Читать книгу The House with the Blue Door - Footner Hulbert - Страница 6

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Mr. Amos Lee Mappin picked up the telephone in his study and heard the voice of his servant Jermyn saying: “It’s Mrs. Cassells, sir.” Jermyn’s voice was expressionless, yet it was clear that he didn’t approve of Mrs. Cassells.

Mr. Mappin sighed; Sandra Cassells was always in such a gale and just then he wanted to work quietly. It must be important, or at least she thought it was; he had never heard of her calling anybody up in the morning. Anyhow, Mrs. Nicholas Cassells was not a woman you could put off with impunity, and he said: “Connect her, Jermyn.”

The next instant Sandra was pouring herself over the wire. “Lee, darling, now you mustn’t refuse me! This is no ordinary request, but very, very special. I’m not asking you to do me a favor either; you’ll be doing a favor to yourself. I’m so excited!”

Lee said mildly: “But what is it, darling?”

“I want you to come to dinner tonight; seven-thirty as usual.”

“But Sandra, my love, tonight’s the testimonial dinner to Albert Caldwell and I accepted a week ago.”

“Oh, that’s a huge affair; there’ll be a thousand people there and you’ll never be missed. Send word you’re sick. They have nine hours to fill your place.”

“What’s the special occasion at your house?”

“It’s not a party, Lee; just two men and a woman that you must meet. They don’t know anybody that you or I know, so no one will know you came.”

“Who are they, Sandra?”

“Extraordinary people, my dear! It was only by the greatest luck that I heard of them. They are just your kind, Lee; nobody else could draw them out. Unless you come there’s no object in having them.”

“What do you mean, my kind of people?”

“I’m not going to tell you any more; I want it to be a surprise.”

“How can I draw them out if I don’t know who or what they are?”

“You’ll find out when you get here ... And Lee,” she added slyly, “I have a couple of brace of canvasback from Richards!”

Lee’s mouth watered. “Canvasback! Scandalous! The season closed two months ago!”

“Well, that’s not my fault. They’re shot now, and somebody’s got to eat them. Canvasback à la Tour d’Argent as only Emilion can prepare them!”

Lee knew when he was licked. “Very well, darling. I feel like a louse at breaking my date with the Caldwell Committee, but I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, darling. Don’t be late; there’s so much to talk about!”

Lee hung up, wondering what new enthusiasm was stinging Sandra now. She got them about once a week. After nearly forty years of conventional society, she had wearied of it, and was ever on the hunt for new sensations. Since her husband’s death six months before, she had become more unrestrained than ever—not that Nick Cassells had hampered her much, but of course, now that he was gone, she was far richer. Lee idly figured that the income from the two estates must amount to something better than a million a year; naturally the government took most of it; even so, Sandra had enough left to gratify every whim.

There had been a Swami—but all rich and idle women have a Swami in their entourage at one time or another, and Sandra had soon dropped him as not sufficiently original for her. Her only other excursion into mysticism (that Lee knew about) was by way of the gentleman from Nebraska who called himself Elijah II. He was said to have a chariot ready for his translation to heaven. But his personal habits proved to be unpleasant, and he was dropped quicker than the Swami. Sandra was always looking for “characters” through whom she could attain to “broader sympathies.” Among them Lee had met a bus driver, a brew master, and a coal passer. There had also been a fascinating ring master who had got into Sandra for some thousands of dollars for a circus which he did not own. He was in jail. Sandra was not much interested in her own sex; “so stereotyped,” she said with a shrug.

Lee consoled himself with the thought that, anyhow, the food at Sandra’s would be vastly better than a lukewarm banquet at the Vandermeer. Since Sandra had got more and more into the habit of dumping her problems in Lee’s lap, Lee had seen to it that after the collapse of France she engaged Emilion St. Cyr, lately chef in the household of M. le Duc de Rochechouart. Emilion was one of the five best cooks in the world. Sandra, who ate no more than a bird, was incapable of appreciating his art, but Lee did, and thus he made sure that at least part of the unjustifiable Cassells income was spent in a good cause. Sandra’s new protégés would undoubtedly be as tiresome as the others, but canvasback à la Tour d’Argent—Ah! Sandra herself never bored Lee. A simple, kind-hearted soul under all the fluff, she baffled him by her very openness. It was always amusing to speculate on what a woman with a completely uninhibited tongue would say next.

