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diff --git a/27339-h/27339-h.htm b/27339-h/27339-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e2981e --- /dev/null +++ b/27339-h/27339-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8581 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Pagan Madonna, by Harold MacGrath. +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + @media screen { + hr.ppg-pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.ppg-pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + div.ce p {text-align: center; margin: auto 0;} + .caption {font-size:.8em;} + hr.tb {width: 35%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + .blockquot {margin:0.5em 5% 0.5em 5%;} + ins.trnote {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: 1.5px dotted #FF0000;} + div.ra p {text-align: right; margin: auto 0;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + hr.minor {border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; margin: 0.5em auto 0.5em auto; width: 20%;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.4em;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Pagan Madonna, by Harold MacGrath + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Pagan Madonna + +Author: Harold MacGrath + +Illustrator: W. H. D. Koerner + +Release Date: November 27, 2008 [EBook #27339] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PAGAN MADONNA *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em; font-style:italic;'>Books by Harold MacGrath</p> +</div> + +<hr class='minor' /> + +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto; font-size:0.8em;'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>ADVENTURES OF KATHLYN</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>ARMS AND THE WOMAN</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>BEST MAN</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>CARPET FROM BAGDAD</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>DEUCES WILD</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>ENCHANTED HAT</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>GOOSE GIRL</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>HALF A ROGUE</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>HEARTS AND MASKS</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>LUCK OF THE IRISH: A ROMANCE</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>LURE OF THE MASK</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>MILLION DOLLAR MYSTERY</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>PARROT & CO.</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>PIDGIN ISLAND</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>PLACE OF HONEYMOONS</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>PRINCESS ELOPES</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>PUPPET CROWN</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>SPLENDID HAZARD</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE DRUMS OF JEOPARDY</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE GREY CLOAK</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE MAN ON THE BOX</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE MAN WITH THREE NAMES</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE PAGAN MADONNA</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE PRIVATE WIRE TO WASHINGTON</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>THE YELLOW TYPHOON</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>VOICE OF THE FOG</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 365px; height: 549px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 365px;'> +“<i>‘Thank you for coming up,’ said Cunningham. ‘It makes me feel that you trust me.’</i>”<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:2em; margin-top:1em;'>THE</p> +<p style=' font-size:2em; margin-bottom:0.5em;'>PAGAN MADONNA</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>BY</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em;'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>HAROLD MacGRATH</span></p> +</div> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-tpg.png' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div class='ce'> +<p>FRONTISPIECE</p> +<p>BY</p> +<p style=' margin-bottom:3em;'>W. H. D. KOERNER</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>GARDEN CITY, N. Y., AND TORONTO</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em; margin-bottom:2.2em;'>1921</p> +</div> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div class='ce' style=' font-size:0.8em;'> +<p style=' margin-bottom:1.2em;'>COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY</p> +<p style=' margin-bottom:1.2em;'>DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY</p> +<p>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION</p> +<p style=' margin-bottom:2em;'>INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN</p> +<p>COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY</p> +</div> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span></div> +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.6em;'>The Pagan Madonna</p> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +</div> + +<p>Humdrum isn’t where you live; it’s what +you are. Perhaps you are one of those +whose lives are bound by neighbourly +interests. Imaginatively, you never seek what lies +under a gorgeous sunset; you are never stirred by +any longing to investigate the ends of rainbows. +You are more concerned by what your neighbour +does every day than by what he might do if he were +suddenly spun, whirled, jolted out of his poky +orbit. The blank door of an empty house never +intrigues you; you enter blind alleys without thrilling +in the least; you hear a cry in the night and +impute it to some marauding tom. Lord, what a +life!</p> +<p>And yet every move you make is governed by +Chance—the Blind Madonna of the Pagan, as +that great adventurer, Stevenson, called it. You +never stop to consider that it is only by chance +that you leave home and arrive at the office alive—millions +and millions of you—poor old stick-in-the-muds! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +Because this or that hasn’t happened to +you, you can’t be made to believe that it might +have happened to someone else. What’s a wood +fire to you but a shin warmer? And how you hate +to walk alone! So sheer off—this is not for you.</p> +<p>But to you, fenced in by circumstance, walls of +breathless brick and stone, suffocating with longing, +you whose thought springs ever toward the +gorgeous sunset and the ends of rainbows; who +fly in dreams across the golden south seas to the +far countries, you whose imagination transforms +every ratty old square-rigger that pokes down the +bay into a Spanish galleon—come with me.</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto; font-style:italic;'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>For to admire an’ for to see,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>For to be’old this world so wide.</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>First off, Ling Foo, of Woosung Road, perhaps +the most bewildered Chinaman in all Shanghai +last April. The Blind Madonna flung him into a +great game and immediately cast him out of it, +giving him never an inkling of what the game was +about and leaving him buffeted by the four winds +of wonder.</p> +<p>A drama—he was sure of that—had rolled up, +touched him icily if slightly, and receded, like a +wave on the beach, without his knowing in the +least what had energized it in his direction. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +During lulls, for years to come, Ling Foo’s consciousness +would strive to press behind the wall for a key +to the riddle; for years to come he would be searching +the International Bund, Nanking Road, +Broadway and Bubbling Well roads for the young +woman with the wonderful ruddy hair and the man +who walked with the sluing lurch.</p> +<p>Ah, but that man—the face of him, beautiful as +that of a foreign boy’s, now young, now old, as +though a cobweb shifted to and fro across it! The +fire in those dark eyes and the silk on that tongue! +Always that face would haunt him, because it +should not have been a man’s but a woman’s. +Ling Foo could not go to his gods for comparisons, +for a million variations of Buddha offered no such +countenance; so his recollection would always be +tinged with a restless sense of dissatisfaction.</p> +<p>There were other faces in the picture, but with +the exception of the woman’s and the man’s he +could not reassemble the features of any.</p> +<p>A wild and bitter night. The nor’easter, +packed with a cold, penetrating rain, beat down +from the Yellow Sea, its insensate fury clearing the +highways of all save belated labourers and ’ricksha +boys. Along the Chinese Bund the sampans +huddled even more closely together, and rocked +and creaked and complained. The inscrutable +countenance of the average Chinaman is the result +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +of five thousand years of misery. It was a night +for hand warmers—little jigsawed brass receptacles +filled with smoldering punk or charcoal, +which you carried in your sleeves and hugged if you +happened to be a Chinaman, as Ling Foo was.</p> +<p>He was a merchant. He sold furs, curios, table +linen, embroideries. His shop was out on the +Woosung Road. He did not sit on his stool or in +his alcove and wait for customers. He made packs +of his merchandise and canvassed the hotels in +the morning, from floor to floor, from room to +room. His curios, however, he left in the shop. +That was his lure to bring his hotel customers +round in the afternoon, when there were generally +additional profits and no commissions. This, of +course, had been the <i>modus operandi</i> in the happy +days before 1914, when white men began the +slaughter of white men. Nowadays Ling Foo was +off to the Astor House the moment he had news of +a ship dropping anchor off the bar twelve miles +down the Whangpoo River. The hour no longer +mattered; the point was to beat his competitors to +the market—and often there was no market.</p> +<p>He did not call the white people foreign devils; +he called them customers. That they worshipped +a bearded Buddha was no concern of his. Born in +the modern town, having spent twelve years in +San Francisco, he was not heavily barnacled with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +tradition. He was shrewd, a suave bargainer, and +as honest as the day is long. His English was +fluent.</p> +<p>To-night he was angry with the fates. The ship +was hours late. Moreover, it was a British transport, +dropping down from Vladivostok. He would +be wasting his time to wait for such passengers as +came ashore. They would be tired and hungry +and uncomfortable. So at seven o’clock he lit a +piece of punk, dropped it into his hand warmer, +threw his pack over his shoulders, and left the +cheery lobby of the hotel where he had been waiting +since five in the afternoon. He would be cold +and wet and hungry when he reached his shop.</p> +<p>Outside he called to a disconsolate ’ricksha boy, +and a moment later rattled across the bridge that +spans the Soochow Creek. Even the Sikh policeman +had taken to cover. When he finally arrived +home he was drenched from his cap button to the +wooden soles of his shoes. He unlocked the shop +door, entered, flung the pack on the floor, and +turned on the electric light. Twenty minutes +later he was in dry clothes; hot rice, bean curd, and +tea were warming him; and he sat cross-legged in a +little alcove behind his till, smoking his metal pipe. +Two or three puffs, then he would empty the ash +in a brass bowl. He repeated this action half a +dozen times. He was emptying the ash for the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +last time when the door opened violently and a +man lurched in, hatless and apparently drunk—a +white man.</p> +<p>But instantly Ling Foo saw that the man was +not drunk. Blood was streaming down his face, +which was gray with terror and agony. The man +made a desperate effort to save himself from falling, +and dragged a pile of embroidered jackets to +the floor as he went down.</p> +<p>Ling Foo did not stir. It was not possible for +him to move. The suddenness of the spectacle +had disconnected thought from action. He saw +all this, memorized it, even speculated upon it; but +he could not move.</p> +<p>The door was still open. The rain slanted +across the black oblong space. He saw it strike +the windows, pause, then trickle down. He could +not see what had become of the man; the counter +intervened. A tingle ran through Ling Foo’s +body, and he knew that his brain had gained control +of his body again. But before this brain could +telegraph to his legs three men rushed into the +shop. A bubble of sound came into Ling Foo’s +throat—one of those calls for help that fear +smothers.</p> +<p>The three men disappeared instantly below the +counter rim. Silence, except for the voices of the +rain and the wind. Ling Foo, tensely, even +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +painfully alive now, waited. He was afraid, and it was +perfectly logical fear. Perhaps they had not +noticed him in the alcove. So he waited for this +fantastic drama to end.</p> +<p>The three men rose in unison. Ling Foo saw +that they were carrying the fourth between them. +The <ins class="trnote" title="“men” in original">man</ins> who carried the head and shoulders of the +victim—for Ling Foo was now certain that murder +was abroad—limped oddly, with a heave and +a sluing twist. Ling Foo slid off his cushion and +stepped round the counter in time to see the night +absorb the back of the man who limped. He +tried to recall the face of the man, but could not. +His initial terror had drawn for him three white +patches where faces should have been.