CHAPTER XXII

The atmosphere of a kitchen, however clean and well-ordered it may be, is calculated to pall on any man of intellect and genius. It needs the gross mind of a materialist, a man like the husband of Heloise (Gordon’s expression was one of distaste as he thought of that man) to appreciate the lingering fragrance of long-baked and long-consumed pies, the everlasting aroma which the spluttering hot oven has sent forth from time to time through the years, to permeate the homely furniture, and through that medium to retain its delicate nidus for the joy of those lovers of good food to whom such smells were appetising.

Gordon had read everything that was readable. He had skipped through two cookery books, and had read the old newspapers in the wood cupboard. The almanac above the kitchen range he knew by heart, so that he could have told you the exact date when everybody of importance was born, married or assassinated.

Happily, he had seen little of Heloise and less of Diana. At the thought of Diana his expression changed from one of great sadness to one of intense malignity. And then he would laugh softly, for, despite all that had been said (and that in his hearing) he possessed a sense of humour. How remarkably capable she was! In his bitterest moments this fact worked out from the confusion of his resentment. And how lovely! Once he had tried to patronise her ... he blushed at the memory. Suppose he hadn’t gone away on this mad adventure, would he have recognised all her excellent qualities as he saw them now? It was doubtful. He was so keyed up, his nerves were stretched at such tension, that every note of her was detected and valued. And of course she was behaving in this outrageous way in his interest. He warmed at this thought. But Dempsi ... his heart went back into the refrigerator.

The door opened slowly and he looked up, hoping to see the subject of his thoughts. But he was to be disappointed. It was Heloise. She threw down the book she was carrying, tore off the selvedge of an old newspaper that lay on the table, and, by its aid and the kitchen fire, lit a cigarette.

He got up from the Windsor chair before the fire, and, without a word of thanks, she dropped into his place. She smoked, watching the fire. She was pretty too, but in a harder way. He felt just a little sorry for her....

Presently Gordon broke into her thoughts.

“You’ve landed me in a pretty fine mess,” he said without heat.

She looked up at him sideways, flicking the ash from her cigarette with a cute little snap of her forefinger.

“_I’ve_ landed _you_!” she said ironically. “I like that--anyway, there’s no call to get mad, Man.”

A cold chill ran down his spine at that familiar form of address.

“I wish you wouldn’t call me Man. It belongs to bobbed hair and empress gowns and art serge ... and soul.”

She laughed quietly; she hadn’t laughed for a long time.

“You used to like me calling you Man--in the days of our spiritual freedom, when deep called to deep--oh, gee! I forget the mush! And only two days ago I was word-perfect--knew every line.”

Gordon rivetted his shocked gaze upon her.

“I don’t understand ... knew your lines? What do you mean?”

She was examining the cigarette between her fingers. He had a dreadful foreboding that a revelation was imminent.

“I mean all that stuff we used to talk--the O Man! stuff and the O Woman! stuff. And about our being on planes, and affinities of souls. My, but I had a bad time trying not to go to sleep. You’re different now--I kinder like you this way. I’m strong for common sense and nature. Man! I’ve been the making of you.”

“The breaking of me, you mean,” he snapped, the old grievance revived. “If you hadn’t come here, I could have explained everything to Diana--Miss Ford.”

“I like ‘Diana’ better,” she said. “That young dame is surely no miss. She’s either been married or she’s studied first-hand. If I hadn’t come!” She jerked up her head derisively.

“Why did you?” he asked. Even now he half believed the story she had told. Illusions die hard, but she was mercifully sudden.

“Because my man double-crossed me,” she said coolly.

Gordon could not believe the evidence of his ears.

“Your man? Your husband, you mean?”

She flung away the cigarette, stood up and stretched her hands about her head.

“My husband is the straightest thing that ever happened,” she answered. “I’m talking of Dan--Double Dan, you call him!”

The tick-tick of the kitchen clock filled the interval.

“You’re working--with--Double--Dan?” he breathed. Even now he could not believe her.

She smiled pityingly.

“Surely,” she nodded. “Why do you think I allowed myself to be made love to by you? Be honest with yourself and tell me what there is in your equipment that a woman could rave about?”

He stammered a wrathful denial.

“I didn’t make love to you,” said Gordon hotly. “We talked about things ... and you ... and me--about our tastes....”

“If you had as much experience as I have,” said Heloise, “you’d know that that was being made love to.” She nodded wisely. “Maybe you didn’t know--you know now.”

