# The Brass Bowl/Chapter 10
### X CONSEQUENCES

Breathing convulsively, wide eyes a little wildly fixed upon his face in the lamplight, the girl stumbled to her feet, and for a moment remained cowering against the wall, terribly shaken, a hand gripping a corner of the packing-box for support, the other pressed against the bosom of her dress as if in attempt forcibly to quell the mad hammering of her heart.
In her brain, a turmoil of affrighted thought, but one thing stood out clearly: now she need look for no mercy. The first time it had been different; she had not been a woman had she been unable then to see that the adventure intrigued Maitland with its spice of novelty, a new sensation, fully as much as she, herself, the pretty woman out of place, interested and attracted him. He had enjoyed playing the part, had been amused to lead her to believe him an ​adventurer of mettle and caliber little inferior to her own—as he understood her: unscrupulous, impatient of the quibble of meum-et-tuum, but adroit and keen-witted, and distinguished and set apart from the herd by grace of gentle breeding and chivalric instincts.
How far he might or might not have let this enjoyment carry him, she had no means of surmising. Not very far, not too far, she was inclined to believe, strongly as she knew her personality to have influenced him: not far enough to induce him to trust her out of sight with the jewels. He had demonstrated that, to her humiliation.
The flush of excitement waning, manlike soon had he wearied of the game—she thought: to her mind, in distorted retrospect, his attitude when leaving her at dawn had been insincere, contemptuous, that of a man relieved to be rid of her, relieved to be able to get away in unquestioned possession of his treasure. True, the suggestion that they lunch together at Eugene's had been his. … But he had forgotten the engagement, if ever he had meant to keep it, if the notion had been more than a whim of the ​the moment with him. And O'Hagan had told her by telephone that Maitland had left his rooms at one o'clock—in ample time to meet her at the restaurant. …
No, he had never intended to come; he had wearied; yet, patient with her, true to the ethics of a gentleman, he had been content to let her go, rather than to send a detective to take his place. …
And this was something, by the way, to cause her to revise her theory as to the manner in which Anisty had managed to steal the jewels. If Maitland had gone abroad at one, and without intending to keep his engagement at Eugene's, then he must have been despoiled before that hour, and without his knowledge. Surely, if the jewels had been taken from him with his cognizance, the hue and cry would have been out and Anisty would not have dared to linger so long in the neighborhood!
To be just with herself, the girl had not gone to the restaurant with much real hope of finding Maitland there. Curiosity had drawn her,—just to see ​if. … But it was too preposterous to credit, that he should have cared enough. … Quite too preposterous! It was her cup, her bitter cup, to know that she had learned to care enough——at sight! … And she recalled (with what pangs of shame and misery begged expression!) how her heart had been stirred when she had found him (as she thought) true to his tryst: even as she recalled the agony and distress of mind with which she had a moment later fathomed Anisty's impersonation.
For, of course, she had known that Maitland was Maitland and none other, from the instant when he told her to make good her escape and leave him to brazen it out: a task to daunt even as bold and resourceful a criminal as Anisty, and more especially if he were called upon to don the mask at a minute's notice, as Maitland had pretended to. Or, if she had not actually known, she had been led to suspect: and it had hardly needed what she had heard him say to the servants, when he thought her flying hotfoot over the lawn to safety, to harden suspicion into certainty.
​And now that he should find her here, a second time a trespasser, doubly an ingrate,—that he should have caught her red-handed in this abominably ungrateful treachery! … She could pretend, of course, that she had returned merely to restore the jewels and the cigarette case; and he would believe her, for he was generous. … She could, but—she could not. Not now. Yesterday, the excitement had buoyed her; she had gained a piquant enjoyment from befooling him, playing her part of the amateur crackswoman in this little comedy of the stolen jewels. But therein lay the difference: yesterday it had been comedy, but to-day—ah! to-day she could no longer laugh. For now she cared.
A little lie would clear her—yes. But it was not to be cleared that she now so passionately desired; it was to have him believe in her, even against the evidence of his senses, even in the face of the world's condemnation; and so prove that he, too, cared—cared for her as his attitude toward her had taught her to care. …
Ever since leaving him in the dawn she had fed her ​starved heart with the hope, faint hope though it were, that he would come to care a little, that he would not utterly despise her, that he would understand and forgive, when he learned why she had played out her part, nor believe that she was the embodiment of all that was ignoble, coarse, and crude; that he would show a little faith in her, a little faith that like a flickering taper might light the way for … Love.
