Deuces Wild/Chapter 4

N the meantime Forbes was invited by the burglar to come in and sit down. He entered the room, thoroughly hypnotized.

“Sit down in that chair there,” went on the man in the mask, indicating a fine Sheraton. Strange, that Forbes should give any particular attention to the make of a chair. “Theres a good chap,” came hoarsely. “I should hate to give you a crack on the head. If you keep perfectly quiet and do as you're told, I shan't be forced to hurt you. Now listen carefully. Take out your handkerchief. Top pocket, overcoat, if you please! Now tie it over your mouth. That's the way.”

Forbes was by no means a coward; but the unexpectedness of the encounter stunned him. He forgot that he had ever wanted to be an amateur detective. The burglar rose to his feet with astonishing agility, Forbes watched him, under a malevolent enchantment He saw the man whip down from the wall a rare old priest's stole.

“Put your hands behind the chair and hold them there. The automatic's the quickest thing in the world.”

A moment later Forbes felt the rough edges of the stole sink into his wrists. The ends went in and out of the spindles and the knot came under his elbows. Next, the handkerchief was given a precautionary twist. The Bokhara embroidery on the low-boy was also forced into service. This secured his ankles to the legs of the chair.

“Don't know what you came in for, for you opened the door without knocking. Never mind.” The burglar slipped the pistol into a pocket “Now, don't worry. Perhaps sometime before midnight the people who live here will come to your assistance.”

Then the rogue knelt before the safe again and took out an exquisite Florentine jewel-box. He did not bother to try the lock. He was evidently pressed for time. He simply wrapped it up in a newspaper, tied it securely with a string he found in a work-basket, picked up his tools, his hat and coat, and paused for a moment on the threshold. Forbes could see the sparkle of his eyes through the holes in the mask. He also saw that there was a slight gash across the knuckles of the man's left hand.

“Sorry to leave you in this fix.” The man bowed briefly and went out,

Forbes heard the snap of the switch-button. Instantly he was in total darkness. Then he heard the click of the bolt. He was now locked in. Presently his brain resumed its functions; he began to think in little sparks of thought: as if permitting electric fluid to enter a wire by degrees, jerkily. For the last ten minutes he had been as completely hypnotized as if he had been staring for hours into a Swami's crystal. His first coherent thought was one of those best left unspoken, unwritten. He had entered, picturing in his mind a familiar scene, six familiar faces; and this instead! It would have hypnotized any one.

A blockhead! A sheep! To have allowed himself to be trussed up this way, without a single struggle, without a word! A fine detective! He strained at his hands, and then at his ankles, but desisted when the chair threatened to topple over. On the floor he would be absolutely helpless. So he sat there in the dark, mouthing at his handkerchief and trying to get his teeth into it.

The man had a freshly skinned knuckle. He would remember that when the police came. He would never be able to recall the voice, so effectually muffled behind the curtain of the mask. In evening dress, too, and wore it to the manner born: here in little old New York! And then it came upon him with the dazzlement of sunrise. The mysterious burglar of the newspapers! He recollected some of the drawings he had made of heroes in durance vile, ironically recollected them, along with the balderdash they were supposed to illustrate. Why hadn't he flung himself over backward while the fellow was tying his hands together? He was no infant; he was athletic, strong as the average man of his height and weight. He might have got the upper hand.... Oh, rot! It was all very well to think of the things to do when it was too late. Any battle could be won if you fought it backward!

He began to swear again; guttural sounds which started in his throat and ended, bassoon-like, in his nose. Dash the door-boy, to have given him the wrong floor! Somewhere up above or down below they were waiting for him; the cards were purring, the chips clicking musically against one another. Deuces wild. If you held a king and queen of any suit, together with three deuces, you could call it four queens, or four kings, or a royal, just as you pleased. Open on anything; no weary waiting for jacks or better; something doing every minute. (It never occurred to him that the burglar had already saved him about fifty dollars!)

And when the occupants of this room returned they would doubtless, and with reason, hand him over to the police, and the deuce (wild, indeed!) would be to pay. Moreover, he would never hear the last of it. He, who had never left himself open to ridicule, would be the laughing-stock of the town.

Numbness crept into his arms and legs. He could not shift the handkerchief a solitary inch, not a fraction of an inch. Occasionally he heard sounds; the lift-door closing, some one going up or down the stairs, the rattle of a far-off elevated train, the honk of an auto-horn in the street below. Beautiful situation for J. Mortimer Forbes, famous illustrator! Hours and hours and hours passed; at least so it seemed to him. 0£ course it was just his luck to strike a place where the people kept ungodly hours. He would not be able to work for days. The gold thread of the stole cut like a razor's edge. The beggar might have left the lights on, so that he could have found some amusement in staring at the furnishings and speculating as to the taste of the absent ones. But to sit in pure darkness (for the blinds were down), his nerves all awrack from listening and waiting, his lungs aching for the want of a deep breath—it was all mighty unpleasant.

Thank heaven! Some one was turning a key in the lock. They had come at last. He suddenly found himself blinking into the light Over the threshold came an elderly man and a young woman.

“Good heavens!” cried the young woman.

Forbes said nothing, but his eyes threatened to fall out of his head. For the young woman was no less a person than she of the copper-beech hair; and her face was as sad and beautiful as Bellini's Madonna in that rickety old church by the side of that smelly old canal in Venice!