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Roy Glashan's Library
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The Red Book Magazine, August 1914,
with "Playing for High Stakes"
It doesn't matter what line of investigation Guy Garrick may be following. His exploits as described by Mr. Reeve are always fascinating. This one leads the reader into one of the exclusive gambling hells for women which have become part of New York life of late.
"I KNOW you big detectives say that you don't take divorce cases, but of course you do." Harris Hinckley, millionaire manufacturer and man-about-town, regarded Guy Garrick quizzically through his gold-rimmed glasses. He had sent for the young detective and, after the preliminary fencing, had evidently taken his measure as that of one he could trust.
"One moment, now," added Hinckley before Garrick could reply. "Don't tell me that it's work that can be done by a six-dollar-a-day operative. It's a mess—a mess. I want the thing done and done right. I don't care what your price is. I'm ready, too, to sign the usual paper that the information furnished will not be used in a divorce suit, and all that sort of thing—any form of bluff which will give your agency 'class,' as they say. You see. I'm onto the game. Now I think we understand each other."
Garrick laughed. He already knew that Hinckley had acquired some reputation as an all-around "good spender" in the white light district.
"I understand you," he replied good-humoredly, "but I'm afraid you don't understand me."
"Not understand you?" gasped the manufacturer. "Why—what do you mean? You wont take the case?"
"No," replied Garrick slowly. "I meant that the 'bluff,' the 'form,' as you call it, doesn't interest me. My only condition with a client in a case like this must be absolute frankness. Call a spade a blankety-blank shovel, if you like, but I want to work on the level with you."
Garrick paused. "In other words," he added. "I want to know the other side—your side—what they have on you."
Hinckley, accustomed to deal with men who bowed reverently to money, was genuinely astonished.
"Young man," he said, rising and changing his tone. "I like your spirit. There is something in you like myself. You are ready to play for high stakes. But you want to be sure you're on the right side, too, don't you?"
"Well, reasonably sure," granted Garrick. "If it were as easy to be sure as that, though, there'd be no need of me at all."
"I'll tell you just what it is, Garrick. In a few words, as I said before—a mess, an awful mess," repeated Hinckley. "I want to get a divorce from Mrs. Hinckley."
The manufacturer took off his glasses and passed his hand over his forehead as if brushing away a look of sadness that had settled on his features. "We're separated, now, you know," he went on; then with an effort he resumed his old manner. "I've heard all kinds of stories lately about my wife. There have been some very queer actions on her part. The man she has been seen with a great deal is named Tracy, the—"
"'King' Tracy, the gambler?" asked Garrick quickly.
"Exactly. Now, wait a moment. Here's the rub. You want me to be frank, don't you? I will be. I'm being blackmailed, myself."
"Blackmailed—by whom?" prompted Garrick as Hinckley bit off the word viciously, then began to waver in telling about it.
"Oh, I was a fool," he admitted vehemently. "I was roped in. I let a Mrs. Belle Lebon introduce me to one of these new-fangled gambling joints uptown, and, well—what's the use? I've met a lot of people, several women, there—lost a lot of money. too. Of course, I quit finally, but now she has found out about my situation and she threatens to tell all she knows if I don't come across with twenty-five thousand dollars—hush money, blackmail."
He was growing more excited. "I might pay, but that would be only a beginning. She'd keep right on. And then, if I don't pay, there will be a nice little scandal that will play right into my wife's hands and put an end to my suit if I start it."
He paused. "What am I to do," he added, "to shake the grafters off?"
"'King' Tracy," ruminated Garrick.
"Oh, hang Tracy," blurted out Hinckley. "If she wants Tracy—let her have Tracy. I'm not interested in that so much as in not letting her make a fool of me. And she will if this Lebon woman makes a—a monkey of me, too," he added with a bitterness that ill concealed his real sense of the loss of something.
"Why, Garrick. the thing is getting on my nerves. I can't eat and sleep properly, let alone work."
"Tracy's notorious." pursued Garrick. "I'd like to 'get' him right, but I—well. I hate to have to involve Mrs. Hinckley—that's all."
"My dear boy," cut in Hinckley. "you can drop that case as soon as you're convinced you're in the wrong. But for God's sake get me out of this other one."
"I'll take the case," remarked Garrick with one of his straight-in-the-eye looks that meant that he was something more than a mere detective.
THE "Gastron," where it was known that Mrs. Hinckley often
went, was a popular restaurant where the tango and maxixe
combined with afternoon tea and the cabaret to attract the
devotees of pleasure.
