The Under-World/Chapter 3

Edith, I knew, was an early riser, and the next morning at nine I found her already at work in her studio. She was alone, for Miss Dalghren was more luxurious.

“May I interrupt you for a few minutes talk, Edith?” I asked.

Of course you may,” she answered, laying down her palette and giving me a quick look with her thoughtful eyes.

So I told her of my letter from Léontine, holding back, of course, the name and identity of the writer. Edith listened with her smooth brows knit. I did not mention what Léontine had said about a thief being always a thief, because I knew in my heart that this did not apply to me. I had been a criminal, but not a weak man. Whenever I have committed a crime it has always been of my own deliberate intention and not the result of temptation. To my way of thinking the man who wants to be honest and then falls, in spite of himself, is not a thief. He is not worthy of the name of a thief. He is merely a weakling. To that class belong pilfering valets de chambre and absconding cashiers and the like. A professional thief would be ashamed to associate with that sort. He steals because he wants to, not because he can't help it. What I dwelt upon to Edith was the harm that might come to her husband and herself from receiving me into their household—and I put this even stronger than Léontine had done.

When I had finished she looked at me with her twisted little smile.

“Is that all, Frank?” she asked.

“Isn't it enough?” I retorted. “And isn't it all true?”

“It may be true, to some extent,” she answered slowly, “but it is not enough.”

“It may not be enough for you, Edith,” I cried, “because you are a sort of angel on earth. But it is enough for me—and probably would be for John, if he were to look at it in this light.”

“John understands,” said Edith, “he is loyal to the core—and besides, he is your half-brother, and it is his duty.”

“It is his duty not to sacrifice you,” said I, “and mine, too. No, Edith, I won't have it. My word is passed to keep straight and I'll stick to it. But not here. I am going away.”

“With this woman?” she asked.

“With or without her. What does it matter? That is not the question.”

“How long do you think you would keep your word to remain honest if you were with her, Frank?” Her eyes looked steadily into mine. “No; if you go back to her, I would prefer to absolve you from your promise. It is better to be dishonest to the world, I think, than untrue to yourself. That is why I am so sure of you; because, whatever you may have done, I know that you have always been right with yourself. But you could not be so if you were to slip now. And with such a woman it would be almost inevitable. Listen to me, Frank. I thought of all of this when I told John to bring you here. I weighed the pros and cons for all of us. If I had found you a different sort of person I might have lost my courage; but I feel instinctively your resolution and your strength. Since you are what you are I have no fear of the result to any of us. John and I are not dependent on the dictates of Society. If such friends as we have cannot accept our decision we do not want to keep them.”

“It's asking too much” I muttered.

Edith laid her hand upon my wrist.

“We are asking nothing of anybody, Frank. We have merely made our choice, that is all.”

What was I to say? She was stronger than I—ten thousand million times. I mumbled back the same old argument, and she listened with her twisted smile, saying a warm word here and there, for which I found no answer. It was like a chunk of ice trying to argue the point with the sun. Finally I gave it up and raised her hand to my lips.

“I'll talk a bit to John,” I muttered, and shambled out.

John was on the terrace at breakfast. His eyes were puffy, as he looked up to wish me good-morning, and I noticed that his hand was shaky as he poured his coffee.

I told him of my talk with Edith. He listened, looking rather bored.

“Oh, well,” said he, “I understand, of course, how you feel about it all. Why can't we make some sort of a compromise? You needn't stop here at the house if you're afraid that it might reflect on Edith, but there's no need for you to go away. Give this crook lady to understand that she's got to leave you alone, then find yourself diggings up near the office and pitch into our motor business. There's a lot to be done in the way of introducing the car—advertising and all that. Besides, I've got quite a list of possible clients, and you will be busy taking them out over the road. Let's go ahead with our business and let the social part slide.”

There was a certain amount of sense in this. As long as I kept away from the house, it didn't seem as if I could do them any especial harm. So, for the time being, we decided to let it go at that.

I found myself quarters on a side street near the office and started in to work. Rather to my surprise, John proved himself a mighty good hustler for trade. He had a big acquaintance, both resident and amongst visiting Americans, and in the course of the first six weeks we booked quite a number of orders. Our car was a good one, silent as a watch, easy to handle, and constructed a bit on the American plan with a high clearance and light for the size and power, which made it easy on tyres. I joined the Automobile Club and made quite a lot of useful acquaintances.

