← catalogue

The Brass Bowl

by Louis Joseph Vance · English · Gutenberg #8741 · 377,727 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Brass Bowl
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: The Brass Bowl

Author: Louis Joseph Vance


        
Release date: August 1, 2005 [eBook #8741]
                Most recently updated: August 25, 2012

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8741

Credits: Produced by Distributed Proofreaders


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRASS BOWL ***




Produced by Distributed Proofreaders









                     THE BRASS BOWL

                           BY
                   LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE


                          1907



I


DUST

In the dull hot dusk of a summer's day a green touring-car, swinging
out of the East Drive, pulled up smartly, trembling, at the edge of the
Fifty-ninth Street car-tracks, then more sedately, under the
dispassionate but watchful eye of a mounted member of the Traffic
Squad, lurched across the Plaza and merged itself in the press of
vehicles south-bound on the Avenue.

Its tonneau held four young men, all more or less disguised in dust,
dusters and goggles; forward, by the side of the grimy and anxious-eyed
mechanic, sat a fifth, in all visible respects the counterpart of his
companions. Beneath his mask, and by this I do not mean his goggles,
but the mask of modern manner which the worldly wear, he was, and is,
different.

He was Daniel Maitland, Esquire; for whom no further introduction
should be required, after mention of the fact that he was, and remains,
the identical gentleman of means and position in the social and
financial worlds, whose somewhat sober but sincere and whole-hearted
participation in the wildest of conceivable escapades had earned him
the affectionate regard of the younger set, together with the sobriquet
of "Mad Maitland."

His companions of the day, the four in the tonneau, were in that humor
of subdued yet vibrant excitement which is apt to attend the conclusion
of a long, hard drive over country roads. Maitland, on the other hand,
(judging him by his preoccupied pose), was already weary of, if not
bored by, the hare-brained enterprise which, initiated on the spur of
an idle moment and directly due to a thoughtless remark of his own, had
brought him a hundred miles (or so) through the heat of a broiling
afternoon, accompanied by spirits as ardent and irresponsible as his
own, in search of the dubious distraction afforded by the night side of
the city.

As, picking its way with elephantine nicety, the motor-car progressed
down the Avenue--twilight deepening, arcs upon their bronze columns
blossoming suddenly, noiselessly into spheres of opalescent
radiance--Mr. Maitland ceased to respond, ceased even to give heed, to
the running fire of chaff (largely personal) which amused his
companions. Listlessly engaged with a cigarette, he lounged upon the
green leather cushions, half closing his eyes, and heartily wished
himself free for the evening.

But he stood committed to the humor of the majority, and lacked
entirely the shadow of an excuse to desert; in addition to which he was
altogether too lazy for the exertion of manufacturing a lie of
serviceable texture. And so he abandoned himself to his fate, even
though he foresaw with weariful particularity the programme of the
coming hours.

To begin with, thirty minutes were to be devoted to a bath and dressing
in his rooms. This was something not so unpleasant to contemplate. It
was the afterwards that repelled him: the dinner at Sherry's, the
subsequent tour of roof gardens, the late supper at a club, and then,
prolonged far into the small hours, the session around some
green-covered table in a close room reeking with the fumes of good
tobacco and hot with the fever of gambling....

Abstractedly Maitland frowned, tersely summing up: "Beastly!"--in an
undertone.

At this the green car wheeled abruptly round a corner below
Thirty-fourth Street, slid half a block or more east, and came to a
palpitating halt. Maitland, looking up, recognized the entrance to his
apartments, and sighed with relief for the brief respite from boredom
that was to be his. He rose, negligently shaking off his duster, and
stepped down to the sidewalk.

Somebody in the car called a warning after him, and turning for a
moment he stood at attention, an eyebrow raised quizzically, cigarette
drooping from a corner of his mouth, hat pushed back from his forehead,
hands in coat pockets: a tall, slender, sparely-built figure of a man,
clothed immaculately in flannels.

When at length he was able to make himself heard, "Good enough," he
said clearly, though without raising his voice. "Sherry's in an hour.
Right. Now, behave yourselves."

"Mind you show up on time!"

"Never fear," returned Maitland over his shoulder.

A witticism was flung back at him from the retreating car, but spent
itself unregarded. Maitland's attention was temporarily distracted by
the unusual--to say the least--sight of a young and attractive woman
coming out of a home for confirmed bachelors.

The apartment house happened to be his own property. A substantial and
old-fashioned edifice, situated in the middle of a quiet block, it
contained but five roomy and comfortable suites,--in other words, one
to a floor; and these were without exception tenanted by unmarried men
of Maitland's own circle and acquaintance. The janitor, himself a
widower and a convinced misogynist, lived alone in the basement.
Barring very special and exceptional occasions (as when one of the
bachelors felt called upon to give a tea in partial recognition of
social obligations), the foot of woman never crossed its threshold.

In this circumstance, indeed, was comprised the singular charm the
house had for its occupants. The quality which insured them privacy and
a quiet independence rendered them oblivious to its many minor
drawbacks, its lack of many conveniences and luxuries which have of
late grown to be so commonly regarded as necessities. It boasted, for
instance, no garage; no refrigerating system maddened those dependent
upon it; a dissipated electric lighting system never went out of
nights, because it had never been installed; no brass-bound hall-boy
lounged in desuetude upon the stoop and took too intimate and personal
an interest in the tenants' correspondence. The inhabitants, in brief,
were free to come and go according to the dictates of their
consciences, unsupervised by neighborly women-folk, unhindered by a
parasitic corps of menials not in their personal employ.

Wherefore was Maitland astonished, and the more so because of the
season. At any other season of the year he would readily have accounted
for the phenomenon that now fell under his observation, on the
hypothesis that the woman was somebody's sister or cousin or aunt. But
at present that explanation was untenable; Maitland happened to know
that not one of the other men was in New York, barring himself; and his
own presence there was a thing entirely unforeseen.

Still incredulous, he mentally conned the list: Barnes, who occupied
the first flat, was traveling on the Continent; Conkling, of the third,
had left a fortnight since to join a yachting party on the
Mediterranean; Bannister and Wilkes, of the fourth and fifth floors,
respectively, were in Newport and Buenos Aires.

"Odd!" concluded Maitland.

So it was. She had just closed the door, one thought; and now stood
poised as if in momentary indecision on the low stoop, glancing toward
Fifth Avenue the while she fumbled with a refractory button at the
wrist of a long white kid glove. Blurred though it was by the darkling
twilight and a thin veil, her face yet conveyed an impression of
prettiness: an impression enhanced by careful grooming. From her hat, a
small affair, something green, with a superstructure of grey ostrich
feathers, to the tips of her russet shoes,--including a walking skirt
and bolero of shimmering grey silk,--she was distinctly "smart" and
interesting.

He had keenly observant eyes, had Maitland, for all his detached pose;
you are to understand that he comprehended all these points in the
flickering of an instant. For the incident was over in two seconds. In
one the lady's hesitation was resolved; in another she had passed down
the steps and swept by Maitland without giving him a glance, without
even the trembling of an eyelash. And he had a view of her back as she
moved swiftly away toward the Avenue.

Perplexed, he lingered upon the stoop until she had turned the corner;
after which he let himself in with a latch-key, and, dismissing the
affair temporarily from his thoughts, or pretending to do so, ascended
the single flight of stairs to his flat.

Simultaneously heavy feet were to be heard clumping up the basement
steps; and surmising that the janitor was coming to light the hall, the
young man waited, leaning over the balusters. His guess proving
correct, he called down:

"O'Hagan? Is that you?"

"Th' saints presarve us! But 'twas yersilf gave me th' sthart, Misther
Maitland, sor!" O'Hagan paused in the gloom below, his upturned face
quaintly illuminated by the flame of a wax taper in his gaslighter.

"I'm dining in town to-night, O'Hagan, and dropped around to dress. Is
anybody else at home?"

"Nivver a wan, sor. Shure, th' house do be quiet's anny tomb--"

"Then who was that lady, O'Hagan?"

"Leddy, sor?"--in unbounded amazement.

"Yes," impatiently. "A young woman left the house just as I was coming
in. Who was she?"

"Shure an' I think ye must be dr'amin', sor. Divvle a female--rayspicts
to ye!--has been in this house for manny an' manny th' wake, sor."

"But, I tell you--"

"Belike 'twas somewan jist sthepped into the vesthibule, mebbe to tie
her shoe, sor, and ye thought--"

"Oh, very well." Maitland relinquished the inquisition as unprofitable,
willing to concede O'Hagan's theory a reasonable one, the more readily
since he himself could by no means have sworn that the woman had
actually come out through the door. Such had merely been his
impression, honest enough, but founded on circumstantial evidence.

"When you're through, O'Hagan," he told the Irishman, "you may come and
shave me and lay out my things, if you will."

"Very good, sor. In wan minute."

But O'Hagan's conception of the passage of time was a thought vague:
his one minute had lengthened into ten before he appeared to wait upon
his employer.

Now and again, in the absence of the regular "man," O'Hagan would
attend one or another of the tenants in the capacity of substitute
valet: as in the present instance, when Maitland, having left his
host's roof without troubling even to notify his body-servant that he
would not return that night, called upon the janitor to understudy the
more trained employee; which O'Hagan could be counted upon to do very
acceptably.

Now, with patience unruffled, since he was nothing keen for the
evening's enjoyment, Maitland made profit of the interval to wander
through his rooms, lighting the gas here and there and noting that all
was as it should be, as it had been left--save that every article of
furniture and bric-à-brac seemed to be sadly in want of a thorough
dusting. In the end he brought up in the room that served him as study
and lounge,--the drawing-room of the flat, as planned in the forgotten
architect's scheme,--a large and well-lighted apartment overlooking the
street. Here, pausing beneath the chandelier, he looked about him for a
moment, determining that, as elsewhere, all things were in order--but
grey with dust.

Finding the atmosphere heavy, stale, and oppressive, Maitland moved
over to the windows and threw them open. A gush of warm air, humid and
redolent of the streets, invaded the room, together with the roar of
traffic from its near-by arteries. Maitland rested his elbows on the
sill and leaned out, staring absently into the night; for by now it was
quite dark. Without concern, he realized that he would be late at
dinner. No matter; he would as willingly miss it altogether. For the
time being he was absorbed in vain speculations about an unknown woman
whose sole claim upon his consideration lay in a certain but immaterial
glamour of mystery. Had she, or had she not, been in the house? And, if
the true answer were in the affirmative: to what end, upon what errand?

His eyes focused insensibly upon a void of darkness beneath him,--night
made visible by street lamps; and he found himself suddenly and acutely
sensible of the wonder and mystery of the City: the City whose secret
life ran fluent upon the hot, hard pavements below, whose voice
throbbed, sibilant, vague, strident, inarticulate, upon the night air;
the City of which he was a part equally with the girl in grey, whom he
had never before seen, and in all likelihood was never to see again,
though the two of them were to work out their destinies within the
bounds of Manhattan Island. And yet....

"It would be strange," said Maitland thoughtfully, "if...." He shook
his head, smiling. "'_Two shall be born,_'" quoted Mad Maitland
sentimentally,--

"'_Two shall be born the whole wide world apart--_'"

A piano organ, having maliciously sneaked up beneath his window, drove
him indoors with a crash of metallic melody.

As he dropped the curtains his eye was arrested by a gleam of white
upon his desk,--a letter placed there, doubtless, by O'Hagan in
Maitland's absence. At the same time, a splashing and gurgling of water
from the direction of the bath-room informed him that the janitor-valet
was even then preparing his bath. But that could wait.

Maitland took up the envelope and tore the flap, remarking the name and
address of his lawyer in its upper left-hand corner. Unfolding the
inclosure, he read a date a week old, and two lines requesting him to
communicate with his legal adviser upon "a matter of pressing moment."

"Bother!" said Maitland. "What the dickens--"

He pulled up short, eyes lighting. "That's so, you know," he argued:
"Bannerman will be delighted, and--and even business is better than
rushing round town and pretending to enjoy yourself when it's hotter
than the seven brass hinges of hell and you can't think of anything
else.... I'll do it!"

He stepped quickly to the corner of the room, where stood the telephone
upon a small side table, sat down, and, receiver to ear, gave Central a
number. In another moment he was in communication with his attorney's
residence.

"Is Mr. Bannerman in? I would like to--"

       *       *       *       *       *

"Why, Mr. Bannerman! How _do_ you do?"

       *       *       *       *       *

"You're looking a hundred per cent better--"

       *       *       *       *       *

"Bad, bad word! Naughty!--"

"Maitland, of course."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Been out of town and just got your note."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Your beastly penchant for economy. It's not stamped; I presume you
sent it round by hand of the future President of the United States whom
you now employ as office-boy. And O'Hagan didn't forward it for that
reason."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Important, eh? I'm only in for the night--"

       *       *       *       *       *

"Then come and dine with me at the Primordial. I'll put the others off."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Good enough. In an hour, then? Good-by." Hanging up the receiver,
Maitland waited a few moments ere again putting it to his ear. This
time he called up Sherry's, asked for the head-waiter, and, requested
that person to be kind enough to make his excuses to "Mr. Cressy and
his party": he, Maitland, was detained upon a matter of moment, but
would endeavor to join them at a later hour.

Then, with a satisfied smile, he turned away, with purpose to dispose
of Bannerman's note.

"Bath's ready, sor."

O'Hagan's announcement fell upon heedless ears. Maitland remained
motionless before the desk--transfixed with amazement.

"Bath's ready, sor!"--imperatively.

Maitland roused slightly.

"Very well; in a minute, O'Hagan."

Yet for some time he did not move. Slowly the heavy brows contracted
over intent eyes as he strove to puzzle it out. At length his lips
moved noiselessly.

"Am I awake?" was the question he put his consciousness.

Wondering, he bent forward and drew the tip of one forefinger across
the black polished wood of the writing-bed. It left a dark, heavy line.
And beside it, clearly defined in the heavy layer of dust, was the
silhouette of a hand; a woman's hand, small, delicate, unmistakably
feminine of contour.

"Well!" declared Maitland frankly, "I _am_ damned!"

Further and closer inspection developed the fact that the imprint had
been only recently made. Within the hour,--unless Maitland were indeed
mad or dreaming,--a woman had stood by that desk and rested a hand,
palm down, upon it; not yet had the dust had time to settle and blur
the sharp outlines.

Maitland shook his head with bewilderment, thinking of the grey girl.
But no. He rejected his half-formed explanation--the obvious one.
Besides, what had he there worth a thief's while? Beyond a few articles
of "virtue and bigotry" and his pictures, there was nothing valuable in
the entire flat. His papers? But he had nothing; a handful of letters,
cheque book, a pass book, a japanned tin despatch box containing some
business memoranda and papers destined eventually for Bannerman's
hands; but nothing negotiable, nothing worth a burglar's while.

It was a flat-topped desk, of mahogany, with two pedestals of drawers,
all locked. Maitland determined this latter fact by trying to open them
without a key; failing, his key-ring solved the difficulty in a jiffy.
But the drawers seemed undisturbed; nothing had been either handled, or
removed, or displaced, so far as he could determine. And again he
wagged his head from side to side in solemn stupefaction.

"This is beyond you, Dan, my boy." And: "But I've got to know what it
means."

In the hall O'Hagan was shuffling impatience. Pondering deeply,
Maitland relocked the desk, and got upon his feet. A small bowl of
beaten brass, which he used as an ash-receiver, stood ready to his
hand; he took it up, carefully blew it clean of dust, and inverted it
over the print of the hand. On top of the bowl he placed a weighty
afterthought in the shape of a book.

"O'Hagan!"

"Waitin', sor."

"Come hither, O'Hagan. You see that desk?"

"Yissor."

"Are you sure?"

"Ah, faith--"

"I want you not to touch it, O'Hagan. Under penalty of my extreme
displeasure, don't lay a finger on it till I give you permission. Don't
dare to dust it. Do you understand?"

"Yissor. Very good, Mr. Maitland."




II


POST-PRANDIAL

Bannerman pushed back his chair a few inches, shifting position the
better to benefit of a faint air that fanned in through the open
window. Maitland, twisting the sticky stem of a liqueur glass between
thumb and forefinger, sat in patient waiting for the lawyer to speak.

But Bannerman was in no hurry; his mood was rather one contemplative
and genial. He was a round and cherubic little man, with the face of a
guileless child, the acumen of a successful counsel for soulless
corporations (that is to say, of a high order), no particular sense of
humor, and a great appreciation of good eating. And Maitland was famous
in his day as one thoroughly conversant with the art of ordering a
dinner.

That which they had just discussed had been uncommon in all respects;
Maitland's scheme of courses and his specification as to details had
roused the admiration of the Primordial's chef and put him on his
mettle. He had outdone himself in his efforts to do justice to Mr.
Maitland's genius; and the Primordial in its deadly conservatism
remains to this day one of the very few places in New York where good,
sound cooking is to be had by the initiate.

Therefore Bannerman sucked thoughtfully at his cigar and thought fondly
of a salad that had been to ordinary salads as his 80-H.-P. car was to
an electric buckboard. While Maitland, with all time at his purchase,
idly flicked the ash from his cigarette and followed his attorney's
meditative gaze out through the window.

Because of the heat the curtains were looped back, and there was
nothing to obstruct the view. Madison Square lay just over the sill, a
dark wilderness of foliage here and there made livid green by
arc-lights. Its walks teemed with humanity, its benches were crowded.
Dimly from its heart came the cool plashing of the fountain, in lulls
that fell unaccountably in the roaring rustle of restless feet. Over
across, Broadway raised glittering walls of glass and stone; and thence
came the poignant groan and rumble of surface cars crawling upon their
weary and unvarying rounds.

And again Maitland thought of the City, and of Destiny, and of the grey
girl the silhouette of whose hand was imprisoned beneath the brass bowl
on his study desk. For by now he was quite satisfied that she and none
other had trespassed upon the privacy of his rooms, obtaining access to
them in his absence by means as unguessable as her motive. Momentarily
he considered taking Bannerman into his confidence; but he questioned
the advisability of this: Bannerman was so severely practical in his
outlook upon life, while this adventure had been so madly whimsical, so
engagingly impossible. Bannerman would be sure to suggest a call at the
precinct police station.... If she had made way with anything, it would
be different; but so far as Maitland had been able to determine, she
had abstracted nothing, disturbed nothing beyond a few square inches of
dust....

Unwillingly Bannerman put the salad out of mind and turned to the
business whose immediate moment had brought them together. He hummed
softly, calling his client to attention. Maitland came out of his
reverie, vaguely smiling.

"I'm waiting, old man. What's up?"

"The Graeme business. His lawyers have been after me again. I even had
a call from the old man himself."

"Yes? The Graeme business?" Maitland's expression was blank for a
moment; then comprehension informed his eyes. "Oh, yes; in connection
with the Dougherty investment swindle."

"That's it. Graeme's pleading for mercy."

Maitland lifted his shoulders significantly. "That was to be expected,
wasn't it? What did you tell him?"

"That I'd see you."

"Did you hold out to him any hopes that I'd be easy on the gang?"

"I told him that I doubted if you could be induced to let up."

"Then why--?"

"Why, because Graeme himself is as innocent of wrong-doing and
wrong-intent as you are."

"You believe that?"

"I do," affirmed Bannerman. His fat pink fingers drummed uneasily on
the cloth for a few moments. "There isn't any question that the
Dougherty people induced you to sink your money in their enterprise
with intent to defraud you."

"I should think not," Maitland interjected, amused.

"But old man Graeme was honest, in intention at least. He meant no
harm; and in proof of that he offers to shoulder your loss himself, if
by so doing he can induce you to drop further proceedings. That proves
he's in earnest, Dan, for although Graeme is comfortably well to do,
it's a known fact that the loss of a cool half-million, while it's a
drop in the bucket to you, would cripple him."

"Then why doesn't he stand to his associates, and make them each pay
back their fair share of the loot? That'd bring his liability down to
about fifty thousand."

"Because they won't give up without a contest in the courts. They deny
your proofs--you have those papers, haven't you?"

"Safe, under lock and key," asserted Maitland sententiously. "When the
time comes I'll produce them."

"And they incriminate Graeme?"

"They make it look as black for him as for the others. Do you honestly
believe him innocent, Bannerman?"

"I do, implicitly. The dread of exposure, the fear of notoriety when
the case comes up in court, has aged the man ten years. He begged me
with tears in his eyes to induce you to drop it and accept his offer of
restitution. Don't you think you could do it, Dan?"

"No, I don't." Maitland shook his head with decision. "If I let up, the
scoundrels get off scot-free. I have nothing against Graeme; I am
willing to make it as light as I can for him; but this business has got
to be aired in the courts; the guilty will have to suffer. It will be a
lesson to the public, a lesson to the scamps, and a lesson to
Graeme--not to lend his name too freely to questionable enterprises."

"And that's your final word, is it?"

"Final, Bannerman.... You go ahead; prepare your case and take it to
court. When the time comes, as I say, I'll produce these papers. I
can't go on this way, letting people believe that I'm an easy mark just
because I was unfortunate enough to inherit more money than is good for
my wholesome."

Maitland twisted his eyebrows in deprecation of Bannerman's attitude;
signified the irrevocability of his decision by bringing his fist down
upon the table--but not heavily enough to disturb the other diners;
and, laughing, changed the subject.

For some moments he gossiped cheerfully of his new power-boat,
Bannerman attending to the inconsequent details with an air of
abstraction. Once or twice he appeared about to interrupt, but changed
his mind: but because his features were so wholly infantile and open
and candid, the time came when Maitland could no longer ignore his
evident perturbation.

