The Heart Line 35

The Heart Line 35

"Mr. Granthope," she whispered, "may I speak to you a moment? I have

something."

 

"Not now," he said, passing on.

 

She plucked at his sleeve. "I’ve got a great story," she insisted.

 

He shook his head.

 

"Shall I come down to your office?"

 

"Be quiet!" he said under his breath, and went in for his things.

 

She was waiting for him when he emerged.

 

"I’ll come down as soon as I can get off," she continued.

 

He shrugged his shoulders without looking at her, and went down-stairs,

and out.

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER VII*

 

*THE WEAVING OF THE WEB*

 

 

Madam Spoll was sitting in her study on Eddy Street, awaiting her

victim, when Francis Granthope, immaculate as usual, appeared in her

doorway, having been admitted by Spoll. She was in front of the glass,

pinning on a lace collar.

 

"Hello, Frank," she said cordially, looking over her shoulder, "you’re a

sight for sore eyes! We don’t see much of you, nowadays."

 

"I’ve been pretty busy, lately," he answered, sitting down and looking

about with an __EXPRESSION__ of ill-concealed distaste. The stuffy, crowded

room seemed more unpleasant than ever, after his evening at the

Maxwells’. Madam Spoll seemed more gross. Everything that had been

familiar to him had somehow changed. He seemed to have a different

angle of vision. It was close and warm, and the air smelled of dust.

 

"You ain’t a-going to forget your old friends, now you’ve got in with

the four hundred, are you, Frank?" she said earnestly.

 

He pulled out a cigarette-case and lit a cigarette. As he struck the

match he answered:

 

"Not if they don’t meddle in my affairs." He gazed at her coolly as he

inhaled a puff of smoke and sent a ring across the room.

 

Madam Spoll’s face grew stern. "That’s no way to talk, Frank. I’ve

been the same as a mother to you, in times past, ever since you went

into business, in fact. It looks like you was getting too good for us."

 

"Why, what’s the matter now?"

 

"Oh, you’re so stand-off, nowadays."

 

He laughed uneasily. "You always said I was spoiled."

 

"Well, who’s spoiling you now? Miss Payson?"

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"You know, well enough! Lord, why don’t you come out with it! It’s all

in the family, ain’t it? You’ve got her on the string, all right, ain’t

you?"

 

"I have not." The frown grew deeper in his forehead.

 

"H’m!" She drew a long breath. "Well, that means we’ll have to begin

at the beginning, then, I expect. I had a sort of an idea that you

_had_ got her going, and wouldn’t mind saying so, but if you’re going to

go to work and be mysterious, why, I’ll have to talk straight business."

She pointed at him with her pudgy finger. "Now, see here, she’s been

writing to you, anyways. You can’t deny _that_."

 

"What makes you think so?"

 

"I don’t think anything at all about it; I know. What d’you take me for?

A Portugee cook? It’s my business to know all about the Paysons, that’s

all. Very good."

 

Granthope looked more concerned, and eyed her suspiciously.

 

"There’s only one way for you to have found that out," he said. "And

that reminds me. I want to get those notes I gave you about her when

you were up at my place. I didn’t keep a copy, and I’ve forgotten some

of the details that I need."

 

Madam Spoll raised her eyebrows, also her shoulders, and made an

inarticulate noise in her throat. "Funny you need them so bad all of a

sudden. Not that they done us much good—we’ve found out a lot for

ourselves; about all we need for the present."

 

"Well, I haven’t interfered with your game, and I don’t see why you

should interfere with mine. Only, I’d like those memoranda back,

please." His tone was almost peremptory.

 

"I’m sorry, but I ain’t got ’em."

 

"Where are they?"

 

"Why, I give ’em to Vixley."

 

Granthope saw that it was no use to go further. He had, in spite of his

precautions, already aroused her suspicions, and so he pretended to

consider the matter of no moment. Madam Spoll, however, was now

thoroughly aroused.

 

"What I want to know, Frank, is whether you’re with us or not."

 

"I thought the understanding was that we were to work separately."

