XI
O'REILLY'S WAISTCOAT POCKET
O'Reilly's first look into the sitting room was not for the girl.Involuntarily, it seemed, he sent a lightning glance to the left, tothat side of the room farthest from the big chair where she sat. Clo'sdesperate need to know what was in his head inspired her withclairvoyance. Consciousness lit her brain once more. She was sure thatshe had read his thoughts. He feared that after all she was fooling him.He was saying in his mind: "What if she meant me to go and fetch thiswater while she looks for what she wants to find?"
Now Clo was certain at last, not only of his having the papers, but thatthey were in the room, somewhere on that left side, where his glance hadflashed. It was hard to keep still, without the flicker of an eyelash;but she believed, as O'Reilly came back to her, that she had stood thetest of his stare.
He moistened his handkerchief, and gingerly dabbed the girl's forehead.It was a relief to "come to," to be able to start, and draw a longbreath.
"There! You're better, aren't you?" he asked.
"Yes," she breathed. "I should like to go home, but I'm afraid----"
"Don't be. I'm going with you," he said. "By this time a taxi's waitingfor us. Do you think you can walk if I give you my arm?"
"I'll try," Clo answered, gratefully.
No pretence of weakness was needed. She felt like a rag. O'Reilly tookher by the hand, and with an arm round the slim waist raised the girl toher feet. Once up, she swayed as if she might fall, but he held herfirmly. "Lean against me," he said, in a kind voice.
She had never before been so near to a man in her life. "You're verygood to me," she whispered. "I should like you, please, to remember thatI thank you."
"I'm sorry I said you deserved to be thrown out of the window," O'Reillyabsolved himself. "Whatever else you may be, you're a good plucked one.Now, here we are at the door. Are you sure you can walk to the elevator?Hang on to my arm."
She hung on to it.
They reached the lift, which came to them in a few seconds, unoccupiedsave for the youth who ran it. Clodagh kept up bravely until she wasseated in the taxi, and could have kept up until the end without toogreat an effort, for her collapse had made her feel rested. It was not,however, the girl's metier to "keep up." The task was but halfaccomplished. The hardest part was to come.
She knew--or thought she knew--that O'Reilly had the papers, that theywere in New York; not only in New York, but in his private sitting roomat the Dietz Hotel. They were in some hiding-place there; and for aninstant he had feared her knowledge of its existence. He had expectedher to try, while his back was turned, to steal its contents. Clo'snimble brain, deducing all this from what had happened, deducedsomething else as well. The man would have had no fear if the secretwere impossible for an outsider to learn. It could not be impossible. Itcouldn't even be difficult, if she might have solved the puzzle whilehis back was turned. For her, O'Reilly's uneasiness was a hopeful sign.Somewhere on the window side of his private parlour at the Dietz thepapers which Angel needed were hidden. Each second during the girl'sslow progress to the lift, her descent, and her short walk to the taxi,was spent in sorting out these deductions.
Those big black eyes of Clodagh Riley's had not been given her in vain.One swift glance during the cold-water treatment had shown her manydetails useful to remember. On one side of the window was a desk. In thedesk was a drawer, and the key thereof was in the keyhole. It seemedimprobable that secret papers should be kept in such a place, butcircumstances might have forced O'Reilly to leave them there.
On the other side of the window was a kind of buffet, with glass doorsand shelves and a closed cupboard, but Clo had less hope of this than ofthe desk. There might be a less obvious hiding hole than either, perhapsa sliding panel in the wall. There must in any case be a key, and thatkey must be on the person of O'Reilly.
She would have to use all her wits to get it while they were together inthe taxi! And there was the key of the suite to get also; but that wouldbe easier. She had seen O'Reilly take the big key from a table, as theywent by, slipping it into the pocket of his dinner jacket. Forced tosupport his half-fainting guest, he had not put on an outer coat, so thekey was within reach of clever and determined fingers. Clodagh's weredetermined, and--she hoped--clever.
With this design burning in her head and tingling in her hands, shedecided to faint again as they started for home, and keep O'Reillyoccupied every inch of the way.
"I'm afraid--I'm not so strong--after all----" she sighed, as the taxidoor shut, and proceeded to "flop" like a large rag doll. Her head fellon the man's breast, and rolled across to his left arm, her hat askew.
"I'm very ill," she moaned. "Something hurts so! My hat-pin----" And hervoice trailed into silence.
"Poor child!" the man exclaimed, completely taken in at last. Thehat-pin was sticking in very deep! Not that she minded a little pain.But the great thing was to keep O'Reilly's hands busy.
Clumsily, obstinately, he fumbled among the meshes of ostrich plumewound around her hat. The head of the pin eluding him there, he triedbeneath the brim, his fingers tangling in thick waves of hair. They weresoft waves, softer and silkier than the ostrich plume. No man with bloodin his veins could have touched them without a thrill. The girl on hisbreast, her face on his arm, one hand holding her up, another caught inher hair, O'Reilly was conscious of electric shocks.
