The Brass Bowl by Louis Joseph Vance

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"What do you mean? What are you going to do?"

"Leave that to me ... I've never been caught yet."

Cold fear gripped her heart as, in a flash of intuition, she divined his
intention.

"Quick!" he bade her savagely. "Don't you want--"

"I can't see," she invented. "Where's the door? I can't see...."

"Here."

Through the darkness his fingers found hers. "Come," he said.

"Ah!"

Her hand closed over his wrist, and in a thought she had flung herself
before him and caught the other. In the movement her hand brushed against
something that he was holding; and it was cold and smooth and hard.

"Ah! no, no!" she implored. "Not that, not that!"

With an oath he attempted to throw her off, but, frail strength magnified
by a fury of fear, she joined issue with him, clinging to his wrists with
the tenacity of a wildcat, though she was lifted from her feet and dashed
this way and that, brutally, mercilessly, though her heart fell sick within
her for the hopelessness of it, though....

XI

"DAN"----QUIXOTE

Leaving the hotel, Maitland strode quietly but rapidly across the
car-tracks to the sidewalk bordering the park. A dozen nighthawk cabbies
bore down upon him, yelping in chorus. He motioned to the foremost, jumped
into the hansom and gave the fellow his address.

"Five dollars," he added, "if you make it in five minutes."

An astonished horse, roused from a droop-eared lethargy, was yanked almost
by main strength out of the cab-rank and into the middle of the Avenue.
Before he could recover, the long whip-lash had leaped out over the roof
of the vehicle, and he found himself stretching away up the Avenue on a
dead run.

Yet to Maitland the pace seemed deadly slow. He fidgeted on the seat in an
agony of impatience, a dozen times feeling in his waistcoat pocket for his
latch-keys. They were there, and his fingers itched to use them.

By the lights streaking past he knew that their pace was furious, and was
haunted by a fear lest it should bring the police about his ears. At
Twenty-ninth Street, indeed, a dreaming policeman, startled by the uproar,
emerged hastily from the sheltering gloom of a store-entrance, shouted
after the cabby an inarticulate question, and, getting no response,
unsheathed his night-stick and loped up the Avenue in pursuit, making the
locust sing upon the pavement at every jump.

In the cab, Maitland, turning to watch through the rear peep-hole, was
thrown violently against the side as the hansom rocketed on one wheel into
his street. Recovering, he seized the dashboard and gathered himself
together, ready to spring the instant the vehicle paused in its headlong
career.

Through the cabby's misunderstanding of the address, in all likelihood,
the horse was reined in on its haunches some three houses distant from the
apartment building. Maitland found himself sprawling on his hands and
knees on the sidewalk, picked himself up, shouting "You'll wait?" to the
driver, and sprinted madly the few yards separating him from his own front
door, keys ready in hand.

Simultaneously the half-winded policeman lumbered around the Fifth Avenue
corner, and a man, detaching himself from the shadows of a neighboring
doorway, began to trot loutishly across the street, evidently with the
intention of intercepting Maitland at the door.

He was hardly quick enough. Maitland did not even see him. The door
slammed in the man's face, and he, panting harshly, rapped out an
imprecation and began a frantic assault on the push-button marked
"Janitor."

As for Maitland, he was taking the stairs three at a clip, and had his
pass-key in the latch almost as soon as his feet touched the first
landing. An instant later he thrust the door open and blundered blindly
into the pitch-darkness of his study.

For a thought he stood bewildered and dismayed by the absence of light. He
had thought, somehow, to find the gas-jets flaring. The atmosphere was hot
and foul with the odor of kerosene, the blackness filled with strange
sounds and mysterious moving shapes. A grunting gasp came to his ears, and
then the silence and the night alike were split by a report, accompanied
by a streak of orange flame shooting ceilingward from the middle of the
room.

