Under the Andes

  Chapter II.

  BEGINNING THE DANCE.

  It developed, luckily for me, that my lawyers had allowed themselves tobecome unduly excited over a trifle. A discrepancy had been discoveredin my agent's accounts; it was clearly established that he had beenspeculating; but the fellow's excessive modesty and moderation hadsaved me from any serious inconvenience or loss.

  Some twenty thousand or so was the amount, and I did not even putmyself to the trouble of recovering it. I placed a friend of mine, aplodder and one of those chaps who are honest on account of lack ofimagination, in the position thus vacated and sighed with mild relief.

  My experiment with Harry had proved a complete success. Left to themanagement of his own affairs, he had shown a wisdom and restraint nonethe less welcome because unexpected. He was glad to see me, and I wasno less glad to see him.

  There was little new in town.

  Bob Garforth, having gambled away his entire patrimony, had shot andkilled himself on the street; Mrs. Ludworth had publicly defied gossipand smiled with favor on young Driscoll; the new director of theMetropolitan Museum had announced himself an enemy to tradition and afriend of progress; and Desiree Le Mire had consented to a two weeks'engagement at the Stuyvesant.

  The French dancer was the favorite topic of discussion in all circles.

  The newspapers were full of her and filled entire columns with lists ofthe kings, princes, and dukes who had been at her feet.

  Bets were made on her nationality, the color of her eyes, the value ofher pearls, the number of suicides she had caused--corresponding, insome sort, to the notches on the gun of a Western bad man. Gowns andhats were named for her by the enterprising department stores.

  It was announced that her engagement at the Stuyvesant would open inten days, and when the box-office opened for the advance sale everyseat for every performance was sold within a few hours.

  In the mean time the great Le Mire kept herself secluded in her hotel.She had appeared but once in the public dining-room, and on thatoccasion had nearly caused a riot, whereupon she had discreetlywithdrawn. She remained unseen while the town shouted itself hoarse.

  I had not mentioned her name to Harry, nor had I heard him speak ofher, until one evening about two weeks after my return.

  We were at dinner and had been discussing some commonplace subject,from which, by one of the freaks of association, the conversationveered and touched on classical dancing.

  "The Russians are preeminent," said I, "because they possess both theinspiration--the fire--and the training. In no other nation or schoolare the two so perfectly joined. In the Turkish dancers there isperfect grace and freedom, but no life. In Desiree Le Mire, forexample, there is indeed life; but she has not had the necessarytraining."

  "What? Le Mire! Have you seen her?" cried Harry.

  "Not on the stage," I answered; "but I crossed on the same ship withher, and she was kind enough to give me a great deal of her time. Sheseems to understand perfectly her own artistic limitations, and I amtaking her word for it."

  But Harry was no longer interested in the subject of dancing. I wasbesieged on the instant with a thousand questions.

  Had I known Le Mire long? What was she like? Was it true that PrinceDolansky had shot himself in despair at losing her? Was she beautiful?How well did I know her? Would I take him to see her?

  And within half an hour the last question was repeated so many timesand with such insistence that I finally consented and left Harrydelighted beyond words.

  My own experience with Desiree Le Mire had been anything but exciting.The woman was interesting; there could be no doubt of that; but shepossessed little attraction for me. Her charms, on close inspection,were really quite too evident.

  I require subtlety in a woman, and so far as I could discover Le Mireknew not the meaning of the word. We had spent many hours during thetrip across in pleasant companionship; she had done me the honor totell me that she found my conversation amusing; and, after all, she wasundeniably a pretty woman. She had invited me with evident sincerityto call on her in New York; but I had not as yet taken advantage of theinvitation.

  I did not then think, and I do not now believe, that I acted foolishlywhen I took Harry to see her. In any event, he would have seen hersooner or later, and since all temptations meet us at one time oranother, it is best to have it out with them at as early a date aspossible. At the time, indeed, I gave the subject no thought whatever;but if I had I should not have hesitated.

  We took tea with her the following afternoon in her apartment, and Imust confess that I myself was more than a little impressed when Ientered. I realized then that on the ship nothing had been in herfavor; she had been completely out of her element, and she was not agood sailor.