</p> +<p>For several minutes Ling Foo stared at the oblong +blackness; then with a hysterical gurgle he ran +to the door, slammed and bolted it, and leaned +against the jamb, sick and faint, yet oddly relieved. +He would not now have to account to the +police for the body of an unknown white man.</p> +<p>A queer business. Nothing exciting ever happened +along this part of Woosung Road. What he +had witnessed—it still wasn’t quite believable—belonged +to the water front. Things happened +there, for these white sailors were a wild lot.</p> +<p>When the vertigo went out of his legs, Ling Foo +cat-stepped over to the scattered embroidered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +jackets and began mechanically to replace them on +the counter—all but two, for these were speckled +with blood. He contemplated them for a space, +and at last picked them up daintily and tossed +them into a far corner. When the blood dried he +would wash them out himself.</p> +<p>But there was that darkening stain on the floor. +That would have to be washed out at once or it +would be crying up to him eternally and recasting +the tragic picture. So he entered the rear of the +shop and summoned his wife. Meekly she obeyed +his order and scrubbed the stain. Her beady little +black eyes were so tightly lodged in her head that +it was not possible for her to elevate her brows in +surprise. But she knew that this stain was blood.</p> +<p>Ling Foo solemnly waved her aside when the +task was done, and she slip-slapped into the household +dungeon out of which she had emerged.</p> +<p>Her lord and master returned to his alcove. Ah, +but the pipe was good! He rocked slightly as he +smoked. Three pipefuls were reduced to ashes; +then he wriggled off the cushion, picked up his cash +counter and began slithering the buttons back and +forth; not because there were any profits or losses +that day, but because it gave a welcome turn to his +thoughts.</p> +<p>The storm raged outside. Occasionally he felt +the floor shudder. The windows ran thickly with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +rain. The door rattled. It was as if all objects +inanimate were demanding freedom from bolts and +nails. With the tip of his long, slender finger Ling +Foo moved the buttons. He counted what his +profits would be in Manchurian sables; in the two +Ming vases that had come in mysteriously from +Kiao-chau—German loot from Peking; counted his +former profits in snuff bottles, and so on.</p> +<p>The door rattled furiously.</p> +<p>Ling Foo could consider himself as tolerably +wealthy. Some day, when this great turmoil +among the whites subsided, he would move to +South China and grow little red oranges and +melons, and there would be a nook in the gardens +where he could sit with the perfume of jasmine +swimming over and about his head and the goodly +Book of Confucius on his knees.</p> +<p>A thudding sound—that wasn’t the wind. Ling +Foo looked over his buttons. He saw a human +face outside the door; a beautiful boy’s face—white. +That was the first impression. But as he +stared he saw a man’s fury destroy the boyish +stamp—gestures that demanded admission.</p> +<p>But Ling Foo shook his head with equal emphasis. +He would not go near that door again this +night.</p> +<p>The man outside shook his fists threateningly, +wheeled, and strode off. Three strides took him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +out of sight; but Ling Foo, with a damp little +chill on his spine, remarked that the visitor limped.</p> +<p>So! This would be the man who had carried +the bloody head and shoulders of the unknown.</p> +<p>Oriental curiosity blazed up and over Ling Foo’s +distaste. What was it all about? Why had the +limping man returned and demanded entrance? +What had they done with the body? Pearls! The +thought struck him as a blow. He began to +understand something of the episode. Pearls! +The beaten man had heard that sometimes Ling +Foo of Woosung Road dealt in pearls without being +overcurious. A falling out among thieves, and +one had tried to betray his confederates, paying +grimly for it. Pearls!</p> +<p>He trotted down to the door and peered into the +night, but he could see nothing. He wished now +that he had purchased those window curtains such +as the white merchants used over on the Bund. +Every move he made could be seen from across the +way, and the man who limped might be lurking +there, watching.</p> +<p>The man had come to him with pearls, but he +had not been quick enough. What had he done +with them? The man with the slue-foot would +not have returned had he found the pearls on his +moribund partner. That was sound reasoning. +Ling Foo’s heart contracted, then expanded and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +began to beat like a bird’s wing. In here somewhere—on +the floor!</p> +<p>He turned away from the door without haste. +His Oriental mind worked quickly and smoothly. +He would tramp back and forth the length of the +shop as if musing, but neither nook nor crevice +should escape his eye. He was heir to these pearls. +Slue-Foot—for so Ling Foo named his visitor—would +not dare molest him, since he, Ling Foo, +could go to the authorities and state that murder +had been done. Those tiger eyes in a boy’s face! +His spine grew cold.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, he set about his game. With his +hands in his sleeves, his chin down, he paced the +passage between the two counters. As he turned +for the fifth journey a red-and-blue flash struck his +eye. The flash came from the far corner of the +shop, from the foot of the gunpowder-blue temple +vase. Diamonds—not pearls but diamonds! +Russian loot!</p> +<p>Ling Foo pressed down his excitement and +slowly approached the vase. A necklace! He +gave the object a slight kick, which sent it rattling +toward the door to the rear. He resumed his +pacing. Each time he reached the necklace he +gave it another kick. At length the necklace was +at the threshold. Ling Foo approached the light +and shut it off. Next he opened the door and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +kicked the necklace across the threshold. Diamonds—thirty +or forty of them on a string.</p> +<p>The room in the rear was divided into workshop +and storeroom. The living rooms were above. +His wife was squatted on the floor in an unlittered +corner mending a ceremonial robe of his. She was +always in this room at night when Ling Foo was +in the shop.</p> +<p>He ignored her and carried his prize to a lapidary’s +bench. He perched himself on a stool and +reached for his magnifying glass. A queer little +hiss broke through his lips. Cut-glass beads, +patently Occidental, and here in Shanghai practically +worthless!</p> +<p>In his passion of disappointment he executed a +gesture as if to hurl the beads to the floor, but let +his arm sink slowly. He had made a mistake. +These beads had not brought tragedy in and out +of his shop. Somehow he had missed the object; +some nook or corner had escaped him. In the +morning he would examine every inch of the floor. +White men did not kill each other for a string of +glass beads.</p> +<p>He stirred the beads about on his palm, and +presently swung them under the droplight. Beautifully +cut, small and large beads alternating, and +on the smaller a graven letter he could not decipher. +He observed some dark specks, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +scrutinized them under the magnifying glass. +Blood! His Oriental mind groped hopelessly. +Blood! He could make nothing of it. A murderous +quarrel over such as these!</p> +<p>For a long time Ling Foo sat on his stool, the +image of Buddha contemplating the way. Outside +the storm carried on vigorously, sending +rattles into casements and shudders into doors. +The wifely needle, a thread of silver fire, shuttled +back and forth in the heavy brocade silk.</p> +<p>Glass beads! Trumpery! Ling Foo slid off +the stool and shuffled back into the shop for his +metal pipe.</p> +<p>Having pushed Ling Foo into this blind alley, +out of which he was shortly to emerge, none the +wiser, the Pagan Madonna swooped down upon +the young woman with the ruddy hair and touched +her with the impelling finger.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> + +<p>It was chance that brought Jane Norman into +Shanghai. The British transport, bound from +Vladivostok to Hong-Kong, was destined to +swing on her mudhook forty-eight hours. So +Jane, a Red Cross nurse, relieved and on the first +leg of the journey home to the United States, decided +to spend those forty-eight hours in Shanghai, +see the sights and do a little shopping. Besides, +she had seen nothing of China. On the way over, +fourteen months since, she had come direct from +San Francisco to the Russian port.</p> +<p>Jane was one of those suffocating adventurers +whom circumstance had fenced in. In fancy she +beat her hands against the bars of this cage that +had no door, but through which she could see the +caravans of dreams. Sea room and sky room were +the want of her, and no matter which way she +turned—bars. Her soul craved colour, distances, +mountain peaks; and about all she had ever seen +were the white walls of hospital wards. It is not +adventure to tend the sick, to bind up wounds, to +cheer the convalescing; it is a dull if angelic business. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span></p> +<p>In her heart of hearts Jane knew that she had +accepted the hardships of the Siberian campaign +with the secret hope that some adventure might +befall her—only to learn that her inexorable cage +had travelled along with her. Understand, this +longing was not the outcome of romantical reading; +it was in the marrow of her—inherent. She was +not in search of Prince Charming. She rarely +thought of love as other young women think of it. +She had not written in her mind any particular +event she wanted to happen; but she knew that +there must be colour, distance, mountain peaks. +A few days of tremendous excitement; and then +she acknowledged that she would be quite ready +to return to the old monotonous orbit.</p> +<p>The Great War to Jane had not been romance +and adventure; her imagination, lively enough in +other directions, had not falsely coloured the +stupendous crime. She had accepted it instantly +for what it was—pain, horror, death, hunger, and +pestilence. She saw it as the genius of Vasili +Vereshchagin and Émile Zola had seen it.</p> +<p>The pioneer—after all, what was it he was truly +seeking? Freedom! And as soon as ever civilization +caught up with him he moved on. Without +understanding it, that was really all Jane wanted—freedom. +Freedom from genteel poverty, freedom +from the white walls of hospitals, freedom +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +from exactly measured hours. Twenty four hours +a day, all her own; that was what she wanted; +twenty-four hours a day to do with as she pleased—to +sleep in, play, laugh, sing, love in. Pioneers, +explorers, adventurers—what else do they seek? +Twenty-four hours a day, all their own!</p> +<p>At half after eight—about the time Ling Foo +slid off his stool—the tender from the transport +sloshed up to the customs jetty and landed Jane, a +lone woman among a score of officers of various +nationalities. But it really wasn’t the customs +jetty her foot touched; it was the outer rim of the +whirligig.</p> +<p>Some officer had found an extra slicker for her +and an umbrella. Possibly the officer in olive drab +who assisted her to the nearest covered ’ricksha and +directed the placement of her luggage.</p> +<p>“China!”</p> +<p>“Yes, ma’am. Mandarin coats and oranges, +jade and jasmine, Pekingese and red chow dogs.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t mean that kind!” she interrupted. +“I should think these poor ’ricksha boys would die +of exposure.”</p> +<p>“Manchus are the toughest human beings on +earth. I’ll see you in the morning?”</p> +<p>“That depends,” she answered, “upon the sun. +If it rains I shall lie abed all day. A real bed! +Honour bright, I’ve often wondered if I should +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +ever see one again. Fourteen months in that awful +world up there! Siberia!”</p> +<p>“You’re a plucky woman.”</p> +<p>“Somebody had to go. Armenia or Siberia, it +was all the same to me if I could help.” She held +out her hand. “Good-night, captain. Thank +you for all your kindness to me. Ten o’clock, if it is +sunshiny. You’re to show me the shops. Oh, if +I were only rich!”</p> +<p>“And what would you do if you had riches?”</p> +<p>“I’d buy all the silk at Kai Fook’s—isn’t that +the name?—and roll myself up in it like a cocoon.”</p> +<p>The man laughed. He understood. A touch +of luxury, after all these indescribable months of +dirt and disease, rain and snow and ice, among a +people who lived like animals, who had the intelligence +of animals. When he spoke the officer’s +voice was singularly grave:</p> +<p>“These few days have been very happy ones for +me. At ten—if the sun shines. Good-night.”</p> +<p>The ’rickshas in a wavering line began to roll +along the Bund, which was practically deserted. +The lights shone through slanting lattices of rain. +Twice automobiles shot past, and Jane resented +them. China, the flowery kingdom! She was +touched with a little thrill of exultation. But oh, +to get home, home! Never again would she long +for palaces and servants and all that. The little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +wooden-frame house and the garden would be +paradise enough. The crimson ramblers, the +hollyhocks, the bachelor’s-buttons, and the peonies, +the twisted apple tree that never bore more than +enough for one pie! Her throat tightened.