Part 34

For a quarter of an hour she sat there, and then, looking up haggardly, stared about the room. She consulted the little chatelaine watch that dangled on her breast. Going up to a mirror, she attempted to straighten her hair, but her hands shook so that it was of little use. She was, even in that warm room, shivering. Then she rose and went down the carpeted passage, past luxurious paintings, past the compartments filled with giggling women and tipsy men, out into the night again.

The rain had stopped at last, but it was cold and gusty. Great detached masses of cloud pied the heavens, and in the clear spaces of sky the stars shone, twinkling brilliantly. She turned down Market Street.

Half-way to the ferry she met Dougal, almost falling into his arms before she recognized him.

"Well, I've found you at last!" he exclaimed. "Lord, how wet you are! Come right along home with me, and Elsie will give you some dry clothes."

"Oh, no, thank you, Dougal, but I can't, really! I've got to go to Oakland to-night."

"Nonsense! Wait, I'll get a cab."

"I can't go, honest I can't. Please don't tease me!"

"Well, I won't leave you, at any rate!" He put his arm through hers.

"You can come down to the ferry, if you want. I'm going to Oakland."

"All right, I'll go, too. But you're cold! You oughtn't cross the bay to-night. You ought to go right to bed."

"Oh, I'll be warm enough soon!"

They walked along for a while in silence, till she stopped him to ask, "Have you got a pistol with you, Dougal?"

"Yes, why?"

"Lend it to me, will you?"

"Not on your life! What do you want it for?"

"Never mind, I want it. Please, Dougal!"

"Not after that scrap I saw to-night. I don't want you in the papers to-morrow morning. You've had trouble enough without a shooting scrape. If anybody's going to shoot Cayley, let me do it!"

She sighed, and gave it up.

"Do you want to tell me what's the matter, Fancy?"

"No, Dougal, I'd rather not. It doesn't matter."

"You'll get over it all right, I expect."

"Oh, yes, I'll get over it."

"Anyway, you just want to remember you can call on me any time for anything you want, Fancy, barring guns. Don't get blue when you have good friends to fall back on. We're with you to a finish, old girl!"

"You're a dear!" She flashed a smile at him.

He grinned, and gripped her arm tighter. Then he began to dance her down the sidewalk. Fancy grew hilarious and laughed aloud, excitedly. They began to sing, as they marched, a song they had learned by rote, from Maxim. Neither of them well understood the words:

"Josephine est mor-te, Morte en faisant sa---- En faisant sa prie-re A bon Saint Nicolas, Tu-ra-la! Ca n'va gu-ere-- Tu-ra-la! Ca n'va pas!"

They kept it up in this vein till the Ferry Building was reached. There he bought her ticket and took her to the gate. She still smiled, still flung him her odd jests, still clung affectionately to his arm.

"Well, good night, Fancy Gray!" he said at last. "Don't do anything foolish till I see you again!" His grin was like a blessing.

She seemed loath to leave him, and drew back from the gate. She unpinned the little silver watch from her coat and handed it to him.

"Say, Dougal, would you mind taking this to a jeweler and having it adjusted for me?" she said suddenly. "It doesn't go very well, and I won't have time to attend to it. Don't forget it. I'll tell you--perhaps you'd better give it to Elsie--and let her take charge of it."

He took it and put it in his vest pocket. "All right," he said, "I'll give it to her."

"Tell her to be careful of it, I'm awfully fond of that watch!" she added. Then her fingers went to the little gold chain with the swastika at her neck and she started to unclasp that, too.

"And, Dougal--"

"What?"

She left the chain where it was.

"Never mind, it's nothing. Good-by, Dougal, you may kiss me if you want to!"

"Do I want to!" He gave her a bear's hug, and a brother's kiss.

She was still unready to go and stood looking at him whimsically. Then, impulsively, she seized his arm and drew him back under an arc light, and held up her face.

"Dougal," she said, "will you answer me something absolutely honestly?"

"Sure!"

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

He studied her a moment, and his lips worked silently. Then he said deliberately:

"Well,--I don't know as I'd call you exactly a _pretty_ woman, but you're something more than that--"

"Cut it out!" she exclaimed dryly; "I know all the rest! I've heard it before. Stop before you tell me I have 'fine eyes' and am good-natured. I know! 'The bride was a distinguished-looking brunette of great grace and dignity, and wore her clothes well!' Never mind, Dougal, you're honest, anyway," she added.

