The House of Mystery Part 5

He had greeted this little note with all the private follies of lovers.

Now for the hundredth time, he studied it for significances, signs, pretty intimacies; and he found positively nothing about it which he did not like. True, he failed to extract any important information from the name of the stationer, which he found under the flap of the envelope; but on the other hand the paper itself distinctly pleased him. It was note-size and of a thick, unfeminine quality. He approved of the writing--small, fine, legible, without trace of seminary affectation. And his spirits actually rose when he observed that it bore no coat-of-arms--not even a monogram.

At last, with more flourishes of folly, he put the note away in his desk and inspected himself in the gla.s.s. To the credit of his modesty, he was thinking not of his white tie--fifth that he had ruined in the process of dressing--nor yet of the set of his coat. He was thinking of Mrs. Paula Markham and the impression which these gauds and graces might make upon her.

"What do you suppose she's like?" he asked inaudibly of the correct vision in the gla.s.s.

He had exhausted all the possibilities--a fat, pretentious medium whom Annette's mind transformed by the alchemy of old affection into a presentable personage; a masculine and severe old woman with the "spook" look in her eyes; a fluttering, affected _precieuse_, concealing her quackery by chatter. Gradually as he thought on her, the second of these hypotheses came to govern--he saw her as the severe and masculine type. This being so, what tack should she take?

The correct vision in the gla.s.s vouchsafed no answer to this. His mood persisted as his taxicab whirled him into the region which borders the western edge of Central Park. The thing a.s.sumed the proportions of a great adventure. No old preparation for battle, no old packings to break into the unknown dark, had ever given him quite such a sense of the high, free airs where romance blows. He was going on a mere conventional call; but he was going also to high and thrilling possibilities.

The house was like a thousand other houses of the prosperous middle cla.s.s, distinguishable only by minor differences of doors and steps and area rails, from twenty others on the same block. He found himself making mystery even of this. Separate houses in New York require incomes.

"Evidently it pays to deal in spooks," he said to himself.

His first glimpse of the interior, his subsequent study of the drawing-room while the maid carried in his name, made more vivid this impression. The taste of the whole thing was evident; but the apartment had besides a special flavor. He searched for the elements which gave that impression. It was not the old walnut furniture, ample, huge, upholstered in a wine-colored velours which had faded just enough to take off the curse; it was not the three or four pa.s.sable old paintings. The real cause came first to him upon the contemplation of a wonderful Buddhist priest-robe which adorned the wall just where the drawing-room met the curtains of the little rear alcove-library. The difference lay in the ornaments--Oriental, mostly East Indian and, all his experience told him, got by intimate a.s.sociation with the Orientals. That robe, that hanging lantern, those chased swords, that gem of a carved Buddha--they came not from the seaports nor from the shops for tourists. Whoever collected them knew the East and its peoples by intimate living. They appeared like presents, not purchases--unless they were loot.

And now--his thumping heart flashed the signal--the delicate feminine flutter that meant Annette, was sounding in the hall. And now at the entrance stood Annette in a white dress, her neck showing a faint rim of tan above her girlish decolletage; Annette smiling rather formally as though this conventional pa.s.sage after their unconventional meeting and acquaintance sat in embarra.s.sment on her spirits; Annette saying in that vibrant boyish contralto which came always as a surprise out of her exquisite whiteness:

"How do you do, Dr. Blake--you are back in the city rather earlier than you expected, aren't you?"

He was conscious of shock, emotional and professional--emotional that they had not taken up their relation exactly where they left it off--professional because of her appearance. Not only was she pale and just a little drawn of facial line, but that indefinable look of one "called" was on her again.

All this he gathered as he made voluble explanation--the attendance at the sanitorium had fallen off with the approach of autumn--they really needed no a.s.sistant to the resident physician--he thought it best to hurry his search for an opening in New York before the winter should set in. Then, put at his ease by his own volubility, and remembering that it is a lover's policy to hold the advantage gained at the last battle, he added:

"And of course you may guess another reason."

This she parried with a woman-of-the-world air, quite different from her old childlike frankness.

"The theatrical season, I suppose. It opens earlier every year."

He pursued that line no further. She took up the reins of the conversation and drove it along smooth but barren paths. "It's nice that you could come to-night. Looking for a practice must make so many calls on your time. I shouldn't have been surprised not to see you at all this winter. No one seems able to spare much time for acquaintances in New York."

"Not at all," he said, ruffling a little within, "I shall find plenty of time for my _friends_ this winter." Deliberately he emphasized the word. "I hope nothing has happened to change our--friendship. Or does Berkeley Center seem primitive and far away?"

For the first time that quality which he was calling in his mind her "society sh.e.l.l" seemed to melt away from her. She had kept her eyelids half closed; now they opened full.

"I am living on the memory of it," she said.

Here was his opening. A thousand incoherences rushed to his lips--and stopped there. For another change came over her. Those lids, like curtains drawn by stealth over what must not be revealed, sank half-way over her eyes. An impalpable stiffening ran over her figure. She became as a flower done in gla.s.s.

Simultaneously, an uneasiness as definite as a shadow, fell across his spirit. He became conscious of a presence behind him. Involuntarily he turned.

A woman was standing in the doorway leading to the hall.

