I had placed the lumber inside the yard as directed, and was already rehitching the traces, when the man crossed the street slowly, switching his light cane carelessly in the air. I had noticed him before standing there in the doorway of the drug store, my attention attracted by the fashionable cut of his clothes, and the manner in which he watched me work. Now, as he rounded the heads of the mules, I straightened up, observing him more closely. He was forty or forty-five, heavily built, with a rather pasty-white face, a large nose, eyes unusually deep set, and a closely clipped mustache beginning to gray. His dress was correct to a button, and there was a pleasant look to the mouth which served to mitigate the otherwise hard expression of countenance. As I faced him in some surprise he looked me fairly in the eyes.
"Been at this job long?" he asked easily.
"Three days," I replied unhesitatingly, drawing the reins through my hands.
"Like it?"
"Well, I 've had worse and better," with a laugh. "I prefer this to my last one."
"What was that?"
"Ridin' blind baggage."
It was his turn to laugh, and he did so.
"I thought I was not mistaken," he said at last, sobering. "You are the same lad the train hands put off the Atlantic Express at Vernon a week ago."
I nodded, beginning to suspect him of being a fly-cop who had spotted me for a pull.
"I never noticed the name of the burg," I returned. "Why? were you there?"
"Yes, I came in on the same train. Just caught a glimpse of your face in the light of the brakeman's lantern. How did you get here?"
"Freight, two hours later."
"You 're not a bum, or you would n't be working."
I put one foot on the wheel, but he touched me on the sleeve with his cane.
"Wait a minute," and there was more animation in the tone. "I may have something better for you than this lumber wagon. I 'm right, ain't I, in guessing you 're no regular bum?"
"I 've bummed it most of the way from Frisco; I had to. I was homesick for the East, and lost my transportation."
"Your what?"
"Transportation; I was discharged at the Presidio."
"Oh, I see," smiling again, and tapping the wheel with his stick; "the army—foreign service?"
"The Philippines three years; invalided home."
"By God, you don't look it," his eyes on me. "Never saw a more perfect animal. Fever?"
"No, bolo wound; got caught in the brush, and then lay out in a swamp all night, till our fellows got up."
He looked at his watch, and I climbed into my seat. "See here, I have n't time to talk now, but I believe you are the very fellow I am looking for. If you want an easier job than this," waving a gloved hand toward the pile of lumber, "come and see me and we 'll talk it over." He took a card out of a morocco case, and wrote a line on it. "Come to that address at nine o'clock tonight."
I took the bit of pasteboard as he handed it up.
"All right, sir, I 'll be there on time."
"Come to the side door," he added swiftly, lowering his voice, "the one on the south. Give three raps. By the way, what is your name?"
"Gordon Craig," I answered without pausing to think. His eyes twinkled shrewdly.
"Ever been known by any other?"
"I enlisted under another; I ran away from home, and was not of age."
"Oh, I see; well, that makes no difference to me. Don't forget, Craig, the side door at nine."
I glanced back as we turned the corner; he was still standing at the edge of the walk, tapping the concrete with his cane. Out of sight I looked curiously at the card. It was the advertisement of a clothing house, and on the back was written "P. B. Neale, 108 Chestnut Street."
The mules walked the half dozen blocks back to the lumber yard, while my mind reviewed this conversation. There was a bit of mystery to it which had fascination, because of a vague promise of adventure. Evidently this man Neale had need of a stranger to help him out in some scheme, and had picked me by chance as being the right party. Well, if the pay was good, and the purpose not criminal, I had no objections to the spice of danger. Indeed, that was what I loved in life, my heart throbbing eagerly in anticipation. I was young, full-blooded, strong, willing enough to take desperate chances for sufficient reward. There was a suspicion in my mind that all was not straight—Neale's questions, and the private signals to be given at a side door left that impression—yet I could only wait and learn, and besides, my conscience was not overly delicate. I had lived among a rough, reckless set, had experienced enough of the seamy side of life to be somewhat careless. I would take the chance, at least, in hope of escape from this routine.