</p> +<p>She hadn’t heard from the mother in two +months, but there would be mail at Hong-Kong. +Letters and papers from home! Soon she would be +in the sitting room recounting her experiences; and +the little mother would listen politely, even doubtfully, +but very glad to have her back. How odd it +was! In the mother the spirit of adventure never +reached beyond the garden gate, while in the +daughter it had always been keen for the far +places. And in her first adventure beyond the +gate, how outrageously she had been cheated! +She had stepped out of drab and dreary routine +only to enter a drabber and drearier one.</p> +<p>What a dear boy this American officer was! He +seemed to have been everywhere, up and down the +world. He had hunted the white orchid of Borneo; +he had gone pearl hunting in the South Seas; and +he knew Monte Carlo, London, Paris, Naples, +Cairo. But he never spoke of home. She had +cleverly led up to it many times in the past month, +but always he had unembarrassedly switched the +conversation into another channel.</p> +<p>This puzzled her deeply. From the other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +Americans she never heard of anything but home, +and they were all mad to get there. Yet Captain +Dennison maintained absolute silence on that +topic. Clean shaven, bronzed, tall, and solidly +built, clear-eyed, not exactly handsome but engaging—what +lay back of the man’s peculiar +reticence? Being a daughter of Eve, the mystery +intrigued her profoundly.</p> +<p>Had he been a professional sailor prior to the +war? It seemed to her if that had been the case +he would have enlisted in the Navy. He talked +like a man who had spent many years on the +water; but in labour or in pleasure, he made it +most difficult for her to tell. Of his people, of his +past, not Bluebeard’s closet was more firmly shut. +Still with a little smile she recalled that eventually +a woman had opened that closet door, and hadn’t +had her head cut off, either.</p> +<p>He was poor like herself. That much was +established. For he had said frankly that when +he received his discharge from the Army he would +have to dig up a job to get a meal ticket.</p> +<p>Dear, dear! Would she ever see a continuous +stretch of sunshine again? How this rain tore into +things! Shanghai! Wouldn’t it be fun to have a +thousand dollars to fling away on the shops? She +wanted jade beads, silks—not the quality the +Chinese made for export, but that heavy, shiver +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +stuff that was as strong and shielding as wool—ivory +carvings, little bronze Buddhas with prayer +scrolls inside of them, embroidered jackets. But +why go on? She had less than a hundred, and she +would have to carry home gimcracks instead of +curios.</p> +<p>They were bobbing over a bridge now, and a +little way beyond she saw the lighted windows of +the great caravansary, the Astor House. It +smacked of old New York, where in a few weeks +she would be stepping back into the dull routine of +hospital work.</p> +<p>She paid the ricksha boy and ran into the lobby, +stamping her feet and shaking the umbrella. The +slicker was an overhead affair, and she had to take +off her hat to get free. This act tumbled her hair +about considerably, and Jane Norman’s hair was +her glory. It was the tint of the copper beech, +thick, finespun, with intermittent twists that gave +it a wavy effect.</p> +<p>Jane was not beautiful; that is, her face was +not—it was comely. It was her hair that turned +male heads. It was then men took note of her +body. She was magnificently healthy, and true +health is a magnet as powerful as that of the true +pole. It drew toward her men and women and +children. Her eyes were gray and serious; her +teeth were white and sound. She was twenty-four. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span></p> +<p>There was, besides her hair, another thing that +was beautiful—her voice. It answered like the G +string of an old Strad to every emotion. One +could tell instantly when she was merry or sad or +serious or angry. She could not hide her emotions +any more than she could hide her hair. As a war +nurse she had been adored by the wounded men +and fought over by the hospital commandants. +But few men had dared make love to her. She +had that peculiar gift of drawing and repelling +without consciousness.</p> +<p>As the Chinese boy got her things together Jane +espied the bookstall. American newspapers and +American magazines! She packed four or five of +each under her arm, nodded to the boy, and followed +the manager to the lift! She hoped the +lights would hang so that she could lie in bed and +read. Her brain was thirsty for a bit of romance.</p> +<p>Humming, she unpacked. She had brought +one evening gown, hoping she might have a chance +to wear it before it fell apart from disuse. She +shook out the wrinkles and hung the gown in the +closet. Lavender! She raised a fold of the gown +and breathed in rapturously that homy perfume. +She sighed. Perhaps she would have to lay away +all her dreams in lavender.</p> +<p>A little later she sat before the dressing mirror, +combing her hair. How it happened she never +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +could tell, but she heard a crash upon the wood +floor, and discovered her hand mirror shattered +into a thousand splinters.</p> +<p>Seven years’ bad luck! She laughed. Fate +had blundered. The mirror had fallen seven +years too late.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> + +<p>Outside the bar where the Whangpoo +empties into the Yang-tse lay the thousand-ton +yacht <i>Wanderer II</i>, out of New +York. She was a sea whippet, and prior to the +war her bowsprit had nosed into all the famed +harbours of the seven seas. For nearly three years +she had been in the auxiliary fleet of the United +States Navy. She was still in war paint, owner’s +choice, but all naval markings had been obliterated. +Her deck was flush. The house, pierced by the +main companionway, was divided into three +sections—a small lounging room, a wireless room, +and the captain’s cabin, over which stood the +bridge and chart house. The single funnel rose +between the captain’s cabin and the wireless +room, and had the rakish tilt of the racer. <i>Wanderer +II</i> could upon occasion hit it up round twenty-one +knots, for all her fifteen years. There was +plenty of deck room fore and aft.</p> +<p>The crew’s quarters were up in the forepeak. +A passage-way divided the cook’s galley and the +dry stores, then came the dining salon. The main +salon, with a fine library, came next. The port +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +side of this salon was cut off into the owner’s +cabin. The main companionway dropped into +the salon, a passage each side giving into the guest +cabins. But rarely these days were there any +guests on <i>Wanderer II</i>.</p> +<p>The rain slashed her deck, drummed on the boat +canvas, and blurred the ports. The deck house +shed webby sheets of water, now to port, now to +starboard. The ladder was down, and a reflector +over the platform advertised the fact that either +the owner had gone into Shanghai or was expecting +a visitor.</p> +<p>All about were rocking lights, yellow and green +and red, from warships, tramps, passenger ships, +freighters, barges, junks. The water was streaked +with shaking lances of colour.</p> +<p>In the salon, under a reading lamp, sat a man +whose iron-gray hair was patched with cowlicks. +Combs and brushes produced no results, so the +owner had had it clipped to a short pompadour. +It was the skull of a fighting man, for all that +frontally it was marked by a high intellectuality. +This sort of head generally gives the possessor +yachts like <i>Wanderer II</i>, tremendous bank accounts; +the type that will always possess these +things, despite the howl of the proletariat.</p> +<p>The face was sunburned. There was some +loose flesh under the jaws. The nose was thick +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +and pudgy, wide in the nostrils, like a lion’s. The +predatory are not invariably hawk-nosed. The +eyes were blue—in repose, a warm blue—and there +were feathery wrinkles at the corners which suggested +that the toll-taker could laugh occasionally. +The lips were straight and thin, the chin square—stubborn +rather than relentless. A lonely man +who was rarely lonesome.</p> +<p>His body was big. One has to be keen physically +as well as mentally to make a real success of anything. +His score might have tallied sixty. He +was at the peak of life, but hanging there, you +might say. To-morrow Anthony Cleigh might +begin the quick downward journey.</p> +<p>He had made his money in mines, rails, ships; +and now he was spending it prodigally. Prodigally, +yes, but with caution and foresight. There +was always a ready market for what he bought. +If he paid a hundred thousand for a Rembrandt, +rest assured he knew where he could dispose of +it for the same amount. Cleigh was a collector by +instinct. With him it was no fad; it was a passion, +sometimes absurd. This artistic love of rare and +beautiful creations was innate, not acquired. +Dealers had long since learned their lesson, and no +more sought to impose upon him.</p> +<p>He was not always scrupulous. In the dollar +war he had been sternly honest, harshly just. In +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +pursuit of objects of art he argued with his conscience +that he was not injuring the future of +widows and orphans when he bought some purloined +masterpiece. Without being in the least +aware of it, he was now the victim, not the master, +of the passion. He would have purchased +Raphael’s Adoration of the Magi had some rogue +been able to steal it from the Vatican.</p> +<p>Hanging from the ceiling and almost touching +the floor, forward between the entrance to the +dining salon and the owner’s cabin, was a rug +eight and a half by six. It was the first object +that struck your eye as you came down the +companionway. It was an animal rug, a museum +piece; rubies and sapphires and emeralds and +topaz melted into wool. It was under glass to +fend off the sea damp. Fit to hang beside the +Ardebil Carpet.</p> +<p>You never saw the rug except in this salon. +Cleigh dared not hang it in his gallery at home +in New York for the particular reason that the +British Government, urged by the Viceroy of +India, had been hunting high and low for the rug +since 1911, when it had been the rightful property +of a certain influential maharaja whose <i>Ai, ai!</i> had +reverberated from Hind to Albion over the loss. +Thus it will not be difficult to understand why +Cleigh was lonely rather than lonesome. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span></p> +<p>Queer lot. To be a true collector is to be as the +opium eater: you keep getting in deeper and +deeper, careless that the way back closes. After +a while you cannot feel any kick in the stuff you +find in the open marts, so you step outside the +pale, where they sell the unadulterated. That’s +the true, dyed-in-the-wool collector. He no longer +acquires a Vandyke merely to show to his friends; +that he possesses it for his own delectation is +enough. He becomes brother to Gaspard, miser; +and like Gaspard he cannot be fooled by spurious +gold.</p> +<p>Over the top of the rug was a curtain of waxed +sailcloth that could be dropped by the pull of a +cord, and it was generally dropped whenever +Cleigh made port.</p> +<p>It was vaguely known that Cleigh possessed the +maharaja’s treasure. Millionaire collectors, agents, +and famous salesroom auctioneers had heard indirectly; +but they kept the information to themselves—not +from any kindly spirit, however. +Never a one of them but hoped some day he might +lay hands upon the rug and dispose of it to some +other madman. A rug valued at seventy thousand +dollars was worth a high adventure. Cleigh, +however, with cynical humour courted the danger.</p> +<p>There is a race of hardy dare-devils—super-thieves—of +which the world hears little and knows +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +little. These adventurers have actually robbed +the Louvre, the Vatican, the Pitti Gallery, the +palaces of kings and sultans. It was not so long +ago that La Gioconda—Mona Lisa—was stolen +from the Louvre. Cleigh had come from New +York, thousands of miles, for the express purpose +of meeting one of these amazing rogues—a rogue +who, had he found a rich wallet on the pavements, +would have moved heaven and earth to find the +owner, but who would have stolen the Pope’s +throne had it been left about carelessly.</p> +<p>It is rather difficult to analyze the moral status +of such a man, or that of the man ready to deal +with him.</p> +<p>Cleigh lowered his book and assumed a listening +attitude. Above the patter of the rain he heard +the putt-putt of a motor launch. He laid the book +on the table and reached for a black cigar, which +he lit and began to puff quickly. Louder grew +the panting of the motor. It stopped abruptly. +Cleigh heard a call or two, then the creaking of the +ladder. Two minutes later a man limped into +the salon. He tossed his sou’wester to the floor +and followed it with the smelly oilskin.</p> +<p>“Hello, Cleigh! Devil of a night!”</p> +<p>“Have a peg?” asked Cleigh.</p> +<p>“Never touch the stuff.”</p> +<p>“That’s so; I had forgotten.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></p> +<p>Cleigh never looked upon this man’s face without +recalling del Sarto’s John the Baptist—supposing +John had reached forty by the way of reckless +passions. The extraordinary beauty was still +there, but as though behind a blurred pane of +glass.</p> +<p>“Well?” said Cleigh, trying to keep the eagerness +out of his voice.</p> +<p>“There’s the devil to pay—all in a half hour.”</p> +<p>“You haven’t got it?” Cleigh blazed out.</p> +<p>“Morrissy—one of the squarest chaps in the +world—ran amuck the last minute. Tried to +double-cross me, and in the rough-and-tumble +that followed he was more or less banged up. We +hurried him to a hospital, where he lies unconscious.”