Safe for the moment behind a locked door, Mr. Magee paused to get his breath. The glory of battle filled his soul. It was not until long afterward that he realized the battle had been a mere scuffle in the dark. He felt his cheeks burn with excitement like a sweet girl graduate’s — the cheeks of a man who had always prided himself he was the unmoved cynic in any situation.
With no thought for Mr. Bland, bound in his uneasy chair, Mr. Magee hurried up the broad staircase of Baldpate. Now came the most gorgeous scene of all. A fair-haired lady; a knight she had sent forth to battle; the knight returned. “You asked me to bring you this, my lady.” Business of surprise and joy on the lady’s part — business also, perhaps, of adoration for the knight.
At the right of the stairs lay seventeen and the lady, at the left a supposedly uninhabited land. As Mr. Magee reached the second floor, blithely picturing the scene in which he was to play so satisfactory a part — he paused. For half-way down the corridor to the left an open door threw a faint light into the hall, and in that light stood a woman he had never seen before. In this order came Mr. Magee’s impressions of her, fur-coated, tall, dark, handsome, with the haughty manner of one engaging a chauffeur.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, “but are you by any chance Mr. Magee?”
The knight leaned weakly against the wall and tried to think.
“I–I am,” he managed to say.
“I’m so glad I’ve found you,” replied the girl. It seemed to the dazed Magee that her dark eyes were not overly happy. “I can not ask you in, I’m afraid. I do not know the custom on such an occasion — does anybody? I am alone with my maid. Hal Bentley, when I wrote to him for a key to this place, told me of your being here, and said that I was to put myself under your protection.”
Mr. Magee arranged a bow, most of which was lost in the dark.
“Delighted, I’m sure,” he murmured.
“I shall try not to impose on you,” she went on. “The whole affair is so unusual as to be almost absurd. But Mr. Bentley said that you were — very kind. He said I might trust you. I am in great trouble. I have come here to get something — and I haven’t the least idea how to proceed. I came because I must have it — so much depends on it.”
Prophetically Mr. Magee clutched in his pocket the package for which he had done battle.
“I may be too late.” The girl’s eyes grew wide. “That would be terribly unfortunate. I do not wish you to be injured serving me—” She lowered her voice. “But if there is any way in which you can help me in — in this difficulty — I can never be grateful enough. Down-stairs in the safe there is, I believe, a package containing a large sum of money.”
Mr. Magee’s hand closed convulsively in his pocket.
“If there is any way possible,” said the girl, “I must obtain that package. I give you my word I have as much right to it as any one who will appear at the inn. The honor and happiness of one who is very dear to me is involved. I ask you — made bold as I am by my desperation and Hal Bentley’s assurances — to aid me if you find you can.”
With the eyes of a man in a dream Mr. Magee looked into the face of the latest comer to Baldpate.
“Hal Bentley is an old friend and a bully chap,” he said. “It will be a great pleasure to serve a friend of his.” He paused, congratulating himself that these were words, idle words. “When did you arrive, may I ask?”
“I believe you were having dinner when I came,” she answered. “Mr. Bentley gave me a key to the kitchen door, and we found a back stairway. There seemed to be a company below — I wanted to see only you.”
“I repeat,” said Mr. Magee, “I shall be happy to help you, if I can.” His word to another lady, he reflected, was binding. “I suggest that there is no harm in waiting until morning.”
“But — I am afraid it was to-night—” she began.
“I understand,” Magee replied. “The plans went wrong. You may safely let your worries rest until to-morrow.” He was on the point of adding something about relying on him, but remembered in time which girl he was addressing. “Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
The girl drew the fur coat closer about her shoulders. She suggested to Magee a sheltered luxurious life — he could see her regaling young men with tea before a fireplace in a beautiful room — insipid tea in thimble-like cups.
“You are very kind,” she said. “I hardly expected to be here the night through. It is rather cold, but I am sure we have rugs and coats enough.”
Mr. Magee’s duty was clear.
“I’ll build you a fire,” he announced. The girl seemed distressed at the thought.
“No, I couldn’t let you,” she said. “I am sure it isn’t necessary. I will say good night now.”
“Good night. If there is anything I can do—”
“I shall tell you,” she finished, smiling. “I believe I forgot to give you my name. I am Myra Thornhill, of Reuton. Until to-morrow.” She went in and closed the door.
Mr. Magee sat limply down on the cold stair. All the glory was gone from the scene he had pictured a moment ago. He had the money, yes, the money procured in valiant battle, but at the moment he bore the prize to his lady, another appeared from the dark to claim it. What should he do?
He got up and started for number seventeen. The girl who waited there was very charming and attractive — but what did he know about her? What did she want with this money? He paused This other girl came from Hal Bentley, a friend of friends. And she claimed to have every right to this precious package. What were her exact words?
Why not wait until morning? Perhaps, in the cold gray dawn, he would see more clearly his way through this preposterous tangle. Anyhow, it would be dangerous to give into any woman’s keeping just then a package so earnestly sought by desperate men. Yes, he would wait until morning. That was the only reasonable course.
Reasonable? That was the word he used. A knight prating of the reasonable!
Mr. Magee unlocked the door of number seven and entered. Lighting his candles and prodding the fire, he composed a note to the waiting girl in seventeen:
“Everything all right. Sleep peacefully. I am on the job. Will see you to-morrow. Mr. — Billy.”
Slipping this message under her door, the ex-knight hurried away to avoid an interview, and sat down in his chair before the fire.
“I must think,” he muttered. “I must get this thing straight.”
For an hour he pondered, threshing out as best he could this mysterious game in which he played a leading part unequipped with a book of rules. He went back to the very beginning — even to the station at Upper Asquewan Falls where the undeniable charm of the first of these girls had won him completely. He reviewed the arrival of Bland and his babble of haberdashery, of Professor Bolton and his weird tale of peroxide blondes and suffragettes, of Miss Norton and her impossible mother, of Cargan, hater of reformers, and Lou Max, foe of suspicion. He thought of the figure in the dark at the foot of the steps that had fought so savagely for the package now in his own pocket — of the girl who had pleaded so convincingly on the balcony for his help — of the colder, more sophisticated woman who came with Hal Bentley’s authority to ask of him the same favor. Myra Thornhill? He had heard the name, surely. But where?
Mr. Magee’s thoughts went back to New York. He wondered what they would say if they could see him now, whirling about in a queer romance not of his own writing — he who had come to Baldpate Inn to get away from mere romancing and look into men’s hearts, a philosopher. He laughed out loud.
“To-morrow is another day,” he reflected. “I’ll solve this whole thing then. They can’t go or playing without me — I’ve got the ball.”