All the rest of the day, for this meeting had occurred early in the afternoon, I labored quietly, loading and unloading lumber, my muscles aching from a species of toil to which I had not yet become accustomed, my mind active in imagination over the possibilities of this new employment. I was not obliged to live this sort of life, but the uneasy spirit of adventure held me. My father, from whom I had not heard a word in two years, was a prominent manufacturer in a New England village. The early death of my mother had left me to his care when I was but ten years old, and we failed to understand each other, drifting apart, until a final quarrel had sent me adrift. No doubt this was more my fault than his, although he was so deeply immersed in business that he failed utterly to understand the restless soul of a boy. I was in my junior year at Princeton, when the final break came, over an innocent youthful escapade, and, in my pride, I never even returned home to explain, but disappeared, drifting inevitably into the underworld, because of lack of training for anything better. This all occurred four years previous, three of which had been passed in the ranks, yet even now I was stubbornly resolved not to return unsuccessful. Perhaps in this new adventure I should discover the key with which to unlock the door of fortune.
I possessed a fairly decent suit of clothes, now pressed and cleaned after the rough trip from the coast, and dressed as carefully as possible in the dingy room of my boarding house. A glance into the cracked mirror convinced me, that, however I might have otherwise suffered from the years of hardship, I had not deteriorated physically. My face was bronzed by the sun, my muscles like iron, my eyes clear, every movement of my body evidencing strength, my features lean and clean cut under a head of closely trimmed hair. Satisfied with the inspection, confident of myself, I slipped the card in my pocket, and went out. It was still daylight, but there was a long walk before me. Chestnut Street was across the river, in the more aristocratic section. I had hauled lumber there the first day of my work, and recalled its characteristics—long rows of stone-front houses, with an occasional residence standing alone, set well back from the street. It was dark enough when I got there, and began seeking the number. I followed the block twice in uncertainty, so many of the houses were dark, but finally located the one I believed must be 108. It was slightly back from the street, a large stone mansion, surrounded by a low coping of brick and with no light showing anywhere. I was obliged to mount the front steps before I could assure myself this was the place. The street was deserted, except for two men talking under the electric light at the corner, and the only sound arose from the passing of a surface car a block away. The silence and loneliness got upon my nerves, but, without yielding, I followed the narrow cement walk around the corner of the house. Here it was dark in the shadow of the wall, yet one window on the first floor exhibited a faint glow at the edge of a closely drawn curtain. Encouraged slightly by this proof that the house was indeed occupied, I felt my way forward until I came to some stone steps, and a door. I rapped on the wood three times, my nerves tingling from excitement. There was a moment's delay, so that I lifted my hand again, and then the door opened silently. Within was like the black mouth of a cave, and I involuntarily took a step backward.
"This you, Craig?"
"Yes," I answered, half recognizing the cautious voice.
"All right then—come in. There is nothing to fear, the floor is level."
I stepped within, seeing nothing of the man, and the door was closed behind me. The sharp click of the latch convinced me it was secured by a spring lock.
"Turn on the light," said the voice at my side sharply. Instantly an electric bulb glowed dazzling overhead, and I blinked, about half blinded by the sudden change.
It was a rather narrow hallway and, with the exception of a thick carpet underfoot, unfurnished. Neale, appearing somewhat more slender in evening clothes, smiled at me genially, showing a gold-crowned tooth.
"Did not chance to hear your motor," he said easily, taking a cigarette case from his vest pocket. "You are a little late; what was it, tire trouble?"
"I came afoot," I answered, not overly-cordial. "It was farther across town than I supposed."
"Well, you 're here, and that is the main point. Have a cigarette. No?" as I shook my head. "All right, there are cigars in the room yonder—the second door to your left."