His hands and attention thus engaged, Clo got the chance she'd waitedfor. Delicately, stealthily, like the "mouse" she called herself, sheextracted the door key from O'Reilly's pocket. So far, so good. But thenext deed would try her mettle. Lightly as a flitting shadow the smallfingers moved over the man's waistcoat, from the belt line to thebreast. She could feel his heart thump, and almost started, butcontrolled herself.
Clo had noticed that men often wore a short chain or ribbon, attached toa watch, and hanging from the waistcoat pocket with a seal, a societybadge or a lucky souvenir. O'Reilly wore no ornament of that sort; butthere was a watch, a thin watch which she could feel through the cloth,and some flat object with it. If she could slip a finger into thatpocket without his knowing!
But now they were in Park Avenue, not far from the imposing apartmenthouse at the corner, where Mr. and Mrs. Sands lived. Clo availed herselfof a slight bump, and showed signs of sliding off the seat. O'Reilly,who had just extracted the hat-pin and stuck it into his coat, steadiedher with an effort. Fortunately there was no need to look out and stopthe chauffeur. That afternoon O'Reilly had passed the building, informedby Count Lovoresco who lived there, and had looked up with a certaincuriosity. He remembered the number, and in leaving the Dietz had beenable to give the address.
The taxi stopped, and O'Reilly prepared to carry the fainting girl intothe house. She would be a light load. As he got out of the taxi with Cloin his arms a man came forward.
"Won't you let me help you, sir?" he civilly inquired.
"You may run ahead," said O'Reilly. "I can manage the young ladymyself."
The man who had offered his services disappeared into the house, andfound the porter, a substantial person in livery. Clo convenientlyrevived when placed on the seat of the lift. O'Reilly sat by her side,supporting the limp body, her hat in his hand, while the porter shot theelevator up to the Sands' floor.
"Lord a'mighty!" the old fellow exclaimed, "if this ain't the poor childthat's been an invalid all these weeks! Mrs. Sands will be in a way!Must be near eight weeks since this little gal was brought in on astretcher, lookin' like dead. She ought to be in bed."
"Somebody should have looked after her," said O'Reilly.
"That's it, sir. Her nurse is out, gaddin'."
"Brute!" Clo heard O'Reilly mutter. And leaning comfortably against hisshoulder she felt wicked, treacherous, because she had more than onceapplied the same epithet to him. Whatever happened, never would she dothat again!
The elevator stopped. The porter touched the electric bell at the Sands'door, and almost instantly a manservant appeared. His cry of surprisebro
ught Mrs. Sands herself out from a room at the end of the hall. Theporter tried to explain everything; failed; broke off to questionO'Reilly; O'Reilly answered; Beverley exclaimed; and among them, all wasconfusion. Clo, looking through half-shut eyes over her bearer'sshoulder, saw a shadow flit between the portieres. Had some one come in?If so, who could it be? Or was it only the shadow of a blowing curtainshe had seen? The question did not strike her as important just then,for if any one had passed it was doubtless a servant or, at worst,Sister Lake. Besides, Clo had much to think of; how to come back toconsciousness quickly without rousing suspicion, and, when officiallyalive again, how to escape for the next errand.
The rush of air and babble of excited voices gave her an excuse to gasp,and stammer out a conventional "Where am I?"
"We'll get you to your room, dear," said Beverley; and Clo wondered ifher acting had deceived Angel. "The butler can----"
"No, thanks, I'll manage her by myself," O'Reilly broke in and carriedthe white bundle along the hall.
"This is her room," Mrs. Sands explained to him. "If you will put her onthe bed...."
"No--please! Take me on into the next room, Sister Lake's room. I mustbe there. I'll tell you why presently," the girl pleaded.
Beverley threw open the door between the two rooms, hurried ahead, andturned on a light.
"Now, lay me on this bed," Clo commanded.
Having obeyed, O'Reilly stood as if awaiting further orders. Clo glancedfrom him imploringly to Mrs. Sands. "I've gone through such a lot!" shemoaned. "I've suffered so! I felt I could never get home alive. Please,Mr. O'Reilly--you've been kind--don't let it all be for nothing!"
"What do you want of me?" he stiffly inquired.
"Only for you to talk to Mrs. Sands. In that next room--my room. Nobodywill disturb you. If the nurse comes back, she'll come into her own roomfirst. That's why I asked you to bring me to it. I couldn't persuade youto give me the papers. Perhaps even Mrs. Sands can't persuade you. But Ibeg, I pray you, to give her the chance. Listen to what she has to say."
"Very well," he answered, grudgingly. "I'll do what you ask. But I'll doit for your sake."
Beverley had remained on the threshold of the next room. Now sheretreated into it. O'Reilly followed; but at the door he turned."Good-bye," he said to Clo.
"Good-bye," she echoed. "And thank you again--for everything."
She had more to thank him for than he knew--the contents of her tightlyclutched hand.