Find the Woman

  XIX

  There was a lunch-room on Broadway, just below Eighth Street. Clancy,walking westward from Astor Place, the station at which she emerged fromthe subway, saw its window-display of not too appetizing appeal, andpaused. To-day was Friday; it was quite possible that Sally Hendersonwould to-morrow give her new employee an advance upon salary. But Clancyhad learned something. That something was that New York is not a placein which to reveal one's pecuniary embarrassment. It was not that NewYork was hard-hearted, Clancy decided. It was that it was a busy place,and had no time to listen to whines. To ask an advance on salary was, ina way, to whine. Clancy was not going to begin her relationship withSally Henderson on anything but a basis of independence.

  So her pause before the lunch-room was only momentary. She entered itimmediately. The Trevor was only two hundred yards away, but Clancy hadonly a pitiful amount of money in her pocket. That is, money thatbelonged to her. Grannis's ten thousand was not hers. To whom she wouldgive it, she did not yet know, but she did know that she would starvebefore she used any of it. It might be that Sally Henderson would payher a half-week's salary to-morrow. She must hope for that. But she mustnot rely on it. Hence she must live leanly.

  This was only her fifth day in New York. It had been her fortune to eatat restaurants of the better class, at a private home. Now, for thefirst time since her arrival from Zenith, she had opportunity to findout what might have been, what might still be, her lot. Not that thefood in the lunch-room was particularly bad. Of its kind, it was rathergood. But there was the stain of egg upon the table-cloth; the waiterwho served her was unshaven. The dishes in which the food was servedwere of the heaviest of china. And Clancy was of the sort that prefersindifferent food well served to good food execrably presented.

  She paid her check--considering that she had had only corned-beef hashand tea and bread, she thought that sixty cents was an exorbitantcharge--tipped the waiter a dime, and trudged out into the storm again.

  The snow had ceased falling, but only one so weather-wise as theMaine-bred Clancy would have known that. For the flurries blown by thegale had all the appearance of a continuing blizzard. Bending forward,she made her way to Fifth Avenue, and thence south across WashingtonSquare. Twice, feeling very much alone in the gloom, she made detours toavoid coming too near men whom she observed moving her way. She was yetto learn that, considering its enormous heterogeneous population, NewYork holds few dangers for the unescorted girl. And so she ran the lastfew yards, and breathed with relief when the latch-key that Mrs. Gerandhad given her admitted her to the lodging-house on the south side of thesquare.

  In her room, her outer clothing removed, she pulled a shabbyrocking-chair to the window and looked out upon the dimly descriedtrees, ghostly in their snowy habiliments. Chin on elbow, she pondered.

  The wraith of Florine Ladue was laid. So she believed. And she couldfind no reason to fear a resurrection. Beiner, who knew her, couldrecognize her as Florine Ladue, was dead. So was Fanchon DeLisle. Zenda,Grannis, Weber, and the others of the poker-party at Zenda's knew thatshe called herself "Florine." But it was quite a distance from knowingthat a young woman had named herself Florine to proof that the sameyoung woman's last name was Ladue, and that she had visited MorrisBeiner's office. Of course--and Clancy's brows knitted at thethought--if there were any legal trouble over the Weber-Zenda-Grannismatter and she testified in court, and Vandervent or Spofford or someother of the district attorney's office heard or saw testimony whichinvolved the fact that she'd used the name "Florine," that person woulddo some thinking, would wonder how much jesting had been behind herannouncement of herself under the name of the woman wanted for theBeiner murder. In that case----

  What about that case? Oddly enough--yet not so oddly, after all, whenone considers that Clancy was only twenty years of age--up to now shehad given a great deal of thought to her predicament and practicallynone to the real way out of it. She marveled at herself.

  Why in that case, she'd be in desperate danger, as great danger as shehad been in just before she picked up the paper in Vandervent'santeroom, and the only way out of that danger, without lasting disgraceat the least, would be the production of the real murderer of MorrisBeiner.

