Knowing that the number of the four-wheeler was 872, it was not a
difficult matter to begin the inquiry. But to secure any real
information--that was different. The driver, a respectable albeit
somewhat thick-headed Irishman, could offer only vague recollections of
his business for the night of November 16th. He had been lucky enough
to secure several fares, but there had been nothing in the appearance
of any of his passengers to attract his attention. A gentleman in
evening dress with his head tied up in a black bag and accompanied by a
man wearing a red fez! Certainly he would have taken notice of anything
like THAT. "Niver in my cab," asseverated honest Mulvihill. "I've been
hacking it for twenty years and carried some quare cargoes. But of that
sort--no, sorr!"
Clearly there was nothing to be learned from the cabman, and he was
undoubtedly sincere in his protestations. The little peculiarities of
costume that had originally caught my eye were obviously unsuited for
public wear. The fez and the black bag had probably been brought into
use after the men of mystery had entered the cab, and it was only
through the accident of the suddenly released window-shade that Esper
Indiman and I had seen what we did. "No thoroughfare" stood out plainly
on this particular road. Then the humor took me to try conclusions with
Chance herself, the method a la Indiman. I chucked a silver dollar to
the cabman. "Whatever it's worth to you in time and distance," I said.
"Don't ask me any questions--go as you please."
Hackman Mulvihill was a humorist in his way and he wanted to spare his
horse. Six times in succession we made the circuit of Madison Square
and never once off the walk. I was on the point of protesting, but I
remembered the rules of the game and held my tongue. Finally, we
started down-town by way of Fourth Avenue. Near Sixteenth Street and
Union Square the cab pulled up to the curb, an intimation that my
chartered voyage was over.
"And now which way?" I inquired, smilingly.
Mr. Mulvihill regarded me with compassionate and somewhat unflattering
interest. "Be glory!" he said, frankly, "it's Bellevue that ye'll be
wanting afore long, and badly, too. Come, now, jist jump in again and
I'll rowl ye up there quiet and peaceable like. A touch of liver, sorr.
I know how it takes them. Maning a drop too much of the 'red-eye,'" he
added, under his breath. "Quiet, there, Noddy, ye black divil."
It was with some difficulty that I convinced this good Samaritan of my
mental and physical equilibrium. Finally he drove off, wagging his head
doubtfully.
"But which way?" I shouted after him. He would not answer in words, but
pointed eastward with his whip-stock. Eastward then it was.
Between Union Square and Second Avenue there are several blocks of
dwelling-houses--a once fashionable and still highly respectable
residential neighborhood. The particular street does not matter, but I
was proceeding in the general direction of Stuyvesant Square and had
crossed Third Avenue.
Being on the lower or shady side it was something of a surprise to
receive a flash of sunlight directly in the eye. I stepped back. On the
pavement at my feet there floated a blot of quivering yellow light; it
danced directly towards me, and again I was blinded by its dazzle.
The reflection from a mirror, of course, but it took me several minutes
to determine its location.
Ah, there it was--a peculiar combination, in polished copper, of triple
glasses fixed to the sill of a second-story window in the house
directly opposite. The device is in common use in Philadelphia and
Baltimore, but here in New York it must be classed as an exotic. Its
very name is unfamiliar, and I dub it the "Philadelphia Quizzing-Glass"
for want of a better term. You understand, of course, that the mirrors
are hinged together and adjustable to any angle. It is consequently
possible for an observer sitting in the room to remain entirely out of
sight and yet command a view of all that passes in the street below. An
ingenious contrivance, then, for keeping one's self informed upon the
business of the neighborhood. But New-Yorkers, if not less inquisitive,
are more energetic than their Quaker cousins, and prefer the direct
method of leaning out of the window, or, if need be, going down into
the street itself. Still, there is something to be said for the
"quizzing-glass," for we may look upon it as the range-finder of the
domestic fortress, forewarning us of the approach of the bore and the
process-server. Obviously, the ability to look round a corner may save
us from many of the minor complications that embitter modern life.
