The Social Gangster

  CHAPTER II

  THE CABARET ROUGE

  It was a perfect autumn afternoon, one of those days when one who isnormal feels the call to get out of doors and enjoy what is left of thefine weather before the onset of winter. We strode along in the bracingair until at last we turned into Broadway at the upper end of what mightbe called "Automobile Row." Motor cars and taxicabs were buzzing alongin an endless stream, most of them filled with women, gowned andbonneted in the latest mode.

  Before the garish entrance of the Cabaret Rouge they seemed to pile upand discharge their feminine cargoes. We entered and were quicklyengulfed in the tide of eager pleasure seekers. A handsome and judicioustip to the head waiter secured us a table at the far end of a sort ofmezzanine gallery, from which we could look down over a railing at thevarious groups at the little white tables below. There we sat, carefulto spend the necessary money to entitle us to stay, for to the averageNew Yorker the test seems to be not so much what one is getting for itas how much money is spent when out for a "good time."

  Smooth and glittering on the surface, like its little polished dancingfloor in the middle of the squares of tables downstairs, the CabaretRouge, one could see, had treacherous undercurrents unsuspected until aninsight such as we had just had revealed them.

  The very atmosphere seemed vibrant with laughter and music. A stringband played sharp, staccato, highly accentuated music, a band of negroesas in many of the showy and high-priced places where a keen sense ofrhythm was wanted. All around us women were smoking cigarettes.Everywhere they were sipping expensive drinks. Instinctively one feltthe undertow in the very atmosphere.

  I wondered who they were and where they all came from, these expensivelydressed, apparently refined though perhaps only veneered girls, whirlingabout with the pleasantest looking young men who expertly guided themthrough the mazes of the fox-trot and the canter waltz and a dozen othersteps I knew not of. This was one of New York's latest and most approveddevices to beguile the languid afternoons of ladies of leisure.

  "There she is," pointed out Kennedy finally. "I recognize her from thepictures I've seen."

  I followed the direction of his eyes. The music had started and out onthe floor twisting in and out among the crowded couples was one pairthat seemed to attract more attention than the rest. They had come froma gay party seated in a little leather cozy corner like several aboutthe room, evidently reserved for them, for the cozy corners seemed to bemuch in demand.

  Gloria was well named. She was a striking girl, not much over nineteensurely, tall, lissome, precisely the figure that the modern dances musthave been especially designed to set off. I watched her attentively. Infact I could scarcely believe the impression I was gaining of her.

  Already one could actually see on her marks of dissipation. One does notreadily think of a girl as sowing her wild oats. Yet they often do. Thisis one of the strange anomalies of the new freedom of woman. A few yearsago such a place would have been neither so decent nor attractive. Nowit was superficially both. To it went those who never would have daredoverstep the strictly conventional in the evil days when the reformerwas not abroad in the land.

  I watched Gloria narrowly. Clearly here was an example of a girlattracted by the glamor of the life and flattery of its satellites. Whatthe end of it all might be I preferred not to guess.

  Craig was looking about at the variegated crowd. Suddenly he jogged myelbow. There, just around the turn of the railing of the gallery, sat ayoung man, dark of hair and eyes, of a rather distinguished foreignappearance, his face set in a scowl as he looked down on the heads ofthe dancers. One could have followed the tortuous course of Gloria andher partner by his eyes, which the man never took off her, evenfollowing her back to the table in the corner when the encore of thedance was finished.

  The young man's face at least was familiar to me, though I had not methim. It was Signor Franconi, quietly watching Gloria and her gay party.

  After a few moments, Craig rose, paid his check, and moved over to thetable where Franconi was sitting alone. He introduced himself andFranconi, with easy politeness, invited us to join him.

  I studied the man's face attentively. Signor Franconi was still young,in spite of the honors that had been showered on him for his manyinventions. I had wondered before why such a man would be interested ina girl of Gloria's evident type. But as I studied him I fancied Iunderstood. To his serious mind it was just the butterfly type thatoffered the greatest relief. An intellectual woman would have beenmerely carrying into another sphere the problems with which he was morethan capable of wrestling. But there was no line of approval in his fineface of the butterfly and candle-singeing process that was going onhere. I must say I heartily liked him.