As Garrick entered he cast his eye over the perfectly-groomed women and smart men, and saw that Mrs. Hinckley was sitting alone at a table near the door—a cultured, well-bred, fashionably-gowned woman. He sat down on the opposite side of the restaurant and watched the dancing.
She was alone, but he did not let her catch his eye. Indifferently he ordered something and appeared interested solely in the dance. Still, he could not help noticing that she was looking his way.
Suddenly he awoke to the fact that Mrs. Hinckley was actually flirting with him. For a moment Garrick was embarrassed. The "plant" was working too well. However, there was nothing to do but to take advantage of it, now.
He motioned to the waiter. "Will you take a note to that lady at the opposite table?" he asked, tearing a leaf from his note-book.
A moment later he was seated opposite the wife of his client, toying with a cocktail and chatting as if they had known each other all their lives.
"It's a beautiful afternoon," he observed. "I suppose you've just dropped in after a little shopping?"
"N-not exactly," she rippled, and the conversation ran off in a most unconventional manner.
"Wouldn't you like to get into a little poker game, Mr. Brown?" she purred at him, giving him a luring glance from her droopy dark eyes.
Garrick hesitated. This was a new idea.
"Perhaps you'd rather spin the wheel?"—leaning her chin forward on her clasped fingers.
"No," he answered quickly. "I'd rather play poker. Are you sure the place is perfectly safe?"
"Safe as a bank," she smiled. "They'll never get this place. It's in right."
Garrick took time to succumb. It would never do to give in too easily. Besides, there was something about this woman that he couldn't quite figure out. Was she informed about him? He did not flatter himself that she had actually taken a sudden fancy to a total stranger.
At any rate, he determined to see the affair through. They left the Gastron and at the door Garrick summoned a cab.
"Central Park, West." she directed, adding a number.
They entered a towering granite apartment house, passed through the marble and onyx hall and into the bronze-grilled elevator.
In a trice they were whisked to the fifth floor. A chocolate-faced West Indian "buttons" admitted them after a couple of discreet taps on an electric buzzer beside the mahogany door.
Within, all was quiet and refinement.
Tiny electric bulbs shed soft radiance through silken shades. Heavy, velvety rugs muffled footsteps noiselessly. The walls were tastefully decorated, with even a few choice paintings.
Garrick looked about in surprise. The chief objects in the main room seemed to be little square green baize tables. There were several people about, some sipping tea, others cocktails and even champagne. Nearly all seemed to know "Mrs. Smith," as Mrs. Hinckley was evidently named here.
IT was the new type of gambling house, in which both men
and women met. Garrick compared it with the old, where the
glamour was of an entirely different sort, behind oaken
doors and steel inner gates, where white-coated attendants
served expensive cigars and drinks free. Still, there was
everything here—poker, roulette, keno, faro, all.
"How are you to-day, Mrs. Smith?" greeted a man of Mrs. Hinckley.
Garrick looked around and instantly recognized "King" Tracy smiling beside them. He was immaculately garbed for afternoon, from spats and varnished shoes to the little knot of flowers in his button-hole which gave him the touch of smartness some women like to see.
"I want you to meet my friend, Mr. Brown," she answered.
"Delighted, I am sure, to meet any friend of yours, Mrs. Smith. Wont you sit down? You can be sure we'll treat you on the level here, Mr. Brown. Agnes, a bottle of wine."
"King" Tracy's sharp eye had seen nothing wrong in Garrick.
"My friends, Mrs. White and Mr. Gray," introduced Mrs. Smith, leading the way to a table where a couple were already seated.
"What shall it be?" asked one of the ladies a moment later, with a blasé yawn, as if it were early and she had been up late. "Bridge?"
Tracy hovered about and produced a pack of gilt-edged cards.
"No, poker," put in Mrs. Smith.
"What limit—a quarter?"
"The sky, if you want."
"Well, a dollar."
Noiselessly Tracy laid out a box of ivory chips. "One chip for the 'kitty,'" he smiled as a maid appeared with a white-napkined bottle of choice "brut." Tracy drank sparingly, as in fact did all.
From an adjoining room came sounds of another game in progress. It took no great acumen to deduce that the place was run by "King" Tracy.
The play went fast in the dimly-lighted drawing-room. Each deal, a white chip from the pot went into a box, the "kitty" for the house, "to pay for the cards and refreshments," as Tracy explained.
