"The Reverend Francis Holliwell." Morena turned the card over and over
in his hand. "Holliwell. Holliwell. Frank Holliwell." Yes. One of the
fellows that had dropped out. Big, athletic youngster; left college in
his junior year and studied for the ministry. Fine chap. Popular.
Especially decent to him when he had begun to play that difficult role
of a man without a country. Now here was the card of the Reverend
Francis Holliwell and the man himself, no doubt, waiting below. Jasper
tried to remember. He'd heard something about Frank. Oh, yes. The
young clergyman had given up a fashionable parish in the East--small
Norman church, wealthy parishioners, splendid stipend, beautiful stone
Norman rectory--thrown it all up to go West on some unheard-of mission
in the sagebrush. He was back now, probably for money, donations
wanted for a building, church or hospital or library. Jasper in
imagination wrote out a generous check. Before going down he glanced
at the card again and noticed some lines across the back: This is to introduce one of my best friends, Pierre Landis, of
Wyoming. Please be of service to him. His mission has and deserves
to have my full sympathy.
So, after all, it wasn't Holliwell below and the check-book would not
be needed. "Pierre Landis, of Wyoming." Jasper went down the stairs
and on the way he remembered a letter received from Yarnall a long
time before. He remembered it with an accession of alarm. "I've
probably let hell loose for your protégée, Jane; given your address,
and incidentally hers, to a fellow who wants her pretty badly. His
name's Pierre Landis. You're a pretty good judge of white men. Size
him up and do what's best for Jane."
For some time after receiving this letter, Jasper had expected the
appearance of this Pierre Landis, then had forgotten him. The fellow
who wanted Jane so badly had been a long while on his way to her.
Remembering and wondering, the manager opened the crimson curtains and
stepped into the presence of Pierre.
Even if he had had no foreknowledge, Jasper felt that, at sight of his
visitor, his fancy would have jumped to Joan. It was the eyes; he had
seen no others but hers like them for clarity; far-seeing, grave eyes
that held a curious depth of light. Here was one of Joan's kindred,
one of the clean, wild things.
Then came the gentle Western drawl. "I'm right sorry to trouble you,
Mr. Morena."
Jasper took a brown hand that had the feel of iron. The man's face, on
a level with Jasper's, was very brown and lean. It had a worn look, a
trifle desperate, perhaps, in the lines of lip and the expression of
the smoke-colored eyes. Jasper, sensitive to undercurrents, became
aware that he stood in some fashion for a forlorn hope in the life of
this Pierre. At the same time the manager remembered a confidence of
Jane's. She had been "afraid of some one." She had been running away.
There was one that mustn't find her, and to run away from him, that
was the business of her life. Pierre Landis was this "one," the
something wild and clean that had at last come searching even into
this city. It was necessary that Jane's present protector should be
very careful. There must be no running away this time, and Pierre must
be warned off. Jasper had plans of his own for his star player. For
one thing she must draw Prosper Gael completely out of Betty's life.