In the Onyx Lobby Page 3

  CHAPTER III

  The Scrawled Message

  But, as it turned out, Dorcas hadn't "done it" at all. Bates on reachinghis aunt's apartment found no one at home. But very soon Sir HerbertBinney appeared.

  "Look here, Richard," he began, "I've taken a fancy to that little girlof yours----"

  "She isn't mine."

  "You'd like her to be?"

  "Very much; in conditions that would please us both."

  "Meaning Bunless conditions. I can't offer you those, but I do say now,and, for the last time, if you will take hold of my Bun proposition,I'll give you any salary you want, any interest in the business you ask,and make you my sole heir. I've already done the last, but unless youfall in with my plans now, I'm going to make another will and your namewill be among the missing."

  "But, Uncle Herbert----"

  "I've no time for discussion, my boy; I've to dress for dinner,--I'mgoing out,--but this thing must be settled now, as far as you'reconcerned. You've had time enough to think it over, you've had time todiscuss it with that pretty little girl of yours,--my, but her eyesflashed as she called me Uncle Bunny! It was a slip,--I saw that, and Ipretended to be annoyed, but I liked her all the better for hersauciness. Well, Richard,--yes or no?"

  "Can't you give me another twenty-four hours?"

  "Not twenty-four minutes! You've hemmed and hawed over this thing aslong as I'll stand it! No. You know all the details, all the advantagesthat I offer you. You know I mean what I say and I'll stand by everyword. I'm going to meet the head of a big American concern to-night, andif you turn me down, I shall probably make a deal with him. I'd ratherkeep my business and my fortune in the family, but if you say no, outyou go! So, as a countryman of yours expressed it to-day, you can put upor shut up!"

  "All right, sir,--I'll shut up!" and Richard Bates turned on his heel,while Sir Herbert Binney went out of the apartment and slammed the doorbehind him.

  Almost immediately Miss Gurney came in.

  "My stars, Ricky!" she exclaimed, "I met Sir Binney Bun in the hall andhe looked as if somebody had broken his heart! Has his pet chorus girlgiven him the mitten?"

  "No; I gave it to him. He wants me to sell his precious pies over acounter,--and I can't see myself doing it."

  "I should say not! It's a mystery to me how the aristocracy of Englandgo into trade, and if it's a big enough deal, they think it's all right.If it's tea or bread or soap, it doesn't matter, so they sell enough ofit. Well, young man, what about your escapade in the Park? Shall I tellyour aunt?"

  "You said you intended to,--do as you like."

  "I won't tell her, if----"

  "Oh, you'd better tell me--what is it?"

  The cool, incisive tones of Miss Prall interrupted the speakers andRichard's aunt calmly gazed at him and then at Miss Gurney, as she cameinto the room, seated herself, and began drawing off her gloves.

  "I'll tell you myself, Aunt Letitia," said Bates. "I'm old enough not tobe bossed and ballyragged by you two women! Forgive me, Aunt Letty, but,truly, Eliza makes me so mad----"

  "Go out, Eliza," said Miss Prall, and Eliza went.

  "Now, Ricky boy, what is it? About Sir Herbert of course. And I'll standby you,--if you don't want to go into his business, you shan't----"

  "It isn't that at all, Aunt Letitia. Or, at least, that is in the air,too,--up in the air, in fact,--but what Eliza is going to tell you,--andI prefer to tell you myself,--is that I'm in love with----"

  "Oh, Richard, I am so glad! You dear boy. I've felt for a long time thatif you were interested in one girl--some sweet young girl,--you'd have asort of anchor and----"

  "Yes, but wait a minute,--you don't know who she is."

  "And I don't care! I mean, I know you'd love only a dear, innocentnature,--but tell me all about her."

  Miss Prall's plain face was lighted with happy smiles of interest andeager anticipation, and she drew her chair nearer her nephew as shewaited for him to speak.

  Bates looked at her, dreading to shatter her hopes,--as he knew his nextwords must do.

  "Well, to begin with,--she is Dorcas Everett."

  Miss Prall's eyes opened in a wide, unbelieving stare, her face paledslowly, her very lips seemed to grow white, so intense and concentratedwas her anger.

  "No!" she said, at last, in a low tense voice, "you don't mean that.Richard! you can't mean it,--after all I've done for you, after all I'vehoped for you,--and,--I've loved you so----"

  "Now, auntie, listen; just you forget and forgive all this old feudbusiness,--for my sake,--and Dorcas'; be noble, rise above your old,petty quarrel with Mrs Everett, and give us your bond of peace as awedding present."

