The woman ignored his existence. Moving swiftly forward, she dropped on both knees by the side of the boy, and caught up one of his hands, clasping it passionately1 in her own.
"Fred!" she cried, a curious break in her tone. "My little Freddie! Oh, what has happened, dearie?"
"Oh, hello, Mamma," grunted3 that young man, submitting listlessly to her caresses4 and betraying no overwhelming surprise at her appearance there. Indeed he seemed more concerned as to what Kirkwood, an older man, would be thinking, to see him so endeared and fondled, than moved by any other emotion. Kirkwood could see his shamefaced, sidelong glances; and despised him properly for them.
But without attending to his response, Mrs. Hallam rattled5 on in the uneven6 accents of excitement. "I waited until I couldn't wait any longer, Freddie dear. I had to know—had to come. Eccles came home about nine and said that you had told him to wait outside, that some one had followed you in here, and that a bobby had told him to move on. I didn't know what—"
"What's o'clock now?" her son interrupted.
"It's about three, I think ... Have you hurt yourself, dear? Oh, why didn't you come home? You must've known I was dying of anxiety!"
"Oh, I say! Can't you see I'm hurt? 'Had a nasty fall and must've been asleep ever since."
"My precious one! How—?"
"Can't say, hardly ... I say, don't paw a chap so, Mamma ... I brought Eccles along and told him to wait because—well, because I didn't feel so much like shuttin' myself up in this beastly old tomb. So I left the door ajar, and told him not to let anybody come in. Then I came up-stairs. There must've been somebody already in the house; I know I thought there was. It made me feel creepy, rather. At any rate, I heard voices down below, and the door banged, and somebody began hammerin' like fun on the knocker."
The boy paused, rolling an embarrassed eye up at the stranger.
"Yes, yes, dear!" Mrs. Hallam urged him on.
"Why, I—I made up my mind to cut my stick—let whoever it was pass me on the stairs, you know. But he followed me and struck me, and then I jumped at him, and we both fell down the whole flight. And that's all. Besides, my head's achin' like everything."
"But this man—?"
Mrs. Hallam looked up at Kirkwood, who bowed silently, struggling to hide both his amusement and perplexity. More than ever, now, the case presented a front inscrutable to his wits; try as he might, he failed to fit an explanation to any incident in which he had figured, while this last development—that his antagonist7 of the dark stairway had been Mrs. Hallam's son!—seemed the most astounding8 of all, baffling elucidation9 completely.
He had abandoned all thought of flight and escape. It was too late; in the brisk idiom of his mother-tongue, he was "caught with the goods on." "May as well face the music," he counseled himself, in resignation. From what he had seen and surmised10 of Mrs. Hallam, he shrewdly suspected that the tune11 would prove an exceedingly lively one; she seemed a woman of imagination, originality12, and an able-bodied temper.
"You, Mr. Kirkwood!"
Again he bowed, grinning awry13.
She rose suddenly. "You will be good enough to explain your presence here," she informed him with dangerous serenity14.
"To be frank with you—"
"I advise that course, Mr. Kirkwood."
"Thanks, awf'ly.... I came here, half an hour ago, looking for a lost purse full—well, not quite full of sovereigns. It was my purse, by the way."
Suspicion glinted like foxfire in the cold green eyes beneath her puckered15 brows. "I do not understand," she said slowly and in level tones.
"I didn't expect you to," returned Kirkwood; "no more do I.... But, anyway, it must be clear to you that I've done my best for this gentleman here." He paused with an interrogative lift of his eyebrows16.
"'This gentleman' is my son, Frederick Hallam.... But you will explain—"
"Pardon me, Mrs. Hallam; I shall explain nothing, at present. Permit me to point out that your position here—like mine—is, to say the least, anomalous17." The random18 stroke told, as he could tell by the instant contraction19 of her eyes of a cat. "It would be best to defer20 explanations till a more convenient time—don't you think? Then, if you like, we can chant confidences in an antiphonal chorus. Just now your—er—son is not enjoying himself apparently21, and ... the attention of the police had best not be called to this house too often in one night."
