an 9787.2.60

HARVARD
COLLEGE
LIBRARY

















DEUCES WILD






...!
pinang
"Do you want me, Jim ?”





DEUCES WILD
By
HAROLD MACGRATH
AUTHOR OF
The Man on the Box, The Place of Honeymoons
Parrot & Co., Etc., Etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
R. N. CROSBY
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS


Can 9787.2.60
COPYRIGHT 1913
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
HARVARD
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
PRESS or
BRAUNWORTH & Co.
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET .
.
·
.
·
II WHY HURRY? .
.
III A Wild Goose CHASE. ..
IV A PAGE FROM SCHEHEREZADE
·
·
V
THE FLORENTINE Box .
..
·
VI CRAWFORD's LUCK
·
·
.
·
·
·
·
VII A REAL DETECTIVE . .
VIII MUMMIES · · · ·
IX MONEY . . .
: * THE OTHER HOUSE . .
XI A PACKET OF OLD LETTERS .
XII A FRIEND IN NEED . .
XIII A LOVE STORY . ..
XIV OLD SHOES . . . .
.
·
·
·
.
·





DEUCES WILD





DEUCES WILD
THE WOMAN ACROSS THE STREET
T HIS is a story of two stories, sep-
į arate yet inseparable, of wheels
agog and of wheels awhir, the frolic and
the business of life. What a woman's
switch is to her glory, this tale is to that;
but at night, when the game (which really
fools nobody) is over, the false one may
be taken from the true and laid aside.
It all began that day when Forbes won-
dered who she was. He was always won-
dering who she was, the blonde, the bru-
nette, the Venetian-red, the October-
brown, on the street, at the play, in the
restaurant. It was a habit. And why


DEUCES WILD
not? It was his bread-and-butter to send
the argosies of his imaginative glance
scouring the seas for treasure; and when-
ever he saw a pretty woman, bows-on he
followed in her wake. He was an illus-
trator; he drew exquisite colored covers
for the magazines and full-page draw-
ings for the celebrated love-stories of
Mr. Popular Piffle. Indeed, he shared
honors with Piffle, and made quite as
much money.
His pencil rolled from his board, un-
observed; and the red-brown dachel un-
der his chair pounced upon it joyously,
gurgling over the delicious pungency of
the cedar. As a gourmet adores his pâté
of goose-livers and truffles, his cobwebbed
bottles of Burgundy, so this merry-eyed,
long-bodied, short-legged Bavarian puppy
adored his master's pencils, the big, fat,
unvarnished ones. He made short work


ACROSS THE STREET.
of them; they disappeared with the amaz-
ing rapidity of those popcorn-balls one
tosses on the sacred fish-pond in Rangoon.
When Forbes dropped a pencil these days,
he reached for a fresh one, having rec-
ognized the futility of crawling on his
hands and knees over rugs in search of
something which had ceased to exist.
Every day now for a week, between
three and four in the afternoon, she had
gone by, slim, trig, supple. She looked
like Somebody; she must be Somebody,
for nobody but Somebody could have car-
ried her head the way she did. Where
her journey began, where it ended, he
had never bothered himself to inquire. It
satisfied his needs to expect her at such
a time each day and to realize his expec-
tations. Her hair burned like a copper-
beech in the sunshine, and her face was
as white as milk.


DEUCES WILD
By George! He stood up, pushed aside
his board, and accidentally trod on Herr
Fritz's tail. Music. Presently it died
away, pianissimo, under the divan. Or-
dinarily Forbes would have consoled his
comrade; but his mind was busy with the
girl across the street. If he went out now
he could follow her. All he wished to
know was where she lived. His in-
genuity would find means of meeting her,
inoffensively. He knew women tolerably
well. From the pretty little milliner's as-
sistant, all the way up to the stately
czarina of all the Russias, their vanity
cried out for perpetuation on canvas.
Ting-a-ling! Confound the telephone
at such a moment !
"Hello, hello! . . .Yes, this is Forbes
talking. . . . Oh, that you, Jillson?
... What? Eight till twelve? ...
Deuces what? Oh, deuces wild. Sure, I
4


DEUCES WILD
Like Piffle, he could work over his ideas
just so many times; after that, fresh in-
vention must be called into play; the re-
troussé nose must give way to the Grecian,
and so on and so forth. It was a busy
life, for competition was terrific. He had
to be on the lookout for the latest capil-
lary wave, the latest style of collars, hats
and trinkets. "It was he who brought
back the Grecian band; and immediately
schoolgirls and shop-girls and show-girls
went to and fro with heads that looked
for all the world like those little fern-pots
tasteful housewives place in the center of
their dining-tables.
However, Forbes was a mighty sensible
chap. He did not take his work serious-
ly; nor more did his confrère, Mr. Pop-
ular Piffle. They had had many a laugh
and jest together. They carried about in
their heads no nonsense about this thing


ACROSS THE STREET
which some wag has called "poor lar”
(L'art pour l’art); it was a legitimate
business, and together they entertained a
vast audience with innocuous pleasure. So
then, why paint a Madonna of the Chair,
why write a Pere Goriot, which nobody
would buy? As it was, they were making
splendid incomes; and who cared if Raf-
fael and Balzac writhed in their tombs ?
Forbes was philosophical, too. When
he was dead he would be very dead; the
Hall of Fame and the Temple of For-
getfulness would be all the same to him.
At present he liked travel, good clothes,
good food, curios; he liked to give ex-
pensive teas in his beautiful studio; he
rather liked the innocent admiration of
the schoolgirls et al.; and he wasn't too
proud to accept an occasional thousand
from the breakfast-food people and the
tinted-soap manufacturers.


DEUCES WILD
“Give us a new fiz, Forbes,” said the
editors; "this one is growing stale."
Ah, those editorial degrees of enthu-
siasm, which began with slaps on the
back, paused at luncheons, and finally
petered 'down to the non-committal
"umums!” A new face; he must have
it; and for two weeks he had combed the
town in vain. Popularity had its draw-
backs; one had continually to find new
props to keep the thing from tumbling
about one's ears. Popularity, the new-
collar, the new-hat, the new-shoe kind of
popularity, which changes completely
every six months, which has to be renewed
and twisted about and readjusted. And
besides, there were those younger chaps
always bobbing up, with fresh invention,
a touch of the unusual, a new color.
He renewed his bitter arraignment of
Jillson and his bally house-warming. For
8


ACROSS THE STREET
now he was sure that the girl with the
milk-white skin and the copper-beech hair
had been fortune, knocking at his door
for a whole week with that persistence
which she accords only her favorites,
often unmeritedly. And all he had done
had been to sit tight in his chair and won-
der who she was! Well, she might pass
again to-morrow. He would throw for-
mality to the winds, rush across the street
and speak to her, plead with her to help
a poor devil of an illustrator who was
working like sixty to hold his job, who in
the best of times (during the sale of some
beauty-book) never made more than
twenty-five thousand the year.
He climbed back to the studio. He
found the dachel munching the soft lead
which had such a funny, cool, sweet taste;
of the cedar there remained no evidences
whatever. The puppy growled an invita-


DEUCES WILD
tion for a romp, which the artist accepted;
and a great time they had, sliding over
rugs, banging against the walls, behind
tapestries, over sofas and chairs and di-
vans, till at last Forbes, dizzy and breath-
less, subsided upon a divan. The tireless
puppy jumped up beside him and licked
his face. He was a very valuable dog.
Only last week he had almost ruined a
superb digestion while lunching on a five-
hundred-dollar drawing which his mas-
ter had carelessly forgotten to put back
into the portfolio.
The elevator-boy opened the door and
tossed in the evening newspaper. There-
upon Forbes filled his calabash, sought
the comfy-chair under the reading lamp
and idly went over the day's events. The
puppy, sniffing the tobacco smoke which
he thoroughly detested, retreated under
the divan where he had his lion's den of
IO


