Her Forbidden Knight

Chapter IV Danger

Dumain pondered long over the information Sherman had given him concerning Knowlton before he decided to act on it.

The fact is that Dumain was strongly opposed to the revealing of a man’s past. He may have had a personal reason for this; but let us be charitable. Broadway is not the only place in the world where they act on the belief that a man’s past is his own and should not be held against him.

Besides, Sherman had admitted that Knowlton had merely been suspected. There had been no evidence; he had been allowed to go free. And Dumain was not inclined to strike a blow at an innocent man who suffered under the blasting stigma of an unproved accusation.

Still, there was Lila. She must be protected at any cost. And had not Dumain himself noticed her interest in Knowlton? What if she really loved him?

And what if Knowlton was the sort of man Sherman had declared him to be? Clearly it meant Lila’s ruin. For it is the belief of all Broadway cynics that any woman will do anything for the man she loves. So, early the next morning (that is, early for him), Dumain made his decision on the side of prudence.

He spoke first to Dougherty. The ex-prizefighter was greatly surprised.

“I like Knowlton,” he said, “and I believe you’re wrong to suspect him. But you know what I think of Miss Williams; and where she’s concerned we can’t leave any room for doubt. Knowlton must be informed that he is absolutely not wanted.”

“Zat ees zee way eet looks to me,” said Dumain.

He had met Dougherty on Broadway, and as they talked they strolled to the hotel and entered the lobby. The hotel clerk threw them a familiar nod. Miss Hughes sang out a cheery “Good morning,” and Lila smiled pleasantly as they passed her desk. Except for two or three strangers, probably commercial buyers, reading their morning newspapers, the place was empty.

“Sure,” said Dougherty, continuing. “When are you going to tell him?”

Dumain looked aghast.

“Tom! Surely you don’t expect me to tell heem?”

“Why not?”

“What! How could I? Here are zee facts: Knowlton weighs one hundred and eighty pounds. I weigh a hundred and twentee. It would be absurd. I don’t think I am a coward; but I would like to leeve anozzer year or two.”

Dougherty laughed.

“All right. Leave it to me. I’ll tell him. It’s too bad,” he added regretfully. “I liked Knowlton.”

A few minutes later Knowlton entered the lobby. He walked straight to Lila’s desk and wrote out a telegram. Dumain and Dougherty, who were only a few feet away, overheard the conversation.

“You’re early this morning,” said Lila, as Knowlton handed her a bill from a bulging wallet.

Knowlton glanced at his watch.

“Early? It’s past eleven.”

“I know. But that’s early for you.”

“Perhaps. A little,” Knowlton admitted. “And how are you this fine wintry morning?”

“Well, thank you,” Lila smiled.

Knowlton turned away.

“In the name of Heaven, is there anything wrong with that?” Dougherty growled.

“No,” Dumain admitted. “But zee die is cast. Never retract a deleeberate decision. There’s your man; go after heem.”

The ex-prizefighter started across the lobby. Knowlton turned.

“Hello, Tom!”

“Good morning,” said Dougherty, visibly ill at ease.

“Are you on for a game of billiards?”

“No,” Dougherty hesitated. “The fact is, Knowlton, there’s something I have to say to you.”

“Is it much?” Knowlton smiled.

“It’s enough.”

“Then come over to the corner. It’s more comfortable. Hello, Dumain. How’s the world?” Knowlton continued chattering as they walked to the leather lounge sacred to the Erring Knights. Then he produced some cigars, offering one to Dougherty.

“No, thanks,” said Dougherty stiffly.

“What! Won’t take a cigar? What’s happened?”

Dougherty coughed and cleared his throat.

“Well,” he stammered, “the truth is we — that is, they — they think you ought to go — that is, leave — Oh, darn it all!”

“Easy, Tom,” said Knowlton. “Give it to me a word at a time.”

Dougherty recommenced his stammering, but a word here and there gave Knowlton an idea of what he was trying to say.

“I believe,” he interrupted, “you are trying to tell me that I have become persona non grata. In other words, the Erring Knights have seen fit to expel their youngest member.”

“Right,” said Dougherty, inexpressibly relieved. “If I could have said it like that I would have had no trouble.”

Knowlton cut off the end of a cigar and lit it.

“And now,” he said between puffs, “what is it — puff — you want?”

“That’s not the question. It’s what we don’t want.”

“All right.” Knowlton waved aside the distinction. “Go on.”

“In the first place,” Dougherty began, “there’s Miss Williams.”

