She turned to the man at the desk with challenging eyes.
“Well, what’s the game?” she panted, her first doubts beginning to assail her sense of security.
“Won’t you sit down a few moments?” Thornton said, smiling at her discomfiture.
Miss Bender obeyed, then turned as if waiting for his next move.
“I think you told me your — profession was a very well paid one?” he began.
His visitor glared at him venomously and made no reply.
“Assuming that your words are true, I should think your liberty would be worth something to you.”
Miss Bender turned, her face ugly in its mask of baffled rage.
“You can turn me over to the police, but a copy of that photograph will be in Mrs. Thornton’s hands tomorrow!” she cried, furiously. “My assistant will attend to that! And what I will swear to on the witness stand will be plenty!”
Thornton smiled at her anger. Somehow he felt a curious sense of pleasure in playing with her, as a cat does before eating the mouse it has caught.
“My secretary has taken down every word that has passed between us this morning,” he resumed.
He arose and pulled aside a large picture hanging on the wall.
The woman turned and saw a dictaphone, and knew the man was not bluffing.
“You realize, I suppose, that it is within my power to—”
“Well, what’s your proposition?” the blackmailer demanded, impatiently.
Thornton reached over and pointed to the ring on, her finger. “If you consider a half-hour’s work worth five thousand dollars, wouldn’t you consider your liberty worth — that ring?”
The woman seemed dumbstruck at his words.
“Why, it’s preposterous!” she exclaimed, seething with fury.
“That’s according to the viewpoint you adopt,” Thornton replied, quietly, with a note of triumphant mockery in his voice. “I’m busy, Miss Bender, but I’ll grant you ten minutes to make your decision. Hand over that ring on your finger, and I’ll give you your freedom and make no attempt at prosecution for your attempted blackmail. Otherwise, I shall be compelled to telephone for the police.”
After a few minutes’ deliberation, the woman suddenly tore the ring from her finger and threw it angrily on his desk. An almost imperceptible sob escaped her lips.
Thornton picked up the ring and placed it in his pocket. “Before you go, Miss Bender, I want to add to your disappointment by telling you that Mrs. Thornton would gladly have given you five thousand dollars for that photograph! That dictaphone you saw behind the picture was placed there by detectives in the employ of Mrs. Thornton. She suspected that I was in love with my secretary. I pretended ignorance and allowed the instrument to remain, though I knew of its presence from the beginning. It was an easy matter to run in another wire for my stenographer yesterday, in readiness for your return.”
He pressed the button on his desk and Miss Armstrong unlocked the door and entered.
He handed her the envelope containing the photograph.
“Will you please mail that for me at once, Miss Armstrong? And register it, please?”
The girl took the package and left the office.
The woman took advantage of her opportunity and gained the safety of the outer office. She turned and glared evilly at Thornton.
“Well, Mr. Thornton, for your trickery I’ll reward you by telling you that Mrs. Thornton will receive a copy of that photograph in tomorrow morning’s mail!”
“Which won’t particularly interest her,” Thornton replied, smilingly, “as she will receive the original in this afternoon’s mail. My secretary has just mailed it to her by registered mail.”
“You mailed that to — your wife?” the woman gasped, incredulously.
“Certainly. You see, Miss Bender, a divorce is the best thing that could possibly be handed to both Mrs. Thornton and myself. Our marriage is one that was never destined to last. It has survived this long only because of lack of sufficient grounds for divorce. And I would not think of bringing any unpleasant notoriety to any lady — until you obligingly handed me what both Mrs. Thornton and myself have been seeking for months! Good day, and think you so much!”
The woman stormed out of the office, furious at the circumstances that had robbed her of the large sum she had expected and nettled at the taunting mockery in her intended victim’s voice.
A few minutes later Miss Armstrong returned. She handed her employer the postal receipt for the registered package.
“Got it off all right?” he smiled.
“Yes, it will probably be delivered this afternoon.”
“Good!” He smiled rather anxiously. He turned suddenly to the girl. “Vallance, what was it you were day dreaming over yesterday when you didn’t hear my ring for dictation?”
The girl gazed at him in smiling uncertainty for a moment, the incident not coming to her instantly.
“Oh, about the ring that woman was wearing,” she replied, laughing sheepishly.
“Well, it was one day dream that came true,” Thornton said, reaching in his vest pocket.
He withdrew his hand and placed the ring on her finger. The girl’s eyes widened in astonishment, as she stared at the sparkling stone in disbelief.
“Why, it’s just like the one that — woman wore!” she breathed in rapt admiration. “The stone is fully as large!”
“Yes, it does resemble it somewhat, doesn’t it?” Thornton smiled significantly.
The Dark Brown Dress
by Meredith Beyers
I
THIS story begins with the tale one Henry Grover told Meroe before seven in the morning, after I had ushered him into the room. We had never seen him before.
He was bald, with the exception of a curious and rather ugly strip of black hair at the back of his head. His eyebrows were heavy and black, and above the left one there was a mole with a long hair growing out of it which seemed to bother the eye beneath. He tilted back his head to gaze at us from under half-lowered lids which seemed too heavy to raise themselves. His face was smooth and molded with odd lines about the mouth.
“I have a room on the sixth floor of the Buckminster, facing south,” he said. “My desk makes an angle with the window, and I sit so the light comes from the left and a little behind. By slightly turning my head, I can see the face of the Claridge across the rather narrow street.
“Now you must have observed, Mr. Meroe, that it is unpleasant to be stared at; that there is something distressingly tangible about it even when you are not aware of the owner or the location of the eyes which are staring at you. This feeling came to me yesterday afternoon. I looked hastily about the room. My door was closed and I was alone. I looked out of the window. Opposite stretched the windows of the sixth floor of the Claridge. Every ten yards was a set of bay windows. Not directly opposite, but just three or four windows to the right, was the third of these sets.
“There I glanced, instinctively, and rather furtively trying to conceal the fact. In the side window was the back of a settee. Beyond this I saw a rather stout and elderly woman with slightly gray hair and a dark brown dress sitting motionless in a rocking chair and staring at me.
“This annoyed me so that I resolved to outstare her. I turned my chair slightly and directed a defiant glare which I held for perhaps thirty seconds before I discovered that she had not been looking at me at all. She took absolutely no notice of my action.
“Laughing at myself, I attempted once more to resume my writing, but again felt the irresistible impulse to turn my eyes... Still the steady stare. Then for the first time I noticed something just above the back of the left end of the settee. It was the head of a man. The confused reflections at that part of the window had prevented me from distinguishing him before. Of course! I thought to myself. The man was undoubtedly talking to her, and she was listening very attentively. But my train of thoughts had been wrecked and work was useless, so I put on my hat and went out for a walk.