The Brass Bowl by Louis Joseph Vance

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The grey girl, Anisty, the jewels, himself: unflagging, his thoughts
circumnavigated the world of his romance, touching only at these four
ports, and returning always to linger longest in the harbor of sentiment.

The grey girl: strange that her personality should have come to dominate
his thoughts in a space of time so brief! and upon grounds of intimacy so
slender!... Who and what was she? What cruel rigor of circumstance had
impelled her to seek a livelihood in ways so sinister? At whose door
must the blame be laid, against what flaw in the body social should the
indictment be drawn, that she should have been forced into the ranks of the
powers that prey--a girl of her youth and rare fiber, of her cultivation,
her charm, and beauty?

The sheer loveliness of her, her grace and gentleness, her ingenuous
sensitiveness, her wit: they combined to make the thought of her, to him,
at least, at once terrible and a delight. Remembering that once he had
held her in his arms, had gazed into her starlit eyes, and inhaled the
impalpable fragrance of her, he trembled, was both glad and afraid.

And her ways so hedged about with perils! While he must stand aside,
impotent, a pillar of the social order secure in its shelter, and see her
hounded and driven by the forces of the Law, harried and worried like
an unclean thing, forced, as it might be, to resort to stratagems and
expedients unthinkable, to preserve her liberty....

It was altogether intolerable. He could not stand it. And yet--it was
written that their paths had crossed and parted and were never again to
touch. Or was it?... It must be so written: they would never meet again.
After all, her concern with, her interest in, him, could have been nothing
permanent. They had encountered under strange auspices, and he had treated
her with common decency, for which she had repaid him in good measure by
permitting him to retain his own property. Their account was even, and
she for ever done with him. That must be her attitude. Why should it be
anything else?

"Oh, the devil!" exclaimed the young man in disgust. And rising, took his
distemper to the window.

Leaning on the sill, he thrust head and shoulders far out over the garish
abyss of metropolitan night. The hot breath of the city fanned up in
stifling waves into his face, from the street below, upon whose painted
pavements men crawled like insects--round moving spots, to each his romance
under his hat.

The window was on the corner, overlooking the junction of three great
highways of humanity: Twenty-third Street, with its booming crosstown cars,
stretching away into the darkness on either hand; Broadway, forking off to
the left, its distances merging into a hot glow of yellow radiance;
Fifth Avenue, branching into the north with its desolate sidewalks oddly
patterned in areas of dense shadow and a cold, clear light. Over the way
the park loomed darkly, for all its scattered arcs, a black and silent
space, a well of mystery....

It was late, quite late; the clock in front of Dorlon's (he craned his neck
to see), made the hour one in the morning; the sidewalks were comparatively
deserted, even the pillared portico of the Fifth Avenue Hotel destitute of
loungers. A timid hint of coolness, forerunning the dawn, rode up on the
breeze.

He looked up and away northward, for many minutes, over housetops stenciled
black against the glowing sky, his gaze yearning into vast distances of
space, melancholy tingeing the complexion of his mind. He fancied himself
oppressed by a vague uneasiness, unaccountable as to cause, unless....

From the sublime to the ridiculous with a vengeance, his thoughts tumbled.
Gone the glamour of Romance in a twinkling, banished by rank materialism.
He could have blushed for shame; he got slowly to his feet, irresolute,
trying to grapple with a condition that never before in his existence had
he been called upon to consider.

He had just realized that he was flat-strapped for cash. He had given his
last quarter to the cabby, hours back. He was registered at a strange
hotel, under an assumed name, unable to beg credit even for his breakfast
without declaring his identity and thereby laying himself open to
suspicion, discourtesy, insult....

Of course there were ways out. He could telephone Bannerman, or any
other of half a dozen acquaintances, in the morning; but that involved
explanations, and explanations involved making himself the butt of his
circle for many a weary day. There was money in his lodgings, in the
Chippendale escritoire; but to get it he would have to run the gauntlet
of reporters and detectives which had already dismayed him in prospect.
O'Hagan--ah!

At the head of his bed was a telephone. Impulsively, inconsiderate of the
hour, he turned to it.

"Give me Nine-o-eight-nine Madison, please," he said; and waited, receiver
to ear.

There was a slight pause; a buzz; the voice of the switchboard operator
below stairs repeating the number to Central; Central's appropriately
mechanical reiteration; another buzz; a silence; a prolonged buzz; and
again the sounding silence....

