“So,” he said, “he is terribly in
love with my wife, and he intends to marry you.
That’s—interesting. Because,
my sweet child, he’s got a damn poor chance
of marrying you, or anybody.”
“Lou!”
“Listen,” he said deliberately.
“Men who stick their heads into the lion’s
jaws are apt to lose them. Our young friend Cameron
has done that. I’ll change the figure.
When a man tries to stop a great machine by putting
his impudent fingers into the cog wheels, the man’s
a fool. He may lose his hand, or he may lose
his life.”
Fortunately for Edith he moved on that speech to the
side table, and mixed himself a highball. It
gave her a moment to summon her scattered wits, to
decide on a plan of action. Her early training
on the streets, her recent months of deceit, helped
her now. If he had expected any outburst from
her it did not come.
“If you mean that he is in danger, I don’t
believe it.”
“All right, old girl. I’ve told
you.”
But the whiskey restored his equilibrium again.
“That is,” he added slowly, “I’ve
warned you. You’d better warn him.
He’s doing his best to get into trouble.”
She knew him well, saw the craftiness come back into
his eyes, and met it with equal strategy.
“I’ll tell him,” she said, moving
toward the door. “You haven’t scared
me for a minute and you won’t scare him.
You and your machine!”
She dared not seem to hurry.
“You’re a boaster,” she said, with
the door open. “You always were.
And you’ll never lay a hand on him. You’re
like all bullies; you’re a coward!”
She was through the doorway by that time, and in terror
for fear, having told her so much, he would try to
detain her. She saw the idea come into his face,
too, just as she slipped outside. He made a
move toward her.
“I think—” he began.
She slammed the door and ran down the hallway toward
the stairs. She heard him open the door and come
out into the hall, but she was well in advance and
running like a deer.
“Edith!” he called.
She stumbled on the second flight of stairs and fell
a half-dozen steps, but she picked herself up and
ran on. At the bottom of the lower flight she
stopped and listened, but he had gone back. She
heard the slam of his door as he closed it.
But the insistent need of haste drove her on, headlong.
She shot through the lobby, past the staring telephone
girl, and into the street, and there settled down
into steady running, her elbows close to her sides,
trying to remember to breathe slowly and evenly.
She must get home somehow, get the envelope and follow
the directions inside. Her thoughts raced with
her. It was almost eleven o’clock and
Willy had been gone for hours. She tried to
pray, but the words did not come.
At something after seven o’clock that night
Willy Cameron and Pink Denslow reached that point
on the Mayville Road which had been designated by
the storekeeper, Cusick. They left the car there,
hidden in a grove, and struck off across country to
the west. Willy Cameron had been thoughtful
for some time, and as they climbed a low hill, going
with extreme caution, he said:
