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Keith of the Border

R >> Randall Parrish >> Keith of the Border




"Is there anything strange in that out here?" she asked stoutly. "I told
you how deeply he regretted his life; that alone would be sufficient cause
for him to drop his family name. Did you ever learn his true name?"

He was not sure--only as Neb had reported what Waite had called the man,
yet ventured a direct reply.

"Bartlett, I believe--he uses it now as a prefix."

"Bartlett!--Bartlett!" her hands clasping, and unclasping nervously. "Why,
what a strange coincidence!"

"How? What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing--nothing," biting her lips in vexation. "The name merely
recalled something. But really I must go, Mr. Keith, or I shall be late at
the theatre. You have not attended since I came?"

"No," arising from the table with her. "However, I have heard you sing
before, and hope I may again."

"How tenderly you dwell on that word 'hope,'" she said banteringly, "it
almost makes me envious."

"Your resemblance almost makes me forget."

"But not quite?"

"No, not quite," he confessed, smiling back into her quizzing eyes.

They went out into the hall together, only to meet with Doctor Fairbain at
the door. The latter stared at the two with some embarrassment, for a
moment forgetful of his purpose. His gaze settled on the face of the lady.

"Always getting you two mixed," he blurted forth. "Never saw such
resemblance--positively uncanny--same hotel too means trouble--this Miss
Waite?"

"No, Doctor; I am Miss Maclaire."

"Ought to have known it--if I knew as much about faces as I do about
anatomy never would make such mistake--very sorry--what fooled me was
seeing you with Keith--thought he was after the other one--gay dog though
--never satisfied--was hunting after you."

"After me?" evidently amused.

"Certainly--you--went to the room--then to the clerk--said you were in at
supper--just occurred to me streets here bad at night--thought I'd ask you
to let me escort you to theatre and back--a bit of lunch later--" he
glanced suspiciously at Keith--"probably got here too late."

"Well really you have, Doctor," she replied sweetly, veiling her eyes to
hide their laughter. "But I can assure you it is not Mr. Keith,"
courtesying slightly to the latter, "for he has not honored me; we merely
met by chance at the table. I am sure I should enjoy your company
exceedingly, but to-night I must plead a previous engagement."

"Ah--ah, some other night?"

"With pleasure, yes."

The doctor faded away into the office, not wholly satisfied because Keith
still lingered. Miss Christie extended her hand.

"Isn't he a funny man? But I do like him--someway I like so many people
whom perhaps I ought not, including you, Mr. Jack Keith. Please think over
what I told you about Mr. Hawley, won't you?"

"Certainly; you have given me food for thought. I presume he is to be your
escort?"

She bowed, evidently resenting the question.

"Yes, and it may interest you to know that he has something of the utmost
importance to tell me to-night--he has actually seen my guardian. Don't
you wish you could be there?"

She gave him a tantalizing smile, withdrawing her hand, and running up the
stairs before he could answer. Over the railing of the landing she glanced
down, and then disappeared.




Chapter XXVII

Miss Hope Suggests



No sooner had Miss Maclaire vanished than Keith's thoughts turned toward
Hope Waite. She would need someone in her loneliness to take her mind from
off her brother's death, and, besides, much had occurred of interest since
the funeral, which he desired to talk over with her. Beyond even these
considerations he was becoming aware of a pleasure in the girl's company
altogether foreign to this mystery which they were endeavoring together to
solve. He yearned to be with her, to look into her face, to mark how
clearly the differing soul changed her from Christie Maclaire. He could
not help but like the latter, yet somehow was conscious of totally
different atmospheres surrounding the two. With one he could be flippant,
careless, even deceitful, but the other aroused only the best that was in
him, her own sincerity making him sincere.

Yet there was reluctance in his steps as he approached the door of "15," a
laggardness he could not explain, but which vanished swiftly enough at
Hope's greeting, and the sudden smile with which she recognized him.

"I was sure you would come," she declared frankly, "and I took an early
lunch so as to be certain and be here. It has seemed a long time since."

"And you might have even thought I had forgotten," he answered, releasing
her hand reluctantly, "if you could have looked into the dining-room
since, instead of staring out of these windows."

"Why? How forgotten?" her eyes opening wide in surprise.

"I had the pleasure of taking supper with Miss Maclaire."

