CHAPTER XIV
In the sudden hush that spread through the room, only the stertorous breathing of the angry young man who faced Templeton Druid could be heard. For just a moment after Howard spoke, Teddy Martin, at the piano, jangled out a bit of jazz, but it had the hollow sound that a popular song might have at a funeral. He whirled about on the piano bench as much astonished at the peculiar quiet as a man in different environment might have been had a bomb exploded at his feet. Marie Shaw stopped stock still, stunned into actual quietude for once, with skirt still uplifted in her unfinished pirouette.
Gradually, unconsciously, Druid’s guests closed in about the two belligerent men to form a half circle. In the tenseness, each waited with bated breath for what next might happen. Howard Benton’s attitude was unmistakable. He meant trouble.
Elinor was the first to gain control of herself. She ran to her brother and grabbed him by the arm.
“Howard!” she shrieked, vixenishly. “How dare you come in here like this! You’re drunk! Go home at once! You wait until Dad hears of this——”
“You shut up!” He pushed her roughly aside. “You’re a fine one to tell me I’m drunk! Look at you, with your hair hanging around you, and your clothes almost falling off—God!” He buried his face in his hands. “I never thought I should find my sister like this!”
Teddy Martin came forward quickly. “See here, Benton, you don’t know what you’re talking about. This is Druid’s birthday, and we’re having a little party. There isn’t a thing wrong——”
“You can’t make a fool of me!” he answered hotly. “Didn’t I see her in his arms when I came in?”
“Well, supposing you did,” Druid interrupted. “At an informal party like this, we don’t stand on ceremony. This doesn’t happen to be one of your—society functions,” with deep sarcasm.
“Put on your things at once.” Howard turned commandingly to Elinor. “I’ll send you home in a taxi and then I’ll come back and settle with him.”
“But what if I don’t feel like going home?” Elinor faced him furiously. “You’ve got your nerve to think you can humiliate me like this in front of my friends.”
“Friends?” Howard sneered. “And I suppose this man,” pointing to Templeton and trembling as a man with ague, so eager was he to fasten his hands on the actor’s throat, “is your friend too?”
Elinor Benton drew herself up with all the dignity inherited from a haughty parentage. She looked at her brother, squarely, then defiantly about the half circle of watching silent people.
“He’s more than my friend,” Elinor announced haughtily, but with a touch of pride. “He is—my affianced husband!”
Living on sensation as most of her hearers did, proof against surprises in usual matters, still the simply-worded announcement of Elinor Benton was sufficient to cause jaws to drop, to cause glances to dart from one to the other at a statement that, to say the least, to most of them was startling. Then those glances came back to settle on the face of Templeton Druid—the glances of these people who knew him. What they saw was that his suave countenance had turned scarlet, and that his eyes wavered unsteadily as he, too, glanced stealthily around the room.
“How wonderfully interesting!” Howard’s sarcastic laugh rang out, “but don’t you think it would have been proper and more gentlemanly for him to have waited until he had disposed of his present wife before honoring you with his proposal?”
“His wife!” Elinor turned ghastly. “It isn’t true! Tell him it isn’t true—Templeton?”
“Just look at him!” Howard blazed. “You can read his answer in his face.”
“Well, I told you there was a matter of great importance I had to settle—before I could marry you—didn’t I?” Druid turned to Elinor almost fiercely.
“Yes—but a—wife—a wife!” Once more her wail turned to sobs, as her slender body was shaken in a gale of emotion, of chagrin.
Howard took a menacing step nearer Druid.
“You’ve played fast and loose with my sister’s affections in order to feed your disgusting vanity,” he began, chokingly. “You will——”
“Now you get out of here—you and your sister!” All of Druid’s polish dropped from him like a cloak. “I’ve taken about all I care to stand from you. If you think, for a moment, that you can come into my home and insult me in front of my guests, you’re mistaken! Your sister isn’t a baby—she’s capable of taking care of herself. In fact, I think she knows considerably more than you think.” He was sneeringly insinuating.
“You—you cad!” Unable further to hold himself in check, Howard sprang forward. “I’m going to give you the beating you so justly deserve.”
Westley took a step forward and turned aside the angry boy’s arm.
“Steady there, Benton,” Druid’s eyes flashed fire. “If you start anything with me, you’ll find more than you bargained for! You’re not my match in strength, and I don’t like to take advantage of a boy!”
