The Riddle and the Ring; or, Won by Nerve

by Gordon MacLaren

  "My dear landlady and Jim, whoever he may be," Lawrence murmured, as hestarted briskly south on the avenue. "I wish 'em the joy of their huntfor me. What an old harridan that woman is! She positively made myflesh creep when she was coming at me in the hall. Wonder what she wasafter?"

  He did not waste much thought on the matter, however. Very likely thewoman was drunk, and it was rather startling for her to encounter a manwho did not belong in the house. At all events, it was immaterial. Hehad managed to get out of the scrape successfully, so he devoted himselfto brushing off his coat and hat, and putting on his gloves, whilehastening toward the car line on Twenty-third Street.

  He was more than thankful for the whim which had caused him to wear asoft hat of black velour. It had stayed with him through all theexcitement of the evening, and now needed only a deft touch or two tomake it quite presentable.

  As the car bowled eastward at a good clip, Barry chuckled one or twiceat the thought of Joyce's discomfiture when driven back to the roof bythose piercing shrieks from Mrs. Kerr.

  "He'll be mad as a wet hen," he thought amusedly. "Serves him right,though, for trying such a game."

  Altogether, Barry was very much pleased with the way things had turnedout. While he had come no nearer to solving the mystery which seemed tosurround him, he had at least learned the lesson of caution, and itwould be an extremely difficult matter to catch him unawares as he hadbeen caught to-night.

  He was very much annoyed, of course, at having been forced to break hisengagement with Jock and the others, but that had not been his fault,and his explanation must appease them. It was only half past ten now,and perhaps he could get hold of the Yale man that night. Hamersleywould certainly be entertained by a recital of the evening'sexperiences.

  Entering the lobby of the St. Albans a little later, he was hurryingtoward the telephones with that idea in mind, when one of the clerksstopped him.

  "Just a moment, Mr. Lawrence," he called. "Here's a letter for you,which should have been delivered yesterday. It was sent to the St.Athol by mistake, and reached us after you went out this evening."

  Barry took the letter, and stared at the unfamiliar writing in a puzzledway. Then he tore open the envelope, and hastily took out the severalsheets of closely written note paper it contained. The next instant, ashe caught sight of the inclosure, his heart began to beat loudly andirregularly, flooding his face with flaming crimson.

  It was a crisp, new ten-dollar bill, and, though he turned the pageswith slightly trembling fingers to find the signature, it really was notnecessary. Deep down in his heart he knew that it was from ShirleyRives.

  *CHAPTER XXVII.*

  *THE LETTER.*

  For a moment or two Lawrence stood there staring at the name. Then,pulling himself together, he turned on his heel, and made for theelevator. Whatever the letter contained, it was impossible to read itdown there.

  Once in his sitting room, he switched on the lights, and, flinginghimself into a chair without even taking time to remove his coat,plunged into a perusal of the letter:

  MY DEAR MR. LAWRENCE: As I sit here in a perfectly charming boudoir,done in blue, with lovely old mahogany furniture, the things you saidlast night about the strangeness of chance come irresistibly back to me.I could not help but feel then that fate or destiny, or what you will,must have had something to do with bringing us together, and perhapsthat was why I let myself drift with the current in a manner which was,to say the least, decidedly unconventional. Really, you know, I'm notin the habit of taking supper and favors from men I've never seenbefore!

  The story you told of what had happened to you was unreal enough in allconscience, but never for an instant did I imagine when I left you thatsomething infinitely more extraordinary, something a thousand times moreimpossible, was coming to me.

  Lawrence started and frowned with perplexity; but he reflected thatscarcely anything could be unbelievable after what had alreadytranspired. He went on reading eagerly:

  It is much too long to put into writing. Besides, I have a notion thatI'd like to tell it to you, so I'll only give you enough to whet yourappetite and stir your curiosity.