I entered where he indicated. It was a spacious apartment, evidently a library from the book-shelves along the walls, and the great writing table in the center. The high ceiling, and restful wall decorations were emphasized by all the furnishings, the soft rug, into which the feet sank noiselessly, the numerous leather-upholstered chairs, the luxurious couch, and the divan filling the bay-window. The only light was under a shaded globe on the central table, leaving the main apartment in shadows, but the windows had their heavy curtains closely drawn. The sole occupant was a man in evening dress, seated in a high-backed leather chair, facing the entrance, a small stand beside him, containing a half-filled glass, and an open box of cigars. Smoke circled above his head, his eyes upon me as I entered. With an indolent wave of one hand he seemingly invited me to take a vacant chair to the right, while Neale remained standing near the door.
This new position gave me a better view of his face, but I could not guess his age. His was one of those old-young faces, deeply lined, smooth-shaven, the hair clipped short, the flesh ashen-gray, the lips a mere straight slit, yielding a merciless expression; but the eyes, surveying me coldly, were the noticeable feature. They looked to be black, not large, but deep set, and with a most peculiar gleam, almost that of insanity, in their intense stare. Even as he lounged back amid the chair cushions I could see that he was tall, and a bit angular, his hand, holding a cigar, evidencing unusual strength. He must have stared at me a full minute, much as a jockey would examine a horse, before he resumed smoking.
"He will do very well, Neale," he decided, with a glance across at the other. "Possibly a trifle young."
"He has roughed it," returned the other reassuringly, "and that means more than years."
The first man laughed rather unpleasantly, and emptied his glass.
"So I have discovered. Have a cigar, or a drink, Craig?"
"I will smoke."
He passed me the box, watching me while I lighted the perfecto, Neale crossing to the divan.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-four."
"I thought about that. What part of the country do you hail from?" and I noticed now a faint Southern accent in the drawl of his voice.
"New England."
"Ever been south?"
"Only as far as St. Louis. I was at Jefferson Barracks."
"Neale said you were in the army—full enlistment?"
"Yes; discharged as corporal."
"Ah; what regiment?"
"Third Cavalry."
His black eyes swept across toward Neale, his fingers drumming nervously on the leather arm of the chair.
"Exactly; then your service was in Oregon and the Philippines. Tramped some since, I understand—broke?"
"No," shortly, not greatly enjoying his style of questioning. "I 've got three dollars."
"A magnificent sum," chuckling. "However, the point is, you would be glad of a job that paid well, and would n't mind if there was a bit of excitement connected with it—hey?"
"What is your idea of paying well?"
"Expenses liberally figured," he replied slowly, "and ten thousand dollars for a year's work, if done right."
I half rose to my feet in surprise, believing he was making sport, but the fellow never moved or smiled.
"Sit down, man. This is no pipe dream, and I mean it. In fact, I am willing to hand you half of the money down. That 's all right, Neale," he added as the other made a gesture of dissent. "I know my business, and enough about men to judge Craig here for that amount. That we are in earnest we have got to assure him someway, and money talks best. See here, Craig," and he leaned forward, peering into my face, "you look to me like the right man for what we want done; you are young, strong, sufficiently intelligent, and a natural fighter. All right, I 'm sporting man enough to bet five thousand on your making good. If you fail it will be worse for you, that's all. I 'm not a good man to double-cross, see! All you have got to do to earn your money is obey orders strictly, and keep your tongue still. Do you get that?"
I nodded, waiting to learn more.
"It may require a year, but more likely much less time. That makes no difference—it will be ten thousand for you just the same," his voice had grown crisp and sharp. "What do you say?"
"That the proposition looks good, only I should like to know a little more clearly what I am expected to do."
"A bit squeamish, hey! got a troublesome conscience?"
"Not particularly—but there is a limit."
He slowly lit a fresh cigar, studying the expression of my face in the light, as though deciding upon a course of action. Neale moved uneasily, but made no attempt to break the silence. Finally, with a more noticeable drawl in his voice, the man in the armchair began his explanation.
