VIII
MADAME L'INTRIGANTE
"Mrs. Hallam!" cried Kirkwood, beneath his breath.
The woman ignored his existence. Moving swiftly forward, she dropped onboth knees by the side of the boy, and caught up one of his hands, claspingit passionately in her own.
"Fred!" she cried, a curious break in her tone. "My little Freddie! Oh,what has happened, dearie?"
"Oh, hello, Mamma," grunted that young man, submitting listlessly to hercaresses and betraying no overwhelming surprise at her appearance there.Indeed he seemed more concerned as to what Kirkwood, an older man, wouldbe thinking, to see him so endeared and fondled, than moved by any otheremotion. Kirkwood could see his shamefaced, sidelong glances; and despisedhim properly for them.
But without attending to his response, Mrs. Hallam rattled on in the unevenaccents of excitement. "I waited until I couldn't wait any longer, Freddiedear. I had to know--had to come. Eccles came home about nine and said thatyou had told him to wait outside, that some one had followed you in here,and that a bobby had told him to move on. I didn't know what--"
"What's o'clock now?" her son interrupted.
"It's about three, I think ... Have you hurt yourself, dear? Oh, why_didn't_ you come home? You must've known I was dying of anxiety!"
"Oh, I say! Can't you see I'm hurt? 'Had a nasty fall and must've beenasleep ever since."
"My precious one! How--?"
"Can't say, hardly ... I say, don't paw a chap so, Mamma ... I broughtEccles along and told him to wait because--well, because I didn't feel somuch like shuttin' myself up in this beastly old tomb. So I left the doorajar, and told him not to let anybody come in. Then I came up-stairs. Theremust've been somebody already in the house; I know I _thought_ there was.It made me feel creepy, rather. At any rate, I heard voices down below, andthe door banged, and somebody began hammerin' like fun on the knocker."
The boy paused, rolling an embarrassed eye up at the stranger.
"Yes, yes, dear!" Mrs. Hallam urged him on.
"Why, I--I made up my mind to cut my stick--let whoever it was pass me onthe stairs, you know. But he followed me and struck me, and then I jumpedat him, and we both fell down the whole flight. And that's all. Besides, myhead's achin' like everything."
"But this man--?"
Mrs. Hallam looked up at Kirkwood, who bowed silently, struggling to hideboth his amusement and perplexity. More than ever, now, the case presenteda front inscrutable to his wits; try as he might, he failed to fit anexplanation to any incident in which he had figured, while this lastdevelopment--that his antagonist of the dark stairway had been Mrs.Hallam's son!--seemed the most astounding of all, baffling elucidationcompletely.
He had abandoned all thought of flight and escape. It was too late; in thebrisk idiom of his mother-tongue, he was "caught with the goods on." "Mayas well face the music," he counseled himself, in resignation. From what hehad seen and surmised of Mrs. Hallam, he shrewdly suspected that the tunewould prove an exceedingly lively one; she seemed a woman of imagination,originality, and an able-bodied temper.
"_You_, Mr. Kirkwood!"
Again he bowed, grinning awry.
She rose suddenly. "You will be good enough to explain your presence here,"she informed him with dangerous serenity.
"To be frank with you--"
"I advise that course, Mr. Kirkwood."
"Thanks, awf'ly.... I came here, half an hour ago, looking for a lost pursefull--well, not _quite_ full of sovereigns. It was my purse, by the way."
Suspicion glinted like foxfire in the cold green eyes beneath her puckeredbrows. "I do not understand," she said slowly and in level tones.
"I didn't expect you to," returned Kirkwood; "no more do I.... But, anyway,it must be clear to you that I've done my best for this gentleman here." Hepaused with an interrogative lift of his eyebrows.
"'This gentleman' is my son, Frederick Hallam.... But you will explain--"
"Pardon me, Mrs. Hallam; I shall explain nothing, at present. Permit meto point out that your position here--like mine--is, to say the least,anomalous." The random stroke told, as he could tell by the instantcontraction of her eyes of a cat. "It would be best to defer explanationstill a more convenient time--don't you think? Then, if you like, we canchant confidences in an antiphonal chorus. Just now your--er--son is notenjoying himself apparently, and ... the attention of the police had bestnot be called to this house too often in one night."
