We swung sharply around a corner, and then another. A moment later the
cab drew up at the curb, and the driver sprang from his box.
"Here we are, sir," he said, and as I stepped to the pavement, I saw
the old Magnus house frowning down upon me.
I had never before seen it at night, and for the first time I really
appreciated its gloomy situation. In its day it had been part of
a fashionable residential district, of which it was now the only
survival. It was of brownstone, with a flight of steps mounting
steeply to the door, and stood back from the street at the bottom of a
canon formed by the towering walls of the adjacent office buildings.
Why any woman who could afford to live where she chose should choose
to live here was a riddle past my solving.
Musing over this, I mounted the steps and rang the bell.
"I am Mr. Lester," I said, to the maid who opened the door. "Mrs.
Magnus is expecting me."
She stood aside for me to enter, and as I passed I happened to glance
at her face. It was that of a woman no longer young, and yet scarcely
middle-aged; not a repulsive face; indeed, rather attractive in a
way, except for a certain hardness of expression which told of lost
illusions. And as she took my coat and hat, I noticed that the little
finger of her left hand was missing.
"This way, sir," she said, and motioned me into a room at the right.
"Mrs. Magnus will be down in a minute."
I heard her step recede along the hall, and then somewhere a clock
struck eight.
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