The girl in his house

TheGirlinHisHouse
ByHAROLDMacGRATH
Authorof“TheLuckoftheIRISH”
Copyright,1918,byHarper&Brothers
TheGirlinHisHouse


CHAPTERI
ARMITAGEhadcomethirteenthousandmiles—acrossdeserts,throughjungles,
oversnow-cladpeaks—asfastascamelsandtrainsandshipscouldcarryhim,
drivenbyanall-compellingdesireSixty-odddaysagohehadbeenintheamberminesintheHukainngValley,whereUpperBurmaendsandwesternChina
begins;andherehewas,ridingupoldBroadway—aBroadwaythattwinkled
andglitteredandglaredwiththesameoldcoloredclocklights.Menwerequeer
animals.HehadswornnevertosetfootinsideofNewYorkagain.
AparagraphinaNewYorknewspaper,asheetmorethanayearoldandfallento
thebaseusageofwrapping-paperandprotectingtemporarilyarollofpudgy
BurmesecherootsfromtheeternalmoldofthemiddleOrient,hadstartedhim
uponthistremendous,swingingjourney.Athousandtimeshehadperusedthat
paragraph.Frayedandtatteredtothepointofdisintegration,theclippingnow
reposedinhiswallet.Henolongerdisturbedit;itwasn’tnecessary;heknewit
byheartandcouldreciteitwordforword:
JOHNSANDERSON,themulti-millionairepacker,diedyesterdayathis
summerhomeonLakeMichigan.Hewassixty-nineyearsold.
ThewomanwhohadjiltedArmitagewasawidow.
Curiousthing!Hehadcomedownfromthetopoftheworld,asitwere,
shamelessly,aflameinhisheartthatresembledatorchinthewind.Solongas
hepresseddownthroughthejunglesanddesertstheflameburnedwithunabated
ardor;butatMandalay—theouterrimofcivilization—itbegantowaveralittle.
AtRangoonitwaslikeacandleinabreathlessroom.Butonthewayoverto
Calcuttaitburstforthanew,andneverwaveredagainuntilhecameoutonthe

teaverandaoftheBertoliniandstaredacrossNaplesatVesuviusinthe
moonlight.Eventhenhehadnotrealizedwhatwashappening—thathistorch,
havingnothingcelestialinitssubstance,wasburningout.
Twohoursago,asthegreatshipslippedintoherberth,thelastsparkhad
flickeredandvanished,leavinghimwithhisheartfullofbitterashes.Tohave
comethirteenthousandmiles,likeawhirlwind,onlytolearnthatforsixyearshe
hadbeenthevictimofadelusion!Helaughedaloudinsavageirony.Theold
habitsofcivilizationwereclamoringforrecognition;andfirstamongthesewas


thesenseofshame,notbecausehehadcomeallthisdistance,butbecausehis
lovehadbeenapoorthingandhadnotbeenstrongenoughtosurvivetheordeal.
Whatanincomprehensiblethingwasthehumanheart!
Sixlongyearsinthefarwildernesses,huggingacoldshadowforasubstance,
imagininghimselftobeamartyrwhenintruthhewasonlyasimplefool!
Shamelesslyhehadcometothrowhimselfatherfeetagain;andbehold!hewas
withoutdesire.
Thetaxicabstopped.AsArmitagestaredovertheshutterhismouthopenedand
hisbrowsbecameGothicarchesofamazedinquiry.Theobsequiesoveradead
passioncametoanabrupt,unfinishedending;thewholedismalaffairwentout
ofhisthoughtsasawispofsmokeleavesachimney-potanddisappears.
Whatinthenameofthesevenwonderscouldthismean?Lights—flightsinthe
windowsandlightsinthehall.Thesilhouetteofawomanappearedatoneofthe
drawing-roomwindows.Shewasevidentlylookingout.Almostimmediatelyshe
drewback.Armitagefeltthatfrozenimmobilitypeculiartonightmares.Washe
trulyawake?
Thefrontdoorofthebrownstoneopenedandabareheadedmanrandownthe
stepstothevehicle.Thesmoothbrassbuttonsonhiscoatmarkedhimdownasa
butler.“Mr.Athelstone?”heasked,withsubduedexcitement.
“No.Mymistake.Isay,driver,we’llgotothehotel,afterall.”

“Allright,sir.”
“Sorrytotroubleyou.Wrongnumber,”saidArmitagetotheastonishedbutler.
Thetaxicabgrumbledandsputteredandstartedoffjerkily;butuntilitwheeled
aroundintoFifthAvenuethebutlerremainedatthecurb,whiletheworld-wide
travelernevertookhisbewilderedgazeoffthehousewiththelightedwindows.
Somethinginconceivablehadhappened,somethingsoincredibleandunexpected
thatArmitagewasatthatmomentpowerlesstoreadjusthimselftotheevent.
“AmIinthemiddleofanightmare,orwhat?”hemurmured,fumblinginhis
pocketsforhispipe.“Lights,abutler,andawomanatthewindow!”Allatonce
hefeltinspired.


“Isay,driver,whatstreetwasthat?”
“Thestreetandnumberyougaveme,Sir.”
“Seventy-second?”
“Yes,sir.”
“Didyouseethelightsinthewindows?Didyouseethewomanbehindthe
curtains?Didabutlercomedownthesteps?”
“Yes,sir.IheardhimaskyouifyouwereMr.Athelstone.”
“Then,byGeorge,I’mawake!”
Thedriverescapedtheheavyforewheelsofanomnibusonlybythenarrowest
margin.Bythetimehewasinamentalconditiontotelltheomnibus-driverall
abouthisfamilyhistoryitwastoolate;therearwheelsofthelumberingcolossus
oftheasphaltwerepassing.
“Bug,purebug!”hegrumbled.Thisobservationwasnotdirectedatthe
vanishingomnibus-driver;itwasthefinalroundofaseriesofcogitations
relativetothis“fare”ofhis.“Nothingtoit;IoughttogostraighttoBellevue.
Lights?Ofcoursetherewerelights!”Hereachedfortheclutchandsworesoftly
asthesteamertrunknickedhiselbow.
OfallthequeerdubshehadeverdrivenoffPier53,thischapinsidetookthe

palm,ribbonandall.OfftotheRacketClubasfastasthelawallowed,onlyto
hearhisludshipsaythathehadforgottenhewasnolongeramember.Then,
bang!forthehotelinForty-secondStreet,wheretherewasmoredoddering;and,
whoof!amileaminuteuptothebrownstoneinSeventy-second.Lostinlittle
oldNewYork.Andnowthedubwassmokingapipestrongenoughtoknock
overafire-horse.Luggage?Well,say!Threesuit-casesthathadcomeoutofthe
Ark,andabatteredEnglishkitbagthathadbeenCain’sonthebighike,anda
gun-casethatweighedatonandmusthavescaredthecustomsinspectorsstiff.
Whenhestoppedatthehotelentrancehelookedthoughtfullyatthemeter.The
oldgirlwasworkingtotheminuteandwasregisteringfourdollarsandeighty
cents.Hebracedhimselfandshotouthisjawtruculently.Nowforthatold
mossbackaboutcrookedmeters.