Its light, transient as it was, gave him some inkling of the situation.
Unthinkingly he flung himself forward, ready to grapple with that which
first should meet his hands. Something soft and yielding brushed against
his shoulder, and subconsciously, in the auto-hypnosis of his excitement,
he was aware of a man's voice cursing and a woman's cry of triumph
trailing off into a wail of pain.

On the instant he found himself at grips with the marauder. For a moment
both swayed, dazed by the shock of collision. Then Maitland got a footing
on the carpet and put forth his strength; the other gave way, slipped, and
went to his knees. Maitland's hands found his throat, fingers sinking deep
into flesh as he bore the fellow backward. A match flared noiselessly and
the gas blazed overhead. A cry of astonishment choked in his throat as he
recognized his own features duplicated in the face of the man whose throat
he was slowly and relentlessly constricting. Anisty! He had not thought of
him or connected him with the sounds that had thrilled and alarmed him
over the telephone wire coming out of the void and blackness of night.
Indeed, he had hardly thought any coherent thing about the matter. The
ring of the girl's "No!" had startled him, and he had somehow thought,
vaguely, that O'Hagan had surprised her in the flat. But more than
that....

He glanced swiftly aside at the girl standing still beneath the
chandelier, the match in one hand burning toward her finger-tips, in the
other Anisty's revolver. Their eyes met, and in hers the light of gladness
leaped and fell like a living flame, then died, to be replaced by a look
of entreaty and prayer so moving that his heart in its unselfish chivalry
went out to her.

Who or what she was, howsoever damning the evidence against her, he would
believe against belief, shield her to the end at whatever hazard to
himself, whatever cost to his fortunes. Love is unreasoning and
unreasonable even when unrecognized.

His senses seemed to vibrate with redoubled activity, to become abnormally
acute. For the first time he was conscious of the imperative clamor of the
electric bell in O'Hagan's quarters, as well as of the janitor's rich
brogue voicing his indignation as he opened the basement door and prepared
to ascend. Instantly the cause of the disturbance flashed upon him.

His strangle-hold on Anisty relaxed, he released the man, and, brows
knitted with the concentration of his thoughts, he stepped back and over
to the girl, lifting her hand and gently taking the revolver from her
fingers.

Below, O'Hagan was parleying through the closed door with the late
callers. Maitland could have blessed his hot-headed Irish stupidity for
the delay he was causing.

Already Anisty was on his feet again, blind with rage and crouching as if
ready to spring, only restrained by the sight of his own revolver, steady
and threatening in Maitland's hand.

For the least part of a second the young man hesitated, choosing his way.
Then, resolved, in accents of determination, "Stand up, you hound!" he
cried. "Back to the wall there!" and thrust the weapon under the burglar's
nose.

The move gained instant obedience. Mr. Anisty could not reasonably
hesitate in the face of such odds.

"And you," Maitland continued over his shoulder to the girl, without
removing his attention from the burglar, "into the alcove there, at once!
And not a word, not a whisper, not a sound until I call you!"

She gave him one frightened and piteous glance, then, unquestioning,
slipped quietly behind the portieres.

To Anisty, again: "Turn your pockets out!" commanded Maitland. "Quick, you
fool! The police are below; your freedom depends on your haste." Anisty's
hands flew to his pockets, emptying their contents on the floor.
Maitland's eyes sought in vain the shape of the canvas bag. But time was
too precious. Another moment's procrastination and----

"That will do," he said crisply, without raising his voice. "Now listen to
me. At the end of the hall, there, you'll find a trunk-closet, from which
a window----"

"I know."

"Naturally you would. Now go!"

Anisty waited for no repetition of the permission. Whatever the madness of
Mad Maitland, he was concerned only to profit by it. Never before had the
long arm of the law stretched hungry fingers so near his collar. He went,
springing down the hall in long, soundless strides, vanishing into its
shadows.

