The Hollow Lens
The author of “Beyond the Wall,” “Whispering Wires,”and “Peterman’s Luck” is at his best in this fascinatingstory of underworld life.
In the _argot_ of the underworld, Chester Fay, alias Edward Letchmere,an expert on other people’s strong-boxes, had lammistered to ShortHills, California, where an excellent golf-links surrounds ahalf-hotel, half-clubhouse of the superior order.
After finishing a game, upon the twelfth day of his stay at ShortHills, Fay tossed his golf-bag to the turf, dismissed his caddy and satdown at the Nineteenth Hole, where refreshments were at that timeavailable.
The girl who entered his life, a few minutes after he was seated, camediagonally from the clubhouse. He mentally concluded that she had beenwaiting on the porch for the game to finish.
She wore a picture-hat, carried a parasol and was extremely cool, aswas attested by her manner as she drew a chair up to his table andsaid:
“I’m Charlie Laurie’s only daughter.”
Had the California sky fallen upon the links, Fay would not have beenmore surprised. Charlie Laurie was serving fifty years in the IsolationSection of Dannemora for the crime, committed against the dignity ofNew York State, of forcing open a national bank, seizing the contentsof the vault and escaping to Argentina, where he was later turned up bya former pal.
This man, as Fay recalled him in that long minute of his stare acrossthe table, was bulky, rough-voiced and disfigured by a giant scar whichran from the lobe of his right ear down to, and under, his chin. Thegirl who now professed to be his daughter resembled him in noparticular.
“Some mistake,” Fay said, rising gallantly. “I’m sure that you havetaken me for some one else.”
The girl lifted her elbows from the table, opened her parasol, raisedit and asked:
“Wont you sit down? I haven’t mistaken you for some one else. You areChester Fay, alias Edward Letchmere—an old friend of my father’s.”
Fay took off his plaid cap and sat down. He fingered aplatinum-and-gold cigarette-case, removed a monogrammed cigarette,scratched a match on the bottom of the table and inhaled a deep breathof Turkish-scented smoke.
“By what other name was your father known?” he tested her.
“He was sometimes called ‘Big Scar’!”
“Where were you born?”
“In Chi. I was with Micky Gleason’s mob in Paris. I worked deep-seawith Minnie May, ‘The Duchess.’ I have been trained by my father todip, forge, stall for pennyweighting and ever so many useful things.”
“You don’t look it!” Fay exclaimed. “Upon my word I don’t believeyou’re Charlie Laurie’s daughter. Why, he is hardly your kind—at all.”
“Laying aside compliments, Mr. Fay, and how I found where you were herein California and—so many things that take up time, I’ve got aproposition to make which should be mutually advantageous. In otherwords you are the only man in the world I would let in on a great, bigjob.”
Fay removed his cigarette from his mouth and eyed the ashes. He ran hisslender fingers through his prematurely gray hair. His face lightedwith retrospection.
“Go on Miss—”
“Saidee Isaacs, they call me, although you know my name is SaideeLaurie.”
“Proceed, Miss Isaacs, with your plan.”
The girl’s olive-shaped and tinted eyes swept the golf-links. Shebrushed back a lock of