With only the memory of Druid’s words to “get out,—you and your sister” ringing in her ears, and hurt unbelievably that they should have come from the man who but a moment before was softly voicing undying devotion to her, Elinor Benton attempted to interfere, to put an end to the sordid scene. She put her hand on Howard’s arm which he was still waving threateningly.
“Come on, Howard. Mr.—Mr. Druid is right. We have created enough disturbance here. I—I’m ready to go home with you,” she said with dignity.
“You—keep out of this!” Howard shook off her hand. His eyes blazed fire as he advanced on his enemy. “So I’m a boy, am I?” he sneered. “Well at least, I’m not a coward and I don’t make play-things of women.”
“Get out!” Druid thundered.
Howard’s answer was to pull off his coat, fling it on the floor and lunge forward with closed fists. Elinor screamed hysterically and fled to the corner of the room, covering her eyes with both trembling hands.
But Druid was not caught off his defense. He caught Howard’s fists in his hands and there was a triumphant light in his eyes as he hissed between closed teeth: “Very well, you damned fool! If you’re bound on fighting, I’ll give you a thrashing you’ll not forget in a hurry.”
Men guests, less befuddled, sprang forward protestingly, but he waved them back dramatically, as he pulled off his coat.
“All of you keep out of this. My patience has been tried beyond all endurance, and this child,” he paused just the right length of time for his dramatic taunt, “must be taught a lesson!” The sneer accompanying the words curled back his lips over the perfect teeth.
It only took Druid a few seconds to discover that he was up against anything but a novice. Howard had taken a special course of pugilistic training besides being a born athlete. In college he had carried off first honors in every contest. Druid was no mean athlete himself and not loth to exploit his prowess, but he depended too much on brute strength, a strength his evening’s debauch had much weakened. He found himself no match for Howard’s cleverness—taught him by one of the most scientific men in the ring.
Templeton Druid was getting the worst of it. That was plain. He had been down twice and was terribly groggy. Both men were bleeding profusely and indiscriminately over the room which looked as if a cyclone had struck it.
A half stifled, hysterical shriek at some telling bloody blow from one of the women, a groan, or muffled mumble of admiration from the men guests who were watching as eagerly as at any mill in the padded ring was all that could be heard above the labored breathing of the battlers, save the steady hysterical sobbing of Elinor Benton from her corner. Rugs were torn up, furniture overturned, priceless bric-a-brac fell with a crash that added to the general ensemble; the grinning Buddha toppled from his pedestal and crashed into a thousand pieces, his grin alone looking up from the floor in the midst of his shattered features.
Templeton Druid dropped to the floor with finality. Men sprang forward, thinking it was the end, when slowly he began to pull himself up again. His hand went to his hip-pocket, and he pulled forth a small revolver. Howard saw it at the moment its shine appeared and leapt for it.
A struggle—more furious than ever for a moment. A shot rang out.
Templeton Druid staggered, threw his hands in the air, and fell, face downward on the torn, blood-stained Persian rug.
Howard Benton stood over the crumpled figure on the rug with the shining revolver in his hand. He looked at it half understandingly, as though it were a strange thing he had never seen before—that he could not recognize. Then it dropped from his nerveless fingers with a clatter among the pieces of the broken Buddha. His eyes shifted aimlessly about, to fix themselves once more on the huddled figure at his feet.
“My God!” he gasped. “I’ve killed him!”
In the speechless pause, Elinor Benton’s shrieks rent the air wildly. She staggered from her corner, throwing aside hands that with kindly intent sought to restrain her, to fall prone on the still form on the floor, her gown drinking in the crimson that flowed out darkly across the polished floor.
“Oh, my darling! Speak to me!” she moaned and pleaded. “I don’t care for anyone in the world! I love you! Oh—speak to me! Speak to me!”
The quiet that had reigned during the encounter became turmoil. Trembling, wild-eyed, Druid’s valet’s white face appeared at the door. Westley rushed to him.
“Is there a doctor in the building?” he howled.
The man’s teeth chattered as his shuddering glance took in the scene.
“Yes, sir,” he stuttered. “On the ground floor.”
“Get him!” commanded the movie actor.