I was under surveillance--that was certain. Now, should I submit to the
impertinence? It was easy to put an end to it by walking away. But I
had aspired to be a disciple of Esper Indiman, gentleman adventurer,
and here was a chance to take out a letter of marque on my own
account--one must look Fortune in the face to catch her smile. And so I
stood there immovable, until the dazzle in my eyes cleared away
signifying that the ordeal was at an end. Then I lifted my hat and
walked on, taking note of the house number--23l.
The next day, Wednesday, it rained, but Thursday was clear, and it was
inevitable that I should pay a second visit to the house of the
quizzing-glass, as I had mentally christened it. Again I submitted to a
long scrutiny. Evidently the result was satisfactory, for the door of
the house was opened and a man ran quickly down the steps and came
towards me. He was a small man with an Oriental cast of features and he
wore a red fez. It sounds incredible, I admit, but such was the fact.
He addressed me civilly, but in somewhat imperfect English.
"Morning, sar. It is a fine walk-day."
"Delightful," I assented.
"My mistress, sar--the Lady Allegra--she will be obligated of the honor
to have your company dinner. You have no engagement anticipatory?" He
stood with his head cocked a trifle to one side, smiling amiably.
"To-night?" I asked.
"That, sar, is my counselment. To-night, at clock nine."
"Very good. I'll be here."
Red-Fez shook his head deprecatingly. Finally, and after much
circumlocution, I gathered that I was not expected at No. 231. My
instructions were simply to be in waiting at the Worth Monument in
Madison Square at half-after eight; for the rest Red-Fez would hold
himself responsible. And upon this understanding we parted.
"The Lady Allegra," I said, under my breath, as I walked home. "The
Lady Allegra."
Up to this point I had kept my own counsel, but now I felt it my duty
to make a confidant of Indiman. He listened to my story with grave
attention.
"It promises well--decidedly so," admitted Indiman. "Confound it! If it
were not for this unlucky accident of a sprained ankle--" and he
glanced ruefully at his injured limb encased in its plaster-of-Paris
form.
"I like the name," I went on, somewhat irrelevantly. "The Lady Allegra."
"There are possibilities in it," assented Indiman, grumpily. "Will you
hand me my solitaire cards--and, for Heaven's sake! stop kicking the
lacquer off the andirons."
"Oh, I beg your pardon."
"Of course you understand what I mean. It isn't the andirons, but the
sight of your aggressively vigorous legs that moves me to childish
wrath. To be tied down here like a trussed pigeon! Better leave me to
my solitaire. I'll be more civilized after luncheon." Whereupon I
smiled and went out.
Half-past eight o'clock; the Worth Monument; Red-Fez in a four-wheeler;
the carefully drawn window-curtains; the production of the black silk
bag with which to envelop my head--it all happened in accordance with
the playbill. At first I tried to keep some idea of distance and
direction, but I soon got confused and had to give it up. I could only
conjecture that the course was a long one, for I heard a clock striking
nine just as the cab stopped, and our pace had been a rapid one.
"Thisaway, sar," whispered my guide, and I yielded to the gentle
pressure of his hand on my arm. The street door closed behind me, I
felt myself guided up a pair of stairs, a sharp turn to the right, and
we had arrived. But where? Then I realized that the black silk bag had
been removed from my head and I was free to use my eyes. An ironical
permission, truly, for I found myself in absolute darkness. Strain my
vision as I might, not a ray of light met the sensitive surface of the
retina. The blackness stood about me like a wall, immaterial,
doubtless, but none the less impenetrable.
Deprived of sight, every mental faculty was instantly concentrated upon
the single sense of hearing. My conductor had left me. There was the
sound of a closing door and of padded foot-falls that trailed off into
nothingness; then silence.
Out of the void came a sharp click as of a well-oiled gun-lock. It was
followed by the first notes of a piano-forte accompaniment. A soprano
voice began singing Schubert's "Fischermadchen." What a delicious
timbre! The clear resonance of a crystal bell.