  Here all was different. The stiffly ostentatious hotel rooms, by herown genius or that of her maid, had been transformed into somethingvery nearly approaching perfection. I was amazed at the excellenttaste displayed in her furniture and its arrangement, for it was clearthat these were no hotel properties. Certainly a woman is at her bestonly when she is able to choose or create her own surroundings.

  Harry was captivated, and I can scarcely blame him. But the poor ladbetrayed himself so frankly! Though I suppose Le Mire was more or lessaccustomed to immediate surrender.

  On that day, at least, she had reason to expect it. She satisfied theeye, which is saying a great deal and is the highest praise possiblefor a woman's beauty, when you consider the full strength of the word.

  She was radiant, adorable, irresistible; I had to own that my firstimpression of her had been far too weak.

  We talked for an hour. Harry had little to say as he sat devouring LeMire with his eyes, and whenever she turned to him for an answer to aquestion or confirmation of an opinion he stammered and kept hiscomposure with difficulty. Never, I suppose, did woman have clearerevidence of her power, nor sweeter, for Harry was by no means a fool tobe carried away by the first pretty face that came in his way.

  She simply overwhelmed him, and I repeat that I do not wonder at it,for my own pulse was not exactly steady. She asked us to dine with her.

  I pleaded an engagement at the club and signed to Harry to do likewise;but he was completely gone and paid no attention to me.

  He accepted the invitation gratefully, with frank delight, and I leftthem together.

  It was about ten o'clock when he came home that evening. I was seatedin the library and, hearing him enter the hall, called to him.

  What a face was his! His lips trembled with nervous feeling, his eyesglowed like the eyes of a madman. I half started from my chair inamazement.

  "I have no time," said he in answer to my invitation to join me with abottle. "I have a letter or two to write, and--and I must get somesleep."

  "Did you just leave Le Mire?"

  "Yes."

  I looked at my watch.

  "What under the sun did you find to talk about?"

  "Oh, anything--nothing. I say, she's charming."

  His essay at indifference was amusing.

  "You find her so?"

  "Rather."

  "She seems to have taken a fancy to you."

  Harry actually grew red.

  "Hardly," he said; but there was hope in the word.

  "She is hardly your kind, Harry. You know that. You aren't going infor this sort of thing?"

  "This sort--I don't know what you mean."

  "Yes, you do, Hal. You know exactly what I mean. To put the thingplainly, Le Mire is a dangerous woman--none more so in all the world;and, Harry boy, be sure you keep your head and watch your step."

  He stood for a moment looking at me in silence with a half-angry frown,then opened his mouth as though to speak, and finally turned, without aword, and started for the door. There he turned again uncertainly,hesitating.

  "I am to ride with Desiree in the morning," said he, and the nextmoment was gone.

  "Desiree!"

  He called h
er Desiree!

  I think I smiled for an hour over that; and, though my reflections werenot free from apprehension, I really felt but little anxiety. Not thatI underrated Le Mire's fascination and power; to confess the truth, myease of mind was the result of my own vanity. Le Mire had flattered meinto the belief that she was my friend.

  A week passed--a dull week, during which I saw little of Harry and LeMire not at all. At the time, I remember, I was interested in somechemical experiments--I am a dabbler with the tubes--and went out butlittle. Then--this was on Friday--Harry sought me out in thelaboratory to tell me he was going away. In answer to my question,"Where?" he said, "I don't know."

  "How long will you be gone?"

  "Oh, a week--perhaps a month."

  I looked at him keenly, but said nothing. It would have done no goodto force him into an equivocation by questions. Early the next morninghe departed, with three trunks, and with no further word to me save afarewell. No sooner was he gone than I started for the telephone tocall up Le Mire; but thought better of it and with a shrug of theshoulders returned to the laboratory.

  It was the following Monday that was to see the first appearance of LeMire at the Stuyvesant. I had not thought of going, but on Mondayafternoon Billy Du Mont telephoned me that he had an extra ticket andwould like to have me join him. I was really a little curious to seeLe Mire perform and accepted.

  We dined at the club and arrived at the theater rather late. Theaudience was brilliant; indeed, though I had been an ardentfirst-nighter for a year or two in my callow youth, I think I havenever seen such a representation of fashion and genius in America,except at the opera.

