The interlacing of destinies is such that you will not be surprised to learn that the further careers of Letty Gravely, of Barbara Walbrook, of Rashleigh Allerton now turned on Mademoiselle Odette Coucoul, whose name not one of the three was ever destined to hear.

On his couch in the library Allerton slept till after nine, waking in a confusion which did not preclude a sense of refreshment. At the same minute Madame Simone was finishing her explanations to Mademoiselle Coucoul as to what was to be done to the seal-brown costume, which Steptoe had added to Letty’s wardrobe, in order to conceal the fact that it was a model of a season old, and not the new creation its purchasers supposed. Taking in her instructions with Gallic precision mademoiselle was already at work when Miss Tina Vanzetti paused at her door. The door was that of a small French-paneled room, once the boudoir of the owner of the Flemish chateau, but set apart now by Madame Simone for jobs requiring deftness.

Miss Vanzetti, whose Neapolitan grandfather had begun his American career as a boot-black in Brooklyn, was of the Americanized type of her race. She could not, of course, eliminate her Latinity of eye and tress nor her wild luxuriance of bust, but English was her mother-tongue, and the chewing of gum 174 her national pastime. She chewed it now, slowly, thoughtfully, as she stood looking in on Mademoiselle Odette, who was turning the skirt this way and that, searching out the almost invisible traces of use which were to be removed.

“So she’s give you that to do, has she? Some stunt, I’ll say. Gee, she’s got her gall with her, old Simone, puttin’ that off on the public as something new. If I had a dollar for every time Mamie Gunn has walked in and out to show it to customers I’d buy a set of silver fox.”

Mademoiselle’s smile was radiant, not because she had radiance to shed, but because her lips and teeth framed themselves that way. She too was of her race, alert, vivacious, and as neat as a trivet, as became a former midinette of the rue de la Paix and a daughter of Batignolles.

“Madame she t’ink it all in de beezeness,” she contented herself with saying.

With her left hand Miss Vanzetti put soft touches to the big black coils of her back hair. “See that kid that all these things is goin’ to? Gee, but she’s beginnin’ to step out. I know her. Spotted her the minute she come in to try on. Me and she went to the same school. Lived in the same street. Name of Letty Gravely.”

Seeing that she was expected to make a response mademoiselle could think of nothing better than to repeat in her pretty staccato English: “Name of Let-ty Grav-el-ly.”

“Stepfather’s name was Judson Flack. Company-promoter he called himself. Mother croaked three or 175 four years ago, just before we moved to Harlem. Never saw no more of her till she walked in here with the old white slaver what’s payin’ for the outfit. Gee, you needn’t tell me! S’pose she’ll hit the pace till some fella chucks her. Gee, I’m sorry. Awful slim chance a girl’ll get when some guy with a wad blows along and wants her.” The theme exhausted Miss Vanzetti asked suddenly: “Why don’t you never come to the Lantern?”

In her broken English mademoiselle explained that she didn’t know the American dances, but that a fella had promised to teach her the steps. She had met him at the house of a cousin who was married to a waiter chez Bouquin. Ver’ beautiful fella, he was, and had invited her to a chop suey dinner that evening, with the dance at the Lantern to wind up with. Most ver’ beautiful fella, single, and a detective.

“Good for you,” Miss Vanzetti commanded. “If you don’t dance you might as well be dead, I’ll say. Keeps you thin, too; and the music at the Lantern is swell.”

The incident is so slight that to get its significance you must link it up with the sound of the telephone which, as a simultaneous happening, was waking Judson Flack from his first real sleep after an uncomfortable night. Nothing but the fear lest by ignoring the call the great North Dakota Oil Company whose shares would soon be on the market, would be definitely launched without his assistance dragged him from his bed.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice inquired: “Is this Hudson 283-J?”

“You bet.”

“Is Miss Gravely in?”

“Just gone out. Only round the corner. Back in a few minutes. Say, sister, I’m her stepfather, and ’ll take the message.”

“Tell her to come right over to the Excelsior Studio. Castin’ director’s got a part for her. Real part. Small but a stunner. Outcast girl. I s’pose she’s got some old duds to dress it in?”