The beautiful melody ceased, but still I seemed to hear the faint,
sweet overtones born of its final breath, thin auditory flames that
flickered for an instant against the blank wall of the subconscious
sense, and then in their turn were gone. Entranced and motionless, I
waited.
A sudden burst of light flooded the room, the radiation being indirect
and proceeding from electroliers sunken behind the ceiling cornice. The
apartment was of medium size, evidently the middle one of the ordinary
series of three rooms characteristic of New York City houses, and it
was furnished most simply--merely a table of Flemish oak with two
leather-backed chairs to match and some rugs. The walls and door spaces
were hung with red velvet draperies, which contrasted brilliantly with
the gorgeous, gold-leafed plastic-work of the cornices and ceiling. A
convex mirror, framed in massive silver gilt, hung on the side wall. A
second look showed that it was really a bull's-eye of crackled glass,
opal-tinted and translucent. It glowed as though illumined by some
inward fire (doubtless a concealed electric-light bulb), and the
shifting play of iridescent color was exquisitely beautiful. One could
compare it only with an imprisoned rainbow. I looked and wondered.
"I have kept you waiting. A thousand apologies," said a voice at my
back. I turned to face a gentleman who must have entered from the front
room; so at least the draperies, still slightly swaying, attested. A
tall man, gray-haired, and of an extraordinary thinness--a caricature
of Don Quixote himself, if such a thing were possible.
"The Lady Allegra," he went on, "is unfortunately indisposed. She begs
me to tender her apologies and regrets. I am her ladyship's resident
physician, and my name is Gonzales." His eyes, hidden behind smoked
glasses, examined me attentively.
I murmured some words of conventional regrets, and, truth to tell, I
was bitterly disappointed. I turned as though to go.
"It is the Lady Allegra's wish that you should dine here this evening,"
continued Dr. Gonzales. "Solus, it is true, but the disappointment is a
mutual one; of that you may be assured." Again I bowed and intimated my
willingness to obey.
The dining-room was an apartment of unusual size, panelled in Santo
Domingo mahogany, the rich color of the wood standing in admirable
contrast to the dark-green, watered silk with which the walls were
covered. A magnificent tapestry, representing Dido's hunting-party in
honor of AEneas, filled nearly the whole of one side wall, and on the
chimney-breast opposite hung a mirror similar in appearance to that in
the drawing-room. The illumination of the room was peculiar but
effective--four bronze female figures, each holding in her hands a
globe of translucent glass through which a mellow radiance diffused
itself.
The table, large enough to accommodate King Arthur and his knights, was
beautifully set with plate and crystal, but only two covers had been
laid. Red-Fez, who had now assumed the functions of a butler, showed me
to my place, and then took up his stand behind the empty chair of his
mistress. The two serving-men began immediately upon their duties.
It was an extraordinary repast, for to both my eye and my palate the
viands were utterly unknown. In fact, every dish had as its basis a
peculiar substance that in appearance faintly suggested isinglass. But
it had no taste, that I could discover, other than the flavor
communicated to it by the various sauces and dressings with which it
was served. It appeared first in the soup, and then, omitting the fish
course, I recognized it as the foundation of an excellent vol-au-vent.
It served again as a substitute for meat, compressed and moulded in the
form of French chops. There was even a passable imitation of a green
goose. I had a slice from the breast, and it tasted very well. The
philosophers tell us that there is an infinite power in suggestion.
That may account, in part at least, for the complacency with which I
accepted these remarkable perversions of the ordinary menu. If ideas
are the only realities, my green goose might have come straight from
Washington Market itself.
The two vegetables, cauliflower an gratin and boiled potatoes, were
good to look at and good to eat, although neither of them had ever seen
a garden. There was a salad, too, with an incomparable dressing.
