AS Eris was entirely alone in the apartment at night, it had been her custom to lock and bolt her chamber door,—a rough neighbourhood and rear fire-escapes making it advisable.
So now, when the rapping on her bed-room door aroused her, she rose mechanically, still drugged with sleep, made her way blindly to the door, and unlocked it.
As she opened her door so that Hattie could enter and draw her morning bath, the sight of the coloured woman’s agitated features startled her.
Suddenly a glimpse of Graydon in the living-room beyond brought the girl to her shocked senses.
There seemed to be another man there, too—a fat, bald, bland little man who smiled and bowed to her, flourished a straw hat, clapped it on his shiny head, and immediately waddled out of the apartment.
For one dreadful moment a premonition of disaster paralysed the girl, blanched her face.
Then she walked straight into the living-room where her husband slouched against the mantel, his hands in his pockets, an unlighted cigarette sagging over his chin.
“Get out of this house!” she said in a low voice that quivered.
“Send that wench of yours to the kitchen,” he retorted coolly.
Suddenly something about this man frightened her. It was a vague, formless fear. But it was fear. She felt the chill of it.
“Will you leave this house?” she managed to say.
Again a swift, indefinite fear silenced her. Danger was written all over this man. What menaced her she did not know, had no vaguest guess. But never before had she looked into eyes so perilous.
When she found her voice:
“You may start breakfast, Hattie,” she said.
“Start some for me, too,” added Graydon, without removing his gaze from Eris.
And, when the lingering servant had gone, reluctant, perplexed, still loitering in the dining-room devoured by curiosity, Graydon said quietly:
“Eris, I want you back! That’s what’s the matter. Take me back. You won’t be sorry.”
“Who was that man who came here?” she demanded.
“He needn’t matter—if you’ll give me a chance to make good——”
“I want you to tell me who that man was!”
“Answer me! Will you take me——”
“No! Now, who was he?”
“My lawyer,” he said, “—if that interests you.”
“Did you telephone for him, or was it already arranged?”
“If you’ll listen to me——”
“Answer me!”
“I called him up.... I hope I shan’t need him——”
“Are you threatening me with scandal because I let you sleep here last night?”
“There’s no scandal—as long as you are my wife——”
“How long,” said she, “do you suppose I shall remain married to an ex-convict?”
Graydon laughed, fished in his soiled vest for a match, lighted his cigarette:
“You’ve condoned whatever I’ve done, Eris,” he said.
“What!”
“You’ve no case. You’ve condoned my offence. I guess you’ll have to remain married to me, Eris.”
For a full minute she failed to understand, watching him intently, searching for the sinister import of his words.
Suddenly her face flushed scarlet. The hideous thing confronted her.
“You see,” he said coolly, “you can’t afford to face a jury, now.”
“I see,” she said. “You have two witnesses. Also, you have nothing to lose, have you!”
“Yes, I have.”
“What?” she asked.
“You!... I have you to lose. And I’m going to make the play of my life for you——”
His hideous features altered and a rush of startling colour painted his cheek-bones with two feverish smears:
“You listen to me, now, and hold your tongue! I know what you’re up to!” he said in a voice that broke with passion. “I’ve trailed you; I’ve followed you; I’ve kept tabs on you.”
“When you’re not playing up to young Annan you’re vamping Albert Smull. Yes, you are! Don’t stall! You go to his fancy apartment alone. You go to Annan’s house. You’ve got ’em both on your string. You’ve got others. Any man who meets you falls for you!——”
He flung his chewed, wet cigarette into the fireplace; he was trembling all over.
“You may think it’s because you’re making a wad of money that I’m trying to get you back! That’s all right, too; I’m glad you are on easy street. I need money, but not much.
“It’s you I want. And whatever you say or think, I was in love with you when I married you. I had to beat it. It drove me almost crazy to leave you. Two years in prison drove me crazier. I’ve been sick. I’m sick now. I’ll get well if you take me back.... And if you won’t——” He came closer, looking intently into her eyes: “If you won’t—well, there’s one man who isn’t ever going to get you, Eris.... And his name’s Albert Smull.... And the next time I find him loafing around you, you’d better kiss him good-bye. For, by Jesus, I’ll fix him good!”
The girl seated herself on the arm of a chair. Her head was reeling a little, but she kept it high.
“How much money do you want?” she asked.
“I need that, too. I’ll take twenty-five dollars if you can spare it. And I’d like a cheque with it. You’re making good money: I guess five hundred won’t crimp you.”
Her silk reticule still lay on the sofa where she had flung it the night before. She picked it up, took from it the money he required, and handed it to him.
Her cheque-book was in her desk. Seating herself she opened it and wrote out the amount he had demanded, blotted the strip of yellow paper, gave it to him.
“Now,” she said, “I’ve paid you to keep away from me until I free myself. After that the police can take care of you if you annoy me.”
He smiled: “When you consult your attorney you’ll realise that you have no witnesses and no case, little lady.”
“I need only one witness,” she said.
“Who?”
“Any—physician.” Suddenly her white fury was loosened and she took him by his ragged arm and shook him till he stumbled and almost fell.
“I tell you this,” she said, her grey eyes blazing, “because you had better understand it in time to save yourself from another term in prison! For if you ever dare contest the action I shall bring with the vile lie you threaten, any witness I call will send you back to a cell,—and your attorney with you! And that’s that, damn you!”
Her hand fell away from his sleeve. He stood motionless, sickly white as though something vital in him had been shattered.
For, as he stared at her, he never doubted that she had spoken the truth. And the truth meant his finish.
As he stood there, stricken dumb, his bony frame was shaking slightly and sweat chilled his face. He groped for control of what mind his drugs had spared him,—strove to clear it of chaos, formulate some thought, some charge of misconduct against her—something to involve her with some man. And knew, somehow, that it would be useless. The girl had not lied. Any witness she chose to call meant her vindication.
After a long while he passed his scarred fingers over his face, wiping the sweat from his eyes. Then he turned, slouched toward the door, opened it. And, on the sill, slowly faced around and looked back at her.
“You win, Eris,” he mumbled. “I guess you’re good.... Stay so, and I won’t bother you.... But I won’t stand for any other man.... Don’t make any mistake there.... I mean Albert Smull. I know him. I know how he gets women. You think you stop him but he’ll fool you every time.... He’s a rat.... You keep away from him.... That’s all.”
He went, shambling, dull eyed, ghastly, picking at his face with long, scarred fingers.