Читать книгу The Girl in His House - Harold MacGrath - Страница 5

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WHAT a predicament! Realizing that he could not stop to explain, that he had not entered the right way for explanation, and that, if the servants became alarmed, he would be in for it seriously and more or less complicatedly, he turned and fled. Noise did not matter now; he must gain that open window before any of the servants could outflank him. All in this house, the house he had been born in—lights, servants, and the loveliest girl he had ever laid eyes on!

Up the stairs in three bounds and down the hall, incredibly swift, thence through the window and onto the roof of the porch. He jumped hardily; there was no time for the trellis. The girl was hot upon his heels; he could hear her. Artemis, Diana; for, as he struck the turf, he saw from the corner of ​his eye—one of those undeveloped pictures one is never quite certain of—the white of her dress at the window. In Bagdad now, or Delhi, or even Teheran, such an affair would have fitted into the scheme of things quite naturally; but here in New York!

He ran straight for the fence, scrambled over rather than vaulted it. Then that infernal poodle began yammering again. He was later to be made aware of the fact that this same benighted and maligned poodle saved him from a night's lodging in the nearby police station. Armitage did not pause in his inglorious flight until he was on the right of the grille in Seventy-third Street.

He leaned against the bars, panting, but completely and thoroughly reveneered. "Of all the colossal tomfools!" he said, aloud. "What in thunder am I going to do now?"

"Well, Aloysius," boomed a heavy voice, which was followed by a still heavier hand, "you might come along with me; the walking's good. Bell out o' order? Was there any beer in the ice-chest?" The policeman peered under the peak of Armitage's cap. "I saw you climb over that grille. Up with ​your hands, and no monkey-shines, or I'll rap you one on the conk!"

Armitage obeyed mechanically. There was a temporary cut-off between his mind and his body; they had ceased to co-ordinate. The policeman patted all the pockets, and a thrill of relief ran over the victim. Somewhere along the route he had lost the automatic. As he felt the experienced fingers going over his body he summoned with Herculean effort his scattered forces. Smack into the arms of a policeman! Here was a situation which called for a vast political pull or a Machiavellian cunning.

"Well, what's the dope?" demanded the policeman, rather puzzled to find neither weapons nor burglarious tools.

"I take it you're a reasonable man," said Armitage, breathlessly.

"Can the old-folks stuff. What were you doing in that yard?"

"Supposing I tell you I've done nothing wrong, that my name is James Armitage, and that—" Armitage paused, shocked. He couldn't tell this policeman anything. The thought of the girl made it utterly impossible. He would simply be taken around ​and confronted. Bog, bog! He could feel himself sinking deeper and deeper every moment.

"Well, go on," urged the policeman, ironically. "This is Friday and everything smells fish."

"This is your beat?" asked Armitage, desperately.

"It is; and I'm always on it, and no back talk."

As the little bits of colored glass in a kaleidoscope tumble into recognizable forms so Armitage's broken thoughts tumbled into coherency. He had just one chance. "Do you know Robert Burlingham?"

"Around in Seventy-second Street? Yeah. I begin to see. Poker game, and the missus comes back from the country. Oh, I'm a good listener, believe me. Go on."

"The fact is," Armitage floundered, "I just got back from the other side of the world to-day, and I thought I'd give Burlingham a scare by going in the rear way."

"I was born in Ireland, but I vote in Missouri. But I'm a good listener; always ready to hear new stuff. Go on."

​"Well, a poodle began yapping and I got cold feet."

"Of all the poor, old, blind alibis! But I'm going to give you a chance. We'll go around to Burlingham's. I'm giving you this chance, because I heard that poodle myself.'

"The sooner the better!" Armitage let go a great sigh. "If he doesn't identify me, if he doesn't attest to my honesty—why, I'll agree to go anywhere you say, peacefully."

"You mean that?"

"On my honor. I tried a boy's trick and fell down on it."

The policeman hesitated. Finally he poked Armitage in the side with his night stick. "I'll go you, Aloysius. I'll see this through. It's a new one, and I want to know all about it for future reference. March!"

So Armitage—hanging between laughter and swear words—marched on ahead, feeling from time to time, if he slackened his pace, the tip of the night stick in his ribs. He wasn't in New York at all; he was in ​the ancient city of Bagdad. If the Burlinghams were out for the evening he was lost.

When they came to the Burlingham house, which was next door to the house he had just left so ignominiously, Armitage stopped. "He lives here."

"Right. Now waltz up and ring the bell. I'll be right in your shadow, Aloysius."

Armitage pushed the button. Two minutes later the door opened. "Hello, Edmonds!" Armitage hailed, gratefully. Here was someone who could identify him, Bob's old butler.

The old fellow squinted, stepped forward, then backward, and raised his hands. "Why, it's Mr. Armitage come back!"

"Is Bob home?"

