not be running loose—how much less ought he to be, doctor?”
Every eye in the car was taking in each point as I called attention to it. And each happened to be a little true. The flush on Walter’s face deepened to a brick red. Consardine looked at me, imperturbably.
“No,” I went on, “not at all the man for you, Eve.”
I gripped the girl closer. I drew her tightly to me. I was beginning to enjoy myself—and she was marvelously pretty.
“Eve!” I exclaimed. “All this time I’ve been away from you—and you haven’t even kissed me!”
I lifted up her chin and—well, I kissed her. Kissed her properly and in no brotherly manner. I heard Walter cursing under his breath. How Consardine was taking it I could not tell. Indeed I did not care— Eve’s mouth was very sweet.
I kissed her again and again—to the chuckles of the hoods, the giggles of the girls, and horrified exclamations of the dignified old gentleman.
And the girl’s face, which at the first of my kisses had gone all rosy red, turned white. She did not resist, but between kisses I heard her whisper:
“You’ll pay for this! Oh, but you’ll pay for this!”
I laughed and released her. I did not care now. I was going to go with Dr. Consardine wherever he wanted to take me—as long as she went with me.
“Harry,” his voice broke my thought, “come along. Here is our station.”
The train was slowing up for the Fourteenth Street stop. Consardine arose. His eyes signaled the girl. Her own eyes downcast, she took my hand. Her hand was like ice. I got up, still laughing. Consardine at my other side, Walter guarding the rear, I walked out upon the platform and up the steps to the street. Once I looked behind me into Walter’s face, and my heart warmed at the murder in it.
It had been touché for me with two of them at any rate—and at their own game.
A chauffeur in livery stood at the top of the steps. He gave me a quick, curious glance and saluted Consardine.
“This way—Kirkham!” said the latter, curtly.
So I was Kirkham again! And what did that mean?
A powerful car stood at the curb. Consardine gestured. Eve’s hand firmly clasped in mine, I entered, drawing her after me. Walter had gone ahead of us. Consardine followed. The chauffeur closed the door. I saw another liveried figure on the driver’s seat. The car started.
Consardine touched a lever and down came the curtains, closeting us in semi-darkness.
And as he did so the girl Eve wrenched her hand from mine, struck me a stinging blow across the lips and huddling down in her corner began silently to weep.
CHAPTER 4
The cab, one of expensive European make, sped smoothly over to Fifth Avenue and turned north. Consardine touched another lever and a curtain dropped between us and the driving seat. There was a hidden bulb that shed a dim glow.
By it I saw that the girl had recovered her poise. She sat regarding the tips of her shapely narrow shoes. Walter drew out a cigarette case. I followed suit.
“You do not mind, Eve?” I asked solicitously.
She neither looked at me nor answered. Consardine was apparently lost in thought. Walter stared icily over my head. I lighted my cigarette and concentrated upon our course. My watch registered a quarter to ten.
The tightly shaded windows gave no glimpse of our surroundings. By the traffic stops I knew we were still on the Avenue. Then the car began a series of turns and twists as though it were being driven along side streets. Once it seemed to make a complete circle. I lost all sense of direction, which, I reflected, was undoubtedly what was intended.
At 10:15 the car began to go at greatly increased speed and I judged we were out of heavy traffic. Soon a cooler, fresher air came through the ventilators. We might be either in Westchester or Long Island. I could not tell.
It was precisely 11:20 when the car came to a stop. After a short pause it went on again. I heard from behind us the clang of heavy metal gates. For perhaps ten minutes more we rolled on swiftly and then halted again. Consardine awoke from his reverie and snapped up the curtains. The chauffeur opened the door. Eve dropped out, and after her Walter.
“Well, here we are, Mr. Kirkham,” said Consardine, affably. He might have been a pleased host bringing home a thrice-welcome guest instead of a man he had abducted by outrageous wiles and falsehoods.
I jumped out. Under the moon, grown storm-promising and watery as a drunkard’s eye, I saw an immense building that was like some chateau transplanted from the Loire. Lights gleamed brilliantly here and there in wings and turrets. Through its doors were passing the girl and Walter. I glanced around me. There were no lights visible anywhere except those of the chateau. I had the impression of remoteness and of wide, tree-filled spaces hemming the place in and guarding its isolation.
Consardine took my arm and we passed over the threshold. On each side stood two tall footmen and as I went by them I perceived that they were Arabs, extraordinarily powerful. But when I had gotten within the great hall I stopped short with an involuntary exclamation of admiration.
It was as though the choicest treasures of medieval France had been skimmed of their best and that best concentrated here. The long galleries, a third of the way up to the high vaulted ceiling, were exquisite Gothic; arrases and tapestries whose equals few museums could show hung from them and the shields and arms were those of conquering kings.
Consardine gave me no time to study them. He touched my arm and I saw beside me an impeccably correct English valet.
“Thomas will look after you now,” said Consardine. “See you later, Kirkham.”
“This way, sir, if you please,” bowed the valet, and led me into a miniature chapel at the side of the hall. He pressed against its fretted back. It slid away and we entered a small elevator. When it stopped, another panel slipped aside. I stepped into a bedroom furnished, in its own fashion, with the same astonishing richness as the great hall. Behind heavy curtains was a bathroom.
Upon the bed lay dress trousers, shirt, cravat, and so on. In a few minutes I was washed, freshly shaved and in evening clothes. They fitted me perfectly. As the valet opened a closet door a coat hanging there drew my sharp attention. I peered in.
Hanging within that closet was the exact duplicate of every garment that made up my wardrobe at the Club. Yes, there they were, and as I looked into the pockets for the tailor’s labels I saw written on them my own name.
I had an idea that the valet, watching me covertly, was waiting for some expression of surprise. If so he was disappointed. My capacity for surprise was getting a bit numb.
“And now where do I go?” I asked.
For answer he slid the panel aside and stood waiting for me to enter the lift. When it stopped I expected of course to step out into the great hall. Instead