His levity seemed to displease and perturb the woman; she turned from himwith an impatient movement of her shoulders.
"Freddie, dear, do you feel able to walk?"
"Eh? Oh, I dare say--I don't know. Wonder would your friend--ah--Mr.Kirkwood, lend me an arm?"
"Charmed," Kirkwood declared suavely. "If you'll take the candle, Mrs.Hallam--"
He helped the boy to his feet and, while the latter hung upon him andcomplained querulously, stood waiting for the woman to lead the way withthe light; something which, however, she seemed in no haste to do. Thepause at length puzzled Kirkwood, and he turned, to find Mrs. Hallamholding the candlestick and regarding him steadily, with much the sameexpression of furtive mistrust as that with which she had favored him onher own door-stoop.
He helped the boy to his feet, and stood waiting.]
"One moment," she interposed in confusion; "I won't keep you waiting...;"and, passing with an averted face, ran quickly up-stairs to the secondfloor, taking the light with her. Its glow faded from the walls above andKirkwood surmised that she had entered the front bedchamber. For somemoments he could hear her moving about; once, something scraped and bumpedon the floor, as if a heavy bit of furniture had been moved; again therewas a resounding thud that defied speculation; and this was presentlyfollowed by a dull clang of metal.
His fugitive speculations afforded him little enlightenment; and, meantime,young Hallam, leaning partly against the wall and quite heavily onKirkwood's arm, filled his ears with puerile oaths and lamentations; sothat, but for the excuse of his really severe shaking-up, Kirkwood hadbeen strongly tempted to take the youngster by the shoulders and kick himheartily, for the health of his soul.
But eventually--it was not really long--there came the quick rush of Mrs.Hallam's feet along the upper hall, and the woman reappeared, one handholding her skirts clear of her pretty feet as she descended in a rush thatcaused the candle's flame to flicker perilously.
Half-way down, "Mr. Kirkwood!" she called tempestuously.
"Didn't you find it?" he countered blandly.
She stopped jerkily at the bottom, and, after a moment of confusion. "Findwhat, sir?" she asked.
"What you sought, Mrs. Hallam."
Smiling, he bore unflinching the prolonged inspection of her eyes, at oncesomber with doubt of him and flashing with indignation because of hisimpudence.
"You knew I wouldn't find it, then!... Didn't you?"
"I may have suspected you wouldn't."
Now he was sure that she had been searching for the gladstone bag. That,evidently, was the bone of contention. Calendar had sent his daughter forit, Mrs. Hallam her son; Dorothy had been successful ... But, on the otherhand, Calendar and Mrs. Hallam were unquestionably allies. Why, then--?
"Where is it, Mr. Kirkwood?"
"Madam, have you the right to know?"
Through another lengthening pause, while they faced each other, he markedagain the curious contraction of her under lip.
"I have the right," she declared steadily. "Where is it?"
"How can I be sure?"
"Then you don't know--!"
"Indeed," he interrupted, "I would be glad to feel that I ought to tell youwhat I know."
"_What_ you know!"
The exclamation, low-spoken, more an echo of her thoughts than intendedfor Kirkwood, was accompanied by a little shake of the woman's head, muteevidence to the fact that she was bewildered by his finesse. And thisdelighted the young man beyond measure, making him feel himself master ofa difficult situation. Mysteries
had been woven before his eyes sopersistently, of late, that it was a real pleasure to be able to do alittle mystifying on his own account. By adopting this reticent andnon-committal attitude, he was forcing the hand of a woman old enough to behis mother and most evidently a past-mistress in the art of misleading. Allof which seemed very fascinating to the amateur in adventure.
The woman would have led again, but young Hallam cut in, none toocourteously.
"I say, Mamma, it's no good standing here, palaverin' like a lot of flats.Besides, I'm awf'ly knocked up. Let's get home and have it out there."