His levity22 seemed to displease23 and perturb24 the woman; she turned from him with an impatient movement of her shoulders.
"Freddie, dear, do you feel able to walk?"
"Eh? Oh, I dare say—I don't know. Wonder would your friend—ah—Mr. Kirkwood, lend me an arm?"
"Charmed," Kirkwood declared suavely25. "If you'll take the candle, Mrs. Hallam—"
He helped the boy to his feet and, while the latter hung upon him and complained querulously, stood waiting for the woman to lead the way with the light; something which, however, she seemed in no haste to do. The pause at length puzzled Kirkwood, and he turned, to find Mrs. Hallam holding the candlestick and regarding him steadily26, with much the same expression of furtive27 mistrust as that with which she had favored him on her own door-stoop.
He helped the boy to his feet, and stood waiting.
"One moment," she interposed in confusion; "I won't keep you waiting...;" and, passing with an averted28 face, ran quickly up-stairs to the second floor, taking the light with her. Its glow faded from the walls above and Kirkwood surmised that she had entered the front bedchamber. For some moments he could hear her moving about; once, something scraped and bumped on the floor, as if a heavy bit of furniture had been moved; again there was a resounding29 thud that defied speculation30; and this was presently followed by a dull clang of metal.
His fugitive31 speculations32 afforded him little enlightenment; and, meantime, young Hallam, leaning partly against the wall and quite heavily on Kirkwood's arm, filled his ears with puerile33 oaths and lamentations; so that, but for the excuse of his really severe shaking-up, Kirkwood had been strongly tempted34 to take the youngster by the shoulders and kick him heartily35, for the health of his soul.
But eventually—it was not really long—there came the quick rush of Mrs. Hallam's feet along the upper hall, and the woman reappeared, one hand holding her skirts clear of her pretty feet as she descended36 in a rush that caused the candle's flame to flicker37 perilously38.
Half-way down, "Mr. Kirkwood!" she called tempestuously39.
"Didn't you find it?" he countered blandly40.
She stopped jerkily at the bottom, and, after a moment of confusion. "Find what, sir?" she asked.
"What you sought, Mrs. Hallam."
Smiling, he bore unflinching the prolonged inspection41 of her eyes, at once somber42 with doubt of him and flashing with indignation because of his impudence43.
"You knew I wouldn't find it, then!... Didn't you?"
"I may have suspected you wouldn't."
Now he was sure that she had been searching for the gladstone bag. That, evidently, was the bone of contention44. Calendar had sent his daughter for it, Mrs. Hallam her son; Dorothy had been successful ... But, on the other hand, Calendar and Mrs. Hallam were unquestionably allies. Why, then—?
"Where is it, Mr. Kirkwood?"
"Madam, have you the right to know?"
Through another lengthening45 pause, while they faced each other, he marked again the curious contraction of her under lip.
"I have the right," she declared steadily. "Where is it?"
"How can I be sure?"
"Then you don't know—!"
"Indeed," he interrupted, "I would be glad to feel that I ought to tell you what I know."
"What you know!"
The exclamation46, low-spoken, more an echo of her thoughts than intended for Kirkwood, was accompanied by a little shake of the woman's head, mute evidence to the fact that she was bewildered by his finesse48. And this delighted the young man beyond measure, making him feel himself master of a difficult situation. Mysteries had been woven before his eyes so persistently49, of late, that it was a real pleasure to be able to do a little mystifying on his own account. By adopting this reticent50 and non-committal attitude, he was forcing the hand of a woman old enough to be his mother and most evidently a past-mistress in the art of misleading. All of which seemed very fascinating to the amateur in adventure.
The woman would have led again, but young Hallam cut in, none too courteously51.
"I say, Mamma, it's no good standing52 here, palaverin' like a lot of flats. Besides, I'm awf'ly knocked up. Let's get home and have it out there."