Garrick watched furtively. More than half those he saw were women.
Tracy seemed to exert a surprising influence over Mrs. Hinckley. What did it all mean? He found himself actually wishing that she were not the victim of these sharks—not a bad woman at heart at all.
Some fifty dollars "to the bad," in spite of his own skill, Garrick suddenly looked at his watch, remembered an important engagement.
Mrs. Hinckley accompanied him to the door. He could not quite account for it, but as he bade her good-by he asked her to meet him again at the Gastron at the same time next day, and she seemed eager to do so.
FOR the present at least, Garrick had settled on his plan
of campaign. He had noted the position of the telephone
on the wall in Tracy's and it had given him an idea.
As he left the apartment-house, he noticed a gilt sign
before that next door, announcing that several suites
were for rent. Inquiry showed that one of them was on the
fifth floor and, after a quick inspection, Garrick made
arrangements for its use for an indefinite time. It was
separated by a party wall from that in the next house to
which Mrs. Hinckley had taken him.
That night, Garrick took possession of the vacant apartment in the building. He had brought with him a large oaken box, some wire and a number of tools.
Carefully he calculated the approximate position of the telephone next door, then began slowly and as noiselessly as possible chipping away at the wall. Several attempts were necessary, but at last he was rewarded. There was the telephone wire connected with the instrument in Tracy's.
He cut in as though he were making an extension, then attached to it the machine which he had brought. In the front face of the oak box was a dial, and as he lifted the lid, one might have seen what looked like the covers, perhaps, of two large, wide cylinders. He lifted the covers to inspect the machine, and beneath, disclosed under one a large spool of bright steel piano wire, very fine, while the other spool was empty. A clockwork system slowly unwound the wire from one spool and wound it up on another, after passing through a small covered arrangement between the two. He replaced the covers, shut the box, and started the clockwork, so that when occasion demanded, the wire would move freely from one to the other. Then he left it.
There seemed to be nothing he could do that night, nor indeed the next morning, except make such inquiries as he was able about the Lebon woman. She had just taken a furnished apartment by the week downtown and there little was known of her—at least he could find out little without coming out into what he called his "open investigation," and he was not yet prepared for that. She seemed to be very seldom at home and he did not see her. although from the descriptions he was able to get he felt sure that he would recognize her instantly.
It was not until after luncheon that he went back to the empty apartment which he had hired.
Eagerly he opened the oak box, and after running the wire back on its original spool, started it forward again, through another contrivance, this time detaching the thing from the improvised telephone extension.
Garrick listened intently.
From the box came a sound—words!
"Hello, hello, operator, give me Main 4321—Hello, this is Tracy. How are you, Kahn? Is that roulette wheel fixed up? Good. Send it up this morning, will you, like a good fellow? Thanks. By, by."
The machine was actually repeating all that had transpired over the Tracy telephone since Garrick had connected it up. It was an electro-magnetic wizard, the telegraphone, which, when properly attached to a telephone or extension, as he had fixed it, took down and "canned" whatever was said over the wire.
Everything, interesting and uninteresting, had been caught. Small charges of magnetism were imparted to fractions of the steel wire as it passed between two electro-magnets, making no visible change on the surface of the wire, but indelibly recording the sound waves in such a way that only by passing a magnet over the wire could it be "cleaned" again. Needless to say, Garrick had no desire to "clean" off the wire yet. For as it was run again past the coils with a receiver in circuit, a light vibration was set up in the receiver diaphragm which reproduced the sound of speech.
Quickly Garrick passed from one routine call to another, interesting only as showing how Tracy conducted his "business."
At last came an incoming call which caused Garrick to prick up his ears:
"Hello! 4184? Oh, is that you, 'King?'"
"Yes, Belle, I recognize the voice. How are you? Mow are things going?"
"Pretty well. I guess I've got the old guy going. They tell me he has employed a detective, but I can't see any evidence of one, although I'm taking no chances and am keeping out of the way. I'll uncover the best shadow that ever lived—believe me!"
"Huh! What good does he think that'll do him? Suppose he does try to pinch us—all we have to do is to give out a long juicy interview to the newspapers—and good-night for him."
"Oh, I'm not worrying. Tell me, King, how are you getting along with Mrs. Hinckley?"