Sandra, for pretended motives of economy, had given up her town apartment and Lee was forced to motor up to Westchester County. He saved half an hour of tedious driving through traffic by taking the subway to the end of the line and meeting his chauffeur there. “Brookwood” was almost surrounded by the city now, but it was hard to realize it, once you were inside the gates, so skillful was the planting. Only on the stillest nights was it possible to hear the clang of a distant trolley car or the strains of a wide-open radio. In addition to the huge formal garden, which cost a fortune to keep up and was of no earthly use to anybody, there was a paddock for horses, a small running track and a pasture field with a cow in it. Lee’s brain reeled as he tried to compute the value of all this in city lots—and the taxes. Sandra said she was going to die there and the hell with the taxes.

Of the grandiose palaces built at the turn of the century, this was one of the last to be used as a private dwelling. It looked to be about a tenth of a mile long, an endless pile of crass yellow brick with gray stone trimmings, supposed to be in the Italian style and all broken out in loggias, terraces, balustrades and Palladian windows. Inside there was a mighty red-carpeted corridor stretching from end to end, as wide and high as a cathedral with rooms opening off on each side. Needless to say, it was crowded with the richest of furnishings from every quarter of the globe. It achieved magnificence, but Lee doubted if there was a single first-class work of art anywhere between cellar and garret.

Sandra received him in one of the smaller reception rooms. The other guests had arrived and over her shoulder Lee saw with surprise and pleasure that they were young and extremely ornamental. Sandra’s previous protégés had been pretty stuffy-looking. Sandra herself, a slender woman, dressed by an artist in clinging black lace with sparing touches of jet, looked handsomer than Lee had ever seen her. Her complexion was as soft as a baby’s; her graying hair, arranged in a fashion of her own to suggest the ancient Greek, emphasized the freshness of her skin. She did not look young, either, but ageless. Diamonds all over her, as usual; diamonds at her ears, her throat, her breast; diamonds halfway to her elbows.

Lee kissed her hand, murmuring: “You are lovely!” with a kind of wonder that was perfectly genuine, because he knew that Sandra was actually nearly ten years older than his own fat, bald little self. She was several times a grandmother, but she didn’t like to have it referred to.

“I just had my face lifted,” she murmured happily.

Lee thought: What, again!

She read the thought. “Ah, but this man knows his business!” She lifted the hair at her temples. “Look! you can scarcely see the scars. And my throat, see! Not a wrinkle! ... Come and meet my guests!”

“A word about them first so I’ll know what to say.”

“No! No! I want you to gather for yourself what they are! You wouldn’t guess in a thousand years!”

First Lee went to speak to Mrs. Delaplaine, Agnes, a fading, depressed woman whom Sandra, according to her humor, referred to as my dearest friend, my chief of staff, my companion—or that tiresome female! Lee sincerely pitied Agnes and hoped that Sandra paid her a thumping big salary, which she probably did not.

He was then led to the three young people, whose names proved to be Mr. and Mrs. Ammon and Mr. Farren. Ammon was a tall, dark fellow, thirty-five, Lee guessed, a magnificent physical specimen. He had a bold nose, a predatory mouth, and a hard, bright gaze; the figure of a young guardsman. His young wife was an ash blonde, tall too, and of that delicate, fragile type of beauty that makes a man of any age feel protective. They made a striking pair. The other man, Farren, was younger and less imposing than his tall friend. He also was handsome, as blond as the other was dark, but he had a haggard look, and whereas Ammon was as smooth and hard as glass, there was a hint of reckless pain in the younger man’s blue eyes that surprised Lee. Farren smiled agreeably, unconscious that his eyes were giving him away. All in all, the three made Lee feel wary. Something queer here. He suspected that Sandra was due to be sold again.

