The Brass Bowl by Louis Joseph Vance

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"Oh, you are!"

Maitland turned; and in the act of turning, the loaded head of the cane
landed with crushing force upon his temple.

For an instant he stood swaying, eyes closed, face robbed of every vestige
of color, deep lines of agony graven in his forehead and about his mouth;
then fell like a lifeless thing, limp and invertebrate.

The _soi-disant_ Mr. Snaith caught him and let him gently and without sound
to the floor.

"Poor fool!" he commented, kneeling to make a hasty examination. "Hope I
haven't done for him.... It would be the first time.... Bad precedent!...
So! He's all right--conscious within an hour.... Too soon!" he added,
standing and looking down. "Well, turn about's fair play."

He swung on his heel and entered the hallway, pausing at the door long
enough to shoot the bolt; then passed hastily through the other chambers,
searching, to judge by his manner.

In the end a closed door attracted him; he jerked it open, with an
exclamation of relief. It gave upon a large bare room, used by Maitland as
a trunk-closet. Here were stout leather straps and cords in ample measure.
"Mr. Snaith" selected one from them quickly but with care, choosing the
strongest.

In two more minutes, Maitland, trussed, gagged, still unconscious, and
breathing heavily, occupied a divan in his smoking-room, while his
assailant, in the bedroom, ears keen to catch the least sound from
with-out, was rapidly and cheerfully arraying himself in the Maitland
grey-striped flannels and accessories--even to the grey socks which had
been specified.

"The less chances one takes, the better," soliloquized "Mr. Snaith."

He stood erect, in another man's shoes, squaring back his shoulders,
discarding the disguising stoop, and confronted his image in a pier-glass.

"Good enough Maitland," he commented, with a little satisfied nod to his
counterfeit presentment. "But we'll make it better still."

A single quick jerk denuded his upper lip; he stowed the mustache carefully
away in his breast pocket. The moistened corner of a towel made quick work
of the crow's-feet about his eyes, and, simultaneously, robbed him of a
dozen apparent years. A pair of yellow chamois gloves, placed conveniently
on a dressing table, covered hands that no art could make resemble
Maitland's. And it was Daniel Maitland who studied himself in the
pier-glass.

Contented, the criminal returned to the smoking-room. A single glance
assured him that his victim was still dead to the world. He sat down at
the desk, drew off the gloves, and opened the bag; a peep within which was
enough. With a deep and slow intake of breath he knotted the draw-string
and dropped the bag into his pocket. A jeweled cigarette case of unique
design shared the same fate.

Quick eyes roaming the desk observed the telegram form upon which Maitland
had written Cressy's name and address. Momentarily perplexed, the thief
pondered this; then, with a laughing oath, seized the pen and scribbled,
with no attempt to imitate the other's handwriting, a message:

_"Regret unavoidable detention. Letter of explanation follows."_

To this Maitland's name was signed. "That ought to clear him neatly, if I
understand the emergency."

The thief rose, folding the telegraph blank, and returned to the bedroom,
taking up his hat and the murderous cane as he went. Here he gathered
together all the articles of clothing that he had discarded, conveying the
mass to the trunk-room, where an empty and unlocked kit-bag received it
all.

"That, I think, is about all."

He was very methodical, this criminal, this Anisty. Nothing essential
escaped him. He rejoiced in the minutiae of detail that went to cover up
his tracks so thoroughly that his campaigns were as remarkable for the
clues he did leave with malicious design, as for those that he didn't.

One final thing held his attention: a bowl of hammered brass, inverted
beneath a ponderous book, upon the desk. Why? In a twinkling he had removed
both and was studying the impression of a woman's hand in the dust, and
nodding over it.

"That girl," deduced Anisty. "Novice, poor little fool!--or she wouldn't
have wasted time searching here for the jewels. Good looker, though--from
what little _he_"--with a glance at Maitland--"gave me a chance to see of
her. Seems to have snared him, all right, if she did miss the haul....
Little idiot! What right has a woman in this business, anyway? Well, here's
one thing that will never land me in the pen."

As, with nice care, he replaced both bowl and book, a door slammed below
stairs took him to the hall in an instant. Maitland's Panama was hanging on
the hat-rack, Maitland's collection of walking-sticks bristled in a stand
beneath it. Anisty appropriated the former and chose one of the latter.
"Fair exchange," he considered with a harsh laugh. "After all, he loses
nothing ... but the jewels."

He was out and at the foot of the stairs just as O'Hagan reached the ground
floor from the basement.