Instantly his mother softened53. "My poor boy!... Of course we'll go."
Without further demur54 she swept past and down the stairway before them—slowly, for their progress was of necessity slow, and the light most needed. Once they were in the main hall, however, she extinguished the candle, placed it on a side table, and passed out through the door.
It had been left open, as before; and Kirkwood was not at all surprised to see a man waiting on the threshold,—the versatile55 Eccles, if he erred56 not. He had little chance to identify him, as it happened, for at a word from Mrs. Hallam the man bowed and, following her across the sidewalk, opened the door of a four-wheeler which, with lamps alight and liveried driver on the box, had been waiting at the carriage-block.
As they passed out, Kirkwood shut the door; and at the same moment the little party was brought up standing by a gruff and authoritative57 summons.
"Just a minute, please, you there!"
"Aha!" said Kirkwood to himself. "I thought so." And he halted, in unfeigned respect for the burly and impressive figure, garbed58 in blue and brass59, helmeted and truncheoned, bull's-eye shining on breast like the Law's unblinking and sleepless60 eye, barring the way to the carriage.
Mrs. Hallam showed less deference61 for the obstructionist. The assumed hauteur62 and impatience63 of her pose was artfully reflected in her voice as she rounded upon the bobby, with an indignant demand: "What is the meaning of this, officer?"
"Precisely64 what I wants to know, ma'am," returned the man, unyielding beneath his respectful attitude. "I'm obliged to ask you to tell me what you were doing in that 'ouse.... And what's the matter with this 'ere gentleman?" he added, with a dubious65 stare at young Hallam's bandaged head and rumpled66 clothing.
"Perhaps you don't understand," admitted Mrs. Hallam sweetly. "Of course—I see—it's perfectly67 natural. The house has been shut up for some time and—"
"Thank you, ma'am; that's just it. There was something wrong going on early in the evening, and I was told to keep an eye on the premises68. It's duty, ma'am; I've got my report to make."
"The house," said Mrs. Hallam, with the long-suffering patience of one elucidating69 a perfectly plain proposition to a being of a lower order of intelligence, "is the property of my son, Arthur Frederick Burgoyne Hallam, of Cornwall. This is—"
"Beg pardon, ma'am, but I was told Colonel George Burgoyne, of Cornwall—"
"Colonel Burgoyne died some time ago. My son is his heir. This is my son. He came to the house this evening to get some property he desired, and—it seems—tripped on the stairs and fell unconscious. I became worried about him and drove over, accompanied by my friend, Mr. Kirkwood."
The policeman looked his troubled state of mind, and wagged a doubtful head over the case. There was his duty, and there was, opposed to it, the fact that all three were garbed in the livery of the well-to-do.
At length, turning to the driver, he demanded, received, and noted70 in his memorandum71-book, the license72 number of the equipage.
"It's a very unusual case, ma'am," he apologized; "I hopes you won't 'old it against me. I'm only trying to do my duty—"
"And safeguard our property. You are perfectly justified73, officer."
"Thank you, ma'am. And would you mind giving me your cards, please, all of you?"
"Certainly not." Without hesitation74 the woman took a little hand-bag from the seat of the carriage and produced a card; her son likewise found his case and handed the officer an oblong slip.
"I've no cards with me," the American told the policeman; "my name, however, is Philip Kirkwood, and I'm staying at the Pless."
"Very good, sir; thank you." The man penciled the information in his little book. "Thank you, ma'am, and Mr. Hallam, sir. Sorry to have detained you. Good morning."
Kirkwood helped young Hallam into the carriage, gave Mrs. Hallam his hand, and followed her. The man Eccles shut the door, mounting the box beside the driver. Immediately they were in motion.
The American got a final glimpse of the bobby, standing in front of Number 9, Frognall Street, and watching them with an air of profound uncertainty75. He had Kirkwood's sympathy, therein; but he had little time to feel with him, for Mrs. Hallam turned upon him very suddenly.
