Rex Stout - Her Forbidden Knight

“Mon Dieu!” he gasped. The sight of Miss Williams crying was unprecedented and, to Dumain, extremely painful. “What is zee mattaire?”

“Nothing,” said Lila. “I have a headache. For goodness’ sake, don’t stand and stare at me!”

Whereupon Dumain retreated to the corner where he had left the others in secret session. He decided not to tell them about Lila’s tears, being convinced that if he did so they would proceed to murder Knowlton on Broadway at high noon.

Besides, he had an idea that the tears were caused by Knowlton’s having said farewell, in which case there would be no necessity for action on the part of the Erring Knights. Dumain was certainly not a coward; but he was — let us say — discreet.

Lila was overwhelmed with shame and humiliation. She had told Knowlton that she had lied for his sake, which amounted to a confession of her interest in him and regard for him. He must have understood. And he had muttered a perfunctory thank you, and walked away.

But perhaps he took it as a matter of course. Perhaps he regarded her as one of those creatures to whom deception is natural — of loose morals and conscience — whose aid may be depended upon by any stray enemy of society and morality.

This thought was unbearable. Lila clenched her fists tightly till the little pink nails bit sharp rings in the white palms of her hands.

Why had he not explained? It could have been but for one of two reasons: either he was guilty and could not, or he regarded her opinion as unimportant and did not care to.

And if he were guilty; but that was impossible. John Knowlton, the man to whom she had given her heart unreservedly, and forever, a counterfeiter — a criminal? It could not be.

There remained only the supposition that he cared so little about her that her good opinion was a matter of indifference to him. And this, though mortifying, was bearable. Still was she filled with shame, for he had heard her confession, and had made no sign.

Most probably she would never know, for she felt convinced that she would never see Knowlton again. She had been unable to avoid overhearing a great deal of the conversation of the Erring Knights concerning him, and Dumain himself had told her that they had warned him to stay away from the Lamartine.

She smiled bitterly as she thought of that warning. If her anxious protectors only knew how little likelihood there was of Knowlton’s taking the trouble either to harm her or to make her happy!

For hours these thoughts filled her mind, confusedly, without beginning or end. It seemed that the afternoon would never pass.

Gradually the lobby filled, and for a time business at the telegraph desk was almost brisk. The Erring Knights strolled in and out aimlessly. From the billiard room down the hall came the sound of clicking balls and banging cues.

Now and then the strident voice of the Venus at the cigar stand rose above all other sounds as she gave a pointed retort to an intimate or jocular remark of a customer. At intervals the bell on the hotel desk gave forth its jarring jingle.

At five o’clock the crowd in the lobby began to disappear. There came intervals in the confused hum of voices and steps. Half past five arrived; and six. Lila put on her hat and coat and arranged the papers on her deck.

She would not linger tonight; that was over, she told herself. Henceforth she would be sensible, and — and forget.

The lobby was nearly empty except for the Erring Knights, who were gathered in the corner, seemingly engaged in a hot discussion. Lila noticed that Sherman, while apparently attentive to his companions, was watching her covertly, and she surmised that he intended to follow her as he had the evening before, and escort her home.

Why not? she asked herself bitterly. At least he cared.

She stooped to put on her rubbers, and, having some difficulty with one of them, remained for some time with her head lowered. When she sat up, with flushed face and hair disarranged, she found herself looking into the eyes of John Knowlton.

He stood by her desk, hat in hand, with an air of embarrassment and hesitation. Evidently he was waiting for her to speak; but, overcome with surprise, she found no words.

A glance over his shoulder showed her the Erring Knights standing across the lobby, regarding Knowlton with open hostility.

Finally he spoke.

“I feel I owe you an explanation,” he said with an apparent effort. “I hope you don’t think there was anything wrong about — what you told me this morning.”

Lila’s wounded pride came to her assistance and gave her strength. This was the man to whom she had given so much, and from whom she had received so little. Worse, he was aware of her weakness. Yet must he learn that she was worthy of his respect, and her own. And yet — why had he returned? She hesitated.

