The House of Mystery

by Will Irwin

  IV

  HIS FIRST CALL

  Dear Mr. Blake (read the letter): It was nice to get your note and to know that you are back in town so soon. Of course you must come to see me. I want Aunt Paula to know that all the complimentary things I have said about you are true. We are never at home in the conventional sense--but I hope Wednesday evening will do.

  Cordially,

  ANNETTE MARKHAM.

  He had greeted this little note with all the private follies of lovers.Now for the hundredth time, he studied it for significances, signs,pretty intimacies; and he found positively nothing about it which hedid not like. True, he failed to extract any important informationfrom the name of the stationer, which he found under the flap of theenvelope; but on the other hand the paper itself distinctly pleasedhim. It was note-size and of a thick, unfeminine quality. He approvedof the writing--small, fine, legible, without trace of seminaryaffectation. And his spirits actually rose when he observed that itbore no coat-of-arms--not even a monogram.

  At last, with more flourishes of folly, he put the note away in hisdesk and inspected himself in the glass. To the credit of his modesty,he was thinking not of his white tie--fifth that he had ruined in theprocess of dressing--nor yet of the set of his coat. He was thinkingof Mrs. Paula Markham and the impression which these gauds and gracesmight make upon her.

  "What do you suppose she's like?" he asked inaudibly of the correctvision in the glass.

  He had exhausted all the possibilities--a fat, pretentious medium whomAnnette's mind transformed by the alchemy of old affection into apresentable personage; a masculine and severe old woman with the"spook" look in her eyes; a fluttering, affected _precieuse_,concealing her quackery by chatter. Gradually as he thought on her, thesecond of these hypotheses came to govern--he saw her as the severe andmasculine type. This being so, what tack should she take?

  The correct vision in the glass vouchsafed no answer to this. His moodpersisted as his taxicab whirled him into the region which borders thewestern edge of Central Park. The thing assumed the proportions of agreat adventure. No old preparation for battle, no old packings tobreak into the unknown dark, had ever given him quite such a sense ofthe high, free airs where romance blows. He was going on a mereconventional call; but he was going also to high and thrillingpossibilities.

  The house was like a thousand other houses of the prosperous middleclass, distinguishable only by minor differences of doors and steps andarea rails, from twenty others on the same block. He found himselfmaking mystery even of this. Separate houses in New York requireincomes.

  "Evidently it pays to deal in spooks," he said to himself.

  His first glimpse of the interior, his subsequent study of thedrawing-room while the maid carried in his name, made more vivid thisimpression. The taste of the whole thing was evident; but the apartmenthad besides a special flavor. He searched for the elements which gavethat impression. It was not the old walnut furniture, ample, huge,upholstered in a wine-colored velours which had faded just enough totake off the curse; it was not the three or four passable oldpaintings. The real cause came first to him upon the contemplation of awonderful Buddhist priest-robe which adorned the wall just where thedrawing-room met the curtains of the little rear alcove-library. Thedifference lay in the ornaments--Oriental, mostly East Indian and, allhis experience told him, got by intimate association with theOrientals. That robe, that hanging lantern, those chased swords, thatgem of a carved Buddha--they came not from the seaports nor from theshops for tourists. Whoever collected them knew the East and itspeoples by intimate living. They appeared like presents, notpurchases--unless they were loot.

  And now--his thumping heart flashed the signal--the delicate feminineflutter that meant Annette, was sounding in the hall. And now at theentrance stood Annette in a white dress, her neck showing a faint rimof tan above her girlish decolletage; Annette smiling rather formallyas though this conventional passage after their unconventional meetingand acquaintance sat in embarrassment on her spirits; Annette saying inthat vibrant boyish contralto which came always as a surprise out ofher exquisite whiteness:

  "How do you do, Dr. Blake--you are back in the city rather earlier thanyou expected, aren't you?"