But it was fascinating to watch the three and to speculate on what they were. Every line of the girl’s delicate beauty suggested breeding, but that was an accident; for it presently transpired that she had been born in Tenth Avenue on San Juan Hill. Nor was either of the men well-born, though both had acquired a certain veneer on the way up, especially Ammon. He bore himself as coolly as if he had been familiar with this grand house since childhood. As for the girl, it was impossible to tell what was going through her head; with a faint, fixed smile, she let the others do the talking. Farren was ill at ease and furtive. What was their line? Not business; not the stage; not journalism. Lee had to confess himself baffled.

They were already on a familiar footing with their hostess; that was Sandra’s way. Ammon was “Sieg,” his wife “Letty,” and Farren quite naturally “Blondy.” Sandra, as pleased with them as a little girl with a family of new dolls, discussed them as candidly as if they had had no more feelings than dolls.

“Isn’t she lovely, Lee? Turn around, darling, and let Mr. Mappin see your behind. What a line from shoulder to hip and from hip to ankle! Perfect! And do you know, Lee, with that exquisite figure she did not have anything fit to put on! I took her down to Hattie’s myself this morning and outfitted her. What a pleasure! That dress is an original model and Hattie charged me double for it, but I’ll get square with her. We quarreled about that dress, but Hattie was right! Hattie was right! You’d think that indefinite beige would make the girl look sallow, she’s so pale anyhow; but nothing of the kind! It brings out the alabaster quality of her skin!”

Sandra turned to the young men. “Of course, after that, we had to buy the boys some clothes. We all went to Brooks’s. Fancy! neither of the boys ever had any really good clothes! With such figures! They didn’t have to have clothes made. Everything fitted like a glove! Turn around, Sieg. Isn’t that a wonderful back, Lee? It was made for a tail coat. And Blondy, too. He isn’t so big, but he’s just as well made. Only a few men look well in evening clothes.”

“And I am not one of them!” murmured Lee.

After cocktails they were led into another small room which contained a round table set for six. “The dining room is so vast,” said Sandra, “I thought it would be cozier to eat here.”

Lee was glad to see that the handsome, shapely young footmen who used to throng the house had been replaced by maids. It made him uneasy to see able-bodied youngsters waiting on the table. The only man in evidence was old Dunstan, the butler, overseeing all from his post at the buffet. Lee perceived with a smile that the famous gold service had been brought out for the occasion. This was just like Sandra. Since her young guests had never before eaten in such luxurious surroundings, she wanted to let them have the full run for their money. Lee saw Sieg Ammon regarding the gold plates with a glistening eye, and wondered if the young man contemplated slipping one in his pocket. Probably not. There was a masterful look about Sieg, which suggested that he was playing for bigger stakes than a gold plate.

Sandra placed Sieg on one side of her, Letty on the other—“So I can talk to you both,” she said. Lee was seated opposite Sandra with Mrs. Delaplaine on one side of him, Blondy on the other. In this situation he could study the faces of the husband and wife, which suited him very well. He would have liked also to search for the explanation of the savage recklessness in Blondy’s eyes, but that was not so easy, for Blondy was presenting a shoulder to him. The conversation was brisk and meaningless. Sandra and Sieg supplied most of it. Mrs. Delaplaine occasionally babbled in Lee’s ear, but it was not necessary to listen to her. An occasional nod and smile in her direction kept her going happily.

Sieg had himself so well in hand there was not much to be learned from his smooth and comely face. He was bent on making Sandra talk and that, God knows, is not difficult, thought Lee. She was telling Sieg the story of her experience with the ring master of the circus and Sieg applauded with laughter. Meanwhile the pale, beautiful Letty was listening with her unchanging, faint smile. At a moment when she thought she was unobserved, Lee saw the girl’s downcast eyes creep upward to Sieg’s face and hang there with a lost look, the look of a woman who has submerged her whole being in a man. The startled Lee, stealing a sidelong look at young Blondy, saw from the direction of his glance that his eyes were fixed on Letty’s face. It provided a key to his savage pain. Hm! In love with his pal’s wife! thought Lee; and she is mad about her husband! An interesting situation—with explosive possibilities.

