THE building mentioned by my new-found friend was well known to me. It
was one of the kind in which every other office is unoccupied the year
round. Such tenants as gave it the little air of usefulness it possessed
were of the bad-pay kind. They gave little concern to their own affairs
and less to those of their neighbors. The public avoided the building,
and the tenants did nothing to encourage a change. In a populous city,
on the corner made by frequented streets, it stood as much alone and
neglected as if it were a ruin. Old or young eyes may have looked
through its begrimed windows into the busy thoroughfare beneath, but
none in the street ever honored the old place with a glance or thought.
No one even wasted contempt upon its smoky walls, and few disturbed the
accumulated dust upon the stairs or in the dimly-lighted hallways.
Had a place been sought for wherein the utmost secrecy might be
observed, surely this was that place. As I neared the door upon which I
read the doctor’s name, I found myself treading on tip-toe, so impressed
had I become by a sense of caution, if not of dread.
I had made every effort to be on hand at precisely ten o’clock, and felt
so sure that I had been the first to arrive that I reached out to the
door-knob with every expectation of entering, unseen by any one, and
possibly unheard. To my dismay, the first twist I gave it resulted in a
rusty shriek that set my teeth on edge, and echoed down the gloomy hall.
With my flesh creeping, I opened the door and passed into the doctor’s
outer room.
It was far from being empty. Seated in chairs ranged along two sides of
the room, I saw a dozen or more persons, male and female. All wore the
preoccupied air that patients are apt to assume while awaiting their
turn to be called by the doctor. One amongst the number made an effort
at indifference by drawing out and pushing back a nail in the flooring
with the sole of her pretty shoe. It may have been intended for
coquetry, and at another time might have bewitched me; now it seemed
strangely out of place. The man who was to all appearance counting the
flies in the web of an industrious spider was more in keeping with the
place, my feelings, and the atmosphere of despondency that the room gave
out.
As I had no doubt that the ring I was seeking was in the possession of
some one of these persons, I gave each as minute an examination as was
possible under the circumstances. Only two amongst them appeared open to
suspicion. Of these, one was a young man whose naturally fine features
would have prepossessed him in my favor had it not been for the peculiar
alertness of his bright blue eye, which flashed incessantly in every
direction till each and all of us seemed to partake of his restlessness
and anxiety. Why was he not depressed? The other was the girl, or,
rather, the young lady to whose pretty foot I have referred. If she was
at all conspicuous, it was owing to the contrast between her beautiful
face and the Quaker-like simplicity of her dress. She was restless also;
her foot had ceased its action, but her hand moved constantly. Now
it clutched its fellow in her lap, and now it ran in an oft-repeated
action, seemingly beyond her control, up and down and round and round a
plain but expensive leather bag she wore at her side. “She carries the
ring,” thought I, sitting down in the chair next her.
Meantime, I had not been oblivious of _the box_. It stood upon a plain
oak table directly opposite the door by which I had come in. It
was about a foot square, and was the only object in the room at all
ornamental. Indeed, there was but little else for the eye to rest on,
consequently most of us looked that way, though I noticed that but few
seemed to take any real interest in that or anything else within sight.
This was encouraging, and I was on the point of transferring my entire
attention to the two persons I have named, when one of them, the
nearest, rose hurriedly and went out.
This was an unexpected move on her part, and I did not know what to make
of it. Had I annoyed her by my scrutiny, or had she divined my errand?
In my doubt, I consulted the face of the man I secretly thought to be
her accomplice. It was non-committal, and, in my doubt as to the meaning
of all this, I allowed myself to become interested in a pale young woman
who had been sitting on the other side of the lady who had just left.
She was evidently a patient who stood in great need of assistance. Her
head hung feebly forward, and her whole figure looked ready to drop. Yet
when a minute later the door of the inner office opened, and the doctor
appeared on the sill in an expectant attitude, she made no attempt to
rise, but pushed forward another woman who seemed less indisposed than
herself. I had to compel myself to think of all I saw as being real and
within my experience.
Surprised by this action on the part of one so ill, I watched the pale
girl for an instant, and almost forgot my mission in the compassion
aroused by her sickly appearance. But soon that mission and my motive
for being in this place were somewhat vividly recalled to me by an
unexpected action on this very young woman’s part. With the sudden
movement of an acutely suffering person, she bounded from her seat and
crossed the floor to where the box stood, gasping for breath, and almost
falling against the table when she reached it.