"Now what's the trouble?" he demanded with a trace of asperity. "Can't
you forget that Graeme business and--"

"Oh, it's not that." Bannerman dismissed the troubles of Mr. Graeme
with an airy wave of a pudgy hand. "That's not my funeral, nor
yours.... Only I've been worried, of late, by your utterly careless
habits."

Maitland looked his consternation. "In heaven's name, what now?" And
grinned as he joined hands before him in simulated petition. "Please
don't read me a lecture just now, dear boy. If you've got something
dreadful on your chest wait till another day, when I'm more in the
humor to be found fault with."

"No lecture." Bannerman laughed nervously. "I've merely been wondering
what you have done with the Maitland heirlooms."

"What? Oh, those things? They're safe enough--_in_ the safe out at
Greenfields."

"To be sure! Quite so!" agreed the lawyer, with ironic heartiness. "Oh,
quite." And proceeded to take all Madison Square into his confidence,
addressing it from the window. "Here's a young man, sole proprietor of
a priceless collection of family heirlooms,--diamonds, rubies,
sapphires galore; and he thinks they're safe enough _in_ a safe at his
country residence, fifty miles from anywhere! What a simple, trustful
soul it is!"

"Why should I bother?" argued Maitland sulkily. "It's a good, strong
safe, and--and there are plenty of servants around," he concluded
largely.

"Precisely. Likewise plenty of burglars. You don't suppose a determined
criminal like Anisty, for instance, would bother himself about a
handful of thick-headed servants, do you?"

"Anisty?"--with a rising inflection of inquiry.

Bannerman squared himself to face his host, elbows on table. "You don't
mean to say you've not heard of Anisty, the great Anisty?" he demanded.

"I dare say I have," Maitland conceded, unperturbed. "Name rings
familiar, somehow."

"Anisty,"--deliberately, "is said to be the greatest jewel thief the
world has ever known. He has the police of America and Europe by the
ears to catch him. They have been hot on his trail for the past three
years, and would have nabbed him a dozen times if only he'd had the
grace to stay in one place long enough. The man who made off with the
Bracegirdle diamonds, smashing a burglar-proof vault into scrap-iron to
get 'em--don't you remember?"

"Ye-es; I seem to recall the affair, now that you mention it," Maitland
admitted, bored. "Well, and what of Mr. Anisty?"

"Only what I have told you, taken in connection with the circumstance
that he is known to be in New York, and that the Maitland heirlooms are
tolerably famous--as much so as your careless habits, Dan. Now, a safe
deposit vault--"

"Um-m-m," considered Maitland. "You really believe that Mr. Anisty has
his bold burglarious eye on my property?"

"It's a big enough haul to attract him," argued the lawyer earnestly;
"Anisty always aims high.... Now, _will_ you do what I have been
begging you to do for the past eight years?"

"Seven," corrected Maitland punctiliously. "It's just seven years since
I entered into mine inheritance and you became my counselor."

"Well, seven, then. But will you put those jewels in safe deposit?"

"Oh, I suppose so."

"But when?"

"Would it suit you if I ran out to-night?" Maitland demanded so
abruptly that Bannerman was disconcerted.

"I--er--ask nothing better."

"I'll bring them in town to-morrow. You arrange about the vault and
advise me, will you, like a good fellow?"

"Bless my soul! I never dreamed that you would be so--so--"

"Amenable to discipline?" Maitland grinned, boylike, and, leaning back,
appreciated Bannerman's startled expression with keen enjoyment. "Well,
consider that for once you've scared me. I'm off--just time to catch
the ten-twenty for Greenfields. Waiter!"

He scrawled his initials at the bottom of the bill presented him, and
rose. "Sorry, Bannerman," he said, chuckling, "to cut short a pleasant
evening. But you shouldn't startle me so, you know. Pardon me if I run;
I _might_ miss that train."

"But there was something else--"

"It can wait."

"Take a later train, then."

"What! With this grave peril hanging over me? _Im_possible! 'Night."

Bannerman, discomfited, saw Maitland's shoulders disappear through the
dining-room doorway, meditated pursuit, thought better of it, and
reseated himself, frowning.

"Mad Maitland, indeed!" he commented.

As for the gentleman so characterized, he emerged, a moment later, from
the portals of the club, still chuckling mildly to himself as he
struggled into a light evening overcoat. His temper, having run the
gamut of boredom, interest, perturbation, mystification, and plain
amusement, was now altogether inconsequential: a dangerous mood for
Maitland. Standing on the corner of Twenty-sixth Street he thought it
over, tapping the sidewalk gently with his cane. Should he or should he
not carry out his intention as declared to Bannerman, and go to
Greenfields that same night? Or should he keep his belated engagement
with Cressy's party?

An errant cabby, cruising aimlessly but hopefully, sighted Maitland's
tall figure and white shirt from a distance, and bore down upon him
with a gallant clatter of hoofs.

"Kebsir?" he demanded breathlessly, pulling in at the corner.

Maitland came out of his reverie and looked up slowly. "Why yes, thank
you," he assented amiably.

"Where to, sir?"

Maitland paused on the forward deck of the craft and faced about,
looking the cabby trustfully in the eye. "I leave it to you," he
replied politely. "Just as you please."

The driver gasped.

"You see," Maitland continued with a courteous smile, "I have two
engagements: one at Sherry's, the other with the ten-twenty train from
Long Island City. What would you, as man to man, advise me to do,
cabby?"

"Well, sir, seein' as you puts it to me straight," returned the cabby
with engaging candor, "I'd go home, sir, if I was you, afore I got any
worse."

"Thank you," gravely. "Long Island City depôt, then, cabby."

Maitland extended himself languidly upon the cushions. "Surely," he
told the night, "the driver knows best--he and Bannerman."

The cab started off jogging so sedately up Madison Avenue that Maitland
glanced at his watch and elevated his brows dubiously; then with his
stick poked open the trap in the roof.

"If you really think it best for me to go home, cabby, you'll have to
drive like hell," he suggested mildly.

"Yessir!"

A whip-lash cracked loudly over the horse's back, and the hansom,
lurching into Thirty-fourth Street on one wheel, was presently jouncing
eastward over rough cobbles, at a regardless pace which roused the
gongs of the surface cars to a clangor of hysterical expostulation. In
a trice the "L" extension was roaring overhead; and a little later the
ferry gates were yawning before them. Again Maitland consulted his
watch, commenting briefly: "In time."

Yet he reckoned without the ferry, one of whose employees deliberately
and implacably swung to the gates in the very face of the astonished
cab-horse, which promptly rose upon its hind legs and pawed the air
with gestures of pardonable exasperation. To no avail, however; the
gates remained closed, the cabby (with language) reined his steed back
a yard or two, and Maitland, lighting a cigarette, composed himself to
simulate patience.

Followed a wait of ten minutes or so, in which a number of vehicles
joined company with the cab; the passenger was vaguely aware of the
jarring purr of a motor-car, like that of some huge cat, in the
immediate rear. A circumstance which he had occasion to recall ere long.

In the course of time the gates were again opened. The bridge cleared
of incoming traffic. As the cabby drove aboard the boat, with nice
consideration selecting the choicest stand of all, well out upon the
forward deck, a motor-car slid in, humming, on the right of the hansom.

Maitland sat forward, resting his forearms on the apron, and jerked his
cigarette out over the gates; the glowing stub described a fiery arc
and took the water with a hiss. Warm whiffs of the river's sweet and
salty breath fanned his face gratefully, and he became aware that there
was a moon. His gaze roving at will, he nodded an even-tempered
approbation of the night's splendor: in the city a thing unsuspected.

Never, he thought, had he known moonlight so pure, so silvery and
strong. Shadows of gates and posts lay upon the forward deck like
stencils of lamp-black upon white marble. Beyond the boat's bluntly
rounded nose the East River stretched its restless, dark reaches,
glossy black, woven with gorgeous ribbons of reflected light streaming
from pier-head lamps on the further shore. Overhead, the sky, a pallid
and luminous blue around the low-swung moon, was shaded to profound
depths of bluish-black toward the horizon. Above Brooklyn rested a
tenuous haze. A revenue cutter, a slim, pale shape, cut across the bows
like a hunted ghost. Farther out a homeward-bound excursion steamer,
tier upon tier of glittering lights, drifted slowly toward its pier
beneath the new bridge, the blare of its band, swelling and dying upon
the night breeze, mercifully tempered by distance.

Presently Maitland's attention was distracted and drawn, by the abrupt
cessation of its motor's pulsing, to the automobile on his right. He
lifted his chin sharply, narrowing his eyes, whistled low; and
thereafter had eyes for nothing else.

The car, he saw with the experienced eye of a connoisseur, was a recent
model of one of the most expensive and popular foreign makes: built on
lines that promised a deal in the way of speed, and furnished with
engines that were pregnant with multiplied horse-power: all in all not
the style of car one would expect to find controlled by a solitary
woman, especially after ten of a summer's night.

Nevertheless the lone occupant of this car was a woman. And there was
that in her bearing, an indefinable something,--whether it lay in the
carriage of her head, which impressed one as both spirited and
independent, or in an equally certain but less tangible air of
self-confidence and reliance,--to set Mad Maitland's pulses drumming
with excitement. For, unless indeed he labored gravely under a
misapprehension, he was observing her for the second time within the
past few hours.

Could he be mistaken, or was this in truth the same woman who had (as
he believed) made herself free of his rooms that evening?

In confirmation of such suspicion he remarked her costume, which was
altogether worked out in soft shades of grey. Grey was the misty veil,
drawn in and daintily knotted beneath her chin, which lent her head and
face such thorough protection against prying glances; of grey suede
were the light gauntlets that hid all save the slenderness of her small
hands; and the wrap that, cut upon full and flowing lines, cloaked her
figure beyond suggestion, was grey. Yet even its ample drapery could
not dissemble the fact that she was quite small, girlishly slight, like
the woman in the doorway; nor did aught temper her impersonal and
detached composure, which had also been an attribute of the woman in
the doorway. And, again, she was alone, unchaperoned, unprotected....

Yes? Or no? And, if yes: what to do? Was he to alight and accost her,
accuse her of forcing an entrance to his rooms for the sole purpose (as
far as ascertainable) of presenting him with the outline of her hand in
the dust of his desk's top?... Oh, hardly! It was all very well to be
daringly eccentric and careless of the world's censure; but one
scarcely cared to lay one's self open either to an unknown girl's
derision or to a sound pummeling at the hands of fellow passengers
enraged by the insult offered to an unescorted woman....

The young man was still pondering ways and means when a dull bump
apprised him that the ferry-boat was entering the Long Island City
slip. "The devil!" he exclaimed in mingled disgust and dismay,
realizing that his distraction had been so thorough as to permit the
voyage to take place almost without his realizing it. So that
now--worse luck!--it was too late to take any one of the hundred
fantastic steps he had contemplated half seriously. In another two
minutes his charming mystery, so bewitchingly incarnated, would have
slipped out of his life, finally and beyond recall. And he could do
naught to hinder such a finale to the adventure.

Sulkily he resigned himself to the inevitable, waiting and watching,
while the boat slid and blundered clumsily, paddle-wheels churning the
filthy waters over side, to the floating bridge; while the winches
rattled, and the woman, sitting up briskly in the driver's seat of the
motor-car, bent forward and advanced the spark; while the chain fell
clanking and the car shot out, over the bridge, through the gates, and
away, at a very considerable, even if lawful, rate of speed.

Whereupon, writing _Finis_ to the final chapter of Romance, voting the
world a dull place and life a treadmill, anathematizing in no uncertain
terms his lack of resource and address, Maitland paid off his cabby,
alighted, and to that worthy's boundless wonder, walked into the
waiting-room of the railway terminus without deviating a hair's-breadth
from the straight and circumscribed path of the sober in mind and body.

The ten-twenty had departed by a bare two minutes. The next and last
train for Greenfields was to leave at ten-fifty-nine. Maitland with
assumed nonchalance composed himself upon a bench in the waiting-room
to endure the thirty-seven minute interval. Five minutes later an
able-bodied washerwoman with six children in quarter sizes descended
upon the same bench; and the young man in desperation allowed himself
to be dispossessed. The news-stand next attracting him, he garnered a
fugitive amusement and two dozen copper cents by the simple process of
purchasing six "night extras," which he did not want, and paying for
each with a five-cent piece. Comprehending, at length, that he had
irritated the news-dealer, he meandered off, jingling his
copper-fortune in one hand, lugging his newspapers in the other, and
made a determined onslaught upon a slot machine. The latter having
reluctantly disgorged twenty-four assorted samples of chewing-gum and
stale sweetmeats, Maitland returned to the washerwoman, and sowed
dissension in her brood by presenting the treasure-horde to the eldest
girl with instructions to share it with her brothers and sisters.

It is difficult to imagine what folly might next have been recorded
against him had not, at that moment, a ferocious and inarticulate howl
from the train-starter announced the fact that the ten-fifty-nine was
in waiting.

Boarding the train in a thankful spirit, Maitland settled himself as
comfortably as he might in the smoker and endeavored to find surcease
of ennui in his collection of extras. In vain: even a two-column
portrait of Mr. Dan Anisty, cracksman, accompanied by a vivacious
catalogue of that notoriety's achievements in the field of polite
burglary, hardly stirred his interest. An elusive resemblance which he
traced in the features of Mr. Anisty, as presented by the
Sketch-Artist-on-the-Spot, to some one whom he, Maitland, had known in
the dark backwards and abysm of time, merely drew from him the comment:
"Homely brute!" And he laid the papers aside, cradling his chin in the
palm of one hand and staring for a weary while out of the car window at
a reeling and moonsmitten landscape. He yawned exhaustively, his
thoughts astray between a girl garbed all in grey, Bannerman's earnest
and thoughtful face, and the pernicious activities of Mr. Daniel
Anisty, at whose door Maitland laid the responsibility for this most
fatiguing errand....

The brakeman's wolf-like yelp--"Greenfields!"--was ringing in his ears
when he awoke and stumbled down aisle and car-steps just in the nick of
time. The train, whisking round a curve cloaked by a belt of somber
pines, left him quite alone in the world, cast ruthlessly upon his own
resources.

An hour had elapsed; it was now midnight; the moon rode high, a cold
white disk against a background of sapphire velvet, its pellucid rays
revealing with disheartening distinctness the inanimate and lightless
roadside hamlet called Greenfields; its general store and postoffice,
its _soi-disant_ hotel, its straggling line of dilapidated habitations,
all wrapped in silence profound and impenetrable. Not even a dog
howled; not a belated villager was in sight; and it was a moral
certainty that the local livery service had closed down for the night.

Nevertheless, Maitland, with a desperation bred of the prospective
five-mile tramp, spent some ten valuable minutes hammering upon the
door of the house infested by the proprietor of the livery stable. He
succeeded only in waking the dog, and inasmuch as he was not on
friendly terms with that animal, presently withdrew at discretion and
set his face northwards upon the open road.

It stretched before him invitingly enough, a ribbon winding
silver-white between dark patches of pine and scrub-oak or fields lush
with rustling corn and wheat. And, having overcome his primary disgust,
as the blood began to circulate more briskly in his veins, Maitland
became aware that he was actually enjoying the enforced exercise. It
could have been hardly otherwise, with a night so sweet, with airs so
bland and fragrant of the woods and fresh-turned earth, with so clear a
light to show him his way.

He stepped out briskly at first, swinging his stick and watching his
shadow, a squat, incredibly agitated silhouette in the golden dust. But
gradually and insensibly the peaceful influences of that still and
lovely hour tempered his heart's impatience; and he found himself
walking at a pace more leisurely. After all, there was no hurry; he was
unwearied, and Maitland Manor lay less than five miles distant.

Thirty minutes passed; he had not covered a third of the way, yet
remained content. By well-remembered landmarks, he knew he must be
nearing the little stream called, by courtesy, Myannis River; and in
due course, he stepped out upon the long wooden structure that spans
that water. He was close upon the farther end when--upon a hapchance
impulse--he glanced over the nearest guard-rail, down at the bed of the
creek. And stopped incontinently, gaping.

Stationary in the middle of the depression, hub-deep in the shallow
waters, was a motor-car; and it, beyond dispute, was identical with
that which had occupied his thoughts on the ferry-boat. Less wonderful,
perhaps, but to him amazing enough, it was to discover upon the
driver's seat the girl in grey.

His brain benumbed beyond further capacity for astonishment, he
accepted without demur this latest and most astounding of the chain of
amazing coincidences which had thus far enlivened the night's earlier
hours; and stood rapt in silent contemplation, sensible that the girl
had been unaware of his approach, deadened as his footsteps must have
been by the blanket of dust that carpeted both road and bridge deep and
thick.

On her part she sat motionless, evidently lost in reverie, and
momentarily, at least, unconscious of the embarrassing predicament
which was hers. So complete, indeed, seemed her abstraction that
Maitland caught himself questioning the reality of her.... And well
might she have seemed to him a pale little wraith of the night, the
shimmer of grey that she made against the shimmer of light on the
water,--a shape almost transparent, slight, and unsubstantial--seeming
to contemplate, and as still as any mouse....

Looking more attentively, it became evident that her veil was now
raised. This was the first time that he had seen her so. But her
countenance remained so deeply shadowed by the visor of a mannish
motoring-cap that the most searching scrutiny gained no more than a dim
and scantily satisfactory impression of alluring loveliness.

Maitland turned noiselessly, rested elbows on the rail, and, staring,
framed a theory to account for her position, if not for her patience.

On either hand the road, dividing, struck off at a tangent, down the
banks and into the river-bed. It was credible to presume that the girl
had lost control of the machine temporarily and that it, taking the bit
between its teeth, had swung gaily down the incline to its bath.

Why she lingered there, however, was less patent. The water, as has
been indicated, was some inches below the tonneau; it did not seem
reasonable to assume that it should have interfered with either
running-gear or motor....

At this point in Maitland's meditations the grey girl appeared to have
arrived at a decision. She straightened up suddenly, with a little
resolute nod of her head, lifting one small foot to her knee, and
fumbled with the laces of her shoe.

Maitland grasped her intention to abandon the machine, with her
determination to wade! Clearly this would seem to demonstrate that
there had been a breakdown, irreparable so far as frail feminine hands
were concerned.

One shoe removed, its fellow would follow, and then.... Out of sheer
chivalry, the involuntary witness was moved to earnest protest.

"Don't!" he cried hastily. "I say, don't wade!"

Her superb composure claimed his admiration. Absolutely ignorant though
she had been of his proximity, the voice from out of the skies
evidently alarmed her not at all. Still bending over the lifted foot,
she turned her head slowly and looked up; and "Oh!" said a small voice
tinged with relief. And coolly knotting the laces again, she sat up. "I
didn't hear you, you know."

"Nor I see you," Maitland supplemented unblushingly, "until a moment
ago. I--er--can I be of assistance?"

"Can't you?"

"Idiot!" said Maitland severely, both to and of himself. Aloud: "I
think I can."

"I hope so,"--doubtfully. "It's very unfortunate. I ... was running
rather fast, I suppose, and didn't see the slope until too late.
_Now_," opening her hands in a gesture ingenuously charming with its
suggestion of helplessness and dependence, "I don't know what _can_ be
the matter with the machine."

"I'm coming down," announced Maitland briefly. "Wait."

"Thank you, I shall."

She laughed, and Maitland could have blushed for his inanity; happily
he had action to cloak his embarrassment. In a twinkling he was at the
water's edge, pausing there to listen, with admirable docility, to her
plaintive objection: "But you'll get wet and--and ruin your things. I
can't ask that of you."

He chuckled, by way of reply, slapping gallantly into the shallows and
courageously wading out to the side of the car. Whereupon he was
advised in tones of fluttered indignation:

"You simply _wouldn't_ listen to me! And I _warned_ you! Now you're
soaking wet and will certainly catch your death of cold, and--and what
can _I_ do? Truly, I am sorry...."

Here the young man lost track of her remark. He was looking up into the
shadow of the motoring-cap, discovering things; for the shadow was set
at naught by the moon luster that, reflected from the surface of the
stream, invested with a gentle and glamorous radiance the face that
bent above him. And he caught at his breath sharply, direst fears
confirmed: she was pretty indeed--perilously pretty. The firm, resolute
chin, the sensitive, sweet line of scarlet lips, the straight little
nose, the brows delicately arched, the large, alert, tawny eyes with
the dangerous sweet shadows beneath, the glint as of raw copper where
her hair caught the light--Maitland appreciated them all far too well;
and clutched nervously the rail of the seat, trying to steady himself,
to re-collect his routed wits and consider sensibly that it all was due
to the magic of the moon, belike; the witchery of this apparition that
looked down into his eyes so gravely.

"Of course," he mumbled, "it's too beautiful to endure. Of course it
will all fade, vanish utterly in the cold light of day...."

Above him, perplexed brows gathered ominously. "I beg pardon?"

"I--er--yes," he stammered at random.

"You--er--what?"

Positively, she was laughing at him! He, Maitland the exquisite, Mad
Maitland the imperturbable, was being laughed at by a mere child, a
girl scarcely out of her teens. He glanced upward, caught her eye
a-gleam with merriment, and looked away with much vain dignity.

"I was saying," he manufactured, "that I did not mind the wetting in
the least. I'm happy to be of service."

"You weren't saying anything of the sort," she contradicted calmly.
"However...." She paused significantly.

Maitland experienced an instantaneous sensation as of furtive guilt,
decidedly the reverse of comfortable. He shuffled uneasily. There was a
brief silence, on her part expectant, on his, blank. His mental
attitude remained hopeless: for some mysterious reason his nonchalance
had deserted him in the hour of his supremest need; not in all his
experience did he remember anything like this--as awkward.