"Ah, O'Hagan!" The assumption of Maitland's ironic drawl was impeccable.
O'Hagan no more questioned it than he questioned his own sanity. "Here,
send this wire at once, please; and," pressing a coin into the ready palm,
"keep the change. I was hurried and didn't bother to call you. And, I say,
O'Hagan!" from the outer door:

"Yissor."

"If that fellow Snaith ever calls again, I'm not at home."

"Very good, sor."

Anisty permitted himself the slightest of smiles, pausing on the stoop to
draw on the chamois gloves. As he did so his eye flickered disinterestedly
over the personality of a man standing on the opposite walk and staring
at the apartment house. He was a short man, of stoutish habit, sloppily
dressed, with a derby pulled down over one eye, a cigar-butt protruding
arrogantly from beneath a heavy black mustache, beefy cheeks, and
thick-soled boots dully polished.

At sight of him the thief was conscious of an inward tremor, followed by
a thrill of excitement like a wave of heat sweeping through his being.
Instantaneously his eyes flashed; then were dulled. Imperturbable,
listless, hall-marked the prey of ennui, he waited, undecided, upon
the stoop, while the watcher opposite, catching sight of him, abruptly
abandoned his slouch and hastened across the street.

"Excuse me" he began in a loud tone, while yet a dozen feet away, "but
ain't this Mr. Maitland?"

Anisty lifted his brows and shoulders at one and the same time and bowed
slightly.

"Well, my good man?"

"I'm a detective from Headquarters, Mr. Maitland. We got a 'phone from
Greenfields, Long Island, this morning--from the local police. Your
butler----"

"Ah! I see; about this man Anisty? You don't mean to tell me--what? I shall
discharge Higgins at once. Just on my way to breakfast. Won't you join me?
We can talk this matter over at our leisure. What do you say to Eugene's?
It's handy, and I dare say we can find a quiet corner. By the way, have you
the time concealed about your person?"

Anisty was fumbling in his fob-pocket and inwardly cursing himself for
having been such an ass as to overlook Maitland's timepiece. "Deuced
awkward!" he muttered in genuine annoyance. "I've mislaid my watch."

"It's 'most one o'clock, Mr. Maitland."

Flattered, the man from Headquarters dropped, into step by the burglar's
side.

VI

EUGENE'S AT TWO

"Since we don't want to be overheard," remarked Mr. Anisty, "it's no
use trying the grill-room down-stairs, although I admit it is more
interesting."

"Just as yeh say, sir."

Awed and awkward, the police detective stumbled up the steps behind his
imperturbable guide; it was a great honor, in his eyes, to lunch in company
with a "swell." Man of stodgy common-sense and limited education that he
was, the glamour of the Maitland millions obscured his otherwise clear
vision completely. And uneasily he speculated as to whether or not he would
be able to manipulate correctly the usual display of knives and forks.

An obsequious head-waiter greeted them, bowing, in the lobby. "Good
afternoon, Mr. Maitland," he murmured. "Table for two?"

"Good afternoon," responded the masquerader, with an assumed abstraction,
inwardly congratulating himself upon having hit upon a restaurant where the
real Maitland was evidently known. There were few circumstances which he
could not turn to profit, fewer emergencies to which he could not rise, he
complimented Handsome Dan Anisty.

"A table for two," he drawled Maitland-wise, "In a corner somewhere, away
from the crowd, you know."

"This way, if you please, Mr. Maitland."

"By the way," suggested the burglar, unfolding his serviette and glancing
keenly about the room,--which, by good chance, was thinly populated, "by
the way, you know, you haven't told me your name yet."

"Hickey--John W. Hickey, Detective Bureau."

"Thank you." A languid hand pushed the pink menu card across the table to
Mr. Hickey. "And what do you see that you'd like?"

"Well...." Hickey became conscious that both unwieldy feet were nervously
twined about the legs of his chair; blushed; disentangled them; and in
an attempt to cover his confusion, plunged madly into consideration of
a column of _table-d'hôte_ French, not one word of which conveyed the
slightest particle of information to his intelligence.

"Well," he repeated, and moistened his lips. The room seemed suddenly very
hot, notwithstanding the fact that an obnoxious electric fan was sending a
current of cool air down the back of his neck.

"I ain't," he declared in ultimate desperation, "hungry, much. Had a bite a
little while back, over to the Gilsey House bar."

"Would a little drink----?"

"Thanks. I don't mind."