A grunt from the good-looking young man followed; but neither he nor
the middle-aged female with a pitiful skin disease, who had been sitting
near her, offered to go to her assistance, though the latter looked as
if she would like to. I was the only one to rise. The truth is, I
could see no one touch _the box_ without having something more than my
curiosity awakened. Approaching her respectfully, and with as complete a
dissimulation of my real feelings as possible, I ventured to say:
“You are very ill, miss. Shall I summon the doctor?”
She was clutching the side of the table for support, and her head,
drooping helplessly over the box, was swaying from side to side as she
rocked to and fro in her pain.
“Thank you!” she gasped, without turning, “I will wait. I would rather
wait.”
At that moment the doctor’s door opened again.
“There he is now,” said I.
“I will wait,” she insisted. “Let the others take their turn.”
Satisfied now that something besides pain caused her interest in the
box, I drew back, asking myself whether she had been in possession of
the ring from the beginning, or whether it had been passed to her by her
restless neighbor. Meanwhile, another patient had disappeared into the
adjoining room.
A few minutes passed. The man with the restless eye began to fidget.
Could it be that she was simply guarding the box, and that he was the
one who wished to open it? As the doubt struck me, I surveyed her
more attentively. She was certainly doing something besides supporting
herself with that sly right hand of hers. Yes, that was a click I heard.
She was fitting a key into the lock. Startled, but determined not
to betray myself, I assumed an air of great patience, and, taking a
memorandum book from my pocket, began to write in it. Meantime, the
doctor had disposed of his second patient and had beckoned to a third.
To my astonishment, my friend with the nervous manner responded, thus
acquitting himself in my eyes from any interest in the box.
The interview he had with the doctor lasted some time; meantime, the
young woman in the window remained more or less motionless. When the
fourth person left the room, she turned and cast a quick glance at
myself and the other person present.
I knew what it meant. She was anxious to be left alone in order to lift
that mysterious lid. She was no more ill than I was.
There was even a dash of color in her cheeks, and the trembling she
indulged in was caused by great excitement and suspense, and not by
pain.
Compassion at once gave way to anger, and I inwardly resolved not to
spare her if we came into conflict over the box.
My companion was an old and non-observant man, who had come in after the
rest of us. When the doctor again appeared, I motioned to this old man
to follow him, which he very gladly did, leaving me alone with the pale
girl. At once I got up, showing my fatigue and slightly yawning.
“This is very tedious,” I muttered aloud, and stepped idly towards the
door leading into the hall.
The girl at the box could not restrain her impatience. She cast me
another short glance. I affected not to see it; took out my watch,
consulted it, put it back quickly and slipped out into the hall. As I
closed the door behind me, I heard a slight creak. Instantly I was back
again, and with so sudden a movement that I surprised her, with her face
bent over the open box.
“Oh, my poor young lady,” I exclaimed, springing towards her with every
appearance of great concern. “You do not look able to stand. Lean on me
if you feel faint, and I will help you to a seat.”
She turned upon me in a fury, but, meeting my eye, assumed an air of
composure, which did not impose upon me in the least, or prevent me from
pressing close to her side and taking one look into the box, which she
had evidently not had sufficient self-possession to close.
The sight which met my eye was not unexpected, yet was no less
interesting on that account. A hand--_the_ hand--curiously made of
bronze, and of exquisite proportions, lay on its enamelled cushion, with
rings on all of its fingers save one. That one I was delighted to see
was the middle one, proof positive that the mischief contemplated by
Miss Calhoun had not yet been accomplished.
Restored to complete self-possession by this discovery, I examined the
box and its contents with an air of polite curiosity. I surprised myself
by my self-possession and _bonhomie_.
“What an odd thing to find in a physician’s office!” I exclaimed.
“Beautiful, is it not? An unusual work of art; but there is nothing in
it to alarm you. You shouldn’t allow yourself to be frightened at such
a thing as that.” And with a quick action, she was wholly powerless to
prevent, I shut down the lid, which closed with a snap.
Startled and greatly discomposed, she drew back, hastily thrusting her
hand behind her.
