Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 282 by Maxwel l Grant

Author:Maxwel,l Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

CHAPTER XII

A PARTY was in progress at Lenfield's apartment, if it could be called a party. When Arthur Lenfield entertained, he did it in a stodgy way which suited the environment. For Arthur Lenfield lived in a world of a hundred years ago, and looked it.

The Lenfield apartment occupied the third floor of an old Greenwich Village mansion, which formed part of a row. It was a curious hodgepodge of chopped-up rooms, with windows only at the front and back.

These windows were heavily barred to protect Lenfield's antiques.

There was a third room with a skylight which was also barred on the underside. The rest of the rooms had solid walls, in fact they gave the general appearance of closets built to an exaggerated size.

All this enabled Lenfield to subdivide the various antiques which so filled the apartment that in some places it was impossible to squeeze between them. But Lenfield didn't confine his collecting to furniture.

He liked old glass, ancient pottery, old-fashioned clocks, in fact about everything that wasn't modern.

Afternoon tea was being served in the front room when Margo Lane arrived and found herself an unwelcome contrast to the lavender and old lace that dominated the reception. All the other ladies present were dowagers and elderly spinsters who had known Arthur Lenfield since his boyhood days when this had been the family mansion.

They were talking about how "daring Arthur" used to climb the cherry tree in the back yard and wave to

them from its highest boughs. From the look on Lenfield's face, Margo decided that the tree must have borne pie cherries, for his expression was very sour. It turned out, however, that it was the chatter, not the recollection that pained him, for his withered face beamed a smile the moment Lenfield saw Margo.

Having wangled a roundabout invitation to this party, Margo had never met Lenfield. But despite his love for the antique in everything else, Lenfield preferred the modern in femininity. He immediately deserted the crinoline contingent to welcome this streamlined model.

"Come, my dear," cackled Lenfield. "Let me show you my treasures." Scarcely taller than Margo's shoulder, Lenfield tilted his head to let his eyes roll upward. "As if you weren't a treasure yourself!"

Lenfield's playful banter brought a rattle of lorgnettes as the dowagers and spinsters surveyed the hussy who was stealing their hero of the cherry tree. Until Lenfield captured her, Margo had assumed that her afternoon frock was really quite conservative, but in this company its trim fit seemed positively outre.

Wishing that she'd worn a hoop-skirt and whatever paraphernalia it demanded, Margo let Lenfield escort her from the parlor as the lesser of two undesirable choices.

Nevertheless, Margo didn't appreciate Lenfield's company, even if he had spoken of "treasures" which were the very things she'd come to learn about. In looking over the list of Xanadu's known clients, Cranston had studied the name of Arthur Lenfield as a definite potential.

In brief, Lamont Cranston was following the very course that Justin Cadbury expected the law to take later.

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