144

V. EXIT FANNY 156

VI. WHAT THE PAPERS SAID 166

VII. HELD WITHOUT BAIL 177

VIII. THE DEFENDANT TO THE BAR 191

IX. THE TWELFTH JUROR 202

X. THE VERDICT 219

THE PERFUME OF EROS

CHAPTER I

A MAN OF FASHION

"Royal," said the man's mother that evening, "are you still thinking
of Fanny Price?"

It was in Gramercy Park. As you may or may not know, Gramercy Park is
the least noisy spot in the metropolitan Bedlam. Without being
unreasonably aristocratic it is sedate and what agents call exclusive.

The park itself is essentially that. Its design is rather English. The
use is restricted to adjoining residents. About it is a fence of high
iron. Within are trees, paths, grasses, benches, great vases and a
fountain. But none of the usual loungers, none of the leprous men,
rancid women, and epileptic children that swarm in other New York
squares. Yet these squares are open to all. To enter this park you
must have a key. By day it is a playground. Nurse-maids come there
with little boys and girls, the subdued, undemonstrative, beautifully
dressed children of the rich. At night it is empty as a vacant bier.

In a house that fronted the north side Royal Loftus lived with his
mother, a proud, arrogant woman socially known to all, but who
socially knew but few. Behind her, in the shade of the family tree,
was her dead lord, Royal's father and, more impressively still, the
latter's relatives, the entire Loftus contingent, a set of people
super-respectable, supernally rich. She too was rich. She wore a wig,
walked with a staff, spoke with a Mayfair intonation in a high-pitched
voice, and, in the amplitudes of widowhood and wealth, entertained
frequently but cared only for her son.

On this evening the two were seated together in a drawing-room that
faced the park. The walls, after a fashion of long ago, were frescoed.
The ceiling too was frescoed. The furniture belonged also to an
earlier day. The modern note in the room was the absence of
chandeliers and the appearance of Royal Loftus, who, in a Paris shirt
and London clothes, was contemplating his painted nails.

At his feet was an Ardebil rug which originally had cost a small
fortune and now was worth a big one. In allusion to it a girl to whom
he had handed out the usual "You don't care for me," had retorted,
"