"Hello!" he said softly into the transmitter, at a venture.

No answer.

"Hello!"

Then Central, irritably: "Go ahead. You've got your party."

"Hello, hello!"

A faint hum of voices, rising and falling, beat against the walls of his
understanding. Were the wires crossed? He lifted an impatient finger to
jiggle the hook and call Central to order, when--something crashed heavily.
He could have likened the sound, without a strain of imagination, to a
chair being violently overturned. And then a woman's voice, clear, accents
informed with anger and pain: "_No!_" and then....

"Say, that's my mistake. That line you had's out of order. I had a call for
them a while ago, and they didn't answer. Guess you'll have to wait."

"Central! Central!" he pleaded desperately. "I say, Central, give me that
connection again, please."

"Ah, say! what's the matter with you, anyway? Didn't I tell you that line
was out of order? Ring off!"

Automatically Maitland returned the receiver to its rest; and rose,
white-lipped and trembling. That woman's voice....

X

CONSEQUENCES

Breathing convulsively, wide eyes a little wildly fixed upon his face in
the lamplight, the girl stumbled to her feet, and for a moment remained
cowering against the wall, terribly shaken, a hand gripping a corner of the
packing-box for support, the other pressed against the bosom of her dress
as if in attempt forcibly to quell the mad hammering of her heart.

In her brain, a turmoil of affrighted thought, but one thing stood out
clearly: _now_ she need look for no mercy. The first time it had been
different; she had not been a woman had she been unable then to see
that the adventure intrigued Maitland with its spice of novelty, a new
sensation, fully as much as she, herself, the pretty woman out of place,
interested and attracted him. He had enjoyed playing the part, had been
amused to lead her to believe him an adventurer of mettle and caliber
little inferior to her own--as he understood her: unscrupulous, impatient
of the quibble of _meum-et-tuum_, but adroit and keen-witted, and
distinguished and set apart from the herd by grace of gentle breeding and
chivalric instincts.

How far he might or might not have let this enjoyment carry him, she had no
means of surmising. Not very far, not too far, she was inclined to believe,
strongly as she knew her personality to have influenced him: not far
enough to induce him to trust her out of sight with the jewels. He had
demonstrated that, to her humiliation.

The flush of excitement waning, manlike soon had he wearied of the
game--she thought: to her mind, in distorted retrospect, his attitude
when leaving her at dawn had been insincere, contemptuous, that of a man
relieved to be rid of her, relieved to be able to get away in unquestioned
possession of his treasure. True, the suggestion that they lunch together
at Eugene's had been his.... But he had forgotten the engagement, if ever
he had meant to keep it, if the notion had been more than a whim of the
moment with him. And O'Hagan had told her by telephone that Maitland
had left his rooms at one o'clock--in ample time to meet her at the
restaurant....

No, he had never intended to come; he had wearied; yet, patient with her,
true to the ethics of a gentleman, he had been content to let her go,
rather than to send a detective to take his place....

And this was something, by the way, to cause her to revise her theory as to
the manner in which Anisty had managed to steal the jewels. If Maitland
had gone abroad at one, and without intending to keep his engagement at
Eugene's, then he must have been despoiled before that hour, and without
his knowledge. Surely, if the jewels had been taken from him with his
cognizance, the hue and cry would have been out and Anisty would not have
dared to linger so long in the neighborhood!

To be just with herself, the girl had not gone to the restaurant with much
real hope of finding Maitland there. Curiosity had drawn her,--just to see
if.... But it was too preposterous to credit, that he should have cared
enough.... Quite too preposterous! It was her cup, her bitter cup, to know
that _she_ had learned to care enough--at sight!... And she recalled (with
what pangs of shame and misery begged expression!) how her heart had been
stirred when she had found him (as she thought) true to his tryst: even as
she recalled the agony and distress of mind with which she had a moment
later fathomed Anisty's impersonation.

For, of course, she had known that Maitland was Maitland and none other,
from the instant when he told her to make good her escape and leave him to
brazen it out: a task to daunt even as bold and resourceful a criminal as
Anisty, and more especially if he were called upon to don the mask at a
minute's notice, as Maitland had pretended to. Or, if she had not actually
known, she had been led to suspect: and it had hardly needed what she had
heard him say to the servants, when he thought her flying hotfoot over the
lawn to safety, to harden suspicion into certainty.

