The Brass Bowl
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Louis Joseph Vance >> The Brass Bowl
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She was dumb, stupefied with misery.
He turned upon her sharply.
"Well?"
Her lips moved in soundless assent,--lips as pallid and bloodless as the
wan young face beneath the small inconspicuous hat.
The man grunted impatiently; yet was satisfied, knowing that he had her
now completely under control: a condition not hard to bring about in a
woman who, like this, was worn out with physical fatigue and overwrought
with nervous strain. The conditions had been favorable, the result was
preeminently comfortable. She would give him no more trouble.
The hansom swerved suddenly across the car-tracks and pulled up at the
curb. Anisty rose with an exclamation of relief and climbed down to the
sidewalk, turning and extending a hand to assist the girl.
"Come!" he said imperatively. "We've no time to waste."
For an instant only she harbored a fugitive thought of resistance; then
his eyes met hers and held them, and her mind seemed to go blank under his
steadfast and domineering regard. "Come!" he repeated sharply. Trembling,
she placed a hand in his and somehow found herself by his side. Regardless
of appearances the man retained her hand, merely shifting it beneath his
arm, where a firm pressure of the elbow held it as in a vise.
"You needn't wait," he said curtly to the cabby; and swung about, the girl
by his side.
"No nonsense now," he warned her tensely, again thrusting a hand in his
breast pocket significantly.
"I understand," she breathed faintly, between closed teeth.
She had barely time to remark the towering white facade of upper
Broadway's tallest sky-scraper ere she was half led, half dragged into the
entrance of the building.
The marble slabs of the vestibule echoed strangely to their
footsteps--those slabs that shake from dawn to dark with the tread of
countless feet. They moved rapidly toward the elevator-shaft, passing on
their way deserted cigar- and news-stands shrouded in dirty brown clothes.
By the dark and silent well, where the six elevators (of which one only
was a-light and ready for use) stood motionless as if slumbering in utter
weariness after the gigantic exertions of the day, they came to a halt;
and a chair was scraped noisily on the floor as a night-watchman rose,
rubbing his eyes and yawning, to face them.
Anisty opened the interview brusquely. "Is Mr. Bannerman in now?" he
demanded.
The watchman opened his eyes wider, losing some of his sleepy expression;
and observed the speaker and his companion--the small, shrinking,
frightened-looking little woman who bore so heavily on her escort's arm,
as if ready to drop with exhaustion. It appeared that he knew Maitland by
sight, or else thought that he did.
"Oh, ye're Mister Maitland, ain't yous?" he said. "Nope; if Misther
Bannerman's in his offis, I dunno nothin' about it."
"He was to meet me here at two," Anisty affirmed. "It's a very important
case. I'm sure he must be along, immediately, if he's not up-stairs.
You're sure--?"
"Nah, I ain't sure. He may've been there all night, f'r all I know. But
I'll take yous up 'f you want," with a doubtful glance at the girl.
"This lady is one of Mr. Bannerman's clients, and in great trouble." The
self-styled Maitland laid his hand in a protecting gesture over the
fingers on his arm; and pressed them cruelly. "I think we will go up,
thank you. If Bannerman's not in, I can 'phone him. I've a pass-key."
The watchman appeared satisfied: Maitland's social standing was guaranty
enough.
"All right, sir. Step in."
The girl made one final effort to hang back. Anisty's brows blackened. "By
God!" he told her in a whisper. "If you dare...!"
And somehow she found herself at his side in the steel cage, the gate's
clang ringing loud in her ears. The motion of the car, shooting upwards
with rapidly increasing speed, made her slightly giddy. Despite Anisty's
supporting arm she reeled back against the wall of the cage, closing her
eyes. The man observed this with covert satisfaction.
As the speed decreased she began to feel slightly stronger; and again
opened her eyes. The floor numbers, black upon a white ground, were
steadily slipping down; the first she recognized being 19. The pace was
sensibly decreased. Then with a slight jar the elevator stopped at 22.
"Yous know the way?"
"Perfectly," replied Anisty. "Two flights up--in the tower."
"Right. When yous wants me, ring."
The car dropped like a plummet, leaving them in darkness--or rather in a
thick gloom but slightly moderated by the moonlight streaming in at
windows at either end of the corridor. Anisty gripped the girl more
roughly.
"Now, my lady! No shennanigan!"