Finally, an excellent pudding. The wines and mineral waters, the
liqueurs and the coffee, were genuine. The fantastic cuisine of my
hostess extended only to the solid portions of the repast, and for this
I was secretly thankful. I don't like chemical burgundies, and the
"health-food" mochas and javas are only surprisingly good imitations of
exceedingly bad coffee.
The chair opposite me remained unfilled, but each course was served at
the cover as scrupulously as though the Lady Allegra were actually
present. It made me feel a trifle uncomfortable at the first--the sight
of that vacant chair set back a little from the table, the napkin half
unfolded, the full wineglasses, the plate with its untouched food. And
once, when the foot-man offered the cauliflower to my invisible
vis-a-vis, it seemed as though she declined it. The man hesitated a
second and then passed on without putting a portion on the plate. For
the moment I was foolish enough to contemplate a similar refusal, but I
reconsidered--I am very fond of cauliflower.
At the conclusion of dinner I took my cigar into the red drawing-room.
The lights had been lowered, and only the opalescent bull's-eye glowed
with undiminished brilliancy. I sat staring at it, and the outrageous
perplexity of the situation began to get on my nerves. I must get out
of here, and I half rose. Then I sank back, forgetting everything but
that marvellous voice. Again the Lady Allegra was singing, and could I
doubt that it was for me! David's "Charmant Oiseau," and then the gay
little gavotte from "Manon."
What an astonishing repertoire--Chaminade, Schumann, Grieg, Richard
Strauss. Finally Schubert, and Schubert only, the last and the best
given, as it is meet, to him who is the master of all. The
rainbow-tinted orb of the wall mirror continued to hold my eyes; they
drooped and fell as the radiance grew fainter and yet fainter.
When I awoke Red-Fez was standing at the bedside, hot-water can in
hand. "Morning, sar," he said, with gentle affability. "Will you permit
me to shaver you?"
I jumped out of bed and went to the window. It was closed, although a
ventilator at the top admitted plenty of the outside air, and the glass
was of the opaque bull's-eye variety through which it is impossible to
see. I tried to throw up the sash, but it would not budge.
I submitted in silence to the ministrations of Red-Fez, not choosing to
enter into any discussion with a servant. But I was sorely tempted to
protest when he proceeded to array me in an extraordinary robe of
cardinal silk in lieu of the ordinary masculine habiliments. Certainly
I could not leave the house enveloped in this ridiculous garment. My
dress clothes would have been bad enough, but there was no trace of
them to be seen. Evidently I should have to call Dr. Gonzales to
account, and having descended to the now familiar red drawing-room, I
sent Red-Fez with a request for an immediate audience. A few minutes
later he appeared.
"Am I a prisoner here?" I asked, abruptly.
"You await the Lady Allegra's pleasure," he answered, imperturbably.
"She is still indisposed. Possibly by to-night, but I cannot say
definitely."
"I do not wish--"
"Chut!" he interrupted, irritably. "It is a matter not of your wishes
but of her will. That is inevitable. Can you not understand?"
I looked at the immovable figures of two footmen at the door and then
walked out to breakfast. An excellent meal it was, although I
recognized that the food was only an ingenious variation upon the theme
of the night before; that mysterious substance resembling isinglass was
the basis of everything set before me. It was the same with luncheon
and again at dinner. And, as on the previous night, it was an empty
chair that confronted me. Well, what did it matter, after all. Can you
even imagine what Schubert's "Linden-Tree" might be when perfectly sung?
Is it an hallucination, then, that possesses me--some subtle
disturbance of the nerve-centres sapping the sources of will-power,
enfeebling even the physical energies? I do not know. Sometimes I am
ashamedly conscious that I do not greatly care. It is now a week since
I entered this house, and I have made but one attempt to reassert my
personal rights. Yesterday a sudden passion of resolution seized me; at
all hazards I must break the bonds imposed upon me by this invisible
enchantress. As I passed the door leading to the red drawing-room I put
my fingers in my ears--Ulysses and the sirens. But when I reached the
lower hall I walked plump into Dr. Gonzales, who fixed me with a
penetrating look. "Go back!" he said, authoritatively. "The Lady
Allegra sings--and for you." I listened; it was, "Ah, fors e lui."