I wrote to Léontine, telling her, briefly, of the course I'd taken, and asking her to make good in what she said about doing her part She never answered the note, but I'll be hanged if she didn't come swelling into the office one day with Kharkoff and make him buy a car. John was tremendously tickled over this.

Now and again I saw Edith, but I kept away from the house. She was herself a very good driver and duly certificated in Paris. Then one day John told me that Miss Dalghren was anxious to learn to drive, and asked me to give her a few early-morning lessons in a little voiturette which we had taken in trade and used for knocking about on our business. So I took the girl out in the Bois before business hours in the morning, and twice we met Léontine riding with Kharkoff. The face of the Polish girl was not as amiable as I would have liked to see it, and knowing something of the wild nature of women of her sort, I told Miss Dalghren that, if she didn't mind, we would continue our lessons late in the afternoon, as I had missed one or two early clients, and later in the day I could get John to relieve me at the office while I was gone. She agreed, and the very next day we ran into Léontine and Kharkoff again at about six in the evening.

We were rounding the corner of a narrow little route and we couldn't have been in a worse position, for I was leaning over with my face so close to hers that a few tendrils of her yellow hair were against my cheek, the car being old and a noisy little beast. Miss Dalghren turned to me with a smile, just as Léontine and Kharkoff, walking their horses, came upon us. As I looked up I caught a glimpse of Léontine's face. It had gone as black as a thunder-cloud. She raised her crop and brought it down with a Vicious cut on the ribs of her hunter, which sprang ahead, almost striking the car,

They swept past and Miss Dalghren looked at me, her eyes big with surprise.

“Did you see that?” she cried. “I wonder why she did it? And her face was furious.”

“Probably the Prince said something nice about you,” I answered.

The girl did not answer, and I guessed that she was thinking of the night that Léontine had sat next us in the box. A little later she turned and gave me a look which I pretended not to see. For my part, I was troubled, and when we got back I said:

“You drive well enough now to take your examination. I'll go down to the prefecture and make an engagement for you.”

“Very well,” she answered quietly, but there was a tone to her voice that made me uneasy.

It was about a week later that John came into the office one morning looking so badly that I thought he must have been making a night of it. He shot me a quick look, then said, shortly:

“Come into the private office, Frank. I want to talk to you.”

I followed him in. John turned to me with a haggard face.

“Frank,” said he, “here's the devil to pay. Mary Dalghren's pearls have been stolen.”

My friend, I have had some hard jolts at different times in my busy life. But never did I get such a knock-out blow as that. I could feel the blood sucking out of my face and the pit of my stomach seemed to melt. John's expression was pretty bad, but my own must have been worse, for he said, sharply: “What's the matter with you?”

I pulled myself together. My throat and mouth felt dry and I hated to speak. John gave me another curious look and his face hardened a trifle. He pulled out his cigarette-case and lit a cigarette in a sullen sort of way. Something in his expression stiffened my back.

“Tell me the particulars,” I said.

“There ain't much to tell,” he answered. “Mary went to a big dinner at the Billings' last night. They are Americans—barrels of money, and mighty little else. Mary teaches the daughters music. She wore her pearls. After your visit showed me how easy it was for a cracksman to walk in and out of the house, I bought a small, new-model American safe, which is in my room. Both Mary and Edith keep their jewels in it. But last night I was playing a little baccarat at the Automobile Club and didn't get in till three. Edith has the combination, but she was asleep when Mary got home, and, not wishing to disturb her, Mary locked up her pearls in her bureau de totlette. When she looked for them this morning they were gone That's all.”

He smoked sulkily, staring out through the window.

“What have you done about it?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he snapped, “what was there to do? Edith would not let me” he stopped short and got red.

“Edith would not let you notify the police,” I said. “Of course she wouldn't. What would be the use, after you have taken a felon into your family? The prefect would laugh at you and say it served you right. The thief knew that.”

I got on my feet and reached for my hat.

“Let's go down to the house,” I said, “I want to look around.”

John got up and we went out and whirled down to the Boulevard des Invalides. Neither of us spoke until we reached the Place de la Concorde. Then said I:

“John, I know what has happened to those pearls and I don't despair of getting them back. Not by a whole lot.”

He gave me a startled look. “Well?” he asked.

“Some of my ex-pals know how you saved me from the law,” said I, “and that I stopped for awhile in your house. They also know that your wife has fine jewels. Somebody has sized up the proposition for an easy one, knowing that you could hardly go to the police. Also, the thief counts on your suspecting me. Do you?”

John looked away. “Oh no—not a bit,'” he answered, hesitating a trifle.

