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Page 59
Alfred Warrington seemed to be on very good terms indeed with Stella
as she introduced him to Constance.
"You will join us, Mrs. Dunlap?" he asked, throwing an opera cloak
over Stella's shoulders. "Vera Charmant and Jack Braden are waiting
for us at the Little Montmartre."
As he mentioned the famous cabaret, Constance took a little tighter
grip on herself and decided to take the plunge and see the affair
out, although that sort of thing had very little attraction for her.
They were leaving the theater when she saw lurking in the crowd the
familiar figure of Drummond. She turned her head quickly and sank
back into the dark recesses of the limousine.
Should she tell them now about him?
She leaned over to Warrington. "I saw a man in the crowd just now
who seemed to be quite interested in us," she said quickly. "Can't
we drive around a bit to throw him off if he should get into a cab?"
Warrington looked at her keenly. It was quite evident that he
thought it was Constance who was being followed, not Stella or
himself. Constance decided quickly to say nothing more that would
prejudice Stella, but as Warrington directed his driver to run up
through the park she saw that, far from alarming him, the words had
only added a zest of mystery about herself.
They left the Park and the car jolted them quickly now over the
uneven asphalt to the palace of pleasure, where already the two
advance guards were holding one of the best tables in a house
crowded with all classes from debutantes to debauchees.
"Diamond Jack" Braden was a heavy-set man with a debonnaire, dapper
way about him. He wore a flower in his buttonhole, a smart touch
which seemed very fetching, evidently, to the artistic Vera.
Constance fell to studying him, as she did all men and women. "His
hands betray him," she said to herself, as she was introduced.
They were in fact shielded from view as he bowed, one with the thumb
tucked in the corner of his trousers pocket, the other behind his
back.
"He is hiding something," flashed through her mind intuitively. And,
when she analyzed it, she felt still that there was nothing fanciful
about the idea. It was simply a little unconscious piece of
evidence.
From the start the cabaret was pretty rapid. When they entered, two
of the performers were rendering the Apache dance with an abandon
that improved on its namesake. Scarcely had they finished when the
orchestra began all over again, and a couple of diners from the
tables glided past them on the dancing floor, then another couple
and another.
"Tanguez-vous?" bowed Braden, leaning over to Stella.
"Oui, je tanguerai," she nodded, catching the spirit of the place.
It left Warrington and Constance at the table with Vera, and as
Constance looked eagerly after the graceful form of the little
actress, Warrington asked, "Will you dance!"
"No, thank you," she said, trying him out. "I haven't had time to
learn these new steps. And, besides, I have had a bad day in the
market. Steel, Reading, everything is off. Not that I have lost
much--but it's what I haven't made."
Warrington, who had been about to repeat his question to Vera,
turned suddenly. This was something new to him, to meet a woman like
Constance. If she knew about other stocks, she must know about the
Syndicate. Already he had felt an attraction toward Constance
physically, an attraction of maturity which somehow or other seemed
more satisfying, at least novel, in contrast with, the gay butterfly
talk of Stella.
He did not ask Vera to dance. Instead he began banteringly to
discuss Wall Street and in five minutes he found out that she really
knew as much about certain features of the game as he did. She did
not need to be told that Alfred Warrington, plunger, man about town,
was quite unexpectedly struck by her personality.
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