conse 
 quence of the shock and the horror of it. Your 
 father spent almost every cent he had in trying to 
 find you but from the day you were lost nothing 
 was ever heard by which any one could trace you. 
 You simply disappeared off the face of the earth. 
 Your father died a few years afterward, a broken 
 down old man, entrusting the search to my father 
 and mother. Until my own father died the search 
 was never abandoned. Then my mother married 
 Mr. Brewster, and the thing was given up as an in 
 soluble mystery. But I year ago I determined to try 
 again, and I offered the reward in hopes that, by 
 this time, some one might be willing to give infor 
 mation." 
 
 "But, Miss Charmion," Fenton interrupted, "it 
 was fine of you to do that; but what, really, did it 
 matter whether I was found or not, at this late day? 
 I don t quite see !" 
 
 "Ah!" she said, smiling. "I haven t told you the 
 main point. Will you come into the dining-room 
 for a moment ?" She rose and led the way. 
 
322 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 Fenton and Richmond exchanged a glance of sur 
 prise, and followed her, wondering what was to 
 come next. Miss Charmion went to the safe and 
 began to turn the combination. In a moment she 
 threw open the door and looked in. 
 
 "Why, how funny!" she exclaimed, as she drew 
 out tHe leather bag. "Oh, I suppose Gordon was in 
 tending to take it to the safe deposit vaults. He 
 probably wanted to economize room here. But how 
 extraordinarily careless !" She rose and handed the 
 bag of jewels to Fenton. 
 
 For the fourth time within twelve hours then, he 
 received this astonishing collection of precious 
 stones. Each time had been sensational, each time 
 had been unlooked-for, each time had been more 
 dramatic than the last. This time capped the cli 
 max. Amazed and dazed, he found no words to 
 express his wonder. He stood, holding the bag, 
 looking at Miss Charmion stupidly. 
 
 "They are yours !" said Belle Charmion. 
 
 He could only repeat, "Mine?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied. "I told you that your father 
 spent almost his last cent on the attempt to trace 
 you, but these jewels were your mother s, and she 
 wished them kept in case you should be found. But, 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 323 
 
 despairing of that, she directed in her will that, if 
 you should not be found by the time I (and of 
 course you) was twenty-one years old, that they 
 should become mine. Well, I am twenty-one to-day 
 and so are you. It is our birthday!" She looked 
 at him with laughter in her eyes. 
 
 "But do you mean to say," Fenton cried, "that 
 you offered a thousand dollars reward for me, so 
 that you might not come into possession of these 
 jewels?" 
 
 She nodded gravely. "Why not?" 
 
 It was all he could do to prevent himself rushing 
 to her and taking her in his arms. He knew now, 
 though he had always felt intuitively what sort of 
 woman she was, how fine and how loyal. To dis 
 cover, also, what old bond connected them thrilled 
 him. It gave him a claim on her affection, a right 
 to her. It explained and justified the romantic at 
 traction she had had for him; it made reasonable 
 and sound what might otherwise be distrusted as a 
 too picturesque love-at-first-sight. But did she feel 
 that, also? He must find out. Richmond s pres 
 ence embarrassed him. He gave the reporter an ap 
 pealing glance. Richmond was no fool. He arose 
 immediately. 
 
324 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "If you don t mind my having this story, Miss 
 Charmion," he said; "it s really news, you know, 
 and mighty romantic." 
 
 "I don t mind," she replied. 
 
 "Then, if you ll excuse me, I ll go into your li 
 brary and begin it. I can get any details I want 
 later," and with a wink to Fenton he left the room. 
 
 Fenton could not realize that the wealth repre 
 sented by the jewels was now his. He dared not 
 estimate their value ; he only knew that he was now 
 rich, that his future was assured. Even this, how 
 ever, did not excite him. There was something far 
 more important, far more precious, far more ro 
 mantic, agitating him. His mind, as well as his 
 eyes, were too full of Belle Charmion. She seemed 
 melting as if she herself could not longer resist 
 the power which had for so long been drawing them 
 together. He glanced at her, and she answered 
 without a word. It made him tremble, but he dared 
 not quite believe. It seemed audacious to risk his 
 happiness upon so subtle a sign, yet in his heart he 
 knew, as well as if she had spoken aloud, that she 
 was his, that it would be grotesquely impossible for 
 her to be any other s. So, trepid, nervous, his cour 
 age growing momentarily, he watched her beautiful 
 expressive face, saw it soften as she looked at him. 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 325 
 
