“You are lovely,” he said, and his voice was deep and beautiful. “There is nothing unusual about you, but nevertheless you are lovely.”

  It was an odd compliment, especially as he said it rather regretfully.

  I drew my hand away.

  “Do you like unusual things?” I asked. I somehow wanted to be impersonal with this man.

  “It is only the unusual that gives zest to life. See.” He touched his coat lapel, and for the first time I noticed that it contained, instead of a carnation that from a distance I had credited him with wearing, a single lavender orchid. It was an exquisite flower, a very pale shade with a purple heart. Even as I admired it I thought what an odd thing it was for a man to wear in his buttonhole.

  O’Malley continued speaking almost as though he guessed my thought. “I wear orchids because they are not commonplace. I wear unusual ones when I can; otherwise I content myself with the better-known varieties. Just now I have nothing worth exhibiting, but someday I shall show you my orchids.”

  He took it for granted that I would want to see them, which I emphatically did not.

  “That flower seems exquisite to me,” I said.

  “It gives me nothing,” he shrugged. “Still, it will do until another blooms.”

  There was the anticipation of a true collector in his eyes for a few seconds; then it died away as they concentrated on me.

  “But we waste time talking of something that does not interest you. Besides, I want to tell you that I am attracted to you. I have looked upon you and searched your inmost thoughts, and you please me.”

  Again the king-like touch—Louis XIV condescending to a peasant; more than that, for it came to me that he was expressing in actual fact the feelings I had had while Splondowski played. A panic swept over me. I wanted to run away.

  He leaned toward me. “Look at me,” he commanded.

  I was afraid. I didn’t dare meet his gaze again. I looked about the room, hoping to catch the eye of someone I knew. Everyone I could have signaled was looking the other way. Then, out of a mass of unfamiliar faces, one looked into mine—a kindly, straightforward face, bronzed skin, steady blue eyes and brown hair, and a humorous mouth that was both firm and tender. His tall, well-knit, muscular body stood out above the others by sheer force of personality. I smiled in his direction, hoping my need for his help would somehow or other miraculously be conveyed to him.

  “Look at me.” O’Malley’s voice was in my ear and it seemed to be weaving a spell around me. I knew in another minute or two I should meet his eyes, and I was afraid—afraid of what might happen when I did.

  Just then the miracle happened—a new voice broke the tension between us—a gay, cheerful voice that was like a mountain stream running over stones, crystal clear. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

  I looked up into the blue eyes of the young man to whom I had sent the S.O.S. and was able to forget the deep black ones I was so anxious to evade.

  “I’m glad to see you.” I gave him both my hands.

  I think it was at that instant I fell in love with Rex Stanton, and he swears that when he took my hands and felt them tremble in his he knew I was the girl he wanted to marry. I didn’t know then, but my subconscious self must have, for it was an electric moment.

  Angus O’Malley broke into it. “Will you not present me to your friend?” There was a depth and malice in his voice that made me realize I didn’t know the name of my rescuer.

  He saved me again. “Surely you remember me, Rex Stanton, Mr. O’Malley. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you before.”

  O’Malley’s full lips curved oddly. “My memory is, for once, at fault.”

  “Well, not being an unusual type, I’m afraid I’m easy to forget.” Rex Stanton smiled charmingly.

  That word again—unusual. It seemed odd that both men should emphasize the word.

  O’Malley ignored Rex and turned to me. Taking my hand, he bent over it. Once more I felt the touch of his hot lips and experienced the same sensations. As he straightened up he whispered in my ear, “A captive bird may beat its wings against the net, but it is of no avail.” Then louder, “I shall give myself the pleasure of calling upon you tomorrow.” And without a word to Rex he was gone.

  I began to shake with convulsive tremors that I couldn’t control.

  Rex Stanton put his arm around me. “He’s a strange person, but he’s not quite as bad as all that. You did want me to come over, didn’t you?”