Gordon’s anger was rising.

“We talked on--on a higher plane,” he said sharply. “We talked of ... imponderable things. There was never ... never a caress. I hardly held your hand. Do you suggest there was anything in our little talks about prehistoric creatures,” he sneered, “or in our interchange of thought about the subconscious ego?”

To his horror she nodded.

“Sure! That’s how highbrows make love. When they start in to tell me about the Dinornis and the Silurian age, I know they got a crush on me.”

She herself might have been a Dinornis or something equally extinct and terrible by his attitude toward her.

“Then it _was_ a plot to get me away?” he asked breathlessly.

“Didn’t you know?” She was frankly surprised. “You’re a slow thinker--but you’re right! It was my job to get you away good and safe, and I could have done it, whilst Double Dan----”

“Impersonated me!”

He saw all things clearly. Mysteries were mysteries no more. There was little left upon which a harassed man need speculate.

Her face was sombre and brooding. Evidently she was thinking happily.

“He put one over on me. Gosh! That fellow’s mind is so constructed that he couldn’t go straight if he was sliding down a tube! And I went into it with my eyes open--yes, sir. Some of the boys who’d worked with him and one of his partners told me he’d do it before I left Manhattan Island. I had my warning--but I’m one of those dames who know it all and I wouldn’t believe ’em. That’s the kind of mad woman I am. And all they said came true. Yesterday morning, when everything was fixed for me to tote you to Ostend, I went to see him to split the Mendlesohn money. No, I wasn’t in that. But the little friend of mine who brought Father Eli to the verge of marriage had to go back home. Her eldest boy was ill, and I advanced her her share. Forty-sixty, that’s how I shared, and how Freda had arranged to share. And that’s how I paid her--and it was worth it. Freda put in a whole lot of good, solid work for that guy. Only interest he had in life was stamps--postal stamps. Freda studied those darned foolish things so that she jumped every time the postman knocked. Dan would part on terms--and I’m his friend! Used to be in the same touring company as me, back home!”

Gordon was rubbing his head mechanically.

“Your--your husband, is he?”

Her scorn was visible.

“My husband!” she scoffed. “Now listen! I’m a respectable married woman and you gotta remember that, Man! Married ten years. I’ve the daisiest little apartment over in New York--and a real nice lovely boy of a husband.”

“In New York?” he managed to ask.

She hesitated.

“Why, he’s not in New York now: he’s in the State Penitentiary--an innocent man, as heaven is my judge! You know what these Central Office men are! They’d swear you into the chair for a nickel. And John could have got evidence that he was a sleep-walker. Yes, sir. He’s been that way for years. When the bulls got him in Ackensmidt’s Jewellery Store, he didn’t know how he got there himself--he’s one of the best singers in the Sing Sing Glee Party, is John. But he’s due home in a month and naturally I’m going home to meet him.”

“But is he a--a thief?” he blurted.

A pink and angry flush spread on the classic face of Heloise.

“Say, where did you get all that personal stuff? Thief! John’s no thief--he’s had a lot of bad luck, I guess. But sleep-walking is at the bottom of it. When he’s awake he wouldn’t take anything unless he got a receipt for it. It’s at nights he goes kinder crazy. No, sir, John is a gentleman--though he’s on the register as a safe and strong-room expoit--expert.”

He was calmer now and prepared, if necessary, to enquire into the profits of the business.

“He’s a bank-smasher!” he said sagely. “How interesting! And of course he smashes the banks where he hasn’t a deposit.”

The futility of his remark was palpable even to himself.

“Sure thing. That’s what John is. I used to work with him, but it got him rattled when I was around, so I fixed to work with Dan, who’s a snake but a workman. I’ll say that for him--he’s all for business. Dan always treats his partner as a lady. When I’ve said that I come right to the end of Dan’s attractions.”

She spoke as an actress might speak about a fellow member of the cast--without anger, fairly. Gordon stopped strumming funeral marches on the kitchen table and became alive to the realities.

“But is Dan coming here?” he asked. “Disguised as me! Is--is that the game? What a blind idiot I was! And you, of course, were the decoy ... and all that soul stuff, as you call it, was----?”

“Bunk,” she said. “It would have been bunk anyway if I’d meant it. That kind of talk is never anything else.”

He was still helplessly puzzled.

“But ... why did you come here?”

