ALLACE RAMSEY frowningly studied the ceremonial phrases of an engraved card which had just been delivered at his door:
“Mr. Heywood Achison requests the pleasure of the company of Mr. Wallace Ramsey on Tuesday evening, January eighteenth, at nine o'clock. Music.”
Most people in New York would have hailed the receipt of that invitation with distinct gratification; but in Ramsey's mind it aroused only a puzzled conjecture and more than a little suspicion. He knew his Achison, and was therefore certain that some definite, yes, and dark motive had prompted this graceful, beckoning gesture across the gulf which separated them.
It appeared to him as fantastically improbable a circumstance as Napoleon's inviting the Duke of Wellington to a fête on the eve of Waterloo, or Clemenceau and the Kaiser lunching together the day before the last great German drive.
Something else struck him as odd. The invitations, as all the world knew had been out several days. This was not an ordinary party, but a musical event, the first of two evenings which Achison was giving to signalize the initial appearance in this country of the great Norwegian violinist Erland. Consequently, Achison must have been besieged with requests for cards: and yet he, Ramsey, the most unlikely person in the world to be so favored, was included among the guests for the première
There was obviously no mistake about it. His name was filled in upon the card in Achison's own bold, flowing hand. Ramsey discerned, however, beneath the polite formality of his invitation a challenge. It was Achison's silken way of daring him to be present; and Ramsey was temperamentally incapable of not taking him up. So with tightened lips he wrote his acceptance, wondering the while what new move Achison was planning in the battle of wits that went on between them.
These were not medieval times, he told himself: there was no question of poisoned fruit or the deadly draught at the banquet. Customs change with costumes, and such methods do not accord with 1921 evening-clothes But the heart of man remains unchanged. He never doubted Achison's purpose effectually to silence the adversary who like a hound of Destiny was forever snapping at his heels; and on his own part, Ramsey's determination to strip the other of his various masquerades and show him to the world as an astute and accomplished crook was as sternly inexorable.
Moreover the deadlock situation between these two had recently become complicated by the infusion of a new element—new, and yet the same old one which from the beginning of time has served to arouse fresh antagonisms and stir ancient enmities to fever heat—a woman
Rose Edgewater had drifted into the lives of Achison and Ramsey as lightly as thistledown, and had established herself with a permanence not usually associated with anything so ethereal. Achison posed as a sort of guardian to her. The invalid aunt with whom she lived was a client of his, and at a time when their fortunes were at an extremely low ebb, he had come to the rescue and by his legal ingenuity had recovered for them a sum of money which enabled them to live in comfort. He had also been the first to recognize the girl's unusual musical gifts; she was a violinist, and he had given her invaluable advice and had aided her in securing the best instruction.
Ramsey, on his side, adopted no pose. He had fallen deeply in love with Rose Edgewater, and he made no secret of it.
Thus the affair stood on the night of Achison's party. Ramsey's expression was half ironical and half wary as he passed through several rooms, where every piece of furniture, every picture or vase was a museum treasure, and where little groups of people stood about examining, exclaiming, admiring.
Achison was receiving in the ballroom, which had been transformed for the occasion into a concert-hall. There were rows and rows of chairs which were being rapidly filled with what one of the high-brow ladies present described as the “cognoscenti.”
The cognoscenti, Ramsey soon saw, were in the mass somewhat drab and austere, and their claims to distinction did not include those of either physical beauty or smart apparel.
In contrast, Achison, standing just inside the wide entrance, with his broad, handsome face and the sweep of gray hair across his brow, his attire absolutely correct to the last detail, satisfied all the requirements of a celebrity. He was the famous lawyer, the patron of the arts, the fastidious bon-vivant, all merged for the moment into the gracious and graceful host extending a delightful welcome to his guests.