ACROSS THE STREET
bones, palate-knives, old tubes, brushes
and what-nots. From time to time Forbes
could hear him rattling round something.
Births, deaths and divorces; murder,
robbery and graft; strikes, wars and
plagues; the subject-matter never varied,
only the names and places could be called
news. He read with lazy interest a
warmed-over yarn about the clever gen-
tleman-thief who had baffled the metro-
politan police for nearly a year. A well-
known amateur detective was giving the
reporter an exposition of his views. Here
was an artist. (Forbes crackled the news-
paper peevishly: was there anything left
to which this term had not been applied ?
Anybody who did his work well was an
artist. Rot!)
The thief, declared the amateur, was
not a professional. He was a man of in-
finite patience, of infernal cleverness,
II


WHY HURRY?
night. See you later. And think well of
your chicken; it may be dog-biscuit to-
morrow. You never can tell what these
poker games are going to do to a fellow.
By-by!”
Every man who does one thing well
has a craving to do another man's work
badly. Forbes was always hungering for
detective work. He longed to pick up
the tangled skein, unravel it, rescue the
heroine, march the villain to jail and all
that. Heaven is witness of the plots for
detective stories he has offered me! He
has, I believe, the best library of detect-
ive fiction in town. Well, his longings
went unsatisfied. The only thing like de-
tective work he ever did successfully was
to recover the new paint-tubes before the
dachel poisoned himself.
He walked up-town, wondering who the
mysterious burglar could be. He searched
17


DEUCES WILD
carefully among his large acquaintance,
principally among the men he disliked;
but even then there was nothing tangible.
Lots of duffers gambled and didn't pay
their debts and never went to jail for it.
If only he had a clue of some sort to
start with! He knew that he had the
ability; and it was a shame he could find
no outlet. I'll give him credit for pos-
sessing the chiefest attribute of all great
detectives—hope.
“Hang about the police-courts,” I once
advised him; "study the lesser criminal.
Make a friend of the policeman on your
beat and go the rounds with him some
night. A thousand petty crimes are hap-
pening every day, right next door to you.
But I know. You're waiting for some
one to stage a Gaboriau for you. Rich
banker-daughter in love with the cash-
ier-safe robbed-cashier goes to jail-
0
18


WHY HURRY?
shoe-string is found—behold the crim-
inal in the banker's private secretary!"
He laughed and told me to go to Tom
phet. But he knew that I had his hide
on the wall. He hated the sordid, and I
do not blame him; for petty crimes and
police-courts are sordid; but in this he
lost the true direction of his gifts. Out
of poverty and sordidness the great in-
spirations rise, never out of pleasure and
pastime, things to which he devoted his
labor and leisure.
He continued on, whistling an air from
one of the popular operas. His thoughts,
ever volatile, shifted from plots of crim-
inals to the purblindness of the general
run of art-editors, and their more or less
slovenly minions, the three-color process
printers; to the pretty girl he had met at
Cannes last winter; to the campaign to-
night at poker. For once he was going
Tu
19


DEUCES WILD
to play 'em close; he would keep out of
every pot that dealt him no two-spot;
and when he got a real hand, he would
play it hard. With deuces wild even an
open player like himself had a chance
once in a while. He turned a corner, still
whistling. The girl with the copper-beech
hair: supposing she never went by again?
Could he possibly do her from memory?
Forward with swinging stride, twirling
his cane and sometimes striking the fer-
rule against the flagging, pleased with the
spangle of answering sparks; on toward
the big drama. For he was only an im-
plement of fate, chosen haphazard to ac-
complish a destiny not his own.
The Dryden was a new apartment-
house, built especially for persons who
had plenty of money and too small a fam-
ily for the up-keep of a large house. They
were given all the comforts of home:
20


WHY HURRY?
valets, maids, cooks, waiters and bell-
boys, more like a private hotel. There
were ten apartments, five on each side of
the ornate marble entrance. Forbes ran
eagerly up the steps; the door-boy swung
open the door.
“Mr. Jillson's apartment, please.”
“Third floor, left, sir.”
“Ah!”
Forbes made for the stairs. The
elevator (called lift here) was up, and he
was too impatient to wait. Besides, he
wanted to surprise the boys, melodramat-
ically. He scarcely paused at the first
landing. He would rather play poker
than eat. And in his exuberance he
failed to hear the warning call from the
door-boy, who had come on that day and
was not yet accurately versed in the
topography and occupancy of the apart-
ments. Forbes continued his rapid ascent,
21


DEUCES WILD
two steps at a time. He wanted to be at
the door at precisely eight, like that old
chap what's-his-name in Round the World
in Eighty Days.
He tiptoed into the private hall, the
outer door being unlocked. There was a
light over the transom. He could see
them in his mind's eye: Jillson, Wheedon,
Jones, Carlyle, Miller and Crawford,
peering into their hands, their faces like
Buddha gods. He listened. Not a
sound. In the middle of a play, no doubt.
Stealthily he put his hand on the knob,
turned and pushed it, with the cry “Pa-
lice!” on his lips. The word died there,
dryly. He saw no poker game in action.
Instead, a man in evening dress, full
masked, knelt with his back to an open
safe. As for the artist, he gazed panic-
stricken into the round black sinister hole
of a Colt's automatic.


III
A WILD GOOSE CHASE
AT the exact moment when J. Mor-
M timer Forbes was being apprised
of the fact that this was an amazing
world and that previously he had been
meandering only among the foot-notes of
the Great Story, an elderly gentleman and
a very handsome young woman sat in a
subway train which roared emptily on its
way down-town. The elderly man was
gray-haired and he wore a closely cropped
gray mustache, a style much affected by
Americans living in New York. He pos-
sessed all the hall-marks of a prosperous
clubman. The spats spoke eloquently of
the reading-room and of moderately
23


DEUCES WILD
heated political arguments. Attached to
his eye-glasses was a heavy cord, up and
down which he continually ran his fin-
gers; to those who knew him, a sign of
perturbation. Now and then he poked
the ferrule of his Malacca walking-stick
into the matting on the floor, or tapped it,
causing little puffs of dust to rise, like
musketry down in a valley.
The young woman stared with unsee-
ing eyes at the opposite window; fine
eyes they were, blue as Russian lapis-
lazuli, similarly streaked with threads of
gold, and heavily fringed. The girl was
really and truly beautiful; even the few
belated ones realized this, and forgot
their nightly study of the alluring adver-
tisements. She was a tonic to the weary
eyes; a tonic like the unexpected vision
of green fields, crystal waters and the
blue haze on the hills far away. Her hair
24


A WILD GOOSE CHASE
was not the least of her attractions; it
smoldered mysteriously, as if fire lay hid-
den in the deeps of it.
“Wonder what on earth he wants,"
said the man, and nibbled the ivory head
of his stick.
The girl did not reply. Perhaps she
had not heard him.
"I can't think of anything he should
want, unless it's about some old invest-
ment that's turned out bad. But then,
he'd write. I give it up."
Across the aisle the little shop-girl, who
was going home to Brooklyn (imagine
having a home there!) dropped her gaze
from the brilliant lithograph of Chaffem's
toasted wheaties (one of Forbes's earlier
pieces) to the furs of the beautiful young
lady. She sat up with a start. Sables !
she thought. Not Manchurian, but the
genuine North-Russian. She was a clerk
25