 

"Separately _and_ together. Mutual exchange _and_ actual profit, for

each and for all. We got a mighty good thing in Payson, me and Vixley

have, and we propose to work it for all it’s worth. It’ll be for your

interest to come in and help us out. True, you have done something, but

now you’re lallagagging, so to speak, when you might be making a big

haul. Payson’s easy, and we can steer the girl your way, through him.

He’ll believe anything. All we got to do is to say my guides want him

to have you for a son-in-law, and the trick is as good as turned. I

agree to get him started this afternoon. He’s a ten-to-one shot. I can

see that with half an eye. It’ll only be up to you to make good with

the girl, and Lord knows that’ll be easy for you. Now is that straight

enough for you?"

 

Granthope rose and began to pace the floor nervously. He paused to

straighten some magazines upon the table, he adjusted a photograph upon

the wall, he moved back a chair; then he turned to her and said:

 

"I don’t see how there’s anything in this for me. I’m through with all

that sort of thing, and I think, on the whole, I’ll stay out. I’m going

in for straight palmistry—and—well, another kind of game altogether. You

wouldn’t understand it even if I explained. I’ve got a good start, now,

and I don’t want to queer myself."

 

Madam Spoll made a theatrical gesture of surprise. "Lord, Frank, who

would have thought of you doing the Sunday-school superintendent act on

me! A body would think you’d never faked in your life! My Lord, I’m

trying to lead you astray, am I?"

 

"That’s all right. I don’t pretend to be very virtuous, but some of

this is getting a little raw for me."

 

Madam Spoll opened her eyes and her mouth. "What’s got into you,

anyway?"

 

"Something’s got out, perhaps," he said, frowning. "At any rate, I don’t

care to make use of Miss Payson to help you rob her father."

 

"Rob her father!" Outraged innocence throbbed in Madam Spoll’s voice.

"Lord, Frank, you’re plumb crazy! Why, he won’t spend no money he don’t

want to, will he? He can afford it well enough! He’ll never miss what

we get out of him. You might think I was going to pick his pockets, the

way you talk." She took him by the arm. "See here! You ain’t really

stuck on that Payson girl, are you? Why, if I didn’t know you so well,

I’d be almost ready to suspect you of it! But land, you’ve had women

running after you ever since you went into business! But I notice you

don’t often stay away from the office more’n two days running."

 

"I don’t know that my private affairs are any of your business," he said

curtly. He was rather glad, now, of the chance for an outright quarrel.

 

But she would not let it come to that, and continued in a wheedling

tone: "Well, this happens to be my business, and I speak to you as a

friend, Frank, for your own good as well as mine. You can take it or

leave it, of course; I ain’t a-going to try and put coercion on to you,

and there’s time enough to decide when we get Payson wired up. Then

I’ll talk to you just once more. You just think it over a while, and

don’t do nothing rash."

 

Granthope arose to leave. He was for a more romantic game, himself.

The vulgarity here offended him esthetically rather than ethically, and

yet he winced at the insinuations Madam Spoll had made.

 

"I think I can go it alone," he said; "as for rashness, I won’t

promise."

 

He had gone but a few minutes when Professor Vixley entered and shook a

long lean claw with Madam Spoll, took off his coat and sat down.

"Well," he said affably, "how’re they coming, Gert?"

 

"Oh, so-so; Frank Granthope’s just been here."

 

"Is that so! Did you get anything out of him?"

 

"No. And he wants his Payson notes back again. What d’you think of

that!"

 

Vixley crossed his legs, and whistled a low, astonished note. "We’re

goin’ to have trouble with Frank, I expect."

 

Madam Spoll’s smooth forehead wrinkled. "Frank’s a fool! He’s leary of

us, and I believe he’ll throw us down if we don’t look out."

 

"Most time to put the screws on, ain’t it?"

 

"I don’t know; we’ll see. We can go it alone for a while. Wait till we

really need him and I’ll guarantee to make him mind. He’s got the

society bug so bad I couldn’t do anything with him."

 

"The more he gets into society the more use he is to us," said Vixley.

"He’s a pretty smooth article."

 

"Do you know, I have an idea he’s getting stuck on that Payson girl."Vixley cackled.