The Gates of Chance Part 9

A girl's light laugh turned the scale. "Trying to raid the fruit-stand, are you, bub?" went on Miss Josie, in her thin, cool voice. "Thought you could pinch a couple in the dark of the moon; but nay, nay, Thomas--those two smacks 'll just cost you supper for four. I'm not sitting behind the bargain-counter to-day, thank you."

A babel of cat-calls, oaths, and laughter broke out, but the tension had been released and the danger was over. I pushed and jammed through the crowd to the stairs. No one was attempting to leave; in the hall they had just got the lights turned on again. I started down.

"Here, you!"

I looked back; the stout man with the disproportionate ears stood at the head of the stairs, hemmed in by the crowd. He panted and shook his clinched fist at me. "You!--you!" he shouted, impotently. I ran on.

In the street below Indiman was helping the girl into the coach. He turned as I ran up.

"Good!" he said, and offered me his cigarette-case.

"The big fellow is coming down," I urged.

"Have a light," said Indiman. "And now, my son, allons!"

I stepped into the coach, and Indiman after me. There was a sound of angry voices from the hall above; two or three men dashed down the stairway, others following.

"Drive on!" shouted Indiman, and the carriage started. Then we both turned and looked blankly at that empty back seat.

Indiman bit his lip. "It is an old trick--leaving by the other door,"

he said, quietly. "It was while we were lighting our cigarettes; and that reminds me that I have decided to give up the habit." He tossed his cigarette out of the window; the coach rolled away.

Private business called me to Washington the next day, and I had to take the night train back, arriving in New York at the uncomfortably early hour of seven. But it was some small satisfaction to rap vigorously upon Indiman's door as I pa.s.sed to my own room. One always experiences a sense of virtue in being up at unseasonable hours, and blessings should be shared with one's friends. Later on we met at breakfast, and he did not thank me.

The following paragraph in the "Personal" column of the HERALD caught my eye. "Listen to this," I said, and read it aloud to my sulky host:

"'To Mademoiselle D.,--There are ninety-and-nine kisses still due me, and I propose to collect. Box 90, Herald office (up-town), or telephone 18,901 Madison Square. (Private wire.) "'HOUSE-SMITH.'"

Esper Indiman smiled and touched an electric b.u.t.ton. "The letters, Bolder," he said, but the man had antic.i.p.ated his request, and was carrying in a salver heaped high with missives and papers.

"I had the personal put in the HERALD the same night of our adventure at the House-smiths' bazaar," said Indiman. "Also repeated in to-day's issue."

"It seems to be bearing a fine crop of replies."

"There's a bushel-basket of 'em already--mostly from the alleged humorist. Or else it's this sort of thing," and he tossed over an extraordinary piece of stationery--white cream-laid, with edging like a mourning band, only pink instead of black; think of that!

Of course, the contents of the letter did not belie its exterior. "Mr.

House-smith" was informed that not only ninety-nine, but nine hundred and ninety-nine, kisses were at his disposal whenever he cared to communicate with Miss Delicia Millefleurs. The writing was somewhat shaky, and "communicate" was spelled with one m. Moreover, the general appearance of the epistle was marred by the presence of a large blot.

But Miss Millefleurs was plainly a young person of instant ingenuity, and she had turned the disfigurement to good purpose by drawing a circle around it and labelling it, "One on account."

"Then there's this," said Indiman, and handed me a sheet of foolscap which had been folded and sealed without an envelope, after the fashion of our great-grandfathers. On it was pasted a strip of the tape used in electric-recording instruments, and the characters were those of the Morse alphabet, rather an unusual sight nowadays, when receiving messages by sound is the universal practice. Underneath the row of dots and dashes had been written their English equivalents in Indiman's small, close handwriting. The transcribed message read:

"One thousand (s) dollars apiece (s) offered for any or all of ninety-nine (s) kisses, undelivered. Take car No. 6 (s), 'Blue Line'

crosstown, any (s) evening, and get off at West Fourth Street. Purchase two pounds of the best (s) b.u.t.ter at the corner grocery, and ask for a purple trading (s) stamp."

"Quite as extravagant as the advertis.e.m.e.nt that called it forth," I remarked. "To the wholly impartial mind it seems like nonsense."

"'Ah, but what precious nonsense!'" quoted Indiman, musingly. Then, suddenly: "Thorp, we need b.u.t.ter; I wish you'd step around to that West Fourth Street grocery and get a couple of pounds--the best b.u.t.ter, mind."

I rose. "Certainly; back in half an hour."

"Oh, this evening is time enough. Man, man, can't you see through a ladder? They're after the girl with the gray eyes, and hope in this way to get a clew to her whereabouts. Now, you can't fight shadows; the only chance is to match them against each other. Do I make myself quite clear?"

"Not in the least."

"I want to know who sends that message, and it's possible that the answer is right under our eyes." He held up the strip of telegraphic tape. "Do you see the letter S, enclosed in parentheses, and repeated before several words?"

"Means nothing, so far as I see."

"Unless it's a habit with the operator to occasionally sound the three dots that make up the letter S in the Morse alphabet--unconsciously, you know, and just as another man, in speaking, might stutter or continually introduce a hesitating 'er' or 'um.'"

"Impossible."

"Nothing is impossible, my dear fellow." Here the bell of the desk-telephone rang. "For example, this call may be from Mademoiselle D. herself." He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. "It is,"

he said, looking over at me.

The weather conditions happened to be particularly favorable for telephonic communication; I could hear almost as distinctly, standing on my side of the table, as Indiman himself. I started to walk away, then I stopped, and announced my intention of listening also; Indiman nodded a.s.sent.

There was unmistakable annoyance and anxiety in the tones of the voice that greeted us. "I have just seen your absurd advertis.e.m.e.nt," it began. "I beg of you to let this matter drop, instantly, finally."

"A request without a reason," answered Indiman, "You owe me something more than that."

"There is danger--"

"To me or to you?"

"To yourself."

"I am sorry, but you have indicated the sole condition which makes my withdrawal possible."

A little feminine sigh came from the other end of the wire. "Oh, dear, it was so stupid of me to say that--to a man!" A pause. Then, in a slightly vexed tone, "Supposing that it is a question of minding one's own business."

"Precisely what I am trying to do," said Indiman, humbly. "It is a settlement that I am proposing."

"I perceive, sir, that I am making myself ridiculous," and the voice sounded cold and inconceivably distant. "I have the honor to wish you a very good-morning." The telephone rang off sharply.

I fancy that the same thought was in both our minds: Could this be the same woman whom we had seen selling her kisses at an East Side bazaar?

The very thought was incredible. And remember that we had not heard her voice before. Yet neither of us doubted, even for a moment.

"After all, it was only the one kiss that was actually sold and delivered," said Indiman, half-defiantly. But he need not have defended her to me.

It was getting to be a very pretty problem as it stood, the one obvious probability being that it was the girl herself who stood in danger.

What could we do? To discover the nature of the impending peril and, above all, the personnel of the conspirators. And then what? How were we to communicate with or warn the girl?--for, of course, she had called up Indiman from a public pay-station, leaving no clew to her ident.i.ty or address. Well, there was still the Personal column in the HERALD; it had reached her once and might again.

"I am going down-town to the main office of the Western Union," said Indiman, "and may be away all day. If I shouldn't return by dinner-time, you will carry out the instructions in the message.

Exactly, remember--car No. 6, and the best b.u.t.ter--each detail may be important. About nine o'clock should be a good hour."

"I understand," I said, and we parted.