DEUCES WILD
in an up-town furrier's and knew her busi-
ness. Off-hand she measured the length
and breadth of the cloak; not a penny
under seven thousand. And riding in
the subway when she ought to be in a
limousine, with chauffeur and footman!
Swells were funny folk; they were al-
ways doing things like every-day people.
And the muff wouldn't have left more
than the price of a theater ticket out of a
thousand. And what's more, she knew
how to wear them. She wasn't any of
those actresses. Catch them riding in the
subway!
"Some legal muddle," the elderly man
complained. “Your mother's brother
wasn't in his right mind."
“There's nothing for you to complain
of," spoke the girl at last, without, how-
ever, turning her head.
"Can't say there is. Three millions,
26





A WILD GOOSE CHASE
mostly out at seven per cent." He
coughed slightly. "He was novel-reading
mad; no sane man would have drawn up
such a will. It's as much as our lives are
worth to keep all that junk about.
Wouldn't give the stuff to the Metro
politan because they wouldn't take any
stock in his claim that that ruby belonged
to the Nana-Sahib. Anyhow, history says
that Hindu beggar died in the jungles and
that he took the jewel along with him.”
“Junk! How can you call all those
beautiful things junk? I love every one of
them. He was right. Only one person
in a thousand who visit the museums
would understand or appreciate them.”
“That may be, but no light-fingered
gentry would be prowling about.”
The beautiful young lady shrugged.
She had gone over the ground so often
that the subject wearied her. She loved
27


A WILD GOOSE CHASE
peace and great sorrow have the same
brushes in limning in a face; the result is
generally a beatific placidity. If you
looked at the girl's eyes they told you
nothing, nor the droop of her mouth, nor
the pallor of her fine skin; and yet the
ensemble produced a haunting sadness. It
made you remember the face for days.
At Madison Square the two got out,
and the little shop-girl continued her jour-
ney, to dream of dukes and duchesses and
wolds and gabled manses.
The girl in the sables and her father
hurried over to the monolith of marble
and were shot up to the eighteenth floor.
The suite of law-offices to which they had
been so strangely summoned were in total
darkness. The bell rang and rang and
echoed eerily through the empty rooms
so mightily busy during the secular days
of the year.
29


DEUCES WILD
“Looks like a hoax.”
"Perhaps we've come too late."
“Too late? It isn't nine yet,” growled
the father, recollecting the quiet rubber
at the club he had been forced to post-
pone. “He phoned that it would be very,
even exceedingly, important for us to be
here before nine. Shall we wait?"
"Certainly.” The girl began pulling
down the finger-tips of her gloves and
twisting them.
"I'm a doddering old fool!” exclaimed
her father suddenly.
"Father!"
"I never telephoned his house to make
sure. Why should we come down here
to his offices ?”
They hastened back to the elevator and
went down. The elderly man stepped into
the pay-station booth. Presently he
emerged, wrathful of countenance.
30


A WILD GOOSE CHASE
“Never called up at all. Doesn't know
what I'm talking about. A whole evening
spoiled!”
"But what can it mean? What can it
mean?”
Down into the dank subway again; and
twenty minutes later, at nine-fifteen, the
two arrived at the apartment on the third
floor of the Dryden. The girl opened the
door impetuously, fearing she knew not
what. In the plain ordinary safe in the
living-room reposed the Nana-Sahib's
ruby and fifteen thousand dollars.
A few blocks over the way, in a dark
and cavernous studio, a lonesome dachel
was baying at the intermittent ting-a-ling-
ing of the telephone.
Across the city there stood a series of
apartments which had never been fash-
ionable, though many of the inhabitants
put up brave pretense for such recogni.
31


DEUCES WILD
tion; wherein the real estate agents reaped
sundry profits. By some, the indifferent
principally, they were called flats. In one
of these, comfortably appointed, with a
few really good rugs on the floors and
furniture which was neither acrobatic nor
offensive, there lived a woman. She was
young and pretty in a faded way. She
was preparing for bed; and as she let
down her hair, the many gray threads
caused a pucker to come between her
eyes. Her expression was placid; but it
was the placidity of the crushed and the
beaten, not of the resigned.
From a brick house in another quarter
of the town, a quarter which had fallen
under the edict of mobile fashion along
about war-time, a man stepped forth
noiselessly and disappeared into the night,
became a shadow among shadows.


IV.
A PAGE FROM SCHEHEREZADE
TN the meantime Forbes was invited by
| the burglar to come in and sit down.
He entered the room, thoroughly hyp-
notized.
"Sit down in that chair there,” went
on the man in the mask, indicating a fine
Sheraton. Strange, that Forbes should
give any particular attention to the make
of a chair. “There's a good chap," came
hoarsely. “I should hate to give you a
crack on the head. If you keep perfectly
quiet and do as you're told, I shan't be
forced to hurt you. Now listen carefully.
Take out your handkerchief. Top pocket,
overcoat, if you please! Now tie it over
your mouth. That's the way.”
33


DEUCES WILD
Forbes was by no means a coward; but
the unexpectedness of the encounter
stunned him. He forgot that he had ever
wanted to be an amateur detective. The
burglar rose to his feet with astonishing
agility. Forbes watched him, under a
malevolent enchantment. He saw the
man whip down from the wall a rare old
priest's stole.
"Put your hands behind the chair and
hold them there. The automatic's the
quickest thing in the world.”
A moment later Forbes felt the rough
edges of the stole sink into his wrists.
The ends went in and out of the spindles
and the knot came under his elbows. Next,
the handkerchief was given a precaution-
ary twist. The Bokhara embroidery on
the low-boy was also forced into service.
This secured his ankles to the legs of the
chair.
- 34


DEUCES WILD
Forbes heard the snap of the switch-
button. Instantly he was in total dark-
ness. Then he heard the click of the bolt.
He was now locked in. Presently his
brain resumed its functions; he began to
think in little sparks of thought: as if
permitting electric fluid to enter a wire
by degrees, jerkily. For the last ten
minutes he had been as completely hyp-
notized as if he had been staring for
hours into a Swami's crystal. His first
coherent thought was one of those best
left unspoken, unwritten. He had entered,
picturing in his mind a familiar scene, six
familiar faces; and this instead! It
would have hypnotized any one.
A blockhead! A sheep! To have al-
lowed himself to be trussed up this way,
without a single struggle, without a word!
A fine detective! He strained at his
hands, and then at his ankles, but desisted
36


FROM SCHEHEREZADE
when the chair threatened to topple over.
On the floor he would be absolutely help-
less. So he sat there in the dark, mouth-
ing at his handkerchief and trying to get
his teeth into it.
The man had a freshly skinned knuckle.
He would remember that when the police
came. He would never be able to recall
the voice, so effectually muffled behind the
curtain of the mask. In evening dress,
too, and wore it to the manner born: here
in little old New York! And then it
came upon him with the dazzlement of
sunrise. The mysterious burglar of the
newspapers! He recollected some of the
drawings he had made of heroes in
durance vile, ironically recollected them,
along with the balderdash they were sup
posed to illustrate. Why hadn't he flung
himself over backward while the fellow
was tying his hands together? He was
37


FROM SCHEHEREZADE
never occurred to him that the burglar
had already saved him about fifty dol-
lars!)
And when the occupants of this room
returned they would doubtless, and with
reason, hand him over to the police, and
the deuce (wild, indeed!) would be to pay.
Moreover, he would never hear the last
of it. He, who had never left himself
open to ridicule, would be the laughing-
stock of the town.
Numbness crept into his arms and legs.
He could not shift the handkerchief a
solitary inch, not a fraction of an inch.
Occasionally he heard sounds; the lift-
door closing, some one going up or down
the stairs, the rattle of a far-off elevated
train, the honk of an auto-horn in the
street below. Beautiful situation for J.
Mortimer Forbes, famous illustrator!
Hours and hours and hours passed; at
39


