The Chinese Jewel/Chapter 4

MMEDIATELY Steele saw ahead of him a path cluttered with difficulties, and, after his trained habit, he lost no time in setting about making what preparations he could to surmount them when the time came. A man, if he is to go ahead along any sustained line of action, must get his bearings by establishing a definite certainty from which to progress. Certain it was that King Tom Reagan was a crook and never played the game for small winnings; certain that Marvella Nevil was an extremely clever and unscrupulous woman; certain that both were interested in young Stephen Carrington. It was obvious, too, that Carrington's millions were the ultimate aim of this pair.

Next, judged Steele, Colonel Harwood came under suspicion. He it was who had sought out Reagan to present Carrington; through such an avenue would Reagan work. At least Harwood was no man for Steele to go to for aid. Here was difficulty number one, looming large against all forward progress: these few people, Carrington and Harwood, Reagan and Marvella, were already in touch and would move on swiftly toward some culmination of scheme and intrigue. The heavy doors of Carrington's home at present were shut to Billy Steele. How could he know what went forward, how could he block Reagan's game and “get” Reagan, operating from a distance? He must be near them, must watch each step in their work.

For a little while he was tempted to go straight to Stephen Carrington with the tale of his suspicions; Carrington appeared a friendly, likable chap, But he foresaw the hazard in such a step; Carrington might not believe what Steele had to say, might look up Steele's record, might learn that he himself was under suspicion. In such a case Carrington would certainly confer with his old adviser, Colonel Harwood, and there already the fat was in the fire.

“I know a good deal about Reagan and Marvella,” meditated Steele. “I need to know a lot more than I do now of Carrington himself and of Colonel Harwood.”

So he called up his old friend, Eddie Burt.

Eddie Burt had been a reporter in Manhattan for twenty years. No other man in town had written up so many celebrated weddings, grand entertainments, and in general upper-society events. Over the telephone Steele asked:

“Do you happen to know Stephen Carrington?”

“I sure do,” Eddie Burt answered. “Trying to borrow a million, Billy?”

“And Colonel Harwood?”

“Yes. The colonel, too,” and Burt laughed. “I see you are after the million, all right. You're starting at the right place; the colonel first.”

But Steele was in no mood to respond to jesting to-night.

“I'm coming right over, Eddie. I want a talk with you.”

“Come ahead,” Burt welcomed him. “You can have me for an hour. I've got something on later.”

“What's the lay?” asked Burt lightly when Steele came in. “Ferguson suspect Carrington of having stolen his own millions? Or the colonel of trying to?”

“I'm not with Ferguson any longer. I supposed you would have heard?”

“Not a word, Billy.” Burt looked at him curiously, seeing Steele's face harden. “What's the rumpus?”

“Ferguson got the idea I was double crossing him. He suspected that I had been bought up by King Reagan.”

“Rot!” growled Burt. “I never thought Ferguson was such an ass as that. Not kidding, are you, Billy?” But he knew from his visitor's face that he was in earnest. “Want me to get him swatted in the papers? I hope you smashed his face in for him.”

“No. Let's leave him out of the papers, Eddie. And I don't know that he is to blame for wondering if I haven't been bribed. Things looked bad enough. But that isn't what I came for. Tell me all you know about Carrington and about the colonel.”

Carrington, Burt explained, had hardly outgrown either boyhood's years or interests. He was a happy-go-lucky sort, and well liked. Always he had all the money he could spend, and so it might be supposed that his recent inheritance had in no great way altered him. He liked outdoor sports, hunted and fished a great deal, yachted, played polo and golf. Outside of these fields his greatest interest, amounting to a hobby, lay in precious gems. An interest inherited from his mother, Burt imagined. The Carrington jewels were famous. And Stephen was constantly adding to his rare collection.

This was new to Steele; a number of other matters concerning the young millionaire he already knew.