And now that he should find her here, a second time a trespasser, doubly
an ingrate,--that he should have caught her red-handed in this abominably
ungrateful treachery!... She could pretend, of course, that she had
returned merely to restore the jewels and the cigarette case; and he would
believe her, for he was generous.... She could, but--she could not. Not
now. Yesterday, the excitement had buoyed her; she had gained a piquant
enjoyment from befooling him, playing _her_ part of the amateur crackswoman
in this little comedy of the stolen jewels. But therein lay the difference:
yesterday it had been comedy, but to-day--ah! to-day she could no longer
laugh. For now she cared.

A little lie would clear her--yes. But it was not to be cleared that she
now so passionately desired; it was to have him believe in her, even
against the evidence of his senses, even in the face of the world's
condemnation; and so prove that he, too, cared--cared for her as his
attitude toward her had taught her to care....

Ever since leaving him in the dawn she had fed her starved heart with the
hope, faint hope though it were, that he would come to care a little, that
he would not utterly despise her, that he would understand and forgive,
when he learned why she had played out her part, nor believe that she was
the embodiment of all that was ignoble, coarse, and crude; that he would
show a little faith in her, a little faith that like a flickering taper
might light the way for ... Love.

But that hope was now dead within her, and cold. She had but to look at
him to see how groundless it had been, how utterly unmoved he was by her
distress. He waited patiently--that was all--seeming so very tall, a pillar
of righteous strength, distinguished and at ease in his evening clothes:
waiting, patient but cold, dispassionate and disdainful.

"I am waiting, you see. Might I suggest that we have not all week for
our--our mutual differences?"

His tone was altogether changed; she would hardly have known it for
his voice. Its incisive, clipped accents were like a knife to her
sensitiveness.... She summoned the reserve of her strength, stood erect,
unsupported, and moved forward without a word. He stood aside, holding the
lamp high, and followed her, lighting the way down the hall to the study.

Once there, she sank quivering into a chair, while he proceeded gravely
to the desk, put down the lamp,--superfluous now, the gas having been
lighted,--and after a moment's thought faced her, with a contemptuous smile
and lift of his shoulders, thrusting hands deep into his pockets.

"Well?" he demanded cuttingly.

She made a little motion of her hands, begging for time; and, assenting
with a short nod, he took a turn up and down the room, then abstractedly
reached up and turned out the gas.

"When you are quite composed I should enjoy hearing your statement."

"I ... have none to make."

"So!"--with his back to the lamp, towering over and oppressing her with the
sense of his strength and self-control. "That is very odd, isn't it?"

"I have no--no explanation to give that would satisfy you, or myself,"
she said brokenly. "I--I don't care what you think," with a flicker
of defiance. "Believe the worst and--and do what you will--have me
arrested----"

He laughed sardonically. "Oh, we won't go so far as that, I guess; harsh
measures, such as arrest and imprisonment, are so unsatisfactory to all
concerned. But I am interested to know why you are here."

Her breathing seemed very loud in the pause; she kept her lips tight,
fearing to speak lest she lose her mastery of self. And hysteria
threatened: the fluttering in her bosom warned her. She must be very
careful, very restrained, if she were to avert that crowning misfortune.

"I don't think I quite understand you," he continued musingly; "surely you
must have anticipated interruption."

"I thought you safely out of the way----"

"One presumed that." He laughed again, unpleasantly. "But how about
Maitland? Didn't you have him in your calculations, or--"

He paused, unfeignedly surprised by her expression. And chuckled when he
comprehended.

"By the powers, I forgot for a moment! So you thought me Maitland, eh?
Well, I'm sorry I didn't understand that from the first. You're so quick,
as a rule, you know,--I confess you duped me neatly this afternoon,--that
I supposed you were wise and only afraid that I'd give you what you
deserve.... If they had sent any one but that stupid ass, Hickey, to nab
me, I'd be in the cooler now. As it was, you kindly selected the very best
kind of a house for my purpose; I went straight up to the roofs and out
through a building round the corner...."

But the shock of discovery, with its attendant revulsion of feeling, had
been too much for her. She collapsed suddenly in the chair, eyes half
closed, face pallid as a mask of death.

Anisty regarded her in silence for a meditative instant, then, taking up
the lamp, strode down the hall to the pantry, returning presently with a
glass brimming with an amber-tinted, effervescent liquid.

