Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was six o’clock. The cab which he had ordered would arrive in three-quarters of an hour.
The early winter night had long since fallen; the room was dark. He sat down on the trunk to wait.
In the meantime Lila had spent a long and weary afternoon at her desk in the Lamartine.
When she had seen Knowlton, after he had left her for a moment to speak with Dougherty, turn and leave the lobby without so much as looking in her direction, she had been overcome with amazement.
That he, of all men, should be thus openly discourteous, was unbelievable. Well, she thought, of course he would soon return, and when they were at lunch together—
But as the minutes passed by with no sign of his return she grew uneasy. Was it possible he had forgotten his engagement with her? For that he could have deliberately disregarded it was impossible.
Could his conversation with Dougherty have had anything to do with it? She wondered what the ex-prizefighter had said to him; for she knew that Knowlton had scorned the threats of the Erring Knights.
The minutes flew; a half-hour passed. She told herself that she would wait five minutes more, and then if he had not come, go without him. The five minutes passed, it seemed, as so many seconds; she decided to wait five more. She was glad that Dougherty was not to be seen; she knew that she would have been unable to refrain from asking him to explain.
At one o’clock she forced herself to go.
When she returned from lunch she half expected to find Knowlton in the lobby, and, not seeing him, she burned to ask Miss Hughes or the hotel clerk if he had been there. But she could not bring herself to it, and she proceeded to her desk with a heavy heart.
She was mortified and half angry; but above all, she was uneasy. She told herself that Knowlton would never have thus humiliated her but for some cogent and powerful reason, and she could imagine none, unless—
When Dougherty entered the lobby and joined Dumain and Driscoll in the corner Lila kept herself from calling to him only by an extreme exertion of the will. And, after all, she thought, it might all amount to a mere nothing that could easily be explained and forgiven by a word.
The afternoon dragged slowly by.
You may be sure Dougherty had lost no time in telling the others of his success with Knowlton. They were in high glee.
“But weel he keep zee promise about Mees Williams?” said Dumain.
“As well as you would, my friend.” Dougherty was in ill humor. “I’d like to hear you ask him that.”
“And now, thank the Lord, we’re rid of him,” said Driscoll in a tone of finality.
It voiced the general feeling and it was supposed to be Knowlton’s epitaph.
They wandered into the billiard room — it was the middle of the afternoon — and began a four-handed game; Driscoll and Booth against Jennings and Dougherty.
Sherman had not been seen since he had left earlier in the day. Dumain, barred from the game on account of his superior skill, took a chair nearby and after each miss explained to the player how easy the shot would have been for him.
But Dumain’s mind was only half on the billiard game.
With all due respect to a great people, the fact remains that Frenchmen are as a rule “gabby” little fellows, and Dumain was a true son of his country. They can talk about anything, and at all times with pleasure, and when they really have something to say and somebody to say it to, silence becomes for them a positive pain.
Thus it was that Dumain squirmed in his chair.
Not fifty feet away Lila was seated at her desk, and how he longed to tell her of Knowlton!
The reason he did not run to her at once with the news may be summed up in one word: Dougherty. He knew that the ex-prizefighter would not approve, and he was half afraid of him. Dumain was a little man.
The billiard game lasted until five o’clock, when Booth suddenly ended it by announcing that he had to see a customer and departed in haste.
“That’s what comes of having a job,” said Dougherty in disgust, as they wandered into the lobby. “How anybody can be a typewriter salesman I don’t understand. Why can’t he live like a gentleman?”
This seemed to be an unanswerable question, as no one responded. They strolled up and down the lobby, then over to the leather lounge and loafed and smoked like gentlemen. Dumain kept one eye — an eye of impatience — on Lila.
At a quarter to six Jennings and Driscoll rose and announced that it was time for them to depart. They were due at the theater at seven-thirty, and they had yet to dine.
“Where are you going?” Dougherty demanded.
They replied that they intended to eat at Tony’s and invited him and Dumain to accompany them.
“Eet ees too early for me,” said the little Frenchman.
Dougherty hesitated, giving the matter due consideration, and finally decided to accept. They left Dumain alone in the corner. He watched them through the window till they had disappeared up Broadway, then turned quickly. Now was his chance.
Lila, with her hat and coat on, was arranging her desk, preparing to go home. At Dumain’s approach she looked up quickly. Her face wore a tired and listless expression that caused the little Frenchman to hesitate. But only for a moment; then he said:
“So your friend deed not even stop to say good-by! You see I was right about heem. Of course you could not know — but when we told you! And now you see.”
Lila looked at him.
“What are you talking about?” she said shortly.
Dumain was undisturbed:
“I mean zat Knowlton — you know eet. Bah! Deed you not see heem run like a dog wiz hees tail between hees feet? Do you know why? We found out about heem. He ees what you call eet a counterfeiter. And when we tell heem he runs.”
Lila had clenched her fists on the desk before her and was leaning on them heavily.
“That is not true,” she said calmly.
Ignoring her, Dumain went on:
“We made heem to leave New York today. Most probable he ees already gone. Perhaps now you will admit I know something when I tol’ you two, three months ago about zis Knowlton? Bah! You were veree angry. You said I am impertinent.” He nodded his head sagely: “I am wise.”
Lila’s face was very white. But her voice, though little above a whisper, was fairly under control as she said:
“You say Mr. Knowlton is going away?”
Dumain said “Yes,” while his eyes gleamed with satisfaction at the impression he was making.
“Has he gone?”
Dumain supposed so, but wasn’t sure.
Lila straightened herself firmly and a new light appeared in her eyes, of resolve, while she calmly buttoned her coat.
“I thought you ought to know about eet,” said Dumain a trifle lamely.
Lila appeared to be little moved. She made no comment on Dumain’s observation, but thanked him and turned to go, leaving him staring at her in profound amazement.
“Zee devil!” he ejaculated, snapping his fingers. “She cares not zat much!”
But once outside the lobby Lila’s courage forsook her. She grasped at a railing and seemed about to fall.
Then, pressing her lips together tightly and forcing back the tears that sought to blind her, she started up Broadway at a walk that was almost a run. She stopped suddenly. Should she call a cab? But, no, she felt it would be impossible to sit still. Again she started forward.
Darkness had fallen nearly an hour before, and the yellow glare of Broadway lighted her steps. The lull following the close of business and preceding the theater hour was evidenced by the quietness of the street; and the few pedestrians to be seen were hurrying to get home to a late dinner.
But Lila was aware of nothing save a fearful anxiety. Would she be too late? Would she find him gone — forever?