With characteristic stride of authority he moved across the crowded stone floor, bounded up the steps and waited, peering at his watch in the outer gloom as taxis unloaded their burdens and took on others. When his turn came [331] ]he sprang in, gave the address of a small select hotel off Fifth Avenue and all the way there sat staring fixedly out at the lighted shops, his lips a thin, angry line.
The line had not disappeared as he stepped from the elevator to the door of a suite and imperatively rang the bell. It was opened by a girl in nursemaid’s cap who gave a start when she saw who it was. He pushed past with the same look he had cast about the station. Then he turned abruptly, sending at her a volley of rapid-fire questions.
Madam was not there, she answered. Yes, the children were, but Mrs. Cunningham had gone to dinner and the theater. No, she did not believe any telegram had been received from him. Madam, she was sure, had not expected him to-night. They had been in town since the beginning of the week. No, Mrs. Cunningham had not gone out with any one. To The Coghlan Theatre, she believed.
Her curious gaze followed him as he went down the hall to the elevator. Then softly she shut the door.
At ten minutes to nine he strolled into The Coghlan Theater, the last of a fashionably late audience.
The place was packed and he leaned leisurely against the rear balustrade to wait for the curtain before trying to locate his wife.
Across the footlights palm trees swayed, recalling the land of secrets he had left behind. Something about the sensuous atmosphere so realistically reproduced made him turn away. Then his eyes took in the woman who held the center of the stage. Her voice—low, beautifully modulated—rolled toward him. Her eyes, [332] ]burning black, turned in his direction. He gripped the rail, bent over it.
Nancy!! In spite of the dark wig and olive tinted skin, there was no mistake! Nancy—on the stage of The Coghlan! The sudden sharp crackle of a program broke the stillness.
NANCY BRADSHAW
in
“Broken Wings”
There it was—Nancy Bradshaw—staring at him from the sheet he had not troubled to read.