"Champagne," he announced, licking his lips. "Wish I had Maitland's means
to gratify my palate. He knows good wine.... Here, my dear, gulp this
down," placing the glass to the girl's lips and raising her head that she
might swallow without strangling.

As it was, she choked and gasped, but after a moment began to show some
signs of having benefited by the draught, a faint color dawning in her
cheeks.

"That's some better," commended the burglar, not unkindly. "Now, if you
please, we'll stop talking pretty and get down to brass tacks. Buck up,
now, and answer my questions. And don't be afraid; I'm holding no great
grudge for what you did this afternoon. I appreciate pluck and grit as much
as anybody, I guess, though I do think you ran it pretty close, peaching on
a pal after you'd lifted the jewels. By the way, why did you do it?"

"Because.... But you wouldn't understand if I told you."

"I suppose not. I'm not much good splitting sentimental hairs. But Maitland
must have been pretty decent to you to make you go so far.... Speaking of
which, where are they?"

"They?"

"Don't sidestep. We understand one another. I _know_ you've brought back
the jewels. Where have you stowed them?"

The wine had fulfilled its mission, endowed her with fresh strength and
renewed spirit. She was thinking quickly, every wit alert.

"I won't tell you."

"Won't, eh? That's an admission that they're here, you know. And you may as
well know I propose to have 'em. Fair means or foul, take your pick. Where
are they?"

"I have told you I wouldn't tell."

"I've known pluckier women than you to change their minds, under pressure."
He came nearer, bending over, face close to hers, eyes savage, and gripped
her wrists none too gently. "Tell me!"

"Let me go."

He proceeded calmly to imprison both small wrists in one strong, bony hand.
"Better tell."

"Let me go!" she panted, struggling to rise.

His voice took on an ugly tone. "Tell!"

She was a child in his hands, but managed nevertheless to rise. As he
applied the pressure more cruelly to her arms she cried aloud with pain
and, struggling desperately, knocked the chair over.

It went down with a crash appallingly loud in that silent house and at that
hour; and taking advantage of his instant of consternation she jerked free
and sprang toward the door. He was upon her in an instant, however, hard
fingers digging into her shoulders. "You little fool!"

"No!" she cried. "No, no, no! Let me go, you--you brute!----"

Abruptly he thought better of his methods and released her, merely putting
himself between her and the doorway.

"Don't be a little fool," he counseled. "You kick up that row and you'll
have us both pinched inside of the next five minutes."

Defiance was on her tongue's tip, but the truth in his words gave her
pause. Palpitating with the shock, every outraged instinct a-quiver, she
subdued herself and fell back, eying him fixedly.

"They're here," he nodded thoughtfully. "You wouldn't have stood for
that if they weren't. And since they are, I can find them without your
assistance. Sit down. I shan't touch you again."

She had scant choice other than to obey. Desperate as she was, her strength
had been severely overtaxed, and she might not presume upon it too greatly.
Fascinated with terror, she let herself down into an easy chair.

Anisty thought for a moment, then went over to the desk and sat himself
before it.

"Keys," he commented, rapidly inventorying what he saw. "How'd you get hold
of them?"

"They are Mr. Maitland's. He must have forgotten them."

The burglar chuckled grimly. "Coincidences multiply. It is odd. That harp,
O'Hagan, was coming in with a can of beer while I was picking the lock, and
caught me. He wanted to know if I'd missed my train for Greenfields, and I
gave him my word of honor I had. Moreover, I'd mislaid my keys and had been
ringing for him for the past ten minutes. He swallowed every word of it....
By the way, here's a glove of yours. You certainly managed to leave enough
clues about to insure your being nabbed even by a New York detective."

He faced about, tossing her the glove, and with it so keen and penetrating
a glance that her heart sank for fear that he had guessed her secret. But
as he continued she regained confidence.

"I could teach you a thing or two," he suggested pleasantly. "You make
about as many mistakes as the average beginner. And, on the other hand,
you've got the majority beaten to a finish for 'cuteness. You're as quick
as they make them."

She straightened up, uneasy, oppressed by a vague surmise as to whither
this tended.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly, "but hadn't you better----"

"Plenty of time, my dear. Maitland has gone to Greenfields and we've
several hours before us.... Look here, little woman, why don't you take
a tumble to yourself, cut out all this nonsense, and look to your own
interests?"