 It was Belle Charmion who first broke the silence. 
 "I haven t told you of one strange thing," she said 
 softly, as if afraid to speak aloud. "Last night I 
 felt queerly. I had a sort of intuition that some 
 thing was about to happen. It was the eve of my 
 birthday, and I knew that to-morrow, if you were 
 not found, the jewels would be mine. I didn t want 
 them; it was hateful to me to take them. Well, I went 
 I wonder if you can understand just why to a 
 fortune teller. She told me some strange things 
 about myself and about you She paused and 
 blushed. 
 
 "Was it Madame Oswald ?" Fenton asked impetu 
 ously. 
 
 Miss Charmion nodded, astonished that he 
 should know. 
 
 The fortune teller s prediction leaped into Fen- 
 ton s mind. He was, she had said, to marry a girl 
 with the initials "B. C." and marry with money, 
 and now "Did she know your name?" he asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 She looked up, a little pale with emotion. "No. 
 But I remembered afterward that I had a shopping 
 bag with my monogram on it perhaps that s how 
 she got my initials so mysteriously." 
 
 Fenton smiled, reached over and now boldly took 
 
326 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 her hand. "I think I know what she said of me," 
 he said. "She said it to me, too. And I hope it will 
 come true. So, now that I have found the answer 
 to the question that has been in my mind so persist 
 ently for twelve hours " 
 
 "What question?" she asked wonderingly. She 
 did not withdraw her hand. 
 
 "The question, Who is Belle Charmion? " 
 
 She drew away her hand and jumped to her feet. 
 "Oh," she cried, "I haven t told you the strangest 
 part of it all yet ! I didn t want to speak of it before 
 your friend, Mr. Richmond. But you can never an 
 swer that question till I have told you !" 
 
 "What?" he exclaimed. "Surely you are Belle 
 Charmion, aren t you?" He looked at her in amaze 
 ment. 
 
 "Sit down," she answered. "I want to tell you a 
 story a story that you ought to know." And, re 
 seating herself, she began the tale. 
 
 REASON VERSUS INSTINCT 
 
 I don t know exactly how it happened the 
 mix-up of two babies that led to the queerest year 
 two mothers ever had, your mother and mine. I 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 327 
 
 know only that they were at the same hospital, and 
 that we were born at the same time, almost the same 
 minute, and that the place caught fire before we were 
 well into the world. The patients were bundled out 
 in blankets, and there was a tremendous excitement 
 everywhere. When the two babies were brought 
 out to the two mothers, lying in cots on the lawn, 
 that May night, it occurred for the first time to the 
 nurse who brought them that she had no idea which 
 child belonged to which. 
 
 You can t imagine anything funnier, or any 
 thing at the same time more tragic as well. One 
 baby was a boy and one a girl ; but which was Mrs. 
 Courtenay s child and which was Mrs. Charmion s 
 nobody there could tell. 
 
 If that nurse had realized the importance of the 
 situation, or had thought of it a moment sooner, 
 she would undoubtedly have decided the question 
 for herself, taken the babies and delivered them as 
 chance would have it, and no one would ever have 
 known. But she hesitated just a moment too long. 
 Both the women were nearly distracted and waiting 
 in nervous suspense to know whether or not their 
 children had been saved. Ill as they were, nothing 
 could satisfy them till they had seen their own chil- 
 
328 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 dren safe. So, waiting there in the midst of all that 
 horror, they were quite able to notice the nurse s 
 perplexity. 
 
 There was nothing for the nurse to do, therefore, 
 but to acknowledge her dilemma. The infants were 
 safe that was all she could say. It was enough at 
 least to reassure both mothers minds for the time 
 being, and both of them collapsed and were taken 
 away to the nearest house, after being assured that 
 the problem would be settled satisfactorily as soon 
 as those who knew the facts could be questioned. 
 
 The next day, however, it was found that the 
 only ones who knew the answer to the riddle, one 
 of the house physicians and two nurses who had 
 stayed in the burning building caring for the pa 
 tients, had been burned to death or had died from 
 the effects of their injuries. There was, therefore, 
 absolutely no knowing how to assign the children. 
 It was a question for the mothers to decide between 
 themselves. That s how the trouble began; and it 
 wasn t soon over. 
 