An instant she looked at Blake and an instant he looked at her. What she gained from her scrutiny showed in no change of expression. What he gained showed only in a quick flutter of the eyelids. He had, in fact, taken an impression of mental power as startling as a sudden blow in the face. She had a magnificent physique, preserved splendidly into the very heart of middle age; yet her foot had made no sound in her approach. Her black velvet draperies trailed heavy on the floor, yet they produced not the ghost of a rustle. Jet-black hair coiled in ropes, yet wisped white above the temples; light gray eyes, full and soft, yet with a steady look of power--all this came in the process of rising, of stepping forward to clasp a warm hand which lingered just long enough, in hearing Annette say in tones suddenly dead of their boyish energy:

"Aunt Paula, let me introduce Dr. Blake." With one ample motion, Mrs.

Markham seated herself. She turned her light eyes upon him. He had a subconscious impression of standing before two searchlights.

"My niece has told me much about Dr. Blake," she said in a voice which, like Annette's, showed every intonation of culture; "I can't thank you enough for being kind to my little girl. So good in you to bother about her when"--Aunt Paula gave the effect of faltering, but her smile was peculiarly gracious--"when there were no other men nearer her own age."

[Ill.u.s.tration: HE HAD TAKEN AN IMPRESSION OF MENTAL POWER AS STARTLING AS A SUDDEN BLOW IN THE FACE]

Curiously, there floated into Blake's mind the remark which Annette made that first day on the train--"I should think you were about twenty-eight--and that, according to 'Peter Ibbertson,' is about the nicest age." Well, Annette at least regarded him as a contemporary! He found himself laughing with perfect composure--"Yes, that's the trouble with these quiet country towns. There never _are_ any interesting young men."

"True," Mrs. Markham agreed, "although it makes slight difference in Annette's case. She is so little interested in men. It really worries me at times. But it's quite true, is it not so, dear?"

Mrs. Markham had kept her remarkable eyes on Dr. Blake. And Annette, as though the conversation failed to interest her, had fallen into a position of extreme la.s.situde, her elbow on the table, her cheek resting on her hand.

At her aunt's question, she seemed to rouse herself a little. "What is it that's quite true, Auntie?" she asked.

Mrs. Markham transferred her light-gray gaze to her niece's face. "I was saying," she repeated, speaking distinctly as one does for a child, "that you are very little interested in men."

"It is perfectly true," Annette answered.

Mrs. Markham laughed a purring laugh, strangely at variance with her size and type. "You'll find this an Adam-less Eden, Dr. Blake. I'll have to confess that I too am not especially interested in men."

This thrust did not catch Dr. Blake unawares. He laughed a laugh which rang as true as Mrs. Markham's. He even ventured on a humorous monologue in which he accused his s.e.x of every possible failing, ending with a triumphant eulogy of the other half of creation. But Mrs.

Markham, though she listened with outward civility, appeared to take all his jibes seriously--miscomprehended him purposely, he thought.

Whereupon, he turned to the lady's own affairs.

"Miss Markham told me something about your stay in India. I've never been there yet. But of course no seasoned orientalist has any idea of dying without seeing India. I gathered from Miss Markham that you had some unusual experiences."

"It's the dear child's enthusiasm," Mrs. Markham said. And it came to Blake at once that she was a little irritated. "I a.s.sure you we did not stir out of the conventional tourist route." Then came a few minutes about the beauties of the Taj by moonlight.

Blake listened politely. "Your loot is all so interesting," he said, when she had finished. "Do tell me how you got it? Have you ever noticed what bully travelers' tales you get out of adventures in bargaining? Or better--looting? Those Johnnies who came out of Pekin--I mean the allied armies--tell some stories that are wonders."

"That is true generally," Mrs. Markham agreed. "But I must confess that I did nothing more wonderful than to walk up to one of the bazaars and buy everything that I wanted."

"That," Dr. Blake said mentally, "is a lie."

Almost as if Annette had heard his thought--were answering it--she spoke for the first time with something of the old resiliency in her tone. "Auntie, do tell Dr. Blake about some of your adventures with those wonderful Yogis, and that fascinating rajah who was so kind to us."

"The Yogis!" commented Dr. Blake to himself; "Ha, ha, and ho, ho! I bet you learned a bag of tricks there, madam."

"Why, Annette, dear." Mrs. Markham laughed her purring laugh--that laugh could grow, Dr. Blake discovered, until it achieved a singularly unpleasant quality. "Your romantic ideas are running away with you.

Whenever we arrived anywhere, of course, like anybody else, I called at Government House and the authorities there always put me in the way of seeing whatever sights the neighborhood afforded. I met one rajah in pa.s.sing and visited one Yogi monastery. Do tell me about the Philippines!" Annette settled back into her appearance of weariness.

Dr. Blake complied.

He had intended to stay an hour at this first formal call. He had hoped to be led on, by gentle feminine wiles, to add another hour. He had even dreamed that Aunt Paula might be so impressed by him as to hold him until midnight. As a matter of fact, he left the house just thirty-five minutes after he entered. Just why he retreated so early in the engagement, he had only the vaguest idea. Even fresh from it as he was, he could not enumerate the small stings, the myriad minor goads, by which it became established in his mind that his call was not a success, that he was boring the two ladies whom he was trying so hard to entertain. At the end, it was a labored dialogue between him and Mrs. Markham. Again and again, he tried to drag Annette into the conversation. She was tongue-tied. The best she did was to give him the impression that, deep down in her tired psychology, she was trying to listen. As for Aunt Paula--if his gaze wandered from her to Annette and then back, he caught her stifling a yawn. Her final shot was to interrupt his best story a hair's breadth ahead of the point. When he said good-night, his manner--he flattered himself--betrayed nothing of his sense of defeat. But no fellow pedestrian, observing the savage vigor of his swift walk homeward, could have held any doubt as to his state of mind.

V

THE LIGHT WAVERS