"Mr. Kirkwood, will you be good enough to tell me who and what you are?"
The young man smiled his homely76, candid77 smile. "I'll be only too glad, Mrs. Hallam, when I feel sure you'll do as much for yourself."
She gave him no answer; it, was as if she were choosing words. Kirkwood braced78 himself to meet the storm; but none ensued. There was rather a lull79, which strung itself out indefinitely, to the monotonous80 music of hoofs81 and rubber tires.
Young Hallam was resting his empty blond head against the cushions, and had closed his eyes. He seemed to doze82; but, as the carriage rolled past the frequent street-lights, Kirkwood could see that the eyes of Mrs. Hallam were steadily directed to his face.
His outward composure was tempered by some amusement, by more admiration83; the woman's eyes were very handsome, even when hardest and most cold. It was not easy to conceive of her as being the mother of a son so immaturely84 mature. Why, she must have been at least thirty-eight or -nine! One wondered; she did not look it....
The carriage stopped before a house with lighted windows. Eccles jumped down from the box and scurried85 to open the front door. The radiance of a hall-lamp was streaming out into the misty86 night when he returned to release his employers.
They were returned to Craven Street! "One more lap round the track!" mused87 Kirkwood. "Wonder will the next take me back to Bermondsey Old Stairs."
At Mrs. Hallam's direction, Eccles ushered88 him into the smoking-room, on the ground floor in the rear of the dwelling89, there to wait while she helped her son up-stairs and to bed. He sighed with pleasure at first glimpse of its luxurious90 but informal comforts, and threw himself carelessly into a heavily padded lounging-chair, dropping one knee over the other and lighting91 the last of his expensive cigars, with a sensation of undiluted gratitude92; as one coming to rest in the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.
Over his shoulder a home-like illumination was cast by an electric reading-lamp shaded with red silk. At his feet brass fire-dogs winked93 sleepily in the fluttering blaze of a well-tended stove. The walls were hung with deep red, the doors and divans94 upholstered in the same restful shade. In one corner an old clock ticked soberly. The atmosphere would have proved a potent95 invitation to reverie, if not to sleep—he was very sleepy—but for the confusion in the house.
In its chambers96, through the halls, on the stairs, there were hurryings and scurryings of feet and skirts, confused with murmuring voices. Presently, in an adjoining room, Philip Kirkwood heard a maid-servant wrestling hopefully with that most exasperating97 of modern time-saving devices, the telephone as countenanced99 by our English cousins. Her patience and determination won his approval, but availed nothing for her purpose; in the outcome the telephone triumphed and the maid gave up the unequal contest.
Later, a butler entered the room; a short and sturdy fellow, extremely ill at ease. Drawing a small taboret to the side of Kirkwood's chair, he placed thereon a tray, deferentially100 imparting the information that "Missis 'Allam 'ad thought 'ow as Mister Kirkwood might care for a bit of supper."
"Please thank Mrs. Hallam for me." Kirkwood's gratified eyes ranged the laden101 tray. There were sandwiches, biscuit, cheese, and a pot of black coffee, with sugar and cream. "It was very kindly102 thought of," he added.
"Very good, sir, thank you, sir."
The man turned to go, shuffling103 soundlessly. Kirkwood was suddenly impressed with his evasiveness; ever since he had entered the room, his countenance98 had seemed turned from the guest.
"Eccles!" he called sharply, at a venture.
The butler halted, thunderstruck. "Ye-es, s-sir?"
Eccles
"Turn round, Eccles; I want a look at you."
Eccles faced him unwillingly104, with a stolid105 front but shifty eyes. Kirkwood glanced him up and down, grinning.
"Thank you, Eccles; I'll remember you now. You'll remember me, too, won't you? You're a bad actor, aren't you, Eccles?"
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," mumbled106 the man unhappily; and took instant advantage of the implied permission to go.
