Within the Law [57]
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.
"But why?" Mary inquired, with a tantalizing assumption of innocence. "I'm not going away."
"On the Twentieth Century Limited, this afternoon," the Inspector declared, in a voice of growing wrath.
"Oh, dear, no!" Mary's assertion was made very quietly, but with an underlying firmness that irritated the official beyond endurance.
"I say yes!" The answer was a bellow.
Mary appeared distressed, not frightened. Her words were an ironic protest against the man's obstreperous noisiness, no more.
"I thought you wanted quiet words with me."
Burke went toward her, in a rage.
"Now, look here, Mollie----" he began harshly.
On the instant, Mary was on her feet, facing him, and there was a gleam in her eyes as they met his that bade him pause.
"Miss Turner, if you don't mind." She laughed slightly. "For the present, anyway." She reseated herself tranquilly.
Burke was checked, but he retained his severity of bearing.
"I'm giving you your orders. You will
"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.
"But why?" Mary inquired, with a tantalizing assumption of innocence. "I'm not going away."
"On the Twentieth Century Limited, this afternoon," the Inspector declared, in a voice of growing wrath.
"Oh, dear, no!" Mary's assertion was made very quietly, but with an underlying firmness that irritated the official beyond endurance.
"I say yes!" The answer was a bellow.
Mary appeared distressed, not frightened. Her words were an ironic protest against the man's obstreperous noisiness, no more.
"I thought you wanted quiet words with me."
Burke went toward her, in a rage.
"Now, look here, Mollie----" he began harshly.
On the instant, Mary was on her feet, facing him, and there was a gleam in her eyes as they met his that bade him pause.
"Miss Turner, if you don't mind." She laughed slightly. "For the present, anyway." She reseated herself tranquilly.
Burke was checked, but he retained his severity of bearing.
"I'm giving you your orders. You will