"Very good; we 'll come down to facts. It will not take long. In the first place my name is Vail—Justus C. Vail. That may tell you who I am?"
I shook my head negatively.
"No; well, I am a lawyer of some reputation in this State, and my entire interest in this affair is that of legal adviser to Mr. Neale. With this in mind I will state briefly the peculiar circumstances wherein you are involved." He checked the points off carefully with one hand, occasionally glancing at a slip of paper lying on the table as though to refresh his memory. I listened intently, watching his face, and dimly conscious of Neale's restlessness. "Here is the case as submitted to me: Judge Philo Henley, formerly of the United States Circuit Court, retired at sixty-four and settled upon a large plantation near Carrollton, Alabama. His wife died soon after, and, a week or so ago, the Judge also departed this life, leaving an estate valued in excess of five hundred thousand dollars. Philo Henley and wife had but one child, now a young man of twenty-five years, named Philip. As a boy he was wild and unmanageable, and, finally, when about twenty years old, some prank occurred of so serious a nature that the lad ran away. He came North, and was unheard-of for some time, living under an assumed name. Later some slight correspondence ensued between father and son, and the boy was granted a regular allowance. The father was a very eccentric man, harsh and unforgiving, and, while giving the boy money, never extended an invitation to return home. Consequently Philip remained in the North, and led his own life. He became dissipated, and a rounder, and drifted into evil associations. Finally, about six months ago, he married a girl in this city, not of wealthy family, but of respectable antecedents. Her home, we understand, was in Spokane, and she had an engagement on the stage when she first met Henley. He married her under his assumed name and they began housekeeping in a flat on the north side."
He paused in his recital, took a drink, his eyes turning toward Neale; then resumed in the same level voice:
"The Judge learned of this marriage in some way, and began to insist that the son return home with his wife. Circumstances prevented, however, and the visit was deferred. Meanwhile, becoming more eccentric as he grew older, the father discharged all his old servants, and lived the life of a recluse. When he died suddenly, and almost alone, he left a will, probably drawn up soon after he learned of his son's wedding, leaving his property to Philip, providing the young man returned, with his wife, to live upon the estate within six months; otherwise the entire estate should be divided among certain named charities. Three administrators were named, of whom Neale here was one."
I glanced back at the man referred to; he was leaning forward, his elbow on his knees, and, catching my eyes, drew a legal-looking paper from his pocket.
"Here is a copy of the will," he said, "if Craig cares to examine it."
"Not now," I replied. "Let me hear the entire story first."
Vail leaned back in his chair, a cigar between his lips.
"The administrators," he went on, as though uninterrupted, and repeating a set speech, "endeavored to locate young Henley, but failed. Then Mr. Neale was sent here to make a personal search. He came to me for aid, and legal advice. Finally we found the flat where the young couple had lived. It was deserted, and we learned from neighbors that they had quarreled, and the wife left him. We have been unable to discover her whereabouts. She did not return to, or communicate with, her own people in the West, or with any former friends in this city. She simply disappeared, and we have some reason to believe committed suicide. The body of a young woman, fitting her general description, was taken from the river, and buried without identification."
"And young Henley?" I asked, as he paused.
"Henley," he continued gravely, "was at last located, under an assumed name, as a prisoner in the Indiana penitentiary at Michigan City, serving a sentence of fourteen years for forgery. He positively refuses to identify himself as Philip Henley, and all our efforts to gain him a pardon have failed."
"But what have I to do with all this?" I questioned, beginning to have a faint glimmer of the truth.
"Wait, and I will explain fully. Don't interrupt until I am done. Here was a peculiar situation. The administrators are all old personal friends of the testator, anxious to have the estate retained in the family. How could this be accomplished? Neale laid the case before me. I can see but one feasible method—illegal, to be sure, and yet justifiable under the circumstances. Someone must impersonate Philip Henley long enough to permit the settlement of the estate."