  I went into that house on Forty-eighth Street despairing,hopeless--perhaps not quite so hopeless as I had been two hours before;but, still, I had little enough to hope for. I tried my best to keepyou from seeing how utterly miserable I was and how completely at mywits' end, but I think you guessed something of it in spite of myefforts.

  I was there for less than ten minutes, then I came away in a privatebrougham with a woman I had never seen before. There were two men onthe box. Inside there were furs--soft, luxurious furs--into which onecould snuggle down and be warm at last. There was some sort of electricheating apparatus, and I could smell the perfume of roses clustered in ahanging vase. Do you wonder that I thought of Cinderella and thepumpkin coach, and was afraid it would all vanish into nothing?

  We drove to a splendid house on the avenue, and there I was made to goto bed at once in a wonderful, carved, four-poster, with silk hangings.This morning it was still there; it had not vanished in the night. Ihad not dreamed it, or, if I had, I am dreaming still.

  Lawrence laughed aloud; but he wondered if he himself were not dreaming.But he finished the letter with no lessening of interest:

  At first I went about in a sort of daze, but, little by little, I'mbecoming convinced that it is real. We have been shopping all morning,and somehow the quantities of lovely clothes which are constantlyarriving are not like dream clothes. There is a dance, to-night, too.Fancy going to a dance again! That's almost the most impossible thingof all. It isn't really so long since the last one, but I feel as if Ihad lived a thousand years since then.

  Isn't it stranger than any fairy tale? Do you wonder that I feel as ifthis wasn't Shirley Rives at all, but some one else? And, stranger thananything else is the fact that I owe it all to you and your helping methrough the "Gates of Chance" last night. If I had come straight toSally's, as I meant to, nothing would have happened. If we had not metin the square, if we had not lingered at the restaurant, even, nothingwould have happened. If one single thing had occurred to vary the timeof my reaching the house by five short minutes, there would be nothingto tell you now.

  I know I'm perfectly hateful not to give away the secret--you see, I'mtaking it for granted that you are a little curious about it--but I havea selfish desire to tell it to you; to try and show you something of howstrange and wonderful and utterly staggering it has all been to me. I'msure you'll let me, won't you--soon? Sincerely yours, SHIRLEY RIVES.

  Below the girl's signature was written the address of a house in themost exclusive section of Fifth Avenue, a section where dwelt onlypeople of great wealth, and usually of equally great social position.

  Lawrence stared at it, his face dazed and bewildered. Then he turnedback to the first sheet, and read the letter slowly through to the veryend again. It was utterly baffling and incomprehensible, yet through itall there ran a strain of perfect truth and high-minded sweetness whichwas unmistakable. The realization of this, coupled with a remembranceof what he had once tried to make himself believe about Shirley Rives,brought a rush of color to his cheeks, and an expression of shame intohis pleasant face.

  "She's true-blue to the very core," he murmured at length. "I can'timagine what sort of luck it is that's come to her; the whole businesssounds like a tale from the 'Arabian Nights.' But I know one thing--Iwas the biggest fool in all creation ever to have doubted her for asecond."

  He glanced again at the end of the letter, and a swift smile curved hissensitive lips.

  "Will I come and let her tell me all about it?" he said aloud. "Will I?And soon? Well, I guess yes!"

  *CHAPTER XXVIII.*

  *THE HOUSE ON THE AVENUE.*

  Though he tried his house and one or two other places where JockHamersley was likely to be
at this hour, Lawrence was unable to get hisfriend on the phone. Somehow, he was not altogether sorry. Hecertainly owed an apology and some sort of reparation to the men he hadbeen forced to leave in the lurch in this abrupt, seemingly ill-manneredfashion, but he was just as well pleased to have it all put off untilto-morrow. With a mind full of Shirley Rives and her extraordinaryletter, he did not particularly fancy the idea of doing anything butjust sit there in his room and think it all over.

  Having taken off his things, and made himself comfortable, he read herletter over for the third time, gaining nothing from this perusal savean intense desire to see the girl as soon as he could, and hear from herown lips the details of the amazing good fortune which had come soopportunely.

