The Gates of Chance Part 24

XI

The Philadelphia Quizzing-Gla.s.s

Knowing that the number of the four-wheeler was 872, it was not a difficult matter to begin the inquiry. But to secure any real information--that was different. The driver, a respectable albeit somewhat thick-headed Irishman, could offer only vague recollections of his business for the night of November 16th. He had been lucky enough to secure several fares, but there had been nothing in the appearance of any of his pa.s.sengers to attract his attention. A gentleman in evening dress with his head tied up in a black bag and accompanied by a man wearing a red fez! Certainly he would have taken notice of anything like THAT. "Niver in my cab," a.s.severated honest Mulvihill. "I've been hacking it for twenty years and carried some quare cargoes. But of that sort--no, sorr!"

Clearly there was nothing to be learned from the cabman, and he was undoubtedly sincere in his protestations. The little peculiarities of costume that had originally caught my eye were obviously unsuited for public wear. The fez and the black bag had probably been brought into use after the men of mystery had entered the cab, and it was only through the accident of the suddenly released window-shade that Esper Indiman and I had seen what we did. "No thoroughfare" stood out plainly on this particular road. Then the humor took me to try conclusions with Chance herself, the method a la Indiman. I chucked a silver dollar to the cabman. "Whatever it's worth to you in time and distance," I said.

"Don't ask me any questions--go as you please."

Hackman Mulvihill was a humorist in his way and he wanted to spare his horse. Six times in succession we made the circuit of Madison Square and never once off the walk. I was on the point of protesting, but I remembered the rules of the game and held my tongue. Finally, we started down-town by way of Fourth Avenue. Near Sixteenth Street and Union Square the cab pulled up to the curb, an intimation that my chartered voyage was over.

"And now which way?" I inquired, smilingly.

Mr. Mulvihill regarded me with compa.s.sionate and somewhat unflattering interest. "Be glory!" he said, frankly, "it's Bellevue that ye'll be wanting afore long, and badly, too. Come, now, jist jump in again and I'll rowl ye up there quiet and peaceable like. A touch of liver, sorr.

I know how it takes them. Maning a drop too much of the 'red-eye,'" he added, under his breath. "Quiet, there, Noddy, ye black divil."

It was with some difficulty that I convinced this good Samaritan of my mental and physical equilibrium. Finally he drove off, wagging his head doubtfully.

"But which way?" I shouted after him. He would not answer in words, but pointed eastward with his whip-stock. Eastward then it was.

Between Union Square and Second Avenue there are several blocks of dwelling-houses--a once fas.h.i.+onable and still highly respectable residential neighborhood. The particular street does not matter, but I was proceeding in the general direction of Stuyvesant Square and had crossed Third Avenue.

Being on the lower or shady side it was something of a surprise to receive a flash of sunlight directly in the eye. I stepped back. On the pavement at my feet there floated a blot of quivering yellow light; it danced directly towards me, and again I was blinded by its dazzle.

The reflection from a mirror, of course, but it took me several minutes to determine its location.

Ah, there it was--a peculiar combination, in polished copper, of triple gla.s.ses fixed to the sill of a second-story window in the house directly opposite. The device is in common use in Philadelphia and Baltimore, but here in New York it must be cla.s.sed as an exotic. Its very name is unfamiliar, and I dub it the "Philadelphia Quizzing-Gla.s.s"

for want of a better term. You understand, of course, that the mirrors are hinged together and adjustable to any angle. It is consequently possible for an observer sitting in the room to remain entirely out of sight and yet command a view of all that pa.s.ses in the street below. An ingenious contrivance, then, for keeping one's self informed upon the business of the neighborhood. But New-Yorkers, if not less inquisitive, are more energetic than their Quaker cousins, and prefer the direct method of leaning out of the window, or, if need be, going down into the street itself. Still, there is something to be said for the "quizzing-gla.s.s," for we may look upon it as the range-finder of the domestic fortress, forewarning us of the approach of the bore and the process-server. Obviously, the ability to look round a corner may save us from many of the minor complications that embitter modern life.

I was under surveillance--that was certain. Now, should I submit to the impertinence? It was easy to put an end to it by walking away. But I had aspired to be a disciple of Esper Indiman, gentleman adventurer, and here was a chance to take out a letter of marque on my own account--one must look Fortune in the face to catch her smile. And so I stood there immovable, until the dazzle in my eyes cleared away signifying that the ordeal was at an end. Then I lifted my hat and walked on, taking note of the house number--23l.