Intensely diverted by the recollection of Eccles' abortive107 attempt to stop him at the door of Number 9, and wondering—now that he came to think of it—why, precisely, young Hallam had deemed it necessary to travel with a body-guard and adopt such furtive methods to enter into as well as to obtain what was asserted to be his own property, Kirkwood turned active attention to the lunch.
Thoughtfully he poured himself a cup of coffee, swallowing it hot and black as it came from the silver pot; then munched108 the sandwiches.
It was kindly thought of, this early morning repast; Mrs. Hallam seemed more and more a remarkable109 woman with each phase of her character that she chose to disclose. At odds110 with him, she yet took time to think of his creature needs!
What could be her motive111,—not in feeding him, but in involving her name and fortune in an affair so strangely flavored?... This opened up a desert waste of barren speculation. "What's anybody's motive, who figures in this thundering dime-novel?" demanded the American, almost contemptuously. And—for the hundredth time—gave it up; the day should declare it, if so hap2 he lived to see that day: a distant one, he made no doubt. The only clear fact in his befogged and bemused mentality112 was that he was at once "broke" and in this business up to his ears. Well, he'd see it through; he'd nothing better to do, and—there was the girl:
Dorothy, whose eyes and lips he had but to close his own eyes to see again as vividly113 as though she stood before him; Dorothy, whose unspoiled sweetness stood out in vivid relief against this moil and toil114 of conspiracy115, like a star of evening shining clear in a stormy sky.
"Poetic116 simile117: I'm going fast," conceded Kirkwood; but he did not smile. It was becoming quite too serious a matter for laughter. For her sake, he was in the game "for keeps"; especially in view of the fact that everything—his own heart's inclination118 included—seemed to conspire119 to keep him in it. Of course he hoped for nothing in return; a pauper120 who turns squire-of-dames with matrimonial intent is open to the designation, "penniless adventurer." No; whatever service he might be to the girl would be ample recompense to him for his labors121. And afterwards, he'd go his way in peace; she'd soon forget him—if she hadn't already. Women (he propounded122 gravely) are queer: there's no telling anything about them!
One of the most unreadable specimens123 of the sex on which he pronounced this highly original dictum, entered the room just then; and he found himself at once out of his chair and his dream, bowing.
"Mrs. Hallam."
The woman nodded and smiled graciously. "Eccles has attended to your needs, I hope? Please don't stop smoking." She sank into an arm-chair on the other side of the hearth124 and, probably by accident, out of the radius125 of illumination from the lamp; sitting sidewise, one knee above the other, her white arms immaculate against the somber background of shadowed crimson126.
She was very handsome indeed, just then; though a keener light might have proved less flattering.
"Now, Mr. Kirkwood?" she opened briskly, with a second intimate and friendly nod; and paused, her pose receptive.
Kirkwood sat down again, smiling good-natured appreciation127 of her unprejudiced attitude.
"Your son, Mrs. Hallam—?"
"Oh, Freddie's doing well enough.... Freddie," she explained, "has a delicate constitution and has seen little of the world. Such melodrama128 as to-night's is apt to shock him severely129. We must make allowances, Mr. Kirkwood."
Kirkwood grinned again, a trace unsympathetically; he was unable to simulate any enthusiasm on the subject of poor Freddie, whom he had sized up with passable acumen130 as a spoiled and coddled child completely under the thumb of an extremely clever mother.
"Yes," he responded vaguely131; "he'll be quite fit after a night's sleep, I dare say."
The woman was watching him keenly, beneath her lowered lashes132. "I think," she said deliberately133, "that it is time we came to an understanding."
Kirkwood agreed—"Yes?" affably.
"I purpose being perfectly straightforward134. To begin with, I don't place you, Mr. Kirkwood. You are an unknown quantity, a new factor. Won't you please tell me what you are and.... Are you a friend of Mr. Calendar's?"
"I think I may lay claim to that honor, though"—to Kirkwood's way of seeing things some little frankness on his own part would be essential if they were to get on—"I hardly know him, Mrs. Hallam. I had the pleasure of meeting him only this afternoon."
She knitted her brows over this statement.