  Of course, it could not be stranger than his own experiences during thepast three days; but the manner in which it had followed so close uponthe heels of that, brought again to Barry that odd feeling of being inthe grip of circumstance, the conviction that fate was molding her lifeas well as his, without consulting either of them even in the smallestdetail.

  "I suppose it wouldn't be at all the thing to call there in themorning," he thought impatiently, as he was getting into bed, long aftermidnight. "Hang it all! I don't see how I'm going to restrain myselfuntil the conventional hour."

  While he was breakfasting the next morning, however, he resolved to setconvention at defiance for this once, at least. Almost as fervent ashis desire to hear Miss Rives' story was his eagerness to set himselfright with her. He did not wish her to labor an hour longer than wasabsolutely necessary under the impression that his failure to call inanswer to her letter was due to any possible lack of interest on hispart. He must see her this morning, and so he determined to send upsome flowers with his card, and the intimation that he would followhimself in an hour or so.

  On his way out he stopped at the desk to obtain some more money from thewallet he had left in the safe. He had done this every morning, butnow, as he opened it, the realization came to him for the first timethat his supply was growing low. The thousand dollars had been placedin one compartment, leaving his expense money in another, and, as hetook out about a hundred dollars, he was astonished to find howcomparatively little was left. He was not conscious of having beenespecially extravagant, but he had obeyed the unknown donor'sinjunctions to the letter, and had not spared expense.

  "By Jove!" he muttered, as he left the hotel and walked toward FifthAvenue. "I'll have to go slow, or I'll be dipping into my capital.It's astonishing how money melts away on comparatively little things. Imust begin to economize."

  Evidently he did not mean to begin quite at once, however. He made hisway directly to an expensive flower shop on the avenue, where heselected a huge box of very costly roses, wrote a line on his card, andordered them sent at once to Miss Rives. As he left the shop heconsoled himself for the flatness of his bill case by the reflectionthat this was a private matter, which could be paid out of his ownmoney.

  The hour and a half which followed seemed to pass on leaden wings.Barry had never known a period of time to drag so boringly. He couldnot enjoy his morning walk, and, though he had several errands to do,which ordinarily would have consumed the better part of an hour, itseemed as if the salesmen were conspiring to attend to his wants withpositively supernatural briskness.

  "If I were in a hurry," he thought crossly, "I'd cool my heels in eachstore for fifteen or twenty minutes. That's always the way when youwant to kill time."

  At length, when the hands of his watch had crept around to eleven, Barrysquared his shoulders with a determined gesture, and, making his wayswiftly through from Broadway to the Waldorf cab stand, procured a taxiwhich deposited him less than ten minutes later before a very imposingresidence up in the seventies, facing the park.

  And, now that he was actually here, and the taxi dismissed, a sudden,curious timidity began to besiege Lawrence. The marble front, with itsheavy, ornamental carvings, was almost oppressive in its atmosphere ofwealth and exclusiveness. The wonderfully wrought bronze grille whichguarded the imposing approach, even though one of the doors was flungback, revealing the elaborate mosaic of the square entrance, seemedfashioned for the sole purpose of excluding the presumptuous strangerwho sought admission.

  The amazing contrast between this palatial residence and the desperate,homeless girl he had encountered in Madison Square little more thanforty-eight hours before, struck Barry anew with startling force, andmade him hesitate at the foot of the broad, shallow sweep of marblesteps.

  A dozen doubts and questions flashed through his mind in that briefpause. Then, with a swift, characteristic flinging back of his head, hethrust them from him in a flash.

  "What a fool I am!" he muttered angrily. "I swore I'd never doubt heragain, and I won't."

  A second later he reached the entrance, and firmly pressed the electricbutton.

  *CHAPTER XXIX.*

  *LAWRENCE PLEADS.*

  Almost on the instant of Lawrence's ringing the bell, the door was swungopen by a footman in rich, quiet livery, who stood aside while Barryentered, and, having closed the door, led the way down the paneled hall.