</p> +<p>“But the beads!”</p> +<p>“Either he dropped them in the gutter, or they +repose on the floor of a Chinese shop in Woosung +Road. I’ll be there bright and early—never you +fear. Don’t know what got into Morrissy. Of +course I’ll look him up in the morning.”</p> +<p>“Thousands of miles—to hear a yarn like this!”</p> +<p>“Cleigh, we’ve done business for nearly twenty +years. You can’t point out an instance where I +ever broke my word.”</p> +<p>“I know,” grumbled Cleigh. “But I’ve gone +to all this trouble, getting a crew and all that. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +And now you tell me you’ve let the beads slip +through your fingers!”</p> +<p>“Pshaw! You’d have put the yacht into commission +if you’d never heard from me. You were +crazy to get to sea again. Any trouble picking +up the crew?”</p> +<p>“No. But only four of the old crew—Captain +Newton, of course, and Chief Engineer Svenson, +Donaldson, and Morley. Still, it’s the best crew I +ever had: young fellows off warships and transports, +looking for comfortable berths and a little +adventure that won’t entail hunting periscopes.”</p> +<p>“Plenty of coal?”</p> +<p>“Trust me for that. Four hundred tons in +Manila, and I shan’t need more than a bucketful.”</p> +<p>“Who drew the plans for this yacht?” asked +Cunningham, with a roving glance.</p> +<p>“I did.”</p> +<p>“Humph! Why didn’t you leave the job to +someone who knew how? It’s a series of labyrinths +on this deck.”</p> +<p>“I wanted a big main salon, even if I had to +sacrifice some of the rest of the space. Besides, it +keeps the crew out of sight.”</p> +<p>“And I should say out of touch, too.”</p> +<p>“I’m quite satisfied,” replied Cleigh, grumpily.</p> +<p>“Cleigh, I’m through.” Cunningham spread +his hands. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span></p> +<p>“What are you through with?”</p> +<p>“Through with this game. I’m going in for a +little sport. This string of beads was the wind-up. +But don’t worry. They’ll be on board here to-morrow. +You brought the gold?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>The visitor paused in front of the rug. He +sighed audibly.</p> +<p>“Scheherazade’s twinkling little feet! Lord, +but that rug is a wonder! Cleigh, I’ve been offered +eighty thousand for it.”</p> +<p>“What’s that?” Cleigh barked, half out of his +chair.</p> +<p>“Eighty thousand by Eisenfeldt. I don’t know +what crazy fool he’s dealing for, but he offers me +eighty thousand.”</p> +<p>Cleigh got up and pressed a wall button. Presently +a man stepped into the salon from the starboard +passage. He was lank, with a lean, wind-bitten +face and a hard blue eye.</p> +<p>“Dodge,” announced Cleigh, smiling, “this is +Mr. Cunningham. I want you to remember him.”</p> +<p>Dodge agreed with a curt nod.</p> +<p>“If ever you see him in this cabin when I’m +absent, you know what to do.”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” replied Dodge, with a wintry smile.</p> +<p>Cunningham laughed.</p> +<p>“So you carry a Texas gunman round with you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +now? After all, why not? You never can tell. +But don’t worry, Cleigh. If ever I make up my +mind to accept Eisenfeldt’s offer, I’ll lift the yacht +first.”</p> +<p>Cleigh laughed amusedly.</p> +<p>“How would you go about to steal a yacht like +this?”</p> +<p>“That’s telling. Now I’ve got to get back to +town. My advice for you is to come in to-morrow +and put up at the Astor, where I can get in touch +with you easily.”</p> +<p>“Agreed. That’s all, Dodge.”</p> +<p>The Texan departed, and Cunningham burst +into laughter again.</p> +<p>“You’re an interesting man, Cleigh. On my +word, you do need a guardian—gallivanting round +the world with all these treasures. Queer what +things we do when we try to forget. Is there any +desperate plunge we wouldn’t take if we thought +we could leave the Old Man of the Sea behind? +You think you’re forgetting when you fly across +half the world for a string of glass beads. I think +I’m forgetting when I risk my neck getting hold +of some half-forgotten Rembrandt. But there +it is, always at our shoulder when we turn. One +of the richest men in the world! Doesn’t that +tingle you when you hear people whisper it as you +pass? Just as I tingle when some woman gasps, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +‘What a beautiful face!’ We both have our +withered leg—only yours is invisible.”</p> +<p>The mockery on the face and the irony on the +tongue of the man disturbed Cleigh. Supposing +the rogue had his eye on that rug? To what +lengths might he not go to possess it? And he had +the infernal ingenuity of his master, Beelzebub. +Or was he just trying Anthony Cleigh’s nerves to +see whether they were sound or raw?</p> +<p>“But the beads!” he said.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry. Simply Morrissy ran amuck.”</p> +<p>“I am willing to pay half as much again.”</p> +<p>“You leave that to me—at the original price. +No hold-up. Prices fixed, as the French say. +Those beads will be on board here to-morrow. +But why the devil do you carry that rug abroad?”</p> +<p>“To look at.”</p> +<p>“Mad as a hatter!” Cunningham picked up +his oilskin and sou’wester. “Hang it, Cleigh, I’ve +a notion to have a try at that rug just for the sport +of it!”</p> +<p>“If you want to bump into Dodge,” replied the +millionaire, dryly, “try it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, it will be the whole thing—the yacht—when +I start action! Devil take the weather!”</p> +<p>“How the deuce did the beads happen to turn +up here in Shanghai?”</p> +<p>“Morrissy brought them east from Naples. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +That’s why his work to-night puzzles me. All +those weeks to play the crook in, and then to make +a play for it when he knew he could not put it +over! Brain storm—and when he comes to he’ll +probably be sorry. Well, keep your eye on the +yacht.” Cunningham shouldered into his oilskin. +“To-morrow at the Astor, between three and five. +By George, what a ripping idea—to steal the +yacht! I’m mad as a hatter, too. Good-night, +Cleigh.” And laughing, Cunningham went twisting +up the companionway, into the rain and the +dark.</p> +<p>Cleigh stood perfectly still until the laughter +became an echo and the echo a memory.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> + +<p>Morning and winnowed skies; China +awake. The great black-and-gold banners +were again fluttering in Nanking +Road. Mongolian ponies clattered about, automobiles +rumbled, ’rickshas jogged. Venders were +everywhere, many with hot rice and bean curd. +Street cleaners in bright-red cotton jackets were +busy with the mud puddles. The river swarmed +with sampans and barges and launches. There +was only one lifeless thing in all Shanghai that +morning—the German Club.</p> +<p>In the city hospital the man Morrissy, his head +in bandages, smiled feebly into Cunningham’s +face.</p> +<p>“Were you mad to try a game like that? What +the devil possessed you? Three to one, and never +a ghost of a chance. You never blew up like this +before. What’s the answer?”</p> +<p>“Just struck me, Dick—one of those impulses +you can’t help. I’m sorry. Ought to have known +I’d have no chance, and you’d have been justified +in croaking me. Just as I was in the act of +handing them over to you the idea came to bolt. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +All that dough would keep me comfortably the +rest of my life.”</p> +<p>“What happened to them?”</p> +<p>“Don’t know. After that biff on the coco I only +wanted some place to crawl into. I had them in +my hand when I started to run. Sorry.”</p> +<p>“Have they quizzed you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, but I made out I couldn’t talk. What’s +the dope?”</p> +<p>“You were in a rough-and-tumble down the +Chinese Bund, and we got you away. Play up to +that.”</p> +<p>“All right. But, gee! I won’t be able to go +with you.”</p> +<p>“If we have any luck, I’ll see you get a +share.”</p> +<p>“That’s white. You were always a white man, +Dick. I feel like a skunk. I knew I couldn’t put +it over, with the three of you at my elbow. What +the devil got into me?”</p> +<p>“Any funds?”</p> +<p>“Enough to get me down to Singapore. Where +do you want me to hang out?”</p> +<p>“Suit yourself. You’re out of this play—and +it’s my last.”</p> +<p>“You’re quitting the big game?”</p> +<p>“Yes. What’s left of my schedule I’m going to +run out on my own. So we probably won’t meet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +again for a long time, Morrissy. Here’s a couple +of hundred to add to your store. If we find the +beads I’ll send your share wherever you say.”</p> +<p>“Might as well be Naples. They’re off me in +the States.”</p> +<p>“All right. Cook’s or the American Express?”</p> +<p>“Address me the Milan direct.”</p> +<p>Cunningham nodded.</p> +<p>“Well, good-bye.”</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Dick. I’m sorry I gummed it up.”</p> +<p>“I thought you’d be. Good-bye.”</p> +<p>But as Cunningham passed from sight, the man +on the cot smiled ironically at the sun-splashed +ceiling. A narrow squeak, but he had come +through.</p> +<p>Cunningham, grateful for the sunshine, limped +off toward Woosung Road, grotesquely but incredibly +fast for a man with only one sound leg. +He never used a cane, having the odd fancy that a +stick would only emphasize his affliction. He +might have taken a ’ricksha this morning, but he +never thought of it until he had crossed Soochow +Creek.</p> +<p>But Ling Foo was not in his shop and the door +was locked. Cunningham explored the muddy +gutters all the way from Ling Foo’s to Moy’s tea +house, where the meeting had taken place. He +found nothing, and went into Moy’s to wait. Ling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +Foo would have to pass the restaurant. A boy +who knew the merchant stood outside to watch.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Jane woke at nine. The brightness of the window +shade told her that the sun was clear. She +sprang out of bed, a trill of happiness in her throat. +The shops! Oh, the beautiful, beautiful shops!</p> +<p>“China, China, China!” she sang.</p> +<p>She threw up the shade and squinted for a moment. +The sun in the heavens and the reflection +on the Whangpoo were blinding. The sampans +made her think of ants, darting, scuttling, wheeling.</p> +<p>“Oh, the beautiful shops!”</p> +<p>Of all the things in the world—this side of the +world—worth having, nothing else seemed comparable +to jade—a jade necklace. Not the stone +that looked like dull marble with a greenish pallor—no. +She wanted the deep apple-green jade, the +royal, translucent stone. And she knew that she +had as much chance of possessing the real article +as she had of taking her pick of the scattered +Romanoff jewels.</p> +<p>Jane held to the belief that when you wished for +something you couldn’t have it was niggardly not +to wish magnificently.</p> +<p>She dressed hurriedly, hastened through her +breakfast of tea and toast and jam, and was about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +to sally forth upon the delectable adventure, when +there came a gentle knock on the door. She +opened it, rather expecting a boy to announce that +Captain Dennison was below. Outside stood a +Chinaman in a black skirt and a jacket of blue +brocade. He was smiling and kotowing.</p> +<p>“Would the lady like to see some things?”</p> +<p>“Come in,” said Jane, readily.</p> +<p>Ling Foo deposited his pack on the floor +and opened it. He had heard that a single +woman had come in the night before and, +shrewd merchant that he was, he had wasted no +time.</p> +<p>“Furs!” cried Jane, reaching down for the +Manchurian sable. She blew aside the top fur +and discovered the smoky down beneath. She +rubbed her cheek against it ecstatically. She +wondered what devil’s lure there was about furs +and precious stones that made women give up all +the world for them. Was that madness hidden +away in her somewhere?</p> +<p>“How much?”</p> +<p>She knew beforehand that the answer would +render the question utterly futile.</p> +<p>“A hundred Mex,” said Ling Foo. “Very +cheap.”</p> +<p>“A hundred Mex?” That would be nearly +fifty dollars in American money. With a sigh +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +she dropped the fur. “Too much for me. How +much is that Chinese jacket?”</p> +<p>“Twenty Mex.”</p> +<p>Jane carried it over to the window.</p> +<p>“I will give you fifteen for it.”</p> +<p>“All right.”</p> +<p>Ling Foo was willing to forego his usual hundred +per cent. profit in order to start the day with a +sale. Then he spread out the grass linen.</p> +<p>Jane went into raptures over some of the designs, +but in the end she shook her head. She +wanted something from Shanghai, something from +Hong-Kong, something from Yokohama. If she +followed her inclination she would go broke here +and now.</p> +<p>“Have you any jade? Understand, I’m not +buying. Just want to see some.”</p> +<p>“No, lady; but I can bring you some this afternoon.”</p> +<p>“I warn you, I’m not buying.”</p> +<p>“I shall be glad to show the lady. What time +shall I call?”</p> +<p>“Oh, about tea time.”</p> +<p>Ling Foo reached inside his jacket and produced +a string of cut-glass beads.</p> +<p>“How pretty! What are they?”</p> +<p>“Glass.”</p> +<p>Jane hooked the string round her neck and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +viewed the result in the mirror. The sunshine, +striking the facets, set fire to the beads. They +were really lovely. She took a sudden fancy to +them.</p> +<p>“How much?”</p> +<p>“Four Mex.” It was magnanimous of Ling +Foo.</p> +<p>“I’ll take them.” They were real, anyhow. +“Bring your jade at tea time and call for Miss +Norman. I can’t give you any more time.”</p> +<p>“Yes, lady.”