But that hope was now dead within her, and cold. She had but to look at him to see how groundless it had been, how utterly unmoved he was by her distress. He waited patiently—that was all—seeming so very tall, a pillar of righteous strength, distinguished and at ease in his evening clothes: waiting, patient but cold, dispassionate and disdainful.
"I am waiting, you see. Might I suggest that we have not all week for our—our mutual differences?"
His tone was altogether changed; she would hardly have known it for his voice. Its incisive, clipped accents were like a knife to her sensitiveness. … She summoned the reserve of her strength, stood ​erect, unsupported, and moved forward without a word. He stood aside, holding the lamp high, and followed her, lighting the way down the hall to the study.
Once there, she sank quivering into a chair, while he proceeded gravely to the desk, put down the lamp,—superfluous now, the gas having been lighted,—and after a moment's thought faced her, with a contemptuous smile and lift of his shoulders, thrusting hands deep into his pockets.
"Well?" he demanded cuttingly.
She made a little motion of her hands, begging for time; and, assenting with a short nod, he took a turn up and down the room, then abstractedly reached up and turned out the gas.
"When you are quite composed I should enjoy hearing your statement."
"I … have none to make."
"So!"——with his back to the lamp, towering over and oppressing her with the sense of his strength and self-control. "That is very odd, isn't it?"
​"I have no—no explanation to give that would satisfy you, or myself," she said brokenly. "I—I don't care what you think," with a flicker of defiance. "Believe the worst and—and do what you will—have me arrested——"
He laughed sardonically. "Oh, we won't go so far as that, I guess; harsh measures, such as arrest and imprisonment, are so unsatisfactory to all concerned. But I am interested to know why you are here."
Her breathing seemed very loud in the pause; she kept her lips tight, fearing to speak lest she lose her mastery of self. And hysteria threatened: the fluttering in her bosom warned her. She must be very careful, very restrained, if she were to avert that crowning misfortune.
"I don't think I quite understand you," he continued musingly; "surely you must have anticipated interruption."
"I thought you safely out of the way——"
"One presumed that." He laughed again, ​unpleasantly. "But how about Maitland? Didn't you have him in your calculations, or——"
He paused, unfeignedly surprised by her expression. And chuckled when he comprehended.
"By the powers, I forgot for a moment! So you thought me Maitland, eh? Well, I'm sorry I didn't understand that from the first. You're so quick, as a rule, you know,—I confess you duped me neatly this afternoon,—that I supposed you were wise and only afraid that I'd give you what you deserve. … If they had sent any one but that stupid ass, Hickey, to nab me, I'd be in the cooler now. As it was, you kindly selected the very best kind of a house for my purpose; I went straight up to the roofs and out through a building round the corner. …"
But the shock of discovery, with its attendant revulsion of feeling, had been too much for her. She collapsed suddenly in the chair, eyes half closed, face pallid as a mask of death.
Anisty regarded her in silence for a meditative instant, then, taking up the lamp, strode down the ​hall to the pantry, returning presently with a glass brimming with an amber-tinted, effervescent liquid.
"Champagne," he announced, licking his lips. "Wish I had Maitland's means to gratify my palate. He knows good wine. … Here, my dear, gulp this down," placing the glass to the girl's lips and raising her head that she might swallow without strangling.
As it was, she choked and gasped, but after a moment began to show some signs of having benefited by the draught, a faint color dawning in her cheeks.
"That's some better," commended the burglar, not unkindly. "Now, if you please, we'll stop talking pretty and get down to brass tacks. Buck up, now, and answer my questions. And don't be afraid; I'm holding no great grudge for what you did this afternoon. I appreciate pluck and grit as much as anybody, I guess, though I do think you ran it pretty close, peaching on a pal after you'd lifted the jewels. By the way, why did you do it?"
"Because. … But you wouldn't understand if I told you."
​"I suppose not. I'm not much good splitting sentimental hairs. But Maitland must have been pretty decent to you to make you go so far. … Speaking of which, where are they?"
