At the head of the stairs next morning Matthew met Perigua. The girl had looked at his haggard face with something like forgotten shame.
“Goodbye, Big Boy,” she said, “you ain’t built for the sporting game. I wish”—she looked at him uncertainly, her face drawn and coarse in the morning light, her body drooping—“I wish I could help some way. Well, if you ever want a friend, come to me.”
“Thank you,” he said simply, and kissing her forehead, went. For a long time she stood with that kiss upon her brow.
Then he met Perigua coming out of the door opposite. Was he in Perigua’s building? He had been too drunk the night before to notice. No, this was too narrow for 135th Street. He met Perigua, and Perigua blazed at him:
“You’re having a hell of a time, ain’t you! Prostitutes instead of patriotism.” Then he snarled, “Wake up! The time is come! Have you seen this?”
It was an elaborate account of the coming meeting of the Klan in Chicago. Perigua was trembling with excitement. Matthew looked at him sharply. Something else was wrong; he looked hungry and wrought up with drink or excess. Matthew glanced at the paper. The great Klan Special was leaving Atlanta for Chicago three days later at 3:40 in the afternoon. Special cars with certain high guests would join them at various points and from various cities.
“I’m going to Chicago,” said Perigua.
Matthew seized him by the shoulders.
“All right,” he said, “but first come and have breakfast.”
Perigua hesitated and then morosely yielded. They ate silently and then smoked.
“Perigua,” said Matthew, suddenly, “have you got money to go to Chicago?”
“Is that any of your damned business?”
“Yes, it is. If you are going to Chicago to look over the situation, consult with your lieutenants, and lay plans for future action, you need money. You ought to buy some clothes and stop at a good hotel.”
Matthew knew perfectly well that Perigua was going on some harebrained mission and that he might in desperation do actual harm. He knew, too, that Perigua would like to go, or to imagine he was going, on some such mission as Matthew had sketched. Suddenly, Matthew was thinking of that unopened envelope given him by the Princess. Perhaps there lay the answer to her silence and departure as well as money. The envelope was to go to Perigua only in case he was found trustworthy. But in case he was not and the envelope could not be returned, what then?
He took a quick resolve. “Come by my room—it’s on the way to the train.”
Silently Perigua followed. They went down by Elevated and soon were sitting in that upper room. Matthew went to his trunk. It was unlocked. He was startled. He did not remember leaving it unlocked; he searched hurriedly. Everything seemed intact, even his bank book and especially the sealed letter at the bottom, hidden among books. Matthew did not touch the envelope, but took out his savings bank book, and said:
“I’m going to give you one hundred and fifty dollars to get some clothes and go to a good hotel in Chicago. Try the Vincennes—I’ll write you there.”
They went out together to the bank.
Matthew returned feeling that he had done a wise thing. He had a string on Perigua and could keep in touch with him. Now for that envelope. The more he thought of it, the more he was sure that it would throw light on the situation. It was careless of him to have left his trunk unlocked. The landlady was all right, but the other lodgers! He drew out the letter and paused. What did he mean to do? He tore the letter open. A piece of paper fluttered out. He searched the envelope. Nothing more. He looked at the paper.
“Sir:
“In unwavering determination to protect the name of a certain high personage, we have taken the liberty to abstract her letter and draft. All her letters to you and yours to her will come to us. Will you not believe this is all for the best and that we remain, with every assurance of regard,
Matthew stared. When and where had it been possible? He could not conceive. Then he remembered that polite little Japanese’s visit. The Princess had never heard a word from him. She never would. Then his heart leapt. The Princess had not deliberately neglected or deserted him! She simply had not heard from him and could not find him! He had blamed the Princess for her apparent neglect, when in reality she knew nothing. He was ashamed of himself. He had yielded to debauchery and drunkenness. Well, he would atone and get back to his job. Should he write the Princess again? No. The Japanese and Indians were intercepting his letters. He started. Perhaps they had given her forged reports and sent her home disillusioned. Never mind. Even then, it would be on his report, or supposed report, that she was acting. He must get to work. He must think and plan.