“Sure thing!”

“Well, tell her to bring ’em along. And say, listen! I don’t mind passing you the tip that the castin’ director has his eye on that girl for doin’ the pathetic stunt; so see she ain’t late.”

“Y’betcha.”

That an ambitious man, growing anxious about his future, was thus placed in a trying situation will be seen at once. The chance of a lifetime was there and he was unable to seize it. Everyone knew that by these small condensations of nebular promise stars were eventually evolved, and to have at his disposal the earnings of a star....

It seemed providential then that on dropping into the basement eating place at which he had begun to take his breakfasts he should fall in with Gorry Larrabin. They were not friends, or rather they were better than friends; they were enemies who found each other useful. Mutually antipathetic, they quarrelled, but could not afford to quarrel long. A few days or a few weeks having gone by, they met with a nod, as if no hot words had been passed.

It was such an occasion now. Ten days earlier 177 Judson had called Gorry to his teeth “no detective, but a hired sneak.” Gorry had retorted that, hired sneak as he was, he would have Judson Flack “in the jug” as a promoter of faked companies before the year was out. One word had led to another, and only the intervention of friends to both parties had kept the high-spirited fellows from exchanging blows. But the moment had come round again when each had an axe to grind, so that as Judson hung up his hat near the table at which Gorry, having finished his breakfast, was smoking and picking his teeth, the nod of reconciliation was given and returned.

“Say, why don’t you sit down here?”

Politely Gorry indicated the unoccupied side of his own table. It was a small table covered with a white oil-cloth, and tolerably clean.

“Don’t mind if I do,” was the other’s return of courtesy, friendly relations being thus re-established.

Having given his order to a stunted Hebrew maid of Polish culture, Judson Flack launched at once into the subject of Letty. He did this for a two-fold reason. First, his grievance made the expression of itself imperative, and next, Gorry being a hanger-on of that profession which lives by knowing what other people don’t might be in a position to throw light on Letty’s disappearance. If he was he gave no sign of it. As a matter of fact he was not, but he meant to be. He remembered the girl; had admired her; had pointed out to several of his friends that she had only to doll herself up in order to knock spots out of a lot of good lookers of recognized supremacy.

Odette Coucoul’s description of him as “most ver’ 178 beautiful fella” was not without some justification. Regular, clean-cut features, long and thin, were the complement of a slight well-knit figure, of which the only criticism one could make was that it looked slippery. Slipperiness was perhaps his ruling characteristic, a softness of movement suggesting a cat, and a habit of putting out and drawing back a long, supple, snake-like hand which made you think of a pickpocket. Eyes that looked at you steadily enough impressed you as untrustworthy chiefly because of a dropping of the pupil of the left, through muscular inability.

“Awful sorry, Judson,” was his summing up of sympathy with his companion’s narrative. “Any dope I get I’ll pass along to you.”

Between gentlemen, however, there are understandings which need not be put into words, the principle of nothing for nothing being one of them. The conversation had not progressed much further before Gorry felt at liberty to say:

“Now, about this North Dakota Oil, Judson. I’d like awful well to get in on the ground floor of that. I’ve got a little something to blow in; and there’s a lot of suckers ready to snap up that stock before you print the certificates.”

Diplomacy being necessary here Judson practiced it. Gorry might indeed be seeking a way of turning an honest penny; but then again he might mean to sell out the whole show. On the one hand you couldn’t trust him, and on the other it wouldn’t do to offend him so long as there was a chance of his getting news of the girl. Judson could only temporize, pleading his lack of influence with the bunch who were getting 179 up the company. At the same time he would do his utmost to work Gorry in, on the tacit understanding that nothing would be done for nothing.

Allerton too had breakfasted late, at the New Netherlands Club, and was now with Miss Barbara Walbrook, who received him in the same room, and wearing the same hydrangea-colored robe, as on the previous morning. He had called her up from the Club, asking to be allowed to come once more at this unconventional hour in order to communicate good news.

“She’s willing to do anything,” he stated at once, making the announcement with the glee of evident relief. “In fact, it was by pure main force that I kept her from running away from the house this morning.”