Thecurbporterthrewopenthedoor.The“fare”extricatedhimselffromthe
luggageandsteppedforth.“Here,driver;andkeepthechange.”
Thechauffeur,wiseasSolomonandshrewdasJacob,hastilyinspectedthebill
underthemeterlamp.Itwasatenner.Five-twentyforatip?Well,well;that
wasn’tsobadforalunatic.“Thankyou,sir,”hemumbled,withrathera
shamefacedamiability.
Armitagewentintothelobbyandwendedhiswaythroughthesuper-dressed
dinnercrowdtothedesk.Twobell-boysstaggeredafterhim,panting.Theyset
downtheluggageandeyeditcuriously.Theyweretolerablyfamiliarwith
foreignlabels,butherewasacollectiontotallyunknowntothem.Theclerk
swungouttheregisterandcasuallyglancedatthestraightbody,thelean,tanned,
handsomefaceoftheguest,who,afteramomentoftriflingindecision,wrote
“JamesArmitage,Como,Italy.”
Onceinhisroom,Armitagecalledforthefloorwaiter:“Aclubsteak,fried
sweets,lettuce,chillisauce,andapotofcoffee.Haveitherequarteraftereight.
Thatwillgivemeleewayforabath.”

“Yes,sir.”
AsthedoorclosedArmitagescowledathisluggage,upfromwhichdrifted
vaguelytheunpleasantodorofformaldehyde.Lights—awomanbehindthe
curtains—abutlerwhowantedtoknowifhewasMr.Athelstone!
“Hangme!”Heclimbedoverthegripstothetelephoneandcalledupanumber.
“GivemeMr.Bordman,please….Notathome?…What?…Wentawaylast
April?…Thankyou.”
Armitageturnedawayfromthetelephoneandtwistedhismustacheviolently.
Fearlaidholdofhim,thatindescribablefearwhich,twistandturnasonemay,
keepsitsfacehidden.Belowthisfearstirredaprimordialinstinct:theinstinct
whichcausesadoginthehourofcarnalsatietytotakethebareboneandburyit
againstafutureneed.Thunderstruck,Armitagerecollectedforthefirsttimethat
hehadnotburiedhisbone.
“Pshaw!Butthat’sutterlyimpossible.”
Hehadbathedanddressedbythetimethewaiterreturned—dressedinthesame


suithehadwornonboardtheship.Asthetantalizingaromafromthesteak
tickledhisnostrilsheforgoteverythingexceptthelongingtosatisfyasingular
cravingwhichhad,metaphorically,riddenbehindhissaddleforsixyears.A
thousandnightshehadsatbeforeacriddungfiresanddreamedofclubsteaks.
Finishingthisdelectablemeal,aweirdlyhumorousideapoppedintohishead.
Hecleanedhispipe,putonapairofrubber-soledshoes,loadedhisautomatic,
andsetforthuponanadventurewhichwasdestinedtorenewhisinterestin
civilization.
ItwasOctober.Aneastwindwasblowingheartilyandtheoldfamiliartangof
theseawasintheair.TherewassomethinginitthatstirredinArmitage’smind
fragmentarypicturesfromthesevenseas,thesandyforelands,thebending
cocoanutpalms,thegayparakeetsintheclove-trees.TheEastwascalling;and
shortlyheknewhewouldbeansweringitagain.Forthepresent,however,his

destinationwasthebrownstonehouseinSeventy-secondStreet,onceordinary
enough,butnowenduedwithagenuinemystery.Thehousewasoneofsixina
compactrow,asurvivalofthebald,uglyarchitectureoftheseventies.
Uponfindinghimselfinfrontofthishouse,Armitageknockedhispipeagainst
theheelofhisshoe.“I’mareasonableman,”hemusedaloud—ahabithehad
acquiredinthesombersolitudeswherethehomelysoundofone’svoiceisoften
abuckleragainsttheunknownterrorsofthenight.“Butwhothedickensisthis
manAthelstone?”
Heunderstoodonefactclearly:sixyearsagohewouldnothavecontemplated,
muchlessputtoaction,theprojecthenowhadinmind.Hewouldhavegone
resolutely,ifconveniently,upthesteps,rungthebell,andsatisfiedhisdoubts
peremptorily.Inthosefar-offdaysimpulseshadalwaysbeencarefullylooked
intoandconstantlyrejectedaseitherunlawfulorunethical.Hestillrecognized
theunlawful,buttheethicalnolongerdisturbedhismentalprocesses.Whathe
purposedtodowasnotexactlyunlawful,consideringhisforeknowledge,butit
wasdecidedlyunethical.Thethinghadathrillinit,aspiceofdanger,abitof
leopard-stalkinginthedark.Withoutappreciatingthefact—or,ifhedid,
ignoringit—Armitagehadsloughedoffmuchoftheveneerofcivilizationand
nowreveledinprimordialsensations.
Hewasgoingintothathouse,throughthebackway,likeanordinaryporchclimber,becausethemethodappealedtohimandbecause,legallyandmorally


