The Gates of Chance | Page 8

it not?

"One may meet with many things on the highway of life--poverty,
disease, sorrow, treacheries. These are disagreeable, I admit, but they
are positive; one may overcome or, at least, forget them. But suppose
you stand confronting the negative of existence; the highway is clear,
indeed, but how interminable its vista, its straight, smooth, and
intolerably level stretch. That road is mine.
"Yes; I have tried the by-paths. Once I was shanghaied; twice I have
been marooned and by my own men. That last amused me--a little. I
was the second man to arrive at Bordeaux in the Paris- Madrid race of
1903; during the Spanish-American war I acted as a spy for the United
States government in Barcelona.
"I made the common mistake of confounding the unusual with the
interesting. Romance is a shy bird, and not to be hunted with a brass
band. Where is the heart of life, if not at one's elbow? At the farthest,
one has only to turn the corner of the street. It is useless to look for
prodigies in the abyss, but every stream has its straws that float; I have
determined to watch and follow them.
"I want a companion, and so I advertised after my own fashion. I
selected you, tentatively, from the mob; later on I made the test more
complete. But you have no boutonniere; allow me."
He took a spray of orchid from the silver bowl in the centre of the table
and handed it to me.
I protested: "I have my gardenia--" I looked at my button-hole and it
was gone.
Mr. Indiman smiled. "Let me confess," he said. "You recall the
abnormal tension of your nerves as you sat waiting in my reception-
room. Merely the effect produced by a mixture of certain chemical
gases turned on from a tap under my hand. Then the crash of a brazen
gong; it is what the scientists call 'massive stimulation,' resolving
super-excitation into partial hypnosis.
"Once I had you in the hypnotic condition, the rest was simple enough.

I had only to suggest to your mind the three objects on the table, and
you saw them. The bank-note, the revolver--they were as immaterial as
the gardenia that no longer adorns your button-hole.
"I did not attempt to influence your choice among the three, as that
would have destroyed the value of the test to me. But, as I had hoped,
you accepted my invitation to dinner. Frankly, now, I am
curious--why?"
"That is very simple," I answered. "I had not eaten anything for two
days, and I detected the odor of that exquisite filet. Not the slightest
ethical significance in the choice, as you see."
Esper Indiman laughed. "I should have kept my pantry door closed. But
it does not matter; I am satisfied. Shall we go into the library for
coffee?"
Directly opposite the door of the latter apartment stood an easel holding
an unframed canvas. A remarkable portrait--little as I know about
pictures, I could see that clearly enough. A three-quarter length of a
woman wearing a ducal coronet and dressed in a magnificent costume
of red velvet.
"Lely's 'Red Duchess,'" remarks my host, carelessly. "You may have
seen it in the Hermitage at Petersburg."
I looked at the picture again. Why should this masterpiece not have
been properly mounted and glazed? The edges of the canvas were
jagged and uneven, as though it had been cut from its frame with a not
oversharp knife. We sat down to our coffee and liqueurs.
As I awake in the narrow quarters of my hall bedroom I am inclined to
believe that the occurrences of the preceding night were only the
phantasms of a disordered digestion; where had I eaten that Welsh
rabbit? The morning paper had been thrown over the transom, and,
following my usual custom, I reached for it and began reading. Among
the foreign despatches I note this paragraph dated St. Petersburg:

"The famous portrait of the Duchess of Lackshire, by Sir Peter Lely,
better known as the 'Red Duchess,' has disappeared from the gallery of
the Hermitage. It is now admitted that it must have been stolen, cut
bodily from its frame and carried away. The theft took place several
months ago, but the secret has just become public property. The
absence of the picture from its accustomed place had, of course, been
noted, but it was understood that it had been removed for cleaning. An
enormous reward is to be offered for information leading to its
recovery."
There is also a letter for me which I had not noticed until now. It was
from Indiman, and it read:
"Dear Thorp,--Dine with me to-night at half after eight. I noticed that
you were rather taken with my 'Red Duchess'; we will ask the lady to