“I don’t know what to think,” she said doubtfully.

“It will take some time to explain,” said Knowlton. “And I want you — if you can — to think well of me. I wonder if you’d be angry if I asked you to go to dinner with me. Will you go?”

Lila caught her breath, while her heart contracted with a joy so keen as to be painful. Of course she ought not to accept his invitation. She felt that that would somehow be wrong.

Besides, he must not be allowed to believe that her favors could be had for the asking. But how her heart was beating! And she said:

“I... I am not dressed for it, Mr. Knowlton.”

“We could go to some quiet little place,” he urged. “I know you have been thinking horrible things of me today, and with reason. And of course, if you think I am not — not worthy”—

“Oh, it is not that!” Lila exclaimed.

“Then, will you go?”

And though Lila was silent, he must have read her answer in her eyes, for he picked up her umbrella and opened the gate of the railing for her, and they started down the lobby side by side.

Halfway to the door Lila halted and turned to face the Erring Knights, who had neither stirred nor spoken since the entrance of Knowlton.

“Good night!” she called cheerily.

But there was no response. The six gallant protectors returned her gaze in grim and frigid silence.

A little back of the others Lila saw Sherman’s dark face, with his lips parted in a snarl of hate. She shivered slightly and turned to her companion.

“Come!” she said, and in spite of her effort to control it her voice trembled a little.

Knowlton opened the door and they passed out together.

A waiting taxicab stood outside the hotel. Knowlton helped Lila inside and got in after her.

“Now,” he asked, “where shall we go?”

Lila murmured something about her dress, and left the decision to him. Knowlton leaned forward and spoke to the driver.

“Restaurant Lucia, Thirty-seventh Street, near Sixth Avenue.”

The driver nodded and started the cab north on Broadway.

Knowlton sat upright in his corner, intuitively divining Lila’s wish for a period of silence to adjust her thoughts. The cab went forward by fits and starts owing to the heavy traffic.

Light and shadow came and went through the windows as they passed glaring cafés and theaters, or darkened shops and office buildings. The air was crisp and tingling.

Lila felt herself transported to a scene in the Arabian Nights. Not the gorgeous palaces, or the tricks of magicians, or the dark and mysterious passages, but the spirit of wonder.

This lies not ever in mere things, but in the heart. To ride up Broadway in a taxicab at half past six of a December evening may mean anything, or nothing. To the tired businessman it means a convenient but expensive method of getting home to dinner. To the painted woman it means one of the advantages to be derived from an easy conscience. To Lila it meant love and romance and youth and hope.

She did not stop to analyze her feelings; they surged through her heart and brain tumultuously with a glorious gladness. She was discovering for herself what a great philosopher has called “the sweetness of facts.”

She was with Knowlton. He was able to explain the counterfeit bills. He did care about what she thought of him.

She was grateful to him for his silence. Certainly her mind needed readjustment. For two days she had been miserable and unhappy to the verge of despair.

A few minutes ago she had actually been ready to allow Sherman to accompany her home. The smile which this thought brought to her lips was not very complimentary to Mr. Sherman.

And then, with the suddenness of an impetuous Jove, the prince of her dreams had arrived and carried her off in his chariot! Was it not enough to make a girl wish for time to get her breath?

She was so deep in her contemplation of “the sweetness of facts” that she was positively startled by the sound of Knowlton’s voice announcing that they had reached their destination.

He helped her from the cab and paid the driver, and they entered the restaurant.

The Restaurant Lucia was one of those places to be found, by the initiated, here and there from the Battery to Harlem, where one may obtain excellent food, well cooked and well served, without the fuss and glitter and ostentation of the “lobster palaces.” It does not pretend to Bohemianism, and is therefore truly Bohemian.

As Knowlton and Lila entered the dining room by a door set two or three steps lower than the sidewalk, the orchestra, consisting of a pianist, a ’cellist, and two violinists, was finishing a Spanish melody. They walked down the aisle to the right to the clapping of hands, and Lila turned to observe the little orchestra leader, who was bowing right and left with the air, and the appearance, of an Italian duke.