"Waiter, bring Mr. Hickey a bottle of Number Seventy-two. For me--let me
see--_café au lait_," with a grand air, "and rolls.... You must remember
this is my breakfast, Mr. Hickey. I make it a rule never to drink anything
for six hours after rising." Anisty selected a cigarette from the Maitland
case, lit it, and contemplated the detective's countenance with a winning
smile. "Now, as to this Anisty affair last night...."

Under the stimulus of the champagne, to say naught of his relief at having
evaded the ordeal of the cutlery, Hickey discoursed variously and at length
upon the engrossing subject of Anisty, gentleman-cracksman, while the
genial counterpart of Daniel Maitland listened with apparent but deceptive
apathy, and had much ado to keep from laughing in his guest's face as the
latter, perspiringly earnest, unfolded his plans for laying the burglar by
the heels.

From time to time, and at intervals steadily decreasing, the hand of the
host sought the neck of the bottle, inclining it carefully above the
thin-stemmed glass that Hickey kept in almost constant motion. And the
detective's fatuous loquacity flowed as the contents of the bottle ebbed.

Yet, as the minutes wore on, the burglar began to be conscious that it was
but a shallow well of information and amusement that he pumped. The game,
fascinating with its spice of daring as it had primarily been, began to
pall. At length the masquerader calculated the hour as ripe for what he
had contemplated from the beginning; and interrupted Hickey with scant
consideration, in the middle of a most interesting exposition.

"You'll pardon me, I'm sure, if I trouble you again for the time."

The fat red fingers sought uncertainly for the timepiece: the bottle was
now empty. The hour, as announced, was ten minutes to two.

"I've an engagement," invented Anisty plausibly, "with a friend at two. If
you'll excuse me----? _Garçon, l'addition!_"

"Then I und'stand, Mister Maitland, we e'n count on yeh?"

Anisty, eyelids drooping, tipped back his chair a trifle and regarded
Hickey with a fair imitation of the whimsical Maitland smile. "Hardly, I
think."

"Why not?"--truculently.

"To be frank with you, I have three excellent reasons. The first should be
sufficient: I'm too lazy."

Disgruntled, Hickey stared and shook a disapproving head. "I was afraid
of that; yeh swells don't never seem to think nothin' of yer duties to
soci'ty."

Anisty airily waved the indictment aside. "Moreover, I have lost nothing.
You see, I happened in just at the right moment; our criminal friend got
nothing for his pains. The jewels are safe. Reason Number Two: Having
retained my property, I hold no grudge against Anisty."

"Well--I dunno--"

"And as for reason Number Three: I don't care to have this affair
advertised. If the papers get hold of it they'll cook up a lot of silly
details that'll excite the cupidity of every thief in the country, and make
me more trouble than I care to--ah--contemplate."

Hickey's eyes glistened. "Of course, if yeh want it kept quiet--" he
suggested significantly.

Anisty's hand sought his pocket. "How much?"

"Well, I guess I can leave that to you. Yeh oughttuh know how bad yeh want
the matter hushed."

"As I calculate it, then, fifty ought to be enough for the boys; and fifty
will repay you for your trouble."

The end of Hickey's expensive panetela was tilted independently toward the
ceiling. "Shouldn't wonder if it would," he murmured, gratified.

Anisty stuffed something bulky back into his pocket and wadded another
something--green and yellow colored--into a little pill, which he presently
flicked carelessly across the table. The detective's large mottled paw
closed over it and moved toward his waistcoat.

"As I was sayin'," he resumed, "I'm sorry yeh don't see yer way to givin'
us a hand. But p'rhaps yeh're right. Still, if the citizens'd only give us
a hand onct in a while----"

"Ah, but what gives you your living, Hickey?" argued the amateur sophist.
"What but the activities of the criminal element? If society combined with
you for the elimination of crime, what would become of your job?"

He rose and wrung the disconsolate one warmly by the hand. "But there, I am
sorry I have to hurry you away.... Now that you know where to find me, drop
in some evening and have a cigar and a chat. I'm in town a good deal, off
and on, and always glad to see a friend."

At another time, and with another man, Anisty would not have ventured to
play his catch so roughly; but, as he had reckoned, the comfortable state
of mind induced by an unexpected addition to his income and a quart of
champagne, had dulled the official apprehensions of Sergeant Hickey.

Mumbling a vague acceptance of the too-genial invitation, the exalted
detective rose and ambled cheerfully down the room and out of the door.

Anisty lit another cigarette and contemplated the future with satisfaction.
As a diplomat he was inclined to hold himself a success. Indeed, all things
taken under mature consideration, the conclusion was inevitable that he was
the very devil of a fellow. With what consummate skill he had played his
hand! Now the pursuit of the Maitland burglar would be abandoned; the news
item suppressed at Headquarters. And it was equally certain that Maitland
(when eventually liberated) would be at pains to keep his part of the
affair very much in shadow.

