ERE the letters valuable?” he asked, without realizing the impertinence of the question.
Her silence was rebuking enough.
“I beg your pardon!”
Forbes returned to the Sheraton. He was not so strong on his legs as he had believed. Having nothing else to do, he took inventory of his surroundings, and what he saw subdued him.
He was an amateur collector; but, shades of the old chap in Le Peau de Chagrin! A Salvator Rosa, a pencil-drawing by Da Vinci (a model of a bastion), a Corot with the original sketches surrounding it, a marvelous camp-scene in the Broad humor o£ 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 Chinese wedding scene done in blue kingfisher-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 portiere between the living-room and the library; old armor, steel inlaid with gold, of the period of Charles V; Ispahans, Kirmans, Bokharas, Saruks, real, old shimmering rugs; a cabinet filled with apple-green jade snuff-bottles and flowers!
Small wonder she had never heard of J. Mortimer Forbes, of Piffle and Company! And from among all these treasures the beggar had taken only a leather box which he could have duplicated in the Via Guicciardini, in Florence, for less than fifty francs. Broken into the safe for it; overlooked a fortune in untraceable bank-notes, a ruby. Letters! Well, there were letters and letters, and there were certain kinds of inestimable value to the blackmailer; but this was not the place to come for them. Poor benighted beggar, when he might have taken away that Frans Hals, worth its size covered with Ural gold!
The girl was practically oblivious of his presence. He studied her face again. Why, there ought to be fire in it instead 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, surprisedly, 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 brilliant career because it was easier to earn money than to strive for good work. He and Piffle were in the same boat; too fond of Avocado pears and ten-year-old champagnes. 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 floor again. Forbes was becoming more and more positive that he was in the middle of some wonderful nightmare. He expected nothing less than a goblet of Chinese bendable glass; but as she returned with an ordinary 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 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 determinedly. “It might attract other thieves. I do not want the police or the newspapers to know anything about the affair. The box will be returned when he finds nothing but letters in it.”
Mr. Mearson jerked his shoulders; Jillson scratched his chin; Forbes sighed.