Garrick caught his breath in surprise, stopped the machine, ran it back and began over again to be sure he had made no mistake. It went on:
"Oh, I've got her just where we want her, Belle—just the same as you have with the old man. Pretty soft. Belle, pretty soft. It doesn't make any difference to us now how things go with them. We'll get 'em going and coming. If he doesn't come across, we can get her big alimony and then hold her up. If he does come across—well, he'll have to keep it up, that's all. Meanwhile, she's the best one we have up here for bringing in the suckers."
Garrick could scarcely believe it. It was "King" Tracy and Belle Lebon on the most intimate terms! Again he listened:
"By the way, have you got the roulette wheel fixed all right with the new magnets?"
"Yes—why?"
I have a friend who is a fiend at it. Says he has a system. I'll send him along if you are ready to trim him—only don't go too hard at first. Play him easy."
"All right. Send him along. Business is bad just now. She brought in a piker yesterday who looked like ready money but he only dropped fifty seeds."
"Never mind. There's a good time coming soon, 'King.' Say!"
"What, Belle?"
"I'll be up to-night to see you, 'King,' if the coast is clear—about nine"
"All right, Belle. So long. See you here to-night—unless I give the signal. We mustn't be seen together by anyone else yet, though, if we can help it. It's too good a game with the Hinckleys to be queered."
"You bet, 'King,' Ta! Ta!"
Garrick whistled softly to himself. The whole thing, even down to the roulette wheel, was a crooked game. He quickly replaced the original spool with a fresh one, and preserved the precious record which the telegraphone had obtained.
A glance at his watch told him it was perilously near the time he had set for the second meeting with Mrs. Hinckley, and what he had learned made it all the more imperative not to miss her.
Early in the afternoon he strolled casually into the Gastron again as if he had not a care on his mind. One thing he had determined on. He would not go up to Tracy's again if he could help it, but would spend as much time as he could, endeavoring to fathom this strange woman.
Fortunately she met him at least half way. There was something about her that he liked, and, as for Garrick, he could he a most fascinating companion if he chose to be. It was not long, therefore, before they became quite chummy.
"Tell me," he asked at length, as they sat down flushed and breathless from a whirl over the Gastron's perfect dancing floor, "how did you ever get interested in gambling? Most women aren't at all."
"Oh," she said as just a shade passed quickly over her face, "I suppose I gambled because my husband did. Why shouldn't I? 'What was sauce for the gander, you know!'" she exclaimed airily.
THE dance, the surroundings, everything seemed to have
combined to create a sort of magnetism toward Garrick. If
she had stopped to analyze it herself she would not have
known why she did it, but with a little flash of pathos she
added: "First it was just a friendly little game of bridge.
But soon I got to losing more than even I could afford. I
woke up to find myself thousands of dollars in debt. We
quarreled—I knew what he was doing, just as well as
he did, only he thought he fooled me. Besides, when I told
Mr. Tracy, he was very nice about it all. He tried to help
me—has helped me. I'm paying it off and making a
little money myself on the side."
Garrick followed sympathetically. But in his mind he was thinking, "A capper—a steerer for a gambling game!"
Of course she had not put it that way. Perhaps even she herself was deluded into thinking there was something more or less legitimate about enticing others into the game.
At any rate it was easy for him to deduce how she had progressed, or rather descended—first introducing her friends, then in the eagerness of the pursuit, visiting restaurants and making chance acquaintances—which was an easy thing for a woman such as she seemed if once she overcame her scruples.
And the more he thought of it, the more deeply Garrick sympathized with her in her predicament. There was something different about her. It all seemed a shame. He knew enough about feminine psychology to be glad that she at least posed as legitimate before even him, her victim.
He felt that such a woman was not lost. If she had admitted to herself the depth to which she had fallen, he would have felt that there was no hope. Then, too, there was that conversation which he had just heard recorded over the telegraphone.
"Why don't you quit it?" he asked.
She laughed. "You're like the rest—pulling that moral stuff."
The words grated on Garrick. She saw it and flushed a bit as though she knew the remark was not worthy of her.
"Oh," she exclaimed seriously, "you're a man. You can quit and come back. But, with a woman, it's different. She can't."
There was a little tremble in her voice. "I would—if—"
She stopped and looked away and her averted face spoke volumes.
Garrick thought that he had begun at last to fathom her. And as he watched her he realized that she was actually in so many words begging him, the man who had been set to watch her, for help.
What to do? Garrick was working for Mr. Hinckley—not Mrs. Hinckley. Should he take Hinckley at his own word and drop the case? That would not be exactly honorable, he felt.