“I'm glad of that,” said I; and added: “was Kharkoff playing last night, as usual?”

“Yes,” growled John, “worse luck.”

“You lost?”

He gave me a quick look, then grunted: “Oh, a trifle.”

Neither of us spoke until we reached the house, where we found Edith and Miss Dalghren on the terrace. The girl's face was pale and I thought she seemed a little embarrassed at seeing me. But Edith's clear, steady eyes were as steady as ever, and she gave me a good grip of the hand.

“This is horrid, Frank,” said she. “It makes me wish that there were no such things as jewels. But I have told Mary that she is not to worry; that we have a member of the family who is worth a whole bureau of detectives.”

A cynical sort of grin spread over John's self-indulgent mouth.

“You are right, Edith,” I said. “I told John a little while ago that I could locate those pearls, and so I can.”

“Do you know who stole them?” asked Mary Dalghren, with a straight look.

“I think so,” I answered. “Now I want to ask you some questions. You went to dine at the Billings' last night and wore your pearls. Who and what are the Billings?”

“They are rich Americans who have come over here to educate their daughters. They live on the Avenue de Bois.”

“Are they aristocratic people?” I asked.

The two women exchanged glances.

“Hardly that,” answered Miss Dalghren, hesitatingly, “Mr. Billings is rather a common man who has made a big fortune in ready-made clothes, or something of the sort. His wife is ordinary, but kind and well meaning. She is very ambitious socially.”

“How about their guests?” I asked. “How many were there and what were they like?”

“There were twelve, only four of whom I had ever met before. Two or three of them I thought rather queer.”

“Could you describe a few of the men?” I asked. “There were a few titles, I suppose?”

She smiled. “They were all titled, I think. Barons and counts and princes and a general or two. Naturally, the one I remember the best is the man who took me out. He was Italian, I think, or possibly a Pole. Just before we went in Mrs. Billings took me aside and said: 'You have made a conquest, my dear. Captain Schlossberg was to have taken you out, but a man has just begged so hard for you that I must give you to him,' and she pointed out a handsome man who looked like an Italian. He was tall and slender, with thick, black hair and a black moustache, waxed at the tips.”

“What was his name?”

“I did not catch his last name, but during the dinner one of the other men called him 'Ivan.'”

“Ivan,” I repeated, as if to fix the name in my mind. “Now,” I said, “can you remember what you talked about?”

“At dinner we talked principally about music,” she answered. “He was very well informed and appeared to know most of the artistes and composers. Also, he seemed to be acquainted with a good many nice people here in Paris.”

“What happened after dinner?” I asked.

“There was a girl who sang. Then my dinner partner played some Hungarian folk-songs and sang one or two. He had rather a nice voice. At the end I played the harp. When I had finished, my dinner partner brought me some orangeade. There was some sort of liqueur in it, I think, and I did not like the taste, but the room was hot and I was thirsty and drank it all. Shortly after that I came home. Thérése, Edith's maid, was waiting for me in the motor.”

“And when you got home?”

“Edith had gone to bed and John had not come in. I did not want to disturb Edith, as she has been sleeping poorly, so I put the pearls in the drawer of my toilet table and dropped the key in one of my stockings. I don't think that I was ever so sleepy in my life, and when I woke up I had a splitting headache, which I put down to that nasty sweet orangeade and the stuff in it,”

“Thank you,” said I. “That's quite enough, Miss Dalghren.”

“Have you got a clue?” asked John.

“I have one already,” I answered.

“And you think that you can get back the pearls?”

“Yes,” I answered, and turned to Edith, “Are your pearls safe?” I asked.

Edith nodded. “I haven't looked,” said she, “but it's not necessary. I opened the safe to get Mary's out last night and mine were there. I did not leave the room after that, as I was not feeling well, and had my dinner in bed. Nobody could have come into the room during the night because—because I did not go to sleep.”

“Not at all?” I asked quickly.

“Not a wink,” she confessed, and the colour came into her cheeks. “I heard every quarter from the clocks of St. François Xavier and the Invalides.”

“In that case,” said I, guessing why she had not slept, “it's as you say hardly worth while to look. Now I will say au 'voir, as there is no time to lose if I want to get the pearls.”