“I see her,” said Knowlton gravely. “She’s sending a telegram. Probably mine. See how the light plays on her hair? Well, what about her?”

“You are not to go near her,” said Dougherty with emphasis.

“Ever?”

“Never.”

Knowlton blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

“I see. And what else?”

“You are to stay away from the Lamartine.”

“M-m-m. Anything else?”

“That is all.”

Knowlton rose, walked to a cuspidor and knocked the ashes from his cigar, then returned to his seat. For another minute he smoked in silence.

“And if I refuse?” he said finally.

“There are six of us,” said Dougherty with meaning.

“Then, if I enter the doors of the Lamartine I displease the Erring Knights?”

“You do.”

“In that case,” Knowlton again rose, “I have to announce that in the future the Erring Knights will be displeased on an average of fourteen times a week. It pains me to cause my old friends so much displeasure, but you leave me no choice.” He hesitated a moment, then added: “You should have known better than to try to frighten me, Dougherty.” With that he walked away.

Dougherty saw him go to the cigar stand, relight his cigar, start toward Lila’s desk, suddenly change his direction, and leave the hotel by the Broadway door. Then the ex-prizefighter hurried over to Dumain.

“I told you so,” he said gloomily.

“What deed he say?” asked Dumain.

“Just what I said he’d say.”

“Well?” Dumain passed over the fact that Dougherty had said nothing whatever about it.

“He ignores us. He intends to do just as he pleases. We’re in for it.”

“It seems to me,” Dumain retorted, “eet would be better to say he’s in for it. We’ll have to show him we are not to be trifled wiz. Come on; I have zee idea.”

They seated themselves on the lounge in the corner and proceeded to a discussion of the plan of battle.

In the meantime Knowlton was striding swiftly toward his rooms on Thirtieth Street. His face wore a worried frown, and every now and then he glanced nervously to the rear. Occasionally, too, his lips parted in an amused smile; possibly whenever he thought of the quixotic chivalry of the Erring Knights.

The streets and sidewalks were covered with snow — the first of the season. Surface cars clanged noisily; voices sounded in the crisp, bracing air with the sharp clarity of bell tones; faces glowed with the healthful exhilaration of quickened steps and the rush of inward warmth to meet the frosty attack of old winter. The vigor of the north and the restlessness of the great city combined to supply the deficiencies of the November sun, ineffectual against the stern attack of his annual enemy.

Knowlton turned in at the same door on Thirtieth Street we have seen him enter before, and mounted the stairs to an apartment on the second floor.

Once inside he locked the door carefully behind him, then walked to a wardrobe in a corner of the adjoining room and took from it a small black bag. His hand trembled a little as he placed the bag on a table in the center of the room.

“My good friend,” he said aloud, “I am inclined to believe that they are trying to separate us. The little comedy just performed at the hotel must have resulted from the good offices of a certain Mr. Sherman.

“Now, the question is, shall I remain true to you or not? You must admit that you’re dangerous; still, I’m willing to give you another chance. We’ll leave it to fate. Heads you stay; tails you go.”

He took a coin from his vest pocket and flipped it high in the air. It struck the table, bounced off onto the floor and rolled halfway across the room.

Knowlton stooped over and looked at it curiously, picked it up and returned it to his pocket. Then he carried the bag back to the wardrobe and replaced it on the shelf.

As he turned and seated himself in a chair by the table, his face wore an expression of gravity and anxiety that belied the lightness of his tone and words.

To the most casual observer it would have been apparent that John Knowlton was approaching, or passing through, a crisis. But suddenly he smiled; sweetly, almost tenderly.

We follow his thought, and it brings us to the lobby of the Lamartine.

Besides the usual crowd of transient guests and midday idlers, we find the Erring Knights assembled in full force. Sherman and Booth, with two or three strangers, are conversing amiably with the Venus at the cigar stand, Driscoll and Jennings are at a game of billiards down the hall, and Dumain and Dougherty are completing their discussion of the ways and means of war. Lila is putting on her hat and coat to go to lunch.

Sherman detached himself from the group at the cigar stand and walked over to the lounge where Dumain and Dougherty were seated.

“Well?” he said significantly, stopping in front of them.

They looked up at him inquiringly.

“Knowlton didn’t show up yet,” he continued.

“Yes, he deed,” said the little Frenchman.

“What?”

“I say, he deed.”

“Then, where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh!” A light of evil satisfaction appeared in Sherman’s eyes. “Then you spoke to him?”

“Yes.”