“And Colonel Harwood?” Burt reflected. “He was an old friend of Stephen's father. Knew each other when the elder Carrington was a youngster himself, laying his own cornerstones. Later, when the millions began to stampede his way, he always remembered the colonel. Trusted him, gave over to him the handling of a number of his interests at a corking fat salary, and when he died made him executor and all that, leaving a letter for his son to seek advice from the colonel upon all important matters.”

“Married?” asked Steele.

“The colonel? Yes. To a regular general, a woman as thin and cold as an icicle, with the same sort of coloring and fishy eyes. Even the elder Carrington never liked her much.”

“Harwood himself, is he square? Is he the sort to be above temptation, Eddie?”

“Who is?” demanded Burt. “Just how do you mean?”

“First, you spoke of his stipend from Stephen's father as being considerable. Is the colonel a rich man?”

“I'd say no, at a guess. Probably worth fifty or sixty thousand.”

“Not much, is it, when a man associates with millionaires? Now, then; if he saw a chance to cut a big slice for himself and get away with it, would he turn a crooked deal?”

“His record, as far as I know, is clean enough from that sot of thing, What do I know about what he would do? But, just between you and me, Billy, I wouldn't trust him or his charming wife around the corner. Right now it's my bet that the love affair between Stephen and Alice Blake never comes to anything, and just because Oh, well, you watch it. Mrs. Colonel will keep her young friend Stephen single just as long as she can. I fancy that she has reasons. She always does.”

Steele had caught at the name of Alice Blake.

“Who is she?” he asked.

Burt enthusiasttically [sic] slapped his thigh.

“The finest girl in Gotham!” he announced forcefully. “Just that. If I were twenty years younger I'd chase you out of here right now and go to dreaming of making a fortune to let her kick around for me. She's Dick Blake's girl.”

Everybody knew who Dick Blake was. A man universally liked, one who was now here, now there, filled with the joy of life and its seething tumultuous unrest; a man who had been a millionaire himself, who had gone almost broke, who had taken his losses with a large smile, who had recouped, who was now somewhere off in Peru, his wife with him, adventuring and cabling home at uncertain intervals, a man whom his friends and enemies named a dead-game sport.

“Alice is just like her dad. Only finer, of course, with the real worthwhile femininity of her,” said Burt.

“And she and Carrington?” suggested Steele.

“Every paper in town has the whole thing written and ready to slam into print, just waiting for the announcement. It's expected this summer.”

Steele pondered over the news, seeking to see just how it might have any bearing upon his own interests.

“With her father and mother in Peru,” he queried, “surely Miss Blake isn't keeping a bachelor's hall?”

“Pretty near it, though. The Blakes are not folk to get hung up on the bramble bush of convention. But she has with her uncle Abner and his wife. Uncle Abner, the household calls him, though he's in no way related. Just an old servant who has been with them since before Miss Alice was born, I guess. His wife is the necessary chaperon, if one is wanted.”

“You know Miss Blake personally?”

“Rather well. Oh, there's none of the haughty lady about her; she has the old-fashioned notion that a man is what he is, not what he is labeled.”

Already the desire was born in Billy Steele to see Alice Blake, to have a talk with her. Eddie Burt was watching him curiously.

“I'd like to know just what you've got on your mind, old bird,” he said. “Asking all these questions.”

“Maybe I'll tell you later,” and Steele laughed. “Maybe, when the time comes, I'll spill a yarn into your ear that will go big in your paper. But just now I'm on my way. And it's possible that some of the things you have told me may help me blaze trail on the way I've got to go. I'm much obliged, Eddie.”

From Burt's room Steele went down to the street. He stood for a while unmindful of the passers-by, digesting what his friend had given him. More than ever now was he sure that Colonel Harwood had been approached by Reagan; that the two were working together. From what he had learned of the colonel's wife, he had the swift suspicion that she, too, might be in on the thing. And even now, while Steele marked time on a sidewalk, Reagan and Harwood—yes, and Marvella—were stalking the quarry.

So Alice Blake was the daughter of Dick Blake, and was like her own father, only finer, as Eddie put it? Well, then, she, too, would be a dead-game sport. Steele wheeled about and went into the corner drug store, where there was a telephone booth. A moment later, after a couple of inquiries, he was speaking with Miss Blake herself. And from her first few words he liked her voice. It rang true.