"Oh!" the exclamation decidedly expressive.

"Yes, I come at once to you with the confession. However, our meeting was
purely accidental, and so I hope for pardon."

"Pardon from me? Why, what difference can it possibly make to me?"

"Would you have me consort with the enemy?" he asked, scarcely daring to
press his deeper meaning.

"Oh, no, of course not. What did you talk about? Do you mind telling?"

"Not in the least; our conversation was entirely impersonal. She was
telling me about Hawley; what a wonderfully good man he is. I have begun
to suspect the fellow has fascinated the poor girl--he is a good looking
devil, possessed of a tongue dripping with honey."

"Surely you do not mean she has fallen in love with him," and Hope
shuddered at the thought. "Why--why that would be impossible for--for a
good woman."

"Standards of morality are not always the same," he defended gravely.
"Miss Maclaire's environment has been vastly different from yours, Hope.
She is a variety hall singer; probably, from her own account, a waif since
childhood; and Hawley has come to her in the character of a friend,
appealing both to her interest and sympathy. I do not know she is in love
with him, I merely suspect she may be; certainly she is ready to do battle
on his behalf at the slightest opportunity. She believes in him, defends
him, and resents the slightest insinuation directed against him. He even
escorts her back and forth from her work."

"You know this?"

"I certainly do," and he laughed at the recollection. "Fairbain met us
coming out of the dining-room,--you know what a delightful, blunt,
blundering old fellow he is! Well, Miss Christie must have made an
impression even on his bachelor heart, for he actually requested the
privilege of escorting her to the Trocadero, and back to the hotel after
the performance to-night--hinted at a lunch, the gay old dog, and pranced
about like a stage-door Johnnie. It was a treat to watch her face when he
blurted it all out, snapping his sentences as if he swung a whip-lash. She
excused herself on the score of a previous engagement."

"But that was not necessarily with Hawley."

"I asked her directly, after the doctor had disappeared."

"You must have become very familiar," questioning once again in her voice.

"So Miss Maclaire evidently thought, judging from her manner. However she
answered frankly enough, and, even defiantly, added the information that
the gentleman had something to impart to her of the utmost importance,
sarcastically asking me if I didn't wish I could be there and overhear.
But sit down, Hope, until I tell you all that has occurred."

He went over the various events in detail, watching eagerly the expression
upon her face as she listened intently, only occasionally interrupting
with some pertinent inquiry. The light fell so that she sat partially in
the shadow, where her eyes could not be read, yet he experienced no
difficulty in comprehending the various moods with which she met his
narrative, the color changing in her cheeks, her supple form bending
toward him, or leaning backward in the chair, her fingers clasping or
unclasping in nervous attention. He began with Neb's report, repeating,
word by word, as nearly as he could recollect, what had passed between
Hawley and her father. He paused to inquire if she had ever heard the name
Bartlett, but her reply was merely a negative shake of the head. When he
described their missing the train, she was, apparently, not convinced as
to the General's departure upon it, although finally agreeing that, if he
really believed the report that the man sought was elsewhere, it would be
characteristic of him to accept the first means of getting there. "If he
only knew I was here," she exclaimed wearily, "it might be so different,
but, oh, we are all of us just groping in the dark." Then Keith turned to
his chance meeting with Miss Maclaire, and repeated carefully their
conversation, dwelling particularly upon the few admissions which had
slipped through her lips. These did not seem important to either, although
they treasured them up and talked them over. Then, having exhausted the
topic, silence fell between them, Keith asking the privilege of lighting a
cigar. Hope, after watching him apply the match, thinking what a fine face
he had as the ruddy flame brought it forth with the clearness of a cameo,
leaned back, drawing aside the semblance to a lace curtain, and staring
forth, without seeing, into the street.

Somehow it was hard for her to fully realize the situation, and how
closely it affected her. The swiftly passing events, the complication
arising so suddenly, apparently out of nothing, left her feeling as though
she must surely awake from a dream. She could not comprehend what it was
all about; the names Bartlett and Phyllis had no clear meaning, they
represented nothing but shadows; and this other woman--this music hall
singer--what could there be in common between them? Yet there must be
something--something of vital importance to her father--something which
had already cost her brother's life. That was the one thing which made it
seem an actuality--which brought it home to her as a rugged fact. But for
that--and Keith--Keith sitting there before her--she would have doubted it
all. And yet even Keith had come into her life so suddenly, so
unexpectedly, as to leave her dazed and uncertain. So strongly did this
feeling grip her in the silence, that she extended her hand and touched
him, as though to make sure of his actual presence.