  His pleading tones, his hopeful smile held Miss Prall's attention for amoment, and then she blazed forth:

  "Richard Bates, I cannot believe it. Ingrate! Snake in the grass! Todeceive me,--to carry on an affair like this, for you must have doneso,--under my very nose, and keep it all so sly! Dorcas Everett!daughter of my enemy,--my long time foe,--the most despicable woman inthe world! And, knowing all about it, you deliberately cultivate theacquaintance of her daughter and secretly go on to the point of wantingto marry her! I can't believe it! It's too monstrous! Were there noother girls in the world,--in your life,--that you must choose that one?You can't have been so diabolical as to have done it purposely to breakmy heart!"

  "Oh, no, Auntie, I didn't do that! I chanced to meet Dorcas,--one day atJanet Fayre's,--and, somehow, we both fell in love at once!"

  "Stop! don't tell me another word! Get out, Eliza!" as Miss Gurneyreappeared at the door. "I told you to get out! Now, stay out! Get awayfrom me, Richard; you can't help any by trying to fawn around me! Youdon't know what you've done,--I grant you that! You don't know--youcan't know,--how you've crucified me!"

  Springing up from her chair, Miss Prall darted from the room, and outinto the hall. Down one flight of stairs she ran, and furiously pealedthe bell of Mrs Everett's apartment on the floor below.

  The maid who opened the door was startled at the visitor's appearance,but the angry caller asked for no one; she pushed her way past theservant, and faced Mrs Everett in her own reception room.

  "Do you know what's going on, Adeline Everett? Do you know that yourdaughter is--is interested in my nephew? Answer me that!"

  "I don't know it, and I don't believe it," returned Mrs Everett, aplump, blonde matron, whose touched-up golden hair was allowed to showno gray, and whose faintly pink cheeks were solicitously cared for.

  "Ask her!" quivered Letitia Prall's angry voice, and she clenched herlong thin fingers in ill-controlled rage.

  "I will; she's in the next room. Come in here, Dorcas. Tell Miss Prallshe is mistaken,--presumptuously mistaken."

  The haughty stare with which the hostess regarded her guest continueduntil Dorcas, coming in, said, with a pretty blush and smile, "I'mafraid she isn't mistaken, Mother."

  "Just what do you mean?" Mrs Everett asked, icily, transferring her gazeto her daughter.

  Very sweet and appealing Dorcas looked as she realized the crucialmoment had arrived. Now she must take her stand for all time. Her big,dark eyes turned from one furious face to the other as the two womenwaited her response. Her face paled a little as she saw their attitude,their implacable wrath, their hatred of each other, and theirmomentarily suspended judgment of herself. Yet she stood her ground.With a pretty dignity, she spoke quietly and in a calm, steady voice:

  "I heard what Miss Prall said," she began, "I couldn't help it, as I wasso near, and all I can say is, that it is true. I am not only interestedin Richard Bates, but I love him. He loves me,--and we hope--oh,mumsie,--be kind!--we hope you two will make up your quarrel for oursakes!"

  "Go to your room, Dorcas," her mother said, and in those words the girlread her doom. She knew her mother well, and she saw beyond all shadowof doubt that there was no leniency to be hoped for. She sensed in hermother's expression as she pronounced the short sentence, an absoluteand immutable decision. She might as well plead f
or the moon, as for hermother's permission to be interested in Letitia Prall's nephew.

  "Wait a minute," countermanded Miss Prall. "Answer me this, Dorcas. Areyou and my nephew engaged? Has it come to that?"

  "Yes," the girl answered, thinking quickly, and deciding it best toforce the issue.

  "Hush!" commanded her mother; "go to your room!"

  Mrs Everett fairly pushed her daughter through the door, closed it, andthen said: "There is little need of further remark on this subject. Wemight have known it would come,--at least we might have feared it. Oneof us must leave this house. Will you go or shall I?"

  "You take no thought of the young people's heart-break?"

  "I do not! Dorcas will get over it; I don't care whether your nephewdoes or not. I can take care of my child, and that's all that interestsme."

  "You think you can,--but perhaps you do not know the depth of theirattachment or the strength of their wills."

  "It is not for you, an unmarried woman, to instruct me in the ways ofyoung lovers! I repeat, Letitia Prall, I can take care of my daughter.Her welfare in no way concerns you. I am only thankful we discoveredthis state of things before it is too late. Good Heavens! You don'tsuppose it is too late, do you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You don't suppose those young idiots are--married!"

