Mary dismissed Garson presently, and betook herself to her bedroom for a nap.The day had been a trying one, and, though her superb health could endure much, she felt that both prudence and comfort required that she should recruit her energies while there was opportunity.She was not in the least surprised that **** had not yet returned, though he had mentioned half an hour.
At the best, there were many things that might detain him, his father's absence from the office, difficulties in ****** arrangements for his projected honeymoon trip abroad--which would never occur--or the like.At the worst, there was a chance of finding his father promptly, and of that father as promptly taking steps to prevent the son from ever again seeing the woman who had so indiscreetly married him.Yet, somehow, Mary could not believe that her husband would yield to such paternal coercion.Rather, she was sure that he would prove loyal to her whom he loved, through every trouble.At the thought a certain wistfulness pervaded her, and a poignant regret that this particular man should have been the one chosen of fate to be entangled within her mesh of revenge.There throbbed in her a heart-tormenting realization that there were in life possibilities infinitely more splendid than the joy of vengeance.
She would not confess the truth even to her inmost soul, but the truth was there, and set her a-tremble with vague fears.
Nevertheless, because she was in perfect health, and was much fatigued, her introspection did not avail to keep her awake, and within three minutes from the time she lay down she was blissfully unconscious of all things, both the evil and the good, revenge and love.
She had slept, perhaps, a half-hour, when Fannie awakened her.
"It's a man named Burke," she explained, as her mistress lay blinking."And there's another man with him.They said they must see you."By this time, Mary was wide-awake, for the name of Burke, the Police Inspector, was enough to startle her out of drowsiness.
"Bring them in, in five minutes," she directed.
She got up, slipped into a tea-gown, bathed her eyes in cologne, dressed her hair a little, and went into the drawing-room, where the two men had been waiting for something more than a quarter of an hour--to the violent indignation of both.
"Oh, here you are, at last!" the big, burly man cried as she entered.The whole air of him, though he was in civilian's clothes, proclaimed the policeman.
"Yes, Inspector," Mary replied pleasantly, as she advanced into the room.She gave a glance toward the other visitor, who was of a slenderer form, with a thin, keen face, and recognized him instantly as Demarest, who had taken part against her as the lawyer for the store at the time of her trial, and who was now holding the office of District Attorney.She went to the chair at the desk, and seated herself in a leisurely fashion that increased the indignation of the fuming Inspector.She did not trouble to ask her self-invited guests to sit.
"To whom do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Inspector?" she remarked coolly.It was noticeable that she said whom and not what, as if she understood perfectly that the influence of some person brought him on this errand.
"I have come to have a few quiet words with you," the Inspector declared, in a mighty voice that set the globes of the chandeliers a-quiver.Mary disregarded him, and turned to the other man.
"How do you do, Mr.Demarest?" she said, evenly."It's four years since we met, and they've made you District Attorney since then.Allow me to congratulate you."Demarest's keen face took on an expression of perplexity.
"I'm puzzled," he confessed."There is something familiar, somehow, about you, and yet----" He scrutinized appreciatively the loveliness of the girl with her classically beautiful face, that was still individual in its charm, the slim graces of the tall, lissome form."I should have remembered you.I don't understand it.""Can't you guess?" Mary questioned, somberly."Search your memory, Mr.Demarest."Of a sudden, the face of the District Attorney lightened.
"Why," he exclaimed, "you are--it can't be--yes--you are the girl, you're the Mary Turner whom I--oh, I know you now."There was an enigmatic smile bending the scarlet lips as she answered.
"I'm the girl you mean, Mr.Demarest, but, for the rest, you don't know me--not at all!"The burly figure of the Inspector of Police, which had loomed motionless during this colloquy, now advanced a step, and the big voice boomed threatening.It was very rough and weighted with authority.
"Young woman," Burke said, peremptorily, "the Twentieth Century Limited leaves Grand Central Station at four o'clock.It arrives in Chicago at eight-fifty-five to-morrow morning." He pulled a massive gold watch from his waistcoat pocket, glanced at it, thrust it back, and concluded ponderously: "You will just about have time to catch that train."Mary regarded the stockily built officer with a half-amused contempt, which she was at no pains to conceal.
"Working for the New York Central now?" she asked blandly.
The gibe made the Inspector furious.
"I'm working for the good of New York City," he answered venomously.
Mary let a ripple of cadenced laughter escape her.
"Since when?" she questioned.
A little smile twisted the lips of the District Attorney, but he caught himself quickly, and spoke with stern gravity.
"Miss Turner, I think you will find that a different tone will serve you better.""Oh, let her talk," Burke interjected angrily."She's only got a few minutes anyway."Mary remained unperturbed.
"Very well, then," she said genially, "let us be comfortable during that little period." She made a gesture of invitation toward chairs, which Burke disdained to accept; but Demarest seated himself.
"You'd better be packing your trunk," the Inspector rumbled.