  I leaned against him, and nodded. Almost before I knew it he had piloted me out through the crowd into a quiet corner of Muriel’s library, which fortunately was entirely deserted. Then almost without my own volition I was telling him all about everything, even my imagined feelings while Splondowski played.

  By the time I’d reached the end of my recital I was calm again.

  Rex looked grave. “The man seems slightly goofy to me,” he commented. “Of course I’d never met him before, but luckily I had inquired who he was. He rather stands out in an assemblage—with his orchid boutonniere! Oh well, I guess he’s safe enough—probably just a little touched. Still I’d like to be there tomorrow when he calls.”

  “Will you?” I cried. Already I was sure that if Rex was on hand nothing could go wrong.

  “If you want, I’ll come early and stay late. That’s a bargain and my good luck.”

  We shook hands. Then he said, “You’re not one of Muriel’s types?”

  “We went to school together. I came to hear Splondowski. Why did you come? You’re not her type, either.”

  He grinned. “Touché. I knew her first husband. I came because, frankly, I knew she accumulated odd people, and I’m investigating the disappearance of Lucia Trent.”

  “I knew Lucia.” I felt suddenly saddened as I remembered her bright beauty. Lucia had golden hair of the color that is formed in the water lily’s heart, brown eyes with tiny yellow flecks in them, a tawny skin the shade of honey and a body full of slim curves that were lovely to behold. She was only seventeen when she walked out of her house to go and see her best friend. Her mother had waved good-bye to her laughingly and sent messages, but they had never been delivered, for Lucia had vanished as completely and utterly as though she had never existed. No one ever saw her again. It was a terrific mystery, and it had brought sorrow to us all.

  “You’re just the person for me, then.” Rex brought me back into the present. “Tell me, was there anything”—he started to say “unusual,” then in the light of my recent confession changed it to—“different about her?”

  “Do you think it could have been white slavers?” I advanced the most popular theory.

  “I wonder. Was there any particular man?”

  “At least fifteen boys. Lucia was popular. But none of them knew anything. They all adored her—everyone did—but she hadn’t any secret passion, if that’s what you mean.” I was almost caustic. It seemed so silly to associate Lucia with intrigue.

  “I only asked. One has to cover every contingency, you know.”

  “How did you—” I began.

  He cut me short. “I was coming to that. Your friend Lucia isn’t the first girl to disappear completely with no trace.”

  “You mean Dorothy Arnold?” Everyone had been comparing the two cases.

  “That’s ancient history. I mean in the last year. Outstanding disappearances. In this city, of course, there are always a number of missing girls, but there is generally some kind of a lead. Too, the girls are usually from the lower classes, especially girls without anyone to be interested in what becomes of them. These disappearances I’ve been investigating haven’t been like that. They’ve all been girls like Lucia, young, beautiful and intelligent and from good families, which doesn’t interest white slavers ordinarily. After about eight such disappearances the coincidence struck the police. Eventually I was called in from Washington.”

  A G-man! No wonder I had felt confidence in him.

  He went on. “There have been sixteen cases—no, your friend was the seventeenth. Seventeen girls snatched into thin air—gone without a trace. They’ve all left their homes for some normal reason and not one of them has been seen again. God help me, I haven’t been able to find a single clue. I’ve been clutching at straws. That’s why I came here tonight—a futile gamble, but it brought me something very wonderful.”

  “What?” I asked point-blank because I had to know.

  When he answered, “You,” I was content.

  The next afternoon Angus O’Malley came to find Rex and me chatting cozily over the tea table. He remained to join in the talk. It was all very commonplace. I began to think I had dreamed the night before, until once he caught my eyes and held them and it seemed to me that a message came from his brain to mine. “Flutter your wings if you like, but remember only I can open the net.” Then there came into my vision the lavender edges of the orchid he was wearing. A slight movement of the petals drew my eyes away from him.