THE FLORENTINE BOX
THEN a young man meets face to
face the girl of his dreams, ar-
tistic or amatory, the nature of things
requires that he shall be dressed to the
queen's taste. What queen is irrelevant,
as all the romancers I wot of disagree.
Certainly it may not be the Lady of
Cyprus, since she was non-sartorial;
Margot, perhaps, or Mary; some half-
goddess, posing mistily between history
and tradition; not Elizabeth, to whom I
deny any taste whatever. To proceed.
He shall wear in his buttonhole a gar-
denia by preference, the popular vote hay-
ing been given to that delicate flower in
42


DEUCES WILD
quickly unknotted the handkerchief.
Forbes gasped hungrily, like a fish out of
water, and worked his tongue around his
cheeks. Something issued from his numb
lips that sounded like "Thank you."
"What has happened?" demanded the
girl.
“A gentleman in a black mask ...."
“Janet, the safe! We have been robbed !
I told you it would happen!"
The girl and her father rushed over,
getting in each other's way.
“Never saw the ruby nor the money!”.
"But he has taken my jewel-box!” The
girl stood up, leaning against the wall,
her eyes shut. Forbes expected her to
crumple up and sink to the floor, like one
of Piffle's heroines. "My jewel-box !"-
in a low murmur.
"I beg pardon," said Forbes; “but
I'd be extremely grateful if you'd take
44


THE FLORENTINE BOX
off these things. What time is it?” —
irrelevantly.
"What time is it!" bawled the girl's
father. "Well, you're a cool hand! Quar-
ter after nine."
"Quarter after nine? Haven't I been
here any longer than that?"
"What I want to know is, what are
you doing here at all ?” The elderly man
picked up the extension telephone.
"Father, what are you going to do?”.
"Do?”—irately. “Why, send down to
the club for the caterer. What do you
suppose?”
"If you call the police you'll only make
me very unhappy. I forbid you."
“Good lord!” Her father set down the
telephone roughly. "Have your own
way; but some fine night we'll have our
throats cut.”
Forbes stared at the girl, much aston-
45


DEUCES WILD
ished. No hysterical wringing of hands,
no rushing about aimlessly; only a quiet
acceptance of the inevitable. She did
not want the police; investigation would
only make her unhappy. What had that
box contained? Then his astonishment
gave place to speculative admiration. He
saw her profile on the cover of The
World-Wide, her arms filled with gold-
en-rod. Corking cover. He could use
the head for a year at least. No hesitant
art-editors when they saw this. What a
find!
“Will you kindly tell us how you came
here?” The girl turned to Forbes inquir-
ingly.
"I am Mortimer Forbes," he said
simply.
Her eyebrows remained elevated.
“The illustrator.”
46


THE FLORENTINE BOX
No change in her expression.
She had never heard of him! And she
wasn't a foreigner, either. Forbes was
rather abashed.
“I came in here believing it to be the
apartment of Mr. Jillson, my friend.”
“Jillson? Oh, now we are getting
somewhere. Know him. Same club.
Lives over us. Moved in last week. Soon
find out whether you're telling the truth
or not. I'll go up and get him. If he
knows Mr.-ah,"
“Forbes”—dully. Not that Forbes was
a vain man, but he believed it a matter of
course that everybody had heard of him
or seen his work.
"_Forbes. If what you say is true
..." The excited parent did not com-
plete the sentence but bolted from the
apartment.


THE FLORENTINE BOX
The girl didn't apologize. “Fifteen
thousand dollars.” She said it musingly.
“Fif. ... What, in these days of
checks, do you carry that much loose in
your safe for?”
"I drew it from the bank this morning.
To-morrow an agent from an emerald
firm in Delhi is coming with a necklace
I ordered. It was to be cash. It is made
up of thirty stones."
Tame grew the tales of Scheherezade,
daughter of the grand vizier. Thirty
emeralds at five hundred each! Would
she let him sketch her head?
She sat down, her arm flung across the
back of a chair and her face half hidden
in the furry sleeve. The money slipped
from her fingers and fluttered like autumn
leaves at her feet. Was she crying?
Forbes could not tell.
49


DEUCES WILD
"I am sorry," he said. “But would
you mind untying these treasures? On
the word of a gentleman, I shan't make
any effort to go away. It was all a mis-
take on my part. Yet I am glad I blun-
dered in. I may be able to help you to re-
cover the box. My hands are so numb,
and I do not believe I have any feet.”
"Oh!” She got up and came over to
him and deftly removed the stole and the
Bokhara embroidery. Gratefully Forbes
stretched himself.
"Women ought never to leave their
jewels in boxes. A box like yours is an
invitation to any burglar who sees it."
"It contained nothing but letters. I
keep all my jewels save one at the bank.”
"Letters?" Forbes laughed softly.
"Well, the rogue will be nicely sold.
That's something."
The girl returned to her chair, and
50



Was she crying?





THE FLORENTINE BOX
there she sat, staring stonily into the black
cavity of the safe.
Forbes tried to stand up, but swayed
rockily and plumped back into the Sher-
aton, which, being genuinely antique, pro-
tested ominously. Presently he tried it
again, walking doubtfully round the
chair. Sure of his balance at last, he
picked up the bills, made a compact roll
of them, and laid them in the girl's lap.
"Thank you,” she said, just as if he had
offered her a cup of tea.


CRAWFORD'S LUCK
rounding it, a marvelous camp-scene in
the broad humor of Brouwer, a Teniers,
a framed letter by Peter Paul Rubens with
a fat Silenus in the corner; dozens of
small canvases beyond price. And there
was a vase of imperial ox-blood, a piece
of Hirado worth a king's ransom, a Chi-
nese wedding scene done in blue kingfish-
er-feather. Forbes glanced bewilderedly
at the Bokhara embroidery which had
been so ruthlessly wound about his ankles;
fit to have graced the walls of the Dewan
Khass, in Delhi, as a background for Shah
Jehan's Peacock Throne. And there were
Japanese silk tapestries, of the softest,
most beautiful colors the world has yet
known; a square of Gobelin hanging as a
portière between the living-room and the
library; old armor, steel inlaid with gold,
of the period of Charles V; Ispahans, Kir-
mans, Bokharas, Saruks, real, old shim-
53


CRAWFORD'S LUCK
of that look of ashes. In a fury she would
have been as magnificent as Judith. His
heart sank a little; no romance here for
J. Mortimer, however well he might come
to know her.
“I ought to have risked a chance with
the man,” he said ; “but I was perfectly
dumfounded at the sight of him."
She turned her eyes upon him, sur-
prisedly, as if he had suddenly burst into
the room through a window or a hole in
the wall. And she had never heard of J.
Mortimer Forbes! Well, that was quite
possible. A young and beautiful woman
who went in for jade snuff-bottles and
pieces of Shah Abbas rugs was not to be
expected to bother about magazine covers,
and heaven knew there were enough of
them! Breakfast-foods and soaps and
hair-tonics! He had thrown away a bril-
liant career because it was easier to earn
55


DEUCES WILD
money than to strive for good work. He
and Piffle were in the same boat; too fond
of Avocado pears and ten-year-old cham-
pagnes. Now it was too late.
“Is there anything I can do ?”
“No.”
“If you don't mind, I should like a
drink of water."
“Oh!” She got up quickly. The bills
scattered about the foor again. Forbes
was becoming more and more positive
that he was in the middle of some won-
derful nightmare. He expected nothing
less than a goblet of Chinese bendable
glass; but as she returned with an or-
dinary tumbler, he got himself in hand
once more.
For the second time he retrieved the
bills. This time she tossed them into the
safe. Fifteen thousand dollars; as he
56


CRAWFORD'S LUCK
would have tossed a tailor's bill into the
waste-basket, and often did!
Then in came the young woman's
father, Jillson and a very pale door-boy.
“Mort, you old vagabond, what the
deuce have you been up to now?” cried
Jillson. “Good evening, Miss Mearson.”
So her name was Mearson. Where
had he heard that name before?
"Why, that imbecile of a boy there told
me the third floor, left, and here it is."
"I called up, sir, but you did not hear
me, you were in such a hurry. I came
on new to-day.”
Jillson smiled. “You may go. I shan't
report you this time.” The boy vanished
gladly enough. “Now, supposing we
send for the police?"
"No," said Miss Mearson determined-
ly. "It might attract other thieves. I do
57


DEUCES WILD
"He's a thorough-going clubman.”
"Hang it, I mean the girl. And all
those museum pieces. ..."
"Oh, she's the niece of that ratty old
codger Mearson, the curio-collector. Left
his millions to the girl and the best of his
collection. As I understand it, she must
use the collection as furniture. He rowed
with all the museums over a big ruby.
But don't set your eye there, my boy. We
call her the Frozen Lady.” Jillson flung
open the door. “Here he is, boys; got
into the wrong apartment. Koto, bring
the brandy. There's your chair; and play
'em close!”
His friends greeted Forbes boisterous-
ly. They had made sundry wagers as to
what had detained him, and the consensus
of opinion was that he had seen a pretty
face and followed it; which was indig-
nantly denied.