  "What are you working on now?" asked Kennedy as a preliminary step todrawing him out against the time when we might become better acquaintedand put the conversation on a firmer basis.

  "A system of wireless transmission of pictures," he returnedmechanically. "I think I have vastly improved the system of Dr. Korn.You are familiar with it, I presume?"

  Kennedy nodded. "I have seen it work," he said simply.

  That telephotograph apparatus, I remembered, depended on the ability ofthe element selenium to vary the strength of an electric current passingthrough it in proportion to the brightness with which the selenium isilluminated.

  "That system," he resumed, speaking as though his mind was not on thesubject particularly just now, "produces positive pictures at one end ofthe apparatus by the successive transmission of many small partsseparately. I have harnessed the alternating current in a brand-new way,I think. Instead of prolonging the operation, I do it all at once,projecting the image on a sheet of tiny selenium cells. My work isdone. Now the thing to do is to convince the world of that."

  "Then you have the telephote in actual operation?" asked Kennedy.

  "Yes," he replied. "I have a little station down on the shore of thesouth side of the island." He handed us a card on which he wrote theaddress at South Side Beach. "That will admit you there at any time, ifI should not be about. I am testing it out there--have severalinstruments on transatlantic liners. We think it may be of use inwar--sending plans, photographs of spies--and such things."

  He stopped suddenly. The music had started again and Gloria was againout on the dancing floor. It was evident that at this very importanttime in his career Franconi's mind was on other things.

  "Everyone seems to become easily acquainted with everyone else here,"remarked Craig, bending over the rail.

  "I suppose one cannot dance without partners," returned Franconiabsently.

  We continued to watch the dancers. I knew enough of these young fellows,merely by their looks, to see that most of them were essential replicasof one type. Certainly most of them could have qualified as socialgangsters, without scruples, without visible means of support, withoutcharacter or credit, but not without a certain vicious kind of ambition.

  They seemed to have an unlimited capacity for dancing, freak foods, joyrides, and clothes. Clothes were to them what a jimmy is to a burglar.Their English coats were so tight that one wondered how they bent andswayed without bursting. Smart clothes and smart manners such as theyaffected were very fascinating to some women.

  "Who are they all, do you suppose?" I queried.

  "All sorts and conditions," returned Kennedy. "Wall Street fellows whosepocketbooks have been thinned by dull times on the Exchange; actors outof engagements, law clerks, some of them even college students. Theyseem to be a new class. I don't think of any other way they could pickup a living more easily than by this polite parasitism. None of themhave any money. They don't get anything from the owner of the cabaret,of course, except perhaps the right to sign checks for a limited amountin the hope that they may attract new business. It's grafting, pure andsimple. The women are their dupes; they pay the bills--and even now andthen something for 'private lessons' in dancing in a 'studio.'"

  Franconi was dividing his attention between what Ken
nedy was saying andwatching Gloria and her partner, who seemed to be a leader of the type Ihave just described, tall and spare as must be the successful dancingmen of today.

  "There's a fellow named Du Mond," he put in.

  "Who is he?" asked Craig, as though we had never heard of him.

  "To borrow one of your Americanisms," returned Franconi, "I think he'sthe man who puts the 'tang' in tango. From what I hear, though, I thinkhe borrows the 'fox' from fox-trot and plucks the feathers from the'lame duck.'"

  Kennedy smiled, but immediately became interested in a tall blonde girlwho had been talking to Du Mond just before the dancing began. I noticedthat she was not dancing, but stood in the background most of the timegiving a subtle look of appraisal to the men who sat at tables and thegirls who also sat alone. Now and then she would move from one table toanother with that easy, graceful glide which showed she had been adancer from girlhood. Always after such an excursion we saw othercouples who had been watching in lonely wistfulness, now made happy by achance to join the throng.

  "Who is that woman?" I asked.

  "I believe her name is Bernice Bentley," replied Franconi. "She'sthe--well, they call her the official hostess--a sort of introducer.That's the reason why, as you observed, there is no lack of friendlinessand partners. She just arranges introductions, very tactfully, ofcourse, for she's experienced."

