Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1912-07-18
LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE

bartenders were busy clearing up, ana
the lights were being lowered.
Baf1ed and wondering. Crittenden foi-
lowed the adventurer through the side
door to the hotel lobby and then on out
to the street. where they paused.
Rhode. well g'dnight. Remember. If
| anything turns up to change our plans.
I'll call you up or wire you. Otnerwise'
you come aboard by 8. if not before.
VERY WELL" said Crittenden. shortly.
! Good night"
| He walked slowly down Broadway. sud
denly aware he was acutely tired Of
| him no less than of the city's millions
the heat of the Gay had taken its toll Of
| stamina. He would be glad to reach his
| room and bed
| On the corner of 35th street he paused
] an instant, his eyes instinctively seeking
| one of the huge painted signboards raised
above the roofs of row Of buildings on
the south side Of 34th. at the corner OF
| 9Th avenue. Only that morning he nad
| noticed painters at work, blocking out
new design; it was finished now, glazing
in its coat Of gaudy colors beneath a row
of electric lights.
| "'Opening Tuesday, September 9Th,
he read aloud, a. 'Princesse Theater-
Lefty Noon in "Witchcraft'- by
| lyman Dodd.''
| He lifted his shoulders. smiled oddly
and moved on, lips framing noiselessly
| unspoken thoughts. If he had until that
| moment entertained any lingering doubt
as to whether he would in the last analy-
sis close with the proposition put before
him by Rhode. it was now altogether
| swept away and as If it had never ex-
| listed
Borne northwards from the bay. on the
| wings of a vagrant breeze, welcome
breath of GOODNESS came stealing through
the thermal channels of steel and stone,
| like sigh Of the city turning in the OPP
preston Of its sleep. Otherwise the quiet
seemed unusual, even for that late hour;
SO much so that the ordinary, never
ending traffic in the street, of trolley cars
and skulking nighthawk hansoms and
! fitting batlike taxicabs. forced itself upon
| the notice that at another time had &C.
copied all as commonplace.
| He turned into oath street just as the
great clock in the Metropolitan tower.
across the park. was telling the hour OF
/ half-past 1. The sonorous echo, dying.
| left hush, disturbed only by the foot
Crittenden the block was silent and de-
| serted-save that a somnolent taxicab
stood before a door two or three removes
from his own lodgings.
| Midway between Broadway and 9Th
avenue, ascending iron steps to an iron
stoop. he let himself into a dark hall
way. then CROPPED his way. through gloom
| made sensible by single light turned
| low upon the second landing, up three
| flights to the topmost floor. where, in
door.
| 1t stood ajar-presumably he had neg
| lected to lock 1t that morning. With
| slight exclamation Of annoyance he
| pushed it open, entered and closed 1t be-
hind him. Then. confused. he paused
| for a long moment, half inclined to be-
| lieve that through some strange aberra-
| ton he had found his way into the wrong
! room, perhaps into the wrong house.
There was a scent In the air. perfume
| as delicate as the ghost of q dead caress,
yet potent to dissipate that familiar at
mosphere and to evoke in its stead
dream of yesterday SO sad and poignant
with memories that his breath caught In
his throat and he gasped as If sitting
Troubled, perplexed. he peered about
him. Through the wide north light over
head dull glow stole, q wrath of twi-
light, barely tempering the shadows. The
dimensions of the room spread round
him. indistinctly as intimate as the palm
of his hand, yet as strange and unreal
as q vision in illness.
(To be continued tomorrow.)