I
It all depends upon the manner of your entrance to the Castle of
Adventure. One does not have to scale its beetling parapets or assault
its scarps and frowning bastions; neither is one obliged to force with
clamor and blaring trumpets and glittering gorgets the drawbridge and
portcullis. Rather the pathway lies through one of those many little
doors, obscure, yet easily accessible, latchless and boltless, to which
the average person gives no particular attention, and yet which
invariably lead to the very heart of this Castle Delectable. The
whimsical chatelaine of this enchanted keep is a shy goddess.
Circumspection has no part in her affairs, nor caution, nor
practicality; nor does her eye linger upon the dullard and the
blunderer. Imagination solves the secret riddle, and wit is the guide
that leads the seeker through the winding, bewildering labyrinths.
And there is something in being idle, too!
If I had not gone idly into Mouquin's cellar for dinner that night, I
should have missed the most engaging adventure that ever fell to my
lot. It is second nature for me to be guided by impulse rather than by
reason; reason is always so square-toed and impulse is always so
alluring. You will find that nearly all the great captains were and
are creatures of impulse; nothing brilliant is ever achieved by
calculation. All this is not to say that I am a great captain; it is
offered only to inform you that I am often impulsive.
A _Times_, four days old; and if I hadn't fallen upon it to pass the
twenty-odd minutes between my order and the service of it, I shouldn't
have made the acquaintance of the police in that pretty little suburb
over in New Jersey; nor should I have met the enchanting Blue Domino;
nor would fate have written Kismet. The clairvoyant never has any fun
in this cycle; he has no surprises.
I had been away from New York for several weeks, and had returned only
that afternoon. Thus, the spirit of unrest acquired by travel was
still upon me. It was nearing holiday week, and those congenial
friends I might have called upon, to while away the evening, were
either busily occupied with shopping or were out of town; and I
determined not to go to the club and be bored by some indifferent
billiard player. I would dine quietly, listen to some light music, and
then go to the theater. I was searching the theatrical amusements,
when the society column indifferently attacked my eye. I do not know
why it is, but I have a wholesome contempt for the so-called society
columns of the daily newspaper in New York. Mayhap, it is because I do
not belong.
I read this paragraph with a shrug, and that one with a smirk. I was
in no manner surprised at the announcement that Miss High-Culture was
going to wed the Duke of Impecune; I had always been certain this girl
would do some such fool thing. That Mrs. Hyphen-Bonds was giving a
farewell dinner at the Waldorf, prior to her departure to Europe,
interested my curiosity not in the least degree. It would be all the
same to me if she never came back. None of the wishy-washy
tittle-tattle interested me, in fact. There was only one little
six-line paragraph that really caught me. On Friday night (that is to
say, the night of my adventures in Blankshire), the Hunt Club was to
give a charity masquerade dance. This grasped my adventurous spirit by
the throat and refused to let go.
The atmosphere surrounding the paragraph was spirituous with
enchantment. There was a genuine novelty about this dance. Two packs
of playing-cards had been sent out as tickets; one pack to the ladies
and one to the gentlemen. Charming idea, wasn't it? These cards were
to be shown at the door, together with ten dollars, but were to be
retained by the recipients till two o'clock (supper-time), at which
moment everybody was to unmask and take his partner, who held the
corresponding card, in to supper. Its newness strongly appealed to me.
I found myself reading the paragraph over and over.
By Jove, what an inspiration!
I knew the Blankshire Hunt Club, with its colonial architecture, its
great ball-room, its quaint fireplaces, its stables and sheds, and the
fame of its chef. It was one of those great country clubs that keep
open house the year round. It stood back from the sea about four miles
and was within five miles of the village. There was a fine course
inland, a cross-country going of not less than twenty miles, a
shooting-box, and excellent golf-links. In the winter it was cozy; in
the summer it was ideal.
I was intimately acquainted with the club's M. F. H., Teddy Hamilton.
We had done the Paris-Berlin run in my racing-car the summer before.
If I hadn't known him so well, I might still have been in durance vile,
next door to jail, or securely inside. I had frequently dined with him
at the club during the summer, and he had offered to put me up; but as
I knew no one intimately but himself, I explained the futility of such
action. Besides, my horse wasn't a hunter; and I was riding him less
and less. It is no pleasure to go "parking" along the bridle-paths of
Central Park. For myself, I want a hill country and something like
forty miles, straight away; that's riding.