The river purled indifferently about his calves; a vagrant breeze
disturbed the tree-tops and died of sheer lassitude; Time plodded on
with measured stride. Then, abruptly, full-winged inspiration was born
out of the chaos of his mind. Listening intently, he glanced with
covert suspicion at the bridge: it proved untenanted, inoffensive of
mien; nor arose there any sound of hoof or wheel upon the highway.
Again he looked up at the girl; and found her in thoughtful mood,
frowning, regarding him steadily beneath level brows.

He assumed a disarming levity of demeanor, smiling winningly. "There's
only one way," he suggested--not too archly--and extended his arms.

"Indeed?" She considered him with pardonable dubiety.

Instantly his purpose became as adamant.

"I must carry you. It's the only way."

"Oh, indeed no! I--couldn't impose upon you. I'm--very heavy, you
know--"

"Never mind," firmly insistent. "You can't stay here all night, of
course."

"But are you sure?" (She was yielding!) "I don't like to--"

He shook his head, careful to restrain the twitching corners of his
lips.

"It will take but a moment," he urged gravely. "And I'll be quite
careful."

"Well--" She perceived that, if not right, he was stubborn; and with a
final small gesture of deprecation, weakly surrendered. "I'm sorry to
be such a nuisance," she murmured, rising and gathering skirts about
her.

Maitland stoutly denied the hideous insinuation: "I am only too glad--"

She balanced herself lightly upon the step. He moved nearer and assured
himself of a firm foothold on the pebbly river-bed. She sank gracefully
into his arms, proving a considerable burden--weightier, in fact, than
he had anticipated. He was somewhat staggered; it seemed that he
embraced countless yards of ruffles and things ballasted with (at a
shrewd guess) lead. He swayed.

Then, recovering his equilibrium, incautiously glanced into her eyes.
And lost it again, completely.

"I was mistaken," he told himself; "daylight will but enhance...."

She held herself considerately still, perhaps wondering why he made no
move. Perhaps otherwise; there is reason to believe that she may have
suspected--being a woman.

At length, "Is there anything I can do," she inquired meekly, "to make
it easier for you?"

"I'm afraid," he replied, attitude apologetic, "that I must ask you to
put your arm around my ne--my shoulders. It would be more natural."

"Oh."

The monosyllable was heavy with meaning--with any one of a dozen
meanings, in truth. Maitland debated the most obvious. Did she conceive
he had insinuated that it was his habit to ferry armfuls of attractive
femininity over rocky fords by the light of a midnight moon?

No matter. While he thought it out, she was consenting. Presently a
slender arm was passed round his neck. Having awaited only that, he
began to wade cautiously shorewards. The distance lessened perceptibly,
but he contemplated the decreasing interval without joy, for all that
she was of an appreciable weight. For all burdens there are
compensations.

Unconsciously, inevitably, her head sank toward his shoulder; he was
aware of her breath, fragrant and warm, upon his cheek.... He stopped
abruptly, cold chills running up and down his back; he gritted his
teeth; he shuddered perceptibly.

"What _is_ the matter?" she demanded, deeply concerned, but at pains
not to stir.

Maitland made a strange noise with his tongue behind clenched teeth.
"_Urrrrgh,_" he said distinctly.

She lifted her head, startled; relief followed, intense and
instantaneous.

"I'm sorry," he muttered humbly, face aflame, "but you ... tickled."

"I'm--so--_sorry!_" she gasped, violently agitated. And laughed a low,
almost a silent, little laugh, as with deft fingers she tucked away the
errant lock of hair.

"Ass!" Maitland told himself fiercely, striding forward.

In another moment they were on dry land. The girl slipped from his arms
and faced him, eyes dancing, cheeks crimson, lips a tense, quivering,
scarlet line. He met this with a rueful smile.

"But--thank you--but," she gasped explosively, "it was _so_ funny!"

Wounded dignity melted before her laughter. For a time, there in the
moonlight, under the scornful regard of the disabled motor-car's twin
headlights, these two rocked and shrieked, while the silent night flung
back disdainful echoes of their mad laughter.

Perhaps the insane incongruity of their performance first became
apparent to the girl; she, at all events, was the first to control
herself. Maitland subsided, rumbling, while she dabbed at her eyes with
a wisp of lace and linen.

"Forgive me," she said faintly, at length; "I didn't mean to--"

"How could you help it? Who'd expect a hulking brute like myself to be
ticklish?"

"You are awfully good," she countered more calmly.

"Don't say that. I'm a clumsy lout. But--" He held her gaze
inquiringly. "But may I ask--"

"Oh, of course--certainly: I am--was--bound for
Greenpoint-on-the-Sound--"

"Ten miles!" he interrupted.

The corners of her red lips drooped: her brows puckered with dismay.
Instinctively she glanced toward the waterbound car.

"What am I to do?" she cried. "Ten miles!... I could never walk it,
never in the world! You see, I went to town to-day to do a little
shopping. As we were coming home the chauffeur was arrested for
careless driving. He had bumped a delivery wagon over--it wasn't really
his fault. I telephoned home for somebody to bail him out, and my
father said he would come in. Then I dined, returned to the
police-station, and waited. Nobody came. I couldn't stay there all
night. I 'phoned to everybody I knew, until my money gave out; no one
was in town. At last, in desperation, I started home alone."

Maitland nodded his comprehension. "Your father--?" he hinted
delicately.

"Judge Wentworth," she explained hastily. "We've taken the Grover place
at Greenpoint for the season."

"I see,"--thoughtfully. And this was the girl who he had believed had
been in his rooms that evening, in his absence! Oh, clearly, that was
impossible. Her tone rang with truth. She interrupted his train of
thought with a cry of despair. "What will they think!"

"I dare say," he ventured hopefully, "I could hire a team at some
farm-house--"

"But the delay! It's so late already!"

Undeniably late: one o'clock at the earliest. A thought longer Maitland
hung in lack of purpose, then without a word of explanation turned and
again, began to wade out.

"What do you mean to do?" she cried, surprised.

"See what's the trouble," he called back. "I know a bit about motors.
Perhaps--"

"Then--but why--"

She stopped; and Maitland forbore to encourage her to round out her
question. It was no difficult matter to supply the missing words. Why
had he not thought of investigating the motor before insisting that he
must carry her ashore?

The humiliating conviction forced itself upon him that he was not
figuring to great advantage in this adventure. Distinctly a humiliating
sensation to one who ordinarily was by way of having a fine conceit of
himself. It requires a certain amount of egotism to enable one to play
the exquisite to one's personal satisfaction; Maitland had enjoyed the
possession of that certain amount; theretofore his approval of self had
been passably entire. Now--he could not deny--the boor had shown up
through the polish of the beau.

Intolerable thought! "Cad!" exclaimed Maitland bitterly. This all was
due to hasty jumping at conclusions: if he had not chosen to believe a
young and charming girl identical with an--an adventuress, this thing
had not happened and he had still retained his own good-will. For one
little moment he despised himself heartily--one little moment of clear
insight into self was his. And forthwith he began to meditate
apologies, formulating phrases designed to prove adequate without
sounding exaggerated and insincere.

By this time he had reached the car, and--through sheer blundering
luck--at once stumbled upon the seat of trouble: a clogged valve in the
carbureter. No serious matter: with the assistance of a repair kit more
than commonly complete, he had the valve clear in a jiffy.

News of this triumph he shouted to the girl, receiving in reply an "Oh,
thank you!" so fervently grateful that he felt more guilty than ever.

Ruminating unhappily on the cud of contemplated abasement, he waded
round the car, satisfying himself that there was nothing else out of
gear; and apprehensively cranked up. Whereupon the motor began to hum
contentedly: all was well. Flushed with this success, Maitland climbed
aboard and opened the throttle a trifle. The car moved. And then, with
a swish, a gurgle, and a watery _whoosh!_ it surged forward, up, out of
the river, gallantly up the slope.

At the top the amateur chauffeur shut down the throttle and jumped out,
turning to face the girl. She was by the step almost before he could
offer a hand to help her in, and as she paused to render him his due
meed of thanks, it became evident that she harbored little if any
resentment; eyes shining, face aglow with gratitude, she dropped him a
droll but graceful little courtesy.

"You are too good!" she declared with spirit. "How can I thank you?"

"You might," he suggested, looking down into her face from his superior
height, "give me a bit of a lift--just a couple of miles up the road.
Though," he supplemented eagerly, "if you'd really prefer, I should be
only too happy to drive the car home for you?"

"Two miles, did you say?"

He fancied something odd in her tone; besides, the question was
superfluous. His eyes informed with puzzlement, he replied: "Why,
yes--that much, more or less. I live--"

"Of course," she put in quickly, "I'll give you the lift--only too
glad. But as for your taking me home at this hour, I can't hear of
that."

"But--"

"Besides, what would people say?" she countered obstinately. "Oh, no,"
she decided; and he felt that from this decision there would be no
appeal; "I couldn't think of interfering with your ... arrangements."

Her eyes held his for a single instant, instinct with mischief,
gleaming with bewildering light from out a face schooled to gravity.
Maitland experienced a sensation of having grasped after and missed a
subtlety of allusion; his wits, keen as they were, recoiled, baffled by
her finesse. And the more he divined that she was playing with him, as
an experienced swordsman might play with an impertinent novice, the
denser his confusion grew.

"But I have no arrangements--" he stammered.

"Don't!" she insisted--as much as to say that he was fabricating and
she knew it! "We must hurry, you know, because.... There, I've dropped
my handkerchief! By the tree, there. Do you mind--?"

"Of course not." He set off swiftly toward the point indicated, but on
reaching it cast about vainly for anything in the nature of a
handkerchief. In the midst of which futile quest a change of tempo in
the motor's impatient drumming surprised him.

Startled, he looked up. Too late: the girl was in the seat, the car in
motion--already some yards from the point at which he had left it.
Dismayed, he strode forward, raising his voice in perturbed
expostulation.

"But--I say--!"

Over the rear of the seat a grey gauntlet was waved at him, as
tantalizing as the mocking laugh that came to his ears.

He paused, thunderstruck, appalled by this monstrosity of ingratitude.

The machine gathered impetus, drawing swiftly away. Yet in the
stillness the farewell of the grey girl came to him very clearly.

"Good-by!" with a laugh. "Thank you and good-by--_Handsome Dan!_"



III


"HANDSOME DAN"

Standing in the middle of the road, watching the dust cloud that
trailed the fast disappearing motorcar, Mr. Maitland cut a figure
sufficiently forlorn and disconsolate to have distilled pity from the
least sympathetic heart.

His hands were thrust stiffly at full arm's length into his trousers
pockets: a rumpled silk hat was set awry on the back of his head; his
shirt bosom was sadly crumpled; above the knees, to a casual glance, he
presented the appearance of a man carefully attired in evening dress;
below, his legs were sodden and muddied, his shoes of patent-leather,
twin wrecks. Alas for jauntiness and elegance, alack for ease and
aplomb!

"Tricked," observed Maitland casually, and protruded his lower lip,
thus adding to the length of a countenance naturally long. "Outwitted
by a chit of a girl! Dammit!"

But this was crude melodrama. Realizing which, he strove to smile: a
sorry failure.

"'Handsome Dan,'" quoted he; and cocking his head to one side eyed the
road inquiringly. "Where in thunder d'you suppose she got hold of
_that_ name?"

Bestowed upon him in callow college days, it had stuck burr-like for
many a weary year. Of late, however, its use had lapsed among his
acquaintances; he had begun to congratulate himself upon having lived
it down. And now it was resurrected, flung at him in sincerest mockery
by a woman whom, to his knowledge, he had never before laid eyes upon.
Odious appellation, hateful invention of an ingenious enemy!

"'Handsome Dan!' She must have known me all the time--all the time I
was making an exhibition of myself.... 'Wentworth'? I know no one of
that name. Who the dickens can she be?"

If it had not been contrary to his code of ethics, he would gladly have
raved, gnashed his teeth, footed the dance of rage with his shadow.
Indeed, his restraint was admirable, the circumstances considered. He
did nothing whatever but stand still for a matter of five minutes,
vainly racking his memory for a clue to the identity of "Miss
Wentworth."

At length he gave it up in despair and abstractedly felt for his
watch-fob. Which wasn't there. Neither, investigation developed, was
the watch. At which crowning stroke of misfortune,--the timepiece must
have slipped from his pocket into the water while he was tinkering with
that infamous carbureter,--Maitland turned eloquently red in the face.

"The price," he meditated aloud, with an effort to resume his pose, "is
a high one to pay for a wave of a grey glove and the echo of a pretty
laugh."

With which final fling at Fortune he set off again for Maitland Manor,
trudging heavily but at a round pace through the dust that soon settled
upon the damp cloth of his trousers legs and completed their ruination.
But Maitland was beyond being disturbed by such trifles. A wounded
vanity engaged his solicitude to the exclusion of all other interests.

At the end of forty-five minutes he had covered the remaining distance
between Greenfields station and Maitland Manor. For five minutes more
he strode wearily over the side-path by the box hedge which set aside
his ancestral acres from the public highway. At length, with an
exclamation, he paused at the first opening in the living barrier: a
wide entrance from which a blue-stone carriage drive wound away to the
house, invisible in the waning light, situate in the shelter of the
grove of trees that studded the lawn.

"Gasoline! Brrr!" said Maitland, shuddering and shivering with the
combination of a nauseous odor and the night's coolness--the latter by
now making itself as unpleasantly prominent as the former.

Though he hated the smell with all his heart, manfully inconsistent he
raised his head, sniffing the air for further evidence; and got his
reward in a sickening gust.

"Tank leaked," he commented with brevity. "Quart of the stuff must have
trickled out right here. Ugh! If it goes on at this rate, there'll be
another breakdown before she gets home." And, "Serve her right, too!"
he growled, vindictive.

But for all his indignation he acknowledged a sneaking wish that he
might be at hand again, in such event, a second time to give gratuitous
service to his grey lady.

Analyzing this frame of mind (not without surprise and some disdain of
him who weakly entertained it) he crossed the drive and struck in over
the lawn, shaping his course direct for the front entrance of the house.

By dead reckoning the hour was two, or something later; and a chill was
stealing in upon the land, wafted gently southward from Long Island
Sound. All the world beside himself seemed to slumber, breathless,
insensate. Wraith-like, grey shreds of mist drifted between the serried
boles of trees, or, rising, veiled the moon's wan and pallid face, that
now was low upon the horizon. In silent rivalry long and velvet-black
shadows skulked across the ample breadths of dew-drenched grass.
Somewhere a bird stirred on its unseen perch, chirping sleepily; and in
the rapt silence the inconsiderable interruption broke with startling
stress.

In time,--not long,--the house lifted into view: a squat, rambling
block of home-grown architecture with little to recommend it save its
keen associations and its comfort. At the edge of the woods the lord
and master paused indefinitely, with little purpose, surveying idly the
pale, columned facade, and wondering whether or not his entrance at
that ungodly hour would rouse the staff of house servants. If it did
not--he contemplated with mild amusement the prospect of their surprise
when, morning come, they should find the owner in occupation.

"Bannerman was right," he conceded; "any------" The syllables died upon
his lips; his gaze became fixed; his heart thumped wildly for an
instant, then rested still; and instinctively he held his breath,
tip-toeing to the edge of the veranda the better to command a view of
the library windows.

These opened from ceiling to floor and should by rights have presented
to his vision a blank expanse of dark glass. But, oddly enough, even
while thinking of his lawyer's warning, he had fancied.... "Ah!" said
Maitland softly.

A disk of white light, perhaps a foot or eighteen inches in diameter,
had flitted swiftly across the glass and vanished.

"Ah, ah! The devil, the devil!" murmured the young man unconsciously.

The light appeared again, dancing athwart the inner wall of the room,
and was lost as abruptly as before. On impulse Maitland buttoned his
top-coat across his chest, turning up the collar to hide his linen,
darted stealthily a yard or two to one side, and with one noiseless
bound reached the floor of the veranda. A breath later he stood by the
front door, where, at first glance, he discovered the means of entrance
used by the midnight marauder; the doors stood ajar, a black interval
showing between them.

So that, then, was the way! Cautiously Maitland put a hand upon the
knob and pushed.

A sharp, penetrating squeak brought him to an abrupt standstill, heart
hammering shamefully again. Gathering himself to spring, if need be, he
crept back toward the library windows, and reconnoitering cautiously
determined the fact that the bolts had just been withdrawn on the
inside of one window frame, which was swinging wide.

"It's a wise crook that provides his own quick exit," considered
Maitland.

The sagacious one was not, apparently, leaving at that moment. On the
contrary, having made all things ready for a hurried flight upon the
first alarm, the intruder turned back, as was clearly indicated by the
motion of the light within. The clink of steel touching steel became
audible; and Maitland nodded. Bannerman was indeed justified; at that
very moment the safe was being attacked.

Maitland returned noiselessly to the door. His mouth had settled into a
hard, unyielding, thin line; and a dangerous light flickered in his
eyes. Temporarily the idler had stepped aside, giving place to the real
man that was Maitland--the man ready to fight for his own, naked hands
against firearms, if it need be. True, he had but to step into the
gun-room to find weapons in plenty; but these must be then loaded to be
of service, and precious moments wasted in the process--moments in
which the burglar might gain access to and make off with his booty.

Maitland had no notion whatever of permitting anything of the sort to
occur. He counted upon taking his enemy unawares, difficult as he
believed such a feat would be, in the case of a professional cracksman.

Down the hallway he groped his way to the library door, his fingers at
length encountering its panels; it was closed, doubtless secured upon
the inside; the slightest movement of the handle was calculated to
alarm the housebreaker. Maitland paused, deliberating another and
better plan, having in mind a short passageway connecting library and
smoking-room. In the library itself a heavy tapestry curtained its
opening, while an equally heavy portiere took the place of a door at
the other end. In the natural order of things a burglar would overlook
this.

Inch by inch the young man edged into the smoking-room, the door to
which providentially stood unclosed. Once within, it was but a moment's
work to feel his way to the velvet folds and draw them aside,
fortunately without rattling the brass rings from which the curtain
depended. And then Maitland was in the passage, acutely on the alert,
recognizing from the continued click of metal that his antagonist-to-be
was still at his difficult task. Inch by inch--there was the tapestry!
Very gently the householder pushed it aside.

An insidious aroma of scorching varnish (the dark lantern) penetrated
the passage while he stood on its threshold, feeling for the
electric-light switch. Unhappily he missed this at the first cast,
and--heard from within a quick, deep hiss of breath. Something had put
the burglar on guard.

Another instant wasted, and it would be too late. The young man had to
chance it. And he did, without further hesitation stepping boldly into
the danger-zone, at the same time making one final, desperate pass at
the spot where the switch should have been--and missing it. On the
instant there came a click of a different caliber from those that had
preceded it. A revolver had been cocked, somewhere there in the blank
darkness.

Maitland knew enough not to move. In another respect the warning came
too late; his fingers had found the switch at last, and automatically
had turned it. The glare was blinding, momentarily; but the flash and
report for which Maitland waited did not come. When his eyes had
adjusted themselves to the suddenly altered conditions, he saw,
directly before him and some six feet distant, a woman's slight figure,
dark cloaked, resolute upon its two feet, head framed in veiling,
features effectually disguised in a motor mask whose round, staring
goggles shone blankly in the warm white light.

On her part, she seemed to recognize him instantaneously. On his.... It
may as well be admitted that Maitland's wits were gone wool-gathering,
temporarily at least: a state of mind not unpardonable when it is taken
into consideration that he was called upon to grapple with and
simultaneously to assimilate three momentous facts. For the first time
in his life he found himself nose to nose with a revolver, and that one
of able bodied and respect-compelling proportions. For the first time
in his life, again, he was under necessity of dealing with a
housebreaker. But most stupefying of all he found the fact that this
housebreaker, this armed midnight marauder, was a woman! And so it was
not altogether fearlessness that made him to all intents and purposes
ignore the weapon; it is nothing to his credit for courage if his eyes
struck past the black and deadly mouth of the revolver and looked only
into the blank and expressionless eyes of the wind-mask; it was not
lack of respect for his skin's integrity, but the sheer, tremendous
wonder of it all, that rendered him oblivious to the eternity that lay
the other side of a slender, trembling finger-tip.

And so he stared, agape, until presently the weapon wavered and was
lowered and the woman's voice, touched with irony, brought him to his
senses.

"Oh," she remarked coolly, "it's only you."

Thunderstruck, he was able no more than to parrot the pronoun:
"_You--you_!"

"Were you expecting to meet any one else, here, to-night?" she inquired
in suavest mockery.

He lifted his shoulders helplessly, and tried to school his tongue to
coherence. "I confess.... Well, certainly I didn't count on finding you
here, Miss Wentworth. And the black cloak, you know--"

"Reversible, of course: grey inside, as you see--Handsome Dan!" The
girl laughed quietly, drawing aside an edge of the garment to reveal
its inner face of silken grey and the fluted ruffles of the grey skirt
underneath.

He nodded appreciation of the device, his mind now busy with
speculations as to what he should do with the girl, now that he had
caught her. At the same time he was vaguely vexed by her persistent
repetition of the obsolescent nickname.

"Handsome Dan," he iterated all but mechanically. "Why do you call me
that, please? Have we met before? I could swear, never before this
night!"

"But you are altogether too modest," she laughed. "Not that it's a bad
trait in the character of a professional.... But really! it seems a bit
incredible that any one so widely advertised as Handsome Dan Anisty
should feel surprise at being recognized. Why, your portrait and
biography have commanded space in every yellow journal in America
recently!"

And, dropping the revolver into a pocket in her cloak, "I was afraid
you might be a servant--or even Maitland," she diverted the subject,
with a nod.

