O MANY Strange things had happened 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 followed Crawford into the hall and up the first flight.
“She's probably asleep,” said Crawford; “but no matter. I ought not to bother at all.” He pressed the bell-button. “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 hunting for what writers call lines.”
Moral obligations. A woman probably 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 putting 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 see you to-day. Made up my mind late. Now, Mr. Thane at the bank has been instructed to give you two hundred a month. I have turned over enough bonds to carry you along indefinitely. Don't write. You know how I hate letters. I am tired, worn-out, unhappy.”
“You're a fool, Jim Crawford.”
“I know it, Netty.”
“A loyal, honorable, kindly fool; and only God and I know how good you are.”
He made a gesture of protest.
“I went to her again last week. She refused to see me.”
“You dared go to her after I had forbidden you?”—angrily.
“I don't care. She's a silly fool.”
“Good-by, Netty. If I stay and talk I shall lose my temper. Good-by.”
She tried to kiss his hand, but he withdrew it savagely.
“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-hy. Come, Forbes.”
The tableau always remained vivid in Forbes' mind: the young woman, her disordered hair, the white throat, Crawford'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 or not, whether I live or die. Do you believe me?”
“I'm going to try to.”
“Yes, yes; I understand. It is human to look less for virtue than for transgression. 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 you please! It took a deal of control not to whirl upon Crawford and accuse him 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 through the transom. Do you care to know what was in the box? A packet of letters. One mad day I sent them back; and now one mad night I go like a thief and recover them. You will say that I should have gone to her and asked. I know her. I know myself. Pride or stubbornness, call it what you will.”
“But in heaven's name, the cause?”