Instantly his mother softened. "My poor boy!... Of course we'll go."
Without further demur she swept past and down the stairway beforethem--slowly, for their progress was of necessity slow, and the light mostneeded. Once they were in the main hall, however, she extinguished thecandle, placed it on a side table, and passed out through the door.
It had been left open, as before; and Kirkwood was not at all surprised tosee a man waiting on the threshold,--the versatile Eccles, if he erred not.He had little chance to identify him, as it happened, for at a word fromMrs. Hallam the man bowed and, following her across the sidewalk, openedthe door of a four-wheeler which, with lamps alight and liveried driver onthe box, had been waiting at the carriage-block.
As they passed out, Kirkwood shut the door; and at the same moment thelittle party was brought up standing by a gruff and authoritative summons.
"Just a minute, please, you there!"
"Aha!" said Kirkwood to himself. "I thought so." And he halted, inunfeigned respect for the burly and impressive figure, garbed in blue andbrass, helmeted and truncheoned, bull's-eye shining on breast like theLaw's unblinking and sleepless eye, barring the way to the carriage.
Mrs. Hallam showed less deference for the obstructionist. The assumedhauteur and impatience of her pose was artfully reflected in her voice asshe rounded upon the bobby, with an indignant demand: "What is the meaningof this, officer?"
"Precisely what I wants to know, ma'am," returned the man, unyieldingbeneath his respectful attitude. "I'm obliged to ask you to tell me whatyou were doing in that 'ouse.... And what's the matter with this 'eregentleman?" he added, with a dubious stare at young Hallam's bandaged headand rumpled clothing.
"Perhaps you don't understand," admitted Mrs. Hallam sweetly. "Of course--Isee--it's perfectly natural. The house has been shut up for some timeand--"
"Thank you, ma'am; that's just it. There was something wrong going on earlyin the evening, and I was told to keep an eye on the premises. It's duty,ma'am; I've got my report to make."
"The house," said Mrs. Hallam, with the long-suffering patience of oneelucidating a perfectly plain proposition to a being of a lower order ofintelligence, "is the property of my son, Arthur Frederick Burgoyne Hallam,of Cornwall. This is--"
"Beg pardon, ma'am, but I was told Colonel George Burgoyne, of Cornwall--"
"Colonel Burgoyne died some time ago. My son is his heir. This is my son.He came to the house this evening to get some property he desired, and--itseems--tripped on the stairs and fell unconscious. I became worried abouthim and drove over, accompanied by my friend, Mr. Kirkwood."
The policeman looked his troubled state of mind, and wagged a doubtful headover the case. There was his duty, and there was, opposed to it, the factthat all three were garbed in the livery of the well-to-do.
At length, turning to the driver, he demanded, received, and noted in hismemorandum-book, the license number of the equipage.
"It's a very unusual case, ma'am," he apologized; "I hopes you won't 'oldit against me. I'm only trying to do my duty--"
"And safeguard our property. You are perfectly justified, officer."
"Thank you, ma'am. And would you mind giving me your cards, please, all ofyou?"
"Certainly not." Without hesitation the woman took a little hand-bag fromthe seat of the carriage and produced a card; her son likewise found hiscase and handed the officer an oblong slip.
"I've no cards with me," the American told the policeman; "my name,however, is Philip Kirkwood, and I'm staying at the Pless."
"Very good, sir; thank you." The man penciled the information in his littlebook. "Thank you, ma'am, and Mr. Hallam, sir. Sorry to have detained you.Good morning."
Kirkwood helped young Hallam into the carriage, gave Mrs. Hallam his hand,and followed her. The man Eccles shut the door, mounting the box beside thedriver. Immediately they were in motion.
The American got a final glimpse of the bobby, standing in front of Number9, Frognall Street, and watching them with an air of profound uncertainty.He had Kirkwood's sympathy, therein; but he had little time to feel withhim, for Mrs. Hallam turned upon him very suddenly.
"Mr. Kirkwood, will you be good enough to tell me who and what you are?"
The young man smiled his homely, candid smile. "I'll be only too glad, Mrs.Hallam, when I feel sure you'll do as much for yourself."
