A Husband by Proxy Part 29

"You told young Robinson as much?"

"He hired me to tell him everything."

"Exactly. How much do you expect to tell him of what is going on to-day?"

"Nothing that you do not instruct," said Tuttle, still feeling insecure. "That is, if you meant what you said."

"I meant it," said Garrison, "meant it all. You're at work for me from this time on--and I expect the faithfulness of an honest man, no matter what you may have been before."

"You'll get it," said Tuttle. "I only want a show to start off square and right. . . . What do you want me to do?"

"There is nothing of great importance just at present, except to remember who is your boss," answered Garrison. "You may be obliged to double-cross Robinson to a slight extent, when he next hunts you up for your report. He deserves a little of the game, no matter how he gets it. Take his instructions the same as before. Tell him you have lost me for a time. Report to me promptly concerning his instructions and everything else. Do you know the address of my office?"

"You have never been there since I was put on the case," said Tuttle with commendable candor.

"All right," said Garrison. "It's down in the----"

A knock on the door interrupted. The landlady, a middle-aged woman who rarely appeared at Garrison's room, was standing on the landing when he went to investigate, and holding a message in her hand.

"A telegram for you," she said, and halting for a moment, she turned and retreated down the stairs.

Garrison tore the envelope apart, pulled out the yellow slip and read:

Please come over to 937 Hackatack Street, Jersey City, as soon as possible.

JERALDINE.

It was Dorothy, across the Hudson. A wave of relief, to know she was near and wished to see him, swept over Garrison's being.

"Here," he said to Tuttle, "here's the address on a card. Report to me there at six o'clock to-night. Get out now and go to young Robinson, but not at the house in Ninety-third Street."

"Why not?" inquired Tuttle. "Its the regular place----"

"I've ordered him not to enter the house again," interrupted Garrison.

"By the way, should he attempt to do so, or ask you to get in there for him, agree to his instructions apparently, and let me know without delay."

"Thank you for giving me a chance," said Tuttle, who had risen from his chair. "You'll never regret it, I'm sure."

"All right," said Garrison. "Shake!"

He gave the astonished man a firm, friendly grip and bade him "So 'long!" at the door.

A few minutes later, dressed in his freshest apparel, he hastened out to gulp down a cup of strong coffee at an adjacent cafe, then headed downtown for the ferry.

CHAPTER XXII

A MAN IN THE CASE

The hour was just after four o'clock when Garrison stepped from a cab in Hackatack Street, Jersey City, and stood for a moment looking at the red-brick building numbered 937.

It was a shabby, smoke-soiled, neglected dwelling, with signs of life utterly lacking.

Made wary by his Central Park experience, Garrison had come there armed with his gun and suspiciously alert. His cabman was instructed to wait.

Without apparent hesitation Garrison ascended the chalk-marked steps and rang the bell.

Almost immediately the door was opened, by a small and rather pretty young woman, dressed in good taste, in the best of materials, and wearing a very fine diamond ring upon her finger.

Behind her, as Garrison instantly discerned, were rich and costly furnishings, singularly out of keeping with the shabby exterior of the place.

"How do you do?" he said, raising his hat. "Is my wife, Mrs.

Fairfax----"

"Oh," interrupted the lady. "Won't you please come in? She hardly expected you to come so promptly. She's lying down to take a rest."

Garrison entered and was shown to a parlor on the left. It, too, was furnished in exceptional richness, but the air was close and stuffy, and the whole place uncomfortably dark.

"If you'll please sit down I'll go and tell her you have come," said his hostess. "Excuse me."

The smile on her face was somewhat forced and sad, thought Garrison.

His feeling of suspicion had departed.

Left alone, he strode across the room and glanced at a number of pictures, hung upon the walls. They were excellent oils, one or two by masters.

Dorothy must have slept lightly, if at all. Garrison's back was still turned toward the entrance when her footfall came to his ear. She came swiftly into the apartment.

"Oh, you were very good to come so soon!" she said in a tone made low for none but him to hear. "I wired you, both at your house and office, not more than an hour ago."

"I got the message sent to the house," he said. "It came as a great relief." He paused for a moment, looking in her eyes, which were raised to his own appealingly. "Why did you run away?--and how did you do it?" he asked her. "I didn't know what in the world to think or do."

Her eyes were lowered.

"I had to--I mean, I simply obeyed an impulse," she confessed.

In an almost involuntary outburst she added: "I am in very great trouble. There is no one in the world but you that can give me any help."

All the pain she had caused him was forgotten in the joy of that instant. How he longed to take her in his arms and fold her in security against his breast! And he dared not even be tender.

"I am trying to help you, Dorothy," he said, "but I was utterly dumfounded, there in the crush on the bridge. Where did you go?"

"I ran along and was helped to escape the traffic," she explained.

"Then I soon got a car, with my mind made up to come over here just as soon as I could. This is the home of my stepbrother's wife--Mrs.

Foster Durgin. I had to come over and--and warn--I mean, I had to come, and so I came."