Читать книгу: «Under Cover», страница 10
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHE turned the key, less noisily this time, and stepped into Denby’s room. Making her way to the drawer she gave it a gentle pull. But it was still fastened, and she grasped the heavy brass knife when of a sudden the room was full of light, and Denby stepped from the shadow of the door where he had been concealed.
“Oh!” she cried in terror, and turned her face away from him.
He walked slowly over to the table by which she stood.
“So you’ve come for the necklace, then? Why do you want it?”
She looked at him in desperation. Only the truth would serve her now.
“I am employed by the government. I was sent here to get it,” she answered.
“What?” he cried. “The charming Miss Cartwright a secret service agent! It’s quite incredible.”
“But it’s true,” she said.
“Who employed you?” he asked sharply.
“I can’t tell you that,” she said slowly.
“Then how can I believe you?” he asked her.
“But it’s the truth,” she insisted. “For what other reason should I be here?”
“Women have collected jewels before now for themselves as well as their governments,” he reminded her.
She flushed. “Do you wish to insult me?”
“I don’t think you quite realize your position,” he said. “I find you here trying to steal something of mine. If you tell me the name of the man, or men, under whose orders you are acting, I may be able to believe.”
“I can’t tell you,” she cried; “I can’t tell you.”
“It’s most likely to be Bangs,” he said meditatively, and then turned to her quickly. “It was John H. Bangs of the secret service who sent you.”
At all costs she knew she must keep the name of Daniel Taylor from him. To admit that it was a fellow official would do no harm.
“Yes,” she said; “it was.”
Contempt looked from his face. “You lie, Miss Cartwright, you lie!”
“Mr. Denby!” she cried.
“I’ve no time for politeness now,” he told her. “There is no Bangs in the secret service.”
“But you, how can you know?” she said, fighting for time.
“It’s my business to know my opponents,” he observed. “Can’t you tell the truth?”
“I can’t tell you who it was,” she persisted, “but if you’ll just give me the necklace – ”
He laughed scornfully at her childish request. Her manner puzzled him extremely. He had seen her fence and cross-examine, use her tongue with the adroitness of an old hand at intrigue, and yet she was simple, guileless enough to ask him to hand over the necklace.
“And if I refuse you’ll call the men in who seized Mr. Vaughan, thinking it was I, and let them get the right man this time?”
“I don’t know,” she said despairingly. “What else can I do? I can’t fail.”
“Nor can I,” he snapped, “and don’t intend to, either. Do you know what happens to a man who smuggles in the sort of thing I did and resists the officials as I shall do, and is finally caught? I’ve seen it, and I know. It’s prison, Miss Cartwright, and gray walls and iron bars. It means being herded for a term of years with another order of men, the men who are crooked at heart; it means the losing of all one’s hopes in prison gloom and coming out debased and suspected by every man set in authority over you, for evermore. I’ve sometimes gone sick at seeing men who have done as I am doing, but have not escaped. I’m not going to prison, Miss Cartwright, remember that.”
“But I don’t want you to,” she cried eagerly, so eagerly, that he groaned to think her magnificent acting should be devoted to such a scene as this. “I don’t want you to.”
“Then there’s only one way out of it for both of us,” he said, coming nearer.
“What?” she asked fervently.
“Tell them you’ve failed, that you couldn’t find it anywhere.”
“I couldn’t,” she said vehemently.
There was a certain studied contempt in his manner which hurt her badly. And to know that he would always regard her as an adventuress, unprincipled and ready to sell herself for the rewards of espionage, and never have even one pleasant and genuine memory of her, made her desperate.
“I didn’t intend you to lose on the transaction,” he said coldly. “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars.”
“Oh, no, no!” she cried, “you don’t understand.”
“Twenty thousand, then,” he said. “Only you and I would know. Your principals could never hold it against you. Isn’t it a good offer?”
She made a gesture of despair. “It’s no good.”
“Twenty thousand no good!” he jeered. “Think again, Miss Cartwright. It will pay you better to stand in with me than give me up.”
“No, no!” she cried, half hysterically.
“It’s all I can afford,” he said. Her manner seemed so strange, that for the first time since he had found her in his room, he began to doubt whether, after all, it was merely the splendid acting he had supposed.
