The Three Thirty-Twos/Chapter 8

{{sc|Mme. Storey and I returned to the office. We found her car waiting out in front for orders. The chauffeur, Younger, handed over the gun fished from the well at Oakhurst, which Crider had given him for safe keeping. Mme. Storey in my presence marked the weapon for subsequent identification.

We found a number of matters awaiting our attention, which we got out of the way as quickly as possible. Meanwhile we ordered in a light lunch of sandwiches and milk.

While she munched her sandwiches Mme. Storey paced slowly up and down the long room, considering deeply. With the last bite she evidently finished mapping out her course of action.

Her first move was to call up Fay Brunton in her dressing room at the theater. They had an aimless friendly talk, which was, however, not so aimless on my mistress's part as might had been supposed, for she found out (a) that Fay had not seen nor heard from Darius Whittall since we had left him; (b) that she was still looking forward to the supper party in her rooms that night. I also marked this bit:

“I saw the new film, 'Ashes of Roses,' last night,” said Mme. Storey, I knew this was not true, “Have you seen it?” Fay's answer ran to some length; it was evidently in the negative, for Mme. Storey said: “Well, you ought to. It's really quite tremendous.” The talk then passed to other matters.

Mme. Storey then called up Inspector Rumsey at headquarters. She asked him if he had succeeded in tracing the purchase of the guns by Whittall. He said he had full information. She then got him to tell her what his movements would be that afternoon and night, so that we could get in touch with him any time we might need him.

Crider called us up to report that Darius Whittall had called upon the president of the {{bar|2}} Railroad. Crider was not able to say, of course, what was the occasion of the visit. Upon hearing this, Mme. Storey instructed Crider to send Stephens to the {{bar|2}} Terminal to find out as best he could what orders had been received respecting the president's private car.

I must try to set down in order all that we did that afternoon. The significance of much of it did not become clear to me until night. First, an operative was dispatched to the garage run in connection with the Hotel Madagascar—where Fay lived—with instructions to learn what he could about the movements of Miss Brunton's cars on the night of September 11. Fay kept two cars—a brougham which was driven by a chauffeur and a smart little sport model that she drove herself.

It appeared that in this very up-to-date garage a complete record was kept of the movements of all the cars stored there. Every time they went out their mileage was taken, and again when they came in. This was to prevent their use for unauthorized purposes.

Second, an operative—this one a woman—was sent to interview Miss Beatrice Dufaye, the well-known cinema star, in the guise of a representative of some mythical magazine. Miss Dufaye was the star of 'Ashes of Roses,” a picture which was the sensation of the moment, and at present she was resting at her country place at Glen Cove before starting work on her next picture. Among other things, this operative was instructed to work in certain questions unostentatiously relative to the private showing of “Ashes of Roses” on September 11. This had been made a great social occasion in theatrical circles.

A third operative was instructed to learn the present whereabouts of Mr. Frank Esher, Esher, you will remember, was the young man who was so deeply in love with Fay Brunton, and for whom we suspected she had a tenderness in return. After a quarrel or a series of quarrels he had flown off to parts unknown. This operative was furnished with the address of his last employer, his club, and his last home address.

Finally I received my assignment.

“Bella,” said my mistress, “I want you to go to Tiffany's with me, to help choose Fay's wedding present.”

It struck me as very strange that we should spend our time this way when matters were at such a critical juncture; and especially as we were determined to prevent this wedding if we could. However, I said nothing. We used up a good hour choosing the most beautiful among the tiny platinum and jeweled watches they showed us.

“Take it to the hotel,” said Mme. Storey, “and give it to her maid to keep until Fay returns from the theater. You may let the maid have a peep at it as a great favor. This ought to put you on an intimate footing at once. You will no doubt find her packing her mistress's things for the journey to-morrow.

“It will seem quite natural for you to show curiosity in Fay's pretty things. Take plenty of time. Fay cannot get home until nearly six, if she comes at all. Ordinarily, on matinée days she has dinner in her dressing room. I want you to find out what Fay was doing on the night of September 11.”

“What Fay was doing?” I said.

Mme. Storey looked at me in a way, which did not allay my uneasiness.

“Have patience, Bella. I cannot yet {{SIC|forsee}} how all this is going to turn out.”