The fact that I knew no one but Teddy added zest to the inspiration
which had seized me. For I determined to attend that dance, happen
what might. It would be vastly more entertaining than a possibly dull
theatrical performance. (It was!)
I called for a messenger and despatched him to the nearest drug store
for a pack of playing-cards; and while I waited for his return I
casually glanced at the other diners. At my table--one of those long
marble-topped affairs by the wall--there was an old man reading a
paper, and the handsomest girl I had set eyes upon in a month of moons.
Sometimes the word handsome seems an inferior adjective. She was
beautiful, and her half-lidded eyes told me that she was anywhere but
at Mouquin's. What a head of hair! Fine as a spider's web, and the
dazzling yellow of a wheat-field in a sun-shower! The irregularity of
her features made them all the more interesting. I was an artist in an
amateur way, and I mentally painted in that head against a Rubens
background. The return of the messenger brought me back to earth; for
I confess that my imagination had already leaped far into the future,
and this girl across the way was nebulously connected with it.
I took the pack of cards, ripped off the covering, tossed aside the
joker (though, really, I ought to have retained it!) and began
shuffling the shiny pasteboards. I dare say that those around me sat
up and took notice. It was by no means a common sight to see a man
gravely shuffling a pack of cards in a public restaurant. Nobody
interfered, doubtless because nobody knew exactly what to do in the
face of such an act, for which no adequate laws had been provided. A
waiter stood solemnly at the end of the table, scratching his chin
thoughtfully, wondering whether he should report this peculiarity of
constitution and susceptibility occasioning certain peculiarities of
effect from impress of extraneous influences (_vide_ Webster),
synonymous with idiocrasy and known as idiosyncrasy. It was quite
possible that I was the first man to establish such a precedent in
Monsieur Mouquin's restaurant. Thus, I aroused only passive curiosity.
From the corner of my eye I observed the old gentleman opposite. He
was peering over the top of his paper, and I could see by the glitter
in his eye that he was a confirmed player of solitaire. The girl,
however, still appeared to be in a dreaming state. I have no doubt
every one who saw me thought that anarchy was abroad again, or that
Sherlock Holmes had entered into his third incarnation.
Finally I squared the pack, took a long-breath, and cut. I turned up
the card. It was the ten-spot of hearts. I considered this most
propitious; hearts being my long suit in everything but love,--love
having not yet crossed my path. I put the card in my wallet, and was
about to toss the rest of the pack under the table, when, a woman's
voice stayed my hand.
"Don't throw them away. Tell my fortune first."
I looked up, not a little surprised. It was the beautiful young girl
who had spoken. She was leaning on her elbows, her chin propped in her
palms, and the light in her grey _chatoyant_ eyes was wholly innocent
and mischievous. In Monsieur Mouquin's cellar people are rather
Bohemian, not to say friendly; for it is the rendezvous of artists,
literary men and journalists,--a clan that holds formality in contempt.
"Tell your fortune?" I repeated parrot-like.
"Yes."
"Your mirror can tell you that more accurately than I can," I replied
with a frank glance of admiration.
She drew her shoulders together and dropped them. "I spoke to you,
sir, because I believed you wouldn't say anything so commonplace as
that. When one sees a man soberly shuffling a pack of cards in a place
like this, one naturally expects originality."
"Well, perhaps you caught me off my guard,"--humbly.
"I am original. Did you ever before witness this performance in a
public restaurant?"--making the cards purr.
"I can not say I have,"--amused.
"Well, no more have I!"
"Why, then, do you do it?"--with renewed interest.
"Shall I tell your fortune?"
"Not now. I had much rather you would tell me the meaning of this
play."
I leaned toward her and whispered mysteriously: "The truth is, I belong
to a secret society, and I was cutting the cards to see whether or not
I should blow up the post-office to-night or the police-station. You
mustn't tell anybody."
"Oh!" She started back from the table. "You do not look it," she
added suddenly.
"I know it; appearances are so deceptive," said I sadly.