Yet it called for a quick decision. Should he take a chance? He might put it up squarely to both Mr. and Mrs. Hinckley—let each know at least part of the truth, just enough—"play the game for high stakes," to use Hinckley's own expression.
"Mrs. Hinckley," he said deliberately, watching the effect of pronouncing her real name.
She gave a startled look, for a moment, followed by fear and suspicion. "How did you know that?" she cried.
"Oh," he lied easily, "I've known 'King' Tracy for years. He wouldn't let on, you know. He's too clever. Bad business, you know. I found out from him. I—I was interested."
He said it with an air of genuine conviction at the end that carried it through. She met his eye. It was a critical moment.
But it passed. Confidence was restored.
"I—I would quit." she murmured, toying with a glass in which now she had no interest; then with just a touch of appeal, "But what shall I do?"
"Have Tracy come to your apartment to-night," he replied quickly, for with the turn of events his resourceful mind was already sketching out how to meet them.
"Oh!" she objected with a little scream. "I—I couldn't do that! My apartment—oh, never. Some one might be—I mean—he wouldn't come."
Garrick watched without seeming to do so. Her confusion was genuine. He had got his bearings. There was something to play on in the character of this woman, and he followed it up boldly.
"Mrs. Hinckley," pursued Garrick, looking her straight in the eyes as if he would compel her to yield herself to him by sheer force of that which had attracted her to him at first, "Mrs. Hinckley, what is the use of concealing anything? Don't you see that already I know at least something of your story? You have trusted me, so far. Trust me a little further. He will come. He has nothing to lose by it. On the contrary."
She did not look at him again, but he knew he had won.
"And then?"
"I want you to come to terms with him—money, I mean." emphasized Garrick.
"But I couldn't pay—yet."
"I'll attend to that. Will you do it?"
Mentally he could feel her yield herself to him, almost as he might physically if he had put his arms about her.
"Yes," she murmured in a low tone, looking up again, half-frightened, half-fascinated as if by a new mastery.
TWENTY minutes later, Garrick walked into Hinckley's office.
"What luck?" inquired the magnate, dropping his work instantly.
"Good, so far." Garrick paused. "Are you willing to trust me a little further?"
Hinckley caught his straight eye-glance. "Go as far as you like," he answered quickly.
"With money?" added Garrick keenly.
"With money," agreed Hinckley, considerably relieved.
Hinckley reached for his personal check-book in the top drawer of his desk.
"Not yet," negatived Garrick. "Give me a blank check—that's all."
"Signed in blank, you mean?"
"No, just a blank check. I will want you to fill it out and sign it when I direct. Only I must feel I can depend on you. Will you?"
"Of course," replied Hinckley. "What's the lay?"
Garrick edged closer to him. "Hinckley," he said slowly. "I want you to ask Mrs. Lebon to call on you at your office here at seven to-night."
"Lebon—call on me—that harpy?" Hinckley's face changed until it was almost pale. "If I do—what then?" he said weakly.
"Dicker with her—get her down to the lowest terms—and give her a check."
"Then what?" asked Hinckley.
"Let her go. After that, step into this little anteroom to your office which I see over there. I may close it for the rest of the day?"
"Surely. But what shall I do then?"
"You will see. One thing more. You have influence. Give me a personal letter to the telephone company."
"Is that all?" asked Hinckley in mock humility, as he rang for his secretary.
"All—except faith," laughed Garrick; then he added, "Mr. Hinckley—your hand. You wont regret it."
They parted with an added respect, Garrick on a trip to the telephone company with the note from Hinckley, where he had no trouble in securing a special leased wire placed at his disposal.
On the way back to Hinckley's office be stopped at his own just long enough to get a couple of peculiar instruments, which one of his operatives lugged along in a big package.
A large part of the remainder of the afternoon was consumed in placing the apparatus on the table of Hinckley's inner office. It consisted of an oblong box with an opening in the face through which a roll of paper ran.
Two steel bars extended down from the upper corners of the opening, meeting each other at right angles over the middle of the paper, on which a thin glass capillary tube pressed. Below, another roll of paper ran through an opening in a horizontal surface, and this opening also was provided with two steel arms meeting in a similar manner.
HIS work of installation finished, Garrick paused only long
enough to see whether Hinckley had done what he asked.
"She'll be here at seven," said Hinckley, making a wry face.
"Good," exclaimed Garrick. "Now, remember, after she goes, stay here—until you hear from me."
"Gad!" exclaimed Hinckley, "I'll be a sport—once. I'll stick."