(ashesupposed),hehadtherighttoenterinanymannerhepleased.
Hewenton,turneddownSeventy-third
Streetuntilhecametoahousethathadasmalllawnatoneside,protectedbya
highirongrille.Glancingrightandlefttoassurehimselfthathisactionswere
unobserved,heclimbedoverthisgrille,easilyandsilently,likethepractised
athletehewas.Crouching,herandownthegardentotherearfence,whichwas
ofboard.Asinglevaultcarriedhimoverthis.Overthreemorewoodenfenceshe
went,avoidingash-cansandclothes-lines,untilhecametoapauseintherearof

thebrownstoneinSeventy-secondStreet.Hewipedtheperspirationfromhis
forehead.
“Lordy!butthisislikeoldtimes!”
Adogsuddenlybrokeforthinshrill,furiousbarks.
“Somebody’spoodle!”Heshrankagainstthefenceandwaitedfortheracketto
subside.Theoldrulestillheld—barkingdogsdidn’tbite.
Asherested,anewthoughtwedgeditselfin.ClareWendell!Hehadcome
thirteenthousandmilesbecausehehadlearnedthatshewasawidow,andfor
nearlythreehourshehadn’tgivenherasinglethought.Theironicchuckledied
inhisthroat,however.
Itbecamesmotheredbyasober,revealingthought.Heoughttobeverygrateful
toher.Hisloyaltyhadkeptthemoralfiberofhimintact;hewasstillawhite
man.
UpthesideofthebackporchofthishouseinSeventy-secondStreetwasaheavy
trellis.Lightlyandsoundlesslyhemountedthis.Hehadlearnedtowalkwith
thatelastic-givingstep,morefelinethanhuman.Onceontheroofoftheporch,
hestretchedhimselfoutflatandwaitedforseveralminutes.Herose.Withhis
penknifeheturnedthewindowlock—ashehaddoneahundredtimesbefore—
raisedthewindowwithextremecare,andslippedinside.Hereagainhewaited.
Hestrainedhisears.Sixyearsinthewildernesseshadtrainedthemsofinethat
hereinultra-civilizationordinarysoundsweresometimespainful.
Music!Hestoppedandtooktheautomaticfromhispocket.Hetiptoeddownthe
hall,carefultoobservethattherewerenolightsunderanydoorfine.Someone


wasplayingthepianodown-stairs.Stepbystepheproceededdowntothemain
hall.Luckwaswithhim;thehalllighthadbeenturnedoff.Hecrossedthehall
andenteredthelibrary,orstudy,whichwasdark.Betweenthisroomandthe
drawing-roomhungheavycurtains.Thesehadbeendrawntogether,andwhere
theyjoinedandalongthebottomwereribbonsoflight.

Music,realmusic!Yearsandyearsagohehadheardthatpiece,Grieg’s“Danse
Arabesque,”andtheotherwomanhadn’tplayedhalfsowell.Hecould
distinguishthemonotonousbeatingofthecameldrums.Curiousbeyondall
reason,heslippedafingeralongtheedgeofoneofthecurtainsandpeered
throughthespacethusformed.Atthatmomentthemusicstopped.The
performerturnedherfacetowardthepianolamp—awonderfulMingjar—and
theinterlopercaughthisbreath.
Hewasgazingupontheloveliestyoungfacehehadeverseen—pearland
pomegranateandPersianpeach!Therewasanambernimbusoflighthovering
overhersoftbrownhair.Whowasshe,andwhatintheworldwasshedoing
here?Thelatentsenseoftheethicalstirredandawokeforthefirsttimeinmany
months.Hefelttheitchofthehairshirtofsociety,andthesecondsensewasone
ofoverpoweringshame.Hehadneitherlegalnormoralrightbehindthese
curtains.
Hadthegirlcometowardhimjustthenshewouldhavediscoveredhim.Hewas
entranced,incapableofmobility.Butshedidnotcomehisway.Shewalkedover
toawindow,outofwhichshegazedforawhile.
Sheturned,stretchedouttwoincomparablearms—andyawnedmosthumanly.
“Oh…dear!”
ThecurtainswereantiqueJapanesesilktapestries,quiteasbeautifulandrareas
anyofthePolishrugs,andthedustofcenturiesstillimpregnatedthewarpand
woof.
Havinghadhisnoseagainstthefabricforseveralminutes,Armitagesuddenly
trembledwithterror.Hebecameconsciousoftheinclinationtosneeze.He
struggledvaliantly,buttonoavail.“At-choo!”hethundered.
“Who’sthere?”criedthegirlincrisp,clear,affrightedtones.


CHAPTERII
WHATapredicament!Realizingthathecouldnotstoptoexplain,thathehad

notenteredtherightwayforexplanation,andthat,iftheservantsbecame
alarmed,hewouldbeinforitseriouslyandmoreorlesscomplicatedly,he
turnedandfled.Noisedidnotmatternow;hemustgainthatopenwindow
beforeanyoftheservantscouldoutflankhim.Allinthishouse,thehousehehad
beenbornin—flights,servants,andtheloveliestgirlhehadeverlaideyeson!
Upthestairsinthreeboundsanddownthehall,incrediblyswift,thencethrough
thewindowandontotheroofoftheporch.Hejumpedhardily;therewasnotime
forthetrellis.Thegirlwashotuponhisheels;hecouldhearher.Artemis,Diana;
for,ashestrucktheturf,hesawfromthecomerofhiseye—oneofthose
undevelopedpicturesoneisneverquitecertainof—thewhiteofherdressatthe
window.InBagdadnow,orDelhi,orevenTeheran,suchanaffairwouldhave
fittedintotheschemeofthingsquitenaturally;buthereinNewYork!
Heranstraightforthefence,scrambledoverratherthanvaultedit.Thenthat
infernalpoodlebeganyammeringagain.Hewaslatertobemadeawareofthe
factthatthissamebenightedandmalignedpoodlesavedhimfromanight’s
lodginginthenearbypolicestation.Armitagedidnotpauseinhisinglorious
flightuntilhewasontherightofthegrilleinSeventy-thirdStreet.
Heleanedagainstthebars,panting,butcompletelyandthoroughlyreveneered.
“Ofallthecolossaltomfools!”hesaid,aloud.“WhatinthunderamIgoingtodo
now?”
“Well,Aloysius,”boomedaheavyvoice,whichwasfollowedbyastillheavier
hand,“youmightcomealongwithme;thewalking’sgood.Bellouto’order?
Wasthereanybeerintheice-chest?”Thepolicemanpeeredunderthepeakof
Armitage’scap.“Isawyouclimboverthatgrille.Upwithyourhands,andno
monkey-shines,orI’llrapyouoneontheconk!”
Armitageobeyedmechanically.Therewasatemporarycut-offbetweenhismind
andhisbody;theyhadceasedtoco-ordinate.Thepolicemanpattedallthe
pockets,andathrillofreliefranoverthevictim.Somewherealongtheroutehe
hadlosttheautomatic.Ashefelttheexperiencedfingersgoingoverhisbodyhe
summonedwithHerculeanefforthisscatteredforces.Smackintothearmsofa