</p> +<p>Ling Foo bundled up his assorted merchandise +and trotted away infinitely relieved. The whole +affair was off his hands. In no wise could the +police bother him now. He knew nothing; he +would know nothing until he met his honourable +ancestors.</p> +<p>From ten until three Jane, under the guidance +of Captain Dennison, stormed the shops on the +Bunds and Nanking Road; but in returning to the +Astor House she realized with dismay that she had +expended the major portion of her ammunition in +this offensive. She doubted if she would have +enough to buy a kimono in Japan. It was dreadful +to be poor and to have a taste for luxury and an +eye for beauty.</p> +<p>“Captain,” she said as they sat down to tea, +“I’m going to ask one more favour.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“A Chinaman is coming with some jade. If +I’m alone with him I’m afraid I’ll buy something, +and I really can’t spend another penny in Shanghai.”</p> +<p>“I see. Want me to shoo him off in case his +persistence is too much for you.”</p> +<p>“Exactly. It’s very nice of you.”</p> +<p>“Greatest pleasure in the world. I wish the +job was permanent—shooing ’em away from you.”</p> +<p>She sent him a quick sidelong glance, but he was +smiling. Still, there was something in the tone +that quickened her pulse. All nonsense, of course; +both of them stony, as the Britishers put it; both +of them returning to the States for bread and +butter.</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you put up here?” she asked. +“There is plenty of room.”</p> +<p>“Well, I thought perhaps it would be better if I +stayed at the Palace.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense! Who cares?”</p> +<p>“I do.” And this time he did not smile.</p> +<p>“I suppose my Chinaman will be waiting in the +lobby.”</p> +<p>“Let’s toddle along, then.”</p> +<p>Dennison followed her out of the tea room, his +gaze focused on the back of her neck, and it was +just possible to resist the mad inclination to bend +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +and kiss the smooth, ivory-tinted skin. He was +not ready to analyze the impulse for fear he might +find how deep down the propellant was. A woman, +young in the heart, young in the body, and old in +the mind, disillusioned but not embittered, unafraid, +resourceful, sometimes beautiful and sometimes +plain, but always splendidly alive.</p> +<p>Perhaps the wisest move on his part was to avoid +her companionship, invent some excuse to return +by the way of Manila, pretend he had transfer +orders. To spend twenty-one days on the same +ship with her and to keep his head seemed a bit too +strong. Had there been something substantial +reaching down from the future—a dependable job—he +would have gone with her joyously. But he +had not a dollar beyond his accumulated pay; that +would melt quickly enough when he reached the +States. He was thirty; he would have to hustle to +get anywhere by the time he was forty. His only +hope was that back in the States they were calling +for men who knew how to manage men, and he had +just been discharged—or recalled for that purpose—from +the best school for that. But they were +calling for specialists, too, and he was a jack of all +trades and master of none.</p> +<p>He knew something about art, something about +music, something about languages; but he could +not write. He was a fair navigator, but not fair +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +enough for a paying job. He could take an automobile +engine apart and reassemble it with skill, +but any chauffeur could do that.</p> +<p>“Hadn’t we better go into the parlour?” he +heard Jane asking as they passed out.</p> +<p>“We’ll be alone there. It will be easier for you +to resist temptation, I suppose, if there isn’t any +audience. Audiences are nuisances. Men have +killed each other because they feared the crowd +might mistake common sense for the yellow +streak.”</p> +<p>Instantly the thought leaped into the girl’s +mind: Supposing such an event lay back of this +strange silence about his home and his people? +She recalled the ruthless ferocity with which he had +broken up a street fight between American and +Japanese soldiers one afternoon in Vladivostok. +Supposing he had killed someone? But she had to +repudiate this theory. No officer in the United +States Army could cover up anything like that.</p> +<p>“Come to the parlour,” she said to Ling Foo, who +was smiling and kotowing.</p> +<p>Ling Foo picked up his blackwood box. Inwardly +he was not at all pleased at the prospect of +having an outsider witness the little business +transaction he had in mind. Obliquely he studied +the bronze mask. There was no eagerness, no +curiosity, no indifference. It struck Ling Foo +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +that there was something Oriental in this officer’s +repose. But five hundred gold! Five hundred +dollars in American gold—for a string of glass +beads!</p> +<p>He set the blackwood box on a stand, opened it, +and spread out jade earrings, rings, fobs, bracelets, +strings. The girl’s eagerness caused Ling Foo +to sigh with relief. It would be easy.</p> +<p>“I warned you that I should not buy anything,” +said Jane, ruefully. “But even if I had the money +I would not buy this kind of a jade necklace. I +should want apple-green.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” said Ling Foo, shocked with delight. +“Perhaps we can make a bargain. You have +those glass beads I sold you this morning?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I am wearing them.”</p> +<p>Jane took off her mink-fur collaret, which was +sadly worn.</p> +<p>Ling Foo’s hand went into his box again. From +a piece of cotton cloth he drew forth a necklace +of apple-green jade, almost perfect.</p> +<p>“Oh, the lovely thing!” Jane seized the necklace. +“To possess something like this! Isn’t it +glorious, captain?”</p> +<p>“Let me see it.” Dennison inspected the necklace +carefully. “It is genuine. Where did you +get this?”</p> +<p>Ling Foo shrugged. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span></p> +<p>“Long ago, during the Boxer troubles, I bought +it from a sailor.”</p> +<p>“Ah, probably loot from the Peking palace. +How much is it worth?”</p> +<p>Murder blazed up in Ling Foo’s heart, but his +face remained smilingly bland.</p> +<p>“What I can get for it. But if the lady wishes +I will give it to her in exchange for the glass beads. +I had no right to sell the beads,” Ling Foo went +on with a deprecating gesture. “I thought the +man who owned them would never claim them. +But he came this noon. Something belonging to +his ancestor—and he demands it.”</p> +<p>“Trade them? Good heavens, yes! Of all +things! Here!” Jane unclasped the beads and +thrust them toward Ling Foo’s eager claw.</p> +<p>But Dennison reached out an intervening hand.</p> +<p>“Just a moment, Miss Norman. What’s the +game?” he asked of Ling Foo.</p> +<p>Ling Foo silently cursed all this meddler’s ancestors +from Noah down, but his face expressed +only mild bewilderment.</p> +<p>“Game?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Why didn’t you offer some other bits of +jade? This string is worth two or three hundred +gold; and this is patently a string of glass beads, +handsomely cut, but nevertheless plain glass. +What’s the idea?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span></p> +<p>“But I have explained!” protested Ling Foo. +“The string is not mine. I have in honour to return +it.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes! That’s all very well. You could +have told this lady that and offered to return her +money. But a jade necklace like this one! No, +Miss Norman; my advice is to keep the beads until +we learn what’s going on.”</p> +<p>“But to let that jade go!” she wailed comically.</p> +<p>“The lady may keep the jade until to-morrow. +She may have the night to decide. This is no +hurry.”</p> +<p>Ling Foo saw that he had been witless indeed. +The thought of raising the bid of five hundred gold +to a thousand or more had bemused him, blunted +his ordinary cunning.</p> +<p>Inwardly he cursed his stupidity. But the appearance +of a witness to the transaction had set +him off his balance. The officer had spoken +shrewdly. The young woman would have returned +the beads in exchange for the sum she had +paid for them, and she would never have suspected—nor +the officer, either—that the beads possessed +unknown value. Still, the innocent covetousness, +plainly visible in her eyes, told him that the game +was not entirely played out; there was yet a dim +chance. Alone, without the officer to sway her, +she might be made to yield. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span></p> +<p>“The lady may wear the beads to-night if she +wishes. I will return for them in the morning.”</p> +<p>“But this does not explain the glass beads,” +said the captain.</p> +<p>“I will bring the real owner with me in the +morning,” volunteered Ling Foo. “He sets a high +value on them through sentiment. Perhaps I was +hasty.”</p> +<p>Dennison studied the glass beads. Perhaps his +suspicions were not on any too solid ground. Yet +a string of jade beads like that in exchange! Something +was in the air.</p> +<p>“Well,” said he, smiling at the appeal in the +girl’s eyes, “I don’t suppose there will be any harm +in keeping them overnight. We’ll have a chance +to talk it over.”</p> +<p>Ling Foo’s plan of attack matured suddenly. +He would call near midnight. He would somehow +manage to get to her door. She would probably +hand him the glass beads without a word of argument. +Then he would play his game with the man +who limped. He smiled inwardly as he put his +wares back into the carved box. A thousand gold! +At any rate, he would press the man into a corner. +There was something about this affair that convinced +Ling Foo that his noon visitor would pay high +for two reasons: one, to recover the glass beads; +the other, to keep out of the reach of the police. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></p> +<p>Ling Foo considered that he was playing his +advantage honestly. He hadn’t robbed or murdered +anybody. A business deal had slipped into +his hands and it was only logical to make the most +of it. He kotowed several times on the way out +of the parlour, conscious, however, of the searching +eyes of the man who had balked him.</p> +<p>“Well!” exclaimed Jane. “What in the world +do you suppose is going on?”</p> +<p>“Lord knows, but something is going on. You +couldn’t buy a jade necklace like that under five +hundred in New York. This apple-green seldom +runs deep; the colour runs in veins and patches. +The bulk of the quarried stone has the colour and +greasy look of raw pork. No; I shouldn’t put it on +just now, not until you have washed it. You never +can tell. I’ll get you a germicide at the English +apothecary’s. Glass beads! Humph! Hanged if +I can make it out. Glass; Occidental, too; maybe +worth five dollars in the States. Put it on again. +It’s a great world over here. You’re always +stumbling into something unique. I’m coming +over to dine with you to-night.”</p> +<p>“Splendid!”</p> +<p>Jane put the jade into her hand-bag, clasped the +glass beads round her neck again, and together she +and Dennison walked toward the parlour door. +As they reached it a tall, vigorous, elderly man +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +with a gray pompadour started to enter. He +paused, with an upward tilt of the chin, but the +tilt was the result of pure astonishment. Instinctively +Jane turned to her escort. His chin was +tilted, too, and his expression was a match for the +stranger’s. Later, recalling the tableau, which +lasted but a moment, it occurred to Jane that two +men, suddenly confronted by a bottomless pit, +might have expressed their dumfounderment in +exactly this fashion.</p> +<p>In the lobby she said rather breathlessly: “You +knew each other and didn’t speak! Who is he?”</p> +<p>The answer threw her into a hypnotic state.</p> +<p>“My father,” said Dennison, quietly.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> + +<p>Father and son! For a while Jane had +the sensation of walking upon unsubstantial +floors, of seeing unsubstantial objects. +The encounter did not seem real, human. +Father and son, and they had not rushed into each +other’s arms! No matter what had happened in +the past, there should have been some human sign +other than astonishment. At the very least two +or three years had separated them. Just stared +for a moment, and passed on!</p> +<p>Hypnotism is a fact; a word or a situation will +create this peculiar state of mind. Father and +son! The phrase actually hypnotized Jane, and +she remained in the clutch of it until hours later, +which may account for the amazing events into +which she permitted herself to be drawn. Father +and son! Her actions were normal; her mental +state was not observable; but inwardly she retained +no clear recollection of the hours that intervened +between this and the astonishing climax. +As from a distance, she heard the voice of the son:</p> +<p>“Looks rum to you, no doubt. But I can’t tell +you the story—at least not now. It’s the story of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +a tomfool. I had no idea he was on this side. I +haven’t laid eyes on him in seven years. Dinner +at seven. I’ll have that germicide sent up to your +room.”</p> +<p>The captain nodded abruptly and made off +toward the entrance.</p> +<p>Jane understood. He wanted to be alone—to +catch his breath, as it were. At any rate, that +was a human sign that something besides astonishment +was stirring within. So she walked mechanically +over to the bookstall and hazily glanced at +the backs of the new novels, riffled the pages of +a magazine; and to this day she cannot recall +whether the clerk was a man or a woman, white or +brown or yellow, for a hand touched her sleeve +lightly, compelling her attention. Dennison’s +father stood beside her.