"But--but if you recognized me as Anisty, back there by the ford,
didn't you suspect I'd drop in on you--"

"Why, of course! Didn't _you_ all but tell me that you were coming
here?"

"But--"

"I thought _perhaps_ I might get through before you came, Mr. Anisty;
but I knew all the time that, even if you did manage to surprise
me--er--on the job, you wouldn't call in the police." She laughed
confidently, and--oddly enough--at the same time nervously. "You are
certainly a very bold man, and as surely a very careless one, to run
around the way you do without so much as troubling to grow a beard or a
mustache, after your picture has been published broadcast."

Did he catch a gleam of admiration in the eyes behind the goggles?
"Now, if ever they get hold of _my_ portrait and print it.... Well!"
sighed the girl wickedly, lifting slim, bare fingers in affected
concern to the mass of ruddy hair, "in that event I suppose I shall
have to become a natural blonde!"

Her humor, her splendid fearlessness, the lightness of her tone,
combined with the half-laughing, half-serious look that she swept up at
him, to ease the tension of his emotions. For the first time since
entering the room, he smiled; then in silence for a time regarded her
steadfastly, thinking.

So he resembled this burglar, Anisty, strongly enough to be mistaken
for him--eh? Plainly enough the girl believed him to be Anisty....
Well, and why not? Why shouldn't he be Anisty for the time being, if it
suited his purpose so to masquerade?

It might possibly suit his purpose. He thought his position one
uncommonly difficult. As Maitland, he had on his hands a female thief,
a hardened character, a common malefactor (strange that he got so
little relish of the terms!), caught red-handed; as Maitland, his duty
was to hand her over to the law, to be dealt with as--what she was.
Yet, even while these considerations were urging themselves upon him,
he knew his eyes appraised her with open admiration and interest. She
stood before him, slight, delicate, pretty, appealing in her ingenuous
candor; and at his mercy. How could he bring himself to deal with her
as he might with--well, Anisty himself? She was a woman, he a gentleman.

As Anisty, however,--if he chose to assume that expert's identity for
the nonce,--he would be placed at once on a plane of equality with the
girl; from a fellow of her craft she could hardly refuse attentions. As
Anisty, he would put himself in a position to earn her friendship, to
gain--perhaps--her confidence, to learn something of her necessities,
to aid and protect her from the consequences of her misdeeds;
possibly--to sum up--to divert her footsteps to the paths of a calling
less hazardous and more honorable.

Worthy ambition: to reform a burglar! Maitland regained something of
his lost self-esteem, applauding himself for entertaining a motive so
laudable. And he chose his course, for better or worse, in these few
seconds. Thereby proving his incontestable title to the name and repute
of Mad Maitland.

His face lightened; his manner changed; he assumed with avidity the
rôle for which she had cast him and which he stood so ready to accept
and act.

"Well and good," he conceded with an air. "I suppose I may as well own
up----"

"Oh, I know _you_," she assured him, with a little, confident shake of
her head. "There's no deceiving me. But," and her smile became rueful,
"if only you'd waited ten minutes more! Of course I recognized you from
the first--down there by the river; and knew very well what was
your--lay; you gave yourself away completely by mentioning the distance
from the river to the Manor. And I did so want to get ahead of you on
this job! What a feather in one's cap to have forestalled Dan
Anisty!... But hadn't you better be a little careful with those lights?
You seem to forget that there are servants in the house. Really, you
know, I find you most romantically audacious, Mr. Anisty--quite in
keeping with your reputation."

"You overwhelm me," he murmured. "Believe me, I have little conceit in
my fame, such as it is." And, crossing to the windows, he loosed the
heavy velvet hangings and let them fall together, drawing their edges
close so that no ray of light might escape.

She watched him with interest. "You seem well acquainted here."

"Of course. Any man of imagination is at pains to study every house he
enters. I have a map of the premises--house and grounds--here." He
indicated his forehead with a long forefinger.

"Quite right, too--and worth one's while. If rumor is to be believed,
you have ordinarily more than your labor for your pains. You have
taught me something already.... Ah, well!" she sighed, "I suppose I may
as well acknowledge my inferiority--as neophyte to hierophant. Master!"
She courtesied low. "I beg you proceed and let thy cheela profit
through observation!" And a small white hand gestured significantly
toward the collection of burglar's tools,--drills and chisels, skeleton
keys, putty, and all,--neatly displayed upon the rug before the massive
safe.

"You mean that you wish me to crack this safe for you?" he inquired,
with inward consternation.

"Not for me. Disappointment I admit is mine; but not for the loss I
sustain. In the presence of the master I am content to stand humbly to
one side, as befits one of my lowly state in--in the ranks of our
profession. I resign, I abdicate in your favor; claiming nothing by
right of priority."

"You are too generous," he mumbled, confused by her thinly veiled
ridicule.

"Not at all," she replied briskly. "I am entirely serious. My loss of
to-day will prove my gain, tomorrow. I look for incalculable benefit
through study of your methods. My own, I confess," with a contemptuous
toss of her head toward the burglar's kit, "are clumsy, antiquated, out
of date.... But then, I'm only an amateur."

"Oh, but a woman----" he began to apologize on her behalf.

"Oh, but a woman!" she rapped out smartly. "I wish you to understand
that this woman, at least, is no mean----" And she hesitated.

"Thief?" he supplied crudely.

"Yes, thief! We're two of a feather, at that."

"True enough.... But you were first in the field; I fail to see why I
should reap any reward for tardiness. The spoils must be yours."

It was a test: Maitland watched her keenly, fascinated by the subtlety
of the game.

"But I refuse, Mr. Anisty--positively refuse to go to work while you
stand aside and--and laugh."

Pride! He stared, openly amazed, at this bewilderingly feminine bundle
of inconsistencies. With each facet of her character discovered to him,
minute by minute, the study of her became to him the more engrossing.
He drew nearer, eyes speculative.

"I will agree," he said slowly, "to crack the safe, but upon
conditions."

She drew back imperceptibly, amused, but asserting her dignity. "Yes?"
she led him on, though in no accent of encouragement.

"Back there, in the river," he drawled deliberately, forcing the pace,
"I found you--beautiful."

She flushed, lip curling. "And, back there, in the river, I thought
you--a gentleman!"

"Although a burglar?"

"A gentleman for all that!"

"I promise you I mean no harm," he prefaced. "But don't you see how I
am putting myself in your power? Every moment you know me better, while
I have not yet even looked into your face with the light full upon it.
Honor among thieves, little woman!"

She chose to ignore the intimate note in his voice. "You're wasting
time," she hinted crisply.

"I am aware of that fact. Permit me to remind you that you are helping
me to waste it. I will not go ahead until I have seen your face. It is
simply an ordinary precaution."

"Oh, if it's a matter of business----"

"Self-preservation," he corrected with magnificent gravity.

She hesitated but a moment longer, then with a quick gesture removed
her mask. Maitland's breath came fast as he bent forward, peering into
her face; though he schooled his own features to an expression of
intent and inoffensive studiousness, he feared the loud thumping of his
heart would betray him. As he looked it became evident that the
witchery of moonlight had not served to exaggerate the sensitive, the
almost miniature, beauty of her. If anything, its charm was greater
there in the full glare of the electric chandelier, as she faced him,
giving him glance for glance, quite undismayed by the intentness of his
scrutiny.

In the clear light her eyes shone lustrous, pools of tawny flame; her
hair showed itself of a rich and luminous coppery hue, spun to
immeasurable fineness; a faint color burned in her cheeks, but in
contrast her forehead was as snow--the pure, white, close-grained skin
that is the heritage of red-headed women the world over, and their
chiefest charm as well; while her lips....

As for her lips, the most coherent statement to be extracted from Mr.
Maitland is to the effect that they were altogether desirable, from the
very first.

The hauteur of her pose, the sympathy and laughter that lurked in her
mouth, the manifest breeding in the delicate modeling of her nostrils,
and the firm, straight arch of her nose, the astonishing allurement of
her eyes, combined with their spirited womanliness: these, while they
completed the conquest of the young man, abashed him. He found himself
of a sudden endowed with a painful appreciation of his own
imperfections, the littleness of his ego, the inherent coarseness of
his masculine fiber, the poor futility of his ways, contrasted with her
perfections. He felt as if rebuked for some unwarrantable
presumption.... For he had looked into eyes that were windows of a
soul; and the soul was that of a child, unsullied and immaculate.

You may smile; but as for Maitland, he deemed it no laughing matter.
From that moment his perception was clear that, whatever she might
claim to be, however damning the circumstances in which she appeared to
him, there was no evil in her.

But what he did not know, and did not even guess, was that, from the
same instant, his being was in bondage to her will. So Love comes,
strangely masked.



IV


MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S MADNESS

At length, awed and not a little shamefaced, "I beg your pardon," he
stammered wretchedly.

"For what?" she demanded quickly, head up and eyes light.

"For insisting. It wasn't--ah--courteous. I'm sorry."

It was her turn now to wonder; delicacy of perception such as this is
not ordinarily looked for in the person of a burglar. With a laugh and
a gibe she tried to pass off her astonishment.

"The thief apologizes to the thief?"

"Unkind!"

Briefly hesitant, with an impulsive gesture she flung out a generous
hand.

"You're right; I was unkind. Forgive me. Won't you shake hands? I ... I
do want to be a good comrade, since it has pleased Fate to throw us
together like this, so--so oddly." Her tone was almost plaintive;
unquestionably it was appealing.

Maitland was curiously moved by the touch of the slim, cool fingers
that lay in his palm. Not unpleasantly. He frowned in perplexity,
unable to analyze the sensation.

"You're not angry?" she asked.

"No--but--but--"

"Yes?"

"Why do you do this, little woman? Why do you stoop to this--this trade
of yo--of ours? Why sully your hands,--and not only your
hands,--imperil your good name, to say nothing of your liberty----?"

She drew her hand away quickly, interrupting him with a laugh that rang
true as a coin new from the mint, honest and genuine.

"And this," she cried, "this from Dan Anisty! Positively, sir, you are
delightful! You grow more dangerously original every minute! Your
scruples, your consideration, your sympathy--they are touching--in
_you_!" She wagged her head daintily in pretense of disapprobation.
"But shall I tell you?" more seriously, doubtfully. "I think I shall
... truly. I do this sort of thing, since you must know,
because--_imprimis_, because I like it. Indeed and I do! I like the
danger, the excitement, the exercise of cunning and--and I like the
rewards, too. Besides----"

The corners of her adorable mouth drooped ever so slightly.

"Besides----?"

"Why.... But this is not business! We must hurry. Will you, or shall
I----?"

A crisis had been passed; Maitland understood that he must wait until a
more favorable time to renew his importunities.

"I will," he said, dropping on his knees by the safe. "In my lady's
service!"

"Not at all," she interposed. "I insist. The job is now yours; yours
must be the profits."

"Then I wash my hands of the whole affair," he stated in accents of
finality. "I refuse. I shall go, and you can do as you will,--blunder
on," scornfully, "with your nitroglycerin, your rags, and drills
and--and rouse the entire countryside, if you will."

"Ah, but--"

"Will you accept my aid?"

"On conditions, only," she stipulated. "Halvers?"

He shook his head.

"Half shares, or not at all!" She was firm.

"A partnership?"

This educed a moue of doubt, with: "I'm not worthy the honor."

"But," he promised rashly, "I can save you--oh, heaps of trouble in
other--ah--lays."

She shrugged helplessly. "If I must--then I do accept. We are partners,
Dan Anisty and I!"

He nodded mute satisfaction, brushed the tools out of his way, and bent
an attentive ear to the combination.

The girl swept across the room, and there followed a click simultaneous
with the total extinction of light.

Startled, "Why--?" he demanded.

"The risk," she replied. "We have been frightfully careless and
thoughtless."

Helplessly Maitland twirled the combination dial; without the light he
was wholly at a loss. But a breath later her skirts rustled near him;
the slide of the bull's-eye was jerked back, and a circle of
illumination thrown upon the lock. He bent his head again, pretending
to listen to the fall of the tumblers as the dial was turned, but in
point of fact covertly watching the letters and figures upon it.

The room grew very silent, save for the faintly regular respiration of
the girl who bent near his shoulder. Her breath was fragrant upon his
cheek. The consciousness of her propinquity almost stifled him.... One
fears that Maitland prolonged the counterfeit study of the combination
unnecessarily.

Notwithstanding this, she seemed amazed by the ease with which he
solved it. "Wonderful!" she applauded, whispering, as the heavy door
swung outward without a jar.

"Hush!" he cautioned her.

In his veins that night madness was running riot, swaying him to its
will. With never a doubt, never a thought of hesitancy, he forged
ahead, wilfully blind to consequences. On the face of it he was playing
a fool's part; he knew it; the truth is simply that he could not have
done other than as he did. Consciously he believed himself to be merely
testing the girl; subconsciously he was plastic in the grip of an
emotion stronger than he,--moist clay upon the potter's whirling wheel.

The interior of the safe was revealed in a shape little different from
that of the ordinary household strong-box. There were several
account-books, ledgers, and the like, together with some packages of
docketed bills, in the pigeon-holes. The cash-box, itself a safe within
a safe, showed a blank face broken by a small combination dial. Behind
this, in a secreted compartment, the Maitland heirlooms languished,
half-forgotten of their heedless owner.

The cash-box combination offered less difficulty than had the outer
dial. Maitland had it open in a twinkling. Then, brazenly lifting out
the inner framework, bodily, he thrust a fumbling hand into the
aperture thus disclosed and pressed the spring, releasing the panel at
the back. It disappeared as though by witchcraft, and the splash of
light from the bull's-eye discovered a canvas bag squatting humbly in
the secret compartment: a fat little canvas bag, considerably soiled
from much handling, such as is used by banks for coin, a sturdy,
matter-of-fact, every-day sort of canvas bag, with nothing about it of
hauteur, no air of self-importance or ostentation, to betray the fact
that it was the receptacle of a small fortune.

At Maitland's ear, incredulous, "How did you guess?" she breathed.

He took thought and breath, both briefly, and prevaricated shamelessly:
"Bribed the head-clerk of the safe-manufacturer who built this."

Rising, he passed over to the center-table, the girl following. "Steady
with the light," he whispered; and loosed the string around the mouth
of the bag, pouring its contents, a glistening, priceless, flaming,
iridiscent treasure horde, upon the table.

"Oh!" said a small voice at his side. And again and again: "Oh! Oh! Oh!"

Maitland himself was moved by the wonder of it. The jewels seemed to
fill the room with a flashing, amazing, coruscant glamour,
rainbow-like. His breath came hot and fast as he gazed upon the trove;
a queen's ransom, a fortune incalculable even to its owner. As for the
girl, he thought that the wonder of it must have struck her dumb. Not a
sound came from the spot where she stood.

Then, abruptly, the sun went out: at least, such was the effect; the
light of the hand-lamp vanished utterly, leaving a party-colored blur
swimming against the impenetrable blackness, before his eyes.

His lips opened; but a small hand fell firmly upon his own, and a tiny,
tremulous whisper shrilled in his ear.

"Hush--ah, hush!"

"What--?

"Steady ... some one coming ... the jewels...."

He heard the dull musical clash of them as her hands swept them back
into the bag, and a cold, sickening fear rendered him almost faint with
the sense of trust misplaced, illusions resolved into brutal realities.
His fingers closed convulsively about her wrists; but she held passive.

"Ah, but I might have expected that!" came her reproachful whisper.
"Take them, then, my--my partner that was." Her tone cut like a knife,
and the touch of the canvas bag, as she forced it into his hands, was
hateful to him.

"Forgive me--" he began.

"But listen!"

For a space he obeyed, the silence at first seeming tremendous; then,
faint but distinct, he heard the tinkle and slide of the brazen rings
supporting the smoking-room portière.

His hand sought the girl's; she had not moved, and the cool, firm
pressure of her fingers steadied him. He thought quickly.

"Quick!" he told her in the least of whispers. "Leave by the window you
opened and wait for me by the motor-car."

"No!"

There was no time to remonstrate with her. Already he had slipped away,
shaping a course for the entrance to the passage. But the dominant
thought in his mind was that at all costs the girl must be spared the
exposure. She was to be saved, whatever the hazard. Afterwards....

The tapestry rustled, but he was yet too far distant to spring. He
crept on with the crouching, vicious attitude, mental and physical, of
a panther stalking its prey....

Like a thunderclap from a clear sky the glare of the light broke out
from the ceiling. Maitland paused, transfixed, on tiptoe, eyes
incredulous, brain striving to grapple with the astounding discovery
that had come to him.

The third factor stood in the doorway, slender and tall, in evening
dress,--as was Maitland,--a light, full overcoat hanging open from his
shoulders; one hand holding back the curtain, the other arrested on the
light switch. His lips dropped open and his eyes, too, were protruding
with amazement. Feature for feature he was the counterpart of the man
before him; in a word, here was the real Anisty.

The wonder of it all saved the day for Maitland; Anisty's astonishment
was sincere and the more complete in that, unlike Maitland, he had been
unprepared to find any one in the library.

For a mere second his gaze left Maitland and traveled on to the girl,
then to the rifled safe--taking in the whole significance of the scene.
When he spoke, it was as if dazed.

"By God!" he cried--or, rather, the syllables seemed to jump from his
lips like bullets from a gun.

The words shattered the tableau. On their echo Maitland sprang and
fastened his fingers around the other's throat. Carried off his feet by
the sheer ferocity of the assault, Anisty gave ground a little. For an
instant they were swaying back and forth, with advantage to neither.
Then the burglar's collar slipped and somehow tore from its stud,
giving Maitland's hands freer play. His grasp tightened about the man's
gullet; he shook him mercilessly. Anisty staggered, gasping, reeled,
struck Maitland once or twice upon the chest,--feeble, weightless
elbow-jabs that went for nothing, then concentrated his energies in a
vain attempt to wrench the hands from his throat. Reeling, tearing at
Maitland's wrists, face empurpling, eyes staring in agony, he stumbled.
Mercilessly Maitland forced him to his knees and bullied him across the
floor toward the nearest lounge--with premeditated design; finally
succeeding in throwing him flat; and knelt upon his chest, retaining
his grip but refraining from throttling him.

As it was, all strength and thought of resistance had been choked out
of Anisty. He lay at length, gasping painfully.

Maitland glanced over his shoulders and saw the girl moving forward,
apparently making for the switch.

"No!" he cried, peremptory. "Don't turn off the light--please!"

"But--" she doubted.

"Let me have those curtain cords, if you please," he requested shortly.

She followed his gaze to the windows, interpreted his wishes, and was
very quick to carry them out. In a trice she was offering him half a
dozen of the heavy, twisted silk cords that had been used to loop back
the curtains.

Soft yet strong, they were excellently well adapted to Maitland's
needs. Unceremoniously he swung his captive over on his side, bringing
his neck and ankles in juxtaposition to the legs of that substantial
piece of furniture, the lounge.

His hands the first to be secured, and tightly, behind his back, Anisty
lay helpless, glaring vindictively the while gradually he recovered
consciousness and strength. Maitland cared little for his evil glances;
he was busy. The burglar's ankles were next bound together and to the
lounge leg; and, an instant later, a brace of half-hitches about the
man's neck and the nearest support entirely eliminated him as a
possible factor in subsequent events.

"Those loops around your throat," Maitland warned him curtly, "are
loose enough now, but if you struggle they'll tighten and strangle you.
Understand?"

Anisty nodded, making an incoherent sound with his swollen tongue. At
which Maitland frowned, smitten thoughtful with a new consideration.

"You mustn't talk, you know," he mused half aloud; and, whipping forth
a handkerchief, gagged Mr. Anisty.

After which, breathing hard and in a maze of perplexity, he got to his
feet. Already his hearing, quickened by the emergency, had apprised him
of the situation's imminent hazards. It needed not the girl's hurried
whisper, "_The servants_!" to warn him of their danger. From the rear
wing of the mansion the sounds of hurrying feet were distinctly
audible, as, presently, were the heavy, excited voices of men and the
more shrill and frightened cries of women.

Heedless of her displeasure, Maitland seized the girl by the arm and
urged her over to the open Window. "Don't hang back!" he told her
nervously. "You must get out of this before they see you. Do as I tell
you, please, and we'll save ourselves yet! If we both make a run for
it, we're lost. Don't you understand?"

"No. Why?" she demanded, reluctant, spirited, obstinate--and lovely in
his eyes.

"If he were anybody else," Maitland indicated, with a jerk of his head
toward the burglar. "But didn't you see? He must be Maitland--and he's
my double. I'll stay, brazen it out, then, as soon as possible, make my
escape and join you by the gate. Your motor's there--what? Be ready for
me...."

But she had grasped his intention and was suddenly become pliant to his
will. "You're wonderful!" she told him with a little low laugh; and was
gone, silently as a spirit.

The curtains fell behind her in long, straight folds; Maitland stilled
their swaying with a touch, and stepped back into the room. For a
moment he caught the eye of the fellow on the floor; and it was
upturned to his, sardonically intelligent. But the lord of the manor
had little time to debate consequences.

Abruptly the door was flung wide and a short stout man, clutching up
his trousers with a frantic hand, burst into the library, brandishing
overhead a rampant revolver.

"'Ands hup!" he cried, leveling at Maitland. And then, with a fallen
countenance; "G-r-r-reat 'eavins, sir! _You_, Mister Maitland, sir!"

"Ah, Higgins," his employer greeted the butler blandly.

Higgins pulled up, thunderstruck, panting and perspiring with
agitation. His fat cheeks quivered like the wattles of a gobbler, and
his eyes bulged as, by degrees, he became alive to the situation.

Maitland began to explain, forestalling the embarrassments of
cross-examination.