“I can’t accept,” she told him. “I’ve got to get that necklace; it means more than any money to me.”
He looked at her keenly, seeking to gauge the depth of her emotion.
“Then they’ve got some hold on you,” he asserted.
“No,” she assured him, “I must get the necklace.”
“So you’re going to make me fight you then?” he questioned.
“I’ve got to fight,” she exclaimed.
“Look here,” he said, after a moment’s pause, “let’s get this thing right. You won’t accept any – shall we call it compromise? – and you won’t tell me for whom you are acting. And you won’t admit that you are doing this because someone has such a hold on you that you must obey. Is that right, so far?”
For a moment she had a wild idea of telling him, of putting an end to the scene that was straining her almost to breaking-point. She knew he could be chivalrous and tender, and she judged he could be ruthless and hard if necessity compelled. But above all, and even stronger than her fear of irrevocably breaking with him and being judged hereafter as one unworthy, was the dread of Taylor and that warrant that could at his will send Amy to prison and her mother possibly to her grave. She hardened herself to go through with the ordeal.
“So far you are right,” she admitted.
“Then it remains only for us two to fight. I hate fighting women. A few hours ago I would have sworn that you and I never could fight, but a few hours have shown me that I’m as liable to misread people as – as Monty, for example. You say you’ve got to fight. Very well then; I accept the challenge, and invite you to witness my first shot.”
He walked to the door through which she had come and opening it, took the key from her side of it, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.
“What do you mean?” she cried.
“Merely that I’m going to keep you here,” he retorted. “I was afraid we might be interrupted.”
“Open that door!” she commanded quickly.
“When I am ready no doubt I shall,” he returned.
“You wouldn’t do that?” she cried, beginning to realize that she was to have no easy victory if indeed victory were to be her reward.
“I regret the necessity,” he said. “These methods don’t particularly appeal to me, but we have declared war, and there’s no choice.”
“But I don’t understand,” she said nervously.
“Don’t you?” he said, coming nearer and looking at her closely. “Don’t you understand that you are a beautiful woman and I am a man? Have you forgotten that it’s nearly three, and you are in my room, the room next which you begged to be moved? They were a little puzzled at your wanting that key so badly, and when you’re found here en negligée– for you will be found here – I think I know the world well enough to judge what construction will be placed upon that discovery.”
For the moment she forgot about everything but the personal aspect of the situation in which she found herself. That this man of all others should be willing to compromise her reputation awakened the bitterest contempt for him.
“I thought at least you were a man!” she cried.
“I am,” he returned without heat. “That’s just it, Miss Cartwright, I’m a man, and you are a woman.”
“And I thought you were my friend,” she exclaimed indignantly.
“Please don’t bandy the name of friendship with me,” he said with a sneer. “You of all women that live, to dare to talk like that! You knew I liked you – liked you very much, and because you were so sure of it, you wheedled me into betraying myself. You smiled and lied and pledged our friendship, and called to mind those days in Paris, which were the happiest recollections of all my life. And yet it was all done so that you might get enough out of me to lead me, with a prison sentence awaiting me, to the man who gives you your orders.” He took a few swift paces up and down the room. “This indignation of yours is a false note. We’ll keep to the main facts. You are sworn to betray me, and I am sworn to defeat you.”
“Don’t think that,” she said wretchedly; “I wasn’t – ”
“And when I told you the truth,” he went on inexorably, “you asked me to go into the garden where they were waiting for me.”
“I couldn’t help it,” she said, as calmly as she was able.
“And when you thought I was sending the necklace here you trumped up a flimsy excuse so that you might be able to steal in here and get it. Is that sort of thing in your code of friendship?”
“I wasn’t trying to trap you,” she explained. “I thought you were innocent, and I wanted to convince them of it, too.”
“No doubt,” he said tauntingly, “and when you found out I was guilty, you still tried to save me, I suppose, by asking me to walk into their trap?”
The girl made an effort to defend her course of action. She knew that without the admission of the truth he must feel his point of view unassailable, but she wanted him not to think too hardly of her.
“After all,” she declared, “you had broken the law. You are guilty. Why should my behavior be so called into account?”
“It isn’t that at all,” he returned impatiently. “You didn’t play the game fairly. You used a woman’s last weapon – her sex. Well, I can play your game, too, and I will. You shall stay here till morning.”