  He was conscious of shock, emotional and professional--emotional thatthey had not taken up their relation exactly where they left itoff--professional because of her appearance. Not only was she pale andjust a little drawn of facial line, but that indefinable look of one"called" was on her again.

  All this he gathered as he made voluble explanation--the attendance atthe sanitorium had fallen off with the approach of autumn--they reallyneeded no assistant to the resident physician--he thought it best tohurry his search for an opening in New York before the winter shouldset in. Then, put at his ease by his own volubility, and rememberingthat it is a lover's policy to hold the advantage gained at the lastbattle, he added:

  "And of course you may guess another reason."

  This she parried with a woman-of-the-world air, quite different fromher old childlike frankness.

  "The theatrical season, I suppose. It opens earlier every year."

  He pursued that line no further. She took up the reins of theconversation and drove it along smooth but barren paths. "It's nicethat you could come to-night. Looking for a practice must make so manycalls on your time. I shouldn't have been surprised not to see you atall this winter. No one seems able to spare much time for acquaintancesin New York."

  "Not at all," he said, ruffling a little within, "I shall find plentyof time for my _friends_ this winter." Deliberately he emphasized theword. "I hope nothing has happened to change our--friendship. Or doesBerkeley Center seem primitive and far away?"

  For the first time that quality which he was calling in his mind her"society shell" seemed to melt away from her. She had kept her eyelidshalf closed; now they opened full.

  "I am living on the memory of it," she said.

  Here was his opening. A thousand incoherences rushed to his lips--andstopped there. For another change came over her. Those lids, likecurtains drawn by stealth over what must not be revealed, sank half-wayover her eyes. An impalpable stiffening ran over her figure. She becameas a flower done in glass.

  Simultaneously, an uneasiness as definite as a shadow, fell across hisspirit. He became conscious of a presence behind him. Involuntarily heturned.

  A woman was standing in the doorway leading to the hall.

  An instant she looked at Blake and an instant he looked at her. Whatshe gained from her scrutiny showed in no change of expression. What hegained showed only in a quick flutter of the eyelids. He had, in fact,taken an impression of mental power as startling as a sudden blow inthe face. She had a magnificent physique, preserved splendidly into thevery heart of middle age; yet her foot had made no sound in herapproach. Her black velvet draperies trailed heavy on the floor, yetthey produced not the ghost of a rustle. Jet-black hair coiled inropes, yet wisped white above the temples; light gray eyes, full andsoft, yet with a steady look of power--all this came in the process ofrising, of stepping forward to clasp a warm hand which lingered justlong enough, in hearing Annette say in tones suddenly dead of theirboyish energy:

  "Aunt Paula, let me introduce Dr. Blake." With one ample motion, Mrs.Markham seated herself. She turned her light eyes upon him. He had asubconscious impression of standing before two searchlights.

  "My niece has told me much about Dr. Blake," she said in a voice which,like Annette's, showed every intonation of culture; "I can't thank youenough for being kind to my little girl. So good in you to bother abouther when"--Aunt Paula gave the effect of faltering, but her smile waspeculiarly gracious--"when there were no other men nearer her own age."

  HE HAD TAKEN AN IMPRESSION OF MENTAL POWER AS STARTLINGAS A SUDDEN BLOW IN THE FACE]

  Curiously, there floated into Blake's mind the remark which Annettemade that first day on the train--"I should think you were abouttwenty-eight--and that, according to 'Peter Ib
bertson,' is about thenicest age." Well, Annette at least regarded him as a contemporary! Hefound himself laughing with perfect composure--"Yes, that's the troublewith these quiet country towns. There never _are_ any interesting youngmen."

  "True," Mrs. Markham agreed, "although it makes slight difference inAnnette's case. She is so little interested in men. It really worriesme at times. But it's quite true, is it not so, dear?"

  Mrs. Markham had kept her remarkable eyes on Dr. Blake. And Annette, asthough the conversation failed to interest her, had fallen into aposition of extreme lassitude, her elbow on the table, her cheekresting on her hand.