The masquerader ventured a mystical smile at the world in general.
One pictured the evening when the infatuated detective should find it
convenient to drop in on the exclusive Mr. Maitland....

"Mr. Anisty?"

VII

ILLUMINATION

In a breath was self-satisfaction banished; simultaneously the masquerader
brought his gaze down from the ceiling, his thoughts to earth, his
vigilance to the surface, and himself to his feet, summoning to his aid all
that he possessed of resource and expedient.

Trapped!--the word blazed incandescent in his brain. So long had he
foreseen and planned against this very moment.

Yet panic swayed him for but a little instant; as swiftly as it had
overcome him it subsided, leaving him shocked, a shade more pale, but
rapidly reasserting control of his faculties. And with this shade of
emotion came complete reassurance.

His name had been uttered in no stern or menacing tone; rather its
syllables had been pitched in a low and guarded key, with an undernote of
raillery and cordiality. In brief, the moment that he recognized the voice
as a woman's, he was again master of himself, and, aware that the result of
his instinctive impulse to rise and defend himself, which had brought him
to a standing position, would be interpreted as only the natural action of
a gentleman addressed by a feminine acquaintance, he was confident that he
had not betrayed his primal consternation. He bowed, smiled, and with eyes
in which astonishment swiftly gave place to gratification and complete
comprehension, appraised her who had addressed him.

She seemed to have fluttered to the table, beside which she now stood,
slightly swaying, her walking costume of grey shot silk falling about her
in soft, tremulous petals. Dainty, chic, well-poised, serene, flawlessly
pretty in her miniature fashion: Anisty recognized her in a twinkling.
His perceptions, trained to observations as instantaneous as those of
a snap-shot camera, and well-nigh as accurate, had photographed her
individuality indelibly upon the film of his memory, even in the
abbreviated encounter of the previous night.

By a similar play of educated reasoning faculties keyed to the highest
pitch of immediate action, he had difficulty as scant in accounting for her
presence there. What he did not quite comprehend was why Maitland had
used her so kindly; for it had been plain enough that that gentleman had
surprised her in the act of safe-breaking before conniving at her escape.
But, allowing that Maitland's actions had been based upon motives vague to
the burglar's understanding, it was quite in the scheme of possibilities
that he should have arranged to meet his protégée at the restaurant that
afternoon. She was come to keep an appointment to which (now that
Anisty came to remember) Maitland had alluded in the beginning of their
conversation.

Well and good: once before, within the past two hours, he had told himself
that he was Good-enough Maitland. He would be even better now....

"But you did surprise me!" he declared gallantly, before she could wonder
at his slowness to respond. "You see, I was dreaming...."

He permitted her to surmise the object round which his dreams had been
woven.

"And I had expected you to be eagerly watching for me!" she parried archly.

"I was ... mentally. But," he warned her seriously, "not that name.
Maitland is known here; they call me Maitland--the waiters. It seems I made
a bad choice. But with your assistance and discretion we can bluff it out,
all right."

"I forgot. Forgive me." By now she was in the chair opposite him, tucking
the lower ends of her gloves into their wrists.

"No matter--nobody heard."

"I very nearly called you Handsome Dan." She flashed a radiant smile at him
from beneath the rim of her picture hat.

A fire was kindled in Anisty's eyes; he was conscious of a quickened
drumming of his pulses.

"Dan is Maitland's front name, also," he remarked absently.

"I thought as much," she responded, quietly speculative.

The burglar hardly heard. It has been indicated that he was quick-witted,
because he had to be, in the very nature of his avocation. Just now his
brain was working rather more rapidly than usual, even: which was one
reason why the light had leaped into his eyes.

It was very plain--to a deductive reasoner--from the girl's attitude toward
him that she had fallen into relations of uncommon friendliness with this
Maitland, young as Anisty believed their acquaintance to be. There had
plainly been a flirtation--wherein lay the explanation of Maitland's
forbearance: he had been fascinated by the woman, had not hesitated to take
Anisty's name (even as Anisty was then taking his) in order to prolong
their intimacy.

So much the better. Turn-about was still fair play. Maitland had sown as
Anisty; the real Anisty would reap the harvest. Pretty women interested
him deeply, though he saw little enough of them, partly through motives of
prudence, partly because of a refinement of taste: women of the class of
this conquest-by-proxy were out of reach of the enemy of society. That is,
under ordinary circumstances. This one, on the contrary, was not: whatever
she was or had been, however successful a crackswoman she might be, her
cultivation and breeding were as apparent as her beauty; and quite as
attractive.