“You don’t dare to keep me!” she cried.
“Oh, yes, I do,” he retorted easily.
She assumed as well as she could an air of bravado, a false air of courage that might convince him she was not so easily frightened as she felt.
“And you think the possible loss of my reputation is going to frighten me into letting you go?”
“I do,” he said readily.
“Well, you’re wrong,” she assured him, “I have only to tell them the truth about the necklace and what I’m doing here – ”
“But the truth is so seldom believed,” he reminded her, “especially when you’ve no evidence to support it. A lie is a much more easily digested morsel.”
“All the evidence I need,” she asserted, “is in that locked drawer.”
“Quite so,” he admitted. “I’d forgotten that, only it happens you’re wrong again.” He drew the necklace from his pocket and showed it to her. “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”
Moving over to the table he scribbled a few words on a sheet of paper.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Manufacturing evidence,” he returned calmly.
“Meanwhile,” she said, gathering courage, “I propose to leave this room.”
“An excellent idea from your way of thinking,” he said, looking up. “Naturally I’m interested to know how.”
“I’ll show you,” she responded, and moved quickly to the bell button which she pushed violently. “Now, Mr. Denby,” she cried triumphantly. “This is my first shot! When the servants come, I shall take the necklace with me.”
She was disappointed to see no trace of alarm on his face. Instead, he answered her calmly enough.
“What a pity you did that – you’ll regret it so very soon.”
“Shall I?” she said satirically, and watched him go to the window. As he did so, a low whistle was heard coming from the lawn beneath. Then he took the necklace, wrapped it in the note he had written, and tossed it through the opening.
“I hardly think you’ll take it with you,” he observed suavely.
“I shall get it,” she returned. “I shall tell the Harringtons exactly what you are, and that you threw it on the lawn.”
“Wrong again, Miss Cartwright,” he said patiently. “If you’ll stand where I am, you will see the retreating figure of my friend Monty, who has it with him. Monty managed rather well, I think. His whistle announced the coast was clear.”
“But he can’t get away with those men out there,” she reminded him.
“Monty waited until they were gone,” he repeated. “For the moment, your friends of the secret service have left us.”
“Then I’ll tell Mr. Harrington about Monty, that he’s your accomplice.”
He shook his head. “I hardly think they’d believe that even from you. That Montague Vaughan, whose income is what he desires it to be, should lower himself to help me, is one of the truthful things nobody could possibly credit. If you could ring in some poor but honest young man it would sound so much more probable, but Monty, no.”
She looked at him like a thing stricken. Her poor bravado fell from her. She felt beaten, and dreaded to think what might be the price of her failure.
“And since you forced me,” he added, “I’ve had to play my last card. The note that I threw to Monty was a letter to you. He’ll leave it where it can easily be found.”
“A letter to me!” she repeated.
“It contained a suggestion that you try to get the room next mine, pleading nervousness, and come here to-night. It was the invitation – of a lover.”
“You beast!” she cried, flaming out into rage. “You coward!”
“You had your warning,” he reminded her. “The note will be conclusive, and no matter what you say, you will find yourself prejudged. It’s the world’s way to prejudge. The servants don’t seem to be coming, and you’ll be found here in the morning. What explanation will you have to offer?” He waited for her to speak, but she made no answer.
“I think the episode of the necklace remains as between just you and me,” he added slowly, watching her closely.
“The servants will come,” she cried. “I shan’t have to stay here.”
“If they disappoint you,” he remarked, “may I suggest that burglar-alarm? It will wake everybody up, the Harringtons, Miss Rutledge, and all, even if they’re in bed and asleep soundly. Why don’t you ring it? Miss Cartwright, I dare you to ring it!”
Just then there came the sounds of footsteps in the corridor, then a knock at the door. Denby waited calmly for some word from the girl. The knock was repeated.
“Well,” he whispered at last, “why don’t you answer?”
She shrank back. “No, no, I can’t.”
Denby moved to the door. “Who is it?” he asked.
Lambart’s respectful voice made answer: “You rang, sir?”
“Yes,” he returned, “I forgot to tell you that Miss Cartwright wished to be called at seven. Call me at the same time, too. That’s all, Lambart; sorry to have had to disturb you. Good-night.”