</p> +<p>“Pardon me, but may I ask you a question?”</p> +<p>Jane dropped the fur collaret in her confusion. +They both stooped for it, and collided gently; but +in rising the man glimpsed the string of glass beads.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Jane, as she received the +collaret. “What is it you wish to ask of me?”</p> +<p>“The name of the man you were with.”</p> +<p>“Dennison; his own and yours—probably,” she +said with spirit, for she took sides in that moment, +and was positive that the blame for the estrangement +lay with the father. The level, unagitated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +voice irritated her; she resented it. He wasn’t +human!</p> +<p>“My name is Cleigh—Anthony Cleigh. Thank +you.”</p> +<p>Cleigh bowed politely and moved away. Behind +that calm, impenetrable mask, however, was +turmoil, kaleidoscopic, whirling too quickly for the +brain to grasp or hold definite shapes. The boy +here! And the girl with those beads round her +throat! For the subsidence of this turmoil it was +needful to have space; so Cleigh strode out of the +lobby into the fading day, made his way across +the bridge, and sought the Bund. He forgot all +about his appointment with Cunningham.</p> +<p>He lit a cigar and walked on and on, oblivious of +the cries of the ’ricksha boys, importunate beggars, +the human currents that broke and flowed each +side of him. The boy here in Shanghai! And +that girl with those beads round her throat! It +was as though his head had become a tom-tom in +the hands of fate. The drumming made it impossible +to think clearly. It was the springing up +of the electric lights that brought him back to +actualities. He looked at his watch.</p> +<p>He had been tramping up and down the Bund +for two solid hours.</p> +<p>And now came, clearly defined, the idea for +which he had been searching. He indulged in a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +series of rumbling chuckles. You will have heard +such a sound in the forest when a stream suddenly +takes on a merry mood—broken water.</p> +<p>To return to Jane, whom Cleigh had left in a +state of growing hypnosis. She was able to act +and think intelligently, but the spell lay like a fog +upon her will, enervating it. She grasped the +situation clearly enough; it was tremendous. She +had heard of Anthony Cleigh. Who in America +had not? Father and son, and they had passed +each other without a nod! Had she not been a +witness to the episode, she would not have believed +such a performance possible.</p> +<p>Through the fog burst a clear point of light. +This was not the first time she had encountered +Anthony Cleigh. Where had she seen him before, +and under what circumstance? Later, when she +was alone, she would dig into her storehouse of +recollection. Certainly she must bring back that +episode. One thing, she had not known him as +Anthony Cleigh.</p> +<p>Father and son, and they had not spoken! It +was this that beat persistently upon her mind. +What dramatic event had created such a condition? +After seven years! These two, strong +mentally and physically, in a private war! She +understood now how it was that Dennison had +been able to tell her about Monte Carlo, the South +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +Sea Islands, Africa, Asia; he had been his father’s +companion on the yacht.</p> +<p>Mechanically she approached the lift. In her +room all her actions were more or less mechanical. +From the back of her mind somewhere came the +order to her hands. She took down the evening +gown. This time the subtle odour of lavender left +her untouched. To be beautiful, to wish that she +were beautiful! Why? Her hair was lovely; her +neck and arms were lovely; but her nose wasn’t +right, her mouth was too large, and her eyes missed +being either blue or hazel. Why did she wish to be +beautiful?</p> +<p>Always to be poor, to be hanging on the edge of +things, never enough of this or that—genteel +poverty. She had inherited the condition, as had +her mother before her—gentlefolk who had to +count the pennies. Her two sisters—really handsome +girls—had married fairly well; but one lived +in St. Louis and the other in Seattle, so she never +saw them any more.</p> +<p>Tired. That was it. Tired of the war for +existence; tired of the following odours of antiseptics; +tired of the white walls of hospitals, the +sight of pain. On top of all, the level dullness of +the past, the leaden horror of these months in +Siberia. She laughed brokenly. Gardens scattered +all over the world, and she couldn’t find +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +one—the gardens of imagination! Romance everywhere, +and she never could touch any of it!</p> +<p>Marriage. Outside of books, what was it save +a legal contract to cook and bear children in exchange +for food and clothes? The humdrum! +She flung out her arms with a gesture of rage. She +had been cheated, as always. She had come to +this side of the world expecting colour, movement, +adventure. The Orient of the novels she had read—where +was it? Drab skies, drab people, drab +work! And now to return to America, to exchange +one drab job for another! Nadir, always +nadir, never any zenith!</p> +<p>Her bitter cogitations were interrupted by a +knock on the door. She threw on her kimono and +answered. A yellow hand thrust a bottle toward +her. It would be the wash for the jade. She +emptied the soap dish, cleaned it, poured in the +germicide, and dropped the jade necklace into the +liquid. She left it there while she dressed.</p> +<p>Dennison Cleigh, returning to the States to +look for a job! Nothing she had ever read seemed +quite so fantastic. She paused in her dressing to +stare at some inner thought which she projected +upon the starred curtain of the night beyond her +window. Supposing they had wanted to fling +themselves into each other’s arms and hadn’t +known how? She had had a glimpse or two of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +Dennison’s fierce pride. Naturally he had inherited +it from his father. Supposing they were +just stupid rather than vengeful? Poor, foolish +human beings!</p> +<p>She proceeded with her toilet. Finishing that, +she cleansed the jade necklace with soap and +water, then realized that she would not be able to +wear it, because the string would be damp. So +she put on the glass beads instead—another move +by the Madonna of the Pagan. Jane Norman +was to have her fling.</p> +<p>Dennison was in the lobby waiting for her. +He gave a little gasp of delight as he beheld her. +Of whom and of what did she remind him? Somebody +he had seen, somebody he had read about? +For the present it escaped him. Was she handsome? +He could not say; but there was that in +her face that was always pulling his glance and +troubling him for the want of knowing why.</p> +<p>The way she carried herself among men had +always impressed him. Fearless and friendly, +and with deep understanding, she created respect +wherever she went. Men, toughened and coarsened +by danger and hardship, somehow understood +that Jane Norman was not the sort to make +love to because one happened to be bored. On the +other hand, there was something in her that called +to every man, as a candle calls to the moth; only +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +there were no burnt wings; there seemed to be +some invisible barrier that kept the circling moths +beyond the zone of incineration.</p> +<p>Was there fire in her? He wondered. That +copper tint in her hair suggested it. Magnificent! +And what the deuce was the colour of her eyes? +Sometimes there was a glint of topaz, or cornflower +sapphire, gray agate; they were the most +tantalizing eyes he had ever gazed into.</p> +<p>“Hungry?” he greeted her.</p> +<p>“For fourteen months!”</p> +<p>“Do you know what?”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“I’d give a year of my life for a club steak and +all the regular fixings.”</p> +<p>“That isn’t fair! You’ve gone and spoiled my +dinner.”</p> +<p>“Wishy-washy chicken! How I hate tin cans! +Pancakes and maple syrup! What?”</p> +<p>“Sliced tomatoes with sugar and vinegar!”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean that!”</p> +<p>“I do! I don’t care how plebeian it is. Bread +and butter and sliced tomatoes with sugar and +vinegar—better than all the ice cream that ever +was! Childhood ambrosia! For mercy’s sake, +let’s get in before all the wings are gone!”</p> +<p>They entered the huge dining room with its +pattering Chinese boys—entered it laughing—while +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +all the time there was at bottom a single +identical thought—the father.</p> +<p>Would they see him again? Would he be here +at one of the tables? Would a break come, or +would the affair go on eternally?</p> +<p>“I know what it is!” he cried, breaking through +the spell.</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Ever read ‘Phra the Phœnician’?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes. But what is what?”</p> +<p>“For days I’ve been trying to place you. You’re +the British heroine!”</p> +<p>She thought for a moment to recall the physical +attributes of this heroine.</p> +<p>“But I’m not red-headed!” she denied, indignantly.</p> +<p>“But it is! It is the most beautiful head of hair +I ever laid eyes on.”</p> +<p>“And that is the beginning and the end of me,” +she returned with a little catch in her voice.</p> +<p>The knowledge bore down upon her that her +soul was thirsty for this kind of talk. She did not +care whether he was in earnest or not.</p> +<p>“The beginning, but not the end of you. Your +eyes are fine, too. They keep me wondering all the +time what colour they really are.”</p> +<p>“That’s very nice of you.”</p> +<p>“And the way you carry yourself!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></p> +<p>“Good gracious!”</p> +<p>“You look as if you had come down from +Olympus and had lost the way back.”</p> +<p>“Captain, you’re a dear! I’ve just been wild +to have a man say foolish things to me.” She +knew that she might play with this man; that he +would never venture across the line. “Men have +said foolish things to me, but always when I was +too busy to bother. To-night I haven’t anything +in this wide world to do but listen. Go on.”</p> +<p>He laughed, perhaps a little ruefully.</p> +<p>“Is there any fire in you, I wonder?”</p> +<p>“Well?”—tantalizing.</p> +<p>“Honestly, I should like to see you in a rage. +I’ve been watching you for weeks, and have found +myself irritated by that perpetual calm of yours. +That day of the riot you stood on the curb as unconcerned +as though you had been witnessing a +movie.”</p> +<p>“It is possible that it is the result of seeing so +much pain and misery. I have been a machine +too long. I want to be thrust into the middle of +some fairy story before I die. I have never been +in love, in a violent rage. I haven’t known anything +but work and an abiding discontent. Red +hair——”</p> +<p>“But it really isn’t red. It’s like the copper +beech in the sunshine, full of glowing embers.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span></p> +<p>“Are you a poet?”</p> +<p>“On my word, I don’t know what I am.”</p> +<p>“There is fire enough in you. The way you +tossed about our boys and the Japs!”</p> +<p>“In the blood. My father and I used to dress +for dinner, but we always carried the stone axe under +our coats. We were both to blame, but only a +miracle will ever bring us together. I’m sorry I ran +into him. It brings the old days crowding back.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’ll survive! Somewhere there’s a niche +for me, and sooner or later I’ll find it.”</p> +<p>“He stopped me in the lobby after you left. +Wanted to know what name you were using. I +told him rather bluntly—and he went on. Something +in his voice—made me want to strike him!”</p> +<p>Dennison balanced a fork on a finger.</p> +<p>“Funny old world, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Very. But I’ve seen him somewhere before. +Perhaps in a little while it will come back.... +What an extraordinarily handsome man!”</p> +<p>“Where?”—with a touch of brusqueness.</p> +<p>“Sitting at the table on your left.”</p> +<p>The captain turned. The man at the other +table caught his eye, smiled, and rose. As he approached +Jane noticed with a touch of pity that the +man limped oddly. His left leg seemed to slue +about queerly just before it touched the floor. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></p> +<p>“Well, well! Captain Cleigh!”</p> +<p>Dennison accepted the proffered hand, but +coldly.</p> +<p>“On the way back to the States?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“The <i>Wanderer</i> is down the river. I suppose +you’ll be going home on her?”</p> +<p>“My orders prevent that.”</p> +<p>“Run into the old boy?”</p> +<p>“Naturally,” with a wry smile at Jane. “Miss +Norman, Mr. Cunningham. Where the shark is, +there will be the pilot fish.”</p> +<p>The stranger turned his eyes toward Jane’s. +The beauty of those dark eyes startled her. Fire +opals! They seemed to dig down into her very +soul, as if searching for something. He bowed +gravely and limped back to his table.</p> +<p>“I begin to understand,” was Dennison’s comment.</p> +<p>“Understand what?”</p> +<p>“All this racket about those beads. My father +and this man Cunningham in the same town +generally has significance. It is eight years since I +saw Cunningham. Of course I could not forget +his face, but it’s rather remarkable that he remembered +mine. He is—if you tear away the +romance—nothing more or less than a thief.”</p> +<p>“A thief?”