"That, I assure you, is the truth," he laughed.
"But ... I really don't understand."
"Nor I, Mrs. Hallam. Calendar aside, I am Philip Kirkwood, American, resident abroad for some years, a native of San Francisco, of a certain age, unmarried, by profession a poor painter."
"And—?"
"Beyond that? I presume I must tell you, though I confess I'm in doubt...." He hesitated, weighing candor135 in the balance with discretion136.
"But who are you for? Are you in George Calendar's pay?"
"Heaven forfend!"—piously. "My sole interest at the present moment is to unravel137 a most entrancing mystery—"
"Entitled 'Dorothy Calendar'! Of course. You've known her long?"
"Eight hours, I believe," he admitted gravely; "less than that, in fact."
"Miss Calendar's interests will not suffer through anything you may tell me."
"Whether they will or no, I see I must swing a looser tongue, or you'll be showing me the door."
The woman shook her head, amused, "Not until," she told him significantly.
"Very well, then." And he launched into an abridged138 narrative139 of the night's events, as he understood them, touching140 lightly on his own circumstances, the real poverty which had brought him back to Craven Street by way of Frognall. "And there you have it all, Mrs. Hallam."
She sat in silent musing141. Now and again he caught the glint of her eyes and knew that he was being appraised142 with such trained acumen as only long knowledge of men can give to women. He wondered if he were found wanting.... Her dark head bended, elbow on knee, chin resting lightly in the cradle of her slender, parted fingers, the woman thought profoundly, her reverie ending with a brief, curt143 laugh, musical and mirthless as the sound of breaking glass.
"It is so like Calendar!" she exclaimed: "so like him that one sees how foolish it was to trust—no, not to trust, but to believe that he could ever be thrown off the scent144, once he got nose to ground. So, if we suffer, my son and I, I shall have only myself to thank!"
Kirkwood waited in patient attention till she chose to continue. When she did "Now for my side of the case!" cried Mrs. Hallam; and rising, began to pace the room, her slender and rounded figure swaying gracefully145, the while she talked.
"George Calendar is a scoundrel," she said: "a swindler, gambler,—what I believe you Americans call a confidence-man. He is also my late husband's first cousin. Some years since he found it convenient to leave England, likewise his wife and daughter. Mrs. Calendar, a country-woman of yours, by the bye, died shortly afterwards. Dorothy, by the merest accident, obtained a situation as private secretary in the household of the late Colonel Burgoyne, of The Cliffs, Cornwall. You follow me?"
"Yes, perfectly."
"Colonel Burgoyne died, leaving his estates to my son, some time ago. Shortly afterwards Dorothy Calendar disappeared. We know now that her father took her away, but then the disappearance146 seemed inexplicable147, especially since with her vanished a great deal of valuable information. She alone knew of the location of certain of the old colonel's personal effects."
"He was an eccentric. One of his peculiarities148 involved the secreting149 of valuables in odd places; he had no faith in banks. Among these valuables were the Burgoyne family jewels—quite a treasure, believe me, Mr. Kirkwood. We found no note of them among the colonel's papers, and without Dorothy were powerless to pursue a search for them. We advertised and employed detectives, with no result. It seems that father and daughter were at Monte Carlo at the time."
"Beautifully circumstantial, my dear lady," commented Kirkwood—to his inner consciousness. Outwardly he maintained consistently a pose of impassive gullibility150.
"This afternoon, for the first time, we received news of the Calendars. Calendar himself called upon me, to beg a loan. I explained our difficulty and he promised that Dorothy should send us the information by the morning's post. When I insisted, he agreed to bring it himself, after dinner, this evening.... I make it quite clear?" she interrupted, a little anxious.
"Quite clear, I assure you," he assented151 encouragingly.
"Strangely enough, he had not been gone ten minutes when my son came in from a conference with our solicitors152, informing me that at last a memorandum had turned up, indicating that the heirlooms would be found in a safe secreted153 behind a dresser in Colonel Burgoyne's bedroom."