"Yes, sir. Come right in. … But what's this? … A policeman?"

"A little question of identification, Edmonds, that's all. Step inside, officer."

The policeman did so, removing his cap. He stood on one leg, then on the other, no longer doubtful, but confused and embarrassed.

The butler hurried off.

"Say," said the policeman, cautiously, ​"looks as if I'd pulled a near bone. You get my side of it, don't you?"

"Certainly. You would have been perfectly justified in carrying me off to jail."

But what would this policeman think when he returned to the station and heard that there had been a burglar in the house next door?

"Well, you took some risks, believe me, playing that kind of a game. I wouldn't try it again."

"I can promise that.'

A man about Armitage's age and a pretty woman came rushing out into the hall.

"Jim, you scalawag, is it really you?"

"Jimmie Armitage?"

"Alive and kicking. Bob, suppose you tell this officer that I'm all right. He caught me climbing over Durston's grille."

"Durston's grille?" Burlingham roared with laughter. Durston's grille, full of historical significance relative to their youth! How many times had they stolen over it in order to have a perfectly good alibi the next morning for a perfectly incredible father! "I'll back Armitage, Hanrahan. ​He went away before you came on this beat."

"All right. I'll be getting back to it."

"Got any cigars, Bob?"

They filled the policeman's pockets and turned him forth into the night.

As the door closed Armitage leaned against the wall and smiled weakly. "That was a narrow squeak," he said. "I'll tell you something about it later. … Betty! … Bob! … Lordy, how wonderful it is to see you again!"

The two caught his hands in theirs and dragged him into the cozy library, where they plumped him down into the lounge before the wood fire and flanked him. The three of them had been brought up in this neighborhood,

"Jimmie, my word, I never expected to see you again! We'd get a letter from you once in a while, but we couldn't answer; you didn't want any news from home. We sent holiday cards to your villa on the Como, but I don't suppose they found you. Thought you were gone for good."

"I didn't," said Mrs. Burlingham, who, like all happily wedded women, believed in ​clairvoyance. "What brought you back?"—confident that she knew.

"How's the baby?" countered Armitage.

"Baby? Why, the baby is twelve, and doing his bit at a military school. Some boy, Jim. If you turn out to be half as fine a man as he is—" Burlingham slapped his boyhood friend on the shoulder. "But what brought you back?"

"Fate," said Armitage, soberly. "But I thought it was this." He took out the clipping and handed it to Betty.

Now that he was safely at anchor in a most congenial harbor, he became aware of a strange, indescribable exhilaration. A superficial analysis convinced him that it was not due to the propinquity of these old friends of his; rather the cause lay over there in the dark, beyond the shadows. Over and above this, he was in a quandary. How much should he tell of this tomfool exploit of his? Just enough to whet their curiosity, or just nothing at all? Sooner or later, though. Bob, who was a persistent chap, would be asking about Durston's grille.

Would she notify the police? He wasn't ​sure. She seemed rather a resolute young woman. Heavens! she had been after him like a hawk after a hare! Pearl and pomegranate and Persian peach! Was he fickle? Was that it? No. A fickle man could not have remained loyal for six years to the memory of a jilt. He determined to ask some questions later—cautious, roundabout questions. He was far off his course, with a paper compass and nothing to take the sun with. And still that tingle of exhilaration!

"And so that brought you back?" said Betty, returning the clipping.

"No; I only thought it brought me back. I honestly believe that I never really loved Clare at all. Else, why should I be glad to be back, assured that I can meet her without wabbling at the knees?" Armitage rolled the clipping into a ball and tossed it into the fire.

"She was here to tea this afternoon, Jim," said Betty, softly.

"She's back in town, then, with her millions?"

"Yes. She's different, though. I really think she cared for you. From a lovely girl she has become a beautiful woman."

​"Nothing doing, Betty. I shall never marry." Armitage pulled out his pipe and filled it.

"Oh, piffle!" exploded Burlingham. "You're only thirty-four. Mark me, old scout, after six years' roaming around jungles and hobnobbing with 'duskies,' you'll fall for the first 'skirt' that makes googoo eyes at you. On the other hand, much as I like Clare, I'm glad you didn't hook up. She's beautiful, but hard. And don't you fool yourself that you weren't in love with her. You were; but you got over it."

"Piffle! A bit of slang sounds good."

"If human beings couldn't fall out of love as quickly and easily as they fall in, the murder editions of the evening papers would be on the streets before breakfast"; and Burlingham got out his pipe also.

For a quarter of an hour the two men sat in silence, puffing and blowing rings and sleepily eying the fire. Betty watched them amusedly. Weren't they funny! They hadn't seen each other in six long years, and hadn't ever expected to see each other again; and here they were, smoking their ​dreadful pipes and saying never a word! Two women, now—

"Say, Jim, that pipe of yours is a bird."