He stood listening until the man’s footsteps died away. Then he turned, and came toward the girl.
“So you didn’t dare denounce me after all,” he said mockingly.
“Oh, I knew it was all a joke,” she said, with an attempt to pass it over lightly. “I knew you couldn’t be so contemptible.”
“A joke!” he exclaimed grimly. “Why does it seem a joke?”
“If you’d meant what you’d said, you’d have called Lambart in. That would have answered your purpose very well. But I knew that you’d never do that. I knew you couldn’t.”
“I’m afraid I shall have less faith hereafter in woman’s intuition,” he returned. “I can keep you here, and I will. No other course is open to me.” A clock outside struck. “It’s just three,” he observed. “In four hours’ time a maid will go to your room and find it empty. It’s a long time till then, so why not make yourself as comfortable as you can? Please sit down.”
The girl sank into a chair more because she was suddenly conscious of her physical weakness than for the reason he offered it her in mocking courtesy.
“I can’t face it,” she cried hysterically; “the disgrace and humiliation! I can’t face it!”
“You’ve got to face it,” he said sternly.
“I can’t,” she repeated. “It’s horrible, it’s unfair – if you’ll let me go, I’ll promise you I won’t betray you.”
“You daren’t keep silent about me,” he answered. “How can I let you go?”
“I’m telling you the truth,” she said simply.
“Then tell me who sent you here,” he entreated her. “You know what it means to me; you can guess what it means to you. If you tell me, it may save us both.”
“I can’t!” she cried. “I can’t! Oh, please, please!”
He took her in his arms, roughly, exasperated by her denial.
“By God, I’ll make you tell!” he said angrily.
“Don’t touch me,” she said shuddering.
“Who sent you here?” he demanded, not releasing her.
“I’m afraid,” she groaned. “Oh, I’m afraid. I hate you! I hate you! Let me go! let me go!”
“Who sent you here?” he repeated, still holding her.
“I’ll tell,” she said brokenly. Then, when he let her go, she sank into a chair. “I can’t go through with it – you’ve beaten me – Oh, I tried so hard, so hard, but you’ve won. It’s too unfair when it’s not my fault. You can’t understand, or you wouldn’t spoil my whole life like this. It’s not only me, it’s my mother, my sister – Amy.”
Denby, watching her hardly controllable agitation, was forced to readjust his opinion concerning her. This was not any adventuress trained in artifice and ruse, but the woman he had thought her to be in the deepest sorrow. The bringing in of her mother and sister was not, he felt sure, a device employed merely to gain his sympathy and induce leniency in her captor.
And when it seemed she must sob out a confession of those complex motives which had led her to seek his betrayal, Denby saw her clench her hands and pull herself together.
“No,” she said, rising to her feet, her weakness cast off, “I won’t quit – no matter what happens to me. I’ll expose you, and tell them everything. I’ll let them decide between us – whether they’ll believe you or me. It’s either you or my sister, and I’ll save her.”
He was now more than ever certain he was stumbling upon something which would bring him the blessed assurance that she had not sold herself for reward.
“Your sister?” he cried eagerly.
“They shan’t send her to prison,” the girl said doggedly.
“You’re doing all this to save your sister from prison?” he asked her gently.
“She depends on me so,” she answered dully. “They shan’t take her.”
“Then you’ve been forced into this?” he asked. “You haven’t done it of your own free will?”
“No, no,” she returned, “but what else could I do? She was my little sister; she came first.”
“And you weren’t lying to me – trying to trick me for money?”
“Can’t you see,” she said piteously, “that I wanted to save you, too, and wanted you to get away? I said you were innocent, but they wouldn’t believe me and said I had to go on or else they’d send Amy to prison. They have a warrant all ready for her in case I fail. That’s why I’m here. Oh, please, please, let me go.”
Steven Denby looked into her eyes and made his resolve. “You don’t know how much I want to believe in you,” he exclaimed. “It may spoil everything I’ve built on, but I’m going to take the chance.” He unlocked the door that led to her room. “You can go, Miss Cartwright!”
“Oh, you are a man, after all,” she cried, deep gratitude in her voice, and a relief at her heart she could as yet scarcely comprehend. And as she made to pass him she was startled by a shrill sharp whistle outside.