A futile, superfluous reminder. Temporarily at least she was become as wax
in his hands. So complex had been the day's emotions, so severe her
nervous tension, so heavy the tax upon her stamina, that she had lapsed
into a state of subjective consciousness, in which she responded without
purpose, almost dreamily, to the suggestions of the stronger will.
Wearily she stumbled up the two brief flights of stairs leading to the
tower-like cupola of the sky-scraper: two floors superimposed upon the
roof with scant excuse save that of giving the building the distinction of
being the loftiest in that section of the city--certainly not to lend any
finishing touch of architectural beauty to the edifice.
On the top landing a door confronted them, its glass panel shining dimly
in the darkness. Anisty paused, unceremoniously thrusting the girl to one
side and away from the head of the staircase; and fumbled in a pocket,
presently producing a jingling bunch of keys. For a moment or two she
heard him working at the lock and muttering in an undertone,--probably
swearing,--and then, with a click, the door swung open.
The man thrust a hand inside, touched an electric switch, flooding the
room with light, and motioned the girl to enter. She obeyed passively,
thoroughly subjugated: and found herself in a large and well-furnished
office, apparently the outer of two rooms. The glare of electric light at
first partly blinded her; and she halted instinctively a few steps from
the door, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the change.
Behind her the door was closed softly; and there followed a thud as a bolt
was shot. An instant later Anisty caught her by the arm and, roughly now
and without wasting speech, hurried her into the next room. Then,
releasing her, he turned up the lights and, passing to the windows, threw
two or three of them wide; for the air in the room was stale and lifeless.
"And now," said the criminal in a tone of satisfaction, "now we can talk
business, my dear."
He removed his overcoat and hat, throwing them over the back of a
convenient chair, drew his fingers thoughtfully across his chin, and,
standing at a little distance, regarded the girl with a shadow of a
saturnine smile softening the hard line of his lips.
She stood where he had left her, as if volition was no longer hers. Her
arms hung slack at her sides and she was swaying a trifle, her face
vacant, eyes blank: very near the breaking-down point.
The man was not without perception; and recognized her state--one in
which, he felt assured, he could get very little out of her. She must be
strengthened and revived before she would or could respond to the direct
catechism he had in store for her. In his own interest, therefore, more
than through any yielding to motives of pity and compassion, he piloted
her to a chair by a window and brought her a glass of clear cold water
from the filter in the adjoining room.
The cold, fresh breeze blowing in her face proved wonderfully
invigorating. She let her head sink back upon the cushions of the easy,
comfortable leather chair and drank in the clean air in great deep
draughts, with a sense of renewing vigor, both bodily and spiritual. The
water helped, too: she dabbled the tip of a ridiculously small
handkerchief in it and bathed her throbbing temples. The while, Anisty
stood over her, waiting with discrimination if with scant patience.
What was to come she neither knew nor greatly cared; but, with an
instinctive desire to postpone the inevitable moment of trial, she
simulated deadly languor for some moments after becoming conscious of her
position: and lay passive, long lashes all but touching her cheeks,--in
which now a faint color was growing,--gaze wandering at random out over a
dreary wilderness of flat rectangular roofs, livid in the moonlight,
broken by long, straight clefts of darkness in whose depths lights gleamed
faintly. Far in the south the sky came down purple and black to the
horizon, where a silver spark glittered like a low-swung star: the torch
of Liberty.
"I think," Anisty's clear-cut tones, incisive as a razor edge, crossed the
listless trend of her thoughts: "I think we will now get down to business,
my lady!"
She lifted her lashes, meeting his masterful stare with a look of calm
inquiry. "Well?"
"So you're better now? Possibly it was a mistake to give you that rest, my
lady. Still, when one's a gentleman-cracksman----!" He chuckled
unpleasantly, not troubling to finish his sentence.
"Well?" he mocked, seating himself easily upon an adjacent table. "We're
here at last, where we'll suffer no interruptions to our little council of
war. Beyond the watchman, there's probably not another soul in the
building; and from that window there it is a straight drop of twenty-four
stories to Broadway, while I'm between you and the door. So you may be
resigned to stay here until I get ready to let you go. If you scream for
help, no one will hear you."
"Very well," she assented mechanically, turning her head away with a
shiver of disgust. "What is it you want?"
"The jewels," he said bluntly. "You might have guessed that."
"I did...."
"And have saved yourself and me considerable trouble by speaking ten
minutes ago."
"Yes," she agreed abstractedly.
"Now," he continued with a hint of anger in his voice, "you are going to
tell."