As he disappeared Maitland stepped to the door, raised his revolver, and
pulled the trigger twice. The shots detonated loudly in that confined
space, and rang coincident with the clash and clatter of shivered glass. A
thin cloud of vapor obscured the doorway, swaying on the hot, still air,
then parted and dissolved, dissipated by the entrance of four men who,
thrusting the door violently open, struggled into the hallway.

Blue cloth and brass buttons moved conspicuously in the van, a grim face
flushed and perspiring beneath the helmet's vizor, a revolver poised
menacingly in one hand, locust as ready in the other. Behind this outward
and visible manifestation of the law's majesty bobbed a rusty derby,
cocked jauntily back upon the red, shining forehead of a short and
thick-set person with a black mustache. O'Hagan's agitated countenance
loomed over a dusty shoulder, and the battered silk hat of the nighthawk
brought up the rear.

"Come in, everybody," Maitland greeted them cheerfully, turning back into
the study and tossing the revolver, shreds of smoke still curling up from
its muzzle, upon a divan. "O'Hagan," he called, on second thought, "jump
down-stairs and see that all New York doesn't get in. Let nobody in!"

As the janitor unwillingly obeyed, policeman and detective found their
tongues. A volley of questions, to the general purport of "What's th'
meanin' of all this here?" assailed Maitland as he rested himself coolly
on an edge of the desk. He responded, with one eyebrow slightly elevated:
"A burglar. What did you suppose? That I was indulging in target practice
at this time of night?"

"Which way'd he go?"

"Back of the flat--through the window to the fire-escape, I suppose. I
took a couple of shots after him, but missed, and inasmuch as he was
armed, I didn't pursue."

Hickey stepped forward, glowering unpleasantly at the young man. "Yeh go
along," he told the uniformed man, "'nd see 'f he's tellin' the truth.
I'll stay here 'nd keep him company."

His tone amused Maitland. In the reaction from the recent strain upon his
wits and nerve, he laughed openly.

"And who are you?" he suggested, smiling, as the policeman clumped heavily
away. Hickey spat thoughtfully into a Satsuma jardinière and sneered. "I
s'pose yeh never saw me before?"

Maitland bowed affirmation. "I'm sorry to say that that pleasure has
heretofore been denied me."

"Uh-huh," agreed the detective sourly, "I guess that's a hot one, too." He
scowled blackly in Maitland's amazed face and seemed abruptly to swell
with mysterious rage. "My name's Hickey," he informed him venomously, "and
don't yeh lose sight of that after this. It's somethin' it won't hurt yeh
to remember. Guess yer mem'ry's taking a vacation, huh?"

"My dear man," said Maitland, "you speak in parables and--if you'll pardon
my noticing it--with some uncalled-for spleen. Might I suggest that you
moderate your tone? For," he continued, facing the man squarely, "if you
don't, it will be my duty and pleasure to hoist you into the street."

"I got a photergrapht of yeh doing it," growled Hickey. "Still, seeing as
yeh never saw me before, I guess it won't do no harm for yeh to connect
with this." And he turned back his coat, uncovering the official shield of
the detective bureau.

"Ah!" commented Maitland politely. "A detective? How interesting!"

"Fire-escape winder's broke, all right." This was the policeman, returned.
"And some one's let down the bottom length of ladder, but there ain't
nobody in sight."

"No," interjected Hickey, "'nd there wouldn't 've been if you'd been
waitin' in the back yard all night."

"Certainly not," Maitland agreed blandly; "especially if my burglar had
known it. In which case I fancy he would have chosen another route--by the
roof, possibly."

"Yeh know somethin' about roofs yehself, donchuh?" suggested Hickey.
"Well, I guess yeh'll have time to write a book about it while yeh--"

He stepped unexpectedly to Maitland's side and bent forward. Something
cold and hard closed with a snap around each of the young man's wrists. He
started up, face aflame with indignation, forgetful of the girl hidden in
the alcove.

"What the devil!" he cried hotly, jingling the handcuffs.