She gave him no answer; it, was as if she were choosing words. Kirkwoodbraced himself to meet the storm; but none ensued. There was rather a lull,which strung itself out indefinitely, to the monotonous music of hoofs andrubber tires.
Young Hallam was resting his empty blond head against the cushions, and hadclosed his eyes. He seemed to doze; but, as the carriage rolled past thefrequent street-lights, Kirkwood could see that the eyes of Mrs. Hallamwere steadily directed to his face.
His outward composure was tempered by some amusement, by more admiration;the woman's eyes were very handsome, even when hardest and most cold. Itwas not easy to conceive of her as being the mother of a son so immaturelymature. Why, she must have been at least thirty-eight or -nine! Onewondered; she did not look it....
The carriage stopped before a house with lighted windows. Eccles jumpeddown from the box and scurried to open the front door. The radiance ofa hall-lamp was streaming out into the misty night when he returned torelease his employers.
They were returned to Craven Street! "One more lap round the track!" musedKirkwood. "Wonder will the next take me back to Bermondsey Old Stairs."
At Mrs. Hallam's direction, Eccles ushered him into the smoking-room, onthe ground floor in the rear of the dwelling, there to wait while shehelped her son up-stairs and to bed. He sighed with pleasure at firstglimpse of its luxurious but informal comforts, and threw himselfcarelessly into a heavily padded lounging-chair, dropping one knee over theother and lighting the last of his expensive cigars, with a sensation ofundiluted gratitude; as one coming to rest in the shadow of a great rock ina weary land.
Over his shoulder a home-like illumination was cast by an electricreading-lamp shaded with red silk. At his feet brass fire-dogs winkedsleepily in the fluttering blaze of a well-tended stove. The walls werehung with deep red, the doors and divans upholstered in the same restfulshade. In one corner an old clock ticked soberly. The atmosphere wouldhave proved a potent invitation to reverie, if not to sleep--he was verysleepy--but for the confusion in the house.
In its chambers, through the halls, on the stairs, there were hurryings andscurryings of feet and skirts, confused with murmuring voices. Presently,in an adjoining room, Philip Kirkwood heard a maid-servant wrestlinghopefully with that most exasperating of modern time-saving devices,the telephone as countenanced by our English cousins. Her patience anddetermination won his approval, but availed nothing for her purpose; in theoutcome the telephone triumphed and the maid gave up the unequal contest.
Later, a butler entered the room; a short and sturdy fellow, extremely illat ease. Drawing a small taboret to the side of Kirkwood's chair, he placedthereon a tray, deferentially imparting the information that "Missis 'Allam'ad thought 'ow as Mister Kirkwood might care for a bit of supper."
"Please thank Mrs. Hallam for me." Kirkwood's gratified eyes ranged theladen tray. There were sandwiches, biscuit, cheese, and a pot of blackcoffee, with sugar and cream. "It was very kindly thought of," he added.
"Very good, sir, thank you, sir."
The m
an turned to go, shuffling soundlessly. Kirkwood was suddenlyimpressed with his evasiveness; ever since he had entered the room, hiscountenance had seemed turned from the guest.
"Eccles!" he called sharply, at a venture.
The butler halted, thunderstruck. "Ye-es, s-sir?"
Eccles]
"Turn round, Eccles; I want a look at you."
Eccles faced him unwillingly, with a stolid front but shifty eyes. Kirkwoodglanced him up and down, grinning.
"Thank you, Eccles; I'll remember you now. You'll remember me, too, won'tyou? You're a bad actor, aren't you, Eccles?"
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," mumbled the man unhappily; and took instantadvantage of the implied permission to go.
Intensely diverted by the recollection of Eccles' abortive attempt to stophim at the door of Number 9, and wondering--now that he came to think ofit--why, precisely, young Hallam had deemed it necessary to travel witha body-guard and adopt such furtive methods to enter into as well as toobtain what was asserted to be his own property, Kirkwood turned activeattention to the lunch.
