I was surprised at such directness, but not displeased.
“The chauffeur?” I whispered questioningly.
For answer Zippy reached over me, manipulated a switch, and darkness equal to that outside descended upon the interior of the car.
Some fifteen or twenty minutes later two discreet notes of the siren advised us that my destination was near. When the car stopped and I stepped out, the sky was tinted in the east. The night was lifting. Dawn was at hand.
I ran up the steps, rang the bell, and after a long wait the door was opened by the night maid. Within less than ten minutes all told, I was in bed and sound asleep.
I slept for at least five hours, but I would have sworn that it was not over five minutes before I was dragged from my lethargic slumber by a violent shaking and insistent voices which continued relentlessly until I finally sat up to protest the commotion.
“Wake up, Jessie! Wake up!”
It was Hester who was repeating the disagreeable phrase and shaking me insistently, but as my vision cleared I saw Madame Lafronde standing nearby, and several girls besides.
There was something in their faces which dispelled the last vestige of sleep, and I now saw that Madame Lafronde was holding a newspaper.
“Wake up, Jessie! Wake up!” pleaded Hester. “Are you awake?”
“Yes! I'm awake! What's the matter?”
“Oh Jessie, were you with Montague Austin last night? Something dreadful has happened!”
The blood drained from my face.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“He's dead, Jessie, he's dead! There was some kind of trouble in his home last night or early this morning; there were some girls there, the police are trying to find them! We thought… we were afraid… maybe you were mixed up in it! You were out with him last night, weren't you? The paper says there were two girls!”
“Let me see the paper!” I gasped, without answering her questions.
Silently, Madame Lafronde placed it in my hands.
Big black headlines screamed at me from across the top of a column on the front page:
MONTAGUE AUSTIN DIES UNDER MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES.
I clutched the paper with trembling fingers and tried to read the smaller print, but my mind refused to concentrate upon the long drawn-out recital and only blazing fragments detached themselves here and there to impinge on my consciousness.
“Youngest son of late Sir Weatherford Austin died at an early hour this morning as the, result of injuries sustained in his own home. Wife in hysterical collapse unable to give coherent account of tragedy… not known whether fall was accidental or whether he was knocked down… died without regaining consciousness… conflicting stories told by domestics suggestive of bacchanalian revelries motivate investigation by Scotland Yard… empty bottles and whiskey flasks… intimate garments left behind… half-naked girls flee with male companion… identity of man unknown… chauffeur to be interrogated today… victim has figured in many sensational escapades…”
“Now, Jessie,” said Madame Lafronde not unkindly, seating herself on the edge of the bed, “for the good of all concerned, let's get the truth so we'll know what to do. Just answer my questions. Were you there?”
“Yes, I was! But I didn't… none of us… even dreamed he was badly hurt!”
“What happened exactly?”
“He was fighting with his wife. He was drunk and he slipped and fell and his head struck against the fireplace grating.”
“What were you doing in his house while his wife was there?”
“Well, I… we were, all of us half-drunk and he insisted on taking us there! I didn't want to go!”
“Who are these other people?”
“A girl named Carlota, and a fellow, a friend of Monty's, everybody calls him Zippy… I don't know his right name.”
“Who is this Carlota?”
“I don't know her full name, either. I'd met her two or three times before when I was out with Monty and Zippy. I didn't know it until last night, but she used to be Monty's sweetheart.”
“Do either of these people know your name and where you live?”
“Zippy does. Carlotta… I don't know. Monty might have told her.”
“How did you get here this morning?” “Zippy brought me… in Monty's car.” “In Monty's car? With his chauffeur?” “Yes; you see the chauffeur… none of us… knew there was anything seriously wrong when we left.”
“Then the chauffeur knows this address too?”
“I guess he does now, all right.” “All right, kid. If you step fast maybe you can be out of here before the doorbell starts ringing, and maybe you can't. There's no hard feelings, but you know how it is, I can't afford to have any of my girls mixed up in anything like this.”
“I understand. I don't blame you,” I answered dully, and got out of bed to dress.
“I'll have your money ready for you as soon as you're dressed and we'll slip you out the back way… just in case. I'll give you some address where you can get on easy if you want to get a new place, but use a different name and don't mention having worked here. If you do, there's a good chance you'll be picked up. The police are going to find out all they can about this affair, and if they get you, there's no telling what you'll have to go through.”
Hester went with me to carry some of my things and to help find a room where I would be safe from annoyance. We found one which appeared to be suitable, and though the landlady looked askance when she heard I was to occupy it alone, her misgivings were calmed by the sight of sufficient money to pay a month's rent in advance, and my assurance that I would be receiving no “visitors” other than Hester.
The room was cozy and comfortable, but after Hester had gone, such a feeling of loneliness and wretchedness welled up in my heart that I threw myself on the little bed and had a long cry.
The next afternoon Hester returned to tell me excitedly that within less than fifteen minutes after our departure the police, who had extracted the address from Monty's chauffeur just as Madame Lafronde had anticipated, were there looking for me, and in addition two barristers had called repeatedly in a vain effort to see me. I shuddered and from then on the little room seemed more like a haven of refuge than a lonely exile, for I entertained a profound horror of police and jails, the long months of deadly monotony in the reform school never having been forgotten.
“They found that girl Carlota, too. She used to be a dancer in a music hall. And who do you suppose your mysterious friend Zippy turned out to be?”
“I don't know,” I answered. “Who?”
“No less a personage than that polo-playing Lord Beaverbrook! I've seen his picture in the papers lots of times. I think the whole thing will be hushed up soon. They know it was an accident and that nobody was much to blame but Austin himself.”
True to Hester's prediction, references to the scandal disappeared quickly from the press and no great efforts were made to locate the missing witness. For a time I entertained the hope that Madame Lafronde would relent and call me back. But the hope was dissipated when Hester sadly informed me that it was futile. She herself had tried to pave the way for my return only to be told by Madame Lafronde that though she liked me, I was a “firebrand” and in the best interests of the business its door must remain closed to me.
Hester came faithfully to visit me for an hour or two every afternoon.
“Did the papers ever hint what Austin and his wife were quarreling about?” I asked her.
“Yes; she objected to his having you and those other people drinking and carousing in the house. Wasn't that it?”
“Partly, but there was something else… something lots worse than that.”
“What was it, Jessie?”
“He had her half-stripped. He was going to fuck her right there in front of all of us.”
“Oh, Jessie! What did I tell you about that man? Why wouldn't you listen to me?”
She was on the point of tears again and I hastily endeavored to turn the conversation into a lighter vein.