When the conversation became general, it appeared from a remark of Sieg’s that he was familiar with Lee Mappin’s writings. “You have read one of my books?” said Lee.

“I have read all of them, Mr. Mappin.” Sieg rattled off the titles.

“I feel flattered,” said Lee. “How did you happen to run across them?”

“In the prison library,” said Sieg nonchalantly.

Lee’s mind stood still for a moment. His first thought was: This is exactly what Sandra would do!

Sandra was saying sweetly, “Sieg has lately been released from Sing Sing.” Sandra was shortsighted. She put up her lorgnette in order to enjoy the expression on Lee’s face.

Lee wasn’t giving her any change. “How interesting!” he said, smiling back. “But I shouldn’t think my little studies of murder would be exactly suitable for a prison library.”

“Oh, yes,” said Sieg. “They were popular with the Gees, young and old. You had to put in your bid in advance to get one. They’re moral books because the crook always gets it in the neck.”

“Well,” murmured Lee, “it’s only the ones that get caught that I can study.” He began to enjoy himself. It was a piquant situation and the responsibility for anything that might happen was not his. As long as everybody was being frank about it, Lee thought he might venture to ask Sieg what he had been sent up for and he did.

A spasm of rage broke up the young man’s smooth mask for a second. “We were framed,” he said shortly; “Blondy and me.”

“Blondy too?”

“Sure! Blondy’s been my side kick, going on ten years now.”

“Was it your first experience?”

Sieg carelessly shook his head. “No, I did a stretch at San Quentin in ’32 and another at Joliet three years later.”

“Tell us about it.”

Sieg glanced at Sandra. Her lips were parted with excitement, her vague blue eyes almost ecstatic. Sieg could see well enough that it was the prison stripes which constituted his attraction for her. “Tell Lee,” she urged. “Tell him the whole story.”

Sieg shrugged with his attractive nonchalance and started in: “I lit out from home when I was fifteen. That’s twenty years ago. I just bummed round the country, my great aim being to live without working. I made out pretty well, too, and managed to keep out of stir, except for a couple of short terms for vagrancy and so on in the county jails. And if the weather was cold and I happened to be broke, that was really a convenience. But out in Frisco in ’32 I got stuck on a girl—it’s always the same story, isn’t it? I suppose I wanted to give her a flashy present or something. I forget. Anyhow, I undertook to burgle a men’s furnishings store. Clumsy work. Served me right when I was caught. As a first offender I got an indeterminate sentence in San Quentin. It was there I met Blondy and we’ve been together ever since.”

Lee glanced at Blondy. “You must have been a mere boy in ’32.”

“Sixteen,” said Blondy shortly.

“What were you in for?”

Blondy scowled. He didn’t enjoy telling his reminiscences. “I cut a man,” he growled. “I had good cause, too.”

“What were the circumstances?”

Blondy obstinately shook his head. “It’s not a pretty story.”

Sieg went on: “Well, when Blondy and me got out of San Quentin, we drifted East. We had our ups and downs—eh, Blondy? We made up our minds to cut out the rough stuff, see? Nothing to it. Unless we could get good clothes and acquire some class, we were sunk. Well, that wasn’t too easy for a couple of young gees just out of stir. Maybe you know the kind of twelve dollar suits they give you when they let you out.”

“I know them,” said Lee.

“Well, in Chicago,” Sieg continued, “a dame I had known before staked us to a good suit apiece, and undertook to put some polish on our manners.”

“What did you do for her?” asked Lee.

Sieg gave him a grin of understanding. “She was a business woman, see? And we rustled business for her.”

“I understand. Go ahead.”

“This dame had class, see? And she knew class. She started in to teach Blondy and me. We took to it like ducks to water. She taught us how to talk, how to eat, how to wear clothes. And as fast as we improved, she advanced us in her business. At last, when we were perfect gentlemen, she put us into a racket that paid us well for more than a year.”