He opened his mouth to protest, repentance in his eyes, but she blew a kiss at him and darted through the gate. He watched her till she passed through the inner door, where she waved a last time.

She walked rapidly on board, went up the stairway, and hesitated by the door of the cabin. A girl passed her, looked back and then returned timidly.

"Excuse me, but ain't you the young lady that works in Mr. Granthope's office?" she said.

"I did, but I'm not there any more. He's gone out of business," Fancy managed to reply. Her quick eye had recognized the girl as Fleurette.

"I'm sorry for that. He's nice, isn't he? He was awfully kind to me, and he said it was on account of you. Did you know he wouldn't even take any money from me?"

"Wouldn't he?" said Fancy. "That's like him."

"And he gave me such a lovely reading, too. It just saved my life, I think, and everything came out just as he said it would, too. Don't you think he's awfully good-looking?"

"Yes, very." Fancy was breathing hard.

"And he's so good. Why, I 'most fell in love with him, that day. I guess I would have, if I hadn't been in love already. I was awfully unhappy then. I'm the happiest girl in the world, now! Say, weren't you awfully fond of him?"

"Yes."

"I guess he was of you, too. He said some awful nice things about you!"

"Did he?" Fancy's eyes wandered.

The girl saw, now, that something was wrong, and evidently wanted to make up for it. She spoke shyly: "Say--there's something else I always wanted to tell you. I wonder if it would make you mad?"

"Go ahead," said Fancy.

"You won't think I'm fooling?"

"No."

"Well," Fleurette almost whispered, "I think you're _awful_ pretty!"

With that, she turned suddenly and went into the cabin.

Fancy went down-stairs slowly, biting her handkerchief. The lower deck was deserted; she looked carefully about, to make sure of it. She glanced down at the water which boiled up from the paddle-wheels and shuddered.

Overhead the stars now shone free of cloud, in the darkness of space. San Francisco was like a pincushion, stuck with sparks of light. She crossed to the port side of the boat, and saw Goat Island, a blotch of shadow, with its lighthouse, off the bow. It grew rapidly nearer and nearer. It fascinated her. When it was directly opposite, a few hundred yards away, she clenched her teeth and muttered to herself:

"Well, there's nothing in the race but the finish! This is where _I_ get off!"

Clambering to the top of the rail, she took a long, deep breath, then flung herself headlong into the bay, and the waters closed over her.

*CHAPTER XX*

*MASTERSON'S MANOEUVRES*

Francis Granthope ran up the two flights of stairs like a boy, and pounded at Masterson's door. The doctor appeared, with his celluloid collar in one hand and a half-eaten orange in the other. He was coatless and unshorn, although his office hours, "from nine till four" had already begun. He looked at Granthope, took another bite of his orange, and then, his mouth being too full for clear articulation, pointed inside to a chair by the fireplace under the shelves full of bottles.

Granthope dumped a pile of newspapers from the chair and sat down. The sun never came into the room, and the place was, as usual, chill, dim and dusty. A handful of fire fought for life upon the hearth. Behind a fringed portiere, which was stretched across the back of the room, the doctor's cot was seen, dirty and unkempt.

Masterson finished the last of his orange with a gulp, went to a bowl in the corner where a skull was perched on a shelf, and washed his hands. After he had wiped them and rubbed a blotch of juice from the front of his plaid flannel waistcoat, he put on his coat and sat down by the fire.

"Well, I must say you're quite a stranger. How's things, Frank?" he said casually.

"So-so," was the reply. "I've given up my business."

"So I hear. What's the matter? Sold out?" asked Masterson.

"Oh, no, I just threw it all up and left."

"That's funny. I should have thought you could have got something for the good-will. What you going to do now?"

"Nothing. I didn't come here to talk about myself, Masterson, I came to talk about you."

"Well, well, that's kind of you," said the healer, buttoning on his collar. "That's what you might call friendly. You didn't use to be so much interested when you was wearing your Prince Albert. What makes you so anxious, all of a sudden?"

Granthope smiled good-naturedly, and poked at the fire till it blazed up. "See here," he said. "I can show you how to make some money easily."

"That sounds interesting. I certainly ain't in business for my health. Fire it off. I'm listening."