He was dashed that she did not take these tidings with his own buoyancy. “What made you stop her?” she asked, in some wonder. “Sit down, Rash. Tell me the whole thing.”

Though she took a chair he was unable to do so. His excitement now was over the ease with which the difficulty was going to be met. He could only talk about it in a standing position, leaning on the mantelpiece, or stroking the head of the Manship terra cotta child, while she gazed up at him, nervously beating her left palm with the black and gold fringe of her girdle.

“I stopped her because—well, because it wouldn’t have done.”

“Why wouldn’t it have done? I should think that it’s just what would have done.”

“Let her slip away penniless, and—and without friends?”

“She’d be no more penniless and without friends than she was when—when you—” she sought for the right word—“when you picked her up.”

“No, of course not; only now the—the situation is different.”

“I don’t see that it is—much. Besides, if you were to let her run away first, so that you get—whatever the law wants you to get, you could see that she wasn’t penniless and without friends afterwards. Most likely that’s what she was expecting.”

His countenance fell. “I—I don’t think so.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t think so as long as she could bamboozle you. I was simply thinking of your getting what she probably wants to give you—for a price.”

“I don’t think you do her justice, Barbe. If you’d seen her––”

“Very well; I shall see her. But seeing her won’t make any difference in my opinion.”

“She’ll not strike you as anything wonderful of course; but I know she’s as straight as they make ’em. And so long as she is––”

“Well, what then?”

“Why, then, it seems to me, we must be straight on our side.”

“We’ll be straight enough if we pay her her price.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“Oh, there is? Then how much more?”

“I don’t know that I can explain it.” He lifted one of the Stiegel candlesticks and put it back in its place. “I simply feel that we can’t—that we can’t let all the 181 magnanimity be on her side. If she plays high, we’ve got to play higher.”

“I see. So she’s got you there, has she?”

“I wish you wouldn’t be disagreeable about it, Barbe.”

“My dear Rash,” she expostulated, “it isn’t being disagreeable to have common sense. It’s all the more necessary for me not to abnegate that, for the simple reason that you do.”

He hurled himself to the other end of the mantelpiece, picking up the second candlestick and putting it down with force. “It’s surely not abnegating common sense just to—to recognize honesty.”

“Please don’t fiddle with those candlesticks. They’re the rarest American workmanship, and if you were to break one of them Aunt Marion would kill me. I’ll feel safer about you if you sit down.”

“All right. I’ll sit down.” He drew to him a small frail chair, sitting astride on it. “Only please don’t fidget me.”

“Would you mind taking that chair?” She pointed to something solid and masculine by Phyffe. “That little thing is one of Aunt Marion’s pet pieces of old Dutch colonial. If anything were to happen to it—But you were talking about recognizing honesty,” she continued, as he moved obediently. “That’s exactly what I should like you to do, Rash, dear—with your eyes open. If I’m not looking anyone can pull the wool over them, whether it’s this girl or someone else.”

“In other words I’m a fool, as you were good enough to say––”

“Oh, do forget that. I couldn’t help saying it, as I think you ought to admit; but don’t keep bringing it up every time I do my best to meet you pleasantly. I’m not going to quarrel with you any more, Rash. I’ve made a vow to that effect and I’m going to keep it. But if I’m to keep it on my side you mustn’t badger me on yours. It doesn’t do me any good, and it does yourself a lot of harm.” Having delivered this homily she took a tone of brisk cheerfulness. “Now, you said over the phone that you were coming to tell me good news.”

“Well, that was it.”

“What was it?”

“That she was ready to do anything—even to disappear.”

“And you wouldn’t let her.”

“That I couldn’t let her—with nothing to show for it.”

“But she will have something to show for it—in the end. She knows that as well as I do. Do you suppose for a minute that she doesn’t understand the kind of man she’s dealing with?”

“You mean that––?”

“Rash, dear, no girl who knows as much as this girl knows could help seeing at a glance that she’s got a pigeon to pluck, as the French say, and of course she means to pluck it. You can’t blame her for that, being what she is; but for heaven’s sake let her pluck it in her own way. Don’t be a simpleton. Angels shouldn’t rush in where fools would fear to tread—and you are an angel, Rash, though I suppose I’m the only one in the world who sees it.”