Then the old man laughed, and the girl laughed, and I laughed; and I
wasn't quite sure that the grave waiter did not crack the ghost of a
smile--in relief.
[Illustration: The handsomest girl I had set eyes upon in a month of
moons.]
"And what, may I ask, was the fatal card?" inquired the old man,
folding his paper.
"The ace of spades; we always choose that gloomy card in secret
societies. There is something deadly and suggestive about it," I
answered morbidly.
"Indeed."
"Yes. Ah, if only you knew the terrible life we lead, we who conspire!
Every day brings forth some galling disappointment. We push a king off
into the dark, and another rises immediately in his place. Futility,
futility everywhere! If only there were some way of dynamiting habit
and custom! I am a Russian; all my family are perishing in Siberian
mines,"--dismally.
"Fudge!" said the girl.
"Tommy-rot!" said the amiable old gentleman.
"Uncle, his hair is too short for an anarchist."
"And his collar too immaculate." (So the old gentleman was this
charming creature's uncle!)
"We are obliged to disguise ourselves at times," I explained. "The
police are always meddling. It is discouraging."
"You have some purpose, humorous or serious," said the girl shrewdly.
"A man does not bring a pack of cards--"
"I didn't bring them; I sent out for them."
"--bring a pack of cards here simply to attract attention," she
continued tranquilly.
"Perhaps I am a prestidigitator in a popular dime-museum," I suggested,
willing to help her out, "and am doing a little advertising."
"Now, that has a plausible sound," she admitted, folding her hands
under her chin. "It must be an interesting life. _Presto--change_!
and all that."
"Oh, I find it rather monotonous in the winter; but in the summer it is
fine. Then I wander about the summer resorts and give exhibitions."
"You will pardon my niece," interpolated the old gentleman, coughing a
bit nervously. "If she annoys you--"
"Uncle!"--reproachfully.
"Heaven forfend!" I exclaimed eagerly. "There is a charm in doing
unconventional things; and most people do not realize it, and are
stupid."
"Thank you, sir," said the girl, smiling. She was evidently enjoying
herself; so was I, for that matter. "Do a trick for me," she commanded
presently.
I smiled weakly. I couldn't have done a trick with the cards,--not if
my life had depended upon it. But I rather neatly extricated myself
from the trap.
"I never do any tricks out of business hours."
"Uncle, give the gentleman ten cents; I want to see him do a
sleight-of-hand trick."
Her uncle, readily entering into the spirit of the affair, dived into a
pocket and produced the piece of silver. It looked as if I were caught.
"There! this may make it worth your while," the girl said, shoving the
coin in my direction.
But again I managed to slide under; I was not to be caught.
"It is my regret to say,"--frowning slightly, "that regularity in my
business is everything. It wants half an hour for my turn to come on.
If I tried a trick out of turn, I might foozle and lose prestige. And
besides, I depend so much upon the professor and his introductory
notes: 'Ladies and gents, permit me to introduce the world-renowned
Signor Fantoccini, whose marvelous tricks have long puzzled all the
crowned heads of Europe--'"
"Fantoccini,"--musingly. "That's Italian for puppet show."
"I know it, but the dime-museum visitors do not. It makes a fine
impression."
She laughed and slid the dime back to her uncle.
"I'm afraid you are an impostor," she said.
"I'm afraid so, too," I confessed, laughing.
Then the comedy came to an end by the appearance of our separate
orders. I threw aside the cards and proceeded to attack my dinner, for
I was hungry. From time to time I caught vague fragments of
conversation between the girl and her uncle.
"It's a fool idea," mumbled the old gentleman; "you will get into some
trouble or other."
"That doesn't matter. It will be like a vacation,--a flash of old
Rome, where I wish I were at this very moment. I am determined."
"This is what comes of reading romantic novels,"--with a kind of
grumble.
"I admit there never was a particle of romance on your side of the
family," the girl retorted.
"Happily. There is peace in the house where I live."
"Do not argue with me."
"I am not arguing with you. I should only be wasting my time. I am
simply warning you that you are about to commit a folly."
"I have made up my mind."
"Ah! In that case I have hopes," he returned. "When a woman makes up
her mind to do one thing, she generally does another. Why can't you
put aside this fool idea and go to the opera with me?"