"They?"
"Don't sidestep. We understand one another. I know you've brought back the jewels. Where have you stowed them?"
The wine had fulfilled its mission, endowed her with fresh strength and renewed spirit. She was thinking quickly, every wit alert.
"I won't tell you."
"Won't, eh? That's an admission that they're here, you know. And you may as well know I propose to have 'em. Fair means or foul, take your pick. Where are they?"
"I have told you I wouldn't tell."
"I've known pluckier women than you to change their minds, under pressure." He came nearer, bending over, face close to hers, eyes savage, and gripped her wrists none too gently. "Tell me!"
"Let me go."
​He proceeded calmly to imprison both small wrists in one strong, bony hand. "Better tell."
"Let me go!" she panted, struggling to rise.
His voice took on an ugly tone. "Tell!"
She was a child in his hands, but managed nevertheless to rise. As he applied the pressure more cruelly to her arms she cried aloud with pain and, struggling desperately, knocked the chair over.
It went down with a crash appallingly loud in that silent house and at that hour; and taking advantage of his instant of consternation she jerked free and sprang toward the door. He was upon her in an instant, however, hard fingers digging into her shoulders. "You little fool!"
"No!" she cried. "No, no, no! Let me go, you—you brute!——"
Abruptly he thought better of his methods and released her, merely putting himself between her and the doorway.
"Don't be a little fool," he counseled. "You kick up that row and you'll have us both pinched inside of the next five minutes.
Let me go!" she panted Page 230
"They're here," he nodded thoughtfully. "You wouldn't have stood for that if they weren't. And since they are, I can find them without your assistance. Sit down. I shan't touch you again."
She had scant choice other than to obey. Desperate as she was, her strength had been severely overtaxed, and she might not presume upon it too greatly. Fascinated with terror, she let herself down into an easy chair.
Anisty thought for a moment, then went over to the desk and sat himself before it.
"Keys," he commented, rapidly inventorying what he saw. "How'd you get hold of them?"
"They are Mr. Maitland's. He must have forgotten them."
The burglar chuckled grimly. "Coincidences multiply. It is odd. That harp, O'Hagan, was coming in with a can of beer while I was picking the ​lock, and caught me. He wanted to know if I'd missed my train for Greenfields, and I gave him my word of honor I had. Moreover, I'd mislaid my keys and had been ringing for him for the past ten minutes. He swallowed every word of it. … By the way, here's a glove of yours. You certainly managed to leave enough clues about to insure your being nabbed even by a New York detective."
He faced about, tossing her the glove, and with it so keen and penetrating a glance that her heart sank for fear that he had guessed her secret. But as he continued she regained confidence.
"I could teach you a thing or two," he suggested pleasantly. "You make about as many mistakes as the average beginner. And, on the other hand, you've got the majority beaten to a finish for 'cuteness. You're as quick as they make them."
She straightened up, uneasy, oppressed by a vague surmise as to whither this tended.
"Thank you," she said breathlessly, "but hadn't you better——"
"Plenty of time, my dear. Maitland has gone to ​Greenfields and we've several hours before us. … Look here, little woman, why don't you take a tumble to yourself, cut out all this nonsense, and look to your own interests?"
"I don't understand you," she faltered, "but if——"
"I'm talking about this Maitland affair. Cut it out and forget it. You're too good-looking and valuable to yourself to lose your head just all on account of a little moonlight flirtation with a good-looking millionaire. You don't suppose for an instant that there's anything in it for yours, do you? You're nothing to Maitland—just an incident; next time he meets you, the baby-stare for yours. You can thank your lucky stars he happened to have a reputation to sustain as a village cut-up, a gay, sad dog, always out for a good time and hang the expense!—otherwise he'd have handed you yours without a moment's hesitation. I'm not doing this up in tin-foil and tying a violet ribbon with tassels on it, but I'm handing it straight to you: something you don't want to forget. … You just sink your ​hooks in the fact that you're nothing to Maitland and that he's nothing to you, and never will be, and you won't lose anything—except illusions."
She remained quiescent for a little, hands twitching in her lap, torn by conflicting emotions—fear of and aversion for the man, amusement, chill horror bred of the knowledge that he was voicing the truth about her, the truth, at least, as he saw it, and—and as Maitland would see it.
