CHAPTER XV: MISS LA RUE PAYS A CALL
Some slight noise caused Westcott to straighten up, and turn partiallyaround. He had barely time to fling up one arm in the warding off of ablow. The next instant was one of mad, desperate struggle, in which herealised only that he dare not relax his grip on the wrist of hisunknown antagonist. It was a fierce, intense grapple, every musclestrained to the utmost, silent except for the stamping of feet, deadlyin purpose.
The knife fell from the cramped fingers, but the fellow struggled likea demon, clutching at the miner's throat, but unable to confine hisarms. Twice Westcott drove his clenched right into the shadowed face,smashing it the last time so hard the man's grip relaxed, and he wentstaggering back. With a leap forward, the battle-fury on him, Westcottclosed before the other could regain position. Again the clenched fiststruck and the fellow went down in the darkness, whirling backward tothe earth--and lay there, motionless.
An instant, panting, breathless, scarcely yet comprehending what hadoccurred, the victor stared at the huddled figure, his arm drawn back.Then he became aware of excitement within, the sound of voices, thetramp of feet on the floor, the sudden opening of a door. A gleam oflight shot out, revealing the figures of men. With one spring he wasacross the shapeless form on the ground, and had vanished into thedarkness beyond.
Lacy was first to reach the unconscious body, stumbling over it in theblack shadow, as he rushed forward, revolver in hand. He cursed,rising to his knees, and staring about in the silent darkness.
"There's a man lying here--dead likely. Bring a light. No, the fellowis alive. Dammit, it's Moore, and completely knocked out. Hereyou--what happened?"
The fellow groaned, opened his eyes, and looked about dazedly.
"Speak up, man!" and Lacy dragged him to a sitting position in nogentle fashion. "Who hit you?"
"There--there was a fellow at that window there. I--I saw him frombelow, and crept up behind but he turned around just as I struck."
"Who was he?"
"I never saw his face. He hit me first."
"He was at that window, you say?"
"Yes; kneelin' down like he was lookin' into the room. Oh, Lord!"
Lacy crunched over to the side of the shack, and bent down to get abetter view. His fingers came in contact with the knife which upheldthe sash, and he plucked it out, holding it up into the beam of lightpassing through the rent in the torn curtain. He stared at thecuriously carved handle intently.
"This is certainly hell," he said soberly. "That's Jim Westcott'sjack-knife. He's been listening to all we said. Now we are up againstit."
"What's that?" The question came from Enright, still at the corner ofthe house, unable to tell what had happened.
"Westcott has been here listening to our talk. He pried up the windowwith this knife, so he could hear. Moore caught him, and got knockedout."
"He--he heard our talk in--in there," repeated the dazed lawyer, hislips trembling. "And--has got away? Good God! man, where has he gone?After the sheriff?"
Lacy stared at him through the darkness, and burst into a roar ofunrestrained laughter.
"Who? Jim Westcott? The sheriff? Well, hardly at this stage of thegame. That's your way down East, no doubt, but out in this country thestyle is different. No, sir; Westcott isn't after any sheriff. In thefirst place he hasn't any evidence. He knows a thing or two, but hecan't prove it; and if we move faster than he does we'll block hisgame--see?"
"What do you mean?"
Lacy leaned forward, and hissed his answer into Enright's ear.
"Put Cavendish where he can't get at him. There's no other chance. IfJim Westcott ever finds that fellow alive our goose is cooked. Andwe've got the advantage--we know where the man is."
"And Westcott doesn't?"
"Exactly, but he will know. He'll comb these hills until he finds thetrail--that's Jim Westcott. Come on back inside, both of you, and I'lltell you my plan. No, there is no use trying to run him downto-night--a hundred men couldn't do it. What's that, Moore? Go on tothe shaft-house, and let Dan fix you up. No, we won't need any guard.That fellow will never come back here again to-night. Come on, boys."
The door closed behind them, shutting out the yellow glow, and leavingthe hillside black and lonely. A bucket of rock rattled onto the dump,and Moore, limping painfully, swearing with every step, clambered upthe dark trail toward the shaft-house.
Miss Donovan did not go down to supper. Beaton waited some time in theoffice, his eyes on the stairs, but she failed to appear, and he lackedthe necessary courage to seek her in her own room. Then Enright calledhim and compelled his attendance. The absence of the girl was notcaused from any lack of appetite as she subsidised the Chinaman tosmuggle her a supply of food by way of the back stairs, which she atewith decided relish, but she had no desire to show any anxietyregarding a meeting with the newcomers.
Her newspaper experience had given her some knowledge of human natureand she felt convinced that her task of extracting information would begreatly simplified if these people sought her company first. To holdaloof would have a tendency to increase their interest, for Beatonwould certainly tell of her presence in the hotel, and, if theirpurpose there had any criminal intent, suspicion would be aroused.
