Children of the Whirlwind Part 39

"Chicken feed! They're out on bail, and when their cases come up, they'll beat them! Besides, you didn't give me that tip to help me; you gave it to me so that you could fix things to put Larry Brainard in bad with all his old friends. You did that to help yourself. Shut up! Don't try to deny it. I know!"

Barney did not attempt denial. Barlow went on:

"And the second thing I want to tell you, and tell you hard, is this: You gotta turn in some business! The easy way you've been going makes it look like you've forgot I've got hold of you where the hair's long.

Young man, you'd better remember that I've got you cold for that Gregory stock business--you and Old Jimmie Carlisle. Got all the papers in a safety-deposit vault, and got three witnesses doing stretches in Sing Sing. Keep on telling yourself all that! and keep on telling yourself that, if you don't come across, some day soon I'll suddenly discover that you're the guilty party in that Gregory affair, and I'll bring down those witnesses I've got cached in Sing Sing."

Barney moved uneasily in his chair. He knew the bargain he had made, and did not like to dwell upon the conditions under which he was a licensed adventurer.

"No need to rag me like this, Chief," he protested. "Sure I remember all you've said. And you're not going to have cause to be sore much longer.

There'll be plenty doing."

"See that there is! And see that you don't pull any raw work. And see that you don't let your foot slip. For if you do, you know what'll happen to you. Now get out!"

Barney got out, again protesting that he would not be found failing. He was not greatly disturbed by what Barlow had said. Every so often there had to be just such sessions, and every so often Barlow had to let off just such steam.

Barney's errand was done. The police of the city were on Larry's trail and his share in the matter was and would remain unknown. Thus far all was well. He had no doubt of Larry's early capture, now that he was back in New York, and now that the whole police force had been promptly warned and were hotly after him, and now that all avenues of exit would instantly be, in fact by this time were, under surveillance and closed against him--and now that every refuge of the criminal world was only a trap for him. No, there wasn't a doubt of Larry's early capture. There couldn't be. And once Larry was locked up, things would be much better.

Barlow would see that Larry didn't talk undesirable things, or at least that such talk was not heard. It wasn't exactly pleasant or safe having Larry at large, free to blurt out to the wrong persons those things about Barney's being a stool and a squealer.

Greatly comforted, though eager for news of the chase, Barney started on his evening's routine of visiting the gayer restaurants. Business is business, and a man suffers when he neglects it. True, this was a neat proposition which he had in hand; but that would soon be cleaned up, and Businessman Barney desired to be all ready to move forward into further enterprises.

In the meanwhile there had been a session between Maggie and the d.u.c.h.ess. At about the time Barney had whispered his unlipped news to Gavegan, Maggie, breathless with her frantic haste though she had made the journey in a taxicab, entered the familiar room behind the p.a.w.nshop.

"Good-evening, Maggie." The voice was casual, indifferent, though at that moment there was no person that the d.u.c.h.ess, pondering her problems, more wished to see. "Sit down. What's the matter?"

"The police know Larry is in New York and are after him!"

"How do you know?"

Rapidly Maggie told of the happenings in her sitting-room, and of Barney and Old Jimmie starting out to warn Gavegan. The d.u.c.h.ess heard every word, but most of her faculties were concentrated upon a reexamination of Maggie and upon those questions which had been troubling her all evening and for these many days. Was there good in Maggie? Was she justified in longer suppressing the truth of Maggie's parentage?

"Why are you telling me all this?" the d.u.c.h.ess asked, when Maggie had finished her rapid recital.

"Why! Isn't it plain? I want you to get warning to Larry that the police are after him!"

"Why not do it yourself?"

"I'm going out where he is to-morrow, but that may be too late."

Maggie gave her other reasons, such as they were. The old woman's eyes never left Maggie's flushed face, and yet never showed any interest.

"I thought you were tied up with Barney and Old Jimmie," the d.u.c.h.ess commented. "Why are you going against them in this, and trying to help Larry?"

"What's the difference why I'm doing it," Maggie cried with feverish impatience, "so long as I'm trying to help him out of this!"

"Don't you realize," continued the calm old voice, "that Larry must already know, as a matter of course, that the police and all the old crowd are after him?"

