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 ofthatname?"
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," consideredMaitland.
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'tyouall but tell me that you were coming here?"
"But—"
"I thoughtperhapsI 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 ofmyportrait 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 knowyou," 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 Iam putting myself in your power? Every moment you know me better, whileI 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.
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—inyou!" 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 shallI——?"
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 andWentworth, 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 inhiskeeping 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.Shehad trusted him!
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 fromPolice 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 ascribeMaitland's exclamation as due to surprise, regret, or relief. Whichpleased 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?"
"Idid."
"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."