CRAWFORD'S LUCK
Forbes sat down next to Crawford,
who slapped him on the shoulder. He
liked Crawford the best of all his friends;
Crawford, the kindly, the loyal, the silent,
the scholar who wrote brochures on an-
cient hieroglyphics, who was rich but who
lived like a sensible lawyer's clerk; who
was always agreeable and charming,
whose eyes had that calm steady un-
changing gray of the sea where it nears
the horizon. He fought shy of women;
but he was not one of those mentally de-
ficient apes who call themselves woman-
haters. He merely avoided them; why,
no one knew. Many were after him for
his money and many sought him for his
own sake, but he was not to be caught.
Forbes was eager to get him alone and
to recount his extraordinary adventure,
for Crawford was an excellent judge of
adventures, being a great hunter and a
61


DEUCES WILD
famed archeologist, his past bristling with
the most amazing exploits which the
newspaper writers had not yet stumbled
upon. He lived alone in a barn of a house
in a most unfashionable district, sur-
rounded by mummies and waited upon by
a valet who always looked to Forbes as
if he had just stepped out of one of the
cartonnages.
Strange, that the baw baw man is gen-
erally as empty as a sucked egg, while the
mum chap over there in the corner is
Sindbad the Sailor in an ill-fitting con-
traption from Poole's. Though, Craw-
ford's tailor was impeccable. More likely
Tom and Company, of Yokohama. For
Crawford had a mysterious way of turn-
ing up in strange places, of sailing with-
out advising his friends, of returning as
quietly as though he had been spending
the week-end over in Connecticut.
62


VII
A REAL DETECTIVE
NE of the greatest detectives in
the world (in his own opinion and,
what was more remarkable still, in that
of his wife) sat down to his evening
meal. He called it supper; as they called
it immediately after the stone age, when
man and woman began to form habits.
This supper consisted of corned beef,
cabbage and boiled potatoes. Haggerty
heaped his plate, proceeded to slice the
three into a coarse hash and sprinkled it
liberally with salt, pepper and vinegar.
He was not a talkative man at his meals,
which he thoroughly enjoyed, having a
constitution far more rugged than that
65


DEUCES WILD
of the United States, in that it was not
open to promiscuous amendments. Nor
was Mrs. Haggerty troubled with the
vapors of the fashionable. She ate as
silently and heartily as her lord and mas-
ter. They finished off the meal with
quarter slices of rich mince pie, washed
down the whole with pints of aromatic
coffee, and then smiled across the table.
Their admiration for each other was mu-
tual; it had stood the acid test of eight
years of propinquity.
Haggerty was a real detective, a post-
graduate in the virtues and delinquencies
of humanity; the detective you and I
know in every-day life; who was once a
policeman on our block and who winked
when we broke a window playing one-
old-cat. Haggerty's salary might be
called handsome, if one included the splits
in frequent rewards; but as the pay of a
66


A REAL DETECTIVE
man who took his life in his hands seven
days in the week and fifty weeks in the
year, it was less than meager.
"Milly, you've got 'em all kotowing
when it comes t corn'-beef an' cabbige.
Say! I'm thinking of buying that little
olshack up Bronx way, after all.”
“No!”
“Sure thing!"
“But I don't like these mortgages, Will.
If anything happened to you, where’d
I be?”
"Sh! It's going ť be cash.”
“And where are you going to get three
thousand dollars? They won't take a
cent under six for the place.”
"Leave it ť me.” He pulled out a
thick black cigar. Had General Lee sent
a box of them to General Grant, there
wouldn't have been any Appomattox.
“Will, you aren't taking any of that
67


DEUCES WILD
graft stuff, after your promise to me six
years ago?"
“Nix on th' graft, Milly. I ain't hand-
some but I'm honest. More 'n that, I
ain't the gink they think I am down at
Central.”
"You're a smart man, Will."
Haggerty was worth looking at. He
had a round head, a sign of combative-
ness. He had heavy rectangular jaws,
a sign of perseverance. He had keen blue
eyes, too, with room enough between to
satisfy the most critical of phrenologists
and physiognomists (for whom the de-
tective had the heartiest contempt). To
see things, to observe and retain impres-
sions, it is not necessary to hold a uni-
versity degree. Theory and logical de-
duction, as written, interested Haggerty
just about as much as a missionary's lec-
ture on the uplift of the sinful Hottentot
68


A REAL DETECTIVE
would have done. Crime to him was
merely a picture-puzzle; there were so
many pieces and only one way to put them
together. When he found a piece he laid
it aside; when he found another piece he
tried to fit the two together. If they did
not fit, he proceeded to hunt for the other
pieces. By and by he got a corner to-
gether, maybe a center-piece; in the end
the picture unfolded. Nothing mysterious
about this.
Haggerty was not brilliant; he was only
slow and sure. And because of this abil-
ity to wait he had now been a detective
of the first class for six years. As the
character of his investigations somewhat
removed him from the graft zone, his
promise to his wife was rather a negligible
one. The low cut-purse, the polished
swindler, the dishonest bank-official, all
were fish to his net. Being a man of
69


A REAL DETECTIVE
mebbe we didn't sit up an' take notice.”
Haggerty fumbled in his waistcoat for a
match.
"Every good jewel is registered. All
jewelers know something about it. Well,
nothing doing in Rotterdam or Amster-
dam, or any other of th' ol' country
dams. Th' guy was either afraid or wait-
ing till we forgot. But we don't forget,
Milly. Then came th' Hollister pink
pearls. Ol’-fashioned safe this trip. Easy
job. Ol' Hollister had one o' those jade
plates. Whata you think? Same thumb
print on that. Number three, th’ Morris
rubies. Good safe, nice job, but no visit-
ing card of any one we knew. A Looy
th’ Fourteenth minachure. Morris says
it's worth two thousand. Mr. Thumb-
print again. I was getting loony. Sud-
denly it got int' my coco that th' gink was
interested in curios. Get me?"
73


DEUCES WILD
Mrs. Haggerty squeezed her hands to-
gether in her excitement.
"Nothing more after th' Morris rubies.
That was eight months ago. Well, I
went bug on th' thumb-print thing.
Hunted bar-rails, ship-rails; everywhere
you could think of. Y see, there was a
little scar across what th' wise ones call
the whorl. That was his photograph. Th’
swag mounted up to a hundred an' twenty
thousand, market value. Now, that's go-
ing some even these days, when you think
of it. For weeks an' weeks nothing but
blind alleys. Then came th' bull-headed
luck. They were putting in some new
mummies at th' museum, an' I was de-
tailed † watch th' crowd for dips. I
was looking over one o' th new cases,
when who bobs up but Mr. Thumb-print,
's large as life. You could have knocked
me over with a feather. Say, girl, you
74