"Illusions?" she echoed faintly, and raised her eyes to his with a pitiful attempt at a smile. "Oh, but I must have lost them, long ago; else I shouldn't be. …"
"Here and what you are. That's what I'm telling you."
She shuddered imperceptibly; looked down and up again, swiftly, her expression inscrutable, her voice a-tremble between laughter and tears: "Well?"
"Eh?" The directness of her query figuratively brought him up all standing, canvas flapping and wind out of his sails.
"What are you offering me in exchange for my ​silly dream?" she inquired, a trace of spirit quickening her tone.
"A fair exchange, I think … something that I wouldn't offer you if you hadn't been able to dream." He paused, doubtful, clumsy.
"Go on," she told him faintly. … Since it must come, as well be over with it.
"See here." He took heart of desperation. "You took to Maitland when you thought he was me. Why not take to me for myself? I'm as good a man, better as a man, than he, if I do blow my own horn. … You side with me, little woman, and—and all that—and I'll treat you square. I never went back on a pal yet. Why," brightening with enthusiasm as his gaze appraised her, "with your looks and your cleverness and my knowledge of the business, we can sweep the country, you and I."
"Oh!" she cried breathlessly.
"We'll start right now," he plunged on, misreading her; "right now, with last night's haul. You'll chuck this addled sentimental pangs-of-conscience lay, hand over the jewels, and—and I'll hand 'em ​back to you the day we're married, all set and … as handsome a wedding present as any woman ever got. …"
She twisted in her chair to hide her face from him, fairly cornered at last, brain a-whirl devising a hundred maneuvers, each more helpless than the last, to cheat and divert him for the time, until … until. …
The consciousness of his presence near her, of the sheer strength and might of will-power of the man, bore upon her heavily; she was like a child in his hands, helpless. … She turned with a hushed gasp to find that he had risen and come close to her chair; his face was not a foot from hers, his eyes dangerous; in another moment he would have his strong arms about her. She shrank away, terrified.
"No, no!" she begged.
"Well, and why not? Well?"—tensely.
"How do I know? … This afternoon I outwitted you, robbed and sold you for—for what you call a scruple. How can I know that you are not paying me back in my own coin?"
​"Oh, but little woman!" he laughed tenderly, coming nearer. "It is because you did that, because you could hold those scruples and make a fool of me for their sake, that I want you. Don't think I'm capable of playing with you—it takes a woman to do that. Don't you know,"—he bent nearer and his breath was warm upon her cheek,—"don't you know that you're too rare and fine and precious for a man to risk losing? … Come now!"
"Not yet." She started to her feet and away.
"Wait. … There's a cab!"
The street without was echoing with the clattering drum of galloping hoofs. "At this hour!" she cried, aghast. "Could it be——"
"No fear. Besides—there, it's stopped."
"In front of this house!"
"No, three doors up the street, at least. That's something you must learn, and I can teach you to judge distance by sound in the darkness——"
"But I tell you," she insisted, retreating before him, "it's a risk. … There, did you hear that?"
​"That" was the dulled crash of the front door.
Anisty stepped to the table on the instant and plunged the room in darkness.
"Steady!" he told her evenly. "Steady. It can't be—but take no chances. Go to the trunk-closet and get that window open. If it's Maitland,"—grimly—"well, I'll follow."
"What do you mean? What are you going to do?"
"Leave that to me … I've never been caught yet."
Cold fear gripped her heart as, in a flash of intuition, she divined his intention.
"Quick!" he bade her savagely. "Don't you want——"
"I can't see," she invented. "Where's the door? I can't see. …"
"Here."
Through the darkness his fingers found hers. "Come," he said.
"Ah!"
Her hand closed over his wrist, and in a thought ​she had flung herself before him and caught the other. In the movement her hand brushed against something that he was holding; and it was cold and smooth and hard.
"Ah! no, no!" she implored. "Not that, not that!"
With an oath he attempted to throw her off, but, frail strength magnified by a fury of fear, she joined issue with him, clinging to his wrists with the tenacity of a wildcat, though she was lifted from her feet and dashed this way and that, brutally, mercilessly, though her heart fell sick within her for the hopelessness of it, though. …