The next day, Wednesday, it rained, but Thursday was clear, and it was inevitable that I should pay a second visit to the house of the quizzing-gla.s.s, as I had mentally christened it. Again I submitted to a long scrutiny. Evidently the result was satisfactory, for the door of the house was opened and a man ran quickly down the steps and came towards me. He was a small man with an Oriental cast of features and he wore a red fez. It sounds incredible, I admit, but such was the fact.

He addressed me civilly, but in somewhat imperfect English.

"Morning, sar. It is a fine walk-day."

"Delightful," I a.s.sented.

"My mistress, sar--the Lady Allegra--she will be obligated of the honor to have your company dinner. You have no engagement antic.i.p.atory?" He stood with his head c.o.c.ked a trifle to one side, smiling amiably.

"To-night?" I asked.

"That, sar, is my counselment. To-night, at clock nine."

"Very good. I'll be here."

Red-Fez shook his head deprecatingly. Finally, and after much circ.u.mlocution, I gathered that I was not expected at No. 231. My instructions were simply to be in waiting at the Worth Monument in Madison Square at half-after eight; for the rest Red-Fez would hold himself responsible. And upon this understanding we parted.

"The Lady Allegra," I said, under my breath, as I walked home. "The Lady Allegra."

Up to this point I had kept my own counsel, but now I felt it my duty to make a confidant of Indiman. He listened to my story with grave attention.

"It promises well--decidedly so," admitted Indiman. "Confound it! If it were not for this unlucky accident of a sprained ankle--" and he glanced ruefully at his injured limb encased in its plaster-of-Paris form.

"I like the name," I went on, somewhat irrelevantly. "The Lady Allegra."

"There are possibilities in it," a.s.sented Indiman, grumpily. "Will you hand me my solitaire cards--and, for Heaven's sake! stop kicking the lacquer off the andirons."

"Oh, I beg your pardon."

"Of course you understand what I mean. It isn't the andirons, but the sight of your aggressively vigorous legs that moves me to childish wrath. To be tied down here like a trussed pigeon! Better leave me to my solitaire. I'll be more civilized after luncheon." Whereupon I smiled and went out.

Half-past eight o'clock; the Worth Monument; Red-Fez in a four-wheeler; the carefully drawn window-curtains; the production of the black silk bag with which to envelop my head--it all happened in accordance with the playbill. At first I tried to keep some idea of distance and direction, but I soon got confused and had to give it up. I could only conjecture that the course was a long one, for I heard a clock striking nine just as the cab stopped, and our pace had been a rapid one.

"Thisaway, sar," whispered my guide, and I yielded to the gentle pressure of his hand on my arm. The street door closed behind me, I felt myself guided up a pair of stairs, a sharp turn to the right, and we had arrived. But where? Then I realized that the black silk bag had been removed from my head and I was free to use my eyes. An ironical permission, truly, for I found myself in absolute darkness. Strain my vision as I might, not a ray of light met the sensitive surface of the retina. The blackness stood about me like a wall, immaterial, doubtless, but none the less impenetrable.

Deprived of sight, every mental faculty was instantly concentrated upon the single sense of hearing. My conductor had left me. There was the sound of a closing door and of padded foot-falls that trailed off into nothingness; then silence.

Out of the void came a sharp click as of a well-oiled gun-lock. It was followed by the first notes of a piano-forte accompaniment. A soprano voice began singing Schubert's "Fischermadchen." What a delicious timbre! The clear resonance of a crystal bell.

The beautiful melody ceased, but still I seemed to hear the faint, sweet overtones born of its final breath, thin auditory flames that flickered for an instant against the blank wall of the subconscious sense, and then in their turn were gone. Entranced and motionless, I waited.

A sudden burst of light flooded the room, the radiation being indirect and proceeding from electroliers sunken behind the ceiling cornice. The apartment was of medium size, evidently the middle one of the ordinary series of three rooms characteristic of New York City houses, and it was furnished most simply--merely a table of Flemish oak with two leather-backed chairs to match and some rugs. The walls and door s.p.a.ces were hung with red velvet draperies, which contrasted brilliantly with the gorgeous, gold-leafed plastic-work of the cornices and ceiling. A convex mirror, framed in ma.s.sive silver gilt, hung on the side wall. A second look showed that it was really a bull's-eye of crackled gla.s.s, opal-tinted and translucent. It glowed as though illumined by some inward fire (doubtless a concealed electric-light bulb), and the s.h.i.+fting play of iridescent color was exquisitely beautiful. One could compare it only with an imprisoned rainbow. I looked and wondered.

