He waved at the girl. "Get back. I'll break the glass. Get away so you won't get hurt."
The girl receded into the dimness.
"Watch your hand," I cautioned. Larry took off his coat and wrapped his hand and the brick in it. I gazed behind us. The street was still empty. The slight commotion we had made had attracted no attention.
The girl cried out again as Larry smashed the pane. "Easy," I called to her. "Take it easy. We won't hurt you."
The splintering glass fell inward, and Larry pounded around the casement until it was all clear. The rectangular opening was fairly large. We could see a dim basement room of dilapidated furniture: a door opening into a back room; the girl; nearby, a white shape watching us.
There seemed no one else. "Come on," I said. "You can get out here."
But she backed away. I was half in the window so I swung my legs over the sill. Larry came after me, and together we advanced on the girl, who shrank before us.
Then suddenly she ran to meet us, and I had the sudden feeling that she was not insane. Her fear of us was overshadowed by her terror at something else in this dark, deserted house. The terror communicated itself to Larry and me. Something eery, here.
"Come on," Larry muttered. "Let's get her out of here."
I had indeed no desire to investigate anything further. The girl let us help her through the window. I stood in the entryway holding her arms. Her dress was of billowing white satin with a single red rose at the breast; her snowy arms and shoulders were bare; white hair was piled high on her small head. Her face, still terrified, showed parted red lips; a little round black beauty patch adorned one of her powdered cheeks. The thought flashed to me that this was a girl in a fancy dress costume. This was a white wig she was wearing!
I stood with the girl in the entryway, at a loss what to do. I held her soft warm arms; the perfume of her enveloped me.
"What do you want us to do with you?" I demanded softly. McGuire, the policeman on the block, might at any moment pass. "We might get arrested! What's the matter with you? Can't you explain? Are you hurt?"
She was staring as though I were a ghost, or some strange animal. "Oh, take me away from this place! I will talk – though I do not know what to say – "
Demented or sane, I had no desire to have her fall into the clutches of the police. Nor could we very well take her to our apartment. But there was my friend Dr. Alten, alienist, who lived within a mile of here.
"We'll take her to Alten's," I said to Larry, "and find out what this means. She isn't crazy."
A sudden wild emotion swept me, then. Whatever this mystery, more than anything in the world I did not want the girl to be insane!
Larry said, "There was a taxi down the street."
It came, now, slowly along the deserted block. The chauffeur had perhaps heard us, and was cruising past to see if we were possible fares. He halted at the curb. The girl had quieted; but when she saw the taxi her face registered wildest terror, and she shrank against me.
"No! No! Don't let it kill me!"
Larry and I were pulling her forward. "What the devil's the matter with you?" Larry demanded again.
She was suddenly wildly fighting with us. "No! That – that mechanism – "
"Get her in it!" Larry panted. "We'll have the neighborhood on us!"
It seemed the only thing to do. We flung her, scrambling and fighting, into the taxi. To the half-frightened, reluctant driver, Larry said vigorously:
"It's all right; we're just taking her to a doctor. Hurry and get us away from here. There's good money in it for you!"
The promise – and the reassurance of the physician's address – convinced the chauffeur. We whirled off toward Washington Square.
Within the swaying taxi I sat holding the trembling girl. She was sobbing now, but quieting.
"There," I murmured. "We won't hurt you; we're just taking you to a doctor. You can explain to him. He's very intelligent."
"Yes," she said softly. "Yes. Thank you. I'm all right now."
She relaxed against me. So beautiful, so dainty a creature.
Larry leaned toward us. "You're better now?"
"Yes."
"That's fine. You'll be all right. Don't think about it."
He was convinced she was insane. I breathed again the vague hope that it might not be so. She was huddled against me. Her face, upturned to mine, had color in it now; red lips; a faint rose tint in the pale cheeks.
She murmured, "Is this New York?"
My heart sank. "Yes," I answered. "Of course it is."
"But when?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what year?"
"Why, 1935!"
She caught her breath. "And your name is – "
"George Rankin."
"And I," – her laugh had a queer break in it – "I am Mistress Mary Atwood. But just a few minutes ago – oh, am I dreaming? Surely I'm not insane!"
Larry again leaned over us. "What are you talking about?"
"You're friendly, you two. Like men; strange, so very strange-looking young men. This – this carriage without any horses – I know now it won't hurt me."
She sat up. "Take me to your doctor. And then to the general of your army. I must see him, and warn him. Warn you all." She was turning half hysterical again. She laughed wildly. "Your general – he won't be General Washington, of course. But I must warn him."
She gripped me. "You think I am demented. But I am not. I am Mary Atwood, daughter of Major Charles Atwood, of General Washington's staff. That was my home, where you broke the window. But it did not look like that a few moments ago. You tell me this is the year 1935, but just a few moments ago I was living in the year 1777!"
CHAPTER II
From Out of the Past
"Sane?" said Dr. Alten. "Of course she's sane." He stood gazing down at Mary Atwood. He was a tall, slim fellow, this famous young alienist, with dark hair turning slightly grey at the temples and a neat black mustache that made him look older than he was. Dr. Alten at this time, in spite of his eminence, had not yet turned forty.
"She's sane," he reiterated. "Though from what you tell me, it's a wonder that she is." He smiled gently at the girl. "If you don't mind, my dear, tell us just what happened to you, as calmly as you can."
She sat by an electrolier in Dr. Alten's living room. The yellow light gleamed on her white satin dress, on her white shoulders, her beautiful face with its little round black beauty patch, and the curls of the white wig dangling to her neck. From beneath the billowing, flounced skirt the two satin points of her slippers showed.
A beauty of the