—astonishedly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span></p> +<p>“Not the ordinary kind; something of a prince +of thieves. He makes it possible—he and his +ilk—for men like my father to establish private +museums. And now I’m going to ask you to do me +a favour. It’s just a hunch. Hide those beads +the moment you reach your room. They are +yours as much as any one’s, and they may bring +you a fancy penny—if my hunch is worth anything. +Hang that pigtail, for getting you mixed +up in this! I don’t like it.”</p> +<p>Jane’s hand went slowly to her throat; and even +as her fingers touched the beads, now warm from +contact, she became aware of something electrical +which drew her eyes compellingly toward the man +with the face of Ganymede and the limp of Vulcan. +Four times she fought in vain, during dinner, that +drawing, burning glance—and it troubled her. +Never before had a man’s eye forced hers in this +indescribable fashion. It was almost as if the +man had said, “Look at me! Look at me!”</p> +<p>After coffee she decided to retire, and bade +Dennison good-night. Once in her room she laid +the beads on the dresser and sat down by the window +to recast the remarkable ending of this day. +From the stars to the room, from the room to the +stars, her glance roved uneasily. Had she fallen +upon an adventure? Was Dennison’s theory +correct regarding the beads? She rose and went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +to the dresser, inspecting the beads carefully. +Positively glass! That Anthony Cleigh should be +seeking a string of glass beads seemed arrant nonsense.</p> +<p>She hung the beads on her throat and viewed +the result in the mirror. It was then that her eye +met a golden glint. She turned to see what had +caused it, and was astonished to discover on the +floor near the molding that poor Chinaman’s brass +hand warmer. She picked it up and turned back +the jigsawed lid. The receptacle was filled with +the ash of punk and charcoal.</p> +<p>There came a knock on the door.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> + +<p>Now, then, the further adventures of Ling +Foo of Woosung Road. He was an honest +Chinaman. He would beat you down +if he were buying, or he would overcharge you if +he were selling. There was nothing dishonest in +this; it was legitimate business. He was only +shrewd, not crooked. But on this day he came +into contact with a situation that tried his soul, +and tricked him into overplaying his hand.</p> +<p>That morning he had returned to his shop in a +contented frame of mind. He stood clear of the +tragedy of the night before. That had never +happened; he had dreamed it. Of course he would +be wondering whether or not the man had died.</p> +<p>When Ling Foo went forth with his business +in his pack he always closed the shop. Here in +upper Woosung Road it would not have paid +him to hire a clerk. His wife, obedient creature +though she was, spoke almost no pidgin—business—English; +and besides that, she was a poor +bargainer.</p> +<p>It was hard by noon when he let himself into the +shop. The first object he sought was his metal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +pipe. Two puffs, and the craving was satisfied. +He took up his counting rack and slithered the +buttons back and forth. He had made three +sales at the Astor and two at the Palace, which +was fair business, considering the times.</p> +<p>A shadow fell across the till top. Ling Foo +raised his slanted eyes. His face was like a graven +Buddha’s, but there was a crackling in his ears as +of many fire-crackers. There he stood—the man +with the sluing walk! Ling Foo still wore a queue, +so his hair could not very well stand on end.</p> +<p>“You speak English.”</p> +<p>It was not a question; it was a statement.</p> +<p>Ling Foo shrugged.</p> +<p>“Can do.”</p> +<p>“Cut out the pidgin. Your neighbour says +you speak English fluently. At Moy’s tea-house +restaurant they say that you lived in California for +several years.”</p> +<p>“Twelve,” said Ling Foo with a certain dry +humour.</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you admit me last night?”</p> +<p>“Shop closed.”</p> +<p>“Where is it?”</p> +<p>“Where is what?” asked the merchant.</p> +<p>“The string of glass beads you found on the +floor last night.”</p> +<p>A sense of disaster rolled over the Oriental. Had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +he been overhasty in ridding himself of the beads? +Patience! Wait a bit! Let the stranger open the +door to the mystery.</p> +<p>“Glass beads?” he repeated, ruminatively.</p> +<p>“I will give you ten gold for them.”</p> +<p>Ha! Now they were getting somewhere. Ten +gold! Then those devil beads had some worth +outside a jeweller’s computations? Ling Foo +smiled and spread his yellow hands.</p> +<p>“I haven’t them.”</p> +<p>“Where are they?”</p> +<p>The Oriental loaded his pipe and fired it.</p> +<p>“Where is the man who stumbled in here last +night?” he countered.</p> +<p>“His body is probably in the Yang-tse by now,” +returned Cunningham, grimly.</p> +<p>He knew his Oriental. He would have to +frighten this Chinaman badly, or engage his +cupidity to a point where resistance would be +futile.</p> +<p>There was a devil brooding over his head. Ling +Foo felt it strangely. His charms were in the far +room. He would have to fend off the devil without +material aid, and that was generally a hopeless +job. With that twist of Oriental thought which +will never be understood by the Occidental, Ling +Foo laid down his campaign.</p> +<p>“I found it, true. But I sold it this morning.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></p> +<p>“For how much?”</p> +<p>“Four Mex.”</p> +<p>Cunningham laughed. It was actually honest +laughter, provoked by a lively sense of humour.</p> +<p>“To whom did you sell it, and where can I find +the buyer?”</p> +<p>Ling Foo picked up the laughter, as it were, and +gave his individual quirk to it.</p> +<p>“I see,” said Cunningham, gravely.</p> +<p>“So?”</p> +<p>“Get that necklace back for me and I will give +you a hundred gold.”</p> +<p>“Five hundred.”</p> +<p>“You saw what happened last night.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you will not beat in my head,” Ling Foo +declared, easily. “What is there about this string +of beads that makes it worth a hundred gold—and +life worth nothing?”</p> +<p>“Very well,” said Cunningham, resignedly. “I +am a secret agent of the British Government. +That string of glass beads is the key to a code relating +to the uprisings in India. The loss of it +will cost a great deal of money and time. Bring +it back here this afternoon, and I will pay down +five hundred gold.”</p> +<p>“I agree,” replied Ling Foo, tossing his pipe into +the alcove. “But no one must follow me. I do +not trust you. There is nothing to prevent you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +from robbing me in the street and refusing to pay +me. And where will you get five hundred gold? +Gold has vanished. Even the leaf has all but disappeared.”</p> +<p>Cunningham dipped his hand into a pocket, and +magically a dozen double eagles rolled and vibrated +upon the counter, sending into Ling Foo’s +ears that music so peculiar to gold. Many days +had gone by since he had set his gaze upon the +yellow metal. His hand reached down—only to +feel—but not so quickly as the white hand, which +scooped up the coin trickily, with the skill of a +prestidigitator.</p> +<p>“Five hundred gold, then. But are you sure +you can get the beads back?”</p> +<p>Ling Foo smiled.</p> +<p>“I have a way. I will meet you in the lobby of +the Astor House at five”; and he bowed with +Oriental courtesy.</p> +<p>“Agreed. All aboveboard, remember, or you +will feel the iron hand of the British Government.”</p> +<p>Ling Foo doubted that, but he kept this doubt +to himself.</p> +<p>“I warn you, I shall go armed. You will bring +the gold to the Astor House. If I see you after +I depart——”</p> +<p>“Lord love you, once that code key is in my +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +hands you can go to heaven or the devil, as you +please! We live in rough times, Ling Foo.”</p> +<p>“So we do. There is a stain on the floor, about +where you stand. It is the blood of a white man.”</p> +<p>“What would you, when a comrade attempts to +deceive you?”</p> +<p>“At five in the lobby of the Astor House. Good +day,” concluded Ling Foo, fingering the buttons +on his counting rack.</p> +<p>Cunningham limped out into the cold sunshine. +Ling Foo shook his head. So like a boy’s, that +face! He shuddered slightly. He knew that a +savage devil lay ready behind that handsome mask—he +had seen it last night. But five hundred +gold—for a string of glass beads!</p> +<p>Ling Foo was an honest man. He would pay +you cash for cash in a bargain. If he overcharged +you that was your fault, but he never sold you +imitations on the basis that you would not know +the difference. If he sold you a Ming jar—for +twice what it was worth in the great marts—experts +would tell you that it was Ming. He had +some jade of superior quality—the translucent +deep apple-green. He never carried it about; he +never even spoke of it unless he was sure that the +prospective customer was wealthy.</p> +<p>His safe was in a corner of his workshop. An +American yegg would have laughed at it, opened +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +it as easily as a ripe peach; but in this district it +was absolute security. Ling Foo was obliged to +keep a safe, for often he had valuable pearls to take +care of, sometimes to put new vigour in dying +lustre, sometimes to peel a pearl on the chance that +under the dull skin lay the gem.</p> +<p>He trotted to the front door and locked it; then +he trotted into his workshop, planning. If the +glass beads were worth five hundred, wasn’t it +likely they would be worth a thousand? If this +man who limped had stuck to the hundred Ling +Foo knew that he would have surrendered eventually. +But the ease with which the stranger made +the jump from one to five convinced Ling Foo that +there could be no harm in boosting five to ten. If +there was a taint of crookedness anywhere, that +would be on the other side. Ling Foo knew where +the beads were, and he would transfer them for one +thousand gold. Smart business, nothing more +than that. He had the whip hand.</p> +<p>Out of his safe he took a blackwood box, beautifully +carved, Cantonese. Headbands, earrings, +rings, charms, necklaces, tomb ornaments, some +of them royal, all of them nearly as ancient as the +hills of Kwanlun, from which most of them had +been quarried—jade. He trickled them from +palm to palm and one by one returned the objects +to the box. In the end he retained two strings of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +beads so alike that it was difficult to discern any +difference. One was Kwanlun jade, royal loot; +the other was a copy in Nanshan stone. The +first was priceless, worth what any fool collector +was ready to pay; the copy was worth perhaps +a hundred gold. Held to the light, there was a +subtle difference; but only an expert could have +told you what this difference was. The royal jade +did not catch the light so strongly as the copy; the +touch of human warmth had slightly dulled the +stone.</p> +<p>Ling Foo transferred the copy to a purse he wore +attached to his belt under the blue jacket. The +young woman would never be able to resist the +jade. She would return the glass instantly. A +thousand gold, less the cost of the jade! Good +business!</p> +<p>But for once his Oriental astuteness overreached, +as has been seen. And to add to his discomfiture, +he never again saw the copy of the Kwanlun, +representing the virtue of the favourite wife.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“I am an honest man,” he said. “The tombs +of my ancestors are not neglected. When I say I +could not get it I speak the truth. But I believe +I can get it later.”</p> +<p>“How?” asked Cunningham. They were in the +office, or bureau, of the Astor House, which the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +manager had turned over to them for the moment. +“Remember, the arm of the British Government +is long.”</p> +<p>Ling Foo shrugged.</p> +<p>“Being an honest man, I do not fear. She +would have given it to me but for that officer. He +knew something about jade.”</p> +<p>Cunningham nodded.</p> +<p>“Conceivably he would.” He jingled the gold +in his pocket. “How do you purpose to get the +beads?”</p> +<p>“Go to the lady’s room late. I left the jade with +her. Alone, she will not resist. I saw it in her +eyes. But it will be difficult.”</p> +<p>“I see. For you to get into the hotel late. I’ll +arrange that with the manager. You will be +coming to my room. What floor is her room +on?”</p> +<p>“The third.”</p> +<p>“The same as mine. That falls nicely. Return +then at half after ten. You will come to my room +for the gold.”</p> +<p>Ling Foo saw his thousand shrink to the original +five hundred, but there was no help for it. At +half after ten he knocked on the panel of Jane’s +door and waited. He knocked again; still the +summons was not answered. The third assault +was emphatic. Ling Foo heard footsteps, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +behind him. He turned. The meddling young +officer was striding toward him.</p> +<p>“What are you doing here?” Dennison demanded.</p> +<p>His own appearance in the corridor at this hour +might have been subjectable to inquiry. He had +left Jane at nine. He had seen her to the lift. +Perhaps he had walked the Bund for an hour or +two, but worriedly. The thought of the arrival +in Shanghai of his father and the rogue Cunningham +convinced him that some queer game was +afoot, and that it hinged somehow upon those +beads.</p> +<p>There was no sighing in regard to his father, for +the past that was. An astonishing but purely +accidental meeting; to-morrow each would go his +separate way again. All that was a closed page. +He had long ago readjusted his outlook on the +basis that reconciliation was hopeless.