policeman!Herewasasituationwhichcalledforavastpoliticalpullora
Machiavelliancunning.
“Well,what’sthedope?”demandedthepoliceman,ratherpuzzledtofindneither
weaponsnorburglarioustools.
“Itakeityou’reareasonableman,”saidArmitage,breathlessly.
“Cantheold-folksstuff.Whatwereyoudoinginthatyard?”
“SupposingItellyouI’vedonenothingwrong,thatmynameisJames
Armitage,andthat—”Armitagepaused,shocked.Hecouldn’ttellthis
policemananything.Thethoughtofthegirlmadeitutterlyimpossible.He
wouldsimplybetakenaroundandconfronted.Bog,bog!Hecouldfeelhimself
sinkingdeeperanddeepereverymoment.
“Well,goon,”urgedthepoliceman,ironically.“ThisisFridayandeverything
smellsfish.”
“Thisisyourbeat?”askedArmitage,desperately.
“Itis;andI’malwaysonit,andnobacktalk.”
Asthelittlebitsofcoloredglassinakaleidoscopetumbleintorecognizable
formssoArmitage’sbrokenthoughtstumbledintocoherency.Hehadjustone
chance.“DoyouknowRobertBurlingham?”
“AroundinSeventy-secondStreet?Yeah.Ibegintosee.Pokergame,andthe
missuscomesbackfromthecountry.Oh,I’magoodlistener,believeme.Go
on.”
“Thefactis,”Armitagefloundered,“Ijustgotbackfromtheothersideofthe
worldto-day,andIthoughtI’dgiveBurlinghamascarebygoingintherear
way.”
“IwasborninIreland,butIvoteinMissouri.ButI’magoodlistener;always
readytohearnewstuff.Goon.”
“Well,apoodlebeganyappingandIgotcoldfeet.”

“Ofallthepoor,old,blindalibis!ButI’mgoingtogiveyouachance.We’llgo
aroundtoBurlingham’s.I’mgivingyouthischance,becauseIheardthatpoodle
myself.”
“Thesoonerthebetter!”Armitageletgoagreatsigh.“Ifhedoesn’tidentifyme,
ifhedoesn’tattesttomyhonesty—why,I’llagreetogoanywhereyousay,
peacefully.”
“Youmeanthat?”
“Onmyhonor.Itriedaboy’strickandfelldownonit.”
Thepolicemanhesitated.FinallyhepokedArmitageinthesidewithhisnight
stick.“I’llgoyou,Aloysius.I’llseethisthrough.It’sanewone,andIwantto
knowallaboutitforfuturereference.March!”
SoArmitage—Changingbetweenlaughterandswearwords—marchedon
ahead,feelingfromtimetotime,ifheslackenedhispace,thetipofthenight
stickinhisribs.Hewasn’tinNewYorkatall;hewasintheancientcityof
Bagdad.IftheBurlinghamswereoutfortheeveninghewaslost.
WhentheycametotheBurlinghamhouse,whichwasnextdoortothehousehe
hadjustleftsoignominiously,Armitagestopped.“Heliveshere.”
“Right.Nowwaltzupandringthebell.I’llberightinyourshadow,Aloysius.”
Armitagepushedthebutton.Twominuteslaterthedooropened.“Hello,
Edmonds!”Armitagehailed,gratefully.Herewassomeonewhocouldidentify
him,Bob’soldbutler.
Theoldfellowsquinted,steppedforward,thenbackward,andraisedhishands.
“Why,it’sMr.Armitagecomeback!”
“IsBobhome?”
“Yes,sir.Comerightin….Butwhat’sthis?…Apoliceman?”
“Alittlequestionofidentification,Edmonds,that’sall.Stepinside,officer.”
Thepolicemandidso,removinghiscap.Hestoodononeleg,thenontheother,

nolongerdoubtful,butconfusedandembarrassed.
Thebutlerhurriedoff.
“Say,”saidthepoliceman,cautiously.“looksasifI’dpulledanearbone.You
getmysideofit,don’tyou?”
“Certainly.Youwouldhavebeenperfectlyjustifiedincarryingmeofftojail.”
Butwhatwouldthispolicemanthinkwhenhereturnedtothestationandheard
thattherehadbeenaburglarinthehousenextdoor?
“Well,youtooksomerisks,believeme,playingthatkindofagame.Iwouldn’t
tryitagain.”
“Icanpromisethat.”
AmanaboutArmitage’sageandaprettywomancamerushingoutintothehall.
“Jim,youscalawag,isitreallyyou?”
“JimmieArmitage?”
“Aliveandkicking.Bob,supposeyoutellthisofficerthatI’mallright.He
caughtmeclimbingoverDurston’sgrille.”
“Durston’sgrille?”Burlinghamroaredwithlaughter.Durston’sgrille,fullof
historicalsignificancerelativetotheiryouth!Howmanytimeshadtheystolen
overitinordertohaveaperfectlygoodalibithenextmorningforaperfectly
incrediblefather!“I’llbackArmitage,Hanrahan.Hewentawaybeforeyou
cameonthisbeat.”
“Allright.I’llbegettingbacktoit.”
“Gotanycigars,Bob?”
Theyfilledthepoliceman’spocketsandturnedhimforthintothenight.
AsthedoorclosedArmitageleanedagainstthewallandsmiledweakly.“That
wasanarrowsqueak,”hesaid.“I’lltellyousomethingaboutitlater…Betty!…
Bob!…Lordy,howwonderfulitistoseeyouagain!”


Thetwocaughthishandsintheirsanddraggedhimintothecozylibrary,where
theyplumpedhimdownintotheloungebeforethewoodfireandflankedhim.