"Ah, come off," Hickey advised him. "Yeh can't bluff it for ever, you
know. Come along and tell the sarge all about it, Daniel Maitland,
_Es_-quire, _alias_ Handsome Dan Anisty, gentleman burglar....
Ah, cut that out, young fellow; yeh'll find this ain't no laughin' matter.
Yeh're foxy, all right, but yeh've pushed yer run of luck too hard."

Hickey paused, perplexed, finding no words wherewith adequately to voice
the disgust aroused in him by his prisoner's demeanor, something far from
seemly, to his mind.

The humor of the situation had just dawned upon Maitland, and the young
man was crimson with appreciation.

"Go on, go on!" he begged feebly. "Don't let _me_ stop you, Hickey.
Don't, please, let me spoil it all.... Your Sherlock Holmes, Hickey, is one
of the finest characterizations I have ever witnessed. It is a privilege
not to be underestimated to be permitted to play Raffles to you.... But
seriously, my dear sleuth!" with an unhappy attempt to wipe his eyes with
hampered fists, "don't you think you're wasting your talents?"

By this time even the policeman seemed doubtful. He glanced askance at the
detective and shuffled uneasily. As for the cabby, who had blustered in at
first with intent to demand his due in no uncertain terms, apparently
Maitland's bearing, coupled with the inherent contempt and hatred of the
nighthawk tribe for the minions of the law, had won his sympathies
completely. Lounging against a door-jamb, quite at home, he genially
puffed an unspeakable cigarette and nodded approbation of Maitland's every
other word.

But Hickey--Hickey bristled belligerently.

"Fine," he declared acidly; "fine and dandy. I take off my hat to yeh, Dan
Anisty. I may be a bad actor, all right, but yeh got me beat at the post."

Then turning to the policeman, "I got him right. Look here!" Drawing a
folded newspaper from his pocket, he spread it open for the officer's
inspection. "Yeh see them pictures? Now, on the level, is it
_natural_?"

The patrolman frowned doubtfully, glancing from the paper to Maitland. The
cabby stretched a curious neck. Maitland groaned inwardly; he had seen
that infamous sheet.

"Now listen," the detective expounded with gusto. "Twice to-day this here
Maitland, or Anisty, meets me. Once on the stoop here, 'nd he's Maitland
'nd takes me to lunch--see? Next time it's in Harlem, where I've been sent
with a hot tip from the C'mmiss'ner's office to find Anisty, 'nd he's
still Maitland 'nd surprised to see me. I ain't sure then, but I'm doin'
some heavy thinkin', all right. I lets him go and shadows him. After a
while he gives me the slip 'nd I chases down here, waitin' for him to turn
up. Coming down on the car I buys this paper 'nd sees the pictures, and
then I'm _on_. See?"

"Uh-huh," grunted the patrolman, scowling at Maitland. The cabby caressed
his nose with a soiled forefinger reflectively, plainly a bit prejudiced
by Hickey's exposition.

"One minute," Maitland interjected, eyes twinkling and lips twitching.
"How long ago was it that you began to watch this house, sleuth?"

"Five minutes before yeh come home," responded Hickey, ignoring the
insult. "Now--"

"Took you a long time to figure this out, didn't it? But go on, please."

"Well, I picked the winner, all right," flared the detective. "I guess
that'll be about all for yours."

"Not quite," Maitland contradicted brusquely, wearying of the
complication. "You say you met me on the stoop here. At what o'clock?"

"One; 'nd yeh takes me to lunch at Eugene's."

"Ah! When did I leave you?"

"I leaves yeh there at two."

"Well, O'Hagan will testify that he left me in these rooms, in
dressing-gown and slippers at about one. At four he found me on this
divan, bound and gagged, by courtesy of your friend, Mr. Anisty. Now,
when was I with you in Harlem?"

"At seven o'clock, to the minute, yeh comes--"

"Never mind. At ten minutes to seven I took a cab from here to the
Primordial Club, where I dined at seven precisely."

"And what's more," interposed the cabman eagerly, "I took yer there, sir."

