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 from
Police 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 ascribe
Maitland's exclamation as due to surprise, regret, or relief. Which
pleased 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.