Coming direct to his point, Steele told her his name, admitted that she did not know him, and asked if she could spare him a few moments upon a very important subject.

There was a pause. Then:

“Surely one might be permitted to ask to what the matter might relate?” Alice Blake's clear voice was saying.

“I'd rather not say over the phone,” replied Steele. And then, “Oh, I'm not an agent; I'm not going to try to sell you anything. And I'm not a thug. I have just left Eddie Burt, whom you know. Shall I have him call you up and tell you that you needn't be afraid of my stealing anything?”

Alice laughed.

“I will give you fifteen minutes if you'll call immediately,” she said. “I'm rather curious. Mr. William Steele, you said? And I can't give you longer, Mr. Steele, as I'm leaving town in a little over an hour.”

“Thank you,” Steele replied fervently. “I'll be right up.”

He made the short trip as quickly as a reckless taxi driver could get him there and ran up the steps of the comfortable-looking square house. As he lifted his hand to ring the door opened. Alice Blake herself stood on the threshold.

“Even Marvella herself has her work cut out to beat her!” was Steele's thought when, for the first time, he glimpsed Dick Blake's daughter. “If she is going to take this girl's sweetheart away from her she will have to step out some.”

“Come in, please, Mr. Steele,” Miss Blake invited. She did not offer her hand, but she did not look in the least unfriendly.

“It is tremendously kind of you,” he said as he entered, “to see a fellow this way without knowing anything about him.”

“Oh, I telephoned Mr. Burt,” she replied lightly. “As you predicted, he most solemnly assured me that you could be trusted with one's silverware and such things.” She led the way into a little, cozy room where were many books and just two soft, deep chairs. She sat down, watched Steele with frankly curious eyes, while he, too, sat, and then appeared to be waiting for the explanation.

“It's rather difficult to get going,” he confessed. “There is such a strong likelihood of you chasing me out before I get halfway through that I suppose I'm a fool for having come. And I wouldn't have come, either, had it not been for just one thing.”

“And that?”

“That is that you are Dick Blake's daughter! If you are as good a sport as Dick Blake it will be all right.”

While he spoke with her he had sought to form his own estimate of her, just as though he had not had Eddie Burt's decision. To begin with, she was perhaps nineteen or twenty, and prettier than any other girl Steele could remember having ever seen. He noted the wanton curl of her rich bronze-brown hair, the warm color in her cheeks, and the friendliness of her gray eyes. At mention of her father's name her eyes brightened.

“If I can ever learn to be as good a sport as my dad,” she said, smiling a little, “I'll consider this incarnation as having been amply worth while. Now you've made a good beginning, Mr. Steele.” And as a reminder to him she glanced away to the tall clock over the fireplace. “I'm off to our country place in the Adirondacks in about an hour. There are always so many forgotten things to be looked after the last minute, you know.”

“I'll try not to waste your time,” Steele hastened to say. And immediately he plunged into his story. He could see little to lose by recounting it, since at the most all Alice Blake could do in opposition would be to tell Carrington, and Carrington, if he passed the news of Steele's interest on to Reagan, would merely be telling Reagan that which he knew already. On the other hand, could he enlist the girl's interest—and from the first sight of her he thought that he could—he would have secured a tremendously important ally. So, mentioning briefly his own work, he told her bluntly that King Reagan and Marvella Nevil were planning to fleece Stephen Carrington. And when he had finished:

“Tell me more about this Marvella Nevil,” Alice said, leaning forward, her hands lightly clasped. She appeared serene enough, but there was a little excited flush in her cheeks and her eyes had brightened.

He obeyed, telling her at length what he knew of Marvella's record. And when he had finished, she said quickly:

“But you haven't told me what she looks like! Hasn't that anything to do with the case?”

