The Bowl Of Brass

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"The Brass Bowl" by Louis Joseph Vance Daniel Maitland is a jaded man of high society. However, when he keeps running into a woman who dresses all in gray, he starts to feel intrigued and excited again. When she thinks he's a famous jewelry thief, he doesn't correct her and, instead, uses this as an excuse to get to know her. Little did he know the sorts of adventures that would await him as a result.

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In the dull hot dusk of a summer's day a green touring-car, swinging out of the East Drive, pulled up smartly, trembling, at the edge of the Fifty-ninth Street car-tracks, then moresedately, under the dispassionate but watchful eye of a mounted member of the TrafficSquad, lurched across the Plaza and merged itself in the press of vehicles south-bound onthe Avenue.Its tonneau held four young men, all more or less disguised in dust, dusters and goggles;forward, by the side of the grimy and anxious-eyed mechanic, sat a fifth, in all visiblerespects the counterpart of his companions. Beneath his mask, and by this I do not meanhis goggles, but the mask of modern manner which the worldly wear, he was, and is, different.He was Daniel Maitland, Esquire; for whom no further introduction should be required, after mention of the fact that he was, and remains, the identical gentleman of means andposition in the social and financial worlds, whose somewhat sober but sincere and wholehearted participation in the wildest of conceivable escapades had earned him theaffectionate regard of the younger set, together with the sobriquet of "Mad Maitland."His companions of the day, the four in the tonneau, were in that humor of subdued yetvibrant excitement which is apt to attend the conclusion of a long, hard drive over countryroads. Maitland, on the other hand, (judging him by his preoccupied pose), was alreadyweary of, if not bored by, the hare-brained enterprise which, initiated on the spur of an idlemoment and directly due to a thoughtless remark of his own, had brought him a hundredmiles (or so) through the heat of a broiling afternoon, accompanied by spirits as ardent andirresponsible as his own, in search of the dubious distraction afforded by the night side ofthe city.As, picking its way with elephantine nicety, the motor-car progressed down the Avenue-twilight deepening, arcs upon their bronze columns blossoming suddenly, noiselessly intospheres of opalescent radiance-Mr. Maitland ceased to respond, ceased even to give heed, to the running fire of chaff (largely personal) which amused his companions. Listlesslyengaged with a cigarette, he lounged upon the green leather cushions, half closing his eyes, and heartily wished himself free for the eve