"By the merest accident, Higgins, I was passing in my car with a party
of friends. Just for a joke I thought I'd steal up to the house and see
how you were behaving yourselves. By chance--again--I happened to see
this light through the library windows." And Maitland, putting an
incautious hand upon the bull's-eye on the desk, withdrew it instantly,
with an exclamation of annoyance and four scorched fingers.

"He's been at the safe," he added quickly, diverting attention from
himself. "I was just in time."

"My wor-r-rd!" said Higgins, with emotion. Then quickly: "Did 'e get
anythin', do you think, sir?"

Maitland shook his head, scowling over the butler's burly shoulders at
the rapidly augmenting concourse of servants in the hallway--lackeys,
grooms, maids, cooks, and what-not; a background of pale, scared faces
to the tableau in the library. "This won't do," considered Maitland.
"Get back, all of you!" he ordered sternly, indicating the group with a
dominant and inflexible forefinger. "Those who are wanted will be sent
for. Now go! Higgins, you may stay."

"Yes, sir. Yes, sir. But wot an 'orrid 'appenin', sir, if you'll permit
me--"

"I won't. Be quiet and listen. This man is Anisty--Handsome Dan Anisty,
the notorious jewel thief, wanted badly by the police of a dozen
cities. You understand?... I'm going now to motor to the village and
get the constables; I may," he invented desperately, "be delayed--may
have to get a detective from Brooklyn. If this scoundrel stirs, don't
touch him. Let him alone--he can't escape if you do. Above all things,
don't you dare to remove that gag!"

"Most cert'inly, sir. I shall bear in mind wot you says----"

"You'd best," grimly. "Now I'm off. No; I don't want any attendance--I
know my way. And--don't--touch--that--man--till I return."

"Very good, sir."

Maitland stepped over to the safe, glanced within, cursorily, replaced
a bundle of papers which he did not recall disturbing, closed the door
and twirled the combination.

"Nothing gone," he announced. An inarticulate gurgle from the prostrate
man drew a black scowl from Maitland. Recovering, "Good morning," he
said politely to the butler, and striding out of the house by the front
door, was careful to slam that behind him, ere darting into the shadows.

The moon was down, the sky a cold, opaque grey, overcast with a light
drift of cloud. The park seemed very dark, very dreary; a searching
breeze was sweeping inland from the Sound, soughing sadly in the
tree-tops; a chill humidity permeated the air, precursor of rain. The
young man shivered, both with chill and reaction from the tension of
the emergency just past.

He was aware of an instantaneous loss of heart, a subsidence of the
elation which had upheld him throughout the adventure; and to escape
this, to forget or overcome it, took immediately to his heels,
scampering madly for the road, oppressed with fear lest he should find
the girl gone--with the jewels.

That she should prove untrue, faithless, lacking even that honor which
proverbially obtains in the society of criminals--a consideration of
such a possibility was intolerable, as much so as the suspense of
ignorance. He could not, would not, believe her capable of ingratitude
so rank; and fought fiercely, unreasoningly, against the conviction
that she would have followed her thievish instincts and made off with
the booty.... A judgment meet and right upon him, for his madness!

Heart in mouth, he reached the gates, passing through without
discovering her, and was struck dumb and witless with relief when she
stepped quietly from the shadows of a low branching tree, offering him
a guiding hand.

"Come," she said quietly. "This way."

Without being exactly conscious of what he was about he caught the hand
in both his own. "Then," he exulted almost passionately,--"then you
didn't----"

His voice choked in his throat. Her face, momentarily upturned to his,
gleamed pale and weary in the dreary light; the face of a tired child,
troubled, saddened; yet with eyes inexpressibly sweet. She turned away,
tugging at her hand.

"You doubted me, after all!" she commented, a trifle bitterly.

"I--no! You misunderstand me. Believe me, I----"

"Ah, don't protest. What does it make or mar, whether or not you
trusted me?... You have," she added quietly, "the jewels safe enough, I
suppose?"

He stopped short, aghast. "I! The jewels!"

"I slipped them in your coat pocket before----"

Instantly her hand was free, Maitland ramming both his own into the
side pockets of his top-coat. "They're safe!"

She smiled uncertainly.

"We have no time," said she. "Can you drive--?"

They were standing by the side of her car, which had been cunningly
hidden in the gloom beneath a spreading tree on the further side of the
road. Maitland, crestfallen, offered his hand; the tips of her fingers
touched his palm lightly as she jumped in. He hesitated at the step.

"You wish me to?"

She laughed lightly. "Most assuredly. You may assure yourself that I
shan't try to elude you again----"

"I would I might be sure of that," he said, steadying his voice and
seeking her eyes.

"Procrastination won't make it any more assured."

He stepped up and settled himself in the driver's seat, grasping
throttle and steering-wheel; the great machine thrilled to his touch
like a live thing, then began slowly to back out into the road. For an
instant it seemed to hang palpitant on dead center, then shot out like
a hound unleashed, _ventre-à-terre_,--Brooklyn miles away over the hood.

It seemed but a minute ere they were thundering over the Myannis
bridge. A little further on Maitland slowed down and, jumping out,
lighted the lamps. In the seat again,--no words had passed,--he threw
in the high-speed clutch, and the world flung behind them, roaring.
Thereafter, breathless, stunned by the frenzy of speed, perforce
silent, they bored on through the night, crashing along deserted
highways.

In the east a band of pallid light lifted up out of the night, and the
horizon took shape against it, stark and black. Slowly, stealthily, the
formless dawn dusk spread over the sleeping world; to the zenith the
light-smitten stars reeled and died, and houses, fields, and
thoroughfares lay a-glimmer with ghostly twilight as the car tore
headlong through the grim, unlovely, silent hinterland of Long Island
City.

The gates of the ferry-house were inexorably shut against them when at
last Maitland brought the big machine to a tremulous and panting halt,
like that of an over-driven thoroughbred. And though they perforce
endured a wait of fully fifteen minutes, neither found aught worth
saying; or else the words wherewith fitly to clothe their thoughts were
denied them. The girl seemed very weary, and sat with head drooping and
hands clasped idly in her lap. To Maitland's hesitant query as to her
comfort she returned a monosyllabic reassurance. He did not again
venture to disturb her; on his own part he was conscious of a clogging
sense of exhaustion, of a drawn and haggard feeling about the eyes and
temples; and knew that he was keeping awake through main power of will
alone, his brain working automatically, his being already a-doze.

The fresh wind off the sullen river served in some measure to revive
them, once the gates were opened and the car had taken a place on the
ferry-boat's forward extreme. Day was now full upon the world; above a
horizon belted with bright magenta, the cloudless sky was soft
turquoise and sapphire; and abruptly, while the big unwieldy boat
surged across the narrow ribbon of green water, the sun shot up with a
shout and turned to an evanescent dream of fairy-land the gaunt,
rock-ribbed profile of Manhattan Island, bulking above them in tier
upon tier of monstrous buildings.

On the Manhattan side, in deference to the girl's low-spoken wish,
Maitland ran the machine up to Second Avenue, turned north, and brought
it to a stop by the curb, a little north of Thirty-fifth Street.

"And now whither?" he inquired, hands somewhat impatiently ready upon
the driving and steering-gear.

The girl smiled faintly through her veil. "You have been most kind,"
she told him in a tired voice. "Thank you--from my heart, Mr. Anisty,"
and made a move as if to relieve him of his charge.

"Is that all?" he demanded blankly.

"Can I say more?"

"I ... I am to go no further with you?" Sick with disappointment, he
rose and dropped to the sidewalk--anticipating her affirmative answer.

"If you would please me," said the girl, "you won't insist...."

"I don't," he returned ruefully. "But are you quite sure that you're
all right now?"

"Quite, thank you, dear Mr. Anisty!" With a pretty gesture of
conquering impulse she swept her veil aside, and the warm rose-glow of
the new-born day tinted her wan young cheeks with color. And her eyes
were as stars, bright with a mist of emotion, brimming with
gratitude--and something else. He could not say what; but one thing he
knew, and that was that she was worn with excitement and fatigue, near
to the point of breaking down.

"You're tired," he insisted, solicitous. "Can't you let me----?"

"I am tired," she admitted wistfully, voice subdued, yet rich and
vibrant. "No, please. Please let me go. Don't ask me any
questions--now."

"Only one," he made supplication. "I've done nothing----"

"Nothing but be more kind than I can say!"

"And you're not going to back out of our partnership?"

"Oh!" And now the color in her cheeks was warmer than that which the
dawn had lent them. "No ... I shan't back out." And she smiled.

"And if I call a meeting of the board of management of Anisty and
Wentworth, Limited, you will promise to attend?"

"Ye-es...."

"Will it be too early if I call one for to-day?"

"Why...."

"Say at two o'clock this afternoon, at Eugene's. You know the place?"

"I have lunched there----"

"Then you shall again to-day. You won't disappoint me?"

"I will be there. I ... I shall be glad to come. Now--_please_!"

"You've promised. Don't forget."

He stepped back and stood in a sort of dreamy daze, while, with one
final wonderful smile at parting, the girl assumed control of the
machine and swung it out from the curb. Maitland watched it forge
slowly up the Avenue and vanish round the Thirty-sixth Street corner;
then turned his face southward, sighing with weariness and discontent.

At Thirty-fourth Street a policeman, lounging beneath the corrugated
iron awning of a corner saloon, faced about with a low whistle, to
stare after him. Maitland experienced a chill sense of criminal guilt;
he was painfully conscious of those two shrewd eyes, boring gimlet-like
into his back, overlooking no detail of the wreck of his evening
clothes. Involuntarily he glanced down at his legs, and they moved
mechanically beneath the edge of his overcoat, like twin animated
columns of mud and dust, openly advertising his misadventures. He felt
in his soul that they shrieked aloud, that they would presently succeed
in dinning all the town awake, so that the startled populace would come
to the windows to stare in wonder as he passed by. And inwardly he
groaned and quaked.

As for the policeman, after some reluctant hesitation, he overcame the
inherent indisposition to exertion that affects his kind, and, swinging
his stick, stalked after Maitland.

Happily (and with heartfelt thanksgiving) the young man chanced upon a
somnolent and bedraggled hack, at rest in the stenciled shadows of the
Third Avenue elevated structure. Its pilot was snoring lustily the
sleep of the belated, on the box. With some difficulty he was awakened,
and Maitland dodged into the musty, dusty body of the vehicle, grateful
to escape the unprejudiced stare of the guardian of the peace, who in
another moment would have overtaken him and, doubtless, subjected him
to embarrassing inquisition.

As the ancient four-wheeler rattled noisily over the cobbles, some of
the shops were taking down their shutters, the surface cars were
beginning to run with increasing frequency, and the sidewalks were
becoming sparsely populated. Familiar as the sights were, they were yet
somehow strangely unreal to the young man. In a night the face of the
world had changed for him; its features loomed weirdly blurred and
contorted through the mystical grey-gold atmosphere of the land of
Romance, wherein he really lived and moved and had his being. The
blatant day was altogether preposterous: to-day was a dream, something
nightmarish; last night he had been awake, last night for the first
time in twenty-odd years of existence he had lived....

He slipped unthinkingly one hand into his coat pocket, seeking
instinctively his cigarette case; and his fingers brushed the
coarse-grained surface of a canvas bag. He jumped as if electrified. He
had managed altogether to forget them, yet in _his_ keeping were the
jewels, Maitland heirlooms--the swag and booty, the loot and plunder of
the night's adventure. And he smiled happily to think that his interest
in them was Fifty-percent depreciated in twenty-four hours; now he
owned only half....

Suddenly he sat up, with happy eyes and a glowing face. _She_ had
trusted him!




V.


INCOGNITO

At noon, precisely, Maitland stirred between the sheets for the first
time since he had thrown himself into his bed--stirred, and, confused
by whatever alarm had awakened him, yawned stupendously, and sat up,
rubbing clenched fists in his eyes to clear them of sleep's cobwebs.
Then he bent forward, clasping his knees, smiled largely, replaced the
smile with a thoughtful frown, and in such wise contemplated the foot
of the bed for several minutes,--his first conscious impression, that
he had something delightful to look forward to yielding to a vague
recollection of a prolonged shrill tintinnabulation--as if the
telephone bell in the front room had been ringing for some time.

But he waited in vain for a repetition of the sound, and eventually
concluded that he had been mistaken; it had been an echo from his
dreams, most likely.

Besides, who should call him up? Not two people knew that he was in
town: not even O'Hagan was aware that he had returned to his rooms that
morning.

He gaped again, stretching wide his arms, sat up on the edge of the
bed, and heard the clock strike twelve.

Noon and.... He had an engagement at two! He brightened at the memory
and, jumping up, pressed an electric call-button on the wall. By the
time he had paddled barefoot to the bath-room and turned on the
cold-water tap, O'Hagan's knock summoned him to the hall door.

"Back again, O'Hagan; and in a desperate rush. I'll want you to shave
me and send some telegrams, please. Must be off by one-thirty. You may
get out my grey-striped flannels"--here he paused, calculating his
costume with careful discrimination,--"and a black-striped negligée
shirt; grey socks; russet low shoes; black and white check tie--broad
wings. You know where to find them all?"

"Shure yiss, sor."

O'Hagan showed no evidence of surprise; the eccentricities of Mr.
Maitland could not move him, who was inured to them through long
association and observation. He moved away to execute his instructions,
quietly efficient. By the time Maitland had finished splashing and
gasping in the bath-tub, everything was ready for the ceremony of
dressing.

In other words, twenty minutes later Maitland, bathed, shaved, but
still in dressing-gown and slippers, was seated at his desk, a cup of
black coffee steaming at his elbow, a number of yellow telegraph blanks
before him, a pen poised between his fingers.

It was in his mind to send a wire to Cressy, apologizing for his
desertion of the night just gone, and announcing his intention to
rejoin the party from which the motor trip to New York had been as
planned but a temporary defection, in time for dinner that same
evening. He nibbled the end of the pen-holder, selecting phrases, then
looked up at the attentive O'Hagan.

"Bring me a New Haven time-table, please," he began, "and--"

The door-bell abrupted his words, clamoring shrilly.

"What the deuce?" he demanded. "Who can that be? Answer it, will you,
O'Hagan?"

He put down the pen, swallowed his coffee, and lit a cigarette,
listening to the murmurs at the hall door. An instant later, O'Hagan
returned, bearing a slip of white pasteboard which he deposited on the
desk before Maitland.

"'James Burleson Snaith,'" Maitland read aloud from the faultlessly
engraved card. "I don't know him. What does he want?"

"Wouldn't say, sor; seemed surprised whin I towld him ye were in, an'
said he was glad to hear it--business pressin', says he."

"'Snaith'? But I never heard the name before. What does he look like?"

"A gintleman, sor, be th' clothes av him an' th' way he talks."

"Well.... Devil take the man! Show him in."

"Very good, sor."

Maitland swung around in his desk chair, his back to the window,
expression politely curious, as his caller entered the room, pausing,
hat in hand, just across the threshold.

He proved to be a man apparently of middle age, of height approximating
Maitland's; his shoulders were slightly rounded as if from habitual
bending over a desk, his pose mild and deferential. By his eyeglasses
and peering look, he was near-sighted; by his dress, a gentleman of
taste and judgment as well as of means to gratify both. A certain
jaunty and summery touch in his attire suggested a person of leisure
who had just run down from his country place, for a day in town.

His voice, when he spoke, did nothing to dispel the illusion.

"Mr. Maitland?" he opened the conversation briskly. "I trust I do not
intrude? I shall be brief as possible, if you will favor me with a
private interview."

Maitland remarked a voice well modulated and a good choice of words. He
rose courteously.

"I should be pleased to do so," he suggested, "if you could advance any
reasons for such a request."

Mr. Snaith smiled discreetly, fumbling in his side pocket. A second
slip of cardboard appeared between his fingers as he stepped over
toward Maitland.

"If I had not feared it might deprive me of this interview, I should
have sent in my business card at once," he said. "Permit me."

Maitland accepted the card and elevated his brows. "Oh!" he said,
putting it down, his manner becoming perceptibly less cordial. "I say,
O'Hagan."

"Yessor?"

"I shall be busy for--Will half an hour satisfy you, Mr. Snaith?"

"You are most kind," the stranger bowed.

"In half an hour, O'Hagan, you may return."

"Very good, sor." And the hall door closed.

"So," said Maitland, turning to face the man squarely, "you are from
Police Headquarters?"

"As you see." Mr. Snaith motioned delicately toward his business
card--as he called it.

"Well?"--after a moment's pause.

"I am a detective, you understand."

"Perfectly," Maitland assented, unmoved.

His caller seemed partly amused, partly--but very
slightly--embarrassed. "I have been assigned to cover the affair of
last night," he continued blandly. "I presume you have no objection to
giving me what information you may possess."

"Credentials?"

The man's amusement was made visible in a fugitive smile, half-hidden
by his small and neatly trimmed mustache. Mutely eloquent, he turned
back the lapel of his coat, exposing a small shield; at which Maitland
glanced casually.

"Very well," he consented, bored but resigned. "Fire ahead, but make it
as brief as you can; I've an engagement in"--glancing at the clock--"an
hour, and must dress."

"I'll detain you no longer than is essential.... Of course you
understand how keen we are after this man, Anisty."

"What puzzles me," Maitland interrupted, "is how you got wind of the
affair so soon."

"Then you have not heard?" Mr. Snaith exhibited polite surprise.

"I am just out of bed."

"Anisty escaped shortly after you left Maitland Manor."

"Ah!"

Mr. Snaith knitted his brows, evidently at a loss whether to ascribe
Maitland's exclamation as due to surprise, regret, or relief. Which
pleased Maitland, who had been at pains to make his tone noncommittal.
In point of fact he was neither surprised nor regretful.

"Thunder!" he continued slowly. "I forgot to 'phone Higgins."

"That is why I called. Your butler did not know where you could be
found. You had left in great haste, promising to send constables; you
failed to do so; Higgins got no word. In the course of an hour or so
his charge began to choke,--or pretended to. Higgins became alarmed and
removed the gag. Anisty lay quiet until his face resumed its normal
color and then began to abuse Higgins for a thick-headed idiot."

Mr. Snaith interrupted himself to chuckle lightly.

"You noticed a resemblance?" he resumed.

Maitland, too, was smiling. "Something of the sort."

"It is really remarkable, if you will permit me to say so." Snaith was
studying his host's face intently. "Higgins, poor fellow, had his faith
shaken to the foundations. This Anisty must be a clever actor as well
as a master burglar. Having cursed Higgins root and branch, he got his
second wind and explained that he was--Mr. Maitland! Conceive Higgins'
position. What could he do?"

"What he did, I gather."

"Precisely."

"And Anisty?"

"Once loosed, he knocked Higgins over with the butt of a revolver,
jumped out of the window, and vanished. By the time the butler got his
senses back, Anisty, presumably, was miles away ... Mr. Maitland!" said
Snaith sharply.

"Yes?" responded Maitland, elevating his brows, refusing to be startled.

"Why," crisply, "didn't you send the constables from Greenfields,
according to your promise?"

Maitland laughed uneasily and looked down, visibly embarrassed, acting
with consummate address, playing the game for all he was worth; and
enjoying it hugely.

"Why.... I.... Really, Mr. Snaith, I must confess--"

"A confession would aid us materially," dryly. "The case is perplexing.
You round up a burglar sought by the police of two continents, and
listlessly permit his escape. Why?"

"I would rather not be pressed," said Maitland with evident candor;
"but, since you say it is imperative, that you must know--" Snaith
inclined his head affirmatively. "Why ... to tell the truth, I was a
bit under the weather last night: out with a party of friends, you
know. Dare say we all had a bit more than we could carry. The capture
was purely accidental; we had other plans for the night and--well,"
laughing shortly, "I didn't give the matter too much thought, beyond
believing that Higgins would hold the man tight."

"I see. It is unfortunate, but ... you motored back to town."

It was not a question, but Maitland so considered it.

"We did," he admitted.

"And came here directly?"

"_I_ did."

"Mr. Maitland, why not be frank with me? My sole object is to capture a
notorious burglar. I have no desire to meddle with your private
affairs, but.... You may trust in my discretion. Who was the young
lady?"

"To conceal her identity," said Maitland, undisturbed, "is precisely
why I have been lying to you."

"You refuse us that information?"

"Absolutely. I have no choice in the matter. You must see that."

Snaith shook his head, baffled, infinitely perturbed, to Maitland's
hidden delight.

"Of course," said he, "the policeman at the ferry recognized me?"

"You are well known to him," admitted Snaith. "But that is a side
issue. What puzzles me is why you let Anisty escape. It is
inconceivable."

"From a police point of view."

"From any point of view," said Snaith obstinately. "The man breaks into
your house, steals your jewels--"

"This is getting tiresome," Maitland interrupted curtly. "Is it
possible that you suspect me of conniving at the theft of my own
property?"

Snaith's eyes were keen upon him. "Stranger things have been known. And
yet--the motive is lacking. You are not financially embarrassed,--so
far as we can determine, at least."

Maitland politely interposed his fingers between his yawn and the
detective's intent regard. "You have ten minutes more, I'm sorry to
say," he said; glancing at the clock.

"And there is another point, more significant yet."

"Ah?"

"Yes." Snaith bent forward, elbows on knees, hat and cane swinging,
eyes implacable, hard, relentless. "Anisty," he said slowly, "left a
tolerably complete burglar's kit in your library."

"Well--he's a burglar, isn't he?"

"Not that kind." Snaith shook his head.

"But his departure was somewhat hurried. I can conceive that he might
abandon his kit--"

"But it was not his."

"Not Anisty's?"