I rose to my feet indignantly.
"And you thought I would consent? would be a party to this fraud?"
"Now, wait, Craig," as calmly as ever. "This is nothing to be ashamed of, nor, so far as I can see, as a lawyer, does it involve danger. It will make a man of Henley, reunite him with his wife if she still lives, and give him standing in the world. Scattered about among charities the Lord knows who it would benefit—a lot of beggars likely. We are merely helping the boy to retain what is rightfully his. Don't throw this chance away, hastily—ten thousand dollars is pretty good pay for a couple of months' work."
I sank back into my chair undecided, yet caught by the glitter of the promise. Why not? Surely, it would do no harm, and, if the administrators were satisfied, what cause had I to object. They were responsible, and, if they thought this the best course, I might just as well take my profit. If not they would find someone else who would.
"But—but can that be done?" I asked hesitatingly.
Vail smiled, confident of my yielding.
"Easily," he assured. "Young Henley has been away five years; even before that he was absent at school so much as to be practically unknown except to the older servants. These have all been discharged, and scattered. The wife is entirely unknown there. Anyone, bearing ever so slight a resemblance, would pass muster. All you need do is read the father's letters over, post yourself on a few details and take possession. We will attend to all legal matters."
"Then you consider that I resemble Henley?"
"No," coolly, "not in any remarkable manner, but sufficient for our purpose—age, size, general appearance answers very well; nose, eyes and hair are alike, and general contour of the face is similar. There is not likely to be any close scrutiny. Here is young Henley's photograph."
He picked it up from among the papers, and handed it over to me. There was a resemblance, recognizable now that my attention had been called to it, certain features being remarkably similar, although the face in the picture wore a hard, dissipated look utterly at variance with my own. I glanced at the endorsement on the back.
"He was going to send this photograph to his father."
"Yes, but never did. Apparently there is no flaw in our plan."
I do not know how others might have looked upon such a proposition as this, but it never occurred to me at the time to doubt the honesty of Vail's statement, nor could I perceive any great wrong in the action so calmly proposed. This was Philip Henley's property; his father undoubtedly intended he should inherit it, and the poor devil was utterly unable to comply with the terms of the will. The very fact that he possessed sufficient pride to part with the inheritance rather than openly reveal his disgrace, appealed strongly. That sort of fellow must have a strain of manhood in him. If I could serve him, save the property for him, at almost no danger to myself, and make a tidy sum of money doing it, why shouldn't I consent? I saw no reason for refusal. To be sure the method was not lawful, yet was advised by a lawyer, and agreed to by the administrators. Besides, the keeping of a few promiscuous charities out of such a gift did not seem especially wrong—I knew nothing, cared nothing for their loss. They were but names of no significance. Vail, watching the expression of my face in the light, seemed to divine my thoughts.
"Evidently you are recovering your good sense," he remarked easily. "There is no use acting like a fool in a matter of this kind. You are lucky to fall into such a chance. You 'll act, I take it?"
"Yes," the word was out almost before I was aware of speaking.
"Sensible decision, my man," his face lighting up. "Now there is no need of our meeting again, or being seen together. The more quiet we can keep our plans, the better it will be for all concerned. Neale, hand Craig your copy of the articles of administration, and of the will."
I took these and read them over carefully, yet without fully comprehending the legal phraseology. They were apparently genuine, and I gathered from them that the facts were exactly as stated. Peter B. Neale, of Birmingham, was named one of the administrators. The two men watched me read, and when I laid the papers down Vail was ready with others.
"Here is a small packet of letters from Judge Henley to his son," he said, in a business-like way, "which you had better read, and so familiarize yourself with local names, and conditions. I have also drawn up, and had typed, a brief sketch of young Henley's life, which will aid you in playing the part. You will need a new outfit of clothes, I presume?"
"This is my best suit."
"I thought it probable. Now, if you will sign this paper, I will hand you a liberal advance."