  He hadn’t touched my hand in greeting, and he did not do so in farewell, but just as he took his departure he said, “I shall come again. In a few days my new orchid will bloom, and I want you to see it.” There was a touch of malice as he bowed slightly toward Rex—“Perhaps the good Mr. Stanton will be here too.”

  “I would like to see the orchid.” Rex ignored the malice.

  “Unfortunately I can set no date. My flowers are capricious, but when it blooms I will come.”

  Another bow, this time in my direction, and he was gone. From the other side of the front door we heard something that from anyone else would have been a chuckle but from Angus O’Malley seemed sinister.

  Rex said, “We’re all washed up about that man. Except for the orchid and his Oscar Wildish appearance he’s all right.”

  “Except for the orchid.” If Rex had only known—if I had only guessed—but we didn’t. I said, “I hope you’re here when he comes.” And when Rex began to tell me how much he wanted to be, I dismissed Angus O’Malley from my mind.

  Three days later I was sitting out under the trees with a book Rex had sent me when suddenly a shadow fell upon it. I looked up and there was Angus O’Malley smiling down upon me. In his buttonhole was the most exquisite orchid I had ever seen. Its petals were the yellow color of honey and its heart was deep brown with little golden flecks.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, forgetting my fear of him in my admiration of the orchid. “I have never seen an orchid like that.”

  He knew what I meant. “You never will again—unless I am so fortunate as to find—the same colors—once more. See,” he took it from his coat and held it out to me, “I have brought it for you. Will you wear it?”

  I touched the flower, and one of the petals curled around my finger as though it had been a living thing.

  “May I pin it on?” he asked, and before I could either assent or refuse he was fastening the great golden flower on my dress near my shoulder, where the petals brushed against my cheek. “Speak to her, my flower,” he whispered; “tell her the things I have told you to tell her. Sing to her of my love in the daytime and at night tell her of the joys to be found in my arms.”

  I shrank back. He caught my hands in his. “You are not beautiful, your hair has no vivid color, but you can be a companion with whom to share my secrets, someone to know and understand my work. I would see that you understand. Surely I, who thought never to know love, have been pierced by the arrow of the blind god. Give yourself to me.”

  All this time he had been pulling me closer until now I was in his arms and his full lips were near mine.

  “No, no!” I tried to push him away.

  “Then will you marry me?” he laughed wildly. “Yes, I, Angus O’Malley, chosen of the gods, I who can make and unmake souls, ask you to be my wife.”

  I shook my head. I could not command my voice.

  His lips crushed mine. At first I thought I would die of sheer repugnance, and then my will seemed caught up into his—the repugnance went away and in its stead came response to his kisses.

  Suddenly the orchid petals brushed against my cheek and a small stifled voice whispered in my ear. “Send him away. Send him away. Danger! Danger!” The small voice went on and on, growing stronger as it seeped into my consciousness. “Send him away. Danger! Danger!”

  The voice seemed vaguely familiar, yet I could not place it, but it brought me back to my senses. With enormous effort I twisted from his arms and wiped his kisses from my lips with the back of my hand.

  “Go—please go. I never want to see you again!” I cried.

  His eyes narrowed. “Yet you responded to my kisses.”

  The still small voice was silent now. I must have imagined it. I told myself sternly that flowers couldn’t speak. But I remembered how I had returned his kiss, and a wave of shame swept over me until my cheeks burned.

  “You are afraid. The little white dove trembling before the eagle. But the eagle can be kind—to his mate. Do not tempt me to be otherwise—for if you do—” His voice died away without putting his thoughts into words, yet I understood that he was threatening me.

  And then like the sunlight breaking through thunderclouds came Rex Stanton’s voice: “Louise. Louise. Where are you?”

  “Down by the willows,” I called.

  “The guardian angel,” O’Malley sneered, then bent down close to me. “I am going away, but I will come back, and when I do, you must make up your mind which it is to be, love or hate—and I warn you I can hate even better than I can love.”

  The small voice whispered again, “Danger! Danger!” and the orchid petals touched my cheek, gently, pityingly.