"What is it, Hope?"

"Oh, nothing--nothing," her voice breaking in a little sob. "It is so
silly, but I was just wondering if you were real--everything seems so
impossible. I cannot bring my mind to grasp the situation."

He did not smile, but only took the groping hand into both of his own.

"I think I understand, little girl," he said gravely. "You are totally
unused to such life. Almost without a moment's warning you have been
plunged into a maelstrom of adventure, and are all confused. It is
different with me--since the first shot at Sumter my life has been one of
action, and adventure has grown to be the stimulus I need, and upon which
I thrive. But I assure you," pressing the soft hand warmly, "I am real."

"Of course I know that; it makes me glad to know it. If I could only do
something myself, and not just sit here, it would all become real enough
to me."

She rose suddenly to her feet, clasping her hands together, her face
changing with new animation.

"Why couldn't I? I am sure I could. Oh, Mr. Keith, it has just come to me
how I can help."

He looked at her questioningly, thinking of her beauty rather than of what
she said.

"Do--do I really appear so much like--like that woman?" she asked
anxiously.

"Very much, indeed, excepting for the slight difference in age."

"That would never be noticed in the dark, or a poor light. Am I the same
height?"

"Practically, yes."

"And my voice?--could you distinguish me from her by my voice?"

"I might; yet probably not, unless my suspicions were aroused. What is it
you are thinking about?"

She took a deep breath, standing now directly facing him in the light.

"Of playing Miss Maclaire to-night," she said quickly. "Of taking her
place, and learning what it is of so much importance Hawley has to report.
Don't you think it might be done?"

The sheer audacity of this unexpected proposal left him speechless. He
arose to his feet, gripping the back of the chair, almost doubting if he
could have heard aright, his eyes searching the girl's face which was
glowing with excitement. Of course he could not permit of her exposure to
such a risk; the scheme was impracticable, absurd. But was it? Did it not
offer a fair chance of success? And was not the possible result worthy the
risk assumed? He choked back the earlier words of protest unuttered,
puzzled as to what he had best say. A quick-witted resourceful woman might
accomplish all she proposed.

"It looks so simple," she broke in impulsively, moving nearer him. "Don't
you think I could do it? Would it be unwomanly?"

"The result, if accomplished, would abundantly justify the means, Hope,"
he acknowledged at last. "I was not hesitating on that account, but
considering the risk you would incur."

"That would be so small--merely the short walk alone with him from the
theatre to the hotel," she pleaded. "Once here it could make no difference
if he did discover my identity, for there would be plenty of men near at
hand to come to my defence. Oh, please say yes."

"If I do, then we must make the illusion perfect, and take as few chances
of discovery as possible. I must learn exactly how the other dresses, and
when she leaves the theatre. Fortunately for the success of your plan the
Trocadero permits no one but performers to come behind the scenes, so that
Hawley will be compelled to wait for the lady outside the stage door. I
had better go at once, and see to these details."

"Yes," she said, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, "and I am so glad
you are willing. I will be most discreet. You are not sorry I made the
proposal?"

"Certainly not. At first it struck me as altogether wrong, but the more I
think of it the stronger it appeals to me. It may reveal to us the whole
conspiracy, and I cannot believe Hawley would venture upon any gross
familiarity likely to cost him the good opinion of his ally. There is too
much at stake. Wait here, Hope, and I will be back the very moment I learn
all that is necessary."

A glance at the office clock convinced Keith that, in all probability,
Miss Maclaire had not, as yet, departed for the scene of her evening
triumph. Still, it could not be long before she would, and he lit a cigar,
sitting down in a corner partially concealed by the clerk's desk to wait
her appearance. This required longer than anticipated, and fearing lest he
might have missed the departure entirely, he was about to question the
busy Thomas, when he beheld Hawley enter hurriedly from the street and run
up the stairs. He then had been the laggard. All the better, as he would
now have no opportunity to unfold his tale to the lady, as it would be
necessary for them to hurry to the theatre. Whatever the nature of the
revelation it would have to wait until the walk home. The excitement of
the adventure was already creeping into Keith's blood, his pulse
quickening.

