MARY RANDALL GOES TO LIVE IN A WOLF’S DEN
Martin Druce, still pacing uneasily; about the big drinking room of the Cafe Sinister after his angry parting with Elsie Welcome, looked up suddenly and saw the street door open. He stood still staring. The new arrival was Mary Randall. She wore a smart tailored suit and a modish hat. Druce noted these details of costume, the shining bronze hair, the fresh complexion and the trim figure. He gasped with surprise.
Druce’s surprise was not due to any recognition of his visitor as the reformer. To him Mary Randall was still Miss Masters, for he had heard nothing of the episode in John Boland’s office when the electric king’s private secretary revealed her true identity. His astonishment was predicated upon the fact that this stenographer, after having thwarted and flouted him, after having seemed to read the darkest secrets of his plotting mind, should now walk in upon him with all the easy composure of an old friend.
Then he had read the girl wrong after all! She was, as he had at first suspected, of the demi-monde. Thus her sophistication, the ease with which she had penetrated his pretensions, the cool finality with which she had catalogued and placed him, were all explainable. Her worldly wisdom, which he had found so baffling, was that of the skilled and experienced adventuress!
These reflections swept through his mind in a moment. Another thought came to him that filled him with rage. She was here now to resume her play with him. But rage gave way to desire. His mind instantly busied itself with new intrigues. Here was a woman much to be desired. She had come hunting amusement at his expense. She delivered herself into his hands; she laughed at his power. And she seemed confident of beating him. This was a game that filled him with delight. He sprang forward eagerly to greet her, bowing gallantly, and doffing his hat.
“How do you do, Mr. Druce?” inquired Miss Masters. “You seem surprised to see me here.”
Druce caught something mocking in her tone. “I’m more than surprised,” he returned. “I’m tickled pink. Won’t you have a seat?” He prepared a place for her at one of the booths. “And can’t I order you something to drink?”
Miss Masters favored Druce with one of her enigmatical smiles. “It’s a little early for wine,” she said, “and too late for highballs. Besides, business before pleasure. I want to talk to you.”
Druce sat down, expectantly.
“I’ve come here, Mr. Druce,” Miss Masters went on, “not merely to make a social call, as you seem to take for granted, but as John Boland’s agent. He has instructed me to take up the matter of your new lease with you. I am to handle the whole transaction in his name. The only stipulation that he makes is that you are not to communicate with him again. He wants you to stay away from his office, because he has learned within the last few hours that the office is being watched by agents of this girl reformer, Mary Randall. He has instructed me to tell you not to attempt to see him or to telephone him until your negotiations with me are concluded.”
Druce was disappointed.
“Why,” he said, “I thought the matter of the lease was settled. Boland told me plainly when I last talked with him that if I would arrange to have Patience Welcome here on Saturday night so that Harry Boland could see her he would give me a new lease with no increase in rental.”
“I understand,” replied Miss Masters to whom this was news. “The idea of arranging this meeting is, I am informed, to convince Harry that the girl has been playing with him—that she is one of your employes.”
“That’s it,” replied Druce. “I’ve made all the plans and the girl will be here on Saturday night. I’ve arranged to have her mother here, too. And to make it good I expect to bring in the other sister—the girl Elsie—at the last moment. Young Boland will believe that the whole Welcome family is working for me.”
“I see,” said Miss Masters. “It’s a pretty smooth scheme, but Mr. Boland thinks it’s rather too daring. That’s why he’s sent me here, to see that nothing goes wrong. You are to give me all the details of your plans and through me Mr. Boland is to be kept informed as to what is going on.”
“Well, he’s a deep one,” said Druce. “I don’t like his introducing a third party into my plans very well, but I guess I’ve got to take it. I’ve got to have that lease.”
“Yes,” replied Miss Masters, “that’s the way John Boland has it figured out.”
“Say, girlie,” Druce went on, assuming a confidential air, “Old Boland sure must have a lot of confidence in you.”
Again Miss Masters smiled enigmatically. “Yes,” she admitted, “Mr. Boland has reason to know I can take care of myself in nearly every situation.”
“I’m beginning to think you’re as deep as Boland is.”
“Yes?” Miss Masters tantalized him with another of her smiles. “Now,” she went on, “tell me about this. You say you’re going to have the other Welcome girl here. How do you expect to arrange that?”
Druce grinned triumphantly. “That’s dead easy,” he said. “You see I’m married to her.” He had expected to startle Miss Masters with this information, but he was disappointed. She merely arched her brows slightly. “Then you marry them, do you?” “Yes, when I have to. It’s the easiest way.” “Then this girl—Elsie—is living in your—a—a—hotel?”
“No,” replied Druce hesitatingly, “she’s gone away.” Then he added quickly, “but she’ll be back.”