Thethreeofthemhadbeenbroughtupinthisneighborhood,
“Jimmie,myword,Ineverexpectedtoseeyouagain!We’dgetaletterfromyou
onceinawhile,butwecouldn’tanswer;youdidn’twantanynewsfromhome.
WesentholidaycardstoyourvillaontheComo,butIdon’tsupposetheyfound
you.Thoughtyouweregoneforgood.”
“Ididn’t,”saidMrs.Burlingham,who,likeallhappilyweddedwomen,believed
inclairvoyance.“Whatbroughtyouback?”—confidentthatsheknew.
“How’sthebaby?”counteredArmitage.
“Baby?Why,thebabyistwelve,anddoinghisbitatamilitaryschool.Some
boy,Jim.Ifyouturnouttobehalfasfineamanasheis—”Burlinghamslapped
hisboyhoodfriendontheshoulder.“Butwhatbroughtyouback?”
“Fate,”saidArmitage,soberly.“ButIthoughtitwasthis.”Hetookoutthe
clippingandhandedittoBetty.
Nowthathewassafelyatanchorinamostcongenialharbor,hebecameaware
ofastrange,indescribableexhilaration.Asuperficialanalysisconvincedhim
thatitwasnotduetothepropinquityoftheseoldfriendsofhis;ratherthecause
layoverthereinthedark,beyondtheshadows.Overandabovethis,hewasina
quandary.Howmuchshouldhetellofthistomfoolexploitofhis?Justenoughto
whettheircuriosity,orjustnothingatall?Soonerorlater,though.Bob,whowas
apersistentchap,wouldbeaskingaboutDurston’sgrille.
Wouldshenotifythepolice?Hewasn’tsure.Sheseemedratheraresoluteyoung
woman.Heavens!shehadbeenafterhimlikeahawkafterahare!Pearland
pomegranateandPersianpeach!Washefickle?Wasthatit?No.Afickleman
couldnothaveremainedloyalforsixyearstothememoryofajilt.He
determinedtoasksomequestionslater—cautious,roundaboutquestions.Hewas
faroffhiscourse,withapapercompassandnothingtotakethesunwith.And
stillthattingleofexhilaration!
“Andsothatbroughtyouback?”saidBetty,returningtheclipping.
“No;Ionlythoughtitbroughtmeback.IhonestlybelievethatIneverreally

lovedClareatall.Else,whyshouldIbegladtobeback,assuredthatIcanmeet
herwithoutwobblingattheknees?”Armitagerolledtheclippingintoaballand
tosseditintothefire.
“Shewasheretoteathisafternoon,Jim,”saidBetty,softly.
“She’sbackintown,then,withhermillions?”
“Yes.She’sdifferent,though.Ireallythinkshecaredforyou.Fromalovelygirl
shehasbecomeabeautifulwoman,”
“Nothingdoing,Betty.Ishallnevermarry!”Armitagepulledouthispipeand
filledit.
“Oh,piffle!”explodedBurlingham.“You’reonlythirty-four.Markme,old
scout,aftersixyears’roamingaroundjunglesandhobnobbingwith‘duskies,’
you’llfallforthefirst‘skirt’thatmakesgoogooeyesatyou.Ontheotherhand,
muchasIlikeClare,I’mgladyoudidn’thookup.She’sbeautiful,buthard.And
don’tyoufoolyourselfthatyouweren’tinlovewithher.Youwere;butyougot
overit.”
“Piffle!Abitofslangsoundsgood.”
“Ifhumanbeingscouldn’tfalloutofloveasquicklyandeasilyastheyfallin,
themurdereditionsoftheeveningpaperswouldbeonthestreetsbefore
breakfast”;andBurlinghamgotouthispipealso.
Foraquarterofanhourthetwomensatinsilence,puffingandblowingrings
andsleepilyeyingthefire.Bettywatchedthemamusedly.Weren’ttheyfunny!
Theyhadn’tseeneachotherinsixlongyears,andhadn’teverexpectedtosee
eachotheragain;andheretheywere,smokingtheirdreadfulpipesandsaying
neveraword!Twowomen,now—
“Say,Jim,thatpipeofyoursisabird.”
“CalabashImademyself.”
“Well,whenyouburyitinvitemetothefuneral.”
“Isitstrong?”

“Strong?Wow!Itwouldkillabullelephantquickerthananexpressbullet.But
finishherupandgiveusthedopeaboutDurston’sgrille.”
Armitageleanedforwardandknockedthe“dottle”fromhispipe.“WhenIfound
thatclippingIbecamefullofflame.OnthewaydownfromMaingkwanto
Mahdalaytherewasatorchinmyheart.But,somehow,whenIreachedNaplesI
couldfeelthefiredyingdown.Ihatedmyself,butIcouldnotescapethefeeling.
WhenIsteppedofftheshipto-dayIknewthatIhaddoneasensiblethingin
surrenderingtoamad,shamelessimpulse.Icameverynearthrowingawaymy
lifeforsomethingthathadceasedtoexistorhadneverexisted.Folks,I’m
absolutelycured.”
“Goingtoquitwandering?”
“Perhaps.Greatworldoverthere;fascinating.”
“Butwherewillyouputuphere?You’vesoldtheoldhouse.Jim,youcould
haveknockedmeoverwithafeatherwhenIheardthenewslastApril.Tosell
thehousewasn’tsomuch,consideringyouneverintendedtoreturn;buttosellit
furnished,withallthosetreasuresyourmotherandfatherhadsomuchfunin
collecting!Icouldn’tquiteunderstandthat.”Burlinghamshookhishead.
“NorI,”addedhiswife.
Armitage,despitethefactthattheroomwaswarm,sensedsomethinglikeacold
fingerrunningupanddownhisspine.“Isupposeitdidseemcalloustoyoutwo.
But,honestly,Ineverexpectedtocomebackagain.HowmuchdoesrumorsayI
gotforit?”Hedarednotlookatthem.
“Eightythousand.”
“That’satidysum.Isay,whatsortofpeoplearethey?”
“We’vemetonlythedaughter,”saidBetty,“And,JimmieArmitage,she’sthe
loveliestcreatureIeversaw.Odd,unusual;inallmylifeI’venevermetany
womanquitelikeher.Shehasthequeerestideas.Thewholeworldisnothing
exceptafairy-storytoher.IlovedherthemomentIsawher.Haveyoueverrun
acrossorheardofHubertAthelstone,explorerandarcheologist?”