The two returned almost immediately, conclusively proving that Miss
Maclaire, fully dressed for the street, had been awaiting the arrival of
her gallant with some impatience. Hawley was busily explaining his delay
as they came down the stairs, and paid little attention to the seemingly
deserted office. Indeed, Miss Christie monopolized all his thoughts. With
quick scrutiny the watcher noted the more conspicuous articles of apparel
constituting her costume--the white mantilla thrown over her head, the
neatly fitting blue dress, the light cape covering the shoulders--surely
it would not be difficult to duplicate these, so as to pass muster under
the dim light of the streets. Far enough in their rear to feel safe from
observation he followed, noting with increased pleasure the rapidity with
which they covered the required distance. Clearly Miss Christie was
already nervous lest she have not sufficient time remaining in which to
properly dress for her act, and there would be no exchange of confidences
on the outward journey. Hawley left her, as Keith anticipated, at the
stage entrance, the lady hastening within. Her escort strolled leisurely
back to the front of the house, and finally, purchasing a ticket, entered,
the performance already having begun.

Keith knew perfectly the arrangement of the theatre--the seats in front;
tables all through the centre; a gallery filled with benches; a noisy
orchestra beneath the stage; a crowded audience of men, with only here and
there a scattered representative of the gentler sex; busy waiters dodging
in and out among the tables, and down the aisles, filling orders for
liquids from the nearby saloon. The air would be pungent with the odor of
drink, thick with the fumes of tobacco, and noisy with voices, except as
some special favorite on the stage won temporary attention. The Trocadero
possessed but one redeeming feature--no doorway connected stage and
auditorium, and the management brooked no interference with his artists.
It had required some nerve to originally enforce this rule, together with
a smart fight or two, but at this period it was acknowledged and
respected. No sooner had Hawley vanished than Keith found occasion to
enter into casual conversation with the door-keeper, asking a number of
questions, and leaving impressed upon the mind of that astute individual
the idea that he was dealing with a "gent" enamored of one of the stage
beauties. A coin slipped quietly into the man's hand served to deepen this
impression, and unlocked discreet lips otherwise sworn to secrecy. Out of
much general information a little of real value was thus extracted--Miss
Maclaire's act began at 9:45 and was over promptly at 10:10. It required
about twenty minutes more for her to change again into street clothes, and
she usually left the theatre immediately after, which would be about
10:30. Yes, there was a vestibule outside the stage door, and on bad
nights, those waiting for the ladies could slip in there. But on such a
night as this they generally hung around outside. No, there was no
watchman, but the manager was frequently prowling around. He'd be busy,
however, at 10:30, getting the stage ready for the "Flying Hermanns."
Abundantly satisfied and resisting the door-keeper's professional
suggestion that he'd better buy a ticket and take a look at the show,
Keith slipped away, and hastened back to the hotel. The more he
investigated the more feasible appeared the girl's plan, and he was now
fully committed to it.




Chapter XXVIII

The Stage Door of the Trocadero



Hope discovered very little difficulty in duplicating the outer garments
Keith reported Miss Maclaire as wearing. The colors, indeed, were not
exactly the same, yet this difference was not sufficient to be noticeable
at night by the eyes of a man who had no reason to suspect deceit. The
girl was in a flutter of nervous excitement as she hastened about the
room, donning her few requirements of masquerade, yet Keith noted with
appreciation that she became perceptibly cooler as the moment of departure
approached. With cheeks aflame and eyes sparkling, yet speaking with a
voice revealing no falter, she pressed his arm and declared herself
prepared for the ordeal. The face under the shadow of the mantilla was so
arch and piquant, Keith could not disguise his admiration.

"Am I Christie Maclaire?" she asked laughingly.

"Sufficiently so to fool our friend," he returned, "but I am ready to
swear that lady never looked so charming."

"A compliment, and spoken as though you really meant it."

"Have I not been honest enough with you in the past, to be credited with
honesty now?" he protested, a little hurt by the bantering tone.

"Of course you have; I merely talk lightly to keep my courage up. You can
have no idea how afraid I am."

"Then you are truly an actress, for you appear the picture of enjoyment.
But we must go, or Hawley will be there before us, and thus spoil all our
plans."

