Free Ronicky Doone (1921) by Max Brand Page A

taken from the pocket of Harry Morgan.
    In the meantime he must answer something. He could not pretend that the room was empty, for the light must be showing around the door.
    "Harry!" called the voice of the girl again. "Do you hear me? Come out! The chief wants you!" And she rattled the door.
    Fear that she might open it and, stepping in, see the senseless figure on the floor, alarmed Ronicky. He came close to the door.
    "Well?" he demanded, keeping his voice deep, like the voice of Harry Morgan, as well as he could remember it.
    "Hurry! The chief, I tell you!"
    He snapped out the light and turned resolutely to the door. He felt his faithful Colt, and the feel of the butt was like the touch of a friendly hand before he opened the door.
    She was dressed in white and made a glimmering figure in the darkness of the hall, and her hair glimmered, also, almost as if it possessed a light and a life of its own. Ronicky Doone saw that she was a very pretty girl, indeed. Yes, it must be Caroline Smith. The very perfume of young girlhood breathed from her, and very sharply and suddenly he wondered why he should be here to fight the battle of Bill Gregg in this matter Bill Gregg who slept peacefully and stupidly in the room across the street!
    She had turned away, giving him only a side glance, as he came out. "I don't know what's on, something big. The chief's going to give you your big chance with me."
    Ronicky Doone grunted.
    "Don't do that," exclaimed the girl impatiently. "I know you think Pete is the top of the world, but that doesn't mean that you can make a good imitation of him. Don't do it, Harry. You'll pass by yourself. You don't need a make-up, and not Pete's on a bet."
    They reached the head of the stairs, and Ronicky Doone paused. To go down was to face the mysterious chief whom he had no doubt was the old man to whom Harry Morgan had already referred. In the meantime the conviction grew that this was indeed Caroline Smith. Her free-and-easy way of talk was exactly that of a girl who might become interested in a man whom she had never seen, merely by letters.
    "I want to talk to you," said Ronicky, muffling his voice. "I want to talk to you alone."
    "To me?" asked the girl, turning toward him. The light from the hall lamp below gave Ronicky the faintest hint of her profile.
    "Yes."
    "But the chief?"
    "He can wait."
    She hesitated, apparently drawn by curiosity in one direction, but stopped by another thought. "I suppose he can wait, but, if he gets stirred up about it oh, well, I'll talk to you but nothing foolish, Harry. Promise me that?"
    "Yes."
    "Slip into my room for a minute." She led the way a few steps down the hall, and he followed her through the door, working his mind frantically in an effort to find words with which to open his speech before she should see that he was not Harry Morgan and cry out to alarm the house. What should he say? Something about Bill Gregg at once, of course. That was the thing.
    The electric light snapped on at the far side of the room. He saw a dressing table, an Empire bed covered with green-figured silk, a pleasant rug on the floor, and, just as he had gathered an impression of delightful femininity from these furnishings, the girl turned from the lamp on the dressing table, and he saw not Caroline Smith, but a bronze-haired beauty, as different from Bill Gregg's lady as day is from night.

    Chapter Eleven. A Cross-Examination .
    He was conscious then only of green-blue eyes, very wide, very bright, and lips that parted on a word and froze there in silence. The heart of Ronicky Doone leaped with joy; he had passed the crisis in safety. She had not cried out.
    "You're not " he had said in the first moment.
    "I am not who?" asked the girl with amazing steadiness. But he saw her hand go back to the dressing table and open, with incredible deftness and speed, the little top drawer behind her.
    "Don't do that!" said Ronicky softly, but sharply. "Keep your hand off that table, lady, if you