Thoughtfully he poured himself a cup of coffee, swallowing it hot and blackas it came from the silver pot; then munched the sandwiches.
It _was_ kindly thought of, this early morning repast; Mrs. Hallam seemedmore and more a remarkable woman with each phase of her character that shechose to disclose. At odds with him, she yet took time to think of hiscreature needs!
What could be her motive,--not in feeding him, but in involving her nameand fortune in an affair so strangely flavored?... This opened up a desertwaste of barren speculation. "What's anybody's motive, who figures in thisthundering dime-novel?" demanded the American, almost contemptuously.And--for the hundredth time--gave it up; the day should declare it, if sohap he lived to see that day: a distant one, he made no doubt. The onlyclear fact in his befogged and bemused mentality was that he was at once"broke" and in this business up to his ears. Well, he'd see it through;he'd nothing better to do, and--there was the girl:
Dorothy, whose eyes and lips he had but to close his own eyes to seeagain as vividly as though she stood before him; Dorothy, whose unspoiledsweetness stood out in vivid relief against this moil and toil ofconspiracy, like a star of evening shining clear in a stormy sky.
"Poetic simile: I'm going fast," conceded Kirkwood; but he did not smile.It was becoming quite too serious a matter for laughter. For her sake,he was in the game "for keeps"; especially in view of the fact thateverything--his own heart's inclination included--seemed to conspire tokeep him in it. Of course he hoped for nothing in return; a pauper whoturns squire-of-dames with matrimonial intent is open to the designation,"penniless adventurer." No; whatever service he might be to the girl wouldbe ample recompense to him for his labors. And afterwards, he'd go hisway in peace; she'd soon forget him--if she hadn't already. Women (hepropounded gravely) are queer: there's no telling anything about them!
One of the most unreadable specimens of the sex on which he pronounced thishighly original dictum, entered the room just then; and he found himself atonce out of his chair and his dream, bowing.
"Mrs. Hallam."
The woman nodded and smiled graciously. "Eccles has attended to your needs,I hope? Please don't stop smoking." She sank into an arm-chair on theother side of the hearth and, probably by accident, out of the radius ofillumination from the lamp; sitting sidewise, one knee above the other, herwhite arms immaculate against the somber background of shadowed crimson.
She was very handsome indeed, just then; though a keener light might haveproved less flattering.
"Now, Mr. Kirkwood?" she opened briskly, with a second intimate andfriendly nod; and paused, her pose receptive.
Kirkwood sat down again, smiling good-natured appreciation of herunprejudiced attitude.
"Your son, Mrs. Hallam--?"
"Oh, Freddie's doing well enough.... Freddie," she explained, "has adelicate constitution and has seen little of the world. Such melodramaas to-night's is apt to shock him severely. We must make allowances, Mr.Kirkwood."
Kirkwood grinned again, a trace unsympathetically; he was unable tosimulate any enthusiasm on the subject of poor Freddie, whom he had sizedup with passable acumen as a spoiled and coddled child completely under thethumb of an extremely clever mother.
"Yes," he responded vaguely; "he'll be quite fit after a night's sleep, Idare say."
The woman was watching him keenly, beneath her lowered lashes. "I think,"she said deliberately, "that it is time we came to an understanding."
Kirkwood agreed--"Yes?" affably.
"I purpose being perfectly straightforward. To begin with, I don't placeyou, Mr. Kirkwood. You are an unknown quantity, a new factor. Won't youplease tell me what you are and.... Are you a friend of Mr. Calendar's?"
"I think I may lay claim to that honor, though"--to Kirkwood's way ofseeing things some little frankness on his own part would be essential ifthey were to get on--"I hardly know him, Mrs. Hallam. I had the pleasure ofmeeting him only this afternoon."
She knitted her brows over this statement.
"That, I assure you, is the truth," he laughed.
"But ... I really don't understand."
"Nor I, Mrs. Hallam. Calendar aside, I am Philip Kirkwood, American,resident abroad for some years, a native of San Francisco, of a certainage, unmarried, by profession a poor painter."
"And--?"