“What was that?”

“We worked the hotels, see? Only the best hotels. All dyked out in tails, white tie, top hat and so on. The solid, out-of-town businessman was our mark, see? The lonely man with the evening on his hands. You’d be surprised to learn how many of them there are. Well, I sit down in the lobby near him, see? And every now and then I look at my watch. Obviously waiting for a girl. And he is looking at me out of the corners of his eyes, kind of wistful; a swell young guy in top hat and tails, waiting for a girl, it is just what he would like to be. And so it’s a cinch to get into talk with him, and when she doesn’t come he sympathizes with me, and I say, ‘The hell with her; let’s go and get a drink.’ So I take him around town and show him a good time. I know all the best places in Chicago. It was a swell racket while it lasted. Blondy never got caught at it. But when I came to New York, he came with me. In New York ...”

Lee interrupted him. “But there wasn’t anything crooked about that racket. How come you landed in Joliet?”

Sieg made believe not to hear that question, and Lee said to himself: blackmail probably.

“By the time we got to New York,” Sieg continued, “Blondy and me were just about as smooth as they come. For class we could match up with anything the big town could show. Such being the case, there was no lack of call for our services; we worked at this and that, and fluffed around and enjoyed ourselves until we met up with Sam Bartol. You know him?”

“He was the proprietor of El Mirador across the river.”

“That’s right. The classiest outfit in or around New York. You had to have class to work there. At first we were engaged just to be gentlemen playing roulette for moderate stakes upstairs. That was so we could watch the croupiers for Sam. It’s against the rules to play money across on the tables, but the customers will do it, and the croupiers watch their chance to prig what they can. Well, Sam liked our work so much that he promoted us to be his cashiers up in the gambling room. We sold the customers chips when they went in and redeemed them when they came out.

“Well, Sam Bartol was making so damned much money it made Blondy and me sore. And us two just on a salary. Well, it was a cinch to get square with Sam. I got a guy I knew to make me some celluloid chips exactly like those used in the place, and every night we used to cash a few of our own. The amount of chips in the house was always short because the customers always carried away some in their pockets, meaning to play them next time they came. But we got careless, I suppose. We put too many chips in circulation and Sam got onto us. One night we were seized and searched as we went in and they found the chips on us. So we were thrown out on our ear.”

“Did Bartol prosecute you?” asked Lee.

“A gambler can’t prosecute anybody,” said Sieg. “He’s outside the law. No! it was a dirty frameup! Blondy and I were drinking with a guy on West Fifty-second Street. Neither of us ever saw the guy before. Suddenly he accused us of having robbed him. By a strange coincidence there were a couple of dicks in the place; we were seized and searched and the guy’s wallet was found on me, and his watch in Blondy’s pocket. A barefaced frameup! As if guys like Blondy and me would come down to picking a guy’s pockets! But with our records we stood no chance. The New York police and the District Attorney and all, they were glad to oblige a big shot like Sam Bartol. We were framed and sent up with a brace of years a piece. I used to pace my cell planning ways to get square with Sam Bartol. But somebody took the job off my hands. You may remember the case.”

“I remember it,” said Lee.

“Sam was found lying on the floor of his place across the river, shot through the heart. The police have never solved the case. God knows Sam had enemies enough to choose from.”

“How long have you and Letty been married?” asked Lee.

“Three weeks,” said Sieg. “Letty was waiting for me. She was one of the hostesses over at Sam Bartol’s and I fell for her. I don’t know why.” They exchanged a smile full of meaning across the table; Blondy lowered his eyes.

“What are your plans now?” asked Lee.

“We’re going straight,” said Sieg quickly. “That is, I am.” He glanced at his partner. “Blondy must hew to his own line.”

“You know how I feel about it,” growled Blondy.

“Letty and I are going straight,” said Sieg, looking at his wife. She colored to the eyes with pleasure. “Crime doesn’t pay. In this state, with three convictions behind me, if I was taken again I’d get life. It isn’t worth it. Besides, I’ve got responsibilities now. I’m a married man.”

