III

"HANDSOME DAN"

Standing in the middle of the road, watching the dust cloud that

trailed the fast disappearing motorcar, Mr. Maitland cut a figure

sufficiently forlorn and disconsolate to have distilled pity from the

least sympathetic heart.

His hands were thrust stiffly at full arm's length into his trousers

pockets: a rumpled silk hat was set awry on the back of his head; his

shirt bosom was sadly crumpled; above the knees, to a casual glance, he

presented the appearance of a man carefully attired in evening dress;

below, his legs were sodden and muddied, his shoes of patent-leather,

twin wrecks. Alas for jauntiness and elegance, alack for ease and

aplomb!

"Tricked," observed Maitland casually, and protruded his lower lip,

thus adding to the length of a countenance naturally long. "Outwitted

by a chit of a girl! Dammit!"

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

sorry failure.

"'Handsome Dan,'" quoted he; and cocking his head to one side eyed the

road inquiringly. "Where in thunder d'you suppose she got hold of

_that_ name?"

Bestowed upon him in callow college days, it had stuck burr-like for

many a weary year. Of late, however, its use had lapsed among his

acquaintances; he had begun to congratulate himself upon having lived

it down. And now it was resurrected, flung at him in sincerest mockery

by a woman whom, to his knowledge, he had never before laid eyes upon.

Odious appellation, hateful invention of an ingenious enemy!

"'Handsome Dan!' She must have known me all the time--all the time I

was making an exhibition of myself.... 'Wentworth'? I know no one of

that name. Who the dickens can she be?"

If it had not been contrary to his code of ethics, he would gladly have

raved, gnashed his teeth, footed the dance of rage with his shadow.

Indeed, his restraint was admirable, the circumstances considered. He

did nothing whatever but stand still for a matter of five minutes,

vainly racking his memory for a clue to the identity of "Miss

Wentworth."

At length he gave it up in despair and abstractedly felt for his

watch-fob. Which wasn't there. Neither, investigation developed, was

the watch. At which crowning stroke of misfortune,--the timepiece must

have slipped from his pocket into the water while he was tinkering with

that infamous carbureter,--Maitland turned eloquently red in the face.

"The price," he meditated aloud, with an effort to resume his pose, "is

a high one to pay for a wave of a grey glove and the echo of a pretty

laugh."

With which final fling at Fortune he set off again for Maitland Manor,

trudging heavily but at a round pace through the dust that soon settled

upon the damp cloth of his trousers legs and completed their ruination.

But Maitland was beyond being disturbed by such trifles. A wounded

vanity engaged his solicitude to the exclusion of all other interests.

At the end of forty-five minutes he had covered the remaining distance

between Greenfields station and Maitland Manor. For five minutes more

he strode wearily over the side-path by the box hedge which set aside

his ancestral acres from the public highway. At length, with an

exclamation, he paused at the first opening in the living barrier: a

wide entrance from which a blue-stone carriage drive wound away to the

house, invisible in the waning light, situate in the shelter of the

grove of trees that studded the lawn.

"Gasoline! Brrr!" said Maitland, shuddering and shivering with the

combination of a nauseous odor and the night's coolness--the latter by

now making itself as unpleasantly prominent as the former.

Though he hated the smell with all his heart, manfully inconsistent he

raised his head, sniffing the air for further evidence; and got his

reward in a sickening gust.

"Tank leaked," he commented with brevity. "Quart of the stuff must have

trickled out right here. Ugh! If it goes on at this rate, there'll be

another breakdown before she gets home." And, "Serve her right, too!"

he growled, vindictive.

But for all his indignation he acknowledged a sneaking wish that he

might be at hand again, in such event, a second time to give gratuitous

service to his grey lady.

Analyzing this frame of mind (not without surprise and some disdain of

him who weakly entertained it) he crossed the drive and struck in over

the lawn, shaping his course direct for the front entrance of the house.

By dead reckoning the hour was two, or something later; and a chill was

stealing in upon the land, wafted gently southward from Long Island

Sound. All the world beside himself seemed to slumber, breathless,

insensate. Wraith-like, grey shreds of mist drifted between the serried

boles of trees, or, rising, veiled the moon's wan and pallid face, that

now was low upon the horizon. In silent rivalry long and velvet-black

shadows skulked across the ample breadths of dew-drenched grass.

Somewhere a bird stirred on its unseen perch, chirping sleepily; and in

the rapt silence the inconsiderable interruption broke with startling

stress.

In time,--not long,--the house lifted into view: a squat, rambling

block of home-grown architecture with little to recommend it save its

keen associations and its comfort. At the edge of the woods the lord

and master paused indefinitely, with little purpose, surveying idly the

pale, columned facade, and wondering whether or not his entrance at

that ungodly hour would rouse the staff of house servants. If it did

not--he contemplated with mild amusement the prospect of their surprise

when, morning come, they should find the owner in occupation.

"Bannerman was right," he conceded; "any------" The syllables died upon

his lips; his gaze became fixed; his heart thumped wildly for an

instant, then rested still; and instinctively he held his breath,

tip-toeing to the edge of the veranda the better to command a view of

the library windows.