“You are very officious,” she began, but, seeing nothing but good nature
in the smile with which I regarded her, she faltered irresolutely, and
finally took refuge again in her former trick of invalidism. Breaking
out into low moanings, she fell back upon the nearest chair, from which
she immediately started again with the quick cry, “Oh, how I suffer! I
am not well enough to be out alone.” And turning with a celerity that
belied her words, she fled into the hall, shutting the door violently
behind her.
Astonished at the completeness of my victory, I spent the first moments
of triumph in trying to lift the lid of the box. But it was securely
locked. I was just debating whether I could now venture to return to my
seat, when the hall door reopened and a gentleman entered.
He was short, sturdy and had a bristling black mustache. I needed to
look at him but once to be certain he was interested both in the box and
me, and, while I gave no evidence of my discovery, I prepared myself
for an adventure of a much more serious nature than that which had just
occupied me.
Modeling my behavior upon that of the young girl whose place I had
usurped, I placed my elbow on the box and looked out of the window. As
I did so I heard a shuffling in the adjoining room, and knew that in
another moment the doctor would again appear at the door to announce
that he was ready for another patient. How could I evade the summons?
The man behind me was a determined one. He was there for the purpose
of opening the box, and would not be likely to leave the room while I
remained in it. How, then, could I comply with the requirements of the
situation and yet prevent this new-comer from lifting the lid in my
absence? I knew of but one way--a way which had suggested itself to
me during the long watches of the previous night, and which I had come
prepared to carry out.
Taking advantage of my proximity to the box, I inserted in the keyhole a
small morsel of wax which for some minutes past I had been warming in
my hand. This done, I laid my hat down on the lid, noting with great
exactness as I did so just where its rim lay in reference to the various
squares and scrolls with which the top was ornamented. By this means I
felt that I might know if the hat were moved in my absence. The doctor
having showed himself by this time, I followed him into his office with
a calmness born of the most complete confidence in the strategy I had
employed.
Dr. Merriam, whom I have purposely refrained from describing until now,
was a tall, well-made man, with a bald head and a pleasant eye, but
careless in his attire and bearing. As I met that eye and responded to
his good-natured greeting, I inwardly decided that his interest in the
box was much less than his guardianship of it would seem to betoken.
And when I addressed him and entered upon the subject of my friend’s
complaint, I soon saw by the depth of his professional interest that
whatever connection he might have with the box, neither that nor any
other topic whatever could for a moment vie with his delight in a new
and strange case like that of my poor friend. I consequently entered
into the medical details demanded of me with a free mind and succeeded
in getting some very valuable advice, for which I was of course truly
grateful.
As soon as this was accomplished I took my leave, but not by the usual
door of egress. Saying that I had left my hat in the ante-room, I bowed
my acknowledgments to the doctor and returned the way I came. But not
without meeting with a surprise. There was still but one person in the
room with the box, but that person was not the man with the bristling
mustache and determined eye whom I had expected to find there. It was
the pretty, Quaker-like girl who had formerly aroused my suspicions; and
though she sat far from the box, a moment’s glance at her flushed face
and trembling hands assured me she had but that moment left it.
Going at once to the box, I saw that my hat had been moved. But more
significant still was the hairpin lying on the floor at my feet, with
a morsel of wax sticking to one of its points. This was conclusive. The
man had discovered why his key would not work, and had called to his aid
the young lady, who had evidently been waiting in the hall outside.
She had tried to pick out the wax--a task in which I had happily
interrupted her.
Proud of the success of my device, and satisfied that the danger was
over for that day (it being well on to twelve o’clock), I said a few
words more to the doctor, who had followed me into the room, and then
prepared to take my departure. But the young lady was more agile than I.
Saying something about a very pressing engagement which would not allow
her to consult the doctor that day, she hurried ahead of me and ran
quickly down the long hall. The doctor looked astonished, but dismissed
the matter with a shrug; while, with the greatest desire to follow her,
I stood hesitating on the threshold, when my eye fell on a small object
lying under the chair on which she had been sitting. It was the little
leathern bag I had seen hanging at her side.
Catching it up, I explained that I would run after the young lady and
restore it; and glad of an excuse which would enable me to follow her
through the streets without risking the suspicion of impropriety, I
hastened down the stairs and happily succeeded in reaching the pavement
before her skirts whisked round the corner. I was therefore but a few
paces behind her, which distance I took good care to preserve.