"Thank you. Furthermore, sleuth, you say that you followed me around town
from seven o'clock until--when?"

"I said--" stammered the plain-clothes man, purple with confusion.

"No matter. I didn't leave the Primordial until a quarter to eleven. But
all this aside, as I understand it, you are asserting that, having given
you all this trouble to-day, and knowing that you were after me, I
deliberately hopped into a cab fifteen minutes ago, came up Fifth Avenue
at such breakneck speed that this officer thought it was a runaway, and
finally jumped out and ran up-stairs here to fire a revolver three times,
for no purpose whatsoever beyond bringing you gentlemen about my ears?"

Hickey's jaw sagged. The cabby ostentatiously covered his mouth with a
huge red paw and made choking noises.

"Pass it up, sarge, pass it up," he whispered hoarsely.

"Shut yer trap," snapped the detective. "I know what I'm doin'. This
crook's clever all right, but I got the kibosh on him this time. Lemme
alone." He squared his shoulders, blustering to save his face. "I don't
know why yeh done it----"

"Then I'll tell you," Maitland cut in crisply. "If you'll be good enough
to listen." And concisely narrated the events of the past twenty-four
hours, beginning at the moment when he had discovered Anisty in Maitland
Manor. Save that he substituted himself for the man who had escaped from
Higgins and eliminated all mention of the grey girl, his statement was
exact and convincing. As he came down to the moment when he had called up
from the Bartholdi and heard mysterious sounds in his flat, substantiating
his story by indicating the receiver that dangled useless from the
telephone, even Hickey was staggered.

But not beaten. When Maitland ceased speaking the detective smiled
superiority to such invention.

"Very pretty," he conceded. "Yeh c'n tell it all to the magistrate
to-morrow morning. Meantime yeh'll have time to think up a yarn
explainin' how it come that a crook like Anisty made three attempts in
one day to steal some jewels, 'nd didn't get 'em. Where were they all
this time?"

"In safe-keeping," Maitland lied manfully, with a furtive glance toward
the alcove.

"Whose?" pursued Mr. Hickey truculently.

"Mine," with equanimity. "Seriously--_sleuth!_--are you trying to
make a charge against me of stealing my own property?"

"Yeh done it for a blind. 'Nd that's enough. Officer, take this man to the
station; I'll make the complaint."

The policeman hesitated, and at this juncture O'Hagan put in an
appearance, lugging a heavy brown-paper bundle.

"Beg pardon, Misther Maitland, sor----?"

"Well, O'Hagan?"

"The crowd at the dure, sor, is dishpersed," the janitor reported. "A
couple av cops kem along an' fanned 'em. They're askin' fer the two av
yees," with a careless nod to the policeman and detective.

"Yeh heard what I said," Hickey answered the officer's look.

"I'm thinkin'," O'Hagan pursued, calmly ignoring the presence of the
outsiders, "thot these do be the soot that domned thafe av the worruld
stole off ye the day, sor. A la-ad brought ut at ayeleven o'clock, sor,
wid particular rayquist thot ut be daylivered to ye at once. The paper's
tore, an'----"

"O'Hagan," Maitland ordered sharply, "undo that parcel. I think I can
satisfy you now, sleuth. What kind of a suit did your luncheon
acquaintance wear?"

"Grey," conceded Hickey reluctantly.

"An' here ut is," O'Hagan announced, arraying the clothing upon a chair.
"Iv'ry domn' thing, aven down to the socks.... And a note for ye, sor."

As he shook out the folds of the coat a square white envelope dropped to
the floor; the janitor retrieved and offered it to his employer.

"Give it to the sleuth," nodded Maitland.

Scowling, Hickey withdrew the inclosure--barely glancing at the
superscription.