  I regarded her with astonishment. I had never dreamed that such a thingwas possible, even in cosmopolitan New York. What could these women bethinking of? Some of them looked more than capable of taking care ofthemselves, but there must be many, like Gloria, who were not. What didthey know of the men, except their clothes and steps?

  "Soft shoe workers, tango touts," muttered Kennedy under his breath.

  As we watched we saw a slender, rather refined-looking girl come in andsit quietly at a table in the rear. I wondered what the officialintroducer would do about her and waited. Sure enough, it was not longbefore Miss Bentley appeared with one of the dancing men in tow. To mysurprise the "hostess" was coldly turned down. What it was that happenedI did not know, but it was evident that a change had taken place.Unobtrusively Bernice Bentley seemed to catch the roving eye of Du Mondwhile he was dancing and direct it toward the little table. I saw hisface flush suddenly and a moment later he managed to work Gloria aboutto the opposite side of the dancing floor and, though the music had notstopped, on some pretext or other to join the party in the corner again.

  Gloria did not want to stop dancing, but it seemed as if Du Mondexercised some sort of influence over her, for she did just as hewished. Was she really afraid of him? Who was the little woman who hadbeen like a skeleton at a feast?

  Almost before we knew it, it seemed that the little party had tired ofthe Cabaret Rouge. Of course we could hear nothing, but it seemed as ifDu Mond were proposing something and had carried his point. At any ratethe waiter was sent on a mysterious excursion and the party made asthough they were preparing to leave.

  Little had been said by either Franconi or ourselves, but it was by asort of instinct that we, too, paid our check and moved down to the coatroom ahead of them. In an angle we waited, until Gloria and her partyappeared. Du Mond was not with them. We looked out of the door. Beforethe cabaret stood a smart hired limousine which was evidently Gloria's.She would not have dared use her own motor on such an excursion.

  They drove off without seeing us and a moment later Du Mond and BerniceBentley appeared.

  "Thank you for the tip," I heard him whisper. "I thought the best thingwas to get them away without me. I'll catch them in a taxi later.You're off at seven? Ritter will call for you? Then we'll wait and allgo out together. It's safer out there."

  Just what it all meant I could not say, but it interested me to knowthat young Ritter Smith and Bernice Bentley seemed on such good terms.Evidently the gay party were transferring the scene of their gayety tothe country place of the Cabaret Rouge. But why?

  We parted at the door with Franconi, who repeated his invitation tovisit his shop down at the beach.

  I started to follow Franconi out, but Kennedy drew me back. "Why did yousuppose I let them go?" he explained under his breath, as we retreatedto the angle again. "I wanted to watch that little woman who came inalone."

  We had not long to wait. Scarcely had Du Mond disappeared when she cameout and stood in the entrance while a boy summoned a taxicab for her.

  Kennedy improved the opportunity by calling another for us and by thetime she was ready to drive off we were able to follow her. She drove tothe Prince Henry Hotel, where she dismissed the machine and entered. Wedid the same.

  "By the way," asked Kennedy casually, sauntering up to the desk aftershe had stopped to get her keys and a letter, "can you tell me who thatwoman was?"

  The clerk ran his finger down the names on the register. At last hepaused and turned the book around to us. His finger indicated: "Mrs.Katherine Du Mond, Chicago."

  Kennedy and I looked at each other in amazement. Du Mond was married andhis wife was in town. She had not made a scene. She had merely watched.What could have been more evident than that she was seeking evidence andsuch evidence could only have been for a court of law in a divorce suit?The possibilities which the situation opened up for Gloria seemedfrightful.

  We left the hotel and Kennedy hurried down Broadway, turning off at theoffice of a young detective, Chase, whom he used often on matters ofpure routine for which he had no time.

  "Chase," he instructed, when we were seated in the office, "you recallthat advertisement of the lost necklace in the _Star_ by La Rue & Co.?"

  The young man nodded. Everyone knew it. "Well," resumed Kennedy, "I wantyou to search the pawnshops, particularly those of the Tenderloin, forany trace you can find of it. Let me know, if it is only a rumor."

  There was nothing more that we could do that night, though Kennedy foundout over the telephone, by a ruse, that, as he suspected, the countryplace of the Cabaret Rouge was the objective of the gay party which wehad seen.