"Anisty does not depend on such antiquated methods, Mr. Maitland; save
that in extreme instances, with a particularly stubborn safe, he
employs a high explosive that, so far as we can find out, is
practically noiseless. Its nature is a mystery.... But such
old-fashioned strong-boxes as yours at Greenfields he opens by ear, so
to speak,--listens to the combination. He was once an expert, reputably
employed by a prominent firm of safe manufacturers, in whose service he
gained the skill that has made him--what he is."

"But,"--Maitland cast about at random, feeling himself cornered,--"may
he not have had accomplices?"

"He's no such fool. Unless he has gone mad, he worked alone. I presume
you discovered no accomplice?"

"I? The devil, no!"

Snaith smiled mysteriously, then fell thoughtful, pondering.

"You are an enigma," he said, at length. "I can not understand why you
refuse us all information, when I consider that the jewels were yours--"

"Are mine," Maitland corrected.

"No longer."

"I beg your pardon; I have them."

Snaith shook his head, smiling incredulously. Maitland flushed with
annoyance and resentment, then on impulse rose and strode into the
adjoining bedroom, returning with a small canvas bag.

"You shall see for yourself," he said, depositing the bag on the desk
and fumbling with the draw-string. "If you will be kind enough to step
over here--"

Mr. Snaith, still unconvinced, hesitated, then assented, halting a
brief distance from Maitland and toying abstractedly with his cane
while the young man plucked at the draw-string.

"Deuced tight knot, this," commented Maitland, annoyed.

"No matter. Don't trouble, please. I'm quite satisfied, believe me."

"Oh, you are!"

Maitland turned; and in the act of turning, the loaded head of the cane
landed with crushing force upon his temple.

For an instant he stood swaying, eyes closed, face robbed of every
vestige of color, deep lines of agony graven in his forehead and about
his mouth; then fell like a lifeless thing, limp and invertebrate.

The _soi-disant_ Mr. Snaith caught him and let him gently and without
sound to the floor.

"Poor fool!" he commented, kneeling to make a hasty examination. "Hope
I haven't done for him.... It would be the first time.... Bad
precedent!... So! He's all right--conscious within an hour.... Too
soon!" he added, standing and looking down. "Well, turn about's fair
play."

He swung on his heel and entered the hallway, pausing at the door long
enough to shoot the bolt; then passed hastily through the other
chambers, searching, to judge by his manner.

In the end a closed door attracted him; he jerked it open, with an
exclamation of relief. It gave upon a large bare room, used by Maitland
as a trunk-closet. Here were stout leather straps and cords in ample
measure. "Mr. Snaith" selected one from them quickly but with care,
choosing the strongest.

In two more minutes, Maitland, trussed, gagged, still unconscious, and
breathing heavily, occupied a divan in his smoking-room, while his
assailant, in the bedroom, ears keen to catch the least sound from
with-out, was rapidly and cheerfully arraying himself in the Maitland
grey-striped flannels and accessories--even to the grey socks which had
been specified.

"The less chances one takes, the better," soliloquized "Mr. Snaith."

He stood erect, in another man's shoes, squaring back his shoulders,
discarding the disguising stoop, and confronted his image in a
pier-glass.

"Good enough Maitland," he commented, with a little satisfied nod to
his counterfeit presentment. "But we'll make it better still."

A single quick jerk denuded his upper lip; he stowed the mustache
carefully away in his breast pocket. The moistened corner of a towel
made quick work of the crow's-feet about his eyes, and, simultaneously,
robbed him of a dozen apparent years. A pair of yellow chamois gloves,
placed conveniently on a dressing table, covered hands that no art
could make resemble Maitland's. And it was Daniel Maitland who studied
himself in the pier-glass.

Contented, the criminal returned to the smoking-room. A single glance
assured him that his victim was still dead to the world. He sat down at
the desk, drew off the gloves, and opened the bag; a peep within which
was enough. With a deep and slow intake of breath he knotted the
draw-string and dropped the bag into his pocket. A jeweled cigarette
case of unique design shared the same fate.

Quick eyes roaming the desk observed the telegram form upon which
Maitland had written Cressy's name and address. Momentarily perplexed,
the thief pondered this; then, with a laughing oath, seized the pen and
scribbled, with no attempt to imitate the other's handwriting, a
message:

_"Regret unavoidable detention. Letter of explanation follows."_

To this Maitland's name was signed. "That ought to clear him neatly, if
I understand the emergency."

The thief rose, folding the telegraph blank, and returned to the
bedroom, taking up his hat and the murderous cane as he went. Here he
gathered together all the articles of clothing that he had discarded,
conveying the mass to the trunk-room, where an empty and unlocked
kit-bag received it all.

"That, I think, is about all."

He was very methodical, this criminal, this Anisty. Nothing essential
escaped him. He rejoiced in the minutiae of detail that went to cover
up his tracks so thoroughly that his campaigns were as remarkable for
the clues he did leave with malicious design, as for those that he
didn't.

One final thing held his attention: a bowl of hammered brass, inverted
beneath a ponderous book, upon the desk. Why? In a twinkling he had
removed both and was studying the impression of a woman's hand in the
dust, and nodding over it.

"That girl," deduced Anisty. "Novice, poor little fool!--or she
wouldn't have wasted time searching here for the jewels. Good looker,
though--from what little _he_"--with a glance at Maitland--"gave me a
chance to see of her. Seems to have snared him, all right, if she did
miss the haul.... Little idiot! What right has a woman in this
business, anyway? Well, here's one thing that will never land me in the
pen."

As, with nice care, he replaced both bowl and book, a door slammed
below stairs took him to the hall in an instant. Maitland's Panama was
hanging on the hat-rack, Maitland's collection of walking-sticks
bristled in a stand beneath it. Anisty appropriated the former and
chose one of the latter. "Fair exchange," he considered with a harsh
laugh. "After all, he loses nothing ... but the jewels."

He was out and at the foot of the stairs just as O'Hagan reached the
ground floor from the basement.

"Ah, O'Hagan!" The assumption of Maitland's ironic drawl was
impeccable. O'Hagan no more questioned it than he questioned his own
sanity. "Here, send this wire at once, please; and," pressing a coin
into the ready palm, "keep the change. I was hurried and didn't bother
to call you. And, I say, O'Hagan!" from the outer door:

"Yissor."

"If that fellow Snaith ever calls again, I'm not at home."

"Very good, sor."

Anisty permitted himself the slightest of smiles, pausing on the stoop
to draw on the chamois gloves. As he did so his eye flickered
disinterestedly over the personality of a man standing on the opposite
walk and staring at the apartment house. He was a short man, of
stoutish habit, sloppily dressed, with a derby pulled down over one
eye, a cigar-butt protruding arrogantly from beneath a heavy black
mustache, beefy cheeks, and thick-soled boots dully polished.

At sight of him the thief was conscious of an inward tremor, followed
by a thrill of excitement like a wave of heat sweeping through his
being. Instantaneously his eyes flashed; then were dulled.
Imperturbable, listless, hall-marked the prey of ennui, he waited,
undecided, upon the stoop, while the watcher opposite, catching sight
of him, abruptly abandoned his slouch and hastened across the street.

"Excuse me" he began in a loud tone, while yet a dozen feet away, "but
ain't this Mr. Maitland?"

Anisty lifted his brows and shoulders at one and the same time and
bowed slightly.

"Well, my good man?"

"I'm a detective from Headquarters, Mr. Maitland. We got a 'phone from
Greenfields, Long Island, this morning--from the local police. Your
butler----"

"Ah! I see; about this man Anisty? You don't mean to tell me--what? I
shall discharge Higgins at once. Just on my way to breakfast. Won't you
join me? We can talk this matter over at our leisure. What do you say
to Eugene's? It's handy, and I dare say we can find a quiet corner. By
the way, have you the time concealed about your person?"

Anisty was fumbling in his fob-pocket and inwardly cursing himself for
having been such an ass as to overlook Maitland's timepiece. "Deuced
awkward!" he muttered in genuine annoyance. "I've mislaid my watch."

"It's 'most one o'clock, Mr. Maitland."

Flattered, the man from Headquarters dropped, into step by the
burglar's side.




VI


EUGENE'S AT TWO

"Since we don't want to be overheard," remarked Mr. Anisty, "it's no
use trying the grill-room down-stairs, although I admit it is more
interesting."

"Just as yeh say, sir."

Awed and awkward, the police detective stumbled up the steps behind his
imperturbable guide; it was a great honor, in his eyes, to lunch in
company with a "swell." Man of stodgy common-sense and limited
education that he was, the glamour of the Maitland millions obscured
his otherwise clear vision completely. And uneasily he speculated as to
whether or not he would be able to manipulate correctly the usual
display of knives and forks.

An obsequious head-waiter greeted them, bowing, in the lobby. "Good
afternoon, Mr. Maitland," he murmured. "Table for two?"

"Good afternoon," responded the masquerader, with an assumed
abstraction, inwardly congratulating himself upon having hit upon a
restaurant where the real Maitland was evidently known. There were few
circumstances which he could not turn to profit, fewer emergencies to
which he could not rise, he complimented Handsome Dan Anisty.

"A table for two," he drawled Maitland-wise, "In a corner somewhere,
away from the crowd, you know."

"This way, if you please, Mr. Maitland."

"By the way," suggested the burglar, unfolding his serviette and
glancing keenly about the room,--which, by good chance, was thinly
populated, "by the way, you know, you haven't told me your name yet."

"Hickey--John W. Hickey, Detective Bureau."

"Thank you." A languid hand pushed the pink menu card across the table
to Mr. Hickey. "And what do you see that you'd like?"

"Well...." Hickey became conscious that both unwieldy feet were
nervously twined about the legs of his chair; blushed; disentangled
them; and in an attempt to cover his confusion, plunged madly into
consideration of a column of _table-d'hôte_ French, not one word of
which conveyed the slightest particle of information to his
intelligence.

"Well," he repeated, and moistened his lips. The room seemed suddenly
very hot, notwithstanding the fact that an obnoxious electric fan was
sending a current of cool air down the back of his neck.

"I ain't," he declared in ultimate desperation, "hungry, much. Had a
bite a little while back, over to the Gilsey House bar."

"Would a little drink----?"

"Thanks. I don't mind."

"Waiter, bring Mr. Hickey a bottle of Number Seventy-two. For me--let
me see--_café au lait_," with a grand air, "and rolls.... You must
remember this is my breakfast, Mr. Hickey. I make it a rule never to
drink anything for six hours after rising." Anisty selected a cigarette
from the Maitland case, lit it, and contemplated the detective's
countenance with a winning smile. "Now, as to this Anisty affair last
night...."

Under the stimulus of the champagne, to say naught of his relief at
having evaded the ordeal of the cutlery, Hickey discoursed variously
and at length upon the engrossing subject of Anisty,
gentleman-cracksman, while the genial counterpart of Daniel Maitland
listened with apparent but deceptive apathy, and had much ado to keep
from laughing in his guest's face as the latter, perspiringly earnest,
unfolded his plans for laying the burglar by the heels.

From time to time, and at intervals steadily decreasing, the hand of
the host sought the neck of the bottle, inclining it carefully above
the thin-stemmed glass that Hickey kept in almost constant motion. And
the detective's fatuous loquacity flowed as the contents of the bottle
ebbed.

Yet, as the minutes wore on, the burglar began to be conscious that it
was but a shallow well of information and amusement that he pumped. The
game, fascinating with its spice of daring as it had primarily been,
began to pall. At length the masquerader calculated the hour as ripe
for what he had contemplated from the beginning; and interrupted Hickey
with scant consideration, in the middle of a most interesting
exposition.

"You'll pardon me, I'm sure, if I trouble you again for the time."

The fat red fingers sought uncertainly for the timepiece: the bottle
was now empty. The hour, as announced, was ten minutes to two.

"I've an engagement," invented Anisty plausibly, "with a friend at two.
If you'll excuse me----? _Garçon, l'addition!_"

"Then I und'stand, Mister Maitland, we e'n count on yeh?"

Anisty, eyelids drooping, tipped back his chair a trifle and regarded
Hickey with a fair imitation of the whimsical Maitland smile. "Hardly,
I think."

"Why not?"--truculently.

"To be frank with you, I have three excellent reasons. The first should
be sufficient: I'm too lazy."

Disgruntled, Hickey stared and shook a disapproving head. "I was afraid
of that; yeh swells don't never seem to think nothin' of yer duties to
soci'ty."

Anisty airily waved the indictment aside. "Moreover, I have lost
nothing. You see, I happened in just at the right moment; our criminal
friend got nothing for his pains. The jewels are safe. Reason Number
Two: Having retained my property, I hold no grudge against Anisty."

"Well--I dunno--"

"And as for reason Number Three: I don't care to have this affair
advertised. If the papers get hold of it they'll cook up a lot of silly
details that'll excite the cupidity of every thief in the country, and
make me more trouble than I care to--ah--contemplate."

Hickey's eyes glistened. "Of course, if yeh want it kept quiet--" he
suggested significantly.

Anisty's hand sought his pocket. "How much?"

"Well, I guess I can leave that to you. Yeh oughttuh know how bad yeh
want the matter hushed."

"As I calculate it, then, fifty ought to be enough for the boys; and
fifty will repay you for your trouble."

The end of Hickey's expensive panetela was tilted independently toward
the ceiling. "Shouldn't wonder if it would," he murmured, gratified.

Anisty stuffed something bulky back into his pocket and wadded another
something--green and yellow colored--into a little pill, which he
presently flicked carelessly across the table. The detective's large
mottled paw closed over it and moved toward his waistcoat.

"As I was sayin'," he resumed, "I'm sorry yeh don't see yer way to
givin' us a hand. But p'rhaps yeh're right. Still, if the citizens'd
only give us a hand onct in a while----"

"Ah, but what gives you your living, Hickey?" argued the amateur
sophist. "What but the activities of the criminal element? If society
combined with you for the elimination of crime, what would become of
your job?"

He rose and wrung the disconsolate one warmly by the hand. "But there,
I am sorry I have to hurry you away.... Now that you know where to find
me, drop in some evening and have a cigar and a chat. I'm in town a
good deal, off and on, and always glad to see a friend."

At another time, and with another man, Anisty would not have ventured
to play his catch so roughly; but, as he had reckoned, the comfortable
state of mind induced by an unexpected addition to his income and a
quart of champagne, had dulled the official apprehensions of Sergeant
Hickey.

Mumbling a vague acceptance of the too-genial invitation, the exalted
detective rose and ambled cheerfully down the room and out of the door.

Anisty lit another cigarette and contemplated the future with
satisfaction. As a diplomat he was inclined to hold himself a success.
Indeed, all things taken under mature consideration, the conclusion was
inevitable that he was the very devil of a fellow. With what consummate
skill he had played his hand! Now the pursuit of the Maitland burglar
would be abandoned; the news item suppressed at Headquarters. And it
was equally certain that Maitland (when eventually liberated) would be
at pains to keep his part of the affair very much in shadow.

The masquerader ventured a mystical smile at the world in general. One
pictured the evening when the infatuated detective should find it
convenient to drop in on the exclusive Mr. Maitland....

"Mr. Anisty?"




VII


ILLUMINATION

In a breath was self-satisfaction banished; simultaneously the
masquerader brought his gaze down from the ceiling, his thoughts to
earth, his vigilance to the surface, and himself to his feet, summoning
to his aid all that he possessed of resource and expedient.

Trapped!--the word blazed incandescent in his brain. So long had he
foreseen and planned against this very moment.

Yet panic swayed him for but a little instant; as swiftly as it had
overcome him it subsided, leaving him shocked, a shade more pale, but
rapidly reasserting control of his faculties. And with this shade of
emotion came complete reassurance.

His name had been uttered in no stern or menacing tone; rather its
syllables had been pitched in a low and guarded key, with an undernote
of raillery and cordiality. In brief, the moment that he recognized the
voice as a woman's, he was again master of himself, and, aware that the
result of his instinctive impulse to rise and defend himself, which had
brought him to a standing position, would be interpreted as only the
natural action of a gentleman addressed by a feminine acquaintance, he
was confident that he had not betrayed his primal consternation. He
bowed, smiled, and with eyes in which astonishment swiftly gave place
to gratification and complete comprehension, appraised her who had
addressed him.

She seemed to have fluttered to the table, beside which she now stood,
slightly swaying, her walking costume of grey shot silk falling about
her in soft, tremulous petals. Dainty, chic, well-poised, serene,
flawlessly pretty in her miniature fashion: Anisty recognized her in a
twinkling. His perceptions, trained to observations as instantaneous as
those of a snap-shot camera, and well-nigh as accurate, had
photographed her individuality indelibly upon the film of his memory,
even in the abbreviated encounter of the previous night.

By a similar play of educated reasoning faculties keyed to the highest
pitch of immediate action, he had difficulty as scant in accounting for
her presence there. What he did not quite comprehend was why Maitland
had used her so kindly; for it had been plain enough that that
gentleman had surprised her in the act of safe-breaking before
conniving at her escape. But, allowing that Maitland's actions had been
based upon motives vague to the burglar's understanding, it was quite
in the scheme of possibilities that he should have arranged to meet his
protégée at the restaurant that afternoon. She was come to keep an
appointment to which (now that Anisty came to remember) Maitland had
alluded in the beginning of their conversation.

Well and good: once before, within the past two hours, he had told
himself that he was Good-enough Maitland. He would be even better
now....

"But you did surprise me!" he declared gallantly, before she could
wonder at his slowness to respond. "You see, I was dreaming...."

He permitted her to surmise the object round which his dreams had been
woven.

"And I had expected you to be eagerly watching for me!" she parried
archly.

"I was ... mentally. But," he warned her seriously, "not that name.
Maitland is known here; they call me Maitland--the waiters. It seems I
made a bad choice. But with your assistance and discretion we can bluff
it out, all right."

"I forgot. Forgive me." By now she was in the chair opposite him,
tucking the lower ends of her gloves into their wrists.

"No matter--nobody heard."

"I very nearly called you Handsome Dan." She flashed a radiant smile at
him from beneath the rim of her picture hat.

A fire was kindled in Anisty's eyes; he was conscious of a quickened
drumming of his pulses.

"Dan is Maitland's front name, also," he remarked absently.

"I thought as much," she responded, quietly speculative.

The burglar hardly heard. It has been indicated that he was
quick-witted, because he had to be, in the very nature of his
avocation. Just now his brain was working rather more rapidly than
usual, even: which was one reason why the light had leaped into his
eyes.

It was very plain--to a deductive reasoner--from the girl's attitude
toward him that she had fallen into relations of uncommon friendliness
with this Maitland, young as Anisty believed their acquaintance to be.
There had plainly been a flirtation--wherein lay the explanation of
Maitland's forbearance: he had been fascinated by the woman, had not
hesitated to take Anisty's name (even as Anisty was then taking his) in
order to prolong their intimacy.

So much the better. Turn-about was still fair play. Maitland had sown
as Anisty; the real Anisty would reap the harvest. Pretty women
interested him deeply, though he saw little enough of them, partly
through motives of prudence, partly because of a refinement of taste:
women of the class of this conquest-by-proxy were out of reach of the
enemy of society. That is, under ordinary circumstances. This one, on
the contrary, was not: whatever she was or had been, however successful
a crackswoman she might be, her cultivation and breeding were as
apparent as her beauty; and quite as attractive.

A criminal is necessarily first a gambler, a votary of Chance; and the
blind goddess had always been very kind to Mr. Anisty. He felt that
here again she was favoring him. Maitland he had eliminated from this
girl's life; Maitland had failed to keep his engagement, and so would
never again be called upon to play the part of burglar with her
interest for incentive and guerdon. Anisty himself could take up where
Maitland had left off. Easily enough. The difficulties were
insignificant: he had only to play up to Maitland's standard for a
while, to be Maitland with all that gentleman's advantages, educational
and social, then gradually drop back to his own level and be himself,
Dan Anisty, "Handsome Dan," the professional, the fit mate for the
girl....

What was she saying?

"But you have lunched already!" with an appealing pout.

"Indeed, no!" he protested earnestly. "I was early--conceive my
eagerness!--and by ill chance a friend of mine insisted upon lunching
with me. I had only a cup of coffee and a roll." He motioned to the
waiter, calling him "Waiter!" rather than "_Garçon!_"----intuitively
understanding that Maitland would never have aired his French in a
public place, and that he could not afford the least slip before a
woman as keen as this.

"Lay a clean cloth and bring the bill of fare," he demanded, tempering
his lordly instincts and adding the "please" that men of Maitland's
stamp use to inferiors.

"A friend!" tardily echoed the girl when the servant was gone.

He laughed lightly, determined to be frank. "A detective, in point of
fact," said he. And enjoyed her surprise.

"You have many such?"

"For convenience one tries to have one in each city."

"And this----?"

"Oh, I have him fixed, all right. He confided to me all the latest
developments and official intentions with regard to the Maitland
arrest."

Her eyes danced. "Tell me!" she demanded, imperious: the emphasis of
intimacy irresistible as she bent forward, forearms on the cloth, slim
white hands clasped with tense impatience, eyes seeking his.

"Why ... of course Maitland escaped."

"No!"

"Fact. Scared the butler into ungagging him; then, in a fit of
pardonable rage, knocked that fool down and dashed out of the
window--presumably in pursuit of us. Up to a late hour he hadn't
returned, and police opinion is divided as to whether Maitland arrested
Anisty, and Anisty got away, or _vice versa_."

"Excellent!" She clasped her hands noiselessly, a gay little gesture.

"So, whatever the outcome, one thing is certain: Higgins will presently
be seeking another berth."

She lifted her brows prettily. "Higgins?"--with the rising inflection.

"The butler. Didn't you hear----?"