These opened from ceiling to floor and should by rights have presented

to his vision a blank expanse of dark glass. But, oddly enough, even

while thinking of his lawyer's warning, he had fancied.... "Ah!" said

Maitland softly.

A disk of white light, perhaps a foot or eighteen inches in diameter,

had flitted swiftly across the glass and vanished.

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

The light appeared again, dancing athwart the inner wall of the room,

and was lost as abruptly as before. On impulse Maitland buttoned his

top-coat across his chest, turning up the collar to hide his linen,

darted stealthily a yard or two to one side, and with one noiseless

bound reached the floor of the veranda. A breath later he stood by the

front door, where, at first glance, he discovered the means of entrance

used by the midnight marauder; the doors stood ajar, a black interval

showing between them.

So that, then, was the way! Cautiously Maitland put a hand upon the

knob and pushed.

A sharp, penetrating squeak brought him to an abrupt standstill, heart

hammering shamefully again. Gathering himself to spring, if need be, he

crept back toward the library windows, and reconnoitering cautiously

determined the fact that the bolts had just been withdrawn on the

inside of one window frame, which was swinging wide.

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

Maitland.

The sagacious one was not, apparently, leaving at that moment. On the

contrary, having made all things ready for a hurried flight upon the

first alarm, the intruder turned back, as was clearly indicated by the

motion of the light within. The clink of steel touching steel became

audible; and Maitland nodded. Bannerman was indeed justified; at that

very moment the safe was being attacked.

Maitland returned noiselessly to the door. His mouth had settled into a

hard, unyielding, thin line; and a dangerous light flickered in his

eyes. Temporarily the idler had stepped aside, giving place to the real

man that was Maitland--the man ready to fight for his own, naked hands

against firearms, if it need be. True, he had but to step into the

gun-room to find weapons in plenty; but these must be then loaded to be

of service, and precious moments wasted in the process--moments in

which the burglar might gain access to and make off with his booty.

Maitland had no notion whatever of permitting anything of the sort to

occur. He counted upon taking his enemy unawares, difficult as he

believed such a feat would be, in the case of a professional cracksman.

Down the hallway he groped his way to the library door, his fingers at

length encountering its panels; it was closed, doubtless secured upon

the inside; the slightest movement of the handle was calculated to

alarm the housebreaker. Maitland paused, deliberating another and

better plan, having in mind a short passageway connecting library and

smoking-room. In the library itself a heavy tapestry curtained its

opening, while an equally heavy portiere took the place of a door at

the other end. In the natural order of things a burglar would overlook

this.

Inch by inch the young man edged into the smoking-room, the door to

which providentially stood unclosed. Once within, it was but a moment's

work to feel his way to the velvet folds and draw them aside,

fortunately without rattling the brass rings from which the curtain

depended. And then Maitland was in the passage, acutely on the alert,

recognizing from the continued click of metal that his antagonist-to-be

was still at his difficult task. Inch by inch--there was the tapestry!

Very gently the householder pushed it aside.

An insidious aroma of scorching varnish (the dark lantern) penetrated

the passage while he stood on its threshold, feeling for the

electric-light switch. Unhappily he missed this at the first cast,

and--heard from within a quick, deep hiss of breath. Something had put

the burglar on guard.

Another instant wasted, and it would be too late. The young man had to

chance it. And he did, without further hesitation stepping boldly into

the danger-zone, at the same time making one final, desperate pass at

the spot where the switch should have been--and missing it. On the

instant there came a click of a different caliber from those that had

preceded it. A revolver had been cocked, somewhere there in the blank

darkness.

Maitland knew enough not to move. In another respect the warning came

too late; his fingers had found the switch at last, and automatically

had turned it. The glare was blinding, momentarily; but the flash and

report for which Maitland waited did not come. When his eyes had

adjusted themselves to the suddenly altered conditions, he saw,

directly before him and some six feet distant, a woman's slight figure,

dark cloaked, resolute upon its two feet, head framed in veiling,

features effectually disguised in a motor mask whose round, staring

goggles shone blankly in the warm white light.

On her part, she seemed to recognize him instantaneously. On his.... It

may as well be admitted that Maitland's wits were gone wool-gathering,

temporarily at least: a state of mind not unpardonable when it is taken

into consideration that he was called upon to grapple with and

simultaneously to assimilate three momentous facts. For the first time

in his life he found himself nose to nose with a revolver, and that one

of able bodied and respect-compelling proportions. For the first time

in his life, again, he was under necessity of dealing with a

housebreaker. But most stupefying of all he found the fact that this

housebreaker, this armed midnight marauder, was a woman! And so it was

not altogether fearlessness that made him to all intents and purposes

ignore the weapon; it is nothing to his credit for courage if his eyes

struck past the black and deadly mouth of the revolver and looked only

into the blank and expressionless eyes of the wind-mask; it was not

lack of respect for his skin's integrity, but the sheer, tremendous

wonder of it all, that rendered him oblivious to the eternity that lay

the other side of a slender, trembling finger-tip.

