“A little off-color?” said Miss Hughes, setting the box in front of him on the counter.
“Best you’ve got?” Dougherty grunted, selecting a cigar.
“Oh, I meant you!” she grinned. “The cigars are all right. You look like you’d been playing the title role at a leather wedding.”
“Huh!” Dougherty grunted.
“Let heem alone,” Dumain smiled. “He has zee temperament. He ees veree dangerous.”
This awakened Dougherty.
“Shut up!” he exploded. “When I’m like I am now I’m bad.”
Whereupon Dumain giggled and Jennings roared. Dougherty started for them, and they retreated to the leather lounge in the corner.
Soon Driscoll arrived, and, finding Dougherty gazing moodily out of the window, took him over to join the others, stopping on the way to say good morning to Lila.
“Pipe the gown!” said Dougherty, with a backward motion of the head as they halted in front of Dumain and Jennings.
“Where?”
“Miss Williams. She’s lit up like a cathedral. You know what that means.”
The others protested ignorance, and he went on to explain:
“She’s expecting Knowlton. Don’t tell me. I can see it. And if that guy comes around here today I’ll act up. Believe me, he’s through.”
That started them. The word “Knowlton” was enough. When Booth entered ten minutes later he found Dougherty holding his own valiantly against Dumain, Driscoll, and Jennings.
Booth brought fuel for the flame. His first words were: “I saw Knowlton last night.” Then, seeing that he had their attention, he added: “With Miss Williams.”
They stared at him and demanded particulars.
“It was by accident,” he went on. “A friend of mine said he had tickets to a show, and asked me to go. I went. Great jumping frogs! He said it was a show. Well, it was in a hall — the hall was all right — on Forty-second Street.
“Four little dagoes came out with violins. For two solid hours they sat there, looking kinda sick. What did they play? Search me. It sounded like a—”
“But what about Knowlton?”
“Oh, yes! Well, when I went in who did I see two rows ahead? Mr. John Knowlton and Miss Lila Williams, side by side. When the dagoes pulled off anything particularly awful they’d turn and look at each other as much as to say: ‘I heard that tune the last time I was in Heaven.’ And he called it a show!”
“That proves I was right,” said Dougherty, rising to his feet and glaring down at Dumain. “He’s been going up to her house maybe every night, and we’ve been sitting here like boobs. Just because he came to the hotel only once a month you thought that was all he saw her. And here he’s been — Do what you please. I’m going to get him.”
Dumain and Driscoll were genuinely shocked. They had really thought that Knowlton had not seen Lila except the few times he had called at the hotel; Booth’s tale was a revelation. Besides, they had already begun to weaken in their support of Knowlton. And perhaps now they were too late.
“Where’s Sherman?” Dougherty was saying. “I can count on him.”
“And us,” chorused the others.
“Wait a minute,” said Dumain. “I tell you. We owe something to her. Well, I go and ask her — never mind what I ask her. Anyway, you wait. Eet weel take me only a minute. Go to zee billiard room.”
“That’s nonsense,” Dougherty protested.
But the others persuaded him that Dumain was right and led him off to the billiard room, while the little Frenchman took his courage between his teeth and crossed to Lila’s desk.
Lila was indeed, as Dougherty had expressed it, “lit up.” She wore a dress of very soft and very dark brown, relieved at the cuffs and throat and down the front of the waist by bits of cream lace.
Her eyes glowed, too, and her lips were parted as though in happy expectancy. It will be remembered that at twelve o’clock she was to lunch with Knowlton.
As Dumain approached her desk she looked up and smiled brightly.
“You are veree chic,” said Dumain, surveying her with admiration.
“What is French for ‘blarney’?” Lila demanded.
“No,” said Dumain; “really, you are.” Then: “Were you at home last night?” he blurted out.
Lila showed her surprise at the question, answering:
“Why — no. I attended a concert.”
Then Dumain plunged in.
“I know,” he said. “Wiz zat Knowlton.”
Lila was silent. It had been many days since they had spoken to her of Knowlton.
“Were you not?” Dumain demanded.
She said: “Yes.”
The little Frenchman continued:
“You must excuse me eef I speak frankly. Long ago we said he was not good, yet you continue to see heem. Dear lady, do you not theenk we know? Eet ees for you we care.”
“But why?” Lila demanded. “You know, Mr. Dumain, if anyone else spoke to me like this I should be angry. But I know you mean to be kind, and I cannot offend you. But I must if you speak this way about Mr. Knowlton. He, too, is my friend.”
“Only zat?” Dumain demanded.
“Only — what do you mean?”
“Only a friend?”
“What — what else should he be?”
“Mon Dieu!” Dumain exploded, angry at what he thought her assumption of ignorance. “What else? What do you theenk a man like Knowlton wants with a prettee girl like you? Friendship! Ha! Zee kind of friendship zat—”
But the sight of Lila’s pale cheeks and flashing eyes stopped him. She did not speak, nor was it necessary. Dumain withstood the fire of her glance for a short second, then fled precipitately.
He found the others waiting for him in the billiard room, which at this early hour — eleven o’clock — was empty. They gathered around him, demanding an account of his success.
“Zee only theeng to do,” said Dumain, “ees to finish Knowlton. She ees veree angry. For two months I have thought it best to wait, and now — she loves heem. Eet ees een her eyes. He ees one big scoundrel!”
“That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say for a long time,” observed Dougherty.
“I guess I’m with you,” said Driscoll.
“I’m on,” came from Jennings.
“What did she say?” asked Booth.
“Nozzing,” said Dumain. “She just looked. Eet made a hole through me. Eet ees no good to talk to her.”
At that moment Sherman entered the billiard room.
“No need to convert you,” shouted Jennings, hailing him.
“What’s that?” asked Sherman, stopping beside the group.
“Why, about Knowlton. We’ve decided to fix him. He was with Miss Williams last night.”
“Do you call that news?” asked Sherman scornfully.
“Why, how did you know?”
“I saw them. Do you think because you’re blind everyone else is? Also, he was with her Wednesday night and Monday.”
“Where?” Dougherty demanded.
“Never mind where. Anyway, they were together. I suppose you’re ready to listen to me now,” Sherman sneered. “After I’ve done all the work and set the trap for him, you’re quite willing to spring it.”
“Don’t get heady,” Dougherty advised. “What is this trap stuff? And what do you mean by ‘work’? If you were so Johnnie Wise, why didn’t you put us next?”
“And have Dumain or Driscoll running off to slip the information to Mr. Knowlton?” sneered Sherman. “Hardly. I’m not that kind. At last I’ve got Knowlton where I want him. I’ll make him look like a monkey — all I’ve got to do is pull the string. You guys that love him so much had better hurry around and tell him good-by.” As he said this last, Sherman, glancing keenly around, could observe no sign of sympathy or pity for Knowlton on the faces that were eagerly surrounding him.