“He’s surely round somewhere,” said Dougherty to Dumain as they met in the lobby one morning. “In fact, I know he’s in town, because he’s still got that room on Thirty-fourth Street. But I can’t get in, and I can’t get him either going or coming.”
The little Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and glanced across the lobby where Lila sat at her desk talking to a man who had just approached — probably a customer.
“Bah! Let heem alone. So long as he ees not bother Mees Williams that ees all we want.”
“It’s not all I want,” said Dougherty. “I want to punch his face, and I will. He’s a low-down, dirty—”
He was interrupted by a calclass="underline"
“Mr. Dumain!”
The voice was Lila’s. They turned. She was standing in front of her desk, her face very white, holding in her hand a sheet of printed paper. Dumain hurried over to her, gave one look at the paper which she thrust at him with a trembling hand, and called to Dougherty.
The ex-prizefighter crossed the lobby:
“What is it?”
“Look!” Dumain held the paper before him. “A what you call eet — subpoena — for Mees Williams! Mon Dieu! Eet is all up!”
“Shut up,” growled Dougherty, taking the subpoena. “Do you want the whole lobby to know about it? You get excited too easy.”
“But what am I to do?” faltered Lila.
“Be a sport. Don’t let ’em floor you with a little thing like this. They want you for a witness, do they? It’s a good job. I’d advise you to take it.”
Lila gazed at him, amazed at his levity concerning what appeared to her to be the destruction of all their plans.
Dougherty read over the subpoena with a smile.
“The fact is,” said he, “that I’m surprised they didn’t spring this before. I’ve expected it all the time.
“Sherman knew all about your being at Knowlton’s rooms — he told me and Dumain — and what’s more, he told us that he’d told the Secret Service about you. Now, why did they hold off so long? That’s the only part don’t like.”
“But what am I to do?” Lila repeated.
“There’s only one thing you can do — go on the stand.”
“But Mr. Dougherty! Don’t you see? They will ask me about that night, and about the — the money. And he will be convicted.”
Dougherty appeared to be greatly surprised.
“And how so? Let ’em question you from now till doomsday and what will they find out? Simply that you went straight home from the hotel and spent the evening in your room reading Pilgrim’s Progress. The only one they’ll have against you is Sherman, and if a jury wouldn’t rather believe you than him I’m a liar.”
Still Lila did not understand. She protested:
“But I didn’t spend the evening in my room.”
“Don’t you think I know it? I’m talking about evidence, not facts. As far as the jury’s concerned you did.”
Lila gazed at him in horror.
“Do you mean I’d have to lie?”
“Well, that’s a pretty strong word,” said Dougherty, “but you can call it that if you want to.”
“But I couldn’t — I couldn’t!”
“You’ll have to.”
Lila looked at him:
“No. I know I couldn’t. If I am a witness, and they ask me about — that evening, I couldn’t tell them anything but the truth.”
It was the tone rather than the words that caused Dougherty to force back the protest that came to his lips and convinced him of its uselessness.
Here was an obstacle, indeed! And utterly unexpected. Dougherty was not up on feminine psychology, and he couldn’t understand how a girl could do for a man what Lila had done on the night of Knowlton’s arrest, and then refuse to lie for him.
“Besides, it would be useless,” Lila was saying. “I think it was Mr. Sherman who saw me, but it may not have been. Some of the others may have seen me also. And now I remember: the man they left in the room did see me as I passed the door. He might not recognize me, but how can we know? And if he did—”
“All right,” Dougherty interrupted; “then there’s no use talking about it. We’re in a he — we’re in a mess; but we’ll find a way out, somehow. Dumain, find Driscoll and Booth. I’ll get Jennings. Leave it to us, Miss Williams. Don’t you worry about that thing” — pointing to the subpoena — “for a minute. Hurry up, Dumain!”
And ten minutes later the Erring Knights, five strong, were assembled in their corner, holding a council of war over this new and dangerous complication.
Booth was ready to throw up the sponge.
“What’s the use?” he demanded. “They’ve got him fifty ways from breakfast. And this thing finishes it. If Miss Williams goes on the stand and tells what she knows, he doesn’t stand a chance.”
“You don’t say!” observed Dougherty ironically. “What’s the matter — cold feet? And what do you think we’re here for? It’s up to us to fix it so that she don’t go on the stand.”
“Tell me one thing,” said Driscoll. “Why haven’t they arrested her?”
“Easy enough.” This from Jennings. “Because if they did they couldn’t force her to testify against Knowlton, and they couldn’t force Knowlton to testify against her. They figure that one is better than none.”
“Come on, boys; talk business.” Dougherty pulled Jennings down on the lounge and glared at Booth. “We have enough trouble as it is, without trying to figure out why we haven’t got more.”
But their wits refused to work. No one had anything to suggest that was worth listening to, unless it was Driscoll, who was strongly in favor of avoiding the subpoena by the simple expedient of running away from it.
“The trial is only four days off,” said he. “Convey Miss Williams to some safe and sheltered spot till it’s over, and let Knowlton join her there.”
“But then there’d be a warrant out for her for contempt,” Jennings objected.
“Well, you can’t have everything,” retorted Driscoll.
Dougherty told them to wait a moment and crossed the lobby to Lila’s desk. Soon he returned, shaking his head negatively.
“She won’t do it,” he announced.
“She’s darned particular,” growled Booth. “What will she do?”
But the ex-prizefighter stood up for Lila:
“No, you can’t blame her. She looks at it different from us. We’ll have to think up something else.”
There was a silence. Driscoll lighted a cigarette, offering one to each of the others, and soon the corner was decorated with spirals of smoke. Finally Dumain spoke, for the first time.
“I tell you,” said he, “as soon as you feenish this foolishness, what I will do. You know nozzing. I weel ask Siegel.”
“And what can he do?” demanded Driscoll. “He’ll want to fix up an alibi for her, and she won’t stand for it, and then he’ll try to bully her.”
But the others signified their approval of Dumain’s suggestion, especially Dougherty, and the little Frenchman was soon on his way downtown to the attorney’s office, while Dougherty left for his daily visit to the Tombs.
Driscoll strolled over to Lila’s desk and told her that Dumain had gone to consult their lawyer.
“But he cannot help us,” she faltered. “There is nothing I can do, is there, Mr. Driscoll? Tell me.”
“You can keep up your courage,” returned the young man. “As Tom would say, be a sport. And this Siegel is a shrewd man; he’ll get us through safely, never fear. Dumain ought to be back before noon.”
But Lila was completely terrified, and refused to be reassured. The formal phraseology of the subpoena had impressed her with the power of the law; it seemed to her to smell of courts and prisons; and her woman’s mind was affected more by the document itself than by the very real danger it threatened.