I divide my time between the library on the third floor and the red
drawing-room, where the strange beauty of the opal-tinted mirror holds
me possessed for hours together. Remember that the Lady Allegra still
maintains her tantalizing role of inviolable seclusion. It is through
her voice alone that she impresses her personality upon my senses. That
seems ridiculous, does it not? But then you have not heard her sing
"Ah, fors e lui."
Yet, after all, the end came quickly. I shall be equally succinct in my
chronicle of the events leading up to it.
As usual I had dined alone, and had afterwards submitted to the
customary examination at the hands of Dr. Gonzales. Why he should deem
it necessary to take my pulse and temperature and then ascertain my
weight and power of grip with such scrupulous exactitude I never
troubled to inquire. Indeed, it seemed such a puerile proceeding that I
have hitherto refrained from even mentioning it. To-night he seemed
ill-pleased with the results of his investigation. "You are losing
weight," he said, severely, "and you don't begin to grip within ten
pounds of what you registered a week ago."
"What does it matter?" I answered, as indifferently as I felt.
"You ought to eat more. No steam without fuel."
"I am not hungry."
"Bah!" he snorted, indignantly. "It is always the same story. Another
failure! But no, I will not suffer it. Sooner than that I will have you
penned and stuffed as though you were a Strasburg goose." But I only
laughed at his petulance and walked on to the drawing-room.
I laughed, I say, and yet I had begun vaguely to realize that something
was wrong. My head felt strangely light. I stumbled over a corner of
the rug, and would have fallen out of pure weakness if I had not caught
at the table for support. My respiration seemed more rapid than usual
and the sweat from the slight exertion beaded my forehead. Then I
forgot everything but that the Lady Allegra had begun to sing.
The desire, the impulse, they had crystallized into resolution. I would
wait no longer. This very night the walls of the fortress should fall,
unveiling the secret of this insolent loveliness, the desire of all the
world. Ah, my lady Allegra, was it chance alone that led you to choose
Isolde's "Liebestod" for this the supreme enchantment?
The music fell away into nothingness and I stepped forward, my hand on
the knob of the folding-doors that led to the front room. I knocked
twice--firmly, insistently. "Open!" I cried, and immediately the
door-knob yielded to my touch.
"Stop!"
Dr. Gonzales stood at the hall entrance to the drawing-room. I saw
something that gleamed like polished metal in his uplifted hand. Then
he fell back and disappeared. It seemed as though some invisible force
behind the portiere had taken sudden and irresistible possession of
him. What did I care. I went forward and into the room, absolutely
empty save for an upright cabinet of mahogany placed on a central
pedestal. It was tall enough to conceal a person standing behind it,
but it was not the Lady Allegra who came forward to meet me.
"Indiman!" I said, weakly. "Esper Indiman!"
"The carriage is waiting," he said. "Come."
"Never!" I retorted, passionately. "You don't understand--the
Lady--Allegra--"
Well, I suppose I must have fainted from sheer inanition, and so
Indiman explained it himself that next morning.
"You had been half starved for over a week, and no wonder you keeled
over. No; you can't have another mouthful of that beef-steak. You'll
have to wait for luncheon."
I sank back among the cushions of the couch rather resentfully. "Well,
at least you can go on and tell me," I said.
"Certainly. There are cranks of all degrees, as you know. It was your
luck to fall into the hands of one of the king-pins of the
confraternity--Dr. Ferdinand Gonzales, alias Moses the Second.
"He wanted a new subject for his experiments upon the physical
regeneration of the human race, and he caught you in his drag-net. It
was a close call for you, old chap."
"I don't understand."
"You have been starving to death for ten days, and yet eating three
meals a day right along. Nothing peculiar about that, eh?"
