Part 5 (1/2)

The moon had risen, and the snowy roofs of Upper Asquewan Falls sparkled in the lime-light of the heavens. Under one of those roofs was the girl of the station--weeping no more, he hoped. Certainly she had eyes that held even the least susceptible--to which cla.s.s Mr. Magee prided himself he belonged. He wished he might see her again; might talk to her without interruption from that impossible ”mamma.”

Mr. Magee turned back into the room. His fire was but red glowing ashes.

He threw off his dressing-gown, and began to unlace his shoes.

”There _has_ been too much crude melodrama in my novels,” he reflected.

”It's so easy to write. But I'm going to get away from all that up here.

I'm going--”

Mr. Magee paused, with one shoe poised in his hand. For from below came the sharp crack of a pistol, followed by the crash of breaking gla.s.s.

CHAPTER III

BLONDES AND SUFFRAGETTES

Mr. Magee slipped into his dressing gown, seized a candle, and like the boy in the nursery rhyme with one shoe off and one shoe on, ran into the hall. All was silent and dark below. He descended to the landing, and stood there, holding the candle high above his head. It threw a dim light as far as the bottom of the stairs, but quickly lost the battle with the shadows that lay beyond.

”h.e.l.lo,” the voice of Bland, the haberdasher, came out of the blackness.

”The G.o.ddess of Liberty, as I live! What's your next imitation?”

”There seems to be something doing,” said Mr. Magee.

Mr. Bland came into the light, partially disrobed, his revolver in his hand.

”Somebody trying to get in by the front door,” he explained. ”I shot at him to scare him away. Probably one of your novelists.”

”Or Arabella,” remarked Mr. Magee, coming down.

”No,” answered Bland. ”I distinctly saw a derby hat.”

With Mr. Magee descended the yellow candlelight, and brus.h.i.+ng aside the shadows of the hotel office, it revealed a mattress lying on the floor close to the clerk's desk, behind which stood the safe. On the mattress was the bedding Magee had presented to the haberdasher, hastily thrown back by the lovelorn one on rising.

”You prefer to sleep down here,” Mr. Magee commented.

”Near the letters of Arabella--yes,” replied Bland. His keen eyes met Magee's. There was a challenge in them.

Mr. Magee turned, and the yellow light of the candle flickered wanly over the great front door Even as he looked at it, the door was pushed open, and a queer figure of a man stood framed against a background of glittering snow. Mr. Bland's arm flew up.

”Don't shoot,” cried Magee.

”No, please don't,” urged the man in the doorway. A beard, a pair of round owlish spectacles, and two ridiculous ear-m.u.f.fs, left only a suggestion of face here and there. He closed the door and stepped into the room. ”I have every right here, I a.s.sure you, even though my arrival is somewhat unconventional. See--I have the key.” He held up a large bra.s.s key that was the counterpart of the one Hal Bentley had bestowed upon Mr. Magee in that club on far-off Forty-fourth Street.

”Keys to burn,” muttered Mr. Bland sourly.

”I bear no ill will with regard to the shooting,” went on the newcomer.

He took off his derby hat and ruefully regarded a hole through the crown. His bald head seemed singularly frank and naked above a face of so many disguises. ”It is only natural that men alone on a mountain should defend themselves from invaders at two in the morning. My escape was narrow, but there is no ill will.”

He blinked about him, his breath a white cloud in the cold room.