Part 11 (1/2)
Duncan swore, softly and rapidly, but with emphasis; Jack Gardner, broke into uproarous laughter, which he could not possibly repress or control; the chauffeur started up the avenue on a run, in a fruitless chase after the on-rus.h.i.+ng car, which even at that moment whirled around the corner toward Madison avenue, and disappeared. Gardner continued to laugh on, until Duncan seized him by the shoulder, and shook him with some violence.
”Shut up your infernal clatter, Jack!” he exclaimed, momentarily forgetful of his anger at his friend. ”Help me to think what can be done to head off that crazy fool, will you? It isn't half-past two o'clock, yet, and he will succeed in catching at least one of the newspapers, before it goes to press; G.o.d only knows how many others he will connect with, by telephone. What shall we do?”
”I can get out one of my own cars in ten minutes,” began Gardner. But his friend interrupted him:
”Come with me,” Duncan exclaimed; and, being almost as familiar with the interior of the house as its owner was, he dashed up the steps through the still open doorway, and ran onward up the stairs toward the smoking-room on the second floor, closely followed by Gardner.
There he seized upon the telephone, and asked for the _New York Herald_, fortunately knowing the number. While he awaited a response to his call he put one hand over the transmitter, and said, rapidly, to his companion:
”Jack, I have just called up the night city editor of the _Herald_.
While I am talking with him, I wish you would make use of the telephone-directory, and write down the numbers of the calls for the other leading newspapers in town. This is the only way possible by which we may succeed in getting ahead of Radnor.”
Any person who has ever had to do with newspaper life will understand how futile such an attempt as this one would be to interfere with interesting news, during the last moments before going to press. City editors, and especially night city editors, have no time to devote to complaints, unless those complaints possess news-value. Nothing short of dynamite, can ”kill” a ”good story,” once it has gone to the composing-room. Whatever it was that Duncan said to the gentleman in charge of the desk at the _Herald_ office, and to the gentlemen in charge of other desks, at other newspaper offices, need not be recorded here. Each of the persons, so addressed, probably listened, with apparent interest, to a small part of his statement, and as inevitably interrupted him by inquiring if it were Mr. Duncan in person who was talking; and, when an affirmative answer was given to this inquiry, Roderick was not long in discovering that he had succeeded only in supplying an additional value to the story, and in giving a personal interview over a telephone-wire. He realized, too late, that instead of interfering with whatever intention Burke Radnor might have had in making the escape, he had materially aided this ubiquitous person in his plans. The mere mention by him to each of the city editors that Radnor was the man of whom he was complaining, gave a.s.surance to those gentlemen that some sort of important news was on the way to them, and therefore Duncan succeeded only in accomplis.h.i.+ng what Radnor most desired--that is, in holding back the closing of the forms, as long as possible, for Radnor's story, whatever it might prove to be.
Meanwhile, directly beneath the room where Duncan was so frantically telephoning, a scene of quite a different character was taking place.
When Patricia entered the house, she pa.s.sed rapidly forward to the s.p.a.cious library, encountering no one. Entering it, she found Sally Gardner seated upon one of the chairs, convulsed with laughter, while directly before her stood Beatrice, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng contemptuous anger, and scorn upon the fun-loving and now half-hysterical young matron, who seemed to be unduly amused. Neither of them was at the moment, conscious of Patricia's presence. She had approached so quietly and swiftly that her footsteps along the hallway had made no sound.
”You helped Burke Radnor to escape from us, Sally!” Beatrice was exclaiming, angrily. ”I haven't a doubt that you put him up to it. I believe you would be delighted to see that hateful story in the newspapers. It was a despicable thing for you to do.”
”Oh, Beatrice!” Sally exclaimed, when she could find breath to do so.
”It is all so very funny--”
She discovered Patricia's presence, and stopped abruptly; then, she started to her feet, and, pa.s.sing around the table quickly, greeted Miss Langdon with effusion.
”Why, Patricia!” she exclaimed. ”I had no idea that you were here.”