“Athelstone?No.Butthatdoesn’tsignifyanything.Thosechapsareaqueer


breed.Theyareknownonlyamongthemselves.I’verunintoafewofthem.
Theyeathieroglyphics,walkinamazeofthem,sleeponthem,anddieunder
them.Almostalwaystheyareunattached,homelessbeggars,or,iftheyhave
families,theyforgetallaboutthem.No;Idon’trecollectthename.Oddone,
though.”
“Wehaven’tmethimyet.Ibelievehe’ssomewhereinYucatan.Shehasn’tseen
himinages.Ineverheardofadaughterworshipingafatherthewaythisgirl
does.Itmakesmefeellittleandsmallwhenshebeginstotalkabouthim.My
generalimpressionregardingarcheologistshasn’tbeencomplimentary.I’ve
alwayspicturedthemaswithered,dried-upthingswithhugeglasses.ButMr.
AthelstoneisoneofthehandsomestmenI’veeverseen!Shehasshownmehis
photograph.Itmusthavebeentakenbeforeshewasborn,whenhewas
somewhereinthelatetwenties.Anyhow,nonovelisteverconjuredaheroto
matchupwithherfather,fromherpointofview.”
“BettyandIarecrazyoverher,”saidBurlingham.
“Indeedweare.Abouttwiceayearshehearsfromherfather,andthelettersare
beautiful.Themanmustbeapoet.Weareeagertomeethim.Shewaseducated
inaconventoutofFlorenceinItaly,andsheismoreItalianintemperamentthan
English.Ateighteenshewasorderedbyherfathertoleave.Anaccomplished
womancompanionwasgivenher,andtogethertheyspentaboutfouryears
wanderingovertheendsoftheearth.ShecamebacktoAmericainApril,after
herfatherhadmadethepurchaseofyourhouse.Thinkofit!She’sseenthe
HimalayasfromDarjeeling!Motherlessfromchildhood.Isn’titromantic?We
seeeachothernearlyeveryday.Ican’tkeepawayfromher.SupposeIhaveher
overtoteato-morrow?She’sbeenaskinglotsofquestionsaboutyou.”
“I’llbedelightedtoseeher.”
“AndrememberwhatIsaidaboutgoo-gooeyes.”Burlinghamlaughed.

Armitagegotup.Heknewenoughforhispresentneeds;thepicturepuzzlewas
fairlycomplete,andsuchblocksasweremissingwereeasilytobesuppliedby
imagination.Heleanedagainstthemantelandidlykickedanandiron—a
Florentinewinemuller.“Yucatan.Andnobodyknowswhenhe’llbeback?”
“Shehintsofthepossibilityofhisreturnduringtheholidays.”


Havetheychangedtheinteriorany?”Onlyenoughtoshowthatawomaninstead
ofabachelorlivestherenow.She’sverymuchinlovewitheverything.Shehad
verylittletobringintoit.Doyouknow,Jim,you’vechanged?”concludedBetty,
appraisingly.
“Older?”quizzically.
“No.TherearelinesinyourfaceIneversawbefore.Youarepositively
handsome.”
“Piffle!Fat’sbeenburntout,that’sall.”
“No,thatisn’tit.Youlook—well,Ican’tjustexplainit.”
“Ican,”saidherhusband,owlishly.“Jim’sbeenlivingonhardgroundinsteadof
sofapillows.Andnow,oldscout,supposewetakeuptheoriginalsubject,
Durston’sgrille.”
“First,I’mgoingtobindyoutwotoabsolutesecrecy.I’mnotjoking,folks;
somethingmightyserioushashappenedtome,andI’mindeadearnest.
Promise?”
“Wepromise,”saidBurlingham,mystified.
“ThepipesofFortune!”Armitagerumpledhishair.“Didyoueverhearthem?
Whensheblows,wedance.Andgoodnessknows,I’vejustbegunthequeerest
danceamanevershookalegto.I’vebeenactuallydumpedintothemiddleof
oneofthoseArabianNightsthings.Ididnotselltheoldhome,furnishedor
unfurnished,toanybodyinthisworld!”

CHAPTERIII
ONCE,whenArmitagewasalittleboy,hehadgoneintothecountrywithhis
fatherfortrout.Theyhadbeenovertakenbyaviolentthunderstorm,andagreen
vividbolthadriventhesodwithinafewfeetofthem.Forhoursafterwardthat
greenstreakhadintervenedwhicheverwayhelooked—interferedwithhissense
oftimeandplace,thrownhimintoalandoflividunreality,andpartially
convincedhischild’smindthathehadbeentransformedintoamechanicaltoy
whosemechanismhecouldhearclickinginside.
Onthemorningfollowinghisamazingdiscoverythatthehousehewasbornin
hadbeensoldwithouthisknowledge—amorningcrispandfullofdazzling
sunshine—thememoryofthatboltcamebacktohim,bringingwithit
suggestivecomparisons.Minusthegreenstreak,hissensationswerealmost
identical.Hecouldwalk,think,act,butallwithaconsciousnessthatwhathedid
wasnotreal.Indeed,theactualthunderboltwaspreferabletothisfigurativeone.
Togotobedfairlyrich,andtowakeupfacingthepossibilitiesofutterfinancial
ruin!—helplesstoavertit,totallyincompetenttobuildanew!ButArmitagewas
abraveyoungman,aphilosopherwhohadlongsincerecognizedtheuselessness
ofwhining.Hehadatleastlearnedinhiswanderingsthatopportunitieswerenot
resuscitable.Dazedly,butpluckily,hestartedforthtofindouthowthisruinhad
beenaccomplished,vaguelyhopingthathisgoodluckwouldpullhimthrough,
thattheruinwasnotutter.
Atnineo’clockheenteredtheConcordapartments,anold-fashionedbuilding
situatedinanold-fashionedpartofthetown,andaskedtoseethejanitor,aware
thatjanitorswereeasilyapproachableandgenerallyinclinedtowardverbosity,
whichwasaninterestingsidelightonhisknowledgeofhumanbeings.
“IwishtomakesomeinquiriesregardingMr.Bordman—SamuelBordman—
wholivedhereformanyyears.”
“Ain’tlivingherenow,”repliedthejanitor,briefly.“Whenhewentawayin
Aprilhedidn’tcomeback.HisleaselapsedinAugust;soIhadtorenthis
apartment.”

“Haveyouanyideaofhiswhereabouts?”