They passed out through the office together, seeing no one familiar to
either, Hope keeping her face partially concealed. The east side of the
street was less frequented than the other, having fewer saloons along its
way, and they chose its darkness. As they advanced, the long habit of
frontier life caused Keith to glance behind before they had progressed a
block, and he was thus made aware that they were being followed.
Conversing lightly, and without a word to alarm the girl, he yet managed
to observe every movement of the dimly outlined figure which advanced with
them, timing every motion to theirs. Long before they crossed the street
to the Trocadero he was convinced there was no mistake--the fellow,
whoever he might be, was trailing them. Keith smiled grimly to himself,
resolving that, as soon as he had left the lady, he would teach the spy a
lesson not soon to be forgotten.

They barely entered the outer circle of the Trocadero lights, noting a
group of men thronging about the doors, and hearing the sound of the band
within, and then turned swiftly down the narrow dark alley-way leading
toward the stage entrance. Keith, having been there before, advanced
confidently, but Hope, her heart beating wildly, clung to his arm,
scarcely venturing a word in reply to his whispered assurances.
Fortunately they encountered no one, and Keith, feeling cautiously in the
dark, easily succeeded in locating the opening to the vestibule. Listening
intently he became convinced that no one occupied the little shed. He had
intended to remain with the girl until the time came for her to emerge,
but the remembrance of that figure dogging them all the way from the hotel
now caused a change of plan. He held her hand closely clasped in his.

"Now, Hope, I am going to leave you," he whispered, "and your own wit will
have to carry you through. I know you will play your part all right, and
it will be mine to wait for Christie, and give her some explanation of why
Hawley failed to meet her as he promised. It will never do for her to
suspect, until you time to learn all possible. You are not afraid?"

"Yes, I am," clinging to him, "but--but I am going through it just the
same."

"The truest kind of courage, my girl. Now slip inside, but hold the door
ajar. Hawley will certainly be here within ten minutes, and you must join
him at once, or else the other might appear. You can judge as to its being
him even in this darkness. Good-bye."

The longing to clasp her in his arms, to speak the language of his heart,
was almost overwhelming, yet the memory of that figure slinking along
behind them, and the brief time before Hawley's probable appearance, for
he would leave the theatre at the conclusion of Miss Maclaire's act,
restrained all demonstration. This was a moment for action, not for words
of love; no delay should hazard the success of their undertaking. He heard
the slight creak of the door as the girl slipped within the concealment of
the vestibule, and then he glided away through the darkness with the
stealthy silence of an Indian. There was no one in the alley-way, which
was narrow and easily explored, but the glow from the front windows
plainly revealed the shadow of a man near the entrance, and Keith slipped
up toward him, hugging the side of the building for concealment, prepared
to resort to harsh measures. As he reached out, gripping the astonished
loiterer by the collar, the two stared at one another in surprise, and the
gripping hand as instantly released its hold.

"You, Fairbain! What the devil does this mean? What are you spying on us
for?"

Clearly taken aback, yet not greatly disturbed, his eyes showing
pugnacious and his jaw set, the Doctor rubbed his throat where Keith's
knuckles had left a red welt.

"Damn you, I think I'm the one to ask for an explanation," he growled.
"She said she was not going with you, and now you are around here together
at this hour. I had a right to know whether I was being played with like
that."

"But, man, that was not Miss Maclaire I was with; it was Hope Waite. Come
back here under the tent flap while I explain."

Fearful of the coming of Hawley he fairly dragged the portly figure of the
bewildered Doctor with him, striving, by quickly spoken words, to make him
comprehend the situation. Knowing previously something of the issues
involved, it was not difficult to make Fairbain grasp the meaning of this
present movement, yet his sympathies were at once enlisted upon the side
of Miss Christie. He'd be damned if he would have any part in such a
scheme--if she had a right to the money he'd help her get it--it was a
cowardly trick, and he'd fight if necessary, to keep her from becoming a
victim. His voice rose, his arms brandishing violently, his sentences
snapping like rifle shots. Keith angered, and fearful of a discovery which
would leave Hope exposed, realized the futility of discussion and turned
to physical force. Grasping the gesticulating man with both hands, he
flung him backward and dragged him into the empty tent, kneeling on him as
he throttled him to the earth.

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