"There's no use beating about the bush with you. And I'm a man of my word. Isn't that so?"

"I never heard it gainsaid," said Masterson. "I'll trust you, and you can trust me as equally."

"Well, I'll tell you how I'm fixed. You know that Madam Spoll and Vixley have got it in for me--they've tried to run me out of this town, in fact."

"Oh, _that's_ why you quit? Lord, I wouldn't lay down so easy as that!"

"Well, I'm out of it, at any rate. I won't say why, but they tried to hurt me, fast enough. Now I want to give them as good as they sent."

Doctor Masterson grinned and clasped his hands over his knees. "That suits me all right, I ain't any too friendly myself, just at present."

"Then perhaps we can come to terms. What I propose to do, is to checkmate them with Payson."

Masterson rubbed his red, scrawny beard. "That ain't easy," he said reflectively.

"Easy enough, if you'll help me."

"How?"

"Simply by giving the whole business away to Mr. Payson. He'll believe you when he won't me."

"Well, what is there in it?"

"You know what my word is worth. If you help me, and we succeed in getting Mr. Payson out of the net, I promise you a thousand dollars."

"H'm!" Masterson deliberated.

"Of course, they know I'll spoil their game if I can, so I take no chances in telling you. So it's up to you to decide whether you'll stand in with them, or with me. I can do it alone, in time, but if you help, so much the better. You stand to win, anyway. It isn't worth that much to work with them, as things are, and you know it."

"I don't know about that," said Masterson craftily, watching his man; "a thousand ain't much for giving away pals."

"They're not your pals. They've tried to freeze you out--Fancy Gray has told me that from the inside. They're going to get rid of you in short order. Besides, you'll have the credit of rescuing a credulous old man from the clutches of swindlers."

"That's true," said the doctor. "They're a-bleeding him something awful. It _had_ ought to be stopped, as you say. I don't believe in grafting. I'm a straight practitioner, and if any of my patients want fake work they can go somewheres else."

"Well, what d'you say, then?"

Masterson thought it over as he warmed his hands. His reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door, and he rose to open it. An old, shabby woman stood in the hall.

She was wrinkled and veined, with yellowish white hair, vacuous, watery gray eyes, a red, bulbous nose, and a miserable chin. She had nothing of the dignity of age, and her thin, cruel lips were her only signs of character. All other traits were submerged by drink and poverty. Her skirt was ridiculously short and her black shawl ragged and full of holes. She breathed of beer.

"How d'you do, Mrs. Riley?" said Masterson. "I'm sorry to say I'm engaged at present and you'll have to wait. Can't you sit down on the stairs for a while?"

"Oh, dear, but that fire looks good!" she whined. "Can't I just come in and have a seat to rest my bones on? I'm feeling that miserable this day that I can't stand."

"Let her come in," said Granthope, rising. "I've said all that's necessary at present, and if you decide to do what I want, we can talk it over later."

The doctor grudgingly admitted her. She tottered in and took the chair by the fire gratefully. She had looked at Granthope when he first spoke, and now she kept her eyes fixed on him as he stood by the window.

Masterson went over to him and spoke in a lower tone. "I got to have time to think this thing over," he said. "Then, if I accept your offer, we got to discuss ways and means, and so forth and so on. I won't say yes, and I won't say no, just at present. I'll think it over and let you know, Frank."

The woman started at the name. Her lower lip fell pendulous. Her eyes were still on Granthope.

"When will you let me know?" he asked.

"I tell you what I'll do; I'm busy to-day, and I got an engagement to-night. Suppose I come down to your office after theater time? Say ten-thirty. Will that do?"

"I'll be there," Granthope replied. "I'll wait till you come. The outside door is locked at eleven o'clock. Be there before that."

He took his hat and walked to the door, giving a look at Mrs. Riley as he passed. Her face was now almost animated, as her lips mumbled something to herself. Granthope ran briskly down-stairs, and Masterson closed the door.

"Who's that?" Mrs. Riley piped querulously.

"That? Why, Granthope, the palmist," said the doctor, busying himself with some bottles on his table. He took one up and shook it.

"Granthope? No, sir! Don't tell me! I know better."

Masterson was upon her in a flash. "What d'you mean?" he demanded, taking her by the arm.

"I know, I know! You can't fool Margaret Riley!" she croaked.