  At her aunt's question, she seemed to rouse herself a little. "What isit that's quite true, Auntie?" she asked.

  Mrs. Markham transferred her light-gray gaze to her niece's face. "Iwas saying," she repeated, speaking distinctly as one does for a child,"that you are very little interested in men."

  "It is perfectly true," Annette answered.

  Mrs. Markham laughed a purring laugh, strangely at variance with hersize and type. "You'll find this an Adam-less Eden, Dr. Blake. I'llhave to confess that I too am not especially interested in men."

  This thrust did not catch Dr. Blake unawares. He laughed a laugh whichrang as true as Mrs. Markham's. He even ventured on a humorousmonologue in which he accused his sex of every possible failing, endingwith a triumphant eulogy of the other half of creation. But Mrs.Markham, though she listened with outward civility, appeared to takeall his jibes seriously--miscomprehended him purposely, he thought.

  Whereupon, he turned to the lady's own affairs.

  "Miss Markham told me something about your stay in India. I've neverbeen there yet. But of course no seasoned orientalist has any idea ofdying without seeing India. I gathered from Miss Markham that you hadsome unusual experiences."

  "It's the dear child's enthusiasm," Mrs. Markham said. And it came toBlake at once that she was a little irritated. "I assure you we did notstir out of the conventional tourist route." Then came a few minutesabout the beauties of the Taj by moonlight.

  Blake listened politely. "Your loot is all so interesting," he said,when she had finished. "Do tell me how you got it? Have you evernoticed what bully travelers' tales you get out of adventures inbargaining? Or better--looting? Those Johnnies who came out of Pekin--Imean the allied armies--tell some stories that are wonders."

  "That is true generally," Mrs. Markham agreed. "But I must confess thatI did nothing more wonderful than to walk up to one of the bazaars andbuy everything that I wanted."

  "That," Dr. Blake said mentally, "is a lie."

  Almost as if Annette had heard his thought--were answering it--shespoke for the first time with something of the old resiliency in hertone. "Auntie, do tell Dr. Blake about some of your adventures withthose wonderful Yogis, and that fascinating rajah who was so kind tous."

  "The Yogis!" commented Dr. Blake to himself; "Ha, ha, and ho, ho! I betyou learned a bag of tricks there, madam."

  "Why, Annette, dear." Mrs. Markham laughed her purring laugh--thatlaugh could grow, Dr. Blake discovered, until it achieved a singularlyunpleasant quality. "Your romantic ideas are running away with you.Whenever we arrived anywhere, of course, like anybody else, I called atGovernment House and the authorities there always put me in the way ofseeing whatever sights the neighborhood afforded. I met one rajah inpassing and visited one Yogi monastery. Do tell me about thePhilippines!" Annette settled back into her appearance of weariness.

  Dr. Blake complied.

  He had intended to stay an hour at this first formal call. He had hopedto be led on, by gentle feminine wiles, to add another hour. He hadeven dreamed that Aunt Paula might be so impressed by him as to holdhim until midnight. As a matter of fact, he left the house justthirty-five minutes after he entered. Just why he retreated so early inthe engagement, he had only the vaguest idea. Even fresh from it as hewas, he could not enumerate the small stings, the myriad minor goads,by which it became established in his mind that his call was not asuccess, that he was boring the two ladies whom he was trying so hardto entertain. At the end, it was a labored dialogue between him andMrs. Markham. Again and again, he tried to drag Annette into theconversation. She was tongue-tied. The best she did was to give him theimpression that, deep down in her tired psychology, she was trying tolisten. As for Aunt Paula--if his gaze wandered from her to Annette andthen back, he caught her stifling a yawn. Her final shot was tointerrupt his best story a hair's breadth ahead of the point. When hesaid good-night, his manner--he flattered himself--betrayed nothing ofhis sense of defeat. But no fellow pedestrian, observing the savagevigor of his swift walk homeward, could have held any doubt as to hisstate of mind.