A criminal is necessarily first a gambler, a votary of Chance; and the
blind goddess had always been very kind to Mr. Anisty. He felt that here
again she was favoring him. Maitland he had eliminated from this girl's
life; Maitland had failed to keep his engagement, and so would never again
be called upon to play the part of burglar with her interest for incentive
and guerdon. Anisty himself could take up where Maitland had left off.
Easily enough. The difficulties were insignificant: he had only to play
up to Maitland's standard for a while, to be Maitland with all that
gentleman's advantages, educational and social, then gradually drop back to
his own level and be himself, Dan Anisty, "Handsome Dan," the professional,
the fit mate for the girl....

What was she saying?

"But you have lunched already!" with an appealing pout.

"Indeed, no!" he protested earnestly. "I was early--conceive my
eagerness!--and by ill chance a friend of mine insisted upon lunching with
me. I had only a cup of coffee and a roll." He motioned to the waiter,
calling him "Waiter!" rather than "_Garçon!_"----intuitively understanding
that Maitland would never have aired his French in a public place, and that
he could not afford the least slip before a woman as keen as this.

"Lay a clean cloth and bring the bill of fare," he demanded, tempering his
lordly instincts and adding the "please" that men of Maitland's stamp use
to inferiors.

"A friend!" tardily echoed the girl when the servant was gone.

He laughed lightly, determined to be frank. "A detective, in point of
fact," said he. And enjoyed her surprise.

"You have many such?"

"For convenience one tries to have one in each city."

"And this----?"

"Oh, I have him fixed, all right. He confided to me all the latest
developments and official intentions with regard to the Maitland arrest."

Her eyes danced. "Tell me!" she demanded, imperious: the emphasis of
intimacy irresistible as she bent forward, forearms on the cloth, slim
white hands clasped with tense impatience, eyes seeking his.

"Why ... of course Maitland escaped."

"No!"

"Fact. Scared the butler into ungagging him; then, in a fit of pardonable
rage, knocked that fool down and dashed out of the window--presumably in
pursuit of us. Up to a late hour he hadn't returned, and police opinion is
divided as to whether Maitland arrested Anisty, and Anisty got away, or
_vice versa_."

"Excellent!" She clasped her hands noiselessly, a gay little gesture.

"So, whatever the outcome, one thing is certain: Higgins will presently be
seeking another berth."

She lifted her brows prettily. "Higgins?"--with the rising inflection.

"The butler. Didn't you hear----?"

Eyes wondering, she moved her head slowly from side to side. "Hear what?"

"I fancied that you had waited a moment on the veranda," he finessed.

"Oh, I was quite too frightened...."

He took this for a complete denial. Better and better! He had actually
feared that she had eaves-dropped, however warrantably; and Maitland's
authoritative way with the servants had been too convincingly natural to
have deceived a woman of her keen wits.

There followed a lull while Anisty was ordering the luncheon: something he
did elaborately and with success, telling himself humorously: "Hang the
expense! Maitland pays." Of which fact the weight in his pocket was
assurance.

Maitland.... Anisty's thoughts verged off upon an interesting tangent. What
was Maitland's motive in arranging this meeting? It was self-evident that
the twain were of one world--the girl and the man of fashion. But, whatever
her right of heritage, she had renounced it, declassing herself by yielding
to thievish instincts, voluntarily placing herself on the level of Anisty.
Where she must remain, for ever.

There was comfort in that reflection. He glanced up to find her eyes bent
in gravity upon him. She, too, it appeared, had fallen a prey to reverie.
Upon what subject? An absorbing one, doubtless, since it held her
abstracted despite her companion's direct, unequivocally admiring stare.

The odd light was flickering again in the cracks-man's glance. She was then
more beautiful than aught that ever he had dreamed of. Such hair as
was hers, woven seemingly of dull flames, lambent, witching! And
eyes!--beautiful always, but never more so than at this moment, when
filled with sweetly pensive contemplation.... Was she reviewing the last
twenty-four hours, dreaming of what had passed between her and that silly
fool, Maitland? If only Anisty could surmise what they had said to each
other, how long they had been acquainted; if only she would give him a
hint, a leading word!...

If he could have read her mind, have seen behind the film of thought that
clouded her eyes, one fears Mr. Anisty might have lost appetite for an
excellent luncheon. For she was studying his hands, her memory harking
back to the moment when she had stood beside the safe, holding the
bull's-eye....

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