He heard a quick word of recognition.
“I must talk with you, Donaldson, to-night.”
“Yes. Well, I must talk with you,” said the other. “Er... where are you now?”
“Public booth.”
“Well, you know that young woman who stepped into the situation at the Roost a few months ago, and spoiled some very interesting plans in regard to marked money? Beatrice Ashton is her name. She phoned me just now.”
Lane caught his breath. “You don’t say! Knew where to find you, eh?”
“Apparently she looked me up. The... er—” He dropped his voice slightly. “The gang have been after her.”
“Eh? Well, they would!” was the instant, bitter comment. “They must have found out she was the one that queered the game — although I tried to cover it.”
“Listen. I don’t want to say any more over this line. Miss Ashton is on her way up here to consult with me now. Take a taxi and you can get here first. I’d like to have you present.”
“I’ll be right up!” replied the under cover man.
III
Beatrice Ashton had found herself involved in the situation without warning. For months she had been in dread of such a meeting, had been constantly on guard, until in recent weeks the comparative tranquillity of her life had lulled her almost to a sense of security. The more unnerving, therefore, had been her experience.
As she stepped from an uptown subway entrance a few minutes before nine on Friday evening, only a sharp observer could have guessed that she was in a state of uncertainty and uneasiness bordering upon terror. There was, perhaps, a hint of forced resolution about her firmly set lips, an unusual watchfulness in the glance of her blue-gray eyes. And, as she walked briskly away from the entrance, one might have noticed that occasionally she glanced backward and across the street, pausing at times as though looking for a friend.
It was not a friend, however, for whom she was on the watch; and in her heart a growing fear conflicted with a sense of obligation. Of one fact she was certain: her danger, if already great, might soon be greater. To be observed arriving at her present destination might lead to the more dire consequences.
Accordingly, when she had crossed several intersections and arrived opposite a large apartment building where the figures 447 stood out dimly on the glass of the main entrance, she stopped, carefully regarding each of the other pedestrians within view, and waiting until each had passed out of sight. An automobile had drawn to the curb a short distance down the street, and she did not move until all of its occupants had alighted and disappeared. Then, watching her chance, she crossed the busy thoroughfare.
Entering the door numbered 447, Beatrice glanced quickly at the several bells, pressed one, received a response, and heard the clicking of the latch on the inner door. She ascended hastily to the second landing, where, in an oblong of light, a pleasant, dark-eyed woman of thirty-five stood smiling and returning her glance with quick interest.
“I’m looking for Mr. Donaldson’s suite,” Beatrice said.
“Yes. Come in. I am Mrs. Donaldson.”
Stepping over the threshold, the girl passed through a well furnished hallway to a comfortable room lined with bookshelves, where a large, rugged man of uncertain age, who was busy at a writing desk, rose instantly and welcomed her with quiet courtesy. He had a prominent chin and quick, active, light blue eyes.
“I’m very grateful for your interest, Mr. Donaldson.”
“It is I who should be grateful, Miss Ashton,” he replied.
A warm glance from Mrs. Donaldson showed that she shared her husband’s knowledge of events that had occurred at an underworld rendezvous several months earlier. She excused herself politely and left the room.
“I hope I’ll not take too much of your time,” Beatrice declared, when they were seated.
“Don’t feel troubled about that in the least,” the investigator assured her. “My first concern at present is to hear your experience. I judge from what you said over the telephone that it was a rather trying one.”
He had taken a chair near a wide, dark-curtained doorway which apparently led to another room. The curtain was fully drawn.
“It was startling — terrifying,” she answered, meeting his gaze earnestly, “although, of course, I’ve realized for weeks that sooner or later such a meeting would be likely to take place.”
“You met one of the underworld characters? One of the gangsters?”
She hesitated, then spoke a trifle timidly. “I... I’m not sure, Mr. Donaldson, how much you know about — about — past events.”
“I know nearly everything about them,” he returned frankly. “That’s why I’m grateful.”
“You’ve learned about the marked money?”
He nodded. “It was to have been planted in my pocket.”
“Then... then you know also about my assisting the gangsters?”
“I know that you did so without knowledge of what you were doing.”
She drew a deep breath, conscious of relief mingled with amazement.
“Since that evening, Miss Ashton — have you found other employment?”
“Yes. I have a position in the advertising department of King, Hadley & Company — drawing pictures for clothing advertisements. The manager has spoken of having me transferred to their big store in New York, and I’ve been hoping the change would come soon. As I said, I’ve been living rather in terror of the very meeting which took place to-night.
“Recently it has been my custom to have supper at the Lisbon Café, a very quiet, pleasant place not far from where I am rooming. I was there this evening when a man suddenly stepped to my table and sat down in the chair opposite mine. I looked up in surprise, which changed to horror when I saw who he was; and for an instant I was so frightened that I couldn’t speak at all. The man was the gang leader, Mr. McHugh.”
“You mean F. Henderson McHugh, the politician?”
“Yes. It was he who... who employed me, because of my ability to draw people’s faces from memory. Since the night when he sent me to place money in your pocket, I hadn’t seen him. I was terrified; I glanced wildly around to see how many others of his gang were in the café. And then, all at once, I noticed that Mr. McHugh’s manner didn’t appear to be menacing — he was smiling.
“He spoke to me then, asked me why I had disappeared so suddenly; and I still couldn’t find words to answer. He said, ‘You don’t think we hold it against you because you slipped on that one occasion?’
“Bitter words came to my lips when he said that, and I was on the point of denouncing him openly, regardless of consequences, but at that instant he made another remark, a bewildering one.
“ ‘Come,’ he said, ‘tell me, Miss Beatrice. You don’t think I’m so ungrateful as that — after all the fine work you had done previously?’ And then, just in one amazing instant, I realized the truth — that Mr. McHugh didn’t know I had spoiled his plans intentionally, but thought I had become confused and had made a mistake.
“How he could have failed to learn what really happened,” the girl added, “is beyond my conception! Because there was the man Foxcroft — I threatened him with a pistol — and he was one of the gang! The only possible explanation is that Foxcroft, for some reason, didn’t make a full report to McHugh; perhaps he realized that the gang’s revenge would be a dreadful one.”
Donaldson was listening intently, his face expressionless.
“Well,” she continued, “the instant I realized the true situation, I checked the remarks that I had been about to make. If Mr. Stuffy McHugh didn’t know that I had intentionally upset his scheme, I certainly didn’t want him to know! I made an excuse, explaining that I had obtained a well-paying position with a clothing firm, and that I had been afraid my error at the night club would make it impossible for me to continue as one of his secret agents.