She shook her head slightly.
"Oh, but you are, my lady." And his tone rasped, quickened with the latent
brutality of the natural criminal. "And I know that you'll not force me to
extreme measures. It wouldn't be pleasant for you, you know; and I promise
you I shall stop at nothing whatever to make you speak."
No answer; in absolute indifference, she felt, lay her strongest weapon.
She must keep calm and self-possessed, refusing to be terrified into a
quick and thoughtless answer. "This afternoon," he said harshly, "you
stole from me the Maitland jewels. Where are they?"
"I shall not tell."
He bent swiftly forward and took one of her hands in his. Instinctively
she clenched it; and he wrapped his strong hard fingers around the small
white fist, then deliberately inserted a hard finger joint between her
second and third knuckles, slowly increasing the pressure. And watched
with absolute indifference the lines of agony grave themselves upon her
smooth unwrinkled forehead, and the color leave her cheeks, as the pain
grew too exquisite. Then, suddenly discontinuing the pressure, but
retaining her hand, he laughed shortly.
"Will you speak, my lady, or will you have more?"
"Don't," she gasped, "please...!"
"Where are the jewels? Will you?"
"No."
"Have you given them to Maitland?"
"No."
"Where are they?"
"I don't know."
"Stop that nonsense unless.... Where did you leave them?"
"I won't tell--I won't.... Ah, please, _please!_"
"Tell me!"
"Never.... Ah-h!..."
An abrupt and resounding hammering at the outer door forced him to leave
off. He dropped her hand with an oath and springing to his feet drew his
revolver; then, with a glance at the girl, who was silently weeping, tears
of pain rolling down her cheeks, mouth set in a thin pale line of
determination, strode out and shut the door after him.
As it closed the girl leaped to her feet, maddened with torture, wild eyes
casting about the room for a weapon of some sort, of offense or defense;
for she could not have endured the torture an instant longer. If forced to
it, to fight, fight she would. If only she had something, a stick of wood,
to defend herself with.... But there was nothing, nothing at all.
The room was a typical office, well but severely furnished. The rug that
covered the tile floor was of rich quality and rare design. The
neutral-tinted walls were bare, but for a couple of steel engravings in
heavy wooden frames. There were three heavily upholstered leather
arm-chairs and one revolving desk-chair; a roll-top desk, against the
partition wall, a waste-paper basket, and a flat-topped desk, or table.
And that was all.
Or not quite all, else the office equipment had not been complete. There
was the telephone!
But he would hear! Or was the partition sound-proof?
As if in contradiction of the suggestion, there came to her ears very
clearly the sound of the hall door creaking on its hinges, and then a
man's voice, shrill with anger and anxiety.
"You fool! Do you want to ruin us both? What do you mean----"
The door crashed to, interrupting the protest and drowning Anisty's reply.
"I was passing," the new voice took up its plaintive remonstrance, "and
the watchman called me in and said that you were telephoning for me----"
"Damn the interfering fool!" interrupted Anisty.
"But what's this insanity, Anisty? What's this about a woman? What----"
The new-comer's tones ascended a high scale of fright and rage.
"Lower your voice, you ass!" the burglar responded sternly. "And----"
He took his own advice; and for a little time the conference was conducted
in guarded tones that did not penetrate the dividing wall save as a deep
rumbling alternating with an impassioned squeak.
But long ere this had come to pass the girl was risking all at the
telephone. Receiver to ear she was imploring Central to connect her with
Ninety-eighty-nine Madison. If only she might get Maitland, tell him where
the jewels were hidden, warn him to remove them--then she could escape
further suffering by open confession..
"What number?" came Central's languid query, after a space. "Did you say
Nine-ought-nine-eight?"
"No, no, Central. Nine-o-eight-nine Madison, please, and hurry------
hurry!"
"Ah, I'm ringin' 'em. They ain't answered yet. Gimme time.... There they
are. Go ahead."
"Hello, hello!"
"Pwhat is ut?"
Her heart sank: O'Hagan's voice meant that Maitland was out.
"O'Hagan--is that you?... Tell Mr. Maitland------"
"He's gawn out for the noight an'------"
"Tell him, please------"
"But he's out. Ring up in the marnin'."
"But can't you take this message for him? Please...."
The door was suddenly jerked open and Anisty leaped into the room, face
white with passion. Terrified, the girl sprang from the desk, carrying the
instrument with her, placing the revolving chair between her and her
enemy.
