V.


INCOGNITO

At noon, precisely, Maitland stirred between the sheets for the first
time since he had thrown himself into his bed--stirred, and, confused by
whatever alarm had awakened him, yawned stupendously, and sat up, rubbing
clenched fists in his eyes to clear them of sleep's cobwebs. Then he bent
forward, clasping his knees, smiled largely, replaced the smile with a
thoughtful frown, and in such wise contemplated the foot of the bed for
several minutes,--his first conscious impression, that he had something
delightful to look forward to yielding to a vague recollection of a
prolonged shrill tintinnabulation--as if the telephone bell in the front
room had been ringing for some time.

But he waited in vain for a repetition of the sound, and eventually
concluded that he had been mistaken; it had been an echo from his dreams,
most likely.

Besides, who should call him up? Not two people knew that he was in town:
not even O'Hagan was aware that he had returned to his rooms that morning.

He gaped again, stretching wide his arms, sat up on the edge of the bed,
and heard the clock strike twelve.

Noon and.... He had an engagement at two! He brightened at the memory and,
jumping up, pressed an electric call-button on the wall. By the time he
had paddled barefoot to the bath-room and turned on the cold-water tap,
O'Hagan's knock summoned him to the hall door.