Garrick hurried uptown again, this time to the modest apartment of Mrs. Hinckley, who greeted him nervously at the door.
"Did you do it?" he asked, searching her face.
"Yes," she replied. "He'll be here at eight."
"Fine. You will receive him in this room?"
"Yes, of course."
"I shall have to disconnect your telephone," went on Garrick. "I want to use that closet, if I may. Now, Mrs. Hinckley, if you will please—er—go into your own room, and let me work here alone, I would thank you. Or no, perhaps, you had better have dinner. I will go out later. It would be best if we were not seen together, I think."
In the closet of Mrs. Hinckley's cosy little sitting-room, Garrick stowed on a small table an instrument precisely like that which he had already installed downtown in Hinckley's office.
"Now," he said when he had finished his work and Mrs. Hinckley had returned, "when Tracy calls, I want you to lead him on. Find out how much it is that he wants. I must leave it to your judgment how you handle him. But I shall be in that closet."
She followed him intently.
"As soon as you find out how much, make it a bargain. Wait—say five minutes. Then come to the closet, open the door, only a little, fumble about as if you had hung up a pocketbook there, and I will hand you—well—you will see."
Once having carried the point with Mrs. Hinckley, Garrick did not purpose to let her weaken. He consoled himself, at his hasty dinner, that the telephone was disconnected anyhow, then hurried back, and, half an hour before the time set, took his position in the closet so that no sound might arouse suspicion of the ferret-eyed Tracy.
Tracy arrived at last, a trifle late, but evidently with his own ideas of what the interview meant. Through the thin door Garrick could hear just what was going on.
It fairly made his blood boil, as he listened, to find that the gambler, having been given, as he thought, an inch, was taking at least a yard.
"Right swell little place you have here," he began.
"Yes, I like it," answered Mrs. Hinckley colorlessly.
"Let us sit over here—and talk it all over, my dear," he pursued. "What's on your mind? I hope it is something I can help you in. Tell me."
He had evidently taken her hand and indicated a wide divan that stretched across one side of the room, for Garrick could hear her draw away, with a "Don't—please, don't."
"Oh, say," burst out Tracy, not offensively, but after the manner of his kind, "what's the use of bluffing? You know how we stand toward each other, as well as I do. Why, little girl, you know I wouldn't hurt a hair of your head. I—"
"Mr. Tracy, if you please—No, you don't understand."
"'Mr.' is it?" he said, this time, harshly, evidently relinquishing the attempt at taking her hand. "Now look here—be nice. You understand what our situation is just as well as I do."
"That is just why I have asked you to call, Mr. Tracy," she replied.
"Well?" he asked brutally, as if he knew how hopeless her situation was.
"I wanted to know just how much I do owe you now," she added weakly, as for the moment the bluster of Tracy overcame the last impression of the quietness of Garrick.
"You did?" he repeated. "Well, not much—if—"
"No—no," she cried desperately. "Mr. Tracy. it was twenty-odd thousand a short time ago. I have introduced you to a number of—of my friends."
"And drawn out your commissions and something more," he said, with a glance about the room which was significant.
"That's just it," she replied hastily. "But how much is it now?"
"Oh, you've just about broken even, I should say. It's a little matter of twenty thousand, but you haven't that much—so what's the use of talking? Say," he added, "if you want to put this on a business basis, where do you get off? Do you suppose I'd ever have gone so far with you, if it hadn't been that I saw something—well, something in you that I liked?"
She did not answer. It was galling to her. What was Garrick doing in the closet?
She said nothing, but gazed down at her wrist watch. When would those interminable five minutes be up?
She dared not offend Tracy until at least she knew where she stood, yet every second it became more difficult not to do so.
"Come," he urged, "tell me what's on your mind."
She had intended to give Garrick a few seconds grace, but now as the second hand completed its fifth circuit, she rose.
"Just a minute, please, Mr. Tracy," she said.
AS she advanced to the closet door, she wondered which of
the two men who were battling for her would win. Would
Garrick be able to make good? How? A sickening sensation
crept over her heart. She dared not think. Had he aroused
in her a desire to go back, only to smash it the more
irretrievably?
She opened the closet door and pretended to fumble for a hidden pocket-book. Tracy was watching her closely.
Garrick pressed a piece of paper into her hand.
As she closed the door and glanced at it in the light, she almost fainted. It read:
New York.