"At Number 9, Frognall Street."
"Yes.... I proposed going there at once, but it was late and we were dining at the Pless with an acquaintance, a Mr. Mulready, whom I now recall as a former intimate of George Calendar. To our surprise we saw Calendar and his daughter at a table not far from ours. Mr. Mulready betrayed some agitation154 at the sight of Calendar, and told me that Scotland Yard had a man out with a warrant for Calendar's arrest, on old charges. For old sake's sake, Mr. Mulready begged me to give Calendar a word of warning. I did so—foolishly, it seems: Calendar was at that moment planning to rob us, Mulready aiding and abetting155 him."
The woman paused before Kirkwood, looking down upon him. "And so," she concluded, "we have been tricked and swindled. I can scarcely believe it of Dorothy Calendar."
"I, for one, don't believe it." Kirkwood spoke47 quietly, rising. "Whatever the culpability156 of Calendar and Mulready, Dorothy was only their hoodwinked tool."
"But, Mr. Kirkwood, she must have known the jewels were not hers."
"Yes," he assented passively, but wholly unconvinced.
"And what," she demanded with a gesture of exasperation157, "what would you advise?"
"Scotland Yard," he told her bluntly.
"But it's a family secret! It must not appear in the papers. Don't you understand—George Calendar is my husband's cousin!"
"I can think of nothing else, unless you pursue them in person."
"But—whither?"
"That remains158 to be discovered; I can tell you nothing more than I have.... May I thank you for your hospitality, express my regrets that I should unwittingly have been made the agent of this disaster, and wish you good night—or, rather, good morning, Mrs. Hallam?"
For a moment she held him under a calculating glance which he withstood with graceless fortitude159. Then, realizing that he was determined160 not by any means to be won to her cause, she gave him her hand, with a commonplace wish that he might find his affairs in better order than seemed probable; and rang for Eccles.
The butler showed him out.
He took away with him two strong impressions; the one visual, of a strikingly handsome woman in a wonderful gown, standing under the red glow of a reading-lamp, in an attitude of intense mental concentration, her expression plainly indicative of a train of thought not guiltless of vindictiveness161; the other, more mental but as real, he presently voiced to the huge bronze lions brooding over desolate162 Trafalgar Square.
"Well," appreciated Mr. Kirkwood with gusto, "she's got Ananias and Sapphira talked to a standstill, all right!" He ruminated163 over this for a moment. "Calendar can lie some, too; but hardly with her picturesque164 touch.... Uncommon165 ingenious, I call it. All the same, there were only about a dozen bits of tiling that didn't fit into her mosaic166 a little bit.... I think they're all tarred with the same stick—all but the girl. And there's something afoot a long sight more devilish and crafty167 than that shilling-shocker of madam's.... Dorothy Calendar's got about as much active part in it as I have. I'm only from California, but they've got to show me, before I'll believe a word against her. Those infernal scoundrels!...Somebody's got to be on the girl's side and I seem to have drawn168 the lucky straw.... Good Heavens! is it possible for a grown man to fall heels over head in love in two short hours? I don't believe it. It's just interest—nothing more.... And I'll have to have a change of clothes before I can do anything further."
He bowed gratefully to the lions, in view of their tolerant interest in his soliloquy, and set off very suddenly round the square and up St. Martin's Lane, striking across town as directly as might be for St. Pancras Station. It would undoubtedly169 be a long walk, but cabs were prohibited by his straitened means, and the busses were all abed and wouldn't be astir for hours.
He strode along rapidly, finding his way more through intuition than by observation or familiarity with London's geography—indeed, was scarce aware of his surroundings; for his brain was big with fine imagery, rapt in a glowing dream of knighterrantry and chivalric170 deeds.
Thus is it ever and alway with those who in the purity of young hearts rush in where angels fear to tread; if these, Kirkwood and his ilk, be fools, thank God for them, for with such foolishness is life savored171 and made sweet and sound! To Kirkwood the warp172 of the world and the woof of it was Romance, and it wrapped him round, a magic mantle173 to set him apart from all things mean and sordid174 and render him impregnable and invisible to the haunting Shade of Care.