  The real murderer! She drew in her breath with a whistle.

  Beiner had been killed; she was suspected. These were facts, and theonly facts that she had reckoned with. But the greater fact, though upto now ignored by her, was that _somebody_ had killed Beiner. Some onehad entered the man's office and slain him, probably as he layunconscious on the floor. That _somebody_ was foot-loose now, perhaps inNew York, free from suspicion.

  She straightened up, alert, nervous. Suddenly, horror--a horror whichfear had managed to keep from her till now--assailed her. _A murderer!_And free! Free to commit other murders! She started as a knock soundedupon the door. And, queerly, she didn't think of the police; she thoughtof the murderer of Beiner. It was with difficulty that she masteredherself sufficiently to answer the knock.

  It was Mrs. Gerand. Miss Deane was wanted on the telephone. It was not amoment when Clancy wished to talk to any one. She wished to be alone, tostudy upon this new problem--the problem that should have been in hermind these past three days but that had only popped into it now. But thetelephone issued commands that just now she dared not disobey. It mightbe Grannis or Vandervent. She ran down-stairs ahead of Mrs. Gerand. Abooming voice, recognition of which came to her at once, greeted her.

  "Hello!"

  "Miss Deane? This is Judge Walbrough speaking."

  "Oh, how do you do?" said Clancy. In her relief, she was extremelyenthusiastic.

  The deep voice at the other end of the wire chuckled.

  "You know the meaning of the word 'palaver,' don't you, young woman? Thehappy way you speak, any one'd think I was a gay young blade like DavidRandall or Vandervent instead of an old fogy."

  "'Old fogy!' Why, Judge Walbrough!"

  Clancy's tone was rebuking, politely incredulous, amused--everything, inshort, that a young girl's voice should be when a man just passingmiddle age terms himself "old." Walbrough chuckled again.

  "Oh, it's a great gift. Miss Deane; never lose it. The young men don'tmatter. Any girl can catch one of them. But to catch the oldsters likemyself--oldsters who know that they can't catch you--that takes genius,Miss Deane."

  Clancy laughed.

  "Please don't flatter me, Judge. Because, you know, I _believe_ you,and----"

  "Sh," said Walbrough. As he uttered the warning, his voice became almosta roar. "The jealous woman might overhear us; she is listening in thenext room now----"

  There was the sound of a scuffle; then came to Clancy's ears the softervoice of Mrs. Walbrough.

  "Miss Deane, the senile person who just spoke to you is absurd enough tothink that if an old couple--I mean an old man and his young wife--askedyou, you'd probably break an engagement with some dashing bachelor andsit with us at the opera."

  "I don't know the senile person to whom you refer," retorted Clancy,"but if you and the judge would like me to go, I'd love to, even thoughI have no engagement to break."

  "We won't insist on the breaking, then. Will you run over and dine withus?"

  Clancy was astonished. Then she remembered that she had dined ratherearly at the Broadway lunch-room. It really wasn't more than six-thirtynow. People like the Walbroughs, of course, didn't dine until afterseven, possibly until eight.

  "I won't do that," she answered. "I'd intended to go to bed--it's such aterrible night. And I ate before I came home--but I'd love to come andsit with you," she finished impulsively.

  There was something warm, motherly in the older woman's reply.

  "And we'd love to have you, Miss Deane. I'll send the car around rightaway."

  Clancy shrugged as she surveyed again her meager wardrobe. But theWalbroughs must know that she lived in a lodging-house--she supposedthat they'd obtained her telephone-number and address from SophieCarey--and the fact that she didn't possess a gorgeous evening
gownwouldn't mean much to them, she hoped. And believed, too. For they weremost human persons, even if they did, according to Sophie Carey, mattera lot in New York.

  Mrs. Gerand was quite breathless when she announced to Clancy, half anhour after the telephone-call, that a big limousine was calling for thenewest Gerand lodger. Clancy was already dressed in the pretty foulardthat was her only evening frock. Mrs. Gerand solicitously helped her onwith her shabby blue coat. Her voice was lowered in awe as she asked:

  "It ain't _the_ Walbroughs, is it? The chauffeur said, 'JudgeWalbrough's car;' but not _the_ judge, is it?"

