The Salamander Part 68

"It will do you no good!"

"Are you sure?"

"Quite!"

"Sure there is nothing I could offer you that would mean anything?"

"Quite!"

But, though she repeated the word with extra emphasis, she felt all at once the beginning of a dangerous curiosity. After all, was there nothing he could offer her, who had gone so long, tired of foot and discouraged of heart, that might not cause her to pause and at least experience a regret--for an enormous sum, something fantastic, which no man would offer? Yet the idea entered into her imagination and stimulated it. How many women would hesitate before a sum so great that it made no difference what people said? From which she began to wonder what might be her price to this experienced connoisseur, who had estimated and bought so many of her s.e.x: Yes, what was his estimate of her resistance? This awoke a zest which soon dominated the la.s.situde of the afternoon. She must learn this price: it would be more than exciting.

All at once they seemed lifted above the city, soaring upward past the last sinking roofs, cleaving into clear air. They were on the great Williamsburg Bridge, the river far below, strewn with dusky moving shapes setting out faint lamps against the darkening day. Across the river gusts of steam or belching smoke thickened the gray horizon.

Factories, come down like animals to drink at the riverside, stood in naked profile against the sky, pointing their rigid towers toward the stars, sending occasional flaming blasts across reddening lines of window-panes. Below, like the magic of invisible sprites, the jeweled strands of Brooklyn Bridge were flinging a brilliant span across the gulf of the night. About them, deliriously below, were the thousand waking eyes of mysterious hours, starting from the regimented lamp-posts that cut the city into squares of black. All about them was that day of the city which is the creation of man, which he has created in the need of forgetfulness, of doubling the span of his few allotted years in a sort of Promethean revolt. The day often oppressed her--the night never. She sat up, smiling and alert, and as if for the first time taking notice of where she was and where she was going, asked:

"What time is it?"

"Half past five only."

But she began to feel a menace in this other bank which they were nearing, in these long stretches of human wilderness leading to the sound. Sa.s.soon was entirely too docile, she did not know why, but she scented danger in the air.

"We will go back," she said suddenly. "Brooklyn is too dreary; besides, it's late for tea."

"I'm sorry," he said, stirring in his seat; "I'm afraid you don't trust me?"

"No, I don't--not too far!"

"Supposing I decided to go on?" he said quickly.

"I should open the window and scream," she said, handing him the tube.

He complied reluctantly, seeking an excuse.

"It'll only take us twenty minutes. I wanted you to get the effect of New York coming back; in another half-hour it'll be magnificent!"

"I'll enjoy it very much now," she answered, laughing.

"You quite misjudge me," he said, without further trace of irritation.

"However, as you wish. I saw you were blue, and I had planned something to distract you. But it's no use."

"What had you planned?" she said maliciously.

"To take you to a very nice party."

"What?"

"A supper with some interesting people--Emma Fornez, Sada Quichy--"

"Where?" she said suspiciously.

"At the Cafe Loo."

"Where's that?"

"In Harlem."

She reflected. She had expected him to give the name of some inn in the country where she would not venture; but Harlem rea.s.sured her. Perhaps the party existed, and, if so, she was crazy to meet Emma Fornez, of the Metropolitan Opera. Besides, she felt in a reckless mood, within certain safe limitations.

"If you asked me very nicely," she said softly, "you might be surprised--"

An hour later they came to a stop before a restaurant flanked with plants and s.h.i.+ning with the dazzle of reflecting mirrors. It was of new creation, on the order of the German Gardens, situated on one of the great thoroughfares, a publicity which quite rea.s.sured her. They went in by a private entrance, and up in an elevator to a suite on the third floor.

"We're ahead of time," said Sa.s.soon. "Dressing-room to the left. Leave your things there."

The room into which they had entered from an ante-chamber was a salon in false Empire furniture against plum-yellow carpets and hangings. Through a curtained door to the right was a glimpse of a dining-room in the corner of the house. She took in the surroundings with a quick glance as she went into the boudoir. What she had suspected was true. The party was an invention. She was alone with Sa.s.soon.

CHAPTER XXVIII

She was not the least afraid, nor, in fact, was she unprepared for the discovery. When Sa.s.soon had tempted her with the prospects of a party, she was not altogether his dupe. Yet, under safe conditions, she was disposed, to-night, to grant him the intimacy of a tete-a-tete. She knew that he had never yet said to her what he wanted, and she had a great curiosity to know what he would hold before her eyes. The respectability of the crowd seen through the brilliant windows, the publicity of the position, all rea.s.sured her that there could be no trap beyond the powers of her ingenuity. She examined the dressing-room hastily. Besides the door that gave on to the salon, there were two others--one, which was locked, to a farther suite, and a second, opening into the ante-chamber.

She went to the window and looked down on the flattened crowd flowing like inky pools under the phosph.o.r.escent arc-lights; the scurrying roofs of automobiles, darting across the lighted trolleys, calculating the effect of a cry. Then she opened the door into the ante-chamber, hesitating. It would be the easiest thing in the world to leave now, without noise, while Sa.s.soon was busy with the ordering. But curiosity was strong, and the need of a sensation--of a triumph over danger, which would give back that old audacity that had almost departed in these last bitter days. She bit her lip thoughtfully, hesitated a moment, and then, tiptoeing quietly to the outer door, removed the key, a.s.suring herself that there were no bolts to fasten it. It might be the last escapade, perhaps the last time that she would baffle him. The tenth was only three days away and in the need of setting the stage for her final climax she felt the need, suddenly, of carrying this motive up to the brink--yes, even of calmly looking over.

She left her hat with her coat in the dressing-room, and came out confidently, her hands on her hips, which swayed slightly in the languorous movement of the Spanish indolence, mockery in her eyes.

"No one here yet?" she asked unconcernedly.

"Not seven," he replied, glancing at his watch.

"Artists are always late!"

He a.s.sented, watching her.

"This the dining-room?" she said, moving to the right.

"Wait!"

"Why?"

"I want to give you a surprise."

"I know it already!"

"What?"

"There's no party at all; we're dining together," she said, looking at him directly. "Don't lie. Besides, I knew it all the time!"