 In the first place the boy baby had red hair not 
 much, but enough to serve as possible hereditary 
 evidence. Now, Mrs. Courtenay had auburn hair; 
 but, on the other hand, so did Mr. Charmion. Mrs. 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 329 
 
 Courtenay argued that a child usually resembles, 
 physically, its parent of the opposite sex that is, a 
 boy resembles his mother, and a girl her father. But 
 Mrs. Charmion found plenty of evidence to dis 
 prove that theory. Mr. Charmion s father, for in 
 stance, had had red hair, as well as Mr. Charmion 
 himself. 
 
 This discussion was kept up for a week, while the" 
 two women stayed at the house that had been rented 
 as a temporary hospital ward. Mrs. Courtenay and 
 Mrs. Charmion had beds in the same room, and the 
 children were cared for in one adjoining. Night and 
 day that argument was kept up, sometimes excitedly, 
 as the two women grew nervous from their sus 
 pense, and sometimes amicably weeping with laugh 
 ter at the comedy of the situation. Both mothers 
 were college women, and could discuss the subject 
 scientifically. Of course that was in 1890, before 
 Mendel s law had been re-discovered, or else, I 
 suppose there would have been a great deal of evi 
 dence as to whether red hair was a dominant or a 
 recessive factor. As it was, they quoted Darwin, 
 Lamarcke and Weissman on heredity and mutation, 
 and they must have got a good deal over their heads. 
 Mrs. Courtenay would exploit a theory over one 
 
330 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 baby, and then exclaim, "Now let me see the other 
 one!" Mrs. Charmion would send for books and 
 encyclopedias, and then cry, "Give me that child 
 quick !" And so it went. 
 
 Meanwhile the two fathers were fighting it out 
 together in the same way. Mr. Courtenay would 
 talk it over with his wife. He would talk it over with 
 Mr. Charmion. He would talk it over with Mrs. 
 Charmion. You ll easily see that there were six com 
 binations of pairs possible, and each pair had it out. 
 
 Well, both the mothers and the babies throve, 
 despite the uncertainty of parentage. The parents 
 declared an armed truce on the red-hair question, 
 and turned from specific to general traits. Which 
 set of parents did each child most resemble? That 
 was the question. You can foresee the difficulties of 
 identification. If the boy had Mr. Courtenay s eyes 
 and Mrs. Charmion s nose, he was sure to have Mrs. 
 Courtenay s hands and Mr. Charmion s ears and so 
 on. Neither of the children s resemblance to either 
 of the parents was pronounced enough to determine 
 the question for the four adults involved. Fam 
 ily pictures were produced, old photographs, daguer 
 reotypes, oil portraits, even tintypes. Some seemed 
 to show a marked resemblance in a possible ancestor, 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 331 
 
 but as soon as one child appeared to be proved a 
 descendant, the other one evidenced proof of a claim 
 to the same line. 
 
 The two babies had, to all intents and purposes, 
 during the first fortnight, four parents apiece. 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay, as she convalesced, studied the 
 boy for hours, while Mrs. Charmion inspected the 
 girl. Then the two women would compare noteSi 
 exchange babies, and the trouble would begin all 
 over again. Of course, there was no envy; it was 
 not a question of each woman wanting the best, or 
 handsomest or healthiest or brightest child. Each 
 woman wanted her own, that was all but that was 
 enough to keep each mother uncertain. 
 
 This, of course, couldn t go on for ever. The 
 women wanted to go to their homes, and each want 
 ed to take a baby. But, naturally, it was necessary 
 to decide which child each should take. The fathers 
 grew impatient and jocosely proposed that they 
 should draw lots for the babies. The mothers 
 couldn t see the joke, and wept when it was sug 
 gested. It was a serious matter. The fathers next 
 offered to move into a double house and wait for 
 time to decide the question by developing the chil 
 dren s characteristic differences. The mothers 
 
332 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 wouldn t agree to that, either. And so, for a few 
 days, the matter was at a deadlock, with the women 
 in tears and the men surly. But by this time the 
 mothers had come to an agreement upon one impor 
 tant question. They decided that, whatever were 
 their last names, the boy should be called Bruce and 
 the girl Belle. No girl ever yet liked her given 
 name, and I don t like mine but Belle Courtenay 
 or Belle Charmion, one or the other, I had to be. 
 
