Look to the Stars by Emilie Loring

Author:Emilie Loring [Loring, Emilie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2021-03-17T00:00:00+00:00

In the night club lobby Scott surrendered hat and coat to a heavily made-up and brazenly blond checkroom attendant. Walking into the hall he was forced to classify it, with all the charity in the world, as a third- or fourth-rate establishment.

“Silk Hat? Crumpled Derby would be a more suitable name,” he derided, taking in garish decorations, littered floor and the coarse faces dimly visible in the near gloom. “Rough, tough and nasty!” was his appraisal of the patrons. All in all, this seemed as near the gutter as he had ever been. John Tinker must be crazy to bring a girl like Maureen to such a place; if after all it was Maureen he was bringing. Anxiously he scanned the tables for a sight of the two. Surely they wouldn’t be mingling in that boisterous crowd of dancers! The haze of smoke made reconnaissance difficult, so he started slowly between the tables on the right of the room.

A touch of his arm, a hoarse whisper, “Hello, Captain!”

Scott whirled to find a slender, stooping man alone at a table. Yellowish hair, silvered in streaks, sunken eyes which might have been blue but showed colorless in that twilight room. From their corners radiated lines of strain; more lines creased around the drooping mouth. Thin, blue-veined hands worried one of the Silk Hat’s paper napkins, crumpling and twisting it. With a shock Scott recognized Daley’s brother, the Gent.

The weary eyes fell before his incredulous stare, shifted to the dancers, to nearby tables, to the door. Meaning to reassure, Scott said cordially, “Hello, there—” and stopped in confusion. What was the poor fellow’s first name? Ace had never spoken it. “Daley” would be too formal and unfriendly from an older man, but should a comparative stranger call him “Gent”? Avoiding a decision Scott asked, “Are you here alone?”

The man looked at him, then away. “I’m on watch.”

He spoke so low that Scott leaned closer. “On watch—for what?”

Another shifting glance, this time with a faint spark of interest. But there was no change in the sepulchral whisper that made Scott think of creeping ghosts. “Ace says you’re O.K.,” said the Gent softly, “so I guess it’s all right to tell you. Ace is working in the tunnel—I’m on watch. He says we ought to finish digging our way out and make our break tonight.” There was heartbreaking anticipation in the word. The Gent licked his colorless lips, twisted the napkin in evident indecision, and at last faced Scott. His voice shook as he asked, “You want to come with us, Captain?”

Scott felt a warm surge of pity and admiration. The man whom Daley claimed was one hundred per cent improved still suffered through spells of reliving the frightful months in an enemy stockade. Still knew the agonizing hope of escape, relying on his only friend. And yet, with all this he was unselfish and brave enough to multiply the risks by taking another prisoner with him. That quality in him which had won Ace’s devotion tugged at Scott’s heart.

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