Eyes wondering, she moved her head slowly from side to side. "Hear
what?"

"I fancied that you had waited a moment on the veranda," he finessed.

"Oh, I was quite too frightened...."

He took this for a complete denial. Better and better! He had actually
feared that she had eaves-dropped, however warrantably; and Maitland's
authoritative way with the servants had been too convincingly natural
to have deceived a woman of her keen wits.

There followed a lull while Anisty was ordering the luncheon: something
he did elaborately and with success, telling himself humorously: "Hang
the expense! Maitland pays." Of which fact the weight in his pocket was
assurance.

Maitland.... Anisty's thoughts verged off upon an interesting tangent.
What was Maitland's motive in arranging this meeting? It was
self-evident that the twain were of one world--the girl and the man of
fashion. But, whatever her right of heritage, she had renounced it,
declassing herself by yielding to thievish instincts, voluntarily
placing herself on the level of Anisty. Where she must remain, for ever.

There was comfort in that reflection. He glanced up to find her eyes
bent in gravity upon him. She, too, it appeared, had fallen a prey to
reverie. Upon what subject? An absorbing one, doubtless, since it held
her abstracted despite her companion's direct, unequivocally admiring
stare.

The odd light was flickering again in the cracks-man's glance. She was
then more beautiful than aught that ever he had dreamed of. Such hair
as was hers, woven seemingly of dull flames, lambent, witching! And
eyes!--beautiful always, but never more so than at this moment, when
filled with sweetly pensive contemplation.... Was she reviewing the
last twenty-four hours, dreaming of what had passed between her and
that silly fool, Maitland? If only Anisty could surmise what they had
said to each other, how long they had been acquainted; if only she
would give him a hint, a leading word!...

If he could have read her mind, have seen behind the film of thought
that clouded her eyes, one fears Mr. Anisty might have lost appetite
for an excellent luncheon. For she was studying his hands, her memory
harking back to the moment when she had stood beside the safe, holding
the bull's-eye....

In the blackness of that hour a disk of light shone out luridly against
the tapestry of memory. Within its radius appeared two hands, long,
supple, strong, immaculately white, graceful and dexterous, as delicate
of contour as a woman's, yet lacking nothing of masculine vigor and
modeling; hands that wavered against the blackness, fumbling with the
shining nickeled disk of a combination-lock.... The impression had been
and remained one extraordinarily vivid. Could her eyes have deceived
her so?...

"Thoughtful?"

She nodded alertly, instantaneously mistress of self; and let her gaze,
serious yet half smiling, linger upon his the exact fractional shade of
an instant longer than had been, perhaps, discreet. Then lashes drooped
long upon her cheeks, and her color deepened all but imperceptibly.

The man's breath halted, then came a trace more rapidly than before. He
bent forward impulsively.

... The girl sighed, ever so gently.

"I was thoughtful.... It's all so strange, you know."

His attitude was an eager question.

"I mean our meeting--that way, last night." She held his gaze again,
momentarily, and----

"Damn the waiter!" quoth savagely Mr. Anisty to his inner man, sitting
back to facilitate the service of their meal.

The girl placated him with an insignificant remark which led both into
a maze of meaningless but infinitely diverting inconsequences;
diverting, at least, to Anisty, who held up his head, giving her back
look for look, jest for jest, platitude for platitude (when the waiter
was within hearing distance): altogether, he felt, acquitting himself
very creditably....

As for the girl, in the course of the next half or three-quarters of an
hour she demonstrated herself conclusively a person of amazing
resource, developing with admirable ingenuity a campaign planned on the
spur of a chance observation. The gentle mannered and self-sufficient
crook was taken captive before he realized it, however willing he may
have been. Enmeshed in a hundred uncomprehended subtleties, he basked,
purring, the while she insinuated herself beneath his guard and
stripped him of his entire armament of cunning, vigilance, invention,
suspicion, and distrust.

He relinquished them without a sigh, barely conscious of the
spoliation. After all, she was of his trade, herself mired with guilt;
she would never dare betray him, the consequences to herself would be
so dire.

Besides, patently,--almost too much so,--she admired him. He was her
hero. Had she not more than hinted that such was the case, that his
example, his exploits, had fired her to emulation--however weakly
feminine?... He saw her before him, dainty, alluring, yielding, yet
leading him on: altogether desirable. And so long had he, Anisty,
starved for affection!...

"I am sure you must be dying for a smoke."

"Beg pardon!" He awoke abruptly, to find himself twirling the
sharp-ribbed stem of his empty glass. Abstractedly he stared into this,
as though seeking there a clue to what they had been talking about.
Hazily he understood that they had been drifting close upon the
perilous shoals of intimate personalities. What had he told her? What
had he not?

No matter. It was clearly to be seen that her regard for him had waxed
rather than waned as a result of their conversation. One had but to
look into her eyes to be reassured as to that. One did look, breathing
heavily.... What an ingenuous child it was, to show him her heart so
freely! He wondered that this should be so, feeling it none the less a
just and graceful tribute to his fascinations.

She repeated her arch query. She was sure he wanted to smoke.

Indeed he did--if she would permit? And forthwith Maitland's cigarette
case was produced, with a flourish.

"What a beautiful case!"

In an instant it was in her hands. "Beautiful!" she iterated,
inspecting the delicate tracery of the monogram engraver's art--head
bended forward, face shaded by the broad-brimmed hat.

"You like it? You would care to own it?" Anisty demanded unsteadily.

"I?" The inflection of doubtful surprise was a delight to the ear.
"Oh!... I couldn't think of accepting.... Besides, I have no use for
it."

"Of course you ain't--_are_ not that sort." An hour back he could have
kicked himself for the grammatical blunder; now he was wholly illuded;
besides, she didn't seem to notice. "But as a little token--between
us----"

She drew back, pushing the case across the cloth; "I couldn't dream...."

"But if I insist----?"

"If you insist?... Why I suppose ... it's awfully good of you." She
flashed him a maddening glance.

"You do me pro--honor," he amended hastily. Then, daringly: "I don't
ask much in exchange, only----"

"A cigarette?" she suggested hastily.

He laughed, pleased and diverted. "That'll be enough now--if you'll
light it for me."

She glanced dubiously round the now almost deserted room; and a waiter
started forward as if animated by a spring. Anisty motioned him
imperiously back. "Go on," he coaxed; "no one can see." And watched,
flattered, the slim white fingers that extracted a match from the stand
and drew it swiftly down the prepared surface of the box, holding the
flickering flame to the end of a white tube whose tip lay between lips
curved, scarlet, and pouting.

There! A pale wraith of smoke floated away on the fan-churned air, and
Anisty was vaguely conscious of receiving the glowing cigarette from a
hand whose sheer perfection was but enhanced by the ripe curves of a
rounded forearm.... He inhaled deeply, with satisfaction.

Undetected by him, the girl swiftly passed a furtive handkerchief
across her lips. When he looked again she was smiling and the golden
case had disappeared.

She shook her head at him in mock reproval. "Bold man!" she called him;
but the crudity of it was lost upon him, as she had believed it would
be. The moment had come for vigorous measures, she felt, guile having
paved the way.

"Why do you call me that?"

"To appear so openly, running the gauntlet of the detectives...."

"Eh?"--startled.

"Of course you saw," she insisted.

"Saw? No. Saw what?"

"Why.... Perhaps I am mistaken, but I thought you knew and trusted to
your likeness to Mr. Maitland...."

Anisty frowned, collecting himself, bewildered. "What are you driving
at, anyhow?" he demanded roughly.

"Didn't you see the detectives? I should have thought your man would
have warned you. I noticed four loitering round the entrance, as I came
in, and feared...."

"Why didn't you tell me, then?"

"I have just told you the reason. I supposed you were in your
disguise...."

"That's so." The alarmed expression gradually faded, though he remained
troubled. "I sure am Maitland to the life," he continued with
satisfaction. "Even the head-waiter----"

"And of course," she insinuated delicately, "you have disposed of the
loot?"

He shook his head gloomily. "No time, as yet."

Her dismay was evident. "You don't mean to say----?"

"In my pocket."

"Oh!" She glanced stealthily around. "In your pocket!" she whispered.
"And--and if they stopped you----"

"I am Maitland."

"But if they insisted on searching you...." She was round-eyed with
apprehension.

"That's so!" Her perturbation was infectious. His jaw dropped.

"They would find the jewels--known to be stolen----"

"By God!" he cried savagely.

"Dan!"

"I--I beg your pardon. But ... what am I to do? You are sure----?"

"McClusky himself is on the nearest corner!"

"_Phew_!" he whistled; and stared at her, searchingly, through a
lengthening pause.

"Dan...." said she at length.

"Yes?"

"There is a way...."

"Go on."

"Last night, Dan"--she raised her glorious eyes to his--"last night, I
... I trusted you."

His face hardened ever so slightly; yet when he took thought the tense
lines about his eyes and mouth softened. And she drew a deep breath,
knowing that she had all but won.

"I trusted you," she continued softly. "Do you know what that means? I
trusted _you_."

He nodded, eyes to hers, fascinated, with an odd commingling of fear
and hope and satisfied self-love. "Now I am unconnected with the
affair. No one knows that I had any hand in it. Besides, no one knows
me--that I--steal." Her tone fell lower. "The police have never heard
of me. Dan!"

"I--believe----"

"I could get away," she interrupted; "and then, if they stopped you----"

"You're right, by the powers!" He struck the table smartly with his
fist. "You do that and we can carry this through. Why, lacking the
jewels, I _am_ Maitland--I am even wearing Maitland's clothes!" he
boasted. "I went to his apartments this morning and saw to that,
because it suited my purpose to _be_ Maitland for a day or two."

"Then----?" Her gaze questioned his.

"Waiter!" cried Anisty. And, when the man was deferential at his elbow:
"Call a cab, at once, please."

"Certainly, sir."

The rest of the corps of servants was at the other end of the big room.
Anisty made certain that they were not watching, then stealthily passed
the canvas bag to the girl. She bent her head, bestowing it in her
hand-bag.

"You have made me ... happy, Dan," came tremulously from beneath the
hat-brim.

Whatever doubts may have assailed him when it was too late, by that
remark were effaced, silenced. Who could mistrust her sincerity?...

"Then when and where may I see you again?" he demanded.

"The same place."

It was a bold move; but she was standing; the waiter was back,
announcing the cab in waiting, and he dared not protest. Yet his pat
_riposte_ commanded her admiration.

"No. Too risky. If they are watching here, they may be there, too." He
shook his head decidedly. The flicker of doubt was again extinguished;
for undoubtedly Maitland had escorted her home that morning; her
reference had been to that place. "Somewhere else," he insisted,
confident that she was playing fair.

She appeared to think for an instant, then, fumbling in her
pocket-book, extracted a typical feminine pencil stub,--its
business-end looking as though it had been gnawed by a vindictive
rat,--and scribbled hastily on the back of a menu card:

"_Mrs. McCabe, 205 West 118th Street. Top floor. Ring 3 times._"

"I shall be there at seven," she told him. "You won't fail me?"

"Not if I'm still at liberty," he laughed.

And the waiter smiled at discretion, a far-away and unobtrusive smile
that could by no possibility give offense; at the same time it was
calculated to convey the impression that, in the opinion of one humble
person, at least, Mr. Maitland was a merry wag.

"Good-by ... Dan!"

Anisty held her fingers in his hard palm for an instant, rising from
his chair.

"Good-by, my dear," he said clumsily.

He watched her disappear, eyes humid, temples throbbing. "By the
powers!" he cried. "But she's worth it!"

Perhaps his meaning was vague, even to himself. He resumed his seat
mechanically and sat for a time staring dreamily into vacancy, blunt
fingers drumming on the cloth.

"No," he declared at length. "No; I'm safe enough ... in _her_ hands."

       *       *       *       *       *

Once secure from the public gaze, the girl crowded back into a corner
of the cab, as though trying to efface herself. Her eyes closed almost
automatically; the curve of laughing lips became a doleful droop; a
crinkle appeared between the arched brows; waves of burning crimson
flooded her face and throat.

In her lap both hands lay clenched into tiny fists--clenched so tightly
that it hurt, numbing her fingers: a physical pain that, somehow,
helped her to endure the paroxysms of shame. That she should have
stooped so low!...

Presently the fingers relaxed, and her whole frame relaxed in sympathy.
The black squall had passed over; but now were the once tranquil waters
ruffled and angry. Then languor gripped her like an enemy: she lay
listless in its hold, sick and faint with disgust of self.

This was her all-sufficient punishment: to have done what she had done,
to be about to do what she contemplated. For she had set her hand to
the plow: there must now be no drawing back, however hateful might
prove her task....

The voice of the cabby dropping through the trap, roused her. "This is
the Martha Washington, ma'am."

Mechanically she descended from the hansom and paid her fare; then,
summoning up all her strength and resolution, passed into the lobby of
the hotel and paused at the telephone switchboard.




VIII


DANCE OF THE HOURS

Four P. M.

The old clock in a corner of the study chimed resonantly and with
deliberation: four double strokes; and while yet the deep-throated
music was dying into silence the telephone bell shrieked impertinently.

Maitland bit savagely on the gag and knotted his brows, trying to bear
it. The effect was that of a coarse file rasped across raw quivering
nerves. And he lay helpless, able to do no more toward endurance than
to dig nails deep into his palms.

Again and again the fiendish clamor shattered the echoes. Blinding
flashes of agony danced down the white-hot wires strung through his
head, taut from temple to temple.

Would the fool at the other end never be satisfied that he could get no
answer? Evidently not: the racket continued mercilessly, short series
of shrill calls alternating with imperative rolls prolonged until one
thought that the tortured metal sounding-cups would crack. Thought!
nay, prayed that either such would be the case, or else that one's head
might at once mercifully be rent asunder....

That anguish so exquisite should be the means of releasing him from his
bonds seemed a refinement of irony. Yet Maitland was aware, between
spasms, that help was on the way. The telephone instrument, for obvious
convenience, had been equipped with an extension bell which rang
simultaneously in O'Hagan's quarters. When Maitland was not at home the
janitor-valet, so warned, would answer the calls. And now, in the still
intervals, the heavy thud of unhurried feet could be heard upon the
staircase. O'Hagan was coming to answer; and taking his time about it.
It seemed an age before the rattle of pass-key in latch announced him;
and another ere, all unconscious of the figure supine on the divan
against the further study wall, the old man shuffled to the instrument,
lifted receiver from the hook, and applied it to his ear.

"Well, well?" he demanded with that impatience characteristic of the
illiterate for modern methods of communication. "Pwhat the divvle ails
ye?"

"Rayspicts to ye, ma'am, and 'tis sorry I am I didn't know 'twas a
leddy."

"He's _not_."

"Wan o'clock, there or thereabouts."

"Faith and he didn't say."

"Pwhat name will I be tellin' him?"

"Kape ut to yersilf, thin. 'Tis none of me business."

"If ye do, I'll not answer. Sure, am I to be climbin' two flights av
sthairs iv'ry foive minits----"

"Good-by yersilf," hanging up the receiver. "And the divvle fly away
wid ye," grumbled O'Hagan.

As he turned away from the instrument Maitland managed to produce a
sound, something between a moan and a strangled cough. The old man
whirled on his heel. "Pwhat's thot?"

The next instant he was bending over Maitland, peering into the face
drawn and disfigured by the gag. "The saints presarve us! And who the
divvle are ye at all? Pwhy don't ye spake?"

Maitland turned purple; and emitted a furious snort.

"Misther Maitland, be all thot's strange!... Is ut mad I am? Or how did
ye get back here and into this fix, sor, and me swapin' the halls and
polishin' the brasses fernist the front dure iv'ry minute since ye wint
out?"

Indignation struggling for the upper hand with mystification in the
Irishman's brain, he grumbled and swore; yet busied his fingers. In a
trice the binding gag was loosed, and ropes and straps cast free from
swollen wrists and ankles. And, with the assistance of a kindly arm
behind his shoulders, Maitland sat up, grinning with the pain of
renewing circulation in his limbs.

"Wid these two oies mesilf saw ye lave three hours gone, sor, and I
c'u'd swear no sowl had intered this house since thin. Pwhat does ut
all mane, be all thot's holy?"

"It means," panting, "brandy and soda, O'Hagan, and be quick."

Maitland attempted to rise, but his legs gave under him, and he sank
back with a stifled oath, resigning himself to wait the return of
normal conditions. As for his head, it was threatening to split at any
moment, the tight wires twanging infernally between his temples; while
the corners of his mouth were cracked and sore from the pressure of the
gag. All of which totted up a considerable debit against Mr. Anisty's
account.

For Maitland, despite his suffering, had found time to figure it out to
his personal satisfaction--or dissatisfaction, if you prefer--in the
interval between his return to consciousness and the arrival of
O'Hagan. It was simple enough to deduce from the knowledge in his
possession that the burglar, having contrived his escape through the
disobedience of Higgins, should have engineered this complete revenge
for the indignity Maitland had put upon him.

How he had divined the fact of the jewels remaining in their owner's
possession was less clear; and yet it was reasonable, after all, to
presume that Maitland should prefer to hold his own. Possibly Anisty
had seen the girl slip the canvas bag into Maitland's pocket while the
latter was kneeling and binding his captive. However that was, there
was no denying that he had trailed the treasure to its hiding-place,
unerringly; and succeeded in taking possession of it with consummate
skill and audacity. When Maitland came to think of it, he recalled
distinctly the trend of the burglar's inquisition in the character of
"Mr. Snaith," which had all been calculated to discover the location of
the jewels. And, when he did recall this fact, and how easily he had
been duped, Maitland could have ground his teeth in melodramatic
rage--but for the circumstance that when first it occurred to him, such
a feat was a physical impossibility, and even when ungagged the
operation would have been painful to an extreme.

Sipping the grateful drink which O'Hagan presently brought him, the
young man pondered the case; with no pleasure in the prospect he
foresaw. If Higgins had actually communicated the fact of Anisty's
escape to the police, the entire affair was like to come out in the
papers,--all of it, that is, that he could not suppress. But even
figuring that he could silence Higgins and O'Hagan,--no difficult task:
though he might be somewhat late with Higgins,--the most discreet
imaginable explanation of his extraordinary conduct would make him the
laughing stock of his circle of friends, to say nothing of a city that
had been accustomed to speak of him as "Mad Maitland," for many a day.
Unless....

Ah, he had it! He could pretend (so long as it suited his purpose, at
all events), to have been the man caught and left bound in Higgins'
care. Simple enough: the knocking over of the butler would be ascribed
to a natural ebullition of indignation, the subsequent flight to a
hare-brained notion of running down the thief. And yet even that
explanation had its difficulties. How was he to account for the fact
that he had failed to communicate with the police--knowing that his
treasure had been ravished?

It was all very involved. Mr. Maitland returned the glass to O'Hagan
and, cradling his head in his hands, racked his brains in vain for a
satisfactory tale to tell. There were so many things to be taken into
consideration. There was the girl in grey....

Not that he had forgotten her for an instant; his fury raged but the
higher at the thought that Anisty's interference had prevented his
(Maitland's) keeping the engagement. Doubtless the girl had waited,
then gone away in anger, believing that the man in whom she had placed
faith had proved himself unworthy. And so he had lost her for ever, in
all likelihood: they would never meet again.

But that telephone call?

"O'Hagan," demanded the haggard and distraught young man, "who was that
on the wire just now?"

Being a thoroughly trained servant, O'Hagan had waited that question in
silence, a-quiver with impatience though he was. Now, his tongue
unleashed, his words fairly stumbled on one another's heels in his
anxiety to get them out in the least possible time. "Sure, an' 'twas a
leddy, sor, be the v'ice av her, askin' were ye in, and mesilf havin'
seen ye go out no longer ago thin wan o'clock and yersilf sayin' not a
worrud about comin' back at all at all, pwhat was I to be tellin' her,
aven if ye were lyin' there on the dievan all unbeknownest to me, which
the same mesilf can not----"

"Help!" pleaded the young man feebly, smiling. "One thing at a time,
please, O'Hagan. Answer me one question: Did she give a name?"

"She did not, sor, though mesilf----"

"There, there! Wait a bit. I want to think."

Of course she had given no name; it wouldn't be like her.... What was
he thinking of, anyway? It could not have been the grey girl; for she
knew him only as Anisty; she could never have thought him himself,
Maitland.... But what other woman of his acquaintance did not believe
him to be out of town?

With a hopeless gesture, Maitland gave it up, conceding the mystery too
deep for him, his intellect too feeble to grapple with all its infinite
ramifications. The counsel he had given O'Hagan seemed most appropriate
to his present needs: One thing at a time. And obviously the first
thing that lay to his hand was the silencing of O'Hagan.

Maitland rallied his wits to the task. "O'Hagan," said he, "this man,
Snaith, who was here this afternoon, called himself a detective. As
soon as we were alone he rapped me over the head with a loaded cane,
and, I suspect, went through the flat stealing everything he could lay
hands on.... Hand me my cigarette case, please."

"'Tis gone, sor--'tis not on the desk, at laste, pwhere I saw ut last."

"Ah! You see?... Now for reasons of my own, which I won't enter into, I
don't want the affair to get out and become public. You understand? I
want you to keep your mouth shut, until I give you permission to open
it."

"Very good, sor." The janitor-valet had previous experiences with
Maitland's generosity in grateful memory; and shut his lips tightly in
promise of virtuous reticence.

"You won't regret it.... Now tell me what you mean by saying that you
saw me go out at one this afternoon?"

Again the flood gates were lifted; from the deluge of explanations and
protestations Maitland extracted the general drift of narrative. And in
the end held up his hand for silence.

"I think I understand, now. You say he had changed to my grey suit?"