 Well, this sort of thing finally became intolerable 
 and the two women grew desperate. It was work 
 ing on their nerves so badly that the question had to 
 be decided some way. Now Mrs. Courtenay had 
 wanted a son tremendously; her husband had, also, 
 although a father s influence isn t supposed to mean 
 much. On the other hands, Mrs. Charmion and 
 Mr. Charmion had both hoped for a little daugh 
 ter. So, on the basis of these two strong desires, 
 and their prenatal influence, the matter was settled. 
 The Courtenays took Bruce home to East Orange, 
 and the Charmions took Belle to their house in 
 Orange Centre. This was when the children were 
 three weeks old. 
 
 Neither of the women was really satisfied. There 
 was a horrible doubt in each mother s mind that per- 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 333 
 
 haps she was nursing some other woman s baby, and 
 this kept both of them so worried that neither re 
 covered rapidly. It occurred first to Mrs. Charmion 
 to watch for peculiar inherited traits and see if the 
 ancestry couldn t be traced along that line. A baby 
 of three weeks old, however, is little more than a 
 breathing automaton. All its acts are instinctive, 
 or mere physiological reflexes. It is rehearsing, in 
 its development, the history of the race. Babies are 
 really more like apes than human beings. At the 
 same time, family traits are deeply seated and will 
 come out. This was Mrs. Charmion s view. 
 
 About two days after the families had separated, 
 the Courtenay house bell was rung loud and long, 
 at about three o clock in the morning. Mr. Courte 
 nay got up, threw on his bath robe and came down 
 to the front door, to find Mr. Charmion shivering 
 on the stoop. 
 
 "Say, do you like to have the soles of your feet 
 tickled?" was the first thing Mr. Charmion said. 
 
 "D you mean to say you ve got me up in the mid 
 dle of the night to ask that?" Mr. Courtenay ex 
 claimed. "Good heavens, no ! I can t bear it." 
 
 Mr. Charmion persisted. "Does your wife like 
 it?" he demanded. 
 
334 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 "I don t know that it s any of your business," 
 Mr. Courtenay replied. "It seems to me to be a 
 rather personal question. But as you seem to be 
 serious, I ll tell you that she could be tortured to 
 death that way, or else she d go insane in about 
 three minutes." 
 
 "Thank God!" Mr. Charmion answered, and 
 started off, when Mr. Courtenay called him back. 
 
 "Say, for heaven s sake, Charmion, what in thun 
 der does all this mean?" he asked. 
 
 "Why," said Mr. Charmion, "I enjoy having the 
 soles of my feet tickled, and so does Mrs. Char 
 mion. She adores it. It s fine. Confound it, it s 
 restful. It eases the nerves, you know. It makes 
 you relax." 
 
 Well, Mr. Courtenay just stood there and stared 
 at Mr. Charmion, too angry for words. "Well," he 
 said at last, sarcastically, "now this important ques 
 tion is settled, I suppose I may go to bed ?" 
 
 "Wait a minute till I get Belle! Then you can 
 wake up Bruce and tickle his feet and we ll know." 
 
 "What in the devil d you mean? Are you crazy, 
 or what?" cried Mr. Courtenay. 
 
 Then Mr. Charmion explained. Mrs. Charmion, 
 it seemed, had awakened in the middle of the night 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 335 
 
 thinking of the fact that she liked to have the soles 
 of her feet tickled, and so did her husband. It was 
 a rare trait; most people can t bear it. Perhaps it 
 would do for a test. She called the nurse and had 
 little Belle brought in, and they carefully, anxiously, 
 solemnly tickled her little soles. She coughed, 
 sneezed, cried, and, more important than all that, 
 she contracted the muscles of her toes and curled 
 them up like little fists. 
 
 "This is no child of mine!" Mrs. Charmion an 
 nounced to her husband, "nor of yours either. Take 
 her over to the Courtenays immediately and try; 
 Bruce !" Mr. Charmion obeyed. 
 