“Thank you, Barbe. I know you feel kindly toward me, and that, as you say, you’re the only one in the world who does. That’s all right, I acknowledge it, and I’m grateful. What I don’t like is to see you taking it for granted that this girl is merely playing a game––”

“Rash, do you remember those two winters I worked in the Bleary Street Settlement? and do you remember that the third winter I said that I’d rather enlist in the Navy that go back to it again? You all thought that I was cynical and hard-hearted, but I’ll tell you now what the trouble was. I went down there thinking I could teach those girls—that I could do them good—and raise them up—and have them call me blessed—and all that. Well, there wasn’t one of them who hadn’t forgotten more than I ever knew—who wasn’t working me when I supposed she was hanging on my wisdom—who wasn’t laughing at me behind my back when I was under the delusion that she was following my good example. And if you’ve got one of them on your hands she’ll fool the eyes out of your head.”

“You think so,” he said, drily. “Then I don’t.”

“In that case there’s no use discussing it any further.”

“There may be after you’ve seen her.”

“How can I see her?”

“You can go to the house.”

“And tell her I know everything?”

“If you like. You could say I told you in confidence—that you’re an old friend of mine.”

“And nothing else?”

“Since you only want to size her up I should think that would be enough.”

She nodded, slowly. “Yes, I think you’re right. Better not give anything away we can keep to ourselves. Now tell me what happened this morning. You haven’t done it yet.”

He told her everything—how he had been waked by hearing someone fumbling with the lock of the door, whether inside or outside the house he couldn’t tell—how he had gone to the head of the stairs and switched on the lower hall light—how she had flung herself against the door as a little gray bird might dash itself against its cage in its passion to escape.

“She staged it well, didn’t she? She must have brains.”

“She has brains all right, but I don’t think––”

“She knew of course that if she made enough noise someone would come, and she’d get the credit for good intentions.”

“I really don’t think, Barbe.... Now let me tell you. You’ll see what she’s like. I felt very much as you do. I was right on the jump. Got all worked up. Would have gone clean off the hooks if––”

There followed the narrative of his loss of temper, of his wild talk, of her clever strategy in counting ten—“just like a cold douche it was”—and the faint turn he so often had after spells of emotion. To convince Miss Walbrook of the queer little thing’s ingenuousness he told how she had made him lie down on the library couch, covered him up, rubbed his brow with Florida water, and induced the best sleep he had had in months.

She surprised him by springing to her feet, her arms outspread. “You great big idiot! Really there’s no other name for you!”

He gazed up at her in amazement. “What’s the matter now?”

Flinging her hands about she made inarticulate sounds of exasperation beyond words.

“There, there; that’ll do,” she threw off, when he jumped to her side, to calm her by taking her in his arms. “I’m not off the hooks. I don’t want anyone to rub Florida water on my brow—and hold my hand—and cradle me to sleep––”

“She didn’t,” he exclaimed, with indignation. “She never touched my hand. She just––”

“Oh, I know what she did—and of course I’m grateful. I’m delighted that she was there to do it—delighted. I quite see now why you couldn’t let her go, when you knew your fit was coming on. I’ve seen you pretty bad, but I’ve never seen you as bad as that; and I must say I never should have thought of counting ten as a cure for it.”

“Well, she did.”

“Quite so! And if I were you I’d never go anywhere without her. I’d keep her on hand in case I took a turn––”

He was looking more and more reproachful. “I must say, Barbe, I don’t think you’re very reasonable.”

She pushed him from her with both hands against his shoulders. “Go away, for heaven’s sake! You’ll drive me crazy. I’m not going to lose my temper with you. I’ll never do it again. I’ve got you to bear with, and I’m going to bear with you. But go! No, go 186 now! Don’t stop to make explanations. You can do that later. I’ll lay in a supply of Florida water and an afghan....”

He went with that look on his face which a well meaning dog will wear when his good intentions are being misinterpreted. On his way to the office he kept saying to himself: “Well I don’t know what to do. Whatever I say she takes me up the wrong way. All I wanted was for her to understand that the little thing is a good little thing....”