O'Hagan darted into the bedroom, whence he emerged with confirmation of
his statement.

"'Tis gone, sor, an'--."

"All right. But," with a rueful smile, "I'll take the liberty of
countermanding Mr. Snaith's order. If he should call again, O'Hagan, I
very much want to see him."

"Faith, and 'tis mesilf will have a worrud or two to whispher in the
ear av him, sor," announced O'Hagan grimly.

"I'm afraid the opportunity will be lacking: ... You may fix me a hot
bath now, O'Hagan, and put out my evening clothes. I'll dine at the
club to-night and may not be back."

And, rising, Maitland approached a mirror; before which he lingered for
several minutes, cataloguing his injuries. Taken altogether, they
amounted to little. The swelling of his wrists and ankles was subsiding
gradually; there was a slight redness visible in the corners of his
mouth, and a shadow of discoloration on his right temple--something
that could be concealed by brushing his hair in a new way.

"I think I shall do," concluded Maitland; "there's nothing to excite
particular comment. The bulk of the soreness is inside."

       *       *       *       *       *

Seven P. M.

"Time," said the short and thick-set man casually, addressing no one in
particular.

He shut the lid of his watch with a snap and returned the timepiece to
his waistcoat pocket. Simultaneously he surveyed both sides of the
short block between Seventh and St. Nicholas Avenues with one
comprehensive glance.

Presumably he saw nothing of interest to him. It was not a particularly
interesting block, for that matter: though somewhat typical of the
neighborhood. The north side was lined with five-story flat buildings,
their dingy-red brick façades regularly broken by equally dingy
brownstone stoops, as to the ground floor, by open windows as to those
above. The south side was mostly taken up by a towering white apartment
hotel with an ostentatious entrance; against one of whose polished
stone pillars the short and thick-set man was lounging.

The sidewalks, north and south, swarmed with children of assorted ages,
playing with that ferocious energy characteristic of the young of
Harlem; their blood-curdling cries and premature Fourth-of-July
fireworks created an appalling din: to which, however, the more mature
denizens had apparently become callous, through long endurance.

Beyond the party-colored lights of a drug-store window on Seventh
Avenue, the electric arcs were casting a sickly radiance upon the dusty
leaves of the tree-lined drive. The avenue itself was crowded with
motor-cars and horse-drawn pleasure vehicles, mostly bound up-town,
their occupants seeking the cooler airs and wider spaces to be found
beyond the Harlem River and along the Speedway. A few blocks to the
west Cathedral Heights bulked like a great wall, wrapped in purple
shadows, its jagged contour stark against an evening sky of suave old
rose.

The short and thick-set body, however, seemed to have no particular
appreciation of the beauties of nature as exhibited by West One-hundred
and Eighteenth Street on a summer's evening. If anything, he could
apparently have desired a cooling breeze; for, after a moment's
doubtful consideration, he unbuttoned his waistcoat and heaved a sigh
of relief.

Then, carefully shifting the butt of a dead cigar from one corner of
his mouth to the other, where it was almost hidden by the jutting
thatch of his black mustache, and drawing down over his eyes the brim
of a rusty plug hat, he thrust fat hands into the pockets of his shabby
trousers and lounged against the polished pillar even more
energetically than before: if that were possible. An unromantic,
apathetic figure, fitting so naturally into his surroundings as to
demand no second look even from the most observant; yet one seeming to
possess a magnetic attraction for the eyes of the hall-boy of the
apartment hotel (who, acquainted by sight and hearsay with the stout
gentleman's identity and calling, bent upon him a steadfast and adoring
regard), as well as for the policeman who lorded it on the St. Nicholas
Avenue corner, in front of the real-estate office, and who from time to
time shifted his contemplation from the infinite spaces of the heavens,
the better to exchange a furtive nod with the idler in the hotel
doorway.

Presently,--at no great lapse of time after the short and thick-set man
had stowed away his watch,--out of the thronged sidewalks of Seventh
Avenue a man appeared, walking west on the north side of the street and
reviewing carelessly the numbers on the illuminated fanlights: a tall
man, dressed all in grey, and swinging a thin walking stick.

The short, thick-set person assumed a mien of more intense abstraction
than ever.

The tall man in grey paused indefinitely before the brownstone stoop of
the house numbered 205, then swung up the steps and into the vestibule.
Here he halted, bending over to scrutinize the names on the
letter-boxes.

The short, thick-set man reluctantly detached himself from his polished
pillar and waddled ungracefully across the street.

The policeman on the corner seemed suddenly interested in Seventh
Avenue; and walked in that direction.

The grey man, having vainly deciphered all the names on one side of the
vestibule, straightened up and turned his attention to the opposite
wall, either unconscious of or indifferent to the shuffle of feet on
the stoop behind him.

The short, thick-set man removed one hand from a pocket and tapped the
grey man gently on the shoulder.

"Lookin' for McCabe, Anisty?" he inquired genially.

The grey man turned slowly, exhibiting a countenance blank with
astonishment. "Beg pardon?" he drawled; and then, with a dawning gleam
of recognition in his eyes: "Why, good evening, Hickey! What brings you
up this way?"

The short, thick-set man permitted his jaw to droop and his eyes to
protrude for some seconds. "Oh," he said in a tone of great disgust,
"hell!" He pulled himself together with an effort. "Excuse _me_, Mr.
Maitland," he stammered, "I wasn't lookin' for yeh."

"To the contrary, I gather from your greeting that you were expecting
our friend, Mr. Anisty?" And the grey man smiled.

Hickey smiled in sympathy, but with less evident relish of the
situation's humor.

"That's right," he admitted. "Got a tip from the C'miss'ner's office
this evening that Anisty would be here at seven o'clock lookin' for a
party named McCabe. I guess it's a bum tip, all right; but of course I
got to look into it."

"Most assuredly." The grey man bent and inspected the names again. "I
am hunting up an old friend," he explained carelessly: "a man named
Simmons--knew him in college--down on his luck--wrote me yesterday.
There he is: fourth floor, east. I'll see you when I come down, I hope,
Mr. Hickey."

The automatic lock clicked and the door swung open; the grey man
passing through and up the stairs. Hickey, ostentatiously ignoring the
existence of the policeman, returned to his post of observation.

At eight o'clock he was still there, looking bored.

At eight-thirty he was still there, wearing a puzzled expression.

At nine he called the adoring hall-boy, gave him a quarter with minute
instructions, and saw him disappear into the hallway of Number 205.
Three minutes later the boy was back, breathless but enthusiastic.

"Missis Simmons," he explained between gasps, "says she ain't never
heard of nobody named Maitland. Somebody rang her bell a while ago an'
apologized for disturbin' her--said he wanted the folks on the top
floor. I guess yer man went acrost the roofs: them houses is all
connected, and yuh c'n walk clear from the corner here tuh half-way up
tuh Nineteenth Street, on Sain' Nicholas Avenoo."

"Uh-huh," laconically returned the detective. "Thanks." And turning on
his heel, walked westward.

The policeman crossed the street to detain him for a moment's chat.

"I guess it's all off, Jim," Hickey told him. "Some one must've tipped
that crook off. Anyway, I ain't goin' to wait no longer."

"I wouldn't neither," agreed the uniformed member. "Say, who's yer
friend yeh was talkin' tuh, 'while ago?"

"Oh, a frien' of mine. Yeh didn't have no call to git excited then,
Jim. G'night."

And Hickey proceeded westward, a listless and preoccupied man by the
vacant eye of him. But when he emerged into the glare of Eighth Avenue
his face was unusually red. Which may have been due to the heat. And
just before boarding a down-town surface car, "Oh," he enunciated with
gusto, "_hell_!"

       *       *       *       *       *

One A. M.

Not until the rich and mellow chime had merged into the stillness did
the intruder dare again to draw breath. Coming as it had the very
moment that the door had closed noiselessly behind her, the double
stroke had sounded to her like a knell: or, perhaps more like the
prelude to the wild alarum of a tocsin, first striking her heart still
with terror, then urging it into panic flutterings.

But these, as the minutes drew on, marked only by the dull methodic
ticking of the clock, quieted; and at length she mustered courage to
move from the door, against which she had flattened herself, one hand
clutching the knob, ready to pull it open and fly upon the first
aggressive sound.

In the interval her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. The
study door showed a pale oblong on her right; to her left, and a little
toward the rear of the flat, the door of Maitland's bed-chamber stood
ajar. To this she tiptoed, standing upon the threshold and listening
with every fiber of her being. No sounds as of the regular respiration
of a sleeper warning her, she at length peered stealthily within;
simultaneously she pressed the button of an electric hand-lamp. Its
circumscribed blaze wavered over pillows and counterpane spotless and
undisturbed.

Then for the first time she breathed freely, convinced that she had
been right in surmising that Maitland would not return that night.

Since early evening she had watched the house from the window of a
top-floor hall bedroom in the boarding-house opposite. Shortly before
seven she had seen Maitland, stiff and uncompromising in rigorous
evening dress, leave in a cab. Since then only once had a light
appeared in his rooms; at about half-after nine the janitor had
appeared in the study, turning up the gas and going to the telephone.

Whatever the nature of the communication received, the girl had taken
it to indicate that Maitland had decided to spend the night elsewhere;
for the study light had burned for some ten minutes, during which the
janitor could occasionally be seen moving mysteriously about; and
something later, bearing a suitcase, he had left the house and shuffled
rapidly eastward to Madison Avenue.

So she felt convinced that she had all the small hours before her,
secure from interruption. And this time, she told herself, she purposed
making assurance doubly sure....

But first to guard against discovery from the street.

Turning back through the hall, she dispensed with the hand-lamp,
entering the darkened study. Here all windows had been closed and the
outer shades drawn--O'Hagan's last act before leaving with the
suit-case: additional proof that Maitland was not expected back that
night. For the temperature was high, the air in the closed room
stifling.

Crossing to the windows, the girl drew down the dark green inner shades
and closed the folding wooden shutters over them. And was conscious of
a deepened sense of security.

Next going to the telephone, she removed the receiver from the hook and
let it hang at the full length of the cord. In the dead silence the
small voice of Central was clearly articulate: "_What number? Hello,
what number_?"--followed by the grumbling of the armature as the
operator tried fruitlessly to ring the disconnected bell. The girl
smiled faintly, aware that there would now be no interruption from an
inopportune call.

There remained as a final precaution only a grand tour of the flat;
which she made expeditiously, passing swiftly and noiselessly (one
contemplating midnight raids does not attire one's self in silks and
starched things) from room to room, all comfortably empty. Satisfied at
last, she found herself again in the study, and now boldly, mind at
rest, lighted the brass student lamp with the green shade, which she
discovered on the desk.

Standing, hands resting lightly on hips, breath coming quickly, cheeks
flushed and eyes alight with some intimate and inscrutable emotion, she
surveyed the room. Out of the dusk that lay beyond the plash of
illumination beneath the lamp, the furniture began to take on familiar
shapes: the divans, the heavy leather-cushioned easy chairs, the tall
clock with its pallid staring face, the small tables and tabourettes,
handily disposed for the reception of books and magazines and pipes and
glasses, the towering, old-fashioned mahogany book-case, the useless,
ornamental, beautiful Chippendale escritoire, in one corner: all
somberly shadowed and all combining to diffuse an impression of quiet,
easy-going comfort.

Just such a study as _he_ would naturally have. She nodded silent
approbation of it as a whole. And, nodding, sat down at the desk,
planting elbows on its polished surface, interlacing her fingers and
cradling her chin upon their backs: turned suddenly pensive.

The mood held her but briefly. She had no time to waste, and much to
accomplish.... Sitting back, her fingers sought and pressed the clasp
of her hand-bag, and produced two articles--a golden cigarette case and
a slightly soiled canvas bag. The Maitland jewels were returning by a
devious way, to their owner.

But where to put them, that he might find them without delay? It must
be no conspicuous place, where O'Hagan would be apt to happen upon
them; doubtless the janitor was trustworthy, but still.... Misplaced
opportunities breed criminals.

It was all a risk, to leave the treasure there, without the protection
of nickeled-steel walls and timelocks; but a risk that must be taken.
She dared not retain it longer in her possession; and she would
contrive a way in the morning to communicate with Maitland and warn him.

Her gaze searched the area where the lamplight fell soft yet strong
upon the dark shining wood and heavy brass desk fittings; and paused,
arrested by the unusual combination of inverted bowl and super-imposed
book. A riddle to be read with facility; in a twinkling she had
uncovered the incriminating hand-print--incriminating if it could be
traced, that is to say.

"Oh!" she cried softly. And laughed a little. "Oh, how careless!"

Fine brows puckered, she pondered the matter, and ended by placing her
own hand over the print; this one fitted the other exactly.

"How he must have wondered! He is sure to look again, especially if...."

No need to conclude the sentence. Quickly she placed bag and case
squarely on top of the impression, the bowl over all, and the book upon
the bowl; then, drawing from her pocket a pair of long grey silk
gloves, draped one across the book; and, head tilted to one side,
admired the effect.

It seemed decidedly an artistic effect, admirably calculated to attract
attention. She was satisfied to the point of being pleased with
herself: a fact indicated by an expressive flutter of slim, fair
hands.... And now, to work! Time pressed, and.... A cloud dimmed the
radiance of her eyes; irresolutely she shifted in her chair, troubled,
frowning, lips woefully drooping. And sighed. And a still small
whisper, broken and wretched, disturbed the quiet of the study.

"I can not! O, I can not!... To spoil it all, _now_, when...."

Yet she must. She must forget herself and steel her determination with
the memory that another's happiness hung in the balance, depended upon
her success. Twice she had tried and failed. This third time she _must_
succeed.

And bowing her head in token of her resignation, she turned back
squarely to face the desk. As she did so the toe of one small shoe
caught against something on the floor, causing a dull jingling sound.
She stooped, with a low exclamation, and straightened up, a small bunch
of keys in her hand: eight or ten of them dangling from a silver ring:
Maitland's keys.

He must have dropped them there, forgetting them altogether. A find of
value and one to save her a deal of trouble: skeleton keys are so
exasperatingly slow, particularly when used by inexpert hands. But how
to bring herself to make use of these? All's fair in war (and this was
a sort of war, a war of wits at least); but one should fight with one's
own arms, not pilfer the enemy's and turn them against him. To use
these keys to ransack Maitland's desk seemed an action even more
blackly dishonorable than this clandestine visit, this midnight foray.

Swinging the notched metal slips from a slender finger, she
contemplated them: and laughed ruefully. What qualms of conscience in a
burglar self-confessed! She was there for a purpose, a recognized,
nefarious purpose. Granted. Then why quibble?... She would not quibble.
She would be firm, resolute, determined, cold-blooded, unmindful of all
kindness and courtesy and.... She would use them, accomplish her
purpose, and have done, finally and for ever, with the whole hateful
business!

There was a bright spot of color on either cheek and a hot light of
anger in her eyes as she set about her task. It would never be less
hideous, never less immediate.

The desk drawers yielded easily to the eager keys. One by one she had
them open and their contents explored--vain repetition of yesterday
afternoon's fruitless task. But she must be sure, she must leave no
stone unturned. Maitland Manor was closed to her for ever, because of
last night. But here she was safe for a few short hours, and free to
make assurance doubly sure.

There remained the despatch-box, the black japanned tin box which had
proved obdurate yesterday. She had come prepared to break its lock this
time, if need be; Maitland's carelessness spared her the necessity.

She lifted it out of a lower drawer, and put it in her lap. The
smallest key fitted the lock at the first attempt. The lid came up
and....

Perhaps it is not altogether discreditable that one should temporarily
forget one's compunctions in the long-deferred moment of triumph. The
girl uttered a little cry of joy.

Crash!--the front door down-stairs had been slammed.

She was on her feet in a breath, faint with fear. Yet not so overcome
that she forgot her errand, her success. As she stood up she dropped
the despatch-box back into the drawer, without a sound, and, opening
her hand-bag, stuffed something into it.

No time to do more: a dull rumble of masculine voices was distinctly,
frightfully audible in the stillness of the house: voices of men
conversing together in the inner vestibule. One laughed, and the laugh
seemed to penetrate her bosom like a knife. Then both strode across the
tiling and began to ascend, as was clearly told her by footsteps
sounding deadened on the padded carpet.

Panic-stricken, she turned to the student lamp and with a quick twirl
and upward jerk of the chimney-catch extinguished the flame. A reek of
smoke immediately began to foul the close, hot air: and she knew that
it would betray her, but was helpless to stop it. Besides, she was
caught, trapped, damned beyond redemption unless ... unless it were not
Maitland, after all, but one of the other tenants, unexpectedly
returned and bound for another flat.

Futile hope. Upon the landing by the door the footsteps ceased; and a
key grated in the wards of the lock.

Blind with terror, her sole thought an instinctive impulse to hide and
so avert discovery until the last possible instant, on the bare chance
of something happening to save her, the girl caught up her skirts and
fled like a hunted shadow through the alcove, through the bed-chamber,
thence down the hall toward the dining-room and kitchen offices.

The outer door was being opened ere she had reached the hiding-place
she had in mind: the trunk-closet, from which, she remembered
remarking, a window opened upon a fire-escape. It was barely possible,
a fighting chance.

She closed the door, grateful that its latch slipped silently into
place, and fairly flung herself upon the window, painfully bruising her
soft hands in vain endeavor to raise the sash. It stuck obstinately,
would not yield. Too late, she remembered that she had forgotten to
draw the catch--fatal oversight! A sob of terror choked in her throat.
Already footsteps were hurrying down the hall; a line of light
brightened underneath the door; voices, excitedly keyed, bandied
question and comment, an unmistakable Irish brogue mingling with a
clear enunciation which she had but too great reason to remember. The
pair had passed into the next room. She could hear O'Hagan announcing:
"No wan here, sor."

"Then it's the dining-room, or the trunk-closet. Come along!"

One last, frantic attempt! But the window catch, rusted with long
disuse, stuck. Panting, sick with fear, the girl leaped away and
crushed herself into a corner, crouching on the floor behind a heavy
box, her dark cloak drawn up to shield her head.

And the door opened.

A flood of radiance from the relighted student lamp fell athwart the
floor. The girl lay close and still, holding her breath.

Ten seconds, perhaps, ticked on into Eternity: seconds that were in
themselves eternities. Then: "No one here, O'Hagan."

The door was closed, and through its panels more faintly came: "Faith,
and the murdhering divvle must've flew th' coop afore ye come in, sor."

The girl tried to rise, to make again for the window; but it was as
though her limbs had turned to water; there was no strength in her; and
the blackness swam visibly before her eyes, radiating away in whirling,
streaky circles.

Even such resolution and strong will as was hers could not prevail
against that numbing, deathly exhaustion. Her eyes closed and her head
fell back against the wall.

It seemed but an instant (though it was in point of fact a full five
minutes) ere the sound of a voice again roused her.

She looked up, dazzled by a gush of warm light.

He stood in the doorway, holding the lamp high above his head, his face
pale, grave, and shadowed as he peered down at her.

"I have sent O'Hagan away," he said gently. "If you will please to
come, now----"




IX


PROCRASTINATION

The cab which picked Maitland up at his lodgings carried him but a few
blocks to the club at which he had, the previous evening, entertained
his lawyer. Maitland had selected it as the one of all the clubs of
which he and Bannerman were members, wherein he was least likely to
meet the latter. Neither frequented its sober precincts by habit. Its
severe and classical building on a corner of Madison Avenue overlooking
the Square, is but the outward presentment of an institution to be a
member of which is a duty, but emphatically no great pleasure, to the
sons of a New York family of any prominence.

But in its management the younger generation holds no suffrage; and is
not slow to declare that the Primordial is rightly named,
characterizing the individual members of the Board of Governors as
antediluvians, prehistoric monsters who have never learned that
laughter lends a savor to existence. And so it is that the younger
generation, (which is understood to include Maitland and Bannerman),
while it religiously pays its dues and has the name of the Primordial
engraved upon its cards, shuns those deadly respectable rooms and seeks
its comfort elsewhere.

Maitland found it dull and depressing enough, that same evening,
something before seven. The spacious and impressive lounging-rooms were
but sparsely tenanted, other than by the ennuied corps of servants; and
the few members who had lent the open doors the excuse of their
presence were of the elderly type that hides itself behind a newspaper
in an easy chair and snorts when addressed.

The young man strolled disconsolately enough into the billiard-room,
thence (dogged by a specter of loneliness) to the bar, and finally, in
sheer desperation, to the dining-room, where he selected a table and
ordered an evening paper with his meal.

When the former was brought him, he sat up and began to take a new
interest in life. The glaring head-lines that met his eye on the front
page proved as bracing as a slap in the face.

"'The Maitland Jewels,'" he read, half aloud: "'Daring Attempt at
Burglary. "Mad" Maitland Catches "Handsome Dan" Anisty in the Act of
Cracking His Safe at Maitland Manor. Which was Which? Both Principals
Disappear.'"

A dull red glow suffused the reader's countenance; he compressed his
lips, only opening them once, and then to emit a monosyllabic oath,
which can hardly have proved any considerable relief to his surcharged
emotional nature.

The news-story was exploited as a "beat"; it could have been little
else, since nine-tenths of its "exclusive details" had been born
full-winged from the fecund imagination of a busy reporter to whom
Maitland had refused an interview while in his bath, some three hours
earlier. Maitland discovered with relief that boiled down to essentials
it consisted simply of the statement that somebody (presumably himself)
had caught somebody (presumably Anisty) burglarizing the library safe
at Maitland Manor that morning: that one of the somebodies (no one knew
which) had overpowered the other and left him in charge of the butler,
who had presently permitted his prisoner to escape and then talked for
publication.

It was not to this so much that Maitlan

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/8741