Which, by the same token, presently lost track of him entirely175, and wandered off to find and bedevil some other poor devil. And Kirkwood, his eyes like his spirit elevated, saw that the clouds of night were breaking, the skies clearing, that the East pulsed ever more strongly with the dim golden promise of the day to come. And this he chose to take for an omen—prematurely, it may be.
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1
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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hap
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| n.运气；v.偶然发生 | |
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3
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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5
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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6
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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7
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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8
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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9
elucidation
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| n.说明，阐明 | |
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10
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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11
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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12
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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13
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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14
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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15
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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17
anomalous
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| adj.反常的；不规则的 | |
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18
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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19
contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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20
defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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21
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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22
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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23
displease
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| vt.使不高兴，惹怒；n.不悦，不满，生气 | |
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24
perturb
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| v.使不安，烦扰，扰乱，使紊乱 | |
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25
suavely
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26
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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27
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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28
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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29
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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30
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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31
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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32
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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33
puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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34
tempted
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|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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35
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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36
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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37
flicker
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|
| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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38
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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39
tempestuously
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| adv.剧烈地，暴风雨似地 | |
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40
blandly
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|
| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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41
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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42
somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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43
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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44
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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45
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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46
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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47
spoke
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|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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48
finesse
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| n.精密技巧，灵巧，手腕 | |
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49
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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50
reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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51
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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52
standing
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|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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53
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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54
demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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55
versatile
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| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
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56
erred
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| 犯错误，做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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58
garbed
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| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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60
sleepless
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|
| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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61
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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62
hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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63
impatience
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|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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64
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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65
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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66
rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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68
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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69
elucidating
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|
| v.阐明，解释( elucidate的现在分词 ) | |
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70
noted
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|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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71
memorandum
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|
| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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72
license
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|
| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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73
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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74
hesitation
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|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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75
uncertainty
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|
| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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76
homely
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|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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77
candid
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|
| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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78
braced
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|
| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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79
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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80
monotonous
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|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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81
hoofs
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|
| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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82
doze
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|
| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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83
admiration
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|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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84
immaturely
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|
| adv.不成熟地 | |
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85
scurried
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|
| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
misty
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|
| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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87
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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88
ushered
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|
| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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90
luxurious
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|
| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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91
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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92
gratitude
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|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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93
winked
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|
| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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94
divans
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|
| n.（可作床用的）矮沙发( divan的名词复数 )；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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95
potent
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|
| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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96
chambers
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|
| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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97
exasperating
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|
| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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98
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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99
countenanced
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| v.支持，赞同，批准( countenance的过去式 ) | |
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100
deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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101
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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102
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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103
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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104
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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105
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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106
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
abortive
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|
| adj.不成功的，发育不全的 | |
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108
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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110
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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111
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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112
mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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113
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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114
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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115
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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116
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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117
simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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118
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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119
conspire
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| v.密谋，（事件等）巧合，共同导致 | |
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120
pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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121
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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122
propounded
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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124
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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125
radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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126
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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127
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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128
melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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129
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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130
acumen
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| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
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131
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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132
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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133
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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134
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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137
unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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abridged
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| 削减的，删节的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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appraised
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| v.估价( appraise的过去式和过去分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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148
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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secreting
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的现在分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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gullibility
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| n.易受骗，易上当，轻信 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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154
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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abetting
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| v.教唆（犯罪）( abet的现在分词 )；煽动；怂恿；支持 | |
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culpability
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| n.苛责，有罪 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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vindictiveness
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| 恶毒；怀恨在心 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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ruminated
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| v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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chivalric
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| 有武士气概的，有武士风范的 | |
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savored
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的过去式和过去分词 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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warp
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| vt.弄歪，使翘曲，使不正常，歪曲，使有偏见 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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