  “My flower will tell you of my love,” O’Malley said, and then he strode off across the lawn past Rex, who had just come into sight.

  “Wow!” Rex exclaimed; “not even a greeting did I get. I felt as though a storm cloud sailed by. I take it that all is not serene on the horizon.”

  Once more I unburdened my mind of everything that happened.

  Rex made no comment until I had finished; then he said, “You can’t marry O’Malley, because you’re going to marry me.”

  He held out his hand. I put mine into it, and that was that. We didn’t speak of love; it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t kiss me then. But the look in his eyes was a caress and we were both happy with the deep contentment of perfect love. It was a wonderful moment between us.

  Rex broke the spell. “Let me see the orchid. It’s different in color from any I’ve ever seen.”

  With unsteady fingers I unfastened it and put it in his hands, and as I did so it seemed to me I heard a sigh.

  Rex heard it too. He looked at me sharply. “‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’” he quoted. “Perhaps we’re up against magic.”

  I laughed, but my laugh died away as quickly as a sudden breeze on a still day, for the flower in Rex’s hand bent over as though it were nodding—and there was no wind!

  I shivered. “Rex, I’m afraid.”

  “If the flower has life, a strange life of some kind we don’t understand, at least it is your friend,” Rex said calmly. “It warns you of danger. It confirms my suspicion that we’re up against something incomprehensible.”

  “He said he would make me understand—perhaps that’s what he meant—”

  Then suddenly something Rex had said beat itself into my brain: “Your friend.” I looked down at the flower—saw the lovely golden honey color, the deep brown heart with yellow flecks—

  “Lucia! Lucia Trent!” I exclaimed. “The orchid—it’s like Lucia—the same coloring!”

  I stopped aghast at my own thought—but once more the flower bowed as though in assent and swayed toward me as though it wanted to touch.

  “Good heaven!” Rex stared at the flower. “You’re sure?”

  “She had those same golden flecks in her brown eyes.”

  “There might be a connection, but what? What?”

  “I saw a movie in which a scientist reduced people to dolls. Then he hypnotized them into doing whatever he wanted—sent them forth to slay.” Lionel Barrymore’s acting was still vivid before me.

  “My God! Perhaps—” Rex stared at the orchid.

  The flower swayed back and forth as though it were trying to say no.

  “The orchid—whatever—whoever—it is, is my friend,” I said solemnly, and the flower nodded. “It’s uncanny—it knows what we say.”

  “It’s against all the laws of nature,” Rex protested.

  “It may only be a law we don’t understand. O’Malley said the orchid would tell me of his love. He may have given it power to say what he wanted it to.”

  “And because Lucia was your friend the flower spoke of its own accord.”

  The orchid bent over again. We knew it meant yes, and we were silent before a marvel we couldn’t comprehend.

  Finally Rex spoke. “What do you know about O’Malley?”

  “Nothing that I haven’t told you.”

  “Muriel said he bought a magnificent old place at Riverdale-on-Hudson about two years ago and installed wonderful orchid houses. He drives a Rolls Royce and has a yacht. He sometimes takes people on cruises, often has parties at his estate. Could you find out if Lucia knew him?”

  “I could ask her mother.”

  “Do—and I’ll try to get more of a line on him. Find out if there’s any connection with any of the other girls. Of course it’s utterly fantastic, and I can’t for the life of me think Lucia’s soul is imprisoned in that flower. Still, it’s the only lead I’ve had, and I told you I was clutching at straws.”

  Rex gave back the orchid to me and once more I fastened it to my shoulder.

  “He said he could make and unmake souls.” I hesitated, then went on: “Perhaps tonight—”

  “I’m afraid for you. May I come and stay outside your door?”

  I shook my head. “If Lucia is in any way connected with the orchid, I’m not afraid. Besides, O’Malley gave me until he came back to decide. I’m not afraid of him—now!”

  Rex took my face in his two hands and kissed me gently. My arms stole around his neck. This time there were no warning whispers.