 Well, Mrs. Courtenay got up and put on a wrap 
 per; the nurse was awakened, and little Bruce was 
 brought in and tickled in state. He smiled, re 
 laxed his toes and opened them as wide apart as 
 possible. Could anything be more convincing ? The 
 babies were swapped, and Mr. Charmion drove 
 home with Bruce. So Belle Charmion became Belle 
 Courtenay. 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay couldn t deny the force of this 
 test, yet she was so worried about it that she nearly 
 made herself ill thinking over it. The result was 
 that one afternoon she took Belle and drove over to 
 
336 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 the Charmions in great excitement. Mrs. Charmion 
 began to tremble at sight of her. "Mercy, Mrs. 
 Courtenay, what is it?" she asked. "Have you dis 
 covered anything?" 
 
 "We ve got to get both children asleep immedi 
 ately," said Mrs. Courtenay. "Belle simply won t 
 sleep on her back, and the Courtenays as a family 
 are noted for that. My husband always sleeps on 
 his back; so did his father and grandfather. I 
 don t, but my father and all my brothers do. Do 
 you, Mrs. Charmion?" she asked anxiously. 
 
 "No, indeed," said Mrs. Charmion. "It makes 
 one snore." 
 
 "Oh, that s nothing! The Courtenays, without 
 exception, all snore," said Mrs. Courtenay. "My 
 husband is simply dreadful. I always have to sleep 
 two rooms away. Of course, Belle is too little to 
 snore, but she won t sleep unless I lay her on her 
 side." 
 
 "That is funny," said Mrs. Charmion. "I ve had 
 lots of trouble getting Bruce to sleep; I never tried 
 to put him on his back. Some doctors do say it s 
 more healthful, though, that way. We ll try it im 
 mediately." 
 
 The two children were rocked and cuddled and 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 337 
 
 sung to, and finally deposited on a double bed, both 
 on their sides. Belle went to sleep instantly ; Bruce 
 would not close his eyes. Both babies were then 
 laid upon their backs. Bruce went instantly to sleep, 
 Belle wailed. Bruce was then made comfortable, 
 and when both children were in Dreamland the two 
 mothers cried it out together. 
 
 "Isn t it awful, to have to decide such an impor 
 tant question on such a little thing as that?" said 
 Mrs. Courtenay, gazing at the babes. 
 
 "Look at Belle s hand!" cried Mrs. Charmion, 
 suddenly. "Now that settles it ! I m positive you re 
 right! See, she holds the thumb inside her fist, just 
 like all the Charmions ! Bruce keeps his thumb out 
 side. Don t the Courtenays and your people clench 
 the thumb outside their fists ?" 
 
 "Of course they do !" said Mrs. Courtenay. "It s 
 a sign of a weak will to keep the thumb inside." 
 
 "Pshaw! No one ever accused a Charmion of 
 having a weak will ; and I m sure that thumb doesn t 
 mean anything of the kind. But, at any rate, it 
 proves pretty conclusively that your inference was 
 right from her sleeping posture. When they get 
 old enough to roll over of themselves there ll be no 
 possible doubt of it. You d better take Bruce right 
 
338 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 back with you, Mrs. Courtenay, and I ll take my 
 girl!" So Bruce Charmion became ,a Courtenay 
 again. 
 
 Well, I can t begin to tell you all the curious ins 
 and outs of that ridiculous case. Bruce was taken 
 back from the Courtenays. Early one morning he 
 was seen to wiggle his ears an immemorial Char 
 mion characteristic, and Belle was proved to be a 
 true Charmion, after that, upsetting all previous 
 evidences on account of her fear of cats a trait for 
 which the family had always been noted. 
 
 Of course, if the ladies had not been well edu 
 cated enough to know that the doctrine of transmis 
 sion of acquired characteristics had been exploded, 
 there would have been many more complications; 
 as, for instance, in Belle s delight when the piano 
 was played, and Brace s aversion to blue. These 
 things, of course, came later, when the babies had 
 begun to manifest intellectual powers, but there was 
 quite enough else to keep the two families busy. 
 The two children had scarcely time to get used to 
 their mothers before they were whisked back. Soon 
 every aunt and uncle, not to speak of the grand 
 parents of the two babies were brought into the 
 controversy. Family councils were held and both 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 339 
 
 babies were hurriedly sent for, inspected, analyzed, 
 and judgment passed. Maiden aunts and interested 
 cousins would insist that resemblances were unmis 
 takable on one side, and immediately sisters-in-law 
 and step-children on the other side would veto the 
 verdict. 
 
