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He stood with his head cocked a trifle to one side, smiling amiably. "To-night?" I asked. "That, sar, is my counselment. To-night, at clock nine." "Very good. I'll be here." Red-Fez shook his head deprecatingly. Finally, and after much circumlocution, I gathered that I was not expected at No. 231.
What an astonishing repertoire Chaminade, Schumann, Grieg, Richard Strauss. Finally Schubert, and Schubert only, the last and the best given, as it is meet, to him who is the master of all. The rainbow-tinted orb of the wall mirror continued to hold my eyes; they drooped and fell as the radiance grew fainter and yet fainter. When I awoke Red-Fez was standing at the bedside, hot-water can in hand.
Whereupon I smiled and went out. Half-past eight o'clock; the Worth Monument; Red-Fez in a four-wheeler; the carefully drawn window-curtains; the production of the black silk bag with which to envelop my head it all happened in accordance with the playbill. At first I tried to keep some idea of distance and direction, but I soon got confused and had to give it up.
Red-Fez into a few plain truths. His real name is Dawson, you know." "Yes." "It was simply an immensely improved sort of phonograph that Gonzales had invented. None of the harshness and squeakiness of tone that you associate with the ordinary instrument. Partly a new method of making the records and partly a system of qualifying chambers that refine and purify the tones.
I submitted in silence to the ministrations of Red-Fez, not choosing to enter into any discussion with a servant. But I was sorely tempted to protest when he proceeded to array me in an extraordinary robe of cardinal silk in lieu of the ordinary masculine habiliments. Certainly I could not leave the house enveloped in this ridiculous garment.
My dress clothes would have been bad enough, but there was no trace of them to be seen. Evidently I should have to call Dr. Gonzales to account, and having descended to the now familiar red drawing-room, I sent Red-Fez with a request for an immediate audience. A few minutes later he appeared. "Am I a prisoner here?" I asked, abruptly.
My instructions were simply to be in waiting at the Worth Monument in Madison Square at half-after eight; for the rest Red-Fez would hold himself responsible. And upon this understanding we parted. "The Lady Allegra," I said, under my breath, as I walked home. "The Lady Allegra." Up to this point I had kept my own counsel, but now I felt it my duty to make a confidant of Indiman.
Red-Fez, who had now assumed the functions of a butler, showed me to my place, and then took up his stand behind the empty chair of his mistress. The two serving-men began immediately upon their duties. It was an extraordinary repast, for to both my eye and my palate the viands were utterly unknown.
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