“Because I want my money back--the money I advanced to my little friend. And he just wouldn’t split with me. Said he hadn’t got Mendlesohn’s cheque--can’t you see Dan taking cheques? Said he was short of money--that fellow has got Ananias down for the count. Yes, sir. Why, he was so stuffed with bills you couldn’t touch him without he crackled! He had so much money he had to carry it under his arm! When I told him I wouldn’t go on till he’d settled the old account, he told me to go to blue blazes. Or some place. Said I’d no right to pay the girl, and that he’d finish the job without me. But he won’t!”

Gordon glowered down on her.

“Why do you tell me this? Don’t you realise that you’ve placed yourself in my hands?” he asked. “I have only to ’phone the police and you’re finished!”

She was not perturbed.

“Man, you’ve got a head like a haunted house! Forget it--Uncle Isaac!”

He wilted under the blow. Uncle Isaac! He was in a hopeless position.

“How shall I recognise him--this Double Dan--when he comes? When do you expect him?”

Whatever happened, Double Dan’s scheme should be brought to failure, he decided.

“Why, Dan sort of happens naturally,” she said lazily. “I lift my tile to him every time. He is certainly the most artistic guy in the business. I can’t let my feelings prejudice me. He a great artist. The Lord didn’t give him any ideas about simple division, but we’re not all born mathematicians. You’ll not know him when he comes. He doesn’t always pretend to be the sucker he’s robbing. Sometimes he’s a butler.”

Gordon started. Superbus! Yet it seemed impossible that a man could sink so low that he would impersonate the Roman.

“You mean--our stout friend the detective?”

“Well, I’ve known him before to make up like a detective who’s watching for him, and, what’s more, get away with it. It’s one of Dan’s favourite disguises, and he’s got others. I’m giving you a million dollars’ worth of information, Man. You ought to thank me on your knees, but you won’t. Another good one of his is to be a visiting clergyman--that’s one of his best. He told me once that he’d made a quarter of a million dollars out of the church.”

“A minister--there’s been one here to-day,” said Gordon thoughtfully. “Why don’t you turn King’s evidence against him?”

“State’s evidence, I guess that means? No, sir. That means nothing to me, and you’re insulting me by suggesting it. This is a private matter between D. D. and H. C.--Chowster is my name--my father was a Reverend Chowster of Minneapolis and I’m a high-school girl and don’t forget it. Anyway, I’m just too much of a lady to start makin’ entries in the squeal book. Birth and education count for something, Man.”

He covered his face with his hands.

“What a fool I’ve been, what a fool!” he groaned.

Heloise looked at him: in this mood he was interesting.

“Why, I guess every man’s a fool--he’s born that way, and has got twen’y years to pull himself right before some woman comes along and spoils his chance. I used to know a boy in Ontario, where I was born--Minneapolis, I mean--who got right after he was married, but he was an exception. And he’d done the mischief then.”

“I’ll not stand it,” said Gordon between his teeth. “Whatever happens, I’m going to put a spoke in the wheel of this Double Dan.”

“You don’t say?” She was politely intrigued.

“Am I going to remain quietly by and see a couple of crooks----”

“Oh, say!” she protested.

“--robbing society with impunity?”

“That’s fine. And if Dan gets busy he’ll rob with any old thing that’s handy. He’s a genius that way. My John says that Dan could open a safe with a hairpin----”

“I’ll report this to the police,” said Gordon firmly. “I was a fool not to take this step before. It may mean exposure, it may mean social ruin; it will certainly mean....” He stopped before he came to the possible effect upon Diana. “I’ll have you both in gaol--both of you.”

She was unaffected by his fury.

“Honey bunch, oh honey!” she cooed. “Don’t get mad, baby!”

He turned on her in fury.

“You’ve done your best to make Miss Ford think I’m--I’m something to you. I would have forgiven you everything but that.”

“Well, ain’t you?” she drawled. “Ah, peachy boy, don’t be mad at your little snookums! Smile, baby, show little toothsies.”

Diana, in the opening of the kitchen door, heard only this.

“Will you kindly reserve your love-making until you are out of my house?” she asked severely.

At the sound of her voice Gordon reeled. The final straw had dropped brutally upon a camel, already over-burdened.

“Why, I don’t know,” said Heloise, her insolent gaze turned on the intruder. “It seems to me that a cook’s got a right to a li’l bit of love, honey? I’ll admit that Uncle Isaac ain’t so cute as darling Wopsy. But he’s a real nice boy in Aunt Lizzie’s eyes.”

Gordon would have intervened, but his spirit was broken. He slunk into the scullery and dropped his aching head upon the knife-machine.