  "Is Miss Rives at home?" Lawrence asked briefly.

  "This way, if you please," said the footman noncommittally, indicating atiny elevator hidden behind hangings of rich damask.

  The car ascended noiselessly, and Lawrence stepped out into a wide hall,the walls of which were lined with tapestries, while underfoot wereheavy Persian rugs, laid upon some sort of matting which made them thickand soft as velvet. The footman took Barry's card, and, crossingnoiselessly to a doorway, drew aside the hangings.

  "Will you wait in the drawing-room, sir?" he murmured.

  The room which Barry entered was long and lofty, and almost oppressivein its wealth of furnishings. The richly carved mantel of mellow Caenmarble looked as if it might have been transported entire from someFrench chateau. The walls were hung with tapestries, while here andthere a wonderful painting gave relief with its gorgeous coloring andthe richness of its carved frame. The chairs, tables, cabinets, andother pieces of furniture which filled the great room were antiques ofrare beauty and value; while scattered everywhere were carved ivories,miniatures, exquisite old silver, and wonderful porcelain in suchbewildering array that Barry decided it would take weeks properly toexamine and appreciate each separate piece.

  The room was filled with flowers in great bowls and vases, and the airwas heavy with their fragrance. Lawrence was wondering whether hisroses were among the masses of lilies and violets, when the soft swishof trailing garments brought him hurriedly to his feet just as thevelvet hangings were parted and Shirley Rives stood on the threshold.

  "It was very nice of you to come, Mr. Lawrence," she said as he sprangforward to greet her; "and your roses are charming."

  "It's you who are nice to receive me at such an hour," Barry returnedquickly. "I know I should have restrained my impatience until thisafternoon, but your letter only came last night--it was sent first tothe St. Athol--and I simply couldn't wait." He hesitated, looking downinto her eyes, and a slow flush crept into his face. "You see," he wenton bravely, "I was at Sherry's myself on Tuesday night."

  For a second she stared at him in astonishment. "At the dance?" sheexclaimed. "Why, I never----"

  "Of course you didn't," Lawrence returned swiftly. "I came away verysoon."

  "But you saw me?"

  Her tone was perplexed, and a tiny, puzzled wrinkle had leaped into hersmooth, low forehead. Then, as Barry nodded, a sudden gleam ofcomprehension flashed into her dark eyes.

  "You saw me!" she exclaimed, in an odd voice. "And my letter neverreached you until last night! What must you have thought? But come;let's sit down and talk comfortably."

  She moved gracefully across the room to a great carved chair near one ofthe windows. Lawrence drew up another chair and sat down. For a secondor two neither of them spoke; then the girl bent forward a
little, herchin resting on one hand.

  "Well," she questioned, "tell me what you thought?"

  The flush had deepened in his face, and his muscular, well-shapedfingers were lacing and interlacing, an unconscious key to theperturbation of his mind. Now that he had seen her again, his folly athaving doubted her seemed more utterly absurd and idiotic than ever. Hehated desperately to tell her the truth, yet he knew he must. Thesooner it was over the better.

  "I was a fool!" he said brusquely. "I thought you had been making sportof me. I thought you had made up that whole story for a lark. Irealized long before your letter came that such a thing was impossible;but at the dance I was simply stunned. I had just come from the houseon Forty-eighth Street, where they told me you had never been there.Your friend, Miss Barton, said she had not seen you in months, and,after what you----"

  The girl started slightly. "Of course!" she murmured. "I forgot allabout Sally. But surely Mrs. Weston must have----"

  "She was away. I didn't see her. The maid said you weren't there, andcertainly hadn't been there overnight. Miss Barton knew nothingwhatever about you. It looked as if the earth had opened and swallowedyou up, so you can imagine my feelings when I caught sight of you at thedance. When I left you the night before, you hadn't a friend in thecity but this stenographer, or a cent----"

  "You forget the ten dollars," she murmured demurely, her long lashessweeping her cheeks as she played with a jeweled chain hanging from herneck.