No. 1076 Aug.— 191—
UPTOWN BANK
Pay to the order of __________________ Bearer
Twenty thousand 00'000 _____________ Dollars
$20,000.00 Harris Hinckley.
She looked again. It was the well-known signature. All at once came flooding over her recollections of other times when she had seen it. Yet she must not betray any surprise before Tracy. Only a consummate actress, such as she was, could have done it.
Harris had done it for her! She could not believe it.
"What is it?" asked Tracy, advancing, now a little bolder, with just half a leer on his face.
Under any other circumstances, she would have been too proud to take it.
But there was Tracy.
She drew away from him, just as he was about to kiss her.
"Here—take it." she cried, in genuine fear now, at the evil look that crossed his face.
He seized the paper and read the name signed to it.
His eyes bulged. "I don't know what your game is, young lady," he glowered, "but I'll trouble you just to endorse that."
"It's not necessary. It's payable to bearer."
"It is necessary—for me. I'll have it photographed before I cash it," he went on, blotting her signature; then with a half mocking laugh, "—in case it's good, of course. No, you don't need a receipt. The check is good enough as a receipt—that is, for the debt. Good by—for a little while."
The door had scarcely closed when Garrick bounded out of the closet. She was standing in the room, pale, unnerved.
"He—he will use even that against me," she cried. "Oh, what have you done—what have you done?"
Garrick stopped only long enough to calm her. "Wait here till I return," he soothed, placing her on the divan from which she had before recoiled. "Everything is going exactly as I expected."
The elevator had scarcely conveyed Tracy to the ground floor before Garrick was also on his way to the street, leaving an added word of cheer to Mrs. Hinckley.
Ten minutes later he was pressing the buzzer at the door of the recherché Tracy gambling den on Central Park, West.
"Good evening, Mr. Brown," exclaimed Tracy, admitting him himself. "There's nobody here to-night—an off night. But let me take your hat."
Garrick could see by the self-satisfied smirk on Tracy's face that he was more than delighted at the turn of events. It was an earnest of what might be expected from future blackmailing.
"No," he replied. "I'm not going to stay long to-night."
Garrick looked about. He was anxious to know whether Mrs. Leighton had arrived. A woman's hat and gloves on a sofa told him she had, and a moment later she entered, evidently considering that now there was no longer any need for concealment. Garrick recognized her instantly from the descriptions.
"I have a little something I wish to show you," he remarked, placing on a table the telegraphone which he had brought from the empty apartment next door.
Before either Tracy or Belle Lebon could recover from the surprise of his sudden entrance, he had started the thing:
"Hello! 4814? Oh, is that you, 'King?'"
"Yes, Belle, I recognize the voice. How are you? How are things going?'
"Pretty well. I guess I've got the old guy going. They tell me he has employed a detective, but I can't see any evidence of one, although I'm taking no chances and am keeping out of the way. I'll uncover the best shadow that ever lived—believe me!"
Garrick stopped the machine and ostentatiously laid an automatic revolver on the table close to his hand.
"I am the detective," he said quietly.
"Huh! What good does he think that will do him? Suppose he does try to pinch us—all we have to do is to give out a long, juicy interview to the newspapers—and good night for him."
"Oh, I'm not worrying. Tell me, 'King,' how are you getting along with Mrs. Hinckley?"
"Oh, I've got her just where we want her, Belle, just the—
"It's a lie, a fake, a frame-up," cried the Leighton woman, springing to her feet, as Tracy made a lunge for the machine.
Garrick was too quick for them. The cold nose of the automatic stared them in the face and they fell back respectfully.
"Just a minute, please," interrupted Garrick coolly, still with the gun leveled at hair-trigger watchfulness.
"Tracy, you will hand over that check for twenty thousand. Mrs. Lebon, you will also hand over the check for twenty-five thousand—and be careful of your hands while you do it. This thing pumps out bullets like a machine gun when it gets started, you know."
"You go to—" burst out Tracy, glaring at Garrick.
"Remember," checked Garrick, "I have the evidence. I can raid this place and send both of you up the river on gambling charges, as well as blackmail. I've got the evidence."
Garrick patted the telegraphone almost affectionately, as the woman and the man slowly complied with his order and laid the checks on the table. He gathered them up with his left hand and tossed down a fountain pen.
"Now please write this after me, Tracy," he said, dictating, as Tracy rote sullenly:
We admit that we have conspired to blackmail both Mr. and Mrs. Hinckley, and now, in consideration of not being prosecuted, we agree, first, to close up the gambling apartment on Central Park, West: second, to leave the city within not less than twenty-four hours; and third, to remain forever silent on the subject.