He shook her roughly. "You're drunk!" he exclaimed in disgust.

"No, I ain't!" she retorted. "I'm sober enough to know that fellow; I've seen him before, I tell you."

"Who is he, then?"

"Oh, d'you want to know?" she said craftily. "What would you give to know, Doctor?"

"I'll give you Hail Columbia if you _don't_ tell me!" he cried. "I'll give you a bloody good reputation, that's what I'll give! I'll give you the name of being a poisoner, old woman, and I'll take care that your neighbors know all about your three husbands, if you don't look out!"

"Oh, my God! Don't speak so loud, Doctor, please! I'll tell you if you'll promise to leave me alone. I didn't mean nothing by it."

"Let's have it then." The doctor's eyes gleamed.

"Did you ever hear tell of Madam Grant?" she asked. "I reckon it was before your day."

"Yes, I did. What about her?"

"Why, this young fellow you call Granthope, he used to live with her."

"He did!" The healer came up to her and looked her hard in the eye. "How the devil do you know that?"

"Why, I've seen him there, many's the time. I used to know the Madam well. Me and her was great friends. Why, I was there the day she died!"

"Were you? I never knew that."

"We used to call him Frankie, then. He didn't call himself Granthope at all. I expect he made that up."

"Is--that--_so_!" Masterson grinned joyously.

"Let's see--there was some money missing when the boy left, seems to me."

"Lord, yes, and a sight of money, too. Madam Grant was a grand miser. They say she had a fortune stowed away in the dirt on the floor. She run a real estate business, you know, and she done well by it. I expect that's where Frankie got his start. Strange I never seen him afore."

"You're positively sure it's the same one?"

"Didn't I stare hard enough at him? Why, just as soon as I come in the door I says to myself, 'I've seen you before, young man!' Then when you called him Frank, it all come back to me. I'll take my oath to it."

"Lord, I could kick myself!" said Masterson. "To think of all these years I've known him and ain't suspected who he was!"

"You won't give me away, then, will you, Doctor?" the old lady added tearfully.

"I'll see, I'll see." He returned to his medicine, thinking hard.

He proceeded with his treatment of Mrs. Riley, plying her all the while with questions relative to Francis Granthope and Madam Grant. Mrs. Riley knew little, but she embroidered upon what she had seen and heard till, at the end, she had fabricated a considerable history. Her fancy, under fear of the healer's threats, was given free rein; and Masterson listened so hungrily, that, had there been no other inducement, her pleasure in that alone would have made her garrulous. She went away feeling important.

That afternoon, Doctor Masterson, loaded and primed with his secret, took his rusty silk hat and a Chinese carved bamboo cane and walked proudly up Turk Street to hold Professor Vixley up for what was possible.

The Professor welcomed him with a show of politeness.

"How's Madam Spoll?" was Masterson's first question, after he had spread his legs in the front room.

"Gertie's pretty bad," said Vixley. "The doctors don't hold out much hope, but you know the way they linger with a burn. I wonder could you do anything for her?"

"I ain't any too willing, after the way she treated me last time I was here," said the healer coldly. "I ain't never been talked to so in my life!"

"Oh, you don't want to mind a little thing like that, Doc, it was only her way. Business is business, you know. Besides, if Gertie _should_ be took from us it may make a good deal of difference, after all. I don't just know what I'll do."

"I tell you what you'll do," said Masterson, gazing through his spectacles aggressively, "you'll take me into partnership, that's what you'll do!"

"Oh, I will, will I? I ain't so sure about that, Doc. Don't go too fast; Gertie ain't dead yet."

"I rather think I can make it an object to you, Vixley. I may go so far as to say I _know_ I can." Masterson leaned back and noted the effect of his words.

Vixley looked at him curiously and raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? I didn't know as you was in a position to dictate to me, Doc, but maybe you are--you never can tell!"

"I can just everlastingly saw you off with Payson if I want to; that's what I can do!" Masterson rubbed in.

"How?"

"Through something I found out to-day, that's how."

"I guess I could call that bluff on you, Masterson, if I wanted to. We got him sewed up in a sack. You can't touch us there."

"Lord, I can blow you sky-high!" He arose and made as if to walk to the door. "And, by the Lord Harry, I'll do it, too! I've given you a fair chance, you remember that!"