"I have kept you waiting. A thousand apologies," said a voice at my back. I turned to face a gentleman who must have entered from the front room; so at least the draperies, still slightly swaying, attested. A tall man, gray-haired, and of an extraordinary thinness--a caricature of Don Quixote himself, if such a thing were possible.

"The Lady Allegra," he went on, "is unfortunately indisposed. She begs me to tender her apologies and regrets. I am her ladys.h.i.+p's resident physician, and my name is Gonzales." His eyes, hidden behind smoked gla.s.ses, examined me attentively.

I murmured some words of conventional regrets, and, truth to tell, I was bitterly disappointed. I turned as though to go.

"It is the Lady Allegra's wish that you should dine here this evening,"

continued Dr. Gonzales. "Solus, it is true, but the disappointment is a mutual one; of that you may be a.s.sured." Again I bowed and intimated my willingness to obey.

The dining-room was an apartment of unusual size, panelled in Santo Domingo mahogany, the rich color of the wood standing in admirable contrast to the dark-green, watered silk with which the walls were covered. A magnificent tapestry, representing Dido's hunting-party in honor of AEneas, filled nearly the whole of one side wall, and on the chimney-breast opposite hung a mirror similar in appearance to that in the drawing-room. The illumination of the room was peculiar but effective--four bronze female figures, each holding in her hands a globe of translucent gla.s.s through which a mellow radiance diffused itself.

The table, large enough to accommodate King Arthur and his knights, was beautifully set with plate and crystal, but only two covers had been laid. Red-Fez, who had now a.s.sumed the functions of a butler, showed me to my place, and then took up his stand behind the empty chair of his mistress. The two serving-men began immediately upon their duties.

It was an extraordinary repast, for to both my eye and my palate the viands were utterly unknown. In fact, every dish had as its basis a peculiar substance that in appearance faintly suggested isingla.s.s. But it had no taste, that I could discover, other than the flavor communicated to it by the various sauces and dressings with which it was served. It appeared first in the soup, and then, omitting the fish course, I recognized it as the foundation of an excellent vol-au-vent.

It served again as a subst.i.tute for meat, compressed and moulded in the form of French chops. There was even a pa.s.sable imitation of a green goose. I had a slice from the breast, and it tasted very well. The philosophers tell us that there is an infinite power in suggestion.

That may account, in part at least, for the complacency with which I accepted these remarkable perversions of the ordinary menu. If ideas are the only realities, my green goose might have come straight from Was.h.i.+ngton Market itself.

The two vegetables, cauliflower an gratin and boiled potatoes, were good to look at and good to eat, although neither of them had ever seen a garden. There was a salad, too, with an incomparable dressing.

Finally, an excellent pudding. The wines and mineral waters, the liqueurs and the coffee, were genuine. The fantastic cuisine of my hostess extended only to the solid portions of the repast, and for this I was secretly thankful. I don't like chemical burgundies, and the "health-food" mochas and javas are only surprisingly good imitations of exceedingly bad coffee.

The chair opposite me remained unfilled, but each course was served at the cover as scrupulously as though the Lady Allegra were actually present. It made me feel a trifle uncomfortable at the first--the sight of that vacant chair set back a little from the table, the napkin half unfolded, the full winegla.s.ses, the plate with its untouched food. And once, when the foot-man offered the cauliflower to my invisible vis-a-vis, it seemed as though she declined it. The man hesitated a second and then pa.s.sed on without putting a portion on the plate. For the moment I was foolish enough to contemplate a similar refusal, but I reconsidered--I am very fond of cauliflower.

At the conclusion of dinner I took my cigar into the red drawing-room.

The lights had been lowered, and only the opalescent bull's-eye glowed with undiminished brilliancy. I sat staring at it, and the outrageous perplexity of the situation began to get on my nerves. I must get out of here, and I half rose. Then I sank back, forgetting everything but that marvellous voice. Again the Lady Allegra was singing, and could I doubt that it was for me! David's "Charmant Oiseau," and then the gay little gavotte from "Manon."