Women rushed to get wraps, looking about with anxious eyes for the opportunity of making cautious exits. Only Elinor Benton seemed not to think of escape as she wept over the still figure of the man on the floor. But that escape was out of the question was obvious in but a moment when the apartment began to fill with excited, curious tenants who had heard the shot and crowded forward morbidly to see what was going on.
Orders, suggestions, flew backward and forward. Apparently the only calm person in the apartment was Howard Benton. He had walked unseeingly to a bench at one side of the room and dropped on it. He was too stunned to speak. Attempts to speak to him were met with a dazed incomprehension.
Teddy Martin touched him on the shoulder and offered: “I’m sorry, Benton. Is there anything I can do for you?”
The not unkindly touch helped to bring him out of himself.
“Is he—is he—dead—or only wounded?” he asked quietly.
“We don’t know yet,” Martin answered. “The doctor will be here in a minute, and then we will find out. Here he is now.”
Doctor Adams looked on in surprise while one of the girls pulled Elinor away from Druid, trying to make the hysterical girl understand that the doctor had arrived.
“What’s happened here?” the medical man inquired brusquely.
Harold Westley stepped forward. “Two men had a quarrel,” he informed, “and one of them was shot—accidentally.”
“Humph! Looks more like a free-for-all fight,” the doctor answered, glancing around the room. He bent over the still form; turned him over. His examination lasted but a few seconds.
“Dead,” he announced solemnly. “A clean shot through the heart—died instantaneously.”
“No! No!” Elinor moaned, attempting to rush forward again.
“Are you his wife?” the doctor inquired more gently.
Elinor shook her head, but sobs wracked her.
“Oh—well—it is my duty to inform the authorities. Of course, you know no one must leave before their arrival?” He rose from beside the body.
Howard reached for the only friendly hand outheld to him and gripped it.
“Martin,” he asked, “will you try to locate my father? Call the club, and if he isn’t there, try our home. If you get him, give him an idea of what had happened, and ask him to come to me.”
“I’ll do all that I can,” Teddy assured him, and hurried out to the telephone.
He was fortunate in locating Hugh Benton at the Club, catching him just as he was leaving for home. In a very few moments, he gave him a brief outline of the tragic affair.
“I—I’ll be over at once,” said the father in a choked voice. The catastrophe stunned him. He could barely make himself understood, but he added, as assurance for Howard: “I’m going to try to reach my attorney and have him go with me.”
But it was an old and broken man who hung up the telephone and clung to the table for support as he swayed, fighting for courage to carry him through the ordeal he was called on to face—fighting for immediate strength to telephone the man on whom he must rely for present aid.
Howard was pacing nervously up and down, when his father and John Hammond, the celebrated attorney, arrived at the scene of the tragedy. He went to his father manfully.
“I’m terribly sorry, Dad, to have caused this trouble,” he apologized, “but I—I couldn’t help it. The revolver was discharged accidentally. He—he was a coward to the end—he couldn’t even—fight fair.”
“Tell me the entire thing, Howard; just what brought you here, and how it happened.” Mr. Hammond said quietly.
Howard told it all as clearly as he could remember. Once or twice the lawyer interrupted him to ask a question, or to have him make some point a little more definite. At the conclusion, he turned to Hugh.
“This looks like a simple case of self-defense, Benton,” he said, and his tone and off-hand manner gave rising hope to father and son. “The boy came here to protect his sister’s good name—a fight ensued, Druid pulled his revolver—there are witnesses enough here to attest that,” looking about at the sadly morose lot who so short a time before had been merry-makers. “The boy secured possession of it—it was discharged accidentally, or at the worst, discharged in self-defense.”
“Yes—but think of the scandal—” Hugh was not altogether appeased.
“That is something we cannot help,” the lawyer replied as his jaws snapped shut. “Be grateful to think you can save the boy! There are a certain amount of preliminaries necessary to go through, and then he can go home with you. Just a moment, before we go—I want to speak to these men,” indicating a couple of officers and detectives who had entered the room.
“I must arrange to send Elinor home.” Hugh mentioned his daughter for the first time, although the sight of her, when he had come into the room had almost taken the breath from his body.