Vixley took water hastily. "Oh, see here, Doc, don't go to work and be hasty! You know it was only Gertie who wanted to freeze you out. I don't say it's impossible to make a deal, only I don't want to buy a pig in a poke, do I? I can't talk business till I know what you have to offer."

"Oh, you'll find I can make good all right," said Masterson, returning to his seat with his hat on the back of his head. "See here; as I understand it, you're working Payson on the strength of something about this Felicia Grant, he was supposed to be sweet on. Is that right?"

"Well, suppose we are, just for the sake of the argument. What then?"

"Now, they was a little boy living with her, and he disappeared. Am I right?"

"You got it about right; yes." Vixley's eyes sparkled.

"Well, then; what if I know who that boy was, and where he is now? How would that strike you?"

"Jimminy! Do you?" Vixley cried, now fairly aroused. "I don't deny that might make considerable difference."

"I should say it would! I should imagine yes! Why, you simply can't do nothing at all till you know who he is, and what he knows! And I got him! Yes, sir, I got him!"

"Who is he?" Vixley asked, with a fine assumption of innocence.

Masterson laughed aloud. "Don't you wish't you knew?" he taunted. "I'll let you know as soon as we come to an agreement. What d'you think about that partnership proposition now?"

"Good Lord, ain't I told you all along I was willin'? It was only Gertie prevented me takin' you in before! Sure! I'm for it. Gertie's in a bad way, and I doubt if she'll be able to do anything for a long time, even if she should recover. Meanwhile, of course, I got to live. It won't do to let Payson slip through our fingers. Let's shake on it, Doc; I'm with you. You help me out, and we'll share and share alike."

"Done!" said Masterson. "I kind of thought I could make you listen to reason. Now you can tell me just how the land lays with Payson."

"Wait a minute! You ain't told me who the kid is, yet."

Masterson hesitated a moment, unwilling to give up his secret till he had bound the bargain, but it was, of course, obviously necessary. He leaned toward his new partner and touched Vixley on the knee. "It's Frank Granthope!"

Vixley jumped to his feet and raised his two fists wildly above his head, then dropped them limply to his side. "_Granthope!_" he cried. "My God! Are you sure?"

"Positive. Mrs. Riley recognized him to-day at my office. She used to know Madam Grant, and see him down there when he was a kid. Why? What's wrong about that?"

"Hell!" Vixley cried in a fury. "It's all up with us, then!"

"Why, what can Granthope do?"

"Do? He can cook our goose in half a minute. And if Payson finds this out, it's all up in a hurry."

"I don't see it yet," Masterson complained.

"Why, here it is in a nutshell. Payson has an illegitimate son by Madam Grant--he's all but confessed it, and we're sure of it. We had it all fixed up to palm off Ringa on him for the missing heir--see? They was big money in it, if it worked. But let Granthope get wind of the game, and he'll walk in himself as the prodigal son, and we're up a tree. He's thick with the Payson girl already, and unless we fix him, he'll make trouble. If we could only keep Payson from findin' out who Granthope is, and if we could keep Granthope from findin' out that Payson had a son, we might make it yet, but it's a slim chance now."

"It is a mess, ain't it?" said Masterson, scratching his head, and studying the pattern on the carpet. "Of course this son business puts a different face on it for me. But perhaps we can pull it off yet. Have you seen Payson to-day?"

"No--and there's another snag. Did you see the paper this mornin'? The reporters have been around to-day, and I'm afraid they's going to be trouble about that materializin' seance. If they print any more, I'll have to pack up and get out of town till it blows over. What in the world made Payson suspect anything, I don't know! Fancy done her part all right. But I ain't afraid of that. We can get him back on the hook again all right. All we got to do is to lay the fakin' on to Flora, and she'll stand for it. What I want to do next is to develop him."

"Yes, I see you got one of them mirrors over there," said Masterson, going up to it inquisitively. "It's slick, ain't it? Let's have a look at it!"

Vixley sprang in front of him and held his arm. "For God's sake, don't touch it! Don't touch it!" he cried fearfully. "Leave it alone. I don't want it started. I can't stand the damned thing! I'm going to use crystal balls instead. That thing gets on my nerves too bad."

Masterson, surprised, turned away. "What did you get it for, anyway? I should think you'd got 'em again, by the way you talk."

"There's bad luck in it. I'm going to send it away. I'm afraid of it, somehow."