She drove off up to Riverdale again with the object of recovering the gun which Whittall had presented to the captain of the precinct. It was from this gun that the fatal shot had been fired.

I proceeded to the Madagascar, that towering palace of luxury. Fay like most women in her position, had two maids, one of whom waited upon her in the hotel, and one at the theatre.

I was already acquainted with Katy Meadows, her hotel maid, and of course the nature of my errand immediately broke the ice between us. Katy was a pretty, vivacious Irish girl with naturally rosy cheeks. Fay spoiled her. Katy went into raptures over the watch.

Just as Mme. Storey had said, I found her packing. Fay's things were spread over the whole suite. I did not have to express any curiosity, for Katy insisted on showing me everything—hats, wraps, dresses, lingerie, shoes in endless profusion.

It was immoral that one woman should possess so much, but oh! what a fascinating display! Unfortunately I had something else on my mind, and was unable to give myself up to the contemplation of it. The suite consisted of three rooms; a beautiful corner sitting-room with Fay's bedroom on one side and Mrs. Brunton's on the other.

After we had finished rhapsodizing over the watch I lingered on. Katy was bustling from room to room bearing armfuls of Fay's things that had to be packed. She was in a great state of fluster.

“Four o'clock!” she cried. “Mercy! I must get a move on me! They're going to have a supper party here after the show, and everything must be out of here before that, and the place tidied up. But don't you go, Miss Brickley. Sit down and talk to me. It keeps me going—”

In the end it was not at all difficult to get what I wanted. I led up to the matter as I had heard Mme. Storey do over the phone.

“I went to see 'Ashes of Roses' last night. It's a dandy picture. Have you seen it?”

“No,” said Katy. “I must wait until it shows in the cheaper houses.”

“That was a great party they had the night of the private showing last September,” I went on. “I suppose your folks went. They say all the famous people on Broadway were there.”

“Mrs. Brunton went,” said Katy unsuspiciously, “but at the last moment, Miss Fay wouldn't go. Said she didn't feel good.”

“I thought she was never sick,” I ventured.

“Oh, not sick,” said Katy. “Just wanted to stay quiet and read. I left her in bed reading. I remember that's the night I saw A. J. Burchell, starring in 'Well-Dressed Wives'. Don't you love him?”

So much for that.

While I was in the suite, things were still arriving from the shops. I remember I was looking at a marvelous negligee when the telephone rang. From Katy's responses I understood that it was Fay calling from the theatre. Fay was evidently issuing somewhat complicated instructions, to which Katy returned breathless affirmatives,

Katy finally hung up, and turned around with wide eyes. “What do you think!” she cried. “They've changed all their plans. They're going away this evening instead of to-morrow morning!”

I thought that was the end of everything. Mme. Storey had gone up to Riverdale, and I didn't know when she'd get back. Luckily Katy was too much excited herself, to notice the effect that her announcement had on me.

“For the Lord's sake,” she cried. “You never know what they're going to do next! I'm to pack the dressing-case and the small wardrobe trunk, and leave everything else for Maud. I'm to take the things to the—Terminal—my own things too, and meet them in the Grand Concourse at six thirty!”

There was only one thing for me to do, and that was to get out as quick as I could. Which I did. What was I to do? I felt desperate. If I tried to go after Mme. Storey, likely I would only pass her somewhere coming back. I didn't dare call up the police station at Riverdale, because I didn't know if she would give her right name there, and if I mentioned it, I might upset all her plans. There was nothing for it, but to return to the office and wait for her. At the worst, I was prepared to go myself to the Terminal, and denounce Whittall in public, though I died for it.

To my great relief that was not required of me. At the end of an hour, Mme. Storey came into the office bringing a very pretty young lady whom I had not seen before. She introduced her as Miss Larrimore. I was too excited at the moment to remember that this was the name of Fay's understudy.

“Miss Larrimore wanted to see our offices,” Mme. Storey explained amiably.

Perceiving from my face that something had happened,» Mme. Storey allowed the girl to pass on into the long room, while she lingered in my office. I hurriedly made my communication, Mme. Storey was not in the least disturbed. Indeed, she laughed merrily.