"Beyond that? I presume I must tell you, though I confess I'm in doubt...."He hesitated, weighing candor in the balance with discretion.
"But who are you for? Are you in George Calendar's pay?"
"Heaven forfend!"--piously. "My sole interest at the present moment is tounravel a most entrancing mystery--"
"Entitled 'Dorothy Calendar'! Of course. You've known her long?"
"Eight hours, I believe," he admitted gravely; "less than that, in fact."
"Miss Calendar's interests will not suffer through anything you may tellme."
"Whether they will or no, I see I must swing a looser tongue, or you'll beshowing me the door."
The woman shook her head, amused, "Not until," she told him significantly.
"Very well, then." And he launched into an abridged narrative of thenight's events, as he understood them, touching lightly on his owncircumstances, the real poverty which had brought him back to Craven Streetby way of Frognall. "And there you have it all, Mrs. Hallam."
She sat in silent musing. Now and again he caught the glint of her eyesand knew that he was being appraised with such trained acumen as onlylong knowledge of men can give to women. He wondered if he were foundwanting.... Her dark head bended, elbow on knee, chin resting lightly inthe cradle of her slender, parted fingers, the woman thought profoundly,her reverie ending with a brief, curt laugh, musical and mirthless as thesound of breaking glass.
"It is so like Calendar!" she exclaimed: "so like him that one sees howfoolish it was to trust--no, not to trust, but to believe that he couldever be thrown off the scent, once he got nose to ground. So, if we suffer,my son and I, I shall have only myself to thank!"
Kirkwood waited in patient attention till she chose to continue. When shedid "Now for my side of the case!" cried Mrs. Hallam; and rising, began topace the room, her slender and rounded figure swaying gracefully, the whileshe talked.
"George Calendar is a scoundrel," she said: "a swindler, gambler,--what Ibelieve you Americans call a confidence-man. He is also my late husband'sfirst cousin. Some years since he found it convenient to leave England,likewise his wife and daughter. Mrs. Calendar, a country-woman of yours, bythe bye, died shortly afterwards. Dorothy, by the merest accident, obtaineda situation as private secretary in the household of the late ColonelBurgoyne, of The Cliffs, Cornwall. You follow me?"
"Yes, perfectly."
"Colonel Burgoyne died, leaving his estates to my son, some time ago.Shortly afterwards Dorothy Calendar disappeared. We know now that herfather took her away, but then the disappearance seemed inexplicable,especially since with her vanish
ed a great deal of valuable information.She alone knew of the location of certain of the old colonel's personaleffects."
"He was an eccentric. One of his peculiarities involved the secreting ofvaluables in odd places; he had no faith in banks. Among these valuableswere the Burgoyne family jewels--quite a treasure, believe me, Mr.Kirkwood. We found no note of them among the colonel's papers, and withoutDorothy were powerless to pursue a search for them. We advertised andemployed detectives, with no result. It seems that father and daughter wereat Monte Carlo at the time."
"Beautifully circumstantial, my dear lady," commented Kirkwood--to hisinner consciousness. Outwardly he maintained consistently a pose ofimpassive gullibility.
"This afternoon, for the first time, we received news of the Calendars.Calendar himself called upon me, to beg a loan. I explained our difficultyand he promised that Dorothy should send us the information by themorning's post. When I insisted, he agreed to bring it himself, afterdinner, this evening.... I make it quite clear?" she interrupted, a littleanxious.
"Quite clear, I assure you," he assented encouragingly.
"Strangely enough, he had not been gone ten minutes when my son camein from a conference with our solicitors, informing me that at last amemorandum had turned up, indicating that the heirlooms would be found in asafe secreted behind a dresser in Colonel Burgoyne's bedroom."
"At Number 9, Frognall Street."
"Yes.... I proposed going there at once, but it was late and we were diningat the Pless with an acquaintance, a Mr. Mulready, whom I now recall as aformer intimate of George Calendar. To our surprise we saw Calendar and hisdaughter at a table not far from ours. Mr. Mulready betrayed some agitationat the sight of Calendar, and told me that Scotland Yard had a man out witha warrant for Calendar's arrest, on old charges. For old sake's sake, Mr.Mulready begged me to give Calendar a word of warning. I did so--foolishly,it seems: Calendar was at that moment planning to rob us, Mulready aidingand abetting him."