As Garrick finished dictating, he added, "Now sign it."
Both Tracy and Mrs. Lebon signed.
"I shall keep this paper myself," remarked Garrick, folding it up as best he could and sticking it into his pocket. "Neither Mr. or Mrs. Hinckley shall see it, if you carry out your agreement, but I shall tell them I have it and at the first news of any failure to carry out its terms, I will see that you go up the river for the limit, both of you, on as many counts as I can have indictments found. Understand?"
He had picked up the telegraphone in his free hand as he was talking, and with the automatic still leveled, he backed quickly out of the door.
Outside, Garrick almost ran to the nearest telephone pay station.
"I got your check back from the Lebon woman," he shouted to Hinckley, who was fuming nervously in his office downtown.
"How?"
"Never mind—I got it. I also have a promise that she will leave New York within twenty-four hours and keep still forever. Do you know who she is?"
"No, who?"
"The partner of 'King' Tracy."
"The deuce you say!"
"Yes—while she had you roped in, that hound of a Tracy had your wife cornered."
"I wish I had my hands on his throat," came back in a growl.
"She was fighting him off like a tigress, to save her honor," pursued Garrick, "That was what I wanted that other check for—for her. I have it back, too. Tracy leaves the city by to-morrow with Lebon."
A silence followed, during which Garrick longed for some device that would enable him to see over a wire.
"Garrick!"
"Yes."
"What does she know?"
"I can't say," replied Garrick, which was the exact truth, though in another sense. "Shall I find out?"
"I wish you would."
"Then stay just where you are until you hear from me—just as before."
"I will, but don't be so long."
As Garrick entered Mrs. Hinckley's apartment, be at once handed her back the check.
"You—you got it back?" she cried in surprise; then suddenly: "What was the matter? It—it was no good?"
"Good as gold. But Tracy leaves New York in twenty-four hours, never to return, and he goes with his mouth sealed. He chose that in preference to a trip up the river to Sing Sing."
She regarded Garrick with wondering eyes. Then she picked up the check, and gazed at it a long time before saying anything.
"Did he—did he really do it for me?" she asked at length. "How did you get this?"
Garrick looked at her flushed face, the far-away look in her eyes, the now rapidly rising and falling bosom.
"Yes—for you," be answered in a tone to which he bad mentally schooled himself. "I'll show you in a minute how I got it."
There were tears in her eyes as she half sobbed: "Oh, but he—he'll never take me back—never. He knows it all—he must know."
"He knows no more than you know of him," put in Garrick with a little hardening of his voice. "As a matter of fact, the position of suppliant ought to be reversed."
He had not meant to say what was in his mind, but be could not help it.
"No," she cried, "I'm afraid he—doesn't want me."
"Would you like really to know?" asked Garrick, gently.
She looked up at him.
"How?" she murmured through her tears.
Garrick opened the closet door. There was the peculiar apparatus on the little table.
"What is it?" she asked.
"It is a telautograph. While you were on the transmitter, the distant receiver is reproducing the message in your own handwriting. I have been writing to him. As soon as I found out the amount Tracy wanted, I asked him for it. I had a blank check. He placed one in the machine at his end and signed it. I gave you the duplicate up here."
She did not yet seem to grasp the idea. "I knew that both of you were proud and high-strung," went on Garrick frankly. "I knew I could never bring you together except by some such stratagem as this. Write," he said, indicating the stylus on the horizontal board.
"What shall I write?" she said, nervously fingering the pencil. "He will get it—you are sure—in my handwriting?"
"You saw the check," answered Garrick. "That answers both questions at once. Write what is in your heart—not your head."
She looked at him a moment, the man who, unlike Tracy, had never for a moment taken advantage of her.
"My God, Mr. Garrick," she exclaimed impulsively, "you—are—wonderful."
"Write," he repeated in a low voice.
Her fingers trembled. She made an heroic effort to control her muscles.
"Harris" she wrote slowly, "if I forgive"—her hand shook with emotion as she finished hastily, swallowing her pride—"will you?"
She sat a moment regarding what she had written. The upper part of the telautograph stared at her—cold, mechanical, motionless.
Would he spurn her, after all?
Garrick waited, too. He had played the game for high stakes. Which way was it going?
Slowly the stylus began to move over the paper, tracing in one big, joyous scrawl just one word:
"Yes."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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