The Girl in His House. Harold MacGrath

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ played half so well. He could distinguish the monotonous beating of the camel drums. Curious beyond all reason, he slipped a finger along the edge of one of the curtains and peered through the space thus formed. At that moment the music stopped. The performer turned her face toward the piano lamp—a wonderful Ming jar—and the interloper caught his breath.

      He was gazing upon the loveliest young face he had ever seen—pearl and pomegranate and Persian peach! There was an amber nimbus of light hovering over her soft brown hair. Who was she, and what in the world was she doing here? The latent sense of the ethical stirred and awoke for the first time in many months. He felt the itch of the hair shirt of society, and the second sense was one of overpowering ​shame. He had neither legal nor moral right behind these curtains.

      Had the girl come toward him just then she would have discovered him. He was entranced, incapable of mobility. But she did not come his way. She walked over to a window, out of which she gazed for a while.

      She turned, stretched out two incomparable arms—and yawned most humanly. "Oh … dear!"

      The curtains were antique Japanese silk tapestries, quite as beautiful and rare as any of the Polish rugs, and the dust of centuries still impregnated the warp and woof.

      Having had his nose against the fabric for several minutes, Armitage suddenly trembled with terror. He became conscious of the inclination to sneeze. He struggled valiantly, but to no avail. "At-choo!" he thundered.

      "Who's there?" cried the girl in crisp, clear, unaffrighted tones.

      ​

CHAPTER II

       Table of Contents

      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. СКАЧАТЬ