I read it over slowly, but it appeared innocent enough. Of course they would require some guarantee that my work would be performed. Yet certain questions arose to my mind.
"As soon as the property is legally in my possession I am to deed it over to you?"
"Certainly; I represent the administrators, and the rightful heir."
"That will involve forgery on my part."
He waved his hand, as though brushing away an insect.
"Technically, yes; but under legal advice, my dear boy, and agreement of the officials interested in proper settlement of the estate. There is no danger whatever."
I was not assured as to this, and yet the man's easy manner, and smooth speech, served to ease my conscience.
"And the ten thousand dollars?" I asked.
"A thousand will be handed you tonight; the remainder may be retained at the final settlement, together with the compensation of the woman. You make your own terms with her; so you see you cannot lose. Sign here."
"I had forgotten the woman. Is she necessary?"
"It will be better to have one, as they know down there young Henley was lately married. Any good-looker, with an easy conscience, will do. You could coach her on the train."
"But I don't know a young woman in town," I admitted soberly, "except my landlady's daughter, and she 's the limit."
Vail and Neale both laughed.
"You 're slow, Craig," the former said good-humoredly. "I thought better of you than that. However, you will have all day tomorrow. Get on your new clothes, and look around. There 's plenty would jump at the chance."
I shook my head.
"That's altogether out of my line," I averred. "I 'd rather go alone."
"Well, we 'll not war over that. You can leave your wife North if you wish. I tell you what you do. Think it over, and call me up by 'phone about three o'clock tomorrow—here's the number. If you decide on taking a woman along I know one who will answer, and will have her at the train."
"I am to leave then tomorrow night?"
"Yes, over the Eastern Illinois, at 8:10."
There was a moment's silence; then he rustled the paper on the table, and held out a fountain pen.
"Sign here."
I was not hypnotized, or unduly controlled; my mind seemed clear, but I yielded without a word and wrote my name at the bottom of the sheet. Vail blotted it carefully, folded the paper, and placed it in a drawer of the table. Then he handed me two bills.
"There is a thousand dollars there, Craig, and I will send you a typewritten memoranda of instructions, covering all points in the game. Where can I be sure of finding you at three o'clock tomorrow?"
"At 407 Green Street."
"All right; as soon as you read those instructions call me up by 'phone, and let me know what you have done regarding a woman, and ask any questions you may desire. That will be all now. Neale, you might show Craig the way out."
He put out his arm, and we shook hands, although he did not arise from the chair. It had all been accomplished so suddenly that I felt confused, uncertain as to what I had best do. Only the feel of those bills in my pocket seemed real, and made me fully aware that I was pledged to the service. Neale stepped into the hall, and I followed him. The entry way was in darkness, and the man went to the side door without switching on the light.
"Is this Mr. Vail's house?" I questioned, and he drew the latch.
"Yes, and, by the way, it will be as well for you to go out cautiously, and not be seen. We want to play safe, you know."
The door opened and closed, leaving me outside in the house shadow.
It was then that the power of thought returned to me. However glibly those two conspirators might gild over the affair it nevertheless was a criminal matter to which I had blindly committed myself. Neale's parting words of warning alone made that clearly evident. They understood the risk of discovery, and now I also comprehended it with equal clearness. Fraud and forgery were contemplated, had been coolly planned, and it occurred to me that I was the one selected for sacrifice in case of discovery. Vail and Neale were probably safe enough, as it would be easy for them to deny any participation, but they had me bound fast. However, I had no thought of withdrawal from the contract, for, while I saw the danger involved, and realized the illegality, yet I failed utterly to perceive any real evil. I did not doubt the truth of all that had been told me, and was willing to assume the risk. I fingered the crisp bills in my pocket, and the words "ten thousand dollars" kept repeating themselves over and over. Of course I would do it; I should be a fool not to. It would be "easy money," and my earning it could harm no one.