“I fancied that some such move might be made,” she said. “So I kidnaped Fay's understudy. I expect they're looking for her now.”

“But—but where did you find her?” I asked, amazed.

“Oh, I knew that after reporting at the theatre for every performance, she was free to go home if Fay had turned up in good health. So I went to her boarding-house, and asked her to go for a drive. We'll take her back directly. It will be fun!”

From her hand-bag Mme. Storey took an automatic pistol, and put a mark on it in my presence, before dropping it in the drawer of my desk. This weapon was identical with the one which had been recovered from the well at Oakhurst that morning.

My mistress did not hurry herself at all. After showing Miss Larrimore her artistic treasures she announced that she would drive her up-town. “I'm going to drop in on Fay at the theatre,” said Mme. Storey. “You come along, too.”

It was not the first time that Mme. Storey and I had applied at the stage door of the Yorktown theatre, and we were admitted without question. The star of the company was allotted two rooms on the level of the stage; the outer was used to receive her friends in, while the inner was devoted to the mysteries of make-up and dress.

When the outer door was opened we heard the voices of several people within. Mme. Storey slyly bade Miss Larrimore to enter first, while she hung back with a smile. Cries of relief greeted the understudy.

“Oh, here you are!”

Then Mme. Storey entered with me at her heels. They were all there; Whittall, Krueger, Mrs. Brunton and Fay. My mistress' appearance created a startling effect. Whittall was arrested in full flight so to speak. The man froze where he stood. His face turned livid. Krueger was frankly terrified; while Mrs. Brunton was herself, for once. She snarled. She could not have known what had taken place that day, but she saw clearly enough that her darling scheme was endangered. Fay swam towards us, perfectly candid in her gladness. Whittall made an involuntary move to stop her—then he saw it was useless.

“Rosika and Bella!” cried Fay. “What a lucky chance! I was just about to write you. Darius said it would sound too casual to telephone. I am afraid our little party for to-night must be off, my dears. But Darius says we shall have a big one as soon as we get back. Our plans are all changed.

“It turns out that the private car is required in New York on Tuesday, and we have to use it to-night or not at all. I suppose I am silly, but my heart was set on that private car. So we're off at seven o'clock. Miss Larrimore will play my part to-night. We'll be married in Pinehurst to-morrow.”

Mme. Storey looked at Whittall with a cold smile. He visibly writhed under it. He had given her his word of honor, you remember. The tension of that moment was almost unbearable. Everybody in the room was aware of it except the two girls who were laughingly whispering about the night's performance. There was something inexpressibly touching in the sight of their happy ignorance.

Finally Mme. Storey spoke. “I'm afraid I've got the thankless job of throwing a monkey wrench into the works,” she said.

“What do you mean?” asked Fay, laughing.

“I can't let Mr. Whittall go away to-night.”

One can imagine what a hell of rage and frustration Whittall was undergoing during those moments. I don't suppose that the arrogant millionaire's will had ever been crossed before.

“What!” said Fay, opening her eyes wide.

“Some time ago,” said Mme. Storey coolly, “Mr. Whittall promised to back me in a scheme I was getting up to open a studio building for poor artists. My plans are ripe now, and I have called a meeting for to-morrow. I am counting on him.”

“Oh, but surely,” said Fay, more and more surprised, “under the circumstances; can't somebody appear for him? Can't it be put off for a few days?”

“No,” said Mme. Storey with cold firmness.

From astonishment Fay graduated to indignation. Suspecting enmity in my mistress, she turned from her. “Darius!” she said.

What a bitter moment for him! He hesitated. His eyes glittered in the direction of my mistress with an expression of reckless rage. But upon meeting her cold glance they fell again. He knew that the word “murder” had only to be whispered to destroy his chances forever. “I gave her my word,” he mumbled, grinding his teeth. 'I've got to stick to it.”

Fay's gentle eyes flashed. She could see now that there was much more in this than appeared on the surface. But pride would not allow her to ask any more questions. She was much angrier at her renegade lover, than she was at Mme. Storey.

“Oh well, of course it doesn't make any difference,” she said tossing her head. She slipped her hand under Miss Larrimore's arm. “I'm only sorry on your account, my dear.” She drew the other girl into the inner room.