The Financier

the current word characterized this type of woman, appeared. She was tall, fair, rugged, and not at all unpleasant to look upon. She had light-blue eyes and a genial smile. Long contact with the police and the brutalities of sex in her early life had made her wary, a little afraid of how the world would use her. This particular method of making a living being illicit, and she having no other practical knowledge at her command, she was as anxious to get along peacefully with the police and the public generally as any struggling tradesman in any walk of life might have been. She had on a loose, blue-flowered peignoir, or dressing-gown, open at the front, tied with blue ribbons and showing a little of her expensive underwear beneath. A large opal ring graced her left middle finger, and turquoises of vivid blue were pendent from her ears. She wore yellow silk slippers with bronze buckles; and altogether her appearance was not out of keeping with the character of the reception-room itself, which was a composite of gold-flowered wallpaper, blue and cream-colored Brussels carpet, heavily gold-framed engravings of reclining nudes, and a gilt-framed pier-glass, which rose from the floor to the ceiling. Needless to say, Butler was shocked to the soul of him by this suggestive atmosphere which was supposed to include his daughter in its destructive reaches.

Alderson motioned one of his detectives to get behind the woman⁠—between her and the door⁠—which he did.

“Sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Davis,” he said, “but we are looking for a couple who are in your house here. We’re after a runaway girl. We don’t want to make any disturbance⁠—merely to get her and take her away.” Mrs. Davis paled and opened her mouth. “Now don’t make any noise or try to scream, or we’ll have to stop you. My men are all around the house. Nobody can get out. Do you know anybody by the name of Cowperwood?”

Mrs. Davis, fortunately from one point of view, was not of a particularly nervous nor yet contentious type. She was more or less philosophic. She was not in touch with the police here in Philadelphia, hence subject to exposure. What good would it do to cry out? she thought. The place was surrounded. There was no one in the house at the time to save Cowperwood and Aileen. She did not know Cowperwood by his name, nor Aileen by hers. They were a Mr. and Mrs. Montague to her.

“I don’t know anybody by that name,” she replied nervously.

“Isn’t there a girl here with red hair?” asked one of Alderson’s assistants. “And a man with a gray suit and a light-brown mustache? They came in here half an hour ago. You remember them, don’t you?”

“There’s just one couple in the house, but I’m not sure whether they’re the ones you want. I’ll ask them to come down if you wish. Oh, I wish you wouldn’t make any disturbance. This is terrible.”

“We’ll not make any disturbance,” replied Alderson, “if you don’t. Just you be quiet. We merely want to see the girl and take her away. Now, you stay where you are. What room are they in?”

“In the second one in the rear upstairs. Won’t you let me go, though? It will be so much better. I’ll just tap and ask them to come out.”

“No. We’ll tend to that. You stay where you are. You’re not going to get into any trouble. You just stay where you are,” insisted Alderson.

He motioned to Butler, who, however, now that he had embarked on his grim task, was thinking that he had made a mistake. What good would it do him to force his way in and make her come out, unless he intended to kill Cowperwood? If she were made to come down here, that would be enough. She would then know that he knew all. He did not care to quarrel with Cowperwood, in any public way, he now decided. He was afraid to. He was afraid of himself.

“Let her go,” he said grimly, doggedly referring to Mrs. Davis, “But watch her. Tell the girl to come downstairs to me.”

Mrs. Davis, realizing on the moment that this was some family tragedy, and hoping in an agonized way that she could slip out of it peacefully, started upstairs at once with Alderson and his assistants who were close at his heels. Reaching the door of the room occupied by Cowperwood and Aileen, she tapped lightly. At the time Aileen and Cowperwood were sitting in a big armchair. At the first knock Aileen blanched and leaped to her feet. Usually not nervous, today, for some reason, she anticipated trouble. Cowperwood’s eyes instantly hardened.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said, “no doubt it’s only the servant. I’ll go.”

He started, but Aileen interfered. “Wait,” she said. Somewhat reassured, she went to the closet, and taking down a dressing-gown, slipped it on. Meanwhile the tap came again. Then she went to the door and opened it the least bit.

“Mrs. Montague,” exclaimed Mrs. Davis, in an obviously nervous, forced voice, “there’s a gentleman downstairs who wishes to see you.”

“A gentleman to see me!” exclaimed Aileen, astonished and paling. “Are you sure?”

“Yes; he says he wants to see you. There are several other men with him. I think it’s someone who belongs to you, maybe.”

Aileen realized on the instant, as did Cowperwood, what had in all likelihood happened. Butler or Mrs. Cowperwood had trailed them⁠—in all probability her father. He wondered now what he should do to protect her, not himself. He was in no way deeply concerned for himself, even here. Where any woman was concerned he was too chivalrous to permit fear. It was not at all improbable that Butler might want to kill him; but that did not disturb him. He really did not pay any attention to that thought, and he was not armed.

“I’ll dress and go down,” he said, when he saw Aileen’s pale face. “You stay here. And don’t you worry