A REAL DETECTIVE
wouldn't think it, but there's three thou-
sand bugs in this little ol' New York who
don't do nothing but collect things, fur-
niture, rugs, china, weapons, foreign
things an' mummies. Say, but I wore
out some shoe-leather. All th' time I
was handling th' reg'lar jobs. I hob-
nobbed with students an' professors. I
gum-shoed th' homes of th' noted archy~
what's them?”
"Archeologists,” supplemented Mrs.
Haggerty, who had gone through high-
school.
"By an' by I got rid of two thousand
nine hundred an' ninety-nine of the bugs.
An' Number Three Thousand had me
swallowing my Adam's apple. I couldn't
connect him. A millionaire, Milly; spends
thousands digging up th' dried ones,
friend of th' Metropolitan directors an'
J. P.; got a raft of medals, an' all that.
75


VIII
MUMMIES
TAGGERTY kissed his wife and
went his way. His journey's end
was a brick house, three stories in height,
in a quiet side street. He rang the bell
and waited. No one answered. Five
minutes passed, then Haggerty went
across the street and began to patrol the
block. He smoked incessantly and thought
deeply, for he was worried. He was sure
that yonder lived his man, but he had
never known a case like this. The pic-
ture-puzzle had been so wonderfully cut
and so abnormally interesting that he had
let too much time go by. There was a
fine chance of the whole thing being
77


DEUCES WILD
“When will he be back ?”
"'I can't say, sir. Possibly, at midnight;
probably later."
"Does he go aboard the Celtic to-night
or to-morrow at dawn?”.
The man with the bundle under his arm
withdrew the night-key and calmly thrust
the key-ring into his pocket. He shifted
the bundle slightly.
"Is your business important?” The
voice was well modulated, but it possessed
a crispness which spoke of impatience.
"Rather important."
"Sorry you will not be able to see him
to-night, sir."
"I'm in no hurry. I'll wait till he comes.
I take it you're his valet.”
"Yes, sir; Mr. Mason. But I doubt I
can let you in under the circumstances. If
you will designate a place I will telephone
you the moment he arrives.”
80


MUMMIES
“That's reasonable enough; but I'm go-
ing inside to wait.”
“Why, sir...!"
"I'm a detective, Mr. Mason; an' your
master an' I have a little matter to dis-
cuss."
“Impossible!”
"An' he wouldn't be pleased at all if he
knew I'd been here an' had t go away.”
“Oh! He expects you?”
“Yes.” Which was truthful enough,
since all criminals expect the law sconer
or later.
“Your credentials ?"
“This.” Haggerty exhibited his badge.
“That's not sufficient, sir.”
“All right,” replied Haggerty grimly.
"Suppose we both go over to th' precinct
an' have 'em identify me there? They
know me.”
"I suppose I'll have to let you in, sir;
81


DEUCES WILD
Mason shrugged. He turned on the low
desk-lamp and began to arrange the books
and papers on the broad flat desk. Some
he put away in drawers which he locked.
He then put out the light and took the easy
chair by the fire, his back in half-view.
Here Haggerty recognized the gentle-
man's gentleman, the servant who held
himself detached from all affairs that
did not concern his master personally,
and who considered it ill-bred to converse
with strangers of Haggerty's caliber. It
was a lean serious face; the hand which
propped his chin was long and slender.
It was half after eleven by Haggerty's
watch. An hour, probably, to wait. There
they were, four of them, and the one with
the door hanging loosely a new one; four
safes of various makes and sizes. What
was the game?
“May I ask what it is you wish to see
84


MONEY
“What's on your mind, Mort?" asked
Crawford. “You play a good hand, but
you're off in judgment to-night.”
"It's my damned artistic temperament.”
Forbes smiled lamely. “Two cards,
please.”
Only five minutes to play; only five
minutes. He wanted to be alone, to think
it over, to make some plan. Old Crawffy!
It simply wasn't possible. Yet, there was
that unforgetable cut across the knuckles.
To warn him without alarming him. Old
Crawffy, the lovablest man alive. ...
a crook!
“What? Oh, you start 'er, Carlyle?
Well, just for a change I'll boost her an-
other blue one."
“Call."
"Four aces!” cried Forbes triumphant-
antly. “And what do I get for 'em? The
ante and one lonesome bet. My luck!”
89



per cool
The losers made preparations to settle





MONEY
blanks before he succeeded in getting one
filled out properly. Italy. Here was a so-
lution to the whole dark business. He
would write a letter to Crawford in Na-
ples, telling him what he knew, and thať
he must return the jewels at once. They
would never be traceable if sent by for-
eign parcels-post. Armitage and Hollister
and Morris might have to pay duty again,
but he doubted if they would make any
trouble over that as long as they received
the jewels intact. And all that comedy at
safe-opening had been a mask; behind it
had lain tragedy. The evidence of his
own eyes; nothing else could have made
him believe it.
He heard Jillson saying: “I believe I
can fix you out.” He saw his host go to
his safe and return with seven hundred.
"You always carry a roll, Wheedon. Let
me have two hundred and I'll give you my
check for it."
91


DEUCES WILD
The matter was arranged, and Craw-
ford put away the money. It hit Forbes
like a blow between the eyes : Crawford
asking for cash! A man whose income
couldn't be the short side of two hundred
thousand a year!
“Going along, Mort? Got my electric
outside, and it won't be any trouble to
drop you at the studio." Crawford put his
arm across the younger man's shoulders.
"Thanks. Glad to go with you.” To
get the owner of that arm out of the reach
of the police was all Forbes cared about.
Once in the cab he said: “Crawffy, are
you pinched for money?"
"Pinched for money?” The cab
skidded, caught itself and went on.
“Good Lord, no! What put that into your
head? ... Oh, I say, are you in need
of a few hundreds ? If this nine hun-
dred ..."


MONEY
“No, I'm on easy street. But I never
saw you take cash before. You're always
saying something about sending the check
when a chap's ready.”
“I am going away, Mort, perhaps for a
long, long time; perhaps ten years; per-
haps I shan't come back. Who knows?”
"Is it a woman?”
Crawford laughed. “You're always
seeing petticoats. No, Mort, not a wom-
an, only a snow-image. Why can't you
pack up and come along with me? Naples
will be beautiful now.”
"Too many contracts. I haven't any in-
come like you. I earn lots of money, but
I have to keep on earning it. And just
now I'm in a hole for a new model. By
the way, do you know the Mearsons who
live below Jillson?”
“Yes.”
"Well, I'd give a thousand for a chance
93


DEUCES WILD
to draw her face, to have her pose for
me.” What had Crawford's sensation
been when he entered that room?
"Sorry I can't help you."
"Why not?”
“The truth is, we are not on speaking
terms."
"Oh, well, I dare say Jillson might
speak a word for me."
"Good luck.” Then suddenly: “What
have you got to do for half an hour?”.
“Nothing."
“Will you come with me while I do a
trifling errand ?" The bitterness of his
tone did not escape Forbes.
"Surely.” Forbes saw the fifteen thou-
sand in bills at the girl's feet, her dull
misery over the loss of the box. Had
Crawford believed her jewels to be in it?
Oh, it was damnable!
sa
94


THE OTHER HOUSE
CO MANY strange things had hap-
pened that night to Forbes that he
was no longer able to sense the tingle
known as excitement. He was conscious
of a blunted wonder, like that of a man
on a stricken ship. He followel Craw-
ford into the hall and up the first flight.
"She's probably asleep,” said Craw-
ford; "but no matter. I ought not to
bother at all.” He pressed the bell-but-
ton. “Duty. It reads well, Mort, but is
there anything else than bitterness in it?
Duty, moral obligation. Whoever said
duty was a pleasure to perform was hunt-
ing for what writers call lines.”
Moral obligations. A woman probably
96