This theory, however, became somewhat strained as the time passedquietly, and seemed to break entirely when from her window she sawBeaton and the heavy-set man ride out of town on a pair of liveryhorses. She watched them move down the long street, and turn into thetrail leading out across the purple hills. The lowering darknessfinally hid them from view. She was still at the window beginning toregret her choice when some one rapped at the door. She arose to herfeet, and took a step or two forward, her heart beating swifter.
"Come in."
The door opened, and the light from the windows revealed Miss La Rue,rather tastefully attired in green silk, her blond hair fluffedartfully, and a dainty patch of black court-plaster adorning one cheek.She stood hesitating on the threshold, her eyes searching the other'sface.
"Pardon me, please," the voice somewhat high-pitched, "but they told medown-stairs you were from New York."
"Yes, that is my home; won't you come in?"
"Sure I will. Why I was so lonesome in this hole I simply couldn'tstand it any longer. Have you only one chair?" She glanced about, hereyes widening. "Heavens, what a funny room! Why, I thought mine wasthe limit, but it's a palace beside this. You been here long?"
"Since yesterday; take the chair, please; I am used to the bed--no,really, I don't mind in the least. It is rather funny, but then Ihaven't always lived at the Ritz-Carlton, so I don't mind."
"Huh! for the matter of that no more have I, but believe me, therewould be some howl if they ever gave me a room like this--even inHaskell. I know your name; it's Stella Donovan--well, mine is CelesteLa Rue."
"A very pretty name; rather unusual. Are you French?"
The other laughed, crossing her feet carelessly, and extracting acigarette case from a hand-bag.
"French? Well, I guess not. You don't mind if I smoke, do you?Thanks. Have one yourself--they're imported. No? All right. Isuppose it is a beastly habit, but most of the girls I know have pickedit up. Seems sociable, somehow. No, I'm not French. My dad's namewas Capley, and I annexed this other when I went on the stage. Ittickles the Johnnies, and sounds better than Sadie Capley. You likedit yourself."
"It is better adapted to that purpose--you are an actress then?"
"Well, nobody ever said so. I can dance and sing a bit, and know howto wear clothes. It's an easier job than some others I've had, andgets me into a swell set. Tell me, when were you in New York?"
"About a month ago."
"Well, didn't you see the Revue?"
"The last one? Certainly."
"That's where I shone--second girl on the right in the chorus, and Iwas in the eccentric dance with Joe Steams; some hit--what?"
"Yes, I remember now; the
y called you the Red Fairy--because of yourruby ring. What in the world ever brought you out here?"
Celeste laughed, a cloud of smoke curling gracefully above her blondehair.
"Some joke, isn't it? Well, it's no engagement at the Good Luck DanceHall yonder, you can bet on that. The fact is I've quit the business,and am going to take a flier in mining."
"Mining? That sounds like money in these days. They tell me there isno placer-mining any longer, and that it requires a fortune to develop.I wouldn't suppose a chorus girl----"
"Oh, pshaw!" and Miss La Rue leaned forward, a bright glow on eachcheek. "There are more ways of making money in New York than drawing asalary. Still, that wasn't so bad. I pulled down fifty a week, but ofcourse that was only a drop in the bucket. I don't mind telling you,but all a good-looking girl needs is a chance before thepublic--there's plenty of rich fools in the world yet. I've caught onto a few things in the last five years. It pays better to be CelesteLa Rue than it ever did to be Sadie Capley. Do you get me?"
Miss Donovan nodded. Her acquaintance with New York fast life suppliedall necessary details, and it was quite evident this girl had no senseof shame. Instead she was rather proud of the success she had achieved.
"I imagine you are right," she admitted pleasantly. "So you found abacker? A mining man?"
"Not on your life. None of your wild west for me. As soon as somebusiness is straightened out here, it's back to Broadway."
"Who is it?" ventured the other cautiously. "Mr. Beaton?"
"Ned Beaton!" Miss La Rue's voice rose to a shriek. "Oh, Lord! Ishould say not! Why that fellow never had fifty dollars of his own atone time in his life. You know Beaton, don't you?"
"Well, hardly that. We have conversed at the table down-stairs."
"I suppose any sort of a man in a decent suit of clothes looks goodenough to talk to out here. But don't let Beaton fool you. He's onlya tin-horn sport."
"Then it is the other?"
"Sure; he's the real thing. Not much to look at, maybe, but he fairlyoozes the long green. He's a lawyer."
"Oh, indeed," and Miss Donovan's eyes darkened. She was interested,now feeling herself on the verge of discovery. "From New York?"
"Sure, maybe you've heard of him? He knew you as soon as Beatonmentioned your name; he's Patrick Enright of Enright and Dougherty."