"It WAS rather curious stuff. It looked like isinglass."
"Perhaps it is. All I care about is the fact that the food you have
been eating doesn't contain a particle of nourishment for the human
system. But Moses the Second imagined that he had invented, or rather
rediscovered, the one perfect nutriment for the race--nothing less than
manna."
"Manna!"
"Don't you remember the manna in the wilderness, the children of
Israel, and the forty years they fed upon it. Dr. Gonzales, who was
really a fine chemist before he went dotty, got the idee fixe that all
human ills were due to improper food. He tackled the problem, at first
scientifically, but later on he had a vision that he was really the
reincarnation of the Prophet Moses. Moses and manna--the connection is
obvious and the secret was soon in his possession. He manufactured the
stuff in his own laboratory and lived on it himself--at least to the
verge of physical extinction. Then he went gunning for subjects, and
you know the rest. The rubbish fills you up without nourishing you, and
what you lived on was really stimulants alone--the wine and coffee."
"But will you tell me--how did you chance to find--"
"For the first few days I didn't dream of interfering--it was your own
adventure. But on Monday--that's yesterday, you know--I determined to
look things up a bit. So I walked into No. 231 and scared Mr. Red-Fez
into a few plain truths. His real name is Dawson, you know."
"Yes."
"It was simply an immensely improved sort of phonograph that Gonzales
had invented. None of the harshness and squeakiness of tone that you
associate with the ordinary instrument. Partly a new method of making
the records and partly a system of qualifying chambers that refine and
purify the tones. It is wonderful enough to deceive anybody, and, of
course, he had all his records ready to hand."
"Then the Lady Allegra, the Lady Allegra--"
"'Vox et preterea nihil,'" quoted Indiman. He left the room quietly,
and I lay there on the lounge staring up at the ceiling. "'Vox et
preterea nihil.'"
Two months have passed and I am slowly recuperating in body and mind.
But there are some things not to be forgotten--for instance, "Ah, fors
e lui," when sung by the most beautiful voice in all the world.
Indiman proposes that we shall go to the Utinam Club, dine, and spend
the night. Well, we don't often indulge in that rather questionable
amusement, although we are accustomed to use the club freely throughout
the daytime. All the more reason, then, that once in a while--I need a
distraction and there are some interesting psychological
deductions--But hang casuistry; it is enough to say that we did go.
It is undeniably pleasant to be sitting here in the club dining-room
sharing a ruddy duck and a bottle of burgundy. Yes, and to feel the
cares, the disappointments, the burdens of life dropping off one by
one; to be able to dismiss them with a nod as one gives an unfortunate
beggar his conge. Ills that one need not bear; evils that it is no
longer necessary to endure--they have all been eliminated by the simple
process of excluding from the spectrum the ultra blue-and-violet rays.
A palpable evasion, of course. Call it immoral, if you will, and I
shall not lift the gauntlet. Why should we quarrel over phrases when it
is only required to return thanks to the good Dr. Magnus for his
beneficent discovery? That is enough for me at least. Carpe diem, or,
more precisely, noctem.
It was Dr. Magnus himself who later on introduced us to Chivers in the
common room--Chivers, a little man of Semitic physiognomy, with a hard,
knobbed face and a screw of black beard. He addressed himself
effusively to Indiman, while the doctor and I remained spectators,
silent but interested.
"A dealer in adventures, a specialist in the grotesque--ah, I like
that, Mr. Indiman. The rest of us"--this with a gesture inexpressibly
mean and fawning--"prefer to haggle over the lion's skin after it has
been cured and dressed. It's a mere question of temperament, dear sir."
"What have you to say to me?" inquired Indiman, abruptly. I could see
that he wanted to kick him.
"I have an adventure--of the first class. I desire to dispose of it."
"Yes."
"A noble, a surpassing adventure. Moreover, a commercial opening that
is not to be despised--fifty per cent on your capital every six months."
"Yes."