Beatrice turned quickly at the mention of Patricia's name, and her anger at Sally Gardner was suddenly turned against Patricia Langdon, with tenfold force and vehemence. It is an axiom that blue-eyed women have more violent tempers than black-eyed ones, once they are thoroughly aroused. Your brunette will flash and sputter, and say hasty things impulsively, or emotionally, but her anger is likely to pa.s.s as quickly as it arises, and it is almost sure to leave no lasting sting, behind it. Your fair-haired, fair-skinned, man or woman, when thoroughly aroused, is inclined to be implacable, unrelenting, even cruel.
Beatrice Brunswick's eyes were flas.h.i.+ng with pa.s.sionate fury, and, although she did not realize it, the greater part of her display of temper, was really directed against herself, because deep down in her sub-consciousness she knew that she alone was responsible for the present predicament. But anger is unreasoning, and, when one is angry at oneself, one is only too apt to seek for another person upon whom to visit the consequences. Patricia made her appearance just in time to offer herself as a target for Miss Brunswick's wrath; and Beatrice, totally unmindful of Sally's presence, loosed her tongue, and permitted words to flow, which, had she stopped to think, she never would have uttered.
”It is you! you! Patricia Langdon, who are responsible for this dreadful state of affairs,” she cried out, starting forward, and, with one hand resting upon the corner of the library table, bending a little toward the haughty, Junoesque young woman she was addressing.
”It is you, who dare to play with a man's love as a child would play with a doll, and who think it can be made to conform to the spirit of your unholy pride as readily. It is your fault that I am placed in this dreadful position, so that now, with Sally's connivance, this dreadful tale is likely to appear in every one of the morning papers.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Pat Langdon, for doing what you have done! You ought to get down on your knees to Roderick Duncan, and beg his eternal pardon for the agony you have caused him, since noon of yesterday. I know it all--I know the whole story, from beginning to end! I know what your unreasoning pride and your haughty willfulness, have accomplished: they have driven almost to desperation the man who loves you better than he loves anything else in the world! But you have no heart. The place inside you where it should exist is an empty void. If it were not, you would realize to what dreadful straits you have brought us all, and to what degree of desperation you have driven me, who sought to help you. I tell you, now, to your face, that Roderick Duncan is one man in ten thousand; and that he has loved you for years, as a woman is rarely loved. But you cast his love aside as if it were of no value--as if it were a little thing, to be picked up anywhere, and to be played with, as a child plays with a toy.
Possibly it may please you now to hear one thing more; but, whether it does or not, you shall hear it. Roderick was in a desperate mood, to-night, because of your treatment of him, and he did ask me to marry him. So there! He did ask me! And I--I was a fool not to take him at his word. But he doesn't--he didn't--he--” She ceased as abruptly as she had begun the tirade.
Patricia had started backward a little before Beatrice's vehemence, and her eyes had gradually widened and darkened, while she sought and obtained her accustomed control over her own emotions. Now, with a slight shrug of her shoulders and a smile that was maddening to the young woman who faced her, she interrupted:
”You should have accepted Mr. Duncan's proposal,” she said, icily, ”for, if I read you correctly now, the fulfillment of it would have been most agreeable to you. One might quite readily a.s.sume from your conduct and the words you use that you love Roderick Duncan almost as madly as you say he loves me.”
”Well?” Beatrice raised her chin, and stood erect and defiant before her former friend. ”Well?” she repeated. ”And what if I do?”
Patricia shrugged her shoulders again, and turned slowly away, but as she did so, said slowly and distinctly:
”Possibly, I am mistaken, after all. I had forgotten the attractive qualities of Mr. Duncan's millions.” Beatrice gasped; but Patricia added, without perceptible pause: ”I should warn you, however, that Mr. Duncan is under a verbal agreement with me! We are to meet and sign a contract, Monday morning. It seems to be my duty to remind you of that much, Miss Brunswick.”
Patricia did not wait to see the effect of her words. Outwardly calm, she was a seething furnace of wrath within. She turned away abruptly, and pa.s.sed through the open doorway into the hall. There, she stopped.