“Gone away? I don’t understand.” “Oh, we had a family row this morning. I told her that if she wanted to get along in Chicago she’d have to discard her Millville morals and be a good fellow. She’s squeamish. I let her understand that she’d have to—”
“I see,” said Miss Masters. “She thought that, because she was your wife she wouldn’t have to drink with the patrons in your cafe. When you told her she’d have to, she got angry and walked out. Is that it?”
“You’re wise,” replied Druce admiringly.
“You say she’ll be back. How do you know that?”
“I know it, because she hasn’t got a dime. With her it’s a case of coming back or starving to death in the Levee, and I know enough about her to be sure she’ll be back. She can’t get away from me.”
“And the other girl, Patience?”
“She thinks this is a sort of a music hall. She’s coming here with her mother Saturday night. Before she discovers that this place isn’t exactly what she believes it is, Harry Boland will see her up there on the stand with the rest of my talent. I’ll get the girl out of the place before he can talk to her. That will put the kibosh on their love affair.”
“What do you expect to do with these girls afterward?”
“Oh, we have facilities here”—Druce’s smile was evil—“for breaking ’em in. Afterward—well, I don’t know. It may be dangerous to keep them around Chicago. I can get a good price for them.” He laughed. “You know I’m a dealer in live stock.”
“Yes, yes, you expect to sell them. That’s not a bad idea.”
“Now look here, kid,” said Druce, “you’ve asked me a lot of questions and got fair answers. It’s a poor game that can’t be played both ways. I want to know something about you.”
Miss Masters curled herself up comfortably in a corner of the booth. She looked challengingly at Druce.
“Shoot,” she said.
“Now, who are you?”
“You know my name. It’s Masters.”
“I don’t mean that. What are you?”
Miss Masters replied quickly, “I—why—I’m a girl, and—you say yourself I’m wise.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. Where did you come from? Where did Boland get you?”
“Before I went to work for Boland I was in St. Louis.”
“What did you do there?”
“Oh, I shan’t answer that question—yet.”
“Well, you seem to know a great deal about the kind of business I’m in. Where did you get your information?”
“Picked it up.”
“In St. Louis?”
“Yes, I learned some things there.”
“Have you ever been in this business?”
“What business?”
“Well, this cafe business—and the rest of it.”
“You say I know a good deal about it.”
“Yes, you know a lot about it. And you’ve got your information from the inside. And Boland knows you know a lot about it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have sent you down here.”
“Yes?” Miss Masters was silent for a moment. “Druce,” she went on, “did you ever hear of the Broughton Club?”
“Sure, that swell joint in St. Louis?”
“Yes. Well, I’m interested in it.”
“As owner?”
“Never mind about that. I’m interested in it and one of my reasons for calling on you is to get some girls for the club.”
“You want to buy some girls?”
“You said it.”
“From me?”
“From you, if I can get the right figures. If I can’t, I’ll try elsewhere. You’re not the only ‘dealer in live stock’ in the Levee.”
“I’ll make the figures right.”
“I’m interested in this place.”
“In the Cafe Sinister?”
“Yes, I want to know something about your methods. We don’t know it all in St. Louis. I think I can pick up a little information here. I’m going back to St. Louis in a month. I want to take some girls back with me, and I’d like to find out just how a first class joint like the Cafe Sinister is operated in Chicago.”
“Is this a proposition?”
“Yes, it’s a proposition.”
“All right. Go on.”
“I want to live at the Cafe Sinister during the week our deal for the lease is on. I’ll take rooms in your—a—hotel, upstairs.
“And I’ll be around the cafe, and making myself at home generally,” added Miss Masters, reassuringly.
“Go as far as you like,” answered Druce, “and if you need a body guard,” he added, with a knowing wink, “why, you know me.”
Miss Masters’ eyes narrowed. “I told you I could look out for myself,” she answered.
“You’ll have to look out for yourself,” retorted Druce significantly.
“Let me do the worrying about that.”
Druce was silent. He had determined to accept Miss Masters’ offer. He felt that she was walking into his trap and yet, so great had grown his respect for her that he did not know his next move.
“I’ll have a suite prepared for you,” he said.
“That’s settled, then.”
Miss Masters got up from her seat. As she did so Druce attempted a caress. “I’m going to collect part of the rent in advance,” he said.
“Are you?” Miss Masters pushed him away sharply. He did not repeat his indiscretion. Instead he stood back respectfully to let her pass. In the palm of her hand with the muzzle pointing firmly in his direction he saw a small, steel-blue magazine pistol. The girl’s finger was on the trigger.
“If you’ll have one of your servants show me the suite,” said Miss Masters, “I’ll telephone for my maid.”
Then she added, seemingly as an afterthought,
“I never pay the rent, Mr. Druce, until the end of the week.”