"I offer you, then, my well-established business of adjuster of
averages, good-will and office fixtures included."
"But I never even heard of such a profession. I know nothing about
averages and their adjustment."
"What difference! It is the adventure that particularly concerns you,
is it not? The business--pouf! it runs itself." "And the terms?"
"I make them ridiculously easy. You are to take over the business,
including the lease of my offices in the Barowsky Brothers' bank
building, William H. Seward Square. In return for this accommodation I
am prepared to pay you the sum of ten thousand dollars." Mr. Chivers
grinned cheerfully as he concluded this astounding proposition. He
pulled ten new one-thousand-dollar bills from his waistcoat-pocket and
laid them on the table.
Indiman regarded the little man thoughtfully. "You have been in
business for your health?" he inquired, with an affectation of polite
interest.
"You have hit it exactly," returned the imperturbable Chivers. "I was
pretty rocky when I first went to William H. Seward Square. But the air
in that Yiddish country--wonderful, dear sir. Regard me; punch, poke,
pound where and how you like. Sound as a bell you'll find me. Now I
pass on. I yield place to you. The honor, dear sir, is mine."
"I confess that I am interested," said Indiman. "The conditions are
simply--"
"Your personal day and night tenancy of the chambers in the Barowsky
Building for a period of not less than three months. I should have
explained that the rooms really form a bachelor's suite, all furnished,
of course."
"There are papers to sign?"
"Only the assumption of the office lease, and I'll give you a bill of
sale for the furniture." Mr. Chivers laid the documents before Indiman;
the latter glanced them over and drew out his fountain-pen. A quick
look, one of satisfaction and understanding, passed between Chivers and
Dr. Magnus. I caught it and tried to convey a warning to my friend. But
he had already affixed his signature to the lease of the offices in the
Barowsky bank building. Chivers did the same for the bill of sale.
Indiman gathered up the ten one-thousand-dollar bills and stuffed them
into his pocket. "Want a receipt?" he asked.
"It is not necessary."
"Well, at least, we must have a bumper to celebrate the conclusion of
the transaction. Waiter."
We took a cab in the gray of the dawning hour and drove home. As might
have been predicted, my spirits had dropped to the zero-point again.
"I don't like it--frankly, I don't, old man. What if it should be a
trap?"
Indiman laughed heartily. "Why, of course, it's a trap," he said.
"That's plain as a pike-staff, whatever a pike-staff itself may be.
It's the particular kind of a trap that interests me. The why and the
wherefore."
Arrived at the house, Indiman handed a bill to the driver and we
ascended the steps. But the cabman seemed dissatisfied with his
treatment. "Hey, there!" he called once, and then again. Indiman turned
impatiently.
"Well, what is it?" he asked
"You can see for yourself, guv'nor. A mistake, ain't it?"
It was one of the thousand-dollar bills that the honest cabby was
holding up. What a phenomenon in the way of a hackman! And yet the New
York night-hawks are no fools and thousand-dollar bills are easy to
trace. Indiman gave the man fifty dollars as a reward of virtue and he
was more than satisfied. But something still remained on his conscience
thus agreeably stimulated.
"'Scuse me, guv'nor," he went on, "but here's another little job in the
same line of business. I drove a gentleman to your club early in the
evening, and he must have left it accidental in the cab. Maybe you know
him."
It was a plain white envelope bearing the typewritten address:
Mr. Orrin Chivers, Nos. 13-15 Barowsky Chambers, Seward Square, New
York.
The envelope had been opened, but the enclosure still remained in it.
"Thank you," said Indiman. "I'll take charge of it." The cabman touched
his hat and drove away.
We went up to the library and proceeded to examine the treasure trove.
It consisted of a long strip of thin bluish paper less than a quarter
of an inch in width and containing a succession of apparently arbitrary
and unmeaning characters written in ink. I reproduce a section of the
strip, which should make my description more intelligible.
Indiman looked at the hieroglyphics musingly. "Important--if true," he
murmured.