  "Of course not! My Richard is above such clandestine ways!"

  "Your Richard isn't above anything! My Dorcas is, but--he might havepersuaded her--oh, well, I'll attend to Dorcas. There is no need for youto tarry longer."

  The exaggerated courtesy of her manner goaded Miss Prall to rudeness.

  "I shall stay as long as I like," she returned, stubbornly sittingstill. "There is more to be said, Adeline Everett. There is more to bedone. I want your assurance that you will move away,--it doesn't suit myplans to leave this house,--and that you will take your forward anddesigning daughter far enough to keep her from maneuvering to ensnare mynephew."

  "I shall be only too glad to take my daughter away from the vicinity ofyour crack-brained charge! What has Dick Bates ever done? He has neverearned a dollar for himself!"

  "He doesn't need to. He is a genius; he will yet astonish the world withhis inventions. You know me well enough to know that I speak truth.Moreover, he is his uncle's sole heir!"

  "Binney, the Bun man!"

  "Yes, Sir Herbert Binney, proprietor of the famous Binney's Buns. But,look here, Adeline," the absorption in her nephew's interest blotted outfor the moment her scorn of the other woman, "Uncle Binney favors thematch."

  "What match?" Mrs Everett was honestly blank.

  "Between Richard and Dorcas."

  "Why, he doesn't know Dorcas."

  "He has seen her, and anyway, he'd approve of any nice girl that Rickcared for. You see, Sir Herbert wanted the boy to marry and settle downand become the American branch of Binney's Buns."

  "My daughter the wife of a baker! No, thank you! You know me, LetitiaPrall, well enough to know my ambitions for Dorcas. She shall marry theman I choose for her,--and he will not be a baker! Nor," and her facewas drawn with sudden anger, "nor will he be Richard Bates!"

  "Indeed he will not!" and Miss Prall rose and flounced out of the place.

  In his own small but attractive apartment, Sir Herbert Binney wasdressing for dinner. Always a careful dresser, he was unusuallyparticular this evening. His man, Peters, thought he had never seen hismaster so fussed over the minor details of his apparel. Also, SirHerbert was preoccupied. Usually he chatted cheerily, but to-night hewas thoughtful, almost moody.

  "A cab, sir?" said Peters, half afraid that he'd be snapped at forasking an unnecessary question, yet not quite certain that a cab wasdesired.

  "Yes," was the absent-minded response, and Peters passed on the word bytelephone to the doorman below.

  Then, satisfactorily turned out, Sir Herbert left his rooms and touchedthe elevator bell.

  Once in the car, and seeing the pretty elevator girl, his moodbrightened.

  "Good evening, Daisy," he said, "give me one kiss for good luck. This ismy busy day."

  He carelessly put an arm round her, and kissed her lightly on the lips,even as he spoke. The girl was taken by surprise, and anger surged up inher soul.

  "You coward!" she cried, wrenching herself free with difficulty andmindful of her elevator gear. "Take shame to yourself, sir, forinsulting a defenseless girl!"

  "Oh, come now, chicken, that didn't hurt you! I'm only a jollier. Forgetit, and I'll give you a big box of candy."

  "I'll never forget it, sir, and if you try that again----"

  The dire threat was not pronounced, for just then the car reached theground floor, and the girl flung the door open.

  Nearby at the telephone switchboard was another girl, who looked upcuriously as the Bun man came out of the elevator. She had overheard theangry voice that seemed to be threatening him, and she was not withoutknowledge of his ways herself.

  But Sir Herbert waved his hand gayly at the telephone girl and also atthe news stand girl. Indeed all girls were, in Binney's estimation, bornto be waved at.

  He had recovered his good nature, and he went along the onyx lobby witha quick stride, looking at his watch as he walked.

  "Taxi ready?" he said to the obsequious doorman.

  "Yes, sir,--yes, Sir Herbert. Here you are."

  "And here you are," the Englishman returned, with a generous bestowal ofsilver.

  "To the Hotel Magnifique," he said, and his cab rolled away.

  During the evening hours the attendants of The Campanile shifted. Theelevator girls were replaced by young men, and the telephone operatorwas changed. The doorman, too, was another individual, and by midnightno one was on duty who had been on at dusk.

  After midnight, the attendants were fewer still, and after two o'clockBob Moore, the capable and efficient night porter, was covering thedoor, telephone and elevator all by himself.

  This arrangement was always sufficient, as most of the occupants of TheCampanile were average citizens, who, if at theater or party, wererarely out later than one or two in the morning.