So I went out and jumped into the little car and started back up town alone. The whole business was pretty plain to me, but there were a few details I wanted to study out. Ivan, as you may remember, was the man who had given me the job of stealing Edith's jewels. He was the chief executive of the Paris mob of thieves, some of whom I had met that night at Léontine's house in Passy. Ivan never did any of the active work. He was a clubman and a diner-out, and when he was asked to some rich house he looked things over, and if the proposition seemed a good one, assigned it to some worker who robbed the house and turned over the swag to Ivan who disposed of it, deducting his percentage. If the job went wrong and the burglar got caught, there was a fund to defend him. Ivan kept his hands clean and was always in some conspicuous place on the night of the theft.

So far, all was clear as spring-water. The next thing was to find out who had the pearls at the present moment. The more I thought of this, the more I became convinced that the disposition of jewels stolen by the mob was Léontine's work. Léontine was undoubtedly the fence. Being under the protectorship of Kharkoff, who was fabulously rich, she might be expected to have valuable jewels, and these she might also be expected to dispose of, for various reasons common to women of her position. Her words to me at Bagatelle crossed my mind: “I am a thief on a bigger scale than you ever dreamed of.” There was little doubt in my mind that at the present moment Léontine had Miss Dalghren's pearls.

The next thing was to get them, and I had no great fear of my ability to do that. I would go to Léontine and give to her straight that unless she handed them over I would call on the Prefect of Police and lay information for the rounding up of the whole mob: Ivan, Maxeville, or Chu-Chu le Tondeur, as he was known, the women souris d'hôtel and herself. I would tell her in strong terms that they had played it rotten low on me. Here was I, who a few weeks before had got myself pinched to save their hides, being used as a shield for them to crawl behind when they stole pearls from the house of the people who had saved me a life sentence. This would be a dangerous game for me, I knew, but I never scared worth a cent, and by the time I got to the office I was so tearing mad that I asked nothing better than to take on the whole slimy gang.

So I sent Léontine a pneumatique to say that she could take her choice between meeting me at Bagatelle the next morning at eleven or later in the day at the Prefecture of Police. I knew that she might not be able to get away from Kharkoff in the afternoon or evening, but as he was A.D.C. to one of the Grand Dukes and supposed to report every morning before mid-day, the chances were that the girl could manage a morning rendezvous.

That night, at about eleven, I went into the Automobile Club. There was a baccarat game already going, and meeting an acquaintance, who was manager of a motor concern near our office, the pair of us strolled in to watch the play. Almost the first person my eyes rested on was John. His back was turned to us, but my acquaintance had recognised him also and said to me:

“There is your patron, M. Clamart. You will have to sell a good many cars to pay for his game of last night.”

“Really?” I answered carelessly. “Was it as bad as that?”

“I heard that his losses were about forty thousand francs,” said he.

I shrugged. “M. Cuttynge told me that he had been unlucky,” I said; “but he spoke of his losses as trifling.”

“I myself saw him lose thirty thousand,” says my friend; “but these Americans and Russians do not think much of a sum like that. Kharkoff was the heavy winner. He won over eighty thousand francs.”

“Do you think that he will play to-night?” I asked.

“It is probable. They told me to-day in his garage on the Rue Guyot, that he was off for London to-morrow in his car.”

“Alone?” I asked.

“Probably la femme du diable will go with him. I hear that she is his morganatic wife. But since Kharkoff is going to London to-morrow, to-night will be his last chance to play, and he will probably play high. It will be interesting to watch.”

I assented, and we turned our attention to the game. But my mind was not on the table. I was thinking of John and his loss of the night before; a loss that he could ill afford, as we needed every cent that could be scraped together for our business. But what interested me even more was Kharkoff's journey to London. I had little doubt that Léontine would take the pearls with her, to dispose of in England. If the Prince were to make an early start for the run to Boulogne, Léontine might not be able to meet me at Bagatelle—or at least, this would be so difficult that she might prefer to run the risk of my fulfilling my threat.

If possible, then, I must manage to see her that very night. It seemed likely that Kharkoff would want to follow up his luck at the tables, and, having once started to play, he might be counted on as a fixture until the game closed. This would give me a chance to see Léontine; and, for that matter, the sooner I had it out with her over the pearls the better.

So I found an inconspicuous corner near the door and waited. As the game proceeded it appeared that John was winning, and I decided to have a straight talk with him the next day and try to persuade him to leave bacarrat alone. The chances were, I thought, that if he managed to recoup to any extent he would listen to reason, being a good-natured sort of chap not hard to influence.

A little after midnight there was a sudden stir in one room and the crowd not playing turned to look over their shoulders. “Le Prince,” I heard, and here was Kharkoff's big bulk at my shoulder. He crowded in to reach the table, and I slipped out and made for the street.

“And now,” said I to myself, “for Léontine.”