  "Are there two of them?" laughed Clancy.

  Mrs. Gerand shook her head.

  "Not that I ever heard of, Miss Deane. But--gee, you got swell friends,ain't you?"

  Clancy laughed again.

  "Have I?"

  "I'll say you have," said Mrs. Gerand.

  * * * * *

  The Walbrough home was on Murray Hill, though Clancy didn't know at thetime that the section of the city directly south of the Grand CentralStation was so named. It was not a new house, and it looked as though itwas lived in--something that cannot always be said of New York homes,whether in apartment-buildings or in single houses. It was homey in thesense that the houses in Zenith were homey. And, even though a coloredman in evening clothes opened the front door, and though a colored maidrelieved Clancy of her coat, Clancy felt, from the moment that shepassed the threshold, that she was in a _home_.

  Her host met her at the top of a flight of stairs. His great handsenveloped hers. They drew her toward him. Before she knew it, he hadkissed her. And Clancy did the thing that made two admiringacquaintances adoring friends for life. She kissed the judge warmly inreturn. For Mrs. Walbrough was standing a trifle behind the judge,although Clancy hadn't seen her. She came forward now, wringing herhands with a would-be pathetic expression on her face.

  "I can't trust the man a moment, Miss Deane. And, to make it worse, Ifind that I can't trust you." She drew Clancy close to her. She, too,kissed the girl, and found the kiss returned.

  "Why shouldn't I kiss him?" demanded Clancy. "He brags so much, I wantedto find out if he knew how."

  "Does he?" asked Mrs. Walbrough.

  Clancy's eyes twinkled.

  "Well, you see," she answered, "I'm not really a judge myself."

  The judge exploded in a huge guffaw.

  "With eyes like hers, Irish gray eyes, why shouldn't she have wit? Tellme, Miss Deane: You have Irish blood in you?"

  "My first name is Clancy," replied the girl.

  "Enough," said the judge. He heaved a great mock sigh. "Now, if onlyMartha would catch a convenient cold or headache----"

  Mrs. Walbrough tapped him with an ostrich-plume fan.

  "Tom, Miss Deane is our guest. Please stop annoying her. The suggestionthat she should spend an hour alone with you must be horrifying to anyyoung lady. Come."

  The judge gave an arm to each of the ladies, and they walked, with muchstateliness on the part of the judge, to a dining-room that opened offthe landing at the head of the stairs.

  Clancy felt happier than she had deemed it possible for her to be.Perhaps the judge's humor was a little crude; perhaps it was evenstupid. But to be with two people who so evidently liked her, and whoso patently adored each other, was to partake of their happiness, nomatter how desperate her own fears.

  Dinner passed quickly enough, and Clancy found out that she had anappetite, after all. The judge and his wife showed no undue interest inher. Clancy would have sworn that they knew nothing about her whendinner ended and they started for the opera. She did not know that,before he went upon the bench, Judge Walbrough had been the cleverestcross-examiner at the bar, and that all through dinner he had beenverifying his first estimate of her character. For the Walbroughs, asshe was later to learn, did not "pick up" every lovely young female whomthey chanced to meet and admire. A happy couple, they still were lonelyat times--lonely for the sound of younger voices.

  And the significant glance that the judge cast at his wife at the end ofthe dinner went unnoticed by Clancy. She did not know that they hadpassed upon her and found her worth while.

  And with this friendly couple she heard her first opera. It was "Manon,"and Farrar sang. From the beginning to the tragic denouement, Clancy washeld enthralled. She was different from the average country girl whoattends the opera. She was not at all interested in the persons, thoughthey were personages, who were in the boxes. She was interested in thesingers, and in them only. She had never heard great music before, savefrom a phonograph. She made a mental vow that she would hear moreagain--soon.