“Then he’s gone.”

“So eet seems; but he’ll probably be back.”

“Ah! And what did he say?”

“In effect, he advised us to go to zee devil.”

Sherman seemed taken aback.

“But didn’t you tell him we’d get him?” he demanded.

But Dumain and Dougherty rose and went to join Driscoll and Jennings in the billiard room without answering him. Sherman’s face colored slightly, but he remained silent, gazing after them with a contemptuous sneer.

“My turn next,” he muttered after they had gone.

Within the next hour Dumain spoke to each of the Erring Knights concerning Knowlton; and he was somewhat surprised at the unanimity with which they favored his proposal. Driscoll was the only one who had a good word for Knowlton. But he was easily persuaded.

Then Dumain decided on a little strategy of his own. The result was unfortunate; but he could not have foreseen that. The little Frenchman was well acquainted with woman’s weakness; but he knew little of her strength. On that day he was destined to acquire knowledge.

When the others wandered out in search of lunch, leaving the lobby all but deserted, he remained behind. For the sake of moral support he communicated his design to Dougherty, who expressed a fear that something was about to be started which it would be difficult to finish.

“Bah!” said Dumain. “You shall see. Sit here to wait. It will be easy.”

When Lila returned from lunch he hurried to her desk and helped her off with her coat.

“Have you been taking lessons in gallantry, Mr. Dumain?” Lila smiled.

“Such a question as zat is insult to zee Frenchman,” said Dumain, assuming an injured air. “We do not learn gallantry; we are born wiz eet. I insist on an apology.”

“But that is not gallant,” Lila protested.

Dumain laughed.

“Eh bien! We all have our lapses. And, too, you should not have offended me. I am very sensiteeve. Eet ees not fair. Only today I have rendered you a very great sairvice. Not zat I expect any reward — or even gratitude. But I think you should know of eet.”

Lila looked up quickly.

“You mustn’t talk like that, Mr. Dumain. You have been good and kind to me — all of you; and you know I am grateful. I can never thank you enough.”

Dumain was silent.

“But what is the service you have rendered me?” Lila said presently.

“One zat you may not thank me for,” said Dumain.

“But what was it?”

“Killing anozzer dragon — of zee human species.”

She frowned.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand you.”

Dumain stammered something about “men” and “danger,” and “the need of a protector.” He was finding it harder than he had thought.

“But what do you mean?” Lila insisted.

The little Frenchman gathered himself together and plunged in.

“I mean,” he said impressively, “zat we have dropped Knowlton and told heem to stay away from you.”

The unexpectedness of it made Lila catch her breath in surprise. Then her face colored gloriously, treacherously. A little tremulous, uncertain laugh came from between her lips.

“That was hardly necessary, was it?” she inquired with a brave attempt at indifference.

“We thought so,” Dumain answered, admiring her courage. He was thinking to himself: “She’s a thoroughbred. Mon Dieu! What a woman!”

“You see,” he added aloud, “we found out something about heem that was not exactly to his credit. So, of course, we cut heem. What does that mean?” noticing a curious smile on Lila’s face.

“I was just thinking,” said Lila slowly, “that it must be a very good man who could afford to say to another man: ‘You are not fit to associate with me.’ Don’t you think so?”

Dumain winced.

“But that wasn’t it,” he protested. “We were thinking of you. None of us pretend to be angels. But we know you are one.”

“But why should you have singled out Mr. Knowlton?” Lila insisted, ignoring the compliment. “He acted just as the rest of you. He is kind to me — so are you, so is Mr. Dougherty. He has never offended me.”

Dumain opened his mouth as though to answer; but was silent.

“Why?” Lila persisted.

Dumain stammered something about roses.

“Roses!” exclaimed Lila in amazement. “What do you mean?”

“I mean zat you take hees roses home,” said Dumain desperately, “and no one else’s.”

He should have known better. No one can get a secret from a woman in that manner; provided, of course, that it is her own secret. Lila leaned back in her chair and laughed delightedly. The little Frenchman regarded her with a comical expression of wounded vanity.

“Oh!” Lila cried, as soon as she could speak. “Mr. Dumain, you are positively childish! You must forgive me; but it is so funny!”

It was too much for Dumain; he gave it up.

“Tom!” he called in the tone of a drowning man crying for help.

Dougherty rose from the seat Dumain had assigned to him and came over to them. In as few words as possible Dumain explained his dilemma, telling him that Lila was aggrieved at their attitude toward Knowlton.

Lila interrupted him.

