Screen Mirror (Jun 1930 - Mar 1931)

24 Screen Mirror • For March A Man of Honor • continued from page 9 been a bit tight when I met you at the Ritz the other evening. I kind of forgot to get your ’phone number.” "Well, you gave me yours, so here we are,” said Michael Trevor, leaning back restfully in a chair by the windows. "How about a little drink,” Taylor proposed. "No, thanks,” said Trevor, acknowledging the invitation with a little gesture of the hand. "I had a purpose in calling you this morning, Mr. Taylor. Outside of my desire to see you again, of course.” “Clad you did. Always pleased . .” “I’ll try to be as brief as possible,” said Trevor, interrupting. Then, after a pause, “I don’t know whether you know much about me, Mr. Taylor?” “Sure I do. You’re being modest.” “Thanks.” "I’ve heard a lot about you,” Taylor resumed. “They tell me you’re over here writing a great novel and ” Trevor stopped him. “I wish I could be as sure of that as 'they’ are,” he said with a smile. “All I know is about four years ago I quit being a newspaperman in America — and now I’m over here to see I can really write.” “Been in Paris four years?” said Taylor, heartily. “Say, I wish I could stay here four years. I’ve only been here a week and I ain’t begun to see ” “Unfortunately,” Trevor cut in quickly, "Paris is spoiled by the presence here of a certain group who live by their wits — and other people’s lack of them. I’ve never known exactly what they did until last night when I ran into one of them. He helps run a weekly paper here — printed in English.” Taylor, at this point, gave every evidence of being not a little bored. “Good here,” he said. “Me, I didn’t come to Paris to read.” "Please hear me out,” said Trevor, rising to walk back and forth across the room. “This fellow was drunk and talked too much. He showed me a copy of an item they’re going to run in their next issue. I put it in my pocket when he wasn’t looking.” He pulled from his pocket a strip of paper; a galley proof familiar in every newspaper office. "Fine, just leave it here. I’ll read it later. Let’s have a drink,” said Taylor. “It’s about you. I think you’d better read it right away,” and there was something serious in Trevor’s tone. Surprised by Trevor’s manner Taylor extended his hand for the paper. He read: “ ’Tis a pity that some of our compatriots are so naive and lacking in worldly knowledge. Surely Mr. Harold Taylor, the Silo King, of Burlington, Iowa, could not have known the identity of the very beautiful and very blonde young woman with whom he seemed to be on such inti mate terms at Zelli’s the other morning at four. Those in the know were forced to smile as this strangely assorted couple left the restaurant arm in arm. Watch your step, Harold.” As Taylor finished reading the proof his eyes blinked, he shook his head as if he had been struck a blow, and he started to read the article again. “We became so well acquainted at the Ritz that evening I thought I’d come over and tell you about this piece,” Trevor’s voice cut in, smoothly. Taylor poured himself a drink. “You can do those of us who live here a great favor,” Trevor continued. “We don’t know who gets out this sheet. The fellow I met was just one of the reporters. What we’d like you to do is take this item to the police and get the whole gang arrested. They’ve tried this thing before.” "But if I go to the police this’ll get in the papers just the same,” said Taylor, anxiously, nervously, and added, “Won’t it?” Trevor paused a moment before he spoke. “Probably,” he said. There was a long silence. Taylor sat in his chair, fumbling his hands and looking at them in an undecisive, puzzled, manner. Then he looked up at Trevor, who was standing over him, a quizzical smile on his face. “I can’t afford to have this item printed,” wailed Taylor. “They’d hear about it back home. My wife ” “I’d like to help you out, but I can’t. I’m sorry you won’t prosecute, Mr. Taylor. I hoped you would, when I called. These men are dangerous. Well, I’m sorry I wasted your time. Goodbye.” Trevor turned to pick up his hat and cane. “Just a minute,” said Taylor. “Do you suppose we, I, could pay this fellow — that is, buy him off?” Trevor shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I don’t suppose it would be very difficult,” he said. "It would be worth a lot to me not to have it appear. Say, I wonder if you could do me a favor?” asked Taylor, eagerly. “Certainly — if I could.” “How about you seeing this fellow for me?” “My seeing him?” “Yes. He’d probably listen to you where he wouldn’t to me. Of course I’d be prepared to pay for it.” A disapproving look passed over Trevor’s face. “Pay him, you mean, of course,” he said, v Taylor was quick, eager, with his assurance “Oh, I didn’t mean — say you’d be doing me an awful service.” “Well, if you put it that way, Mr. Taylor, I’ll be glad to do anything I can.” Smiling, with a load off his mind, Taylor sat at his desk and wrote a check. He blotted it, tore it from the stub, and was handing it to Trevor when the door opened and Mary Kendall rushed in, her arms filled with small packages. “Hello, Uncle Harry ” she paused as she saw Trevor. "Oh, excuse me.” “Come right in, Mary," said Taylor. “This is a friend of mine — a real good friend of mine — Mr. Trevor. Mr. Trevor this is my niece, Mary. Mary Kendall.” Mary acknowledged the introduction with a little smile. Trevor made a deep bow. “Shopping again?” asked Taylor of Mary. “A little,” she replied, as she placed her packages on the table. “There are so many things to buy.” “Mary’s going to get married as soon as she gets back home. I’d like for you to meet her fiance, Mr. Trevor. He’s a fine boy,” said Taylor, expanding. “I’m sure he must be,” said Trevor, with an understanding smile toward Mary. "Where’s he at now?” demanded Taylor, turning to Mary. “Mean to tell me he left you alone for five minutes?” “Frank got a wire to come to London tonight,” Mary explained. “He’s going to meet that Dutch inventor tomorrow. We’re having dinner before he leaves — to celebrate ..." “That boy’s going to be rich someday,” said Taylor, cutting in. Mary silenced him. "I’m sure Mr. Trevor isn’t interested,” she said. “Maybe you’re right. I guess I talk too much,” said Taylor, with a booming laugh. “I’m afraid I’ll have to be running along, Mr. Taylor,” Trevor interposed. "I wish you’d stay and have a drink,” Taylor urged again. “Some other time, perhaps. Goodbye, Miss Kendall. Goodbye, Mr. Taylor,” and Trevor started for the door. He was well toward the door when the now beaming Taylor stopped him. “Say,” he said. “I’ll bet you know all the best places in Paris. Where’s a good spot to have dinner?” The question and its abruptness embarrassed Mary. “It’s a pleasure,” said Trevor, genially, “let’s see — there’s Ciro’s — but all the Americans go there.” “Yes, we did,” said Mary with a little laugh. “And there’s the Paradis Azur,” Trevor continued. “That sounds interesting. The ‘Blue Heaven’,” Mary translated. “We’ll go there tonight, shall we, uncle?” “Why, well, as a matter of fact, I have a business appointment,” said Taylor, obviously fussed. “But you and Frank can run along. And maybe I can get away later.” Mary smiled indulgently. Her glance toward Trevor was one of understanding, and invited him to understand. At that moment they formed a partnership of sympathy and Trevor left with a disturbed mind. • concluded next month