"I have seen _Carmen_ in Paris, Rome, London and New York," she replied.
(Evidently a traveled young person.)
"_Carmen_ is your favorite opera, besides."
"Not to-night,"--whimsically.
"Go, then; but please recollect that if anything serious comes of your
folly, I did my best to prevent it. It's a scatter-brained idea, and
no good will come of it, mark me."
"I can take care of myself,"--truculently.
"So I have often been forced to observe,"--dryly.
(I wondered what it was all about.)
"But, uncle dear, I am becoming so dreadfully bored!"
"That sounds final," sighed the old man, helping himself to the
_haricots verts_. (The girl ate positively nothing.) "But it seems
odd that you can't go about your affairs after my own reasonable
manner."
"I am only twenty."
The old man's shoulders rose and fell resignedly.
"No man has an answer for that."
"I promise to tell you everything that happens; by telegraph."
"That's small comfort. Imagine receiving a telegram early in the
morning, when a man's brain is without invention or coherency of
thought! I would that you were back home with your father. I might
sleep o' nights, then."
"I have so little amusement!"
"You work three hours a day and earn more in a week than your father
and I do in a month. Yours is a very unhappy lot."
"I hate the smell of paints; I hate the studio."
"And I suppose you hate your fame?" acridly.
"Bah! that is my card to a living. The people I meet bore me."
"Not satisfied with common folks, eh? Must have kings and queens to
talk to?"
"I only want to live abroad, and you and father will not let
me,"--petulantly.
The music started up, and I heard no more. Occasionally the girl
glanced at me and smiled in a friendly fashion. She was evidently an
artist's model; and when they have hair and color like this girl's, the
pay is good. I found myself wondering why she was bored and why Carmen
had so suddenly lost its charms.
It was seven o'clock when I pushed aside my plate and paid my check. I
calculated that by hustling I could reach Blankshire either at ten or
ten-thirty. That would be early enough for my needs. And now to route
out a costumer. All I needed was a grey mask. I had in my apartments
a Capuchin's robe and cowl. I rose, lighting a cigarette.
The girl looked up from her coffee.
"Back to the dime-museum?"--banteringly.
"I have a few minutes to spare," said I.
"By the way, I forgot to ask you what card you drew."
"It was the ten of hearts."
"The ten of hearts?" Her amazement was not understandable.
"Yes, the ten of hearts; Cupid and all that."
She recovered her composure quickly.
"Then you will not blow up the post-office to-night?"
"No," I replied, "not to-night."
"You have really and truly aroused my curiosity. Tell me, what does
the ten of hearts mean to you?"
I gazed thoughtfully down at her. Had I truly mystified her? There
was some doubt in my mind.
"Frankly, I wish I might tell you. All I am at liberty to say is that
I am about to set forth upon a desperate adventure, and I shall be very
fortunate if I do not spend the night in the lock-up."
"You do not look desperate."
"Oh, I am not desperate; it is only the adventure that is desperate."
"Some princess in durance vile? Some villain to smite? Citadels to
storm?" Her smile was enchantment itself.
I hesitated a moment. "What would you say if I told you that this
adventure was merely to prove to myself what a consummate ass the
average man can be upon occasions?"
"Why go to the trouble of proving it?"--drolly.
"I am conceited enough to have some doubts as to the degree."
"Consider it positive."
I laughed. "I am in hopes that I am neither a positive ass nor a
superlative one, only comparative."
"But the adventure; that is the thing that mainly interests me."
"Oh, that is a secret which I should hesitate to tell even to the
Sphinx."
"I see you are determined not to illuminate the darkness,"--and she
turned carelessly toward her uncle, who was serenely contemplating the
glowing end of a fat perfecto.
I bowed and passed out in Sixth Avenue, rather regretting that I had
not the pleasure of the charming young person's acquaintance.
The ten-spot of hearts seemed to have startled her for some reason. I
wondered why.
The snow blew about me, whirled, and swirled, and stung. Oddly enough
I recalled the paragraph relative to Mrs. Hyphen-Bonds. By this time
she was being very well tossed about in mid-ocean. As the old order of
yarn-spinners used to say, little did I dream what was in store for me,
or the influence the magic name of Hyphen-Bonds was to have upon my
destiny.