"Calabash I made myself."

"Well, when you bury it invite me to the funeral."

"Is it strong?"

"Strong? Wow! It would kill a bull elephant quicker than an express bullet. But finish her up and give us the dope about Durston's grille."

Armitage leaned forward and knocked the "dottle" from his pipe. "When I found that clipping I became full of flame. On the way down from Maingkwan to Mandalay there was a torch in my heart. But, somehow, when I reached Naples I could feel the fire dying down. I hated myself, but I could not escape the feeling. When I stepped off the ship to-day I knew that I had done a sensible thing in surrendering to a mad, shameless impulse. I came very near throwing away my whole life for something that had ceased to exist or had never existed. Folks, I'm absolutely cured."

"Going to quit wandering?"

​"Perhaps. Great world over there; fascinating."

"But where will you put up here? You've sold the old house. Jim, you could have knocked me over with a feather when I heard the news last April. To sell the house wasn't so much, considering you never intended to return; but to sell it furnished, with all those treasures your mother and father had so much fun in collecting! I couldn't quite understand that." Burlingham shook his head.

"Nor I," added his wife.

Armitage, despite the fact that the room was warm, sensed something like a cold finger running up and down his spine. "I suppose it did seem callous to you two. But, honestly, I never expected to come back again. How much does rumor say I got for it?" He dared not look at them.

"Eighty thousand."

"That's a tidy sum. I say, what sort of people are they?"

"We've met only the daughter," said Betty, "And, Jimmie Armitage, she's the loveliest creature I ever saw. Odd, unusual; in all my life I've never met any ​woman quite like her. She has the queerest ideas. The whole world is nothing except a fairy-story to her. I loved her the moment I saw her. Have you ever run across or heard of Hubert Athelstone, explorer and archeologist?"

"Athelstone? No. But that doesn't signify anything. Those chaps are a queer breed. They are known only among themselves. I've run into a few of them. They eat hieroglyphics, walk in a maze of them, sleep on them, and die under them. Almost always they are unattached, homeless beggars, or, if they have families, they forget all about them. No; I don't recollect the name. Odd one, though."

"We haven't met him yet. I believe he's somewhere in Yucatan. She hasn't seen him in ages. I never heard of a daughter worshiping a father the way this girl does. It makes me feel little and small when she begins to talk about him. My general impression regarding archeologists hasn't been complimentary. I've always pictured them as withered, dried-up things with huge glasses. But Mr. Athelstone is one of the handsomest men I've ever seen. She has ​shown me his photograph. It must have been taken before she was born, when he was somewhere in the late twenties. Anyhow, no novelist ever conjured a hero to match up with her father, from her point of view."

"Betty and I are crazy over her," said Burlingham.

"Indeed we are. About twice a year she hears from her father, and the letters are beautiful. The man must be a poet. We are eager to meet him. She was educated in a convent out of Florence in Italy, and she is more Italian in temperament than English. At eighteen she was ordered by her father to leave. An accomplished woman companion was given her, and together they spent about four years wandering over the ends of the earth. She came back to America in April, after her father had made the purchase of your house. Think of it! She's seen the Himalayas from Darjeeling! Motherless from childhood. Isn't it romantic? We see each other nearly every day. I can't keep away from her. Suppose I have her over to tea to-morrow? She's been asking lots of questions about you."

​"I'll be delighted to see her."

"And remember what I said about googoo eyes." Burlingham laughed.

Armitage got up. He knew enough for his present needs; the picture puzzle was fairly complete, and such blocks as were missing were easily to be supplied by imagination. He leaned against the mantel and idly kicked an andiron—a Florentine wine-muller. "Yucatan. And nobody knows when he'll be back?"

"She hints of the possibility of his return during the holidays."

Have they changed the interior any?"

Only enough to show that a woman instead of a bachelor lives there now. She's very much in love with everything. She had very little to bring into it. Do you know, Jim, you've changed?" concluded Betty, appraisingly.

"Older?" quizzically.

"No. There are lines in your face I never saw before. You are positively handsome."

"Piffle! Fat's been burnt out, that's all."

"No, that isn't it. You look—well, I can't just explain it."

​"I can," said her husband, owlishly. "Jim's been living on hard ground instead of sofa pillows. And now, old scout, suppose we take up the original subject, Durston's grille."

"First, I'm going to bind you two to absolute secrecy. I'm not joking, folks; something mighty serious has happened to me, and I'm in dead earnest. Promise?"

"We promise," said Burlingham, mystified.

"The pipes of Fortune!" Armitage rumpled his hair. "Did you ever hear them? When she blows, we dance. And goodness knows, I've just begun the queerest dance a man ever shook a leg to. I've been actually dumped into the middle of one of those Arabian Nights things. I did not sell the old home, furnished or unfurnished, to anybody in this world!"