Miss Donovan's fingers gripped hard on the footboard of the bed, andher teeth clinched to keep back a sudden exclamation of surprise. Thiswas more than she had bargained for, yet the other woman, coollywatching, in spite of her apparent flippancy, observed no change in thegirl's manner. Apparently the disclosure meant little.
"Enright, you say? No, I think not. He claimed to know me? That israther strange. Who did he think I was?"
Miss La Rue bit her lip. She had found her match evidently, but wouldstrike harder.
"A reporter on the _Star_. Naturally we couldn't help wondering whatyou was doing out here. You are in the newspaper business, ain't you?"
"Yes," realising further concealment was useless, "but on my vacation.I thought I explained all that to Mr. Beaton. I am not exactly areporter. I am what they call a special writer--sometimes write formagazines like _Scribbler's_, other times for newspapers. I dofeature-stuff."
"Whatever that is."
"Human-interest stories; anything unusual; strange happenings inevery-day life, you know."
"Murders, and--and robberies."
"Occasionally, if they are out of the ordinary." She took a swiftbreath, and made the plunge. "Like the Frederick Cavendish case--doyou remember that?"
Miss La Rue stared at her across the darkening room, but if she changedcolour the gloom concealed it, and her voice was steady enough.
"No," she said shortly, "I never read those things. What happened?"
"Oh, nothing much. It occurred to my mind because it was about thelast thing I worked on before leaving home. He was very rich, and wasfound dead in his apartments at the Waldron--evidently killed by aburglar."
"Did they get the fellow?"
"No, there was no clue; the case is probably forgotten by this time.Let's speak about something else--I hate to talk shop."
Miss La Rue stood up, and shook out her skirt.
"That's what I say; and it seems to me it would be more social if wehad something to drink. You ain't too nice to partake of a cocktail,are you? Good! Then we'll have one. What's the hotelkeeper's name?"
"Timmons."
"Do you suppose he'd come up if I pounded on the floor?"
Miss Donovan slipped off the bed.
"I don't believe he is in the office. He went up the street justbefore dark. You light the lamp while I'll see if I can find theChinaman out in the hall."
She closed the door behind her, strode noisily down the hall, thensilently and swiftly retraced her steps and stooped silently down towhere a crack yawned in the lower panel. That same instant a matchflared within the room and was applied to the wick of the lamp. Thenarrow opening gave only a glimpse of half the room--the wash-stand,the chair, and lower part of the bed. She saw Miss La Rue drop thematch, then open her valise and go through it, swiftly. She foundnothing, and turned to the wash-stand drawer. The latter was empty,and was instantly closed again, the girl staring about the room, asthough at her wit's end. Suddenly she disappeared along the edge ofthe bed, beyond the radius of the crack in the door. What was it shewas doing? Searching the bed, no doubt; seeking something hiddenbeneath the pillow, or mattress.
Whatever her purpose, she was gone scarcely a moment, gliding silentlyback to the chair beside the window, with watchful eyes again fixed onthe closed door. Miss Donovan smiled, and straightened up, wellsatisfied with her ruse. It had served to demonstrate that theex-chorus-girl was far from being as calmly indifferent as she hadassumed and it had made equally evident the fact that her visit had anobject--the discovery of why Miss Donovan was in Haskell. Doubtlessshe had made the call at Enright's suggestion. Very well, the lady wasquite welcome to all the information obtained. Stella opened the door,and the eyes of the two met.
"The Chinaman seems to have gone home," the mistress of the room saidquietly. "At least he is not on this floor or in the office, and Icould see nothing of Timmons anywhere."
"Then I suppose we don't drink," complained Miss La Rue. "Well, Imight as well go to bed. There ain't much else to do in this jay town."
She got up, and moved toward the door.
"If you're only here viewing the scenery, I guess you won't remainlong."
"Not more than a day or so. I am planning a ride into the mountainsbefore leaving," pleasantly. "I hope I shall see you again."
"You're quite liable to," an ugly curl to the lip, "maybe more thanyou'll want. Good night."
Miss Donovan stood there motionless after the door closed behind herguest. She was conscious of the sting in those final words, thehalf-expressed threat, but the smile did not desert her lips. Her onlythought was that the other was angry, irritated over her failure, herinability to make a report to her masters. She looked at the valise onthe floor, and laughed outright, but as her eyes lifted once more, shebeheld her travelling suit draped over the head-board of the bed, andinstantly the expression of her face changed. She had forgottenhanging it there. That must have been where the woman went when shedisappeared. It was not to rummage the bed at all, but to hastily runthrough the pockets of her jacket. The girl swiftly crossed the room,and flung coat and skirt onto the bed. She remembered now thrustingthe telegram from Farriss into a pocket on the morning of its receipt.It was gone!