When Beecher entered the lights were up on the act. During the time in which he had been absent, his wife, too, had been a prey to dramatic moods. The stage and the world had been before her eyes as the choices of her own life. She comprehended what Beecher did not, all the advantages of her first appearance in New York under the patronage of the Gunthers, that was in itself a social cachet. Mrs. Slade's flattering visit, as well as the accented cordiality of acquaintances who had bowed to her from their boxes, made her feel how easy would be her way in this world, so easy of access by one entrance and so hostile by a thousand others. She was satisfied. Her doubts, if she had yielded to them a moment, were gone. She had talked to Gunther of what she wanted for her husband, and made of him a friend, not insensible to the reason of the charm which she had exerted. But in the moment in which the social world presented itself to her as the endless stretching Pacific flashed upon the dazzled eyes of Balboa, she felt a sudden sense of loneliness and the need of support. She rested her hand on the strong-muscled arm of her husband, and designating with a smile the young girl who was so artlessly and artfully conveying her impatient delight at Bruce's return, she sent her husband one of those looks which only a perfectly happy woman has the power to retain ... that first fugitive, timid offering in the eyes of lovers.
The next day Mrs. Craig Fontaine's engagement was announced in all the papers. It was a romance of long standing ... the engagement now made public for the first time was supposed to have lasted several months, etc.
Mrs. Slade had more than fulfilled her promise towards McKenna. Through her active friendship not only had he secured the entire patronage of her husband, but had finally acquired the coveted field of the Bankers' Association of America. His agency had tripled in its ramifications and its power. This man, who perceived clearly all the relative, often confusing, shades of morality, was at the bottom an idealist. He undertook two great campaigns: one which resulted in the exposing of the mysterious suzerainty over corrupt politics of a group of outwardly respectable capitalists; and the other in the purification of a great labor union from a band of terrorists, who were betraying their ideals and selling their sympathies. He had still one ambition, which he had confided alone to Mrs. Slade, to whom he was able to render in this period two invaluable services—he wished one day to become Police Commissioner of New York City, and create, in that cemetery of reputations, a great police system that would vie with the systems of Paris and London.
Often Bruce Gunther would run into his office at the close of the afternoon. He appreciated the integrity of the detective, and he used him as he was learning to use many men ... as so many windows through which to look out on life. Gunther had not been entirely the dupe of Rita Kildair's explanation as to the theft of the ring. Above the mantelpiece in the inner office of McKenna, framed in simple passe-partout, hung the two clippings of the same date: one the bare statement of the bank's support of the Associated Trust, and underneath the engagement of Rita Kildair and John G. Slade.
These dramatically aligned scraps of information for the public, never ceased to intrigue him. Many a time he considered a direct question, but refrained from respect. One day, however, pushed to the verge by his curiosity, he said abruptly:
"McKenna, are you going to write your memoirs, some day?"
"Perhaps—some day!"
"You ought to—Publication fifty years from now."
"May be ... may be!"
"And that affair of the ring," said Gunther, pointing to the notices. "Will you tell the truth about that?"