The Frame Up | Page 6

a table a maitre d'ho'tel was composing the menu for the
evening, against the walls three colored waiters lounged sleepily, and
on a platform at a piano a pale youth with drugged eyes was with one
hand picking an accompaniment. As Wharton paused uncertainly the
young man, disdaining his audience, in a shrill, nasal tenor raised his
voice and sang:
"And from the time the rooster calls I'll wear my overalls, And you, a
simple gingham gown. So, if you're strong for a shower of rice, We two
could make a paradise Of any One-Horse Town."
At sight of Wharton the head waiter reluctantly detached himself from
his menu and rose. But before he could greet the visitor, Wharton heard
his name spoken and, looking up, saw a woman descending the stairs.
It was apparent that when young she had been beautiful, and, in spite of
an expression in her eyes of hardness and distrust, which seemed
habitual, she was still handsome. She was without a hat and wearing a
house dress of decorous shades and in the extreme of fashion. Her
black hair, built up in artificial waves, was heavy with brilliantine; her
hands, covered deep with rings, and of an unnatural white, showed the
most fastidious care. But her complexion was her own; and her skin,

free from paint and powder, glowed with that healthy pink that is
supposed to be the perquisite only of the simple life and a conscience
undisturbed.
"I am Mrs. Earle," said the woman. "I wrote you that note. Will you
please come this way?"
That she did not suppose he might not come that way was obvious, for,
as she spoke, she turned her back on him and mounted the stairs. After
an instant of hesitation, Wharton followed.
As well as his mind, his body was now acutely alive and vigilant. Both
physically and mentally he moved on tiptoe. For whatever surprise, for
whatever ambush might lie in wait, he was prepared. At the top of the
stairs he found a wide hall along which on both sides were many doors.
The one directly facing the stairs stood open. At one side of this the
woman halted and with a gesture of the jewelled fingers invited him to
enter.
"My sitting-room," she said. As Wharton remained motionless she
substituted: " My office."
Peering into the room, Wharton found it suited to both titles. He saw
comfortable chairs, vases filled with autumn leaves, in silver frames
photographs, and between two open windows a business-like roller-top
desk on which was a hand telephone. In plain sight through the
windows he beheld the garage and behind it the tops of trees. To
summon Rumson, to keep in touch with Nolan, he need only step to
one of these windows and beckon. The strategic position of the room
appealed, and with a bow of the head he passed in front of his hostess
and entered it. He continued to take note of his surroundings.
He now saw that from the office in which he stood doors led to rooms
adjoining. These doors were shut, and he determined swiftly that before
the interview began he first must know what lay behind them. Mrs.
Earle had followed and, as she entered, closed the door.
"No!" said Wharton.

It was the first time he had spoken. For an instant the woman hesitated,
regarding him thoughtfully, and then without resentment pulled the
door open. She came toward him swiftly, and he was conscious of the
rustle of silk and the stirring of perfumes. At the open door she cast a
frown of disapproval and then, with her face close to his, spoke
hurriedly in a whisper.
"A man brought a girl here to lunch," she said; "they've been here
before. The girl claims the man told her he was going to marry her.
Last night she found out he has a wife already, and she came here
to-day meaning to make trouble. She brought a gun. They were in the
room at the far end of the hall. George, the water, heard the two shots
and ran down here to get me. No one else heard. These rooms are fixed
to keep out noise, and the piano was going. We broke in and found
them on the floor. The man was shot through the shoulder, the girl
through the body. His story is that after she fired, in trying to get the
gun from her, she shot herself-by accident. That's right, I guess. But the
girl says they came here to die together--what the newspaper call a
'suicide pact'-- because they couldn't marry, and that he first shot her,
intending to kill her and then himself. That's silly. She framed it to get
him. She missed him with the gun, so now