  On this particular night, Moore welcomed four or five theater-goers backhome, took them up to their suites and then sat for a long timeuninterruptedly reading a detective story, which was his favorite brandof fiction.

  At two o'clock Mr Goodwin came in, and Moore took him up to the twelfthfloor.

  Returning to his post and to his engrossing book, the next arrival wasMr Vail. He belonged on the tenth floor and as they ascended, Moore,full of his story, said:

  "Ever read detective stories, Mr Vail?"

  "Occasionally; but I haven't much time for reading. Business men likemore active recreation."

  "Likely so, sir. But I tell you this yarn I'm swallowing is a corker!"

  "What's it called?"

  "'Murder Will Out,' by Joe Jarvis. It's great! Why, Mr Vail, the victimwas killed,--killed, mind you,--in a room that was all locked up----"

  "How did the murderer get in?"

  "That's just it! How did he? And he left his revolver,----"

  "Left his revolver? Then he did get in and get out! Must have been asecret passage----"

  "No, sir, there wasn't! That is, the author says so, and all thepeople,--the characters, you know, try to find one, and they can't! Oh,it's exciting, I'll say! I can't guess how it's coming out."

  "I suppose you wouldn't peek over to the last page?"

  "No, that spoils a story for me. The fun I get out of it is the tryingto ferret out the solution, on my own. That's sport for me. Why, yousee, Mr Vail,--but, excuse me, sir, I'm keeping you."

  The elevator had stopped at the tenth floor, and Vail had left the car,but he stood waiting till the enthusiastic Moore should pause.

  "Oh, well, go on,--what were you saying?"

  "Only this, sir. To me, a good detective story is not the one that keepsyou guessing,--nor the one that keeps you in fearful suspense as to theoutcome, but the one that gives you a chance t
o solve the riddleyourself. The one that puts all the cards on the table, and gives you achance at it."

  "And you can usually work it out?"

  "Sometimes,--not always. But the fun is in trying."

  "You ought to have been a detective, Moore. You've the taste for itevidently. Well, good-night; hope you discover the clue and solve themystery. Shall you finish your book to-night?"

  "Oh, yes, sir. I'm more than half way through it."

  "Well, tell me in the morning if you guessed right. Good-night, Moore."

  "Good-night, Mr. Vail."

  The elevator went down, and Bob Moore left the car to return to hisbook.

  But he did not return to the story. A more engrossing one was opened tohim at that moment. A glance toward the front doorway showed him afigure of a man, lying in a contorted heap on the floor, about half waybetween himself and the entrance.

  He went wonderingly toward it, his heart beating faster as he drew near.

  "Dead!" he breathed softly, to himself, "no, not dead!--oh, my God, it'sSir Herbert Binney!"

  In the onyx lobby, at the very foot of one of the tall ornate capitaledcolumns was the prostrate Binney. Apparently he was a dying man; bloodwas flowing from some wound, his face was drawn in convulsive agony,from his stiffening fingers he let fall a pencil, but his lips wereframing inarticulate words.

  Bob Moore's wits did not desert him. Instead, his thoughts seemed toflash with uncanny quickness.

  "Binney's dying," he told himself, "he's been murdered! Gee! what anexcitement there will be! He's babbling,--he's going to tell who killedhim! If I scoot for Doctor Pagett, this chap'll be dead before I getback,--if I wait,--I'll be called down for not going--but I must get itout of him,--if I can--what is that, Sir, try to tell me----"

  Bending over the stricken man, Moore listened intently, andcaught the words,--or words which sounded like,--"Get--them--getJ--J--anyway,--get--J----"

  With a sudden gasping gurgle, the man was dead.

  Bewildered, but striving hard to grasp the situation and do his exactduty, Moore looked about, and quickly concluded his next move was tocall the doctor.

  Pagett, on the second floor, was the physician of the house, and Mooreraced up the stairs to his apartment.

  Ringing the bell continuously brought the doctor to the door.

  "What's happened?" he said, sleepily.

  "Murder!" answered Moore, briefly. "Hike into some clothes and getdownstairs. Sir Herbert Binney's been done for!"

  Not waiting, Moore ran back down the stairs, and took his stationguarding the dead man. He resolved to touch nothing, but his attentionat once fell on a bit of paper, on which Binney had evidently beenscrawling some message, with the pencil that had at last fallen from hisnerveless fingers.

  Careful not to touch the paper, Moore devoured it with his eyes.

  This is what he read:

  [Illustration (handwritten note): women did this get [unreadable]]