It was a brilliant commentary on Hugh Benton’s attitude of mind that, as he sat before the telephone at this crisis in his life, maneuvering to save both son and daughter as well as to drown out as much as possible of the scandal that must ensue, that not even for one moment did he think of calling his wife to his aid. As he sat there nervously jangling the hook up and down, it was Geraldine DeLacy who was going through his mind. Geraldine! She loved him! She would come to him—would help him through. Only for a moment did the vision of Marjorie cross his mind, and then he dismissed her with a queer wry smile. In this, his time of trouble, he wanted Geraldine. To the woman he loved, and to her only, would he entrust his foolish daughter.
The sleeping butler at the Thurston home was not easily roused to answer the telephone. Even then, Benton had a difficult time in persuading him his business was of the most vital importance, and that he must awaken Mrs. DeLacy.
It seemed ages before a sleepy voice answered him. “Why—Hugh! What on earth do you mean at this hour in the morning. Why——”
“Geraldine, a terrible thing has happened!” The man’s voice trembled with earnestness. “I cannot tell you over the ’phone,” he went on, “but I want you to dress as quickly as you can, jump in a taxi and come here at once.” He gave her the address of the apartment.
“What place is that—and what do you want me for—what has happened?” she inquired in one breath.
“I can’t go into details now—all I can tell you is that Howard has killed—Templeton Druid. Don’t ask any questions—just come to me, dear—I need you.” His voice quivered more unmistakably.
“Great heavens!” For once Geraldine was all but speechless as she gasped. “I—I’ll come to you at once, dear.”
She never remembered how she dressed, ordered the taxi, or hurried to the apartment. She knew she accomplished it all in a remarkably short space of time, because Hugh met her at the door and said gratefully:
“You certainly came quickly, dear—thank you so much.” He told her as rapidly as possible just what had transpired. “And now,” he urged, “I want you to take Elinor home. There wasn’t anyone here I felt I could entrust her to. She is in a frightfully hysterical condition and should be put to bed at once.”
“I shall be glad to take her, dear, and oh—you don’t know how I am suffering with you. Shall I take Elinor home with me—or——”
“No, no—take her to her own home. My lawyer will have to talk with her to-morrow, and besides,” he continued, “she may want her—mother.”
“Don’t you think Marjorie will resent my entering her home?”
“Marjorie has doubtless been in bed for hours—there is no need to awaken her. She will have to be told everything in the morning, but that is time enough.”
“I will do just as you wish, my dear. My only desire is to serve you, as you know. Nothing else matters,” and she patted his arm lovingly.
She went to Elinor and put her arms protectingly about her.
“Oh—oh—Geraldine!” Elinor began sobbing anew. “What are you doing here? Do you know what has happened? Oh—I just want to die—I want to die!”
“There, there, darling,” Geraldine soothed, helping her on with her wrap she had brought. “I am going to take you home. You can tell me everything in the taxi. You must pull yourself together, dear, and be brave.”
“How can I be—brave—when—when—my heart is breaking! Just—just think! A little while ago, I—I was in his arms—and—and—now—I shall-nev-er—see him again!”
“Come, dear, we will go now. Your father is anxious for you to go home.” And Geraldine led her to the door, where Hugh joined them.
Elinor fell into his arms. “Daddy! Daddy!” she cried, heart-brokeningly. “What shall I do? I—I can’t stand this.”
Hugh held her closely in his arms as he tenderly murmured: “Never mind, darling, your Daddy will always stand by you—no—no matter what happens. Mrs. DeLacy will take you home. Howard and I will have to wait awhile, but we’ll follow you.”
“Howard!” Elinor turned like a tigress. “He is to blame for all this—I hate him! Do you understand? I hate him! And I hope he is made to suffer for his crime!”
Geraldine DeLacy put her arm protectingly about the girl whose whole body shook with the fury and fervor of the hate with which she denounced the brother who had killed the man she believed she loved. Hugh Benton’s surprised shocked countenance gave proof of his little understanding of the side of his daughter’s character she was showing. But Geraldine only drew her more closely into protecting arms.
“Come with me, darling,” she soothed. “You’re all unnerved.” She shook her head protestingly at Hugh Benton as his mouth opened to speak. Without a word, he helped the woman and girl into the waiting cab and turned back toward the apartment entrance. But his head hung low as he walked, and there was a sense of unrealness, a sense of bewilderment, wonder, annoyance at the complexity of life as he went slowly back to the son who had sought only to do as his conscience bade.