In The Bishop's Carriage [21]
It would do for a mirror all right, for the dark green shade was down. But at sight of the shade blowing in the wind I forgot all about the collar.
It's this way, Mag, when they press you too far; and that little rat of a lawyer had got me most to the wall. I looked at the window, measuring the little climb it would be for me to get to it,--the house next door was just one story higher than the one where I was, so its top story was on a level with the roof nearly where I stood. And I made up my--mind to get what would let Tom off easy, or break into jail myself.
And so I didn't care much what I might fall into through that window. And perhaps because I didn't care, I slipped into a dark hall, and not a thing stirred; not a footstep creaked. I felt like the Princess--Princess Nancy Olden--come to wake the Sleeping Beauty; some dude it'd be that would have curly hair like Tom Dorgan's, and would wear clothes like my friend Latimer's, over in Brooklyn.
Can you see me there, standing on one leg like a stork, ready to lie or to fly at the first sound?
Well, the first sound didn't come. Neither did the second. In fact, none of 'em came unless I made 'em myself.
Softly as Molly goes when the baby's just dropped off to sleep, I walked toward an open door. It was a parlor, smelly with tobacco, and with lots of papers and books around. And nary a he-beauty--nor any other kind.
I tried the door of a room next to it. A bedroom. But no Beauty.
Silly! Don't you tumble yet? It was a bachelor's apartment, and the Bachelor Beauty was out, and Princess Nancy had the place all to herself.
I suppose I really ought to have left my card--or he wouldn't know who had waked him--but I hadn't intended to go calling when I left home. So I thought I'd look for one of his as a souvenir--and anything else of his I could make use of.
There were shirts I'd liked for Tom, dandy colored ones, and suits with checks in 'em and without. But I wanted something easy and small and flat, made of crackly printed yellow or green paper, with numbers on it.
How did I know he had anything like that? Why, Mag, Mag Monahan, one would think you belonged to the Bishop's set, you're so simple!
I had to turn on the electric light after a bit--it got so dark. And I don't like light in other people's houses when they're not at home, and neither am I. But there was nothing in the bedroom except some pearl studs. I got those and then went back to the parlor.
The desk caught my eye. Oh, Mag, it had the loveliest pictures on it--pictures of swell actresses and dancers. It was mahogany, with lots of little drawers and two curvy side boxes. I pulled open all the drawers. They were full of papers all right, but they were printed, cut from newspapers, and all about theaters.
"You can't feed things like this, Nance, to that shark of a lawyer," I said to myself, pushing the box on the side impatiently.
And then I giggled outright.
Why?
Just 'cause--I had pushed that side box till it swung aside on hinges I didn't know about, and there, in a little secret nest, was a pile of those same crisp, crinkly paper things I'd been looking for. 20--40--60--110--160--210--260--310!
Three hundred and ten dollars, Mag Monahan. Three hundred and ten, and Nance Olden!
"Glory be!" I whispered.
"Glory be damned!" I heard behind me.
I turned. The bills just leaked out of my hand on to the floor.
The Bachelor Beauty had come home, Mag, and nabbed the poor Princess, instead of her catching him napping.
He wasn't a beauty either--a big, stout fellow with a black mustache. His hand on my shoulder held me tight, but the look in his eyes behind his glasses held me tighter. I threw out my arms over the desk and hid my face.
Caught! Nancy Olden, with her hands dripping, and not a lie in her smart mouth!
He picked up the bills I had dropped, counted them and put them in his pocket. Then he unhooked a telephone and lifted the stand from his desk.
"Hello! Spring 3100--please. Hello! Chief's office? This