It was her intelligible wish that they should never meet again, for,
having accomplished her errand, she had flown from the possibility of his
thanks.
It was so clear, now! He perceived it all, plainly. Somehow (though it was
hard to surmise how) she had found out that Anisty had stolen the jewels;
somehow (and one wondered at what risk) she had contrived to take them
from him and bring them back to their owner. And Anisty had followed.
Poor little woman! What had she not suffered, what perils had she not
braved, to prove that there was honor even in thieves! It could have been
at no inconsiderable danger,--a danger not incommensurate with that of
robbing a tigress of her whelps,--that she had managed to filch his loot
from that pertinacious and vindictive soul, Anisty!
But she had accomplished it; and all for him!
If only he could find her, _now!_
There was a clue to his hand in that bag, of course, but by this act she
had for ever removed from him the right to investigate _that_.
If he could only find that cabby.
Perhaps if he tried at the Madison Square rank, immediately....
Besides, it was clearly his duty not to remain in the flat alone with the
jewels another night. There was but one attainable place of safety for
them; and that the safe of a reputable hotel. He would return to the
Bartholdi at once, merely pausing on his way to inquire of the cabmen if
they could send their brother-nighthawk to him.
Maitland shook himself into his topcoat, jammed hat upon head, dropped the
jewels into one pocket, the cigarette case into another, and--on
impulse--Anisty's revolver, with its two unexploded cartridges, into a
third; and pressed the call button for O'Hagan, not waiting, however, for
that worthy to climb the stairs, but meeting him in the entry hall.
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