  Billy and I sat in the orchestra--about the twelfth row--and half thefaces in sight were well known to me. Whether Le Mire could dance ornot, she most assuredly was, or had, a good press-agent. We were soonto receive an exemplification of at least a portion of the reputationthat had preceded her.

  Many were the angry adjectives heaped on the head of the dancer on thatmemorable evening. Mrs. Frederick Marston, I remember, called her aninsolent hussy; but then Mrs. Frederick Marston was never original.Others: rash, impudent, saucy, impertinent; in each instanceaccompanied by threats.

  Indeed, it is little wonder if those people of fashion and wealth andposition were indignant and sore. For they had dressed and dinedhastily and come all the way down-town to see Le Mire; they waited forher for two hours and a half in stuffy theater seats, and Le Mire didnot appear.

  The announcement was finally made by the manager of the theater at alittle before eleven-o'clock. He could not understand, he said--thepoor fellow was on the point of wringing his hands with agitation anddespair--he could not understand why the dancer did not arrive.

  She had rehearsed in the theater on the previous Thursday afternoon,and had then seemed to have every intention of fulfilling herengagement. No one connected with the theater had seen her since thattime, but everything had gone smoothly; they had had no reason to fearsuch a contretemps as her nonappearance.

  They had sent to her hotel; she was gone, bag and baggage. She haddeparted on Friday, leaving no word as to her destination. They hadasked the police, the hotels, the railroads, the steamshipcompanies--and could find no trace of her.

  The manager only hoped--he hoped with all his heart--that his frank andunreserved explanation would appease his kind patrons and prevent theirresentment; that they would understand--

  I made my way out of the theater as rapidly as possible, with Billy DuMont at my side, and started north on Broadway.

  My companion was laughing unrestrainedly.

  "What a joke!" he exclaimed. "And gad, what a woman! She comes in andturns the town upside down and then leaves it standing on its head.What wouldn't I give to know her!"

  I nodded, but said nothing. At Forty-Second Street we turned east toFifth Avenue, and a few minutes later were at the club. I took Du Montto a secluded corner of the grill, and there, with a bottle of winebetween us, I spoke.

  "Billy," said I, "there's the deuce to pay. You're an old friend ofmine, and you possess a share of discretion, and you've got to help me.Le Mire is gone. I must find her."

  "Find Le Mire?" He stared at me in amazement. "What for?"

  "Because my brother Harry is with her."

  Then I explained in as few words as possible, and I ended, I think,with something like this:

  "You know, Billy, there are very few things in the world I consider ofany value. She can have the lad's money, and, if necessary, my owninto the bargain. But the name of Lamar must remain clean; and I tellyou there is more than a name in danger. Whoever that woman touchesshe kills. And Harry is only a boy."

  Billy helped me, as I knew he would; nor did he insist on unnecessarydetails. I didn't need his assistance in the search, for I felt that Icould accomplish that as well alone.

  But it was certainly known that Harry had been calling on Le Mire ather hotel; conjectures were sure to be made, leading to the assertionsof busy tongues; and it was the part of my friend to counteract andsmother the inevitable gossip. This he promised to do; and I knewBilly. As for finding Harry, it was too late to do anything thatnight, and I went home and to bed.

  The next morning I began by calling at her hotel. But though themanager of the theater had gotten no information from them, he hadpumped them dry. They knew nothing.

  I dared not go to the police, and probably they would have been unableto give me any assistance if I had sought it. The only other possiblesource of information I disliked to use; but after racking my brain forthe better part of the day I decided that there was nothing else forit, and started on a round of the ticket offices of the railroads andsteamship companies.

  I had immediate success. My first call was at the office where Harryand I were accustomed to arrange our transportation. As I entered thehead clerk--or whatever they call him--advanced to greet me with asmile.

  "Yes," said he in response to my question; "Mr. Lamar got his ticketsfrom me. Let's see--Thursday, wasn't it? No, Friday. That'sright--Friday."

  "Tickets!" I muttered to myself. And in my preoccupation I reallyneglected to listen to him. Then aloud: "Where were the--tickets for?"

  "Denver."

  "For Friday's train?"

  "Yes. The Western Express."

  That was all I wanted to know. I hurried home, procured a couple ofhastily packed bags, and took the afternoon train for the West.