“Anything particular in view?” asked Lee.

Sieg shook his head. He wasn’t troubled by the prospect. “We’ll get along. All I have is a talent for making myself agreeable.”

“I can see that,” said Lee dryly.

“I have plans,” put in Sandra.

The canvasback was served. Emilion had done it justice, and Lee left them to their talk of prison life for the time being.

“What a dreadful young man!” whispered Mrs. Delaplaine. “He seems to be proud of going to prison!”

“Well, it has earned him a dress suit and a good meal,” said Lee. “The canvasback is perfection! From Sing Sing to Brookwood is a long step. From a tin plate to solid gold! Would make a good title for a melodrama.”

“What will Sandra pick up next?” whimpered Mrs. Delaplaine.

When they had finished eating, Sandra said: “Would you like to walk through the house? Most people are curious to see it.”

“Sure!” said Sieg quickly. “This is better than a movie set. This is the real thing.”

So they started in procession through the endless vast rooms; drawing room, music room, library, ball room, conservatory; slender, lace-clad Sandra and tall Sieg in advance, Blondy and Letty following, Lee and Mrs. Delaplaine solidly bringing up the rear.

“It’s a silly background, isn’t it?” said Sandra, “all for one lonely little woman like me? Fifty-two rooms, they say, but I haven’t been in half of them. If I was a sensible woman I’d sell it and move into a comfortable little house, but I never shall. I’m accustomed to it and I’m not going to change.”

“Lovely! ... Wonderful! ... Gorgeous!” murmured her young guests.

Lee noticed that Blondy and Letty never exchanged a word during the progress. The young man’s eyes dwelt hungrily on the girl’s beautiful profile. His look was softened now.

Back in the little reception room where they had first met, Lee found himself beside Letty. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Oh, yes!” she said in a tone of conventional politeness. “Mrs. Cassells is so kind!” she added with a tremor of genuine feeling, “It frightens me a little.”

“Why should it?” asked Lee.

“It’s too good to be true!”

The young people took their leave while it was still early. Sandra had ordered a car to carry them back to town. Letty met the others in the great hall, carrying her wrap over her arm. The wrap was an exquisite garment of brown, uncurled ostrich, evidently a gift from Sandra. Sieg took it from his wife. As he was about to drop it around her shoulders, he bent his head and kissed her neck. Letty’s lips parted, her eyes darkened strangely; an inner rapture made her face luminous. The others were looking at her; she had forgotten them.

In a minute they had gone. Sandra stood looking at the door through which they had disappeared, with a scrap of a lace handkerchief clenched in her hand. “Did you see him kiss her?” she said.

Her obvious emotion irritated Lee. “Just a conventional gesture,” he said.

Sandra shook her head impatiently. “I wasn’t thinking about him, but about her ... the way she took it ... with rapture ... rapture! How I envy her!”

“I was sorry for her,” said Lee. “Happiness with a man like that must be pretty precarious!”

“Yes, indeed! Yes, indeed!” agreed Agnes virtuously. “A jailbird!”

Sandra turned on her. “What the hell do you know about rapture?”

Agnes shriveled.

To Lee, Sandra went on: “What’s happiness for a woman? A little husband, a little baby, a little house, and every day the same as the day before? That’s not happiness but slow suffocation.” She raised her clenched hand. “But to go all out for a man ... all out! What else would matter then? The woman who has never known that hasn’t lived!”

Lee took a pinch of snuff and, snapping the box shut, returned it to his vest pocket. Useless to argue with an emotional woman.

As Sandra made no move to return to the room where they had been sitting, he saw that he was expected to leave also. He didn’t want to go just yet. “Shouldn’t you and I talk things over?” he suggested.

Sandra, still abstracted, shook her head. “Not tonight. I’m tired.”

“You said you had certain plans for these young people,” he persisted.

“All in the air,” she said with a wave of the hand. “I promise not to commit myself to anything until I have consulted with you.”

“Very well, my dear. Good night.”