"I don't understand you," she faltered, "but if----"

"I'm talking about this Maitland affair. Cut it out and forget it. You're
too good-looking and valuable to yourself to lose your head just all on
account of a little moonlight flirtation with a good-looking millionaire.
You don't suppose for an instant that there's anything in it for yours, do
you? You're nothing to Maitland--just an incident; next time he meets you,
the baby-stare for yours. You can thank your lucky stars he happened to
have a reputation to sustain as a village cut-up, a gay, sad dog, always
out for a good time and hang the expense!--otherwise he'd have handed you
yours without a moment's hesitation. I'm not doing this up in tin-foil and
tying a violet ribbon with tassels on it, but I'm handing it straight to
you: something you don't want to forget.... You just sink your hooks in
the fact that you're nothing to Maitland and that he's nothing to you, and
never will be, and you won't lose anything--except illusions."

She remained quiescent for a little, hands twitching in her lap, torn by
conflicting emotions--fear of and aversion for the man, amusement, chill
horror bred of the knowledge that he was voicing the truth about her, the
truth, at least, as he saw it, and--and as Maitland would see it.

"Illusions?" she echoed faintly, and raised her eyes to his with a pitiful
attempt at a smile. "Oh, but I must have lost them, long ago; else I
shouldn't be...."

"Here and what you are. That's what I'm telling you."

She shuddered imperceptibly; looked down and up again, swiftly, her
expression inscrutable, her voice a-tremble between laughter and tears:
"Well?"

"Eh?" The directness of her query figuratively brought him up all standing,
canvas flapping and wind out of his sails.

"What are you offering me in exchange for my silly dream?" she inquired, a
trace of spirit quickening her tone.

"A fair exchange, I think ... something that I wouldn't offer you if you
hadn't been able to dream." He paused, doubtful, clumsy.

"Go on," she told him faintly.... Since it must come, as well be over with
it.

"See here." He took heart of desperation. "You took to Maitland when you
thought he was me. Why not take to me for myself? I'm as good a man, better
_as_ a man, than he, if I do blow my own horn.... You side with me, little
woman, and--and all that--and I'll treat you square. I never went back on a
pal yet. Why," brightening with enthusiasm as his gaze appraised her, "with
your looks and your cleverness and my knowledge of the business, we can
sweep the country, you and I."

"Oh!" she cried breathlessly.

"We'll start right now," he plunged on, misreading her; "right now, with
last night's haul. You'll chuck this addled sentimental pangs-of-conscience
lay, hand over the jewels, and--and I'll hand 'em back to you the day we're
married, all set and ... as handsome a wedding present as any woman ever
got...."

She twisted in her chair to hide her face from him, fairly cornered at
last, brain a-whirl devising a hundred maneuvers, each more helpless than
the last, to cheat and divert him for the time, until ... until....

The consciousness of his presence near her, of the sheer strength and might
of will-power of the man, bore upon her heavily; she was like a child in
his hands, helpless.... She turned with a hushed gasp to find that he had
risen and come close to her chair; his face was not a foot from hers, his
eyes dangerous; in another moment he would have his strong arms about her.
She shrank away, terrified.

"No, no!" she begged.

"Well, and why not? Well?"--tensely.

"How do I know?... This afternoon I outwitted you, robbed and sold you
for--for what you call a scruple. How can I know that you are not paying me
back in my own coin?"

"Oh, but little woman!" he laughed tenderly, coming nearer. "It is because
you did that, because you could hold those scruples and make a fool of me
for their sake, that I want you. Don't think I'm capable of playing with
you--it takes a woman to do that. Don't you know,"--he bent nearer and his
breath was warm upon her cheek,--"don't you know that you're too rare and
fine and precious for a man to risk losing?... Come now!"

"Not yet." She started to her feet and away.

"Wait.... There's a cab!"

The street without was echoing with the clattering drum of galloping hoofs.
"At this hour!" she cried, aghast. "Could it be--"

"No fear. Besides--there, it's stopped."

"In front of this house!"

"No, three doors up the street, at least. That's something you must learn,
and I can teach you to judge distance by sound in the darkness--"

"But I tell you," she insisted, retreating before him, "it's a risk....
There, did you hear that?"

"That" was the dulled crash of the front door.

Anisty stepped to the table on the instant and plunged the room in
darkness.

"Steady!" he told her evenly. "Steady. It can't be--but take no chances.
Go to the trunk-closet and get that window open. If it's
Maitland,"--grimly--"well, I'll follow."

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