The Brass Bowl | Page 3

wan, sor. Shure, th' house do be quiet's anny tomb--"
"Then who was that lady, O'Hagan?"
"Leddy, sor?"--in unbounded amazement.
"Yes," impatiently. "A young woman left the house just as I was coming in. Who was she?"
"Shure an' I think ye must be dr'amin', sor. Divvle a female-- rayspicts to ye!--has been in this house for manny an' manny th' wake, sor."
"But, I tell you--"
"Belike 'twas somewan jist sthepped into the vesthibule, mebbe to tie her shoe, sor, and ye thought--"
"Oh, very well." Maitland relinquished the inquisition as unprofitable, willing to concede O'Hagan's theory a reasonable one, the more readily since he himself could by no means have sworn that the woman had actually come out through the door. Such had merely been his impression, honest enough, but founded on circumstantial evidence.
"When you're through, O'Hagan," he told the Irishman, "you may come and shave me and lay out my things, if you will."
"Very good, sor. In wan minute."
But O'Hagan's conception of the passage of time was a thought vague: his one minute had lengthened into ten before he appeared to wait upon his employer.
Now and again, in the absence of the regular "man," O'Hagan would attend one or another of the tenants in the capacity of substitute valet: as in the present instance, when Maitland, having left his host's roof without troubling even to notify his body-servant that he would not return that night, called upon the janitor to understudy the more trained employee; which O'Hagan could be counted upon to do very acceptably.
Now, with patience unruffled, since he was nothing keen for the evening's enjoyment, Maitland made profit of the interval to wander through his rooms, lighting the gas here and there and noting that all was as it should be, as it had been left--save that every article of furniture and bric-��-brac seemed to be sadly in want of a thorough dusting. In the end he brought up in the room that served him as study and lounge,--the drawing-room of the flat, as planned in the forgotten architect's scheme,--a large and well-lighted apartment overlooking the street. Here, pausing beneath the chandelier, he looked about him for a moment, determining that, as elsewhere, all things were in order--but grey with dust.
Finding the atmosphere heavy, stale, and oppressive, Maitland moved over to the windows and threw them open. A gush of warm air, humid and redolent of the streets, invaded the room, together with the roar of traffic from its near-by arteries. Maitland rested elbows on the sill and leaned out, staring absently into the night; for by now it was quite dark. Without concern, he realized that he would be late at dinner. No matter; he would as willingly miss it altogether. For the time being he was absorbed in vain speculations about an unknown woman whose sole claim upon his consideration lay in a certain but immaterial glamour of mystery. Had she, or had she not, been in the house? And, if the true answer were in the affirmative: to what end, upon what errand?
His eyes focused insensibly upon a void of darkness beneath him,-- night made visible by street lamps; and he found himself suddenly and acutely sensible of the wonder and mystery of the City: the City whose secret life ran fluent upon the hot, hard pavements below, whose voice throbbed, sibilant, vague, strident, inarticulate, upon the night air; the City of which he was a part equally with the girl in grey, whom he had never before seen, and in all likelihood was never to see again, though the two of them were to work out their destinies within the bounds of Manhattan Island. And yet....
"It would be strange," said Maitland thoughtfully, "if...." He shook his head, smiling. "_Two shall be born,_'" quoted Mad Maitland sentimentally,--
"'_Two shall be born the whole wide world apart--_'"
A piano organ, having maliciously sneaked up beneath his window, drove him indoors with a crash of metallic melody.
As he dropped the curtains his eye was arrested by a gleam of white upon his desk,--a letter placed there, doubtless, by O'Hagan in Maitland's absence. At the same time, a splashing and gurgling of water from the direction of the bath-room informed him that the janitor-valet was even then preparing his bath. But that could wait.
Maitland took up the envelope and tore the flap, remarking the name and address of his lawyer in its upper left-hand corner. Unfolding the inclosure, he read a date a week old, and two lines requesting him to communicate with his legal adviser upon "a matter of pressing moment."
"Bother!" said Maitland. "What the dickens--"
He pulled up short, eyes lighting. "That's so, you know," he argued: "Bannerman will be delighted, and--and even business is better than rushing round town and pretending to enjoy yourself when it's hotter than the seven brass hinges