Knowlton walked over to him in a secluded corner of the lobby.
“I want to talk to you,” said Dumain.
“Fire away!” said Knowlton.
“It is about zee roses.”
“Roses?”
“Yes. Zee roses you gave to Miss Williams.”
“What about them?”
Dumain pointed toward Lila’s desk.
“You see. Zee vase is empty.”
“Why, so it is,” said Knowlton. “I wonder — that’s funny.”
“Very funny.” said Dumain sarcastically. “Now, where are they?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do you mean to say you don’t know?”
“I don’t know.”
Dumain eyed him incredulously.
“Well, zen, I tell you,” he said finally. “Miss Williams took zem home.”
Knowlton seemed surprised.
“Miss Williams took them home?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“Well, they are hers, aren’t they? Hasn’t she a right to do as she pleases with them? Why do you trouble me about it?”
“Because she pay zat compliment to no one but you,” said Dumain impressively.
“What? How — only to me?”
“She never take any roses home but yours. She does it now for — oh, a month. And what does zat mean? It means you’re a traitor. It means you’ve deceived us. It means you are trying to make zee impression on Mees Williams, and I am afraid you succeed.”
Knowlton appeared to be touched. His face colored, and he seemed to be at a loss for words. Was it possible that this evidence of an interest in him on the part of Miss Williams found a corresponding thrill in his own breast?
Suddenly he smiled — a smile of genuine amusement.
“Dumain,” he said, “you fellows are the limit. You’re not only amusing — you’re extremely dense. I would be very happy indeed if I could believe that Miss Williams had singled me out for the distinction you mention; but the real cause of her seeming preference is only too evident.”
“Well?”
“Every evening,” Knowlton continued, “Miss Williams’s roses are left to adorn the lobby of this hotel. It is by her order, as you know. But as she is at home on Sunday she wants them on that day for herself.
“So every Saturday evening she takes them home. That must be the correct explanation. She can’t even know that I bought them.”
Dumain’s little round face was filled with light.
“Of course!” he exclaimed. “What an ass am I! Forgive me, Knowlton. Zen she doesn’t care for you?”
“I’m afraid not.” Knowlton smiled. But the smile was not an easy one.
“And you haven’t been trying to—”
“My good fellow,” Knowlton interrupted him, “as long as I am an Erring Knight I shall act only in the role of protector.”
At that moment Driscoll approached and the interview was ended. Knowlton wandered over to the cigar stand, bought a packet of cigarettes, and, lighting one, transferred the remainder to a silver-mounted leather case. Then strolling past Lila’s desk with a nod, he stopped in front of the lounge in the corner and exchanged the time of day with Harry Jennings and Billy Sherman.
After a few minutes of desultory conversation with Jennings, during which Sherman sat noticeably silent, Knowlton, glancing at his watch and observing that he had an engagement, left the lobby of the hotel, and started up Broadway.
He had no sooner disappeared man Sherman sprang up from the lounge, left by the side door, and followed him some twenty paces in the rear.
Broadway was crowded and Sherman was forced to keep close to his quarry in order not to lose sight of him. Knowlton walked with a swinging, athletic stride, looking neither to right nor left — ordinarily the gait of a man who has nothing to fear and nothing to be ashamed of. Now and then the pressure of the crowd caused him to make a detour, and Sherman dodged in and out behind him.
At Madison Square Knowlton stopped abruptly and looked first to one side, then the other. On account of the congested traffic at that point the action was perfectly natural, and Sherman, who had darted quickly behind a standing cab, was convinced that he had not been seen. After a short wait Knowlton stepped off the curb, crossed the square, and proceeded up Broadway.
At Twenty-eighth Street he turned suddenly and disappeared through the swinging doors of a café.
Sherman approached, and halted a foot from the door.
“Now,” he muttered, “if I only dared go in! I’d give a ten-spot to know who he’s with in there. That would settle it. But they’ll probably come out together, anyway.” He retired to a doorway nearby and waited.
In a few minutes Knowlton emerged alone. Sherman, cursing under his breath, hesitated and appeared ready to give it up; then, with a gesture of decision, he resumed the chase with an air of determined resolve. Knowlton had quickened his step, and Sherman had to move swiftly to overtake him.
At Thirtieth Street Knowlton turned westward. At once the pursuer’s task became more difficult. There was no crowd of pedestrians here, as on Broadway, and there was imminent danger of discovery. Twice when Knowlton halted he was forced to dodge aside into a doorway.
At Sixth Avenue Sherman found his passage obstructed by a passing cab. It was empty. Struck by a sudden thought, he sprang inside and, thinking thus to lessen the chances of detection, pointed to Knowlton and instructed the driver to follow him.
The driver grinned, wheeled his cab sharply, and turned down Thirtieth Street.
They crossed Seventh Avenue and Eighth, past rows of five-story apartment houses, with their narrow brass-railed stoops and air of dingy respectability. Straight ahead at a distance the Hudson could be seen shimmering in the light of the winter sun; from the rear came the sounding rumble and rattle of an Elevated train above the low, never-ceasing hum of the great city.
Knowlton continued his rapid stride to Ninth Avenue, and beyond, while the cab followed cautiously. Then suddenly he turned in at the entrance of one of a row of apartment houses. By the time the cab approached he had disappeared within.
Sherman ordered the driver to halt in front of the entrance, while a look of disappointment and chagrin covered his face. “Well, I’ll be hanged,” he said finally. “I thought sure I had him this time. And here he comes home to take a nap!”
He sat undecided in a corner of the cab.
“Hello, Sherman!” came a voice from above.
Sherman, startled, leaned out through the cab door and looked up. Knowlton was leaning out of an open window on the second story of the apartment house he had entered, looking down with an amused grin.
“Won’t you come up and have some tea?” he sang out pleasantly.
Sherman’s face colored with rage.
“No, thank you, Mr. John Norton,” he called. Then he turned and shouted at the driver to go on, while his brain whirled with the thousand wild schemes of a baffled and enraged man.
He, too, had noticed Lila’s preference for Knowlton. And he understood it, as Dumain did not; for the eyes of love are keen. He saw the uselessness of trying to combat that preference, for he recognized Knowlton’s superiority; but he hoped to acquire the power to force Knowlton to remove himself.
He believed that he possessed the key to that power, and he had sought in many ways to verify his suspicions, but so far without success. He had begun by attempting a bluff. But Knowlton had called it, and it had failed.
He had started a correspondence with friends in Warton. The information he obtained from them encouraged him; his suspicions were strengthened, but not confirmed. And he required evidence.
Then he had shadowed Knowlton, and seemed ever on the verge of a discovery. But the proof he sought, though ever within his grasp, forever eluded him. He was at last almost persuaded to give it up as hopeless.