THE OTHER HOUSE
asleep. Forbes waited, bending his cane
back and forth, like a fencer testing his
steel. Duty was bitter. What about his?
By and by a voice said sleepily: "Who
is it?"
“Crawford. Let me in."
"Just a moment."
Another wait. She was probably put-
ting on her kimono, doubtless the prettiest
one. But for the door-boy!
“What's that?" whispered Crawford.
"I didn't speak.”
“I thought I heard you say something."
The door swung in. Forbes beheld a
young woman, pretty once upon a time.
Crawford' pushed him in.
"A friend of mine, Netty; Mr. Forbes."
She repeated the name vaguely. It was
quite evident that she was half asleep.
“I am going away on one of my long
trips in the morning. I didn't have time to
97



Renhock
-
"You're a fool, Jim Crawford"





THE OTHER HOUSE
“Do you hate me, Jim?"
“No, Netty, of course not. Take care
of yourself; travel a little; don't stick
here time without end. It'll drive you mad
some day. Good-by. Come, Forbes."
The tableau always remained vivid in
Forbes' mind: the young woman, her dis-
ordered hair, the white throat, Craw-
ford's haggard eyes.
Once more in the cab, he found speech.
"In God's name, what's this, Crawford ?
You, with a second establishment?”.
"Think so? Mort, I love truth for its
own sake; it's part of the pride in my
blood. She is nothing to me, never has
been. A bit of loyalty to the dead. My
nurse's daughter, foolish and romantic.
And a man I trusted.. .. Oh, well,
he's dead. It was my mother's wish that
I should always provide for her. I shall
always do so, whether I return to America
99


DEUCES WILD
or not, whether I live or die. Do you be-
lieve me?"
"I'm going to try to.”
“Yes, yes; I understand. It is human
to look less for virtue than for transgres-
sion. All this property round here is
mine. The people live close to the blinds.
I do not come often; once in six months;
but that once is enough for the rabbit-
warren of scandalmongers. It's rather
hard on that young woman; but she is
made of the stuff of martyrs, and she
never speaks of me, nor seeks me. Whose
business is it but mine, mine? Damn all
meddlers !”—with a fury which brought
Forbes out of his lethargy.
"Same here!” he said. Where was
the Florentine box; under the seat? And
how had he done it? The iron nerve of
the man, to have taken such risks! And
playing poker all that time, as cool as
100


THE OTHER HOUSE
you please! It took a deal of control not
to whirl upon Crawford and accuse hiin
pointblank.
“Forbes, I have never wronged a soul
in this world; I have never done anything
I'm ashamed of. I am not even ashamed
of what I did to-night. Let's not play cat
and mouse any longer. You know, and
I know you know. You couldn't keep your
eyes off my hand. It was devilish hard
on my nerves to see you walk in. What I
took from Mearson's safe was ...
mine!”
“Yours!"
The cab wheeled into Broadway, out
of quiet into noise. A block or two in
silence.
“I sent them on a wild goose chase. To
get into the apartment was simple; the
safe was nothing. You know my hobby,
insane as it is. I hurt my hand in getting
IOI


A PACKET OF OLD LETTERS
been ten years with Mr. Crawford. Nat-
urally I take an interest in all he does.”
“Uh-huh. Interested in curios, too ?”
“You spoke of a collection. What
kind ?”
"When your master comes. But I'll tell
you this much: I've a sneaking hope he
ain't got what I want."
For the first time the valet became in-
terested in the detective. "I don't quite
understand you.”
“Time enough for that when your mas-
ter comes."
Conversation lagged again. From the
wall the buttons of the six pairs of shoes
twinkled like the beady eyes of rats. No
matter where his glance roved, Haggerty
found it always returning to the shoes.
They made him laugh inwardly. A mil-
lionaire, having his shoes tapped and
heeled, just like one of those thrifty old
107


DEUCES WILD
Wall Street sharks of another day. A
swell who thought more of comfort than
of style. It was all novel to Haggerty.
“You've traveled with your master?”
"Everywhere."
“You're not a Britisher?”
“No; I was born in this state."
“Any danger over there, hunting for
them?”—with a gesture toward the
cases.
“Sometimes. The wild Moham-
medans do not always understand why we
dig holes in the ground. But Mr. Craw-
ford is quick and strong, and a dead
shot."
Haggerty nodded. It was something to
have learned this. With great determina-
tion he resisted the craving to smoke, for
he had a purpose in not surrendering.
“Now, Mr. Mason, listen t' me attentive-
ly. When your master comes, you an'
108


A PACKET OF OLD LETTERS
me'll slip int' that room there behind those
curtains. I want t see him come int th'
room naturally. Get me?”
"The police can not be wanting Mr.
Crawford” emphatically.
"What! a millionaire an' a philanthro-
pist! Shoo-fly! . . . Hark! There he
comes now. I have a gun in my pocket,
Mr. Mason. Th least suspicious move-
ment on your part t' warn your master,
an' I'm liable t break your arm. Go on!"
Behind the curtains he grasped the
valet's arm ... and pursed his lips
into a silent whistle. The arm was not
big but it was iron-hard.
“This is a damnable outrage !” breathed
the valet.
"Be still!” Haggerty jabbed the valet
in the small of the back. It hurt, for the
man gasped.
They heard Crawford close the doors,
109


DEUCES WILD
and come up in bounds, eagerly. He came
into the study quickly and sought his desk
upon which he laid a leather box. He
contemplated it thoughtfully. Haggerty
almost sighed. He had never hated duty
before. A woman's jewel-box. More
loot. He couldn't get head nor tail of
it. Oddly, he sensed a tension in the arm
of the valet. Evidently he too was sur-
prised at what he saw. Haggerty was
never going to forget this night.
Crawford threw back the lid and took
out some faded flowers, a necklace of
scarabs and two packets of letters, each
tied neatly with blue ribbon. He crushed
the smaller packet to his lips.
Having fancied himself upon firm
ground, Haggerty felt like one whom a
hurricane had whirled into mid-ocean. A
faded bouquet and a bundle of letters!
He saw seven thousand dollars take wings
IIO





A PACKET OF OLD LETTERS
after the manner of butterflies he was
wont to pursue when a boy. Then he
saw Crawford sit down and lay his head
upon his arms.
A bell rang. The arms in Haggerty's
grasp jumped instinctively. Crawford
rose and stood waiting. The bell rang
again, violently.
“Who the devil can that be?” said
Crawford aloud. His valet had two sets
of keys and never rang a bell. He reached
for the speaking-tube which hung at the
side of the desk. "Hello! What's wanted ?
... Forbes? Why, come up!" He
dropped the tube and pressed a button,
an electrical contrivance that unlocked
both the hall doors.
A minute passed. Haggerty gnawed
his stubby mustache. Through the door-
way came a young man and a beautiful
girl.
III


DEUCES WILD
"Jim!” she cried.
Haggerty's hand slipped from the
valet's arm which had become suddenly
limp. Why?