"The brass bowl, please,--tell him that," she cried clearly into the
receiver.
And Anisty was upon her, striking the telephone from her grasp with one
swift blow and seizing her savagely by the wrist. As the instrument
clattered and pounded on the floor she was sent reeling and staggering
half-way across the room.
As she brought up against the flat-topped desk, catching its edge and
saving herself a fall, the burglar caught up the telephone.
"Who is that?" he shouted imperatively into the transmitter.
Whatever the reply, it seemed to please him. His brows cleared, the wrath
that had made his face almost unrecognizable subsided; he even smiled. And
the girl trembled, knowing that he had solved her secret; for she had
hoped against hope that the only words he could have heard her speak would
have had too cryptic a significance for his comprehension.
As, slowly and composedly, he replaced the receiver on its hook and
returned the instrument to the desk, a short and rotund figure of a man,
in rumpled evening dress and wearing a wilted collar, hopped excitedly
into the room, cast at the girl one terrified glance out of eyes that
glittered with excitement like black diamonds, set in a face the hue of
yeast, and clutched the burglar's arm.
"Oh, Anisty, Anisty!" he cried piteously. "What is it? What is it? Tell
me!"
"It's all right," returned the burglar. "Don't you worry, little man. Pull
yourself together." And laughed.
"But what--what----" stammered the other.
"Only that she's given herself away," chuckled Anisty: "beautifully and
completely. 'The brass bowl,' says she,--thinking I never saw one on
Maitland's desk!--and 'O'Hagan, and who the divvle are you?' says the man
on the other end of the wire, when I ask who he is."
"And? And?" pleaded the little man, dancing with worry.
"And it means that my lady here returned the jewels to Maitland by hiding
them under a brass ash-receiver on his desk--ass that I was not to
know!... You are 'cute, my lady!" with an ironic salute to the girl, "but
you've met your match in Anisty."
"And," demanded the other as the burglar snatched up his hat and coat,
"what will you do, Anisty?"
"Do?"--contemptuously. "Why, what is there to do but go and get them?
We've risked too much and made New York too hot for the two of us, my dear
sir, to get out of the game without the profits."
"But I beg of you----"
"You needn't,"--grimly. "It won't bring you in any money."
"But Maitland--"
"Is out. O'Hagan answered the 'phone. Don't you understand?"
"But he may return!"
"That's his lookout. I'm sorry for him if he does." Anisty produced the
revolver from his pocket, and twirled the cylinder significantly. "I owe
Mr. Maitland something," he said, nodding to the white-faced girl by the
table, "and I shouldn't be sorry to----"
"And what," broke in the new-comer, "what am I going to do meanwhile?"
"Devil the bit _I_ care! Stay here and keep this impetuous female
from calling up Police Headquarters, for a good guess.... Speaking of
which, I think we had best settle this telephone business once and for
all."
The burglar turned again to the desk and began to work over the instrument
with a small screwdriver which he produced from his coat pocket, talking
the while.
"Our best plan, my dear Bannerman, is for you to come with me, at least as
far as the nearest corner. You can wait there, if you're too cowardly to
go the limit, like a man.... I'll get the loot and join you, and we can
make a swift hike for the first train that goes farthest out of town....
A pity, for we've done pretty well, you and I, old boy: you with your
social entree and bump of locality to locate the spoils, me with my
courage and skill to lift 'em, and an equitable division.... Oh, don't
worry about _her_, Bannerman! She's as deep in it as either of us,
only she happens to be sentimental, and an outsider on this deal. She
won't blab. Besides, you're ruined anyway, as far as New York's
concerned.... Come along. That's finished: she won't send any important
messages over that wire to-night, I guess."
"My dear young lady!" Rising and throwing the overcoat over his arm, he
waved his hat at her in sardonic courtesy. "I can't say it has been a
pleasure to know you but--you have made it interesting, I admit. And I bid
you a very good night. The charwoman will let you out when she comes to
clean up in the morning. Adieu, my dear!"
The little man bustled after him, bleating and fidgeting; and the lock
clicked.
She was alone ... utterly and forlornly alone ... and had lost ... lost
all, all that she had prized and hoped to win, even ... even him....
She raised fluttering, impotent white hands to her temples, trying to
collect herself. In the outer room a clock was ticking. Unconsciously she
moved to the doorway and stood looking for a time at the white,
expressionless dial. It was some time--a minute or two--before she
deciphered the hour.