“The devil!” he cried anxiously, and ran to the window.
“What is it?” she called, frightened. It was not the low whistle that Monty had used, but a menacing, thrilling sound.
“Your friends of the secret service have come back,” he answered, “but they mustn’t see us together.” Quickly he lowered the window-shade, and stepped back to the centre of the room, coming to a sudden pause as he saw the terror on the girl’s face.
“Oh, my God,” she screamed, “what have you done? That was the signal to bring Taylor here.”
“Ah, then, it’s Taylor,” he cried triumphantly. “It’s Taylor!”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to tell,” she said, startled at the admission. “I didn’t mean to let anyone know.”
“I wish you had told me before,” he said with regret, “we could both have been spared some unhappy moments. I know Taylor and his way of fighting, and this thing is going to a finish.”
“Go, before he comes,” she entreated.
“And leave you alone to face him?” he said more tenderly. “Leave you to a man who fights as he does?” He looked at her for a moment in silence and then bowed his head over her white hand and kissed it. “I can’t do that. I love you.”
“Oh, please go while there’s time,” she pleaded; “he mustn’t take you.” She looked up at him and without shame, revealed the love that she now knew she must ever have for him. “Oh, I couldn’t bear that,” she said tremulously, “I couldn’t.”
He gazed down at her, not yet daring to believe that out of this black moment the greatest happiness of his life had come. “Ethel!” he said, amazed.
“I love you,” she whispered; “oh, my dear, I love you.”
He gathered her in his strong arms. “Then I can fight the whole world,” he cried, “and win!”
“For my sake, go,” she begged. “Let me see him first; let me try to get you out of it.”
“I stay here, dearest,” he said firmly. “When he comes, say that you’ve caught me.”
“No, no,” she implored; “I can’t send you to prison either.”
“I’m not going to prison,” he reassured her. “I’m not done for yet, but we must save your sister and get that warrant. He must not think you’ve failed him. Do you understand?”
“But he’ll take you away,” she cried, and clung to him.
“Do as I say,” he besought her; “tell him the necklace is here somewhere. Be brave, my dear, we’re working to save your sister. He’s coming.”
“Hands up, Denby,” Taylor shouted, clambering from the balcony to the room and levelling a revolver at the smuggler. Without a word Denby’s hands went up as he was bid, and the deputy-surveyor smiled the victor’s smile.
“Well, congratulations, Miss Cartwright,” he cried; “you landed him as I knew you could if you tried.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Denby cried indignantly. “Who are you?”
“Oh, can that bunk!” Taylor said in disgust.
“Where’s the necklace, Miss Cartwright?”
“I don’t know,” she answered nervously.
“You don’t know?” he returned incredulously.
“I haven’t been able to find it, but it’s here somewhere.”
“He’s probably got it on him,” Taylor said.
“All this is preposterous,” Denby exclaimed angrily.
“Hand it over,” Taylor snapped.
“I have no necklace,” Denby told him.
“Then I’ll have to search you,” he cried, coming to him and going through his pockets with the practised hand of one who knows where to look, covering him the while with the revolver.
“I’ll make you pay for this,” Denby cried savagely, as Taylor unceremoniously spun him around.
“Will you give it to me,” Taylor demanded when he had drawn blank, “or shall I have to upset the place by searching for it?”
“How can I get it for you with my hands up in the air?” Denby asked after a pause. “Let me put my hands down and I’ll help you.”
Taylor considered for a moment. Few men were better in a rough-and-tumble fight than he, and he had little fear of this beaten man before him. “You haven’t got a gun,” he said, “so take ’em down, but don’t you fool with me.”
Denby moved over to the writing-desk and picked up a heavy beaten copper ash-tray with match-box attached. He balanced it in his hand for a moment. “Not a bad idea is it?” he demanded smiling; and then, before Taylor could reach for it had hurled it with the strong arm and practised eye of an athlete straight at the patent burglar alarm a few feet distant.
There was a smashing of glass and then, an instant later, the turning off of light and a plunge into blackness. And in the gloom, during which Taylor thrashed about him wildly, there came from all parts of the house the steady peal of the electrical alarms newly set in motion.
And last of all there was the report of the revolver and a woman’s shriek and the falling of a heavy body on the floor, and then a silence.