The woman paused before Kirkwood, looking down upon him. "And so," sheconcluded, "we have been tricked and swindled. I can scarcely believe it ofDorothy Calendar."
"I, for one, don't believe it." Kirkwood spoke quietly, rising. "Whateverthe culpability of Calendar and Mulready, Dorothy was only their hoodwinkedtool."
"But, Mr. Kirkwood, she must have known the jewels were not hers."
"Yes," he assented passively, but wholly unconvinced.
"And what," she demanded with a gesture of exasperation, "what would youadvise?"
"Scotland Yard," he told her bluntly.
"But it's a family secret! It must not appear in the papers. Don't youunderstand--George Calendar is my husband's cousin!"
"I can think of nothing else, unless you pursue them in person."
"But--whither?"
"That remains to be discovered; I can tell you nothing more than I have....May I thank you for your hospitality, express my regrets that I shouldunwittingly have been made the agent of this disaster, and wish you goodnight--or, rather, good morning, Mrs. Hallam?"
For a moment she held him under a calculating glance which he withstoodwith graceless fortitude. Then, realizing that he was determined not by anymeans to be won to her cause, she gave him her hand, with a commonplacewish that he might find his affairs in better order than seemed probable;and rang for Eccles.
The butler showed him out.
He took away with him two strong impressions; the one visual, of astrikingly handsome woman in a wonderful gown, standing under the red glowof a reading-lamp, in an attitude of intense mental concentration, herexpression plainly indicative of a train of thought not guiltless ofvindictiveness; the other, more mental but as real, he presently voiced tothe huge bronze lions brooding over desolate Trafalgar Square.
"Well," appreciated Mr. Kirkwood with gusto, "_she's_ got Ananias andSapphira talked to a standstill, all right!" He ruminated over this fora moment. "Calendar can lie some, too; but hardly with her picturesquetouch.... Uncommon ingenious, _I_ call it. All the same, there were onlyabout a dozen bits of tiling that didn't fit into her mosaic a littlebit.... I think they're all tarred with the same stick--all but the girl.And there's something afoot a long sight more devilish and crafty than thatshilling-shocker of madam's.... Dorothy Calendar's got about as much activepart in it as I have. I'm only from California, but they've got to showme, before I'll believe a word against her. Those infernalscoundrels!...Somebody's got to be on the girl's side and I seem to havedrawn the lucky straw.... Good Heavens! is it possible for a grown man tofall heels over head in love in two short hours? I don't believe it. It'sjust interest--nothing more.... And I'll have to have a change of clothesbefore I can do anything further."
He bowed gratefully to the lions, in view of their tolerant interest in hissoliloquy, and set off very suddenly round the square and up St. Martin'sLane, striking across town as directly as might be for St. Pancras Station.It would undoubtedly be a long walk, but cabs were prohibited by hisstraitened means, and the busses were all abed and wouldn't be astir forhours.
He strode along rapidly, finding his way more through intuition than byobservation or familiarity with London's geography--indeed, was scarceaware of his surroundings; for his brain was big with fine imagery, rapt ina glowing dream of knighterrantry and chivalric deeds.
Thus is it ever and alway with those who in the purity of young hearts rushin where angels fear to tread; if these, Kirkwood and his ilk, be fools,thank God for them, for with such foolishness is life savored and madesweet and sound! To Kirkwood the warp of the world and the woof of it wasRomance, and it wrapped him round, a magic mantle to set him apart fromall things mean and sordid and render him impregnable and invisible to thehaunting Shade of Care.
Which, by the same token, presently lost track of him entirely, andwandered off to find and bedevil some other poor devil. And Kirkwood, hiseyes like his spirit elevated, saw that the clouds of night were breaking,the skies clearing, that the East pulsed ever more strongly with thedim golden promise of the day to come. And this he chose to take for anomen--prematurely, it may be.
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