Ten minutes past two!... Ah, the lifetime she had lived in the past
seventy minutes! And the futility of it all!
XV
THE PRICE
Slowly Maitland returned to the study and replaced the lamp upon his desk;
and stood briefly in silence, long fingers stroking his well-shaped chin,
his face a little thin and worn-looking, a gleam of pain in his eyes. He
sighed.
So she was gone!
He laughed a trace harshly. This surprise was nothing more than he might
have discounted, of course; he had been a fool to expect anything else of
her, he was enjoying only his just deserts both for having dared to
believe that the good in human nature (and particularly in woman's nature)
would respond to decent treatment, and for having acted on that asinine
theory.
So she was gone, without a word, without a sign!...
He sat down at the desk, sidewise, one arm extended along its edge,
fingers drumming out a dreary little tune on the hard polished wood; and
thought it all over from the beginning. Nor spared himself.
Why, after all, should it be otherwise? Why should she have stayed? Why
should he compliment himself by believing that there was aught about him
visible through the veneer acquired in a score and odd years of
purposeless existence, to attract a young and pretty woman's heart?
He enumerated his qualities specifically; and condemned them all.
Imprimis, he was a conceited ass. A fascinating young criminal had but to
toss her head at him to make him think that she was pleased with him, to
make him forget that she was what she was and believe that, because he was
willing to stoop, she was willing to climb. And he had betrayed himself so
mercilessly! How she must have laughed in her sleeve all the time, while
he pranced and bridled and preened himself under her eyes, blinded to his
own idiocy by the flame of a sudden infatuation--how she _must_ have
laughed!
Undoubtedly she had laughed; and, measuring his depth,--or his
shallowness,--had determined to use him to her ends. Why not? It had been
her business, her professional duty, to make use of him in order to
accomplish her plundering. And because she had not dared to ask him for
the jewels when he left her in the morning, she had naturally returned in
the evening to regain them, very confident, doubtless, that even if
surprised a second time, she would get off scot-free. Unfortunately for
her, this fellow Anisty had interfered. Maitland presumed cynically that
he ought to be grateful to Anisty.... The unaccountable scoundrel! Why had
_he_ returned?
How the girl had contrived to escape was, of course, more easy to
understand. Maitland recalled that sudden clatter of hoofs in the street,
and he had only to make a trip to the window to verify his suspicion that
the cab was gone. She had simply overheard his concluding remarks to the
cabby, and taken pardonable advantage of them. Maitland had footed the
bill.... She was welcome to that, however. He, Maitland, was well rid of
the whole damnable business.... Yes, jewels and all!
What were the jewels to him?... Beyond their sentimental associations, he
did not hold them greatly in prize. Of course, since they had been worn by
his mother, he would spare no expense or effort to trace and re-collect
them, for that dim sainted memory's sake. But in this case, at least, the
traditional usage of the Maitland's would never be carried out. It had
been faithfully observed when, after his mother's death, the stones had
been removed from their settings and stored away; but now they would never
be reset, even should he contrive to reassemble them, to adorn the bride
of the Maitland heir. For he would never marry. Of course not....
Maitland was young enough to believe, and to extract a melancholy
satisfaction from this.
Puzzled and saddened, his mind harked back for ever to that carking
question: Why had she returned? What had brought her back to the flat? If
she and Anisty were confederates, as one was inclined at times to
believe,--if such were the case, Anisty had the jewels, and there was
nothing else of any particular value so persistently to entice such expert
and accomplished burglars back to his flat. What else had they required of
him? His peace of mind was nothing that they could turn into cash; and
they seemed to have reaved him of nothing else.
But they had that; unquestionably they had taken that.
And still the riddle haunted him: Why had she come back that night? And,
whatever her reason, had she come in Anisty's company, or alone? One
minute it seemed patent beyond dispute that the girl and the great
plunderer were hand-in-glove; the next minute Maitland was positively
assured that their recent meeting had been altogether an accident. From
what he had heard over the telephone, he had believed them to be
quarreling, although at the time he had assigned to O'Hagan the masculine
side to the dispute. But certainly there must have arisen some difference
of opinion between Anisty and the girl, to have drawn from her that
frantic negative Maitland had heard, to have been responsible for the
overturning of the chair,--an accident that seemed to argue something in
the nature of a physical struggle; the chair itself still lay upon its
side, mute witness to a hasty and careless movement on somebody's part....
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