Part 16 (1/2)
”The very fact that people--well, that I know I ought to, perhaps.
Then, too, my situation. I have certain obligations which I must live up to.”
”Don't be forever thinking of yourself. There are others to be considered.”
”Exactly. Myra Nell, for instance.”
”It seems to me you owe something to Felicite.”
”My dear boy, you don't talk like a--like a--”
”Southern gentleman?” Blake smiled. ”Nevertheless, Miss Delord is a delightful little person and you can make her happy. If Myra Nell should be Queen of the Mardi Gras it would round out her social career. She will marry before long, no doubt, and then you will be left with no obligations beyond those you choose to a.s.sume. n.o.body knows of your relations with Felicite.”
”_You_ know,” said the bachelor stiffly, ”and therefore others must know, hence it is quite impossible. I'd prefer not to discuss it if you don't mind.”
”Certainly. I want you to keep that loan in mind, however. I think you owe it to your sister to accept. At any rate, I am glad we had this opportunity of speaking frankly.”
”Ah,” said Bernie, suddenly, as if seizing with relief upon a chance to end the discussion, ”I think I heard some one in the outer office.”
”To be sure,” exclaimed Blake. ”That must be Donnelly. I had an appointment with him here which I'd forgotten all about.”
”The Chief of Police? He's quite a friend of yours.”
”Yes, we met while I was sheriff. He's a remarkably able officer--one of those men I like to study.”
”Well, then, I'll be going,” said Bernie, rising.
”No, stay and meet him.” Blake rose to greet a tall, angular man of about Dreux's age, who came in without knocking. Chief Donnelly had an impa.s.sive face, into which was set a pair of those peculiar smoky-blue eyes which have become familiar upon our frontiers. He acknowledged his introduction to Bernie quietly, and measured the little man curiously.
”Mr. Dreux is a friend of mine, and he was anxious to meet you, so I asked him to stay,” Norvin explained.
”If I'm not intruding,” Bernie said.
”Oh, there's nothing much on my mind,” the Chief declared. ”I've come in for some information which I don't believe Blake can give me.” To Norvin he said, ”I remembered hearing that you'd been to Italy, so I thought you might help me out.”
Mr. Dreux sat back, eliminated himself from the conversation in his own effective manner, and regarded the officer as a mouse might gaze upon a lion.
”Yes, but that was four years ago,” Norvin replied.
”All the better. Were you ever in Sicily?”
Blake started. The sudden mention of Sicily was like a touch upon an exposed nerve.
”I was in Sicily twice,” he said, slowly.
”Then perhaps you can help me, after all. I recalled some sort of experience you had over there with the Mafia, and took a chance.”
The Chief drew from his pocket a note-book which he consulted. ”Did you ever hear of a Sicilian named--Narcone? Gian Narcone?” He looked up to see that his friend's face had gone colorless.
Blake nodded silently.