“Generally a great deal in any Marvella Nevil case,” and Steele laughed. Again he obeyed her wish and sought to give Marvella full credit for the one fine thing she possessed, her superb beauty. Alice Blake, listening, watched him keenly.

“Poor Stephen,” she said lightly. “It looks like a lost cause for him, doesn't it, Mr. Steele?”

“I am afraid that it is,” he conceded gravely. “Unless you are willing to take a hand and help me see him through.”

“Not rushing ahead to ask just what I could do,” replied Alice coolly, “there is something else to be made clear. And that is: Just why should I interfere in all this?”

“I thought” began Steele, and hesitated. Then, since there was no time for quibbling, he continued bluntly: “I thought that you and Mr. Carrington were to be married. In such a case”

“In such a case—what? Were it a fact, as you appear to have been told by Mr. Burt, that Stephen and I are engaged, would that mean I should take a hand, unasked by him, in his affairs now?”

“Surely, if you love each other,” Steele said emphatically, “you would not stand back and see him robbed!”

“Would I not?” she rejoined. “Much wealth is very good for some folks, Mr. Steele; is it the best thing for Stephen? I wonder.”

“And you would not let another woman,” ran on Steele, “try to steal away your sweetheart! Surely”

Alice threw back head and laughed.

“So, at the first glimpse of a dangerous rival looming on the horizon, I am supposed to dash wildly out and rescue him from the snares of the siren!” She seemed genuinely amused, and her mirth somewhat confused him. “You don't know a whole lot about girls, do you, Mr. Steele?”

“Possibly not,” he admitted seriously. “But at least they are human like the rest of us, aren't they? Swayed by human impulses?”

“And the impulse in such a case would be to hasten to the firing line and drag back the man in the case into safety?” She leaned forward, set her chin into her two cupped palms, and regarded him curiously. “Let me tell you something, my dear man. Were Stephen Carrington the last man in the world I wouldn't crook my little finger to call him away from Marvella Nevil or any other beautiful lady who attracted him. If a man isn't all for me, first, last, and all the time, I don't want him.”

“But,” contended Steele, “were he nothing more than just a good friend Don't you see he is about to be robbed, tricked, perhaps led into very great physical danger? The ways of King Reagan are not finicky. Why, simple humanity”

“You harp on the human string,” she cut him short, “when, can't you see, it's another question? Namely, that of femininity? Two very different and distinct things.”

Steele rose, his keen disappointment showing in his face.

“Y realized all along I was a fool to come to you this way,” he said. “At least you were unusually kind in hearing me through, and for that, at any rate, I am grateful.”

“Wait a minute,” Alice remarked. “I have been decent to you, and, if you owe me anything for that part of it, you can square the debt easily enough. Tell me just why you are so keen in the matter? You're not a friend of Stephen's.”

He told her frankly, and Alice, her hand now shading her eyes so that he saw them none too clearly, listened without interruption. He told her of his long struggle with King Reagan; of Reagan's late triumph over him in San Francisco; of the way in which Reagan had tricked him at the Astor with the bank notes; of the suspicion which had arisen in many minds that he had been bought up; of the battle he was making alone against superior forces. And when he had done Alice, with a sudden gesture, stood up and her hand fell away from her brow and he saw that her eyes were shining.

“I suppose a girl is a funny thing,” she said queerly. “Now, Mr. Steele, you understand that I have a number of matters to arrange and must ask you to excuse me. And would you care to telephone me at nine o'clock to-morrow morning?”

“But I thought you were leaving to-night?” he questioned surprisedly.

“If you phone in the morning, and in the meantime I have left town, at least it will do no harm, will it?” She smiled suddenly. “On the other hand, if I have changed my mind about going—girls do sometimes change their minds, Mr. Steele—well, in that case, I might possibly, just possibly, you understand, be interested further in your fight with King Reagan. Good night.”

With a sudden impulse, and still smiling, she put out her hand. Steele grasped it somewhat eagerly, and as he did so was conscious of a queer little thrill emanating from the warm contact. A thrill, he decided as he ran down the steps, due entirely to elation at the prospect of a new ally.