Not a glimmer of light appeared from within the house I had just left, and I drew my cap down over my eyes, and stared about, listening. The hour could not be far from midnight, the night dark, the air heavy with mist. Glancing out between the houses I caught a glimpse of asphalt pavement glistening with moisture, and the distant electric light above the street intersection appeared blurred and yellow. Here, in the heart of the residential district, the last belated cab had already drifted by, leaving the silence profound, the loneliness complete. Two blocks away a trolley-car swept past, an odd, violet light playing along the wire, grotesque shadows showing briefly amid the enveloping folds of vapor. The discordant clang of the gong died away into the far distance. Crouching there in the shade of the wall I felt like a criminal. Then, angry at myself, I advanced slowly forward, yet keeping well under cover.
The light fell slanting across the stone steps in front, and revealed a narrow opening through the brick coping beyond. I must pass that way in reaching the street, but hesitated to go forward boldly. I could see only a few feet in any direction, as the fog was thickening, driving along the soaked pavement in dense gray clouds, already beginning to blot from view the houses opposite. Another trolley-car, dismally clanging its gong, paused a moment at some near-by corner, and then passed noisily on. The way seemed clear, the street utterly deserted, and, nerving myself to the effort, I crept cautiously forward, until I crouched behind the brick coping. There was not a disturbing sound, and I straightened up, essaying the first quick step forth into the full gleam of the light. Like some confronting ghost, scarcely more real than a phantom of imagination, I came face to face with a woman.
She had turned swiftly into the narrow gateway leading through the brick coping, hurrying silently as if pursued, her foot barely planted upon the step when we met. I stopped, speechless, rigid, my outstretched hand gripping the rail, but the woman drew hastily back, her lips parted in a sudden sob of surprise, one hand flung out as if in self-protection. It was instantaneous, yet before either could move otherwise, or utter a word of explanation, a heavy footfall crunched along the walk, and a burly police officer, his star gleaming ominously in the dull light, rounded the corner a dozen feet away. Neither of us stirred, staring into each other's bewildered faces, and before either fully realized the situation, the strong, suspicious hand of the law had gripped my shoulder.
"Here, now, an' what the hell are ye oop too, me fine buck?" he questioned roughly, swinging me about into the light. "Give an account o' yer-self moighty quick, 'er I 'll run ye in."
Startled, recalling the money hidden in my pocket, the last injunction of Neale, I could think of no excuse, no explanation. The girl, still staring blankly at me, must have perceived how I instinctively shrank back, my lips moving in an impotent effort at speech. Some sudden impulse changed her fright into sympathy. However it was the officer who impatiently broke the silence, swinging his night stick menacingly:
"Come on now, me lad, hav' ye lost yer voice entoirely? Spake oop loively—whut ther hell are the two ov' yer oop to, onyhow?"
She started forward, just a step.
"Nothing in the least wrong, officer," her voice trembling slightly, yet sounding clearly distinct. "He—he was merely accompanying me home from a dance."
"Whut dance?"
"Over—over there on 43rd Street."
"An' do yer live here?" the gruff tone still vibrant with suspicion. "Fer if ye do, yer 're sure a new gurl," and he peered at her shadowed face in the dim light. She drew in her breath sharply.
"No," her voice steadying, now she realized she must carry out the deception. "My place is three blocks yet, around the next corner."
"Thet 's a prutty thin story, Miss. Then whut wus the two ov' yer doin' in here?"
She clutched the brick coping with one hand, never glancing toward me, her eyes fixed imploringly on the glistening face of the questioning policeman. Yet she responded instantly with the quick wit of a clever woman.
"I had my foot on the step, tying my shoe," she explained simply. "You don't arrest people for that, do you?"
It was plain enough the officer was puzzled, yet he reluctantly released his grip on my arm, boring the end of his club into the brick wall.