And so he stared, agape, until presently the weapon wavered and was

lowered and the woman's voice, touched with irony, brought him to his

senses.

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

Thunderstruck, he was able no more than to parrot the pronoun:

"_You--you_!"

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

in suavest mockery.

He lifted his shoulders helplessly, and tried to school his tongue to

coherence. "I confess.... Well, certainly I didn't count on finding you

here, Miss Wentworth. And the black cloak, you know--"

"Reversible, of course: grey inside, as you see--Handsome Dan!" The

girl laughed quietly, drawing aside an edge of the garment to reveal

its inner face of silken grey and the fluted ruffles of the grey skirt

underneath.

He nodded appreciation of the device, his mind now busy with

speculations as to what he should do with the girl, now that he had

caught her. At the same time he was vaguely vexed by her persistent

repetition of the obsolescent nickname.

"Handsome Dan," he iterated all but mechanically. "Why do you call me

that, please? Have we met before? I could swear, never before this

night!"

"But you are altogether too modest," she laughed. "Not that it's a bad

trait in the character of a professional.... But really! it seems a bit

incredible that any one so widely advertised as Handsome Dan Anisty

should feel surprise at being recognized. Why, your portrait and

biography have commanded space in every yellow journal in America

recently!"

And, dropping the revolver into a pocket in her cloak, "I was afraid

you might be a servant--or even Maitland," she diverted the subject,

with a nod.

"But--but if you recognized me as Anisty, back there by the ford,

didn't you suspect I'd drop in on you--"

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

here?"

"But--"

"I thought _perhaps_ I might get through before you came, Mr. Anisty;

but I knew all the time that, even if you did manage to surprise

me--er--on the job, you wouldn't call in the police." She laughed

confidently, and--oddly enough--at the same time nervously. "You are

certainly a very bold man, and as surely a very careless one, to run

around the way you do without so much as troubling to grow a beard or a

mustache, after your picture has been published broadcast."

Did he catch a gleam of admiration in the eyes behind the goggles?

"Now, if ever they get hold of _my_ portrait and print it.... Well!"

sighed the girl wickedly, lifting slim, bare fingers in affected

concern to the mass of ruddy hair, "in that event I suppose I shall

have to become a natural blonde!"

Her humor, her splendid fearlessness, the lightness of her tone,

combined with the half-laughing, half-serious look that she swept up at

him, to ease the tension of his emotions. For the first time since

entering the room, he smiled; then in silence for a time regarded her

steadfastly, thinking.

So he resembled this burglar, Anisty, strongly enough to be mistaken

for him--eh? Plainly enough the girl believed him to be Anisty....

Well, and why not? Why shouldn't he be Anisty for the time being, if it

suited his purpose so to masquerade?

It might possibly suit his purpose. He thought his position one

uncommonly difficult. As Maitland, he had on his hands a female thief,

a hardened character, a common malefactor (strange that he got so

little relish of the terms!), caught red-handed; as Maitland, his duty

was to hand her over to the law, to be dealt with as--what she was.

Yet, even while these considerations were urging themselves upon him,

he knew his eyes appraised her with open admiration and interest. She

stood before him, slight, delicate, pretty, appealing in her ingenuous

candor; and at his mercy. How could he bring himself to deal with her

as he might with--well, Anisty himself? She was a woman, he a gentleman.

As Anisty, however,--if he chose to assume that expert's identity for

the nonce,--he would be placed at once on a plane of equality with the

girl; from a fellow of her craft she could hardly refuse attentions. As

Anisty, he would put himself in a position to earn her friendship, to

gain--perhaps--her confidence, to learn something of her necessities,

to aid and protect her from the consequences of her misdeeds;

possibly--to sum up--to divert her footsteps to the paths of a calling

less hazardous and more honorable.

Worthy ambition: to reform a burglar! Maitland regained something of

his lost self-esteem, applauding himself for entertaining a motive so

laudable. And he chose his course, for better or worse, in these few

seconds. Thereby proving his incontestable title to the name and repute

of Mad Maitland.

His face lightened; his manner changed; he assumed with avidity the

rôle for which she had cast him and which he stood so ready to accept

and act.

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

up----"

"Oh, I know _you_," she assured him, with a little, confident shake of

her head. "There's no deceiving me. But," and her smile became rueful,

"if only you'd waited ten minutes more! Of course I recognized you from

the first--down there by the river; and knew very well what was

your--lay; you gave yourself away completely by mentioning the distance

from the river to the Manor. And I did so want to get ahead of you on

this job! What a feather in one's cap to have forestalled Dan

Anisty!... But hadn't you better be a little careful with those lights?

You seem to forget that there are servants in the house. Really, you

know, I find you most romantically audacious, Mr. Anisty--quite in

keeping with your reputation."

"You overwhelm me," he murmured. "Believe me, I have little conceit in

my fame, such as it is." And, crossing to the windows, he loosed the

heavy velvet hangings and let them fall together, drawing their edges

close so that no ray of light might escape.