DEUCES WILD
the wise critics laughed and commented
upon as humanly impossible. Just the
same, he knew that these silly affairs
made the melodramas of a vast host of
people.
Miss Mearson was still up.
“This is Mr. Forbes.”
“Forbes?”
“The gentleman who was recently tied
up in that fine old Sheraton of yours.”
“Oh!”
“Do you want those papers ?”
"Papers ?”
He thought her repetitions a trifle
stupid. “Yes. I know who took them.
But we'll have to hurry. Mr. Crawford
sails for Italy at dawn and may go aboard
to-night.”
"Wait!” This was thundered through
the panels of the door.
She had on her sables when she came
114


'A FRIEND IN NEED
out, but her hair was tousled like the
other woman's.
“Your father ...” he began.
“At his club. Have you a taxicab
down-stairs?”
“Yes.”
“Come!” She caught him by the sleeve
and dragged him to the lift. Down they
went; the lift-boy's eyes opened their
fullest. She never let go of the sleeve
till she was inside the cab. “It was Jim,
and it never came to me! How quickly
can we get there?”
"In about a quarter of an hour." He
directed the chauffeur, and they rumbled
off.
"Did he tell you he was going to
Italy?"
“Yes. He was up-stairs with us, play-
ing poker. He doesn't intend to come
back.”
115


DEUCES WILD
“Did he send you?”
“Send me! He'll probably never speak
to me again. No; there was a misunder-
standing. ..."
"I don't want any explanations,
please!” she interrupted. “Not a word
about that other woman. What do I care
who or what she is, now? Oh, fool! Par-
don! You're a good man, Mr. Forbes,
to come and tell me. I shouldn't have
known. . . . Going away for good
and never coming back because my love
wasn't worth a copper penny! It isn't
even now!"
"Perhaps Jim was a fool, too,” said
Forbes grimly. He hadn't bargained for
hysterics.
"He never was a fool; it was I.”
Said Forbes: "I love him better than
any man I know, and I want to help him
straighten out the tangle; but if you go
116


He
suanh
She dragged him to the lift





DEUCES WILD
glory of it filled him with envy and sad-
ness and he knew not what else. No
woman like this one would ever run out
into the night after him. It was always
the quiet chap like Crawford who awak-
ened and held such a woman. He knew
something about the species; they were
all more or less mad; they did the wildest
things without reason, on the spur of the
moment. The reverse of man, they wanted
recklessly to give up everything. ...
for nothing; a kind of get-poor-quick
scheme which profited no one, not even
the man to whom these priceless gifts were
offered. Of foresight, of calculation,
they had none ..till after they had
given everything away. Forbes looked
out of his side of the cab, lonely, very
much depressed, hating his flirtations, his
triflings, and wondering if there would
ever be a woman for him. Of course
118


A LOVE STORY
“My letters!”
“They are mine!"
“And I ?"
Crawford did not understand. “Forbes,
did you tell her? If you did, God forgive
you, I never will!”
Forbes flung his hat on a chair. “All
I've done is to bring her to you."
"He came and told me you were sailing
and never coming back. I've been a mis-
erable fool!" She held out her arms,
round and firm and white. To Forbes
she was as lovely as the Madonna he had
once dreamed of painting. “I don't care
who the other woman is. Whatever she
has been to you. ..."
“Janet, you are hysterical!”
“No. Do you want me, Jim?”.
Crawford leaned with his hands upon
the desk. He was as white as she was.
Forbes turned his back and began idly to
123



an hot
The girl was poised on the threshold


A LOVE STORY
round in spite of his effort to keep it
from doing so. There they stood, face
to face, tense. The girl's sables had fallen
apart, disclosing her peignoir. She had
come out like that! Why the devil
didn't the man take her, take her? His
heart swelled with rage. But the rage
died as quickly as it had come. Crawford
swung the girl into his arms; all the
weariness gone from his scholarly face,
which was now transfigured with some-
thing Forbes had never seen on any
man's face before.
"Girl," said Crawford, “I'm a brute,
but I wanted to be sure. Five years!
Well, this moment is worth it."
"Tell her the truth," cried Forbes
hoarsely.
“Why should I? In her heart of
hearts she knows it, knows that there
never was and never will be another
125


A LOVE STORY
“What's the matter?" asked Crawford
suddenly, as he marked the expression of
astonishment on his friend's face.
The answer came from behind. “Sorry,
sir, ť interrupt,” said Haggerty, pushing
the valet before him; "but duty's duty,
an' time don't wait.”
For Haggerty, familiar as he was with
battle, murder and sudden death, had
never witnessed a scene like this one, and
it had outlasted his patience.
"And who the devil are you?” de-
manded Crawford, swinging about and
facing the detective.
The girl stepped back, her fingers trem-
bling with the collar of her cloak. Im-
mediately she dropped her hands, smiled
and laid one hand on Crawford's arm
confidently. What did all the other people
in the world matter?
“I am Haggerty, of th' Central Office."
127


DEUCES WILD
Haggerty knew when to bluster and when
not to.
"What are you doing here in my
house?”
Forbes was beset by all his previous
doubts. A detective, and why should he
be here? He thought of a thousand ways
of overcoming Haggerty, of holding him
till Crawford was safely aboard the Celtic;
and then remembered the surest and
deadliest of all detectives—the wireless.
There was no escape.
"He would not inform me, sir,” spoke
the valet, drawing down his cuffs.
"Was he threatening you, Mason ?”
"Oh, no, sir. He merely desired you
to enter without suspecting his presence.
I don't understand him at all, sir.”
“Well, Mr. Haggerty?" said Crawford.
"You are James Crawford,” began
Haggerty, walking over to the desk.
128


DEUCES WILD
the corner near th' pawn-shop. There's a
flat not far away, with a young woman
living in it. No harm done in telling that
since th' young lady here knows all about
it. I could 'a' told her you was straight
an' decent an' that th' young woman was
living on your charity.”
"What, in God's name, is all this
about?” gasped Crawford.
Mason the valet went to the side win-
dow and threw it up. He remained
standing by it, unnoticed.
Pemd


DEUCES WILD
ing you that I never gave anybody else a
thought.”
"What has he done?" cried Crawford.
“Why, the man has been with me for ten
years, constantly, faithful as a dog. Twice
in Mesopotamia he saved my life. What
the deuce will I do without him?”.
"He's th' man who stole th' Armitage
emeralds, th' Hollister pearls, an' th'
Morris rubies.”
Crawford made a despairing gesture.
It was so incomprehensible. “What proof
have you?”
Haggerty dryly indicated the window.
"He saw what was coming. He knew
that if I wasn't satisfied with your thumb-
prints, I might think of his.”
"Good God!” Crawford struck his fore-
head. “And I am the cause of it!"
“Huh?" said Haggerty startled.
Crawford pointed toward the safes.
134


DEUCES WILD
I found out that your banker has a pay-
roll of three thousand a month that you
give away ť th' poor. All this mystery
about detectives is bosh. There ain't any
mystery; it's only addition an’ subtraction.
Well, I couldn't add th' theft an' th' safe-
blowing an' that pay-roll, an' get th' sum
I needed. I held off th' thumb-print till
now, an' there's where I fall down."
.. "My fault! Why, I am almost as guilty
as he is. He used to watch me most care-
fully whenever I opened a safe in sport.”
"Sure, he did. An' say, take it from
me, Mr. Crawford, he had a good teacher.
There ain't a yegg in th' country who
can do it neater than you; only it's ama-
teurish. I mean, you didn't use any of
th' stuff used by th' professionals. Say!
I've a mind t run you in an' lock you up
as it is. Some o' these smooth ones'll be
kidnaping you an' making you do th'
136


OLD SHOES
other man's jewel-box for th’sport of
it-unless he's a rich man like you, Mr.
Crawford, an' wants an exciting joke.
Whata you know about Mason before you
hired him?"
Crawford thought for a moment.
"Nothing. If I recall it, he came to me
without recommendations."
"Uh-huh.” Haggerty turned round his
cigar luxuriously. “How'd you know he
wasn't off-color when you hired him?"
"Why, man, he's had a thousand
chances to rob me, of big sums, too, over
there. Joint letters-of-credit for thou-
sands, and loose money besides.”
"An' in a minute the whole world'd
know he did it,” observed Haggerty. “No;
our man ain't that kind. Saw his chance
when you fooled with th’ safes. He had
some patience, believe me.”
"But why, why? He had twelve hun-
139



"
W
R
.Ceng
He ripped off the heel neatly



TWE"
"What's been going on here?”