“Not aggrieved,” she said. “It does not especially interest me; only it seems unjust. And I see no reason for it.”

Dougherty turned to Dumain.

“Why did you say anything about it to her?” he growled.

Dumain, having nothing to say, was silent.

Dougherty turned to Lila.

“And you think we are unjust?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Well, you are wrong.”

“I believe I am right.”

Dougherty reflected for a moment, sighed for courage, cleared his throat, and said:

“Miss Williams, it is time we understand each other. Now is as good a time as any.”

“I don’t understand you,” said Lila.

“You will before I get through. I only ask you to remember what I... what we think of you.

“You know what we’ve done — not much, perhaps, but all we could — to show you how we feel. We’ve been glad enough for the chance. There’s not much good in any of us, but we’re always anxious to use what we’ve got.

“Now about Knowlton. As long as he was merely one of us, we asked no questions. He was good enough for us. And I guess he always treated you all right. But that’s not the point. We have an idea you’re beginning to think too much of him.

“And that won’t do. Knowlton’s all right to buy you roses, and look after you, like the rest of us. But we ain’t fit to touch you, and neither is he.

“That’s all there is to it. If you’ll tell us you don’t think any more of Knowlton than you do of any of the rest of us, we’ll admit we’re wrong and apologize.

“We have some rights, you know. You’ve let us stand by you and do things for you. All we ask you to do is this: say you don’t love this Knowlton.”

During this speech Lila lost her courage. Was everyone in on her secret? Her color rose and fell, her face was lowered, and her hand trembled as she raised it to adjust a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Still, she found sufficient strength to answer:

“I know — I know you have rights, Mr. Dougherty. I know what you have done for me. If it were not for that I would be very angry. You may treat Mr. Knowlton just as you like; the subject does not interest me. And now — go, please.”

“But you ought to tell us—”

“Go!” Lila exclaimed. “Please!”

They turned and left her without another word.

And Lila knew she had done right not to be angry with them. Perhaps they had been impertinent; but she knew they had not meant to be.

And she was frightened; rather, vaguely anxious. For she felt that they would never have presumed so far unless they knew more of Knowlton than they had told her.

What could it be? Her heart said, he is worthy. But she had not spent months in the Hotel Lamartine without learning something of the unsightly mess that lies concealed beneath the crust; and she feared.

But after all, why should she trouble herself with thoughts of Knowlton? He had shown no interest in her. He had treated her with courtesy, of course; he was obviously a gentleman. But he had given her no reason to suppose that he would ever be the instrument either of her pleasure or her sorrow.

The afternoon passed slowly. The telegraph desk at the Lamartine was never overworked; but today it seemed to Lila duller than usual. She tried to read, but found it impossible to settle her mind.

At five o’clock she began to fill in her daily report, and prolonged the task as far as possible in the effort to remain occupied. At half past five she prepared the cash for the collector of the telegraph company, who called every evening.

A few minutes later he arrived.

“Not much for you today,” Lila smiled.

The collector, a short, plump man with an air of importance, counted the cash, wrote out a receipt and handed it to Lila. Then he took an envelope from his pocket and drew from it a crisp, new ten-dollar bill, which he laid on the desk in front of her.

He leaned toward her with a mysterious air as he said:

“Miss Williams, do you know who gave you that?”

Lila looked at the bill, wondering.

“In the past month,” continued the collector, “you have turned in something like a dozen of these. We want to know where they come from.”

The oddity of the question had taken Lila by surprise, and she had remained silent, gathering her wits; but now she remembered.

Of course, the bills were Knowlton’s. Did he not always pay for his telegrams with new bills? And her receipts were not so large but that she would have remembered any others.

“But why?” she stammered, to gain time.

The collector ignored the question.

“Do you know who gave them to you?” he repeated.

“No,” replied Lila distinctly.

“No recollection whatever?”

“None.”

He reached in another pocket and drew forth another bill exactly similar to the one he had shown her, saying:

“I just got this out of your cash drawer. You took it in today. Surely you remember who gave you this?”

Lila repeated “No.”

For a minute the collector eyed her keenly in silence. Then, returning the bills to the envelope, he said slowly:

“That’s odd. Very odd — in a little office like this. I don’t see how you could help remembering. Anyway, be sure you keep a lookout from now on. They’re counterfeit.”

“Counterfeit!” Lila gasped.

The collector nodded, repeated his injunction to “keep a lookout,” and departed.

Counterfeit!

Lila buried her face in her hands and sat quivering, horrified.