“Nope.Packedupandclearedout,‘sallIknow.Say”—withsuddeninterest
—“beyouadetective?”
“No.I’mmerelyoneofhisclients.Iwantedtofindhimifpossible.Didheseem
allrightwhenheleft?”
“Well,hekindo’sprucedupabittowardthelastandworeapinkinhis
buttonhole.Buthewasn’tanymorelunythanusual.”
“Atriflequeer,eh?”
“Onsomepoints.Alwayspaidhisbills;sowehadn’tanykickcoming.Oh,he
wasallright.Wealllikedtheoldcodger,ifyoucometothat.”
“Didawomanevercallonhim?”
“Bo,wheneverhesawastrangefemalehebeatitforthedumb-waiter,believe
me.Theycouldn’tgetnearhimwithaten-footpole.Nope;nothinglikethatin
his.Hewashereforabouteighteenyears;soIknow.Butyounevercantell.He
mayhavegoneoffthetrack.Nofoollikeanoldfool.Agoodsixty,ifaday.
Well,ifheranawaytogetmarriedhisthingsareherewaitingforhim,anold
trunkandhisfurniture.”
“Imayhavetocomearoundforapeekintothattrunk.”
“Ifyoucomewiththerightpapers.”
“Thanksforyourtrouble.”
“That’sallright,”repliedthejanitorashefollowedArmitagetothedoor.“Those
oldboys—theyrunalongfortyyearslikeclockwork,andthen,pop!goesthe
weasel.ButIneversawanydameaskingforhim.”
Armitagewentdownthestepstothesidewalk.Hewasperfectlycalm.Perhaps
thiswasduetothefactthatthesuspensewasover.Bordman,forthirtyyearsa
trustedagent,hadabsconded.Thenextstepwastoascertaintheextentofthe
damage.Outofafortuneofmorethanhalfamilliondollarshemightpossessat
thisparticularmomentwhathehadintwolettersofcreditandthedepositinthe

CreditoItalianoinMilan—thirty-seventhousandinall.


IfBordmanhadfounditeasytosellthehouseinSeventy-secondStreet,how
mucheasiertodisposeofstocksandbondsandmortgagesandcash!Buthow
hadheworkeditwithoutcreatingsuspicion?Howhadhehoodwinkedthekeen
bankers?Howhadhemanagedthetransferofthepropertywithoutarousing
someinquiry?ThesepuzzlesArmitagedeterminedtosolveatonce.Therewas,
however,adimrecollectionregardingsomepowerofattorney.
SixblocksbelowtheConcordapartmentswastheArmitageoffice-building,
where,behindadoorwiththemodestsign,”Estates,”Bordmanhadlabored
honorablyforthreedecades.TowardthisbuildingArmitagemeasuredhissteps
energetically,despitethefactthateachstepbecameheavierandharder,untilhis
sensationsweresomethingakintothoseofamanfightingagaleacrosssand
dunes.SupposingtheArmitagewasgone?
Dreadandself-analysis—dreadforthepossibilitiesofthefutureandtingling
scornforthepast!Ruined;andhehadnoonetothankexcepthimself.Hetook
James
Armitage,formerclubman,hunter,andidler,andanalyticallytorehimintoso
manyfragmentsthathewaspresentlyinthesamecategoryasHumptyDumpty
afterthefall.BobBurlinghamhadhitthenailonthehead;Foryearshehad
lolledonmetaphoricalsofapillows,awell-meaning,inefficient,pleasure-loving
idler.Settoit,hecouldnothavemadeoutalistofhispropertiesfrommemory.
NeverhavingbeenaspendthriftintheBroadwaysense,therehadalwaysbeen
fatbalancestodrawagainst.Bordmanhadtakencareofeverything.Onceina
greatwhileBordmanhadcalledhimdowntotheofficetosignsomepaper;but
hehadnevergonethereforanyotherreason.Thepale,obsequiouslittleman
hadalwaysboredhim.
Armitagenibbledhismustacheashewentalong.Thewholeemptinessofhislife
stretchedoutvividlyinakindofprocessionalreview.Socialroutine:aridein

theParkinthemorning,teasomewhereintheafternoon,adinnerdanceorthe
theater,andarubberortwoattheclub,brokenbyfishingandhuntingtripsand
weekendsiithecountry.Agrasshopper’slife!Anidle,inconsequent
grasshopper’slife!Andherewasthefirstshrewdblastofwintertinglinghis
isinglasswings!
Excuses—oneafteranotherhecastthemaside.Whathehaddone,toavoidthe
simplebusinesscaresofhisestate,wasinexcusable.Onceuponatimehewould


havefeltonlybitterlywrongedandabusedbyfate;butforsixyearshehadbeen
livingveryclosetonaturalthings,and—withtheexceptionofwhathehad
honestlybelievedtobelove—hehadlearnedthatitwasfollytolietooneself.
Helaughedaloud.Ifhislifethatdayhaddependeduponearningadollar,he
wouldhavegonetohisdeathatsundown.JamesArmitage,agedthirty-four;
occupation,grasshopper.
Acynical,insidiousideacreptintohisheadandtriedtofindlodgmentthere.
ClareWendell,richandfree….
“No!BytheLordHarry!I’llneverstoopthatlow.I’llwork.Iwouldn’tmakea
badriding-master.”Helaughedagain.“Isupposethisisthekindofsituationthat
offersanormallygoodmanafinechancetobecomearogue.No,thanks!”
Butwhatoftheothergirl,thegirlwhowaslivinginhishouse,believingittobe
lawfullyhers?Sheorherfatherhadpaideightythousandforitingoodfaith,and
shewaslivingthereallalone,forherfatherwasevidentlysomethingofawillo’-the-wisp.Hecouldn’tgotoherandtellhershe’dbeenrookedbyadishonest
lawyer.PearlandpomegranateandPersianpeach!Itwasverypleasanttorecall
theambernimbusoverherhair,theround,lovelyarms.Whatwouldhave
happenedhadshecaughthimbehindthosecurtains?Whataninfernalmuddle!
Andherewastheverygatetoit,theArmitageofficebuilding.
Hewentin,preparedfortheworst.AfterasearchhefoundMorrissy,thejanitor
ofthebuilding,whohadoccupiedhispostfortwenty-oddyears.
“I’mArmitage,”heannouncedwithoutpreamble.“Haveyougotthekeyto

Bordman’soffice?”
“Yes,sir.”
“Areallhisthingsthere?”
“Justasheleftthem.Beenwonderingifhewasevercomingback.Irecognize
you,Mr.Armitage,andI’mgladtoseeyou.I’vebeenhandlingtherentswithout
anylegalauthority.Hadtotake‘emovertothebankan’explain.Thepresident
saidheguesseditwouldbeallright,butthatIoughttocableyouthefacts.But
nobodyknewyouraddress.”
AgreatweightslippedoffArmitage’sshoulders.“ThenI’mstillownerhere?”