"'Dear Mr. Maitland,'" he read aloud; "'As you will probably surmise, my
motive in thus restoring to you a portion of your property is not
altogether uninfluenced by personal and selfish considerations. In brief,
I wish to discover whether or not you are to be at home to-night. If not,
I shall take pleasure in calling; if the contrary, I shall feel that in
justice to myself I must forego the pleasure of improving an acquaintance
begun under auspices so unfavorable. In either case, permit me to thank
you for the use of your wardrobe,--which, quaintly enough, has outlived
its usefulness to me: a fat-headed detective named Hickey will tell you
why,--and to extend to you expression of my highest consideration.
Believe me, I am enviously yours, Daniel Anisty'--Signed," added Hickey
mechanically, his face working.

"Satisfied, Sleuth?"

By way of reply, but ungraciously, the detective stepped forward and
unlocked the handcuffs.

Maitland stood erect, smiling. "Thank you very much, sleuth. I shan't
forget you ... O'Hagan," Tossing the janitor the keys from his desk,
"you'll find some--ah--lemon-pop and root-beer in the buffet, this officer
and his friends will no doubt join you in a friendly drink downstairs.
Cabby, I want a word with you.... Good morning, gentlemen, _Good Morning,_
sleuth."

And he showed them the door. "I shall be at your service officer," he
called over the janitor's shoulder, "at any time to-morrow morning. If not
here, O'Hagan will tell you where to find me. And, O'Hagan!" The Janitor
fell back. "Keep them at least an hour," Maitland told him guardedly, "and
say nothing."

The Irishman pledged his discretion by a silent look. Maitland turned back
to the cabby.

"You did me a good turn, just now," he began.

"Don't mention it, sir; I've carried you hoften before this evenin',
and--excuse my sayin' so--I never _'ad_ a fare as tipped 'andsomer.
It's a real pleasure, sir, to be of service."

"Thank you," returned Maitland, eying him in speculative wise. "I
wonder--"

The man was a rough, burly Englishman of one of the most intelligent, if
not intellectual, kind; the British cabby, as a type, has few superiors
for sheer quickness of wit and understanding. This man had been sharpened
and tempered by his contact with American conditions. His eyes were
shrewd, his face honest if weather-beaten, his attitude respectful.

"I've another use for you to-night," Maitland decided, "if you are at
liberty and--discreet?" The final word was a question, flung over his
shoulder as he turned toward the escritoire.

"Yes, sir," said the man thoughtfully. "I allus can drive, sir, even when
I'm drinkin' 'ardest and can't see nothink."

"Yes? You've been drinking to-night?" Maitland smiled quietly, standing at
the small writing-desk and extracting a roll of bills from a concealed
drawer.

"I'm fair blind, sir."

"Very well." Maitland turned and extended his hand, and despite his
professed affliction, the cabby's eyes bulged as he appreciated the size
of the bill.

"My worrd!" he gasped, stowing it away in the cavernous depths of a
trousers pocket.

"You will wait outside," said Maitland, "until I come out or--or send
somebody for you to take wherever directed. Oh, that's all right--not
another word!"

The door closed behind the overwhelmed nighthawk, and the latch clicked
loudly. For a space Maitland stood in the hallway, troubled, apprehensive,
heart strangely oppressed, vision clouded by the memory of the girl as he
had seen her only a few minutes since: as she had stood beneath the
chandelier, after acting upon her primary clear-headed impulse to give her
rescuer the aid of the light.

He seemed to recall very clearly her slight figure, swaying, a-quiver with
fright and solicitude,--care for him!--her face, sensitive and sweet
beneath its ruddy crown of hair, that of a child waking from evil dreams,
her eyes seeking his with their dumb message of appeal and of.... He dared
not name what else.

Forlorn, pitiful, little figure! Odd it seemed that he should fear to face
her again, alone, that he should linger reluctant to cross the threshold
of his study, mistrustful and afraid alike of himself and of her--a thief.

For what should he say to her, other than the words that voiced the hunger
of his heart? Yet if he spoke ... words such as those to--to a thief ...
what would be the end of it all?

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