"It's half Oi' belave yer stringin' me roight now," he announced doubtfully, "but Oi 'll give yer ther benefit ov' the doubt; only the two ov' yer better kape on a-goin' till yer git under cover. Don't let me run across yer along this beat agin ternight. Be gory av yer do, Oi 'll let yer explain to ther sargint over at ther station. Go on now!"
I felt her hand touch my sleeve timidly, and caught a swift glimpse of her eyes. We must carry out the deception now, and go away together. There was no other choice. The policeman stared after us through the mist, rolling his night stick in his hand. I heard him mutter to himself:
"It 's a rum go o' sum koind. Thet guy ain't dressed fer no dance. But, dom me, if she 's the koind o' female ter run in aither. Lord, but she 's got a foine pair o' eyes in the face ov' her."
Close together, without venturing to speak or glance around, we walked forward into the enveloping mist. Her fingers, for appearances' sake, barely touched the rough cloth of my sleeve. All this had occurred so swiftly, so suddenly, that I was yet bewildered, unable to decide on a course of action. The girl, I noticed, was breathing heavily from excitement, her eyes cast down upon the wet pavement. Once, beneath the glow of the lamp at the first corner, I ventured to glance slyly aside at her, in curiosity, mentally photographing the clear outline of her features, the strands of light brown hair straggling rebelliously from beneath the wide brim of the hat. I was of rather reckless nature, careless, and indifferent in my relationship with women. A bit of audacious speech trembled on my lips, but remained unuttered. My earlier conception that she was a woman of the street died within me. There was more than a mere hint of character about that resolute mouth, the white contour of cheek. She glanced furtively back across her shoulder—evidently the policeman had disappeared, for she released her slight grasp of my arm, although continuing to walk quietly enough by my side, her face partially averted. The night was deathly still, the sodden walk underfoot scarcely echoing our footfalls, the weird mist closing denser about us, as we advanced.
At the second street intersection she turned east, advancing toward where passing trolley-cars promised some life and activity even at that late hour. Helpless to do otherwise I moved along with her in the same direction, our grotesque shadows dimly discernible beneath the yellow mist of light. Impulsively she stopped, and faced me, her hands clasped.
"I—I—please—I will say good night, now," she said, endeavoring to speak firmly, yet with no uplifting of the eyes.
Hesitatingly I stood still, feeling strangely embarrassed by this sudden curt dismissal.
"Do—do you mean you wish me to leave you alone on the street at this hour?" I questioned uneasily. "At least permit me to see you home safely. I will not hurt you, or speak a word."
There was a tone of earnestness in my plea but she only shook her head decisively, lips pressed close together. The faint glow of the overhead light rested on the slightly uplifted face, and the sight of her features yielded me fresh confidence.
"You have no cause to feel afraid of me," I went on soberly, in the silence. "Can't you tell that by my face?" and I removed my cap, standing before her uncovered. She lifted her lashes, startled and curious, gazing at me for the first time. I met her glance fairly, and the slight resentment in her eyes faded, her clasped hands moving uneasily.
"I—I am not afraid of—of you," she returned at last doubtfully. "It is not that, but—but really I cannot permit you to accompany me farther."
"Only to the place where you said you lived," I urged eagerly. "I promise not even to take note of the number, and will never bother you any more."
Her fine eyes hardened; then sank slowly before mine.
"That—that was a lie also," she acknowledged, half defiantly. "I—I do not live about here."
I stared at her in sudden doubt, yet remained loyal to my first impression.
"All the greater reason then for not leaving you here alone."
She laughed, a faint tinge of bitterness in the sound.
"Surely you cannot imagine I would feel any safer in company with a burglar?" she asked sharply. My face flushed.
"Why accuse me of that?" I asked quickly. "Merely because I was in that yard?"
She drew back a step, one hand grasping her skirt.
"Not altogether. You were hiding there, and—and you were afraid of the policeman."
I could not explain; it would require too long, and she would in all probability refuse to believe the story. Besides, what difference could it make? She had as much to explain as I; no more reason to suspect me than I had her. Let us meet then on common ground.