"Perhaps he does, and perhaps he doesn't. All the same, he should know for certain! The big point is, will you get Larry word?"

A moment pa.s.sed and the d.u.c.h.ess did not speak. In fact this time she had not heard Maggie, so intent was she in trying to look through Maggie's dark, eager eyes to the very core of Maggie's being.

"Will you get Larry word?" Maggie repeated impatiently.

The d.u.c.h.ess came out of her study. There was a sudden thrill within her, but it did not show in her voice.

"Yes."

"At once?"

"As soon as telling him will do any good. And now you better hurry back to your hotel, if you don't want Barney and Old Jimmie to suspect what you've been up to. Though why you still want to hang on to that pair, knowing what they are, is more than I can guess."

She stood up. "Wait a minute," she said as Maggie started for the door.

Maggie turned back, and for another moment the d.u.c.h.ess silently peered deep into Maggie's eyes. Then she said shortly, almost sharply: "At your age I was twice as pretty as you are--and twice as clever--and I played much the same game. Look what I got out of life!... Good-night." And abruptly the d.u.c.h.ess wheeled about and mounted the stairway.

Twenty minutes later Maggie was back at the Grantham, her absence un.o.bserved. Though palpitant over Larry's fate, she had the satisfaction of having achieved with Larry's grandmother what she had set forth to achieve. She did not know, could not know, that what she had accepted as her achievement was inconsequential compared to what had actually been achieved by her spontaneous appearance before the troubled d.u.c.h.ess.

CHAPTER XXIX

As the d.u.c.h.ess had gazed into Maggie's excited, imploring eyes, it had been borne in upon her carefully judging and painfully hesitant mind that there was better than a fifty per cent chance that Larry was right in his estimate of Maggie; that Maggie's inclination toward criminal adventure, her supreme self-confidence, all her bravado, were but the superficial though strong tendencies developed by her unfortunate environment; that within that cynical, worldly sh.e.l.l there were the vital and plastic makings of a real woman.

And so the long-troubled d.u.c.h.ess, who to her acquaintances had always seemed as unemotional as the dust-coated, moth-eaten parrot which stood in mummified aloofness upon her safe, had made a momentous decision that had sent through her old veins the thrilling sap of a great crisis, a great suspense. She had tried to guide destiny. She was now through with such endeavor. She had no right, because of her love for Larry, to withhold longer the facts of Maggie's parentage. She was now going to tell the truth, and let events work out as they would.

But the events--what were they going to be?

For a moment the d.u.c.h.ess had been impelled to tell the truth straight out to Maggie. But she had caught herself in time. This whole affair was Larry's affair, and the truth belonged to him to be used as he saw fit.

So when she had told Maggie that she would get word to Larry, it was this truth which she had had in mind, and only in a very minor way the news which Maggie had brought.

This was, of course, such a truth as could be safely communicated only by word of mouth. The d.u.c.h.ess realized that Larry no longer dared come to her, and that therefore she must manage somehow to get to him. And get to him without betraying his whereabouts.

There was little chance that the police would search her place or greatly bother her. To the police mind, now that Larry was aware he was known to be in New York, the p.a.w.nshop would obviously be the last place in which he would seek refuge or through which he would have dealings.

Nevertheless, the d.u.c.h.ess deemed it wise to lose no moment and to neglect no possible caution. Therefore, while Barney was still with Chief Barlow and before the general order regarding Larry had more than reached the various police stations, the d.u.c.h.ess, in cape, hat, and veil, was out of her house. A block up the street lived the owner of two or three taxicabs, concerning whom the d.u.c.h.ess, who was almost omniscient in her own world, knew much that the said owner ardently desired should be known no further. A few sentences with this gentleman, and fifteen minutes later, huddled back in the darkened corner of a taxicab, she rolled over the Queensboro Bridge out upon Long Island on her mission of releasing a fact whose effect she could not foresee.

An hour and a half after that Larry was leading her to a bench in the scented darkness of the Sherwoods' lawn. She had telephoned "Mr.

Brandon" from a drug-store booth in Flushing, and Larry had been waiting for her near the entrance to Cedar Crest.

"What brought you out here like this, grandmother?" Larry whispered in amazement as he sat down beside her.

"To tell you that the police are after you," she whispered back.

"I knew that already."