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Page 31
There was something directly personal in the appeal of the pillows and
the bed. It was not general; it was for him. And Keith responded.
He made another note of the time, a half-hour after one, when he turned
in. He allotted himself four hours of sleep, for it was his intention
to be up with the sun.
XII
Necessity had made of Keith a fairly accurate human chronometer. In the
second year of his fugitivism he had lost his watch. At first it was
like losing an arm, a part of his brain, a living friend. From that
time until he came into possession of Conniston's timepiece he was his
own hour-glass and his own alarm clock. He became proficient.
Brady's bed and the Circe-breasted pillows that supported his head were
his undoing. The morning after Shan Tung's visit he awoke to find the
sun flooding in through the eastern window of his room, The warmth of
it as it fell full in his face, setting his eyes blinking, told him it
was too late. He guessed it was eight o'clock. When he fumbled his
watch out from under his pillow and looked at it, he found it was a
quarter past. He got up quietly, his mind swiftly aligning itself to
the happenings of yesterday. He stretched himself until his muscles
snapped, and his chest expanded with deep breaths of air from the
windows he had left open when he went to bed. He was fit. He was ready
for Shan Tung, for McDowell. And over this physical readiness there
surged the thrill of a glorious anticipation. It fairly staggered him
to discover how badly he wanted to see Mary Josephine again.
He wondered if she was still asleep and answered that there was little
possibility of her being awake--even at eight o'clock. Probably she
would sleep until noon, the poor, tired, little thing! He smiled
affectionately into the mirror over Brady's dressing-table. And then
the unmistakable sound of voices in the outer room took him curiously
to the door. They were subdued voices. He listened hard, and his heart
pumped faster. One of them was Wallie's voice; the other was Mary
Josephine's.
He was amused with himself at the extreme care with which he proceeded
to dress. It was an entirely new sensation. Wallie had provided him
with the necessaries for a cold sponge and in some mysterious interim
since their arrival had brushed and pressed the most important of
Conniston's things. With the Englishman's wardrobe he had brought up
from barracks a small chest which was still locked. Until this morning
Keith had not noticed it. It was less than half as large as a steamer
trunk and had the appearance of being intended as a strong box rather
than a traveling receptacle. It was ribbed by four heavy bands of
copper, and the corners and edges were reinforced with the same metal.
The lock itself seemed to be impregnable to one without a key.
Conniston's name was heavily engraved on a copper tablet just above the
lock.
Keith regarded the chest with swiftly growing speculation. It was not a
thing one would ordinarily possess. It was an object which, on the face
of it, was intended to be inviolate except to its master key, a holder
of treasure, a guardian of mystery and of precious secrets. In the
little cabin up on the Barren Conniston had said rather indifferently,
"You may find something among my things down there that will help you
out." The words flashed back to Keith. Had the Englishman, in that
casual and uncommunicative way of his, referred to the contents of this
chest? Was it not possible that it held for him a solution to the
mystery that was facing him in the presence of Mary Josephine? A sense
of conviction began to possess him. He examined the lock more closely
and found that with proper tools it could be broken.
He finished dressing and completed his toilet by brushing his beard. On
account of Mary Josephine he found himself regarding this hirsute
tragedy with a growing feeling of disgust, in spite of the fact that it
gave him an appearance rather distinguished and military. He wanted it
off. Its chief crime was that it made him look older. Besides, it was
inclined to be reddish. And it must tickle and prick like the deuce
when--
He brought himself suddenly to salute with an appreciative grin.
"You're there, and you've got to stick," he chuckled. After all, he was
a likable-looking chap, even with that handicap. He was glad.
He opened his door so quietly that Mary Josephine did not see him at
first. Her back was toward him as she bent over the dining-table. Her
slim little figure was dressed in some soft stuff all crinkly from
packing. Her hair, brown and soft, was piled up in shining coils on the
top of her head. For the life of him Keith couldn't keep his eyes from
traveling from the top of that glowing head to the little high-heeled
feet on the floor. They were adorable, slim little, aristocratic feet
with dainty ankles! He stood looking at her until she turned and caught
him.
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