 The two families naturally got pretty well ac 
 quainted. In spite of the occasional quarrels and 
 jealousies, the two sets of fathers and mothers be 
 came great friends. Mrs. Courtenay and Mrs. 
 Charmion met often to sew on the babies layouts; 
 for, since it was never certain who was to do the 
 dressing of either the boy or the girl, it was advisa 
 ble that both mothers tastes should be consulted. 
 So they embroidered and stitched and folded and 
 tucked as they talked the matter over. The fathers 
 discussed the same subject from a different point of 
 view, on board the train, every morning on the way 
 to their business in New York. So, finally, it was 
 decided, half in jest and half in earnest, that the 
 boy and girl should be formally engaged to eacli 
 other, in the ancient royal style. Two similar gold 
 lockets were bought, each with a diamond star on 
 the front, and each child received one as a troth- 
 plight token. If the two children should marry as 
 
340 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 planned, when they reached the age of twenty-one, 
 it would settle all property rights, at least ; although 
 whether the two contracting parties themselves 
 would ever consent to this arrangement was, of 
 course, another matter. 
 
 This was the way matters stood when the two 
 children were thirteen months old. The Courte- 
 nays and the Charmions had gone away to the 
 Maine coast for their summer vacation, taking one 
 large cottage for the two families. The children 
 slept up-stairs in a large nursery. 
 
 One night, as the two women were sitting sew 
 ing, discussing the inevitable topic, Mrs. Courtenay 
 smelled smoke. She spoke of it to Mrs. Charmion, 
 who confirmed her suspicion, and the two went out 
 into the hall together to investigate. An overturned 
 lamp lay on the floor under the stairs, the oil had 
 spread over the carpet, and was burning fiercely. 
 The inside of the closet under the stairs was all 
 afire. 
 
 With simultaneous screams, the two women 
 started running up-stairs for the children. They 
 were almost out of their heads with terror, and 
 they fought their way, crowding one another like 
 maniacs up to the top, equally anxious to rescue the 
 
THE BREWSTER MANSION 341 
 
 children. More correctly, I suppose, each mother 
 was anxious to rescue her own child. By the time 
 they reached the door of the nursery the smoke 
 filled the hall, and the women were frantic. They 
 were beyond reason; they acted automatically. 
 They burst through the door together. 
 
 The children s cots stood side by side, and the 
 way was clear to both. The mothers knew perfectly 
 well which baby was in each cot. There was not a 
 word spoken after they entered the room, but, as if 
 by a prearranged plan, the mothers each took a dif 
 ferent cot, ran and grabbed the child it contained, 
 then rushed down-stairs through the smoke and 
 flames till they were safe upon the lawn. 
 
 Then they turned and looked at each other in 
 wonder. At this time Belle had been with the 
 Courtenays for some months, and Bruce with the 
 Charmions. The affair had been virtually decided 
 forever. But, when the two women came to their 
 senses they found that, without reason or will, 
 without conscious intent that they could remember, 
 acting merely upon blind impulse, Mrs. Courtenay 
 had saved Bruce, and Mrs. Charmion had rescued 
 Belle. And, without even discussing it, understand 
 ing each other and themselves without words, each 
 
342 FIND THE WOMAN 
 
 mother knew that she had acted upon instinct, and 
 that her instinct had been true. The fathers were 
 never so sure, but, from that day, neither Mrs. 
 Courtenay nor Mrs. Charmion doubted that she had 
 her own child. 
 
 "And so," Miss Charmion concluded, "there will 
 never be an answer to your question Who is Belle 
 Charmion ? for no one will ever know." 
 
 Fenton arose and put his arm about her. With 
 a little shiver of delicious excitement she put up her 
 face to his without fear. 
 
 "It doesn t matter, anyway, my dear," said he, 
 smiling down at her, "because her name is going to 
 be Belle Courtenay again as soon as I can get a 
 marriage license! Haven t we been engaged for 
 twenty years?" 
 
 Her reply was smothered in his kiss; but what 
 ever she said it is safe to believe that it was not 
 "No." 
 
 THE END 
 
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