“Well,Iguessso.”Morrissygrinned.Theyoungbosswashavinghisjoke.
“Isay,didn’tBordmanhaveastenographer?”
“Ye-ah.Wanther?”
“Ijollywelldo!”
“She’sonthesamefloor.Here’sthekey.YougototheofficeandI’llgetMiss
Corrigan.Shecangetoffforthemorning.HeardanythingfromBordman?”
“No.”
“Queer.”
Bordman’sofficelookedasthoughhehadleftitonlyyesterday.Itwas
scrupulouslycleanandorderly,duedoubtlesstothecleaning-woman’striweeklyrounds.Therewasanold-fashionedsafeinonecomer,alargeglobeof
theworld,rowsofletter-filesandshelvesofbrownlaw-books.Therewas
nothingwhatevertoindicatethatBordmanhadlefttheofficeinahurryorupon
impulse.
Armitagesatdowninthechairatthedeskandbegantowhistlesoftly.The
outlookwasn’tsodarkasmightbe.Iftheoffice-buildingwasstillfreeand
unattached,why,hewouldhavebetweentenandtwelvethousandayear.
PresentlythejanitorandMissCorrigancamein.
“I’mMissCorrigan,”shesaid.“Youwishedtoseeme?”Sherecognizedhim
instantly.Threetimesbeforeshehadseenhiminthisoffice.Alittlesighpressed

againstherlipsassherecalledhowyonderclean-cut,handsomefacehadstirred
theromanticinher.Nearlyallherbookheroeshadtakenuponthemselvesthe
faceofthismannowsmilingatheramiably.Avaguethrillofgladnessranover
her.Shehadmadeaherooutofhimeightyearsago,andhiscountenancewas
stillopenandmanly.Herewasamanwhohadtraveledstraight;moneyhadn’t
slackenedthefiber.“YouareMr.Armitage.”
“Yes.AndIbelieveyouaretheonlypersonintheworldwhocanaidmeinmy
presentpredicament,”
“Icangiveyouasmuchtimeasyouneed,sir.”


“I’llbeverygratefulforthat.Thanks,Morrissy.”
“Say,”saidthejanitor,“there’safatstackofmailI’vebeenholdingfor
Bordman.MaybeI’dbetterbringitup.”
“Notabadidea.”
“Anythingwrong?”
“I’llletyouknowaboutthatlater.”
MorrissymadeoffforBordman’sletters.
“Tellmewhatyouknow,”saidArmitage,turningtotheyoungwoman.
“First,whathashappened?WhereisMr.Bordman?”
Herpleasant,ifcareworn,faceandherfriendlyeyesgaveArmitageafeelingof
comfortableassurance.“WhatI’mgoingtotellyouwillbeinabsolute
confidence.”
“Iamusedtokeepingsecrets.”
“Well,Bordmanhasabscondedwithagoodlybulkofmyproperty.”
Adeep,perpendicularlineformedabovetheyoungwoman’snose.“Mr.
Bordman?Thatpatient,kindlylittleoldman?Itisn’tpossible!”
“Iwishitwasn’t.Ishouldn’triskcallingamanathiefunlessIhadsufficient
groundsfordoingso,MissCorrigan.Pleasetellmewhatyoucanabouthim.”
“IcametoworkasusualonemorninginAprilandcouldn’tgetin.Iwentfor

Morrissyandgothiskey.Mr.Bordmanwasalwayshereateight,andIcamein
athalfpasteight.Ithoughtperhapshewasill,soIcalleduphisapartments.He
hadgoneawaythenightbeforewithalotofluggage.Itwasratherodd,butI
creditedittosomehastyout-of-towncall.Icamedowneverydayforaweek;
butasnonewswhatevercameinIwasforcedtogiveup.Isecuredmypresent
position.ThatisallIhonestlyknow.ButMr.Bordmanathief?Ican’tgetthat
throughmyhead.”


“Nevertheless,it’safact,abitteronetome.Hesoldmyhouse,furnished,for
eightythousandinApril.”
“Letmethink,”shesaid,drummingonthedeskwithherpencilandfrowningat
theskyscraperacrossthestreet.
Suddenlysheranovertoashelfwheretherewasastackofstenographer’s
notebooks.Afterasearchshepluckedforthoneandreturned.
“Whathaveyoufound?”heasked.
“Ineverforgotthis,”sheanswered.“Ithoughtitrathersingularandcarelessat
thetime.Whenyouwentawayyoulefthimwiththepowerofattorney.ShallI
readthearticles?”
“Please.”
“Righttosellandtransferrealestate,bonds,stocks,mortgages,tocollectrents,
drawagainstbanks,topaycurrentexpensesagainsttheestate.Irememberedthis
transaction,itwassounusuallybroad.Iwitnessedthedocuments—forthere
werethreeduplicatesforthebanks—andwewentnextdoorforthenotary’s
seal.”
“Powerofattorney,”hemurmured.
“Yes.IfMr.Bordmanhasrobbedyou…”
“Ishalldoubtlessstayrobbed,”heinterrupted.
“Exactly.Andyet,Icantseehowyoucanbeblamed.Yourfatherbeforeyou
trustedhimquiteasfully.I’veseentheoldrecords.Iknowalittleaboutlaw.I

wasinthisofficeforabouteightyears.WhateverBordmansoldisbeyondlegal
reach.Youcannotcomeagainstthebuyers.Youcanonlyfollowhimandmake
himdisgorge.Hewasaqueerlittleoldman,witharaggedygraymustache,
partlybald,andmagnifyinglensesinhisspectacles.Buthealwaysimpressedme
asbeingthehonestestthingimaginable.Heusedtoworryoverpostagestamps
thatdidn’tbelongtohim.”
“Stockmarkets?”