</p> +<p>A sudden impulse spun him on his heel, and he +hurried back to the Astor. The hour did not +matter, or the possibility that Jane might be abed. +He would ask permission to become the temporary +custodian of the beads. What were they, to have +brought his father across the Pacific—if indeed +they had? Anyhow, he would end his own anxiety +in regard to Jane by assuming the risks, if any, +himself. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span></p> +<p>No one questioned him; his uniform was a passport +that required no visé.</p> +<p>Ling Foo eyed him blandly.</p> +<p>“I am leaving for the province in the morning, +so I had to come for my jade to-night. But the +young lady is not in her room.”</p> +<p>“She must be!” cried Dennison, alarmed. +“Miss Norman?” he called, beating on the door.</p> +<p>No sound answered from within. Dennison +pondered for a moment. Ling Foo also pondered—apprehensively. +He suspected that some misfortune +had befallen the young woman, for her +kind did not go prowling alone round Shanghai at +night. Slue-Foot! Should he utter his suspicion +to this American officer? But if it should become +a police affair! Bitterly he arraigned himself for +disclosing his hand to Slue-Foot. That demon had +forestalled him. No doubt by now he had the +beads. Ten thousand devils pursue him!</p> +<p>Dennison struck his hands together, and by and +by a sleepy Chinese boy came scuffling along the +corridor.</p> +<p>“Talkee manager come topside,” said Dennison. +When the manager arrived, perturbed, Dennison +explained the situation.</p> +<p>“Will you open the door?”</p> +<p>The manager agreed to do that. The bedroom +was empty. The bed had not been touched. But +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +there was no evidence that the occupant did not +intend to return.</p> +<p>“We shall leave everything just as it is,” said +Dennison, authoritatively. “I am her friend. If +she does not return by one o’clock I shall notify +the police and have the young lady’s belongings +transferred to the American consulate. She is +under the full protection of the United States +Government. You will find out if any saw her +leave the hotel, and what the time was. Stay +here in the doorway while I look about.”</p> +<p>He saw the jade necklace reposing in the soap +dish, and in an ironical mood he decided not to +announce the discovery to the Chinaman. Let +him pay for his cupidity. In some mysterious +manner he had got his yellow claws on those +infernal beads, and the rogue Cunningham had +gone to him with a substantial bribe. So let the +pigtail wail for his jade.</p> +<p>On the dresser he saw a sheet of paper partly +opened. Beside it lay a torn envelope. Dennison’s +heart lost a beat. The handwriting was his +father’s!</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> + +<p>Jane had gone to meet his father. How to +secrete this note without being observed by +either the manager or the Chinaman? An +accident came to his aid. Someone in the corridor +banged a door violently, and as the manager’s +head and Ling Foo’s jerked about, Dennison stuffed +the note into a pocket.</p> +<p>A trap! Dennison wasn’t alarmed—he was +only furious. Jane had walked into a trap. She +had worn those accursed beads when his father had +approached her by the bookstall that afternoon. +The note had attacked her curiosity from a +perfectly normal angle. Dennison had absorbed +enough of the note’s contents to understand how +readily Jane had walked into the trap.</p> +<p>Very well. He would wait in the lobby until +one; then if Jane had not returned he would lay +the plans of a counter-attack, and it would be a +rough one. Of course no bodily harm would befall +Jane, but she would probably be harried and +bullied out of those beads. But would she? It +was not unlikely that she would become a pretty +handful, once she learned she had been tricked. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +If she balked him, how would the father act? The +old boy was ruthless when he particularly wanted +something.</p> +<p>If anything should happen to her—an event unlooked +for, accidental, over which his father would +have no control—this note would bring the old +boy into a peck of trouble; and Dennison was loyal +enough not to wish this to happen. And yet it +would be only just to make the father pay once for +his high-handedness. That would be droll—to +see his father in the dock, himself as a witness +against him! Here was the germ of a tiptop +drama.</p> +<p>But all this worry was doubtless being wasted +upon mere supposition. Jane might turn over +the beads without bargaining, provided the father +had any legal right to them, which Dennison +strongly doubted.</p> +<p>He approached Ling Foo and seized him roughly +by the arm.</p> +<p>“What do you know about these glass beads?”</p> +<p>Ling Foo elevated a shoulder and let it fall.</p> +<p>“Nothing, except that the man who owns them +demands that I recover them.”</p> +<p>“And who is this man?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know his name.”</p> +<p>“That won’t pass. You tell me who he is or +I’ll turn you over to the police.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span></p> +<p>“I am an honest man,” replied Ling Foo with +dignity. He appealed to the manager.</p> +<p>“I have known Ling Foo a long time, sir. He +is perfectly honest.”</p> +<p>Ling Foo nodded. He knew that this recommendation, +honest as it was, would have weight +with the American.</p> +<p>“But you have some appointment with this man. +Where is that to be? I demand to know that.”</p> +<p>Ling Foo saw his jade vanish along with his rainbow +gold. His early suppositions had been correct.</p> +<p>Those were devil beads, and evil befell any who +touched them.</p> +<p>Silently he cursed the soldier’s ancestors half a +thousand years back. If the white fool hadn’t +meddled in the parlour that afternoon!</p> +<p>“Come with me,” he said, finally.</p> +<p>The game was played out; the counters had gone +back to the basket. He had no desire to come +into contact with police officials. Only it was as +bitter as the gall of chicken, and he purposed to +lessen his own discomfort by making the lame +man share it. Oriental humour.</p> +<p>Dennison and the hotel manager followed him +curiously. At the end of the corridor Ling Foo +stopped and knocked on a door. It was opened +immediately. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span></p> +<p>“Ah! Oh!”</p> +<p>The inflections touched Dennison’s sense of +humour, and he smiled. A greeting with a snap-back +of dismay.</p> +<p>“I’m not surprised,” he said. “I had a suspicion +I’d find you in this somewhere.”</p> +<p>“Find me in what?” asked Cunningham, his +poise recovered. He, too, began to smile. “Won’t +you come in?”</p> +<p>“What about these glass beads?”</p> +<p>“Glass beads? Oh, yes. But why?”</p> +<p>“I fancy you’d better come out into the clear, +Cunningham,” said Dennison, grimly.</p> +<p>“You wish to know about those beads? Very +well, I’ll explain, because something has happened—I +know not what. You all look so infernally +serious. Those beads are a key to a code. The +British Government is keenly anxious to recover +this key. In the hands of certain Hindus those +beads would constitute bad medicine.”</p> +<p>Ling Foo spread his hands relievedly.</p> +<p>“That is the story. I was to receive five hundred +gold for their recovery.”</p> +<p>“A code key,” said Dennison, musing.</p> +<p>He knew Cunningham was lying. Anthony +Cleigh wasn’t the man to run across half the world +for a British code key. On the other hand, perhaps +it would be wise to let the hotel manager and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +the Chinaman continue in the belief that the affair +concerned a British code.</p> +<p>“If I did not know you tolerably well——”</p> +<p>“My dear captain, you don’t know me at all,” +interrupted Cunningham. “Have you got the +beads?”</p> +<p>“I have not. I doubt if you will ever lay eyes +on them again.”</p> +<p>Something flashed across the handsome face. +Ling Foo alone recognized it. He had glimpsed +it, this expression, outside his window the night +before. He recalled the dark stain on the floor of +his shop, and he also recollected a saying of Confucius +relative to greed. He wished he was back +in his shop, well out of this muddle. The jade +could go, valuable as it was. With his hands +tucked in his sleeves he waited.</p> +<p>Dennison turned upon the manager. He wanted +to be alone with Cunningham.</p> +<p>“Go down and make inquiries, and take this +Chinaman with you. I’ll be with you shortly.” +As soon as the two were out of the way Dennison +said: “Cunningham, the lady who wore those +beads at dinner to-night has gone out alone, wearing +them. If I find that you are anywhere back +of this venture—if she does not return shortly—I +will break you as I would a churchwarden pipe.”</p> +<p>Cunningham appeared genuinely taken aback. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span></p> +<p>“She went out alone?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Have you notified the police?”</p> +<p>“Not yet. I’m giving her until one; then I +shall start something.”</p> +<p>“Something tells me,” said Cunningham, easily, +“that Miss Norman is in no danger. But she +would never have gone out if I had been in the +lobby. If she has not returned by one call me. +Any assistance I can give will be given gladly. +Women ought never to be mixed up in affairs such +as this one, on this side of the world. Tell your +father that he ought to know by this time that he +is no match for me.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by that?”</p> +<p>“Innocent! You know very well what I mean. +If you hadn’t a suspicion of what has happened +you would be roaring up and down the corridors +with the police. You run true to the breed. It’s +a good one, I’ll admit. But your father will regret +this night’s work.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps. Here, read this.”</p> +<p>Dennison extended the note. Cunningham, +his brows bent, ran through the missive.</p> +<div class='blockquot'> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Miss Norman</span>: Will you do me the honour to meet me +at the bridgehead at half-past nine—practically at once? +My son and I are not on friendly terms. Still, I am his +father, and I’d like to hear what he has been doing over here. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +I will have a limousine, and we can ride out on the Bubbling +Well Road while we talk.</p> +<div class='ra'> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Anthony Cleigh</span>.</p> +</div> + +</div> +<p>“Didn’t know,” said Cunningham, returning +the note, “that you two were at odds. But this is +a devil of a mix-up, if it’s what I think.”</p> +<p>“What do you think?”</p> +<p>“That he’s abducted her—carried her off to the +yacht.”</p> +<p>“He’s no fool,” was the son’s defense.</p> +<p>“He isn’t, eh? Lord love you, sonny, your +father and I are the two biggest fools on all God’s +earth!”</p> +<p>The door closed sharply in Dennison’s face and +the key rasped in the lock.</p> +<p>For a space Dennison did not stir. Why should +he wish to protect his father? Between his father +and this handsome rogue there was small choice. +The old boy made such rogues possible. But +supposing Cleigh had wished really to quiz Jane? +To find out something about these seven years, +lean and hard, with stretches of idleness and +stretches of furious labour, loneliness? Well, the +father would learn that in all these seven years the +son had never faltered from the high level he had +set for his conduct. That was a stout staff to lean +on—he had the right to look all men squarely in +the eye. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span></p> +<p>He had been educated to inherit millions; he had +not been educated to support himself by work in a +world that specialized. He had in these seven +years been a jeweller’s clerk, an auctioneer in a +salesroom; he had travelled from Baluchistan to +Damascus with carpet caravans, but he had never +forged ahead financially. Generally the end of a +job had been the end of his resources. One fact +the thought of which never failed to buck him up—he +had never traded on his father’s name.</p> +<p>Then had come the war. He had returned to +America, trained, and they had assigned him to +Russia. But that had not been without its reward—he +had met Jane.</p> +<p>In a New York bank, to his credit, was the sum +of twenty thousand dollars, at compound interest +for seven years, ready to answer to the scratch of a +pen, but he had sworn he would never touch a +dollar of it. Never before had the thought of it +risen so strongly to tempt him. His for the mere +scratch of a pen!</p> +<p>In the lobby he found the manager pacing +nervously, while Ling Foo sat patiently and inscrutably.</p> +<p>“Why do you wait?” inquired Dennison, irritably.</p> +<p>“The lady has some jade of mine,” returned +Ling Foo, placidly. “It was a grave mistake.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span></p> +<p>“What was?”</p> +<p>“That you interfered this afternoon. The lady +would be in her room at this hour. The devil +beads would not be casting a spell on us.”</p> +<p>“Devil beads, eh?”</p> +<p>Ling Foo shrugged and ran his hands into his +sleeves. Somewhere along the banks of the +Whangpoo or the Yang-tse would be the body of +an unknown, but Ling Foo’s lips were locked quite +as securely as the dead man’s. Devil beads they +were.</p> +<p>“When did the man upstairs leave the beads +with you?”</p> +<p>“Last night.”</p> +<p>“For what reason?”</p> +<p>“He will tell you. It is none of my affair now.” +And that was all Dennison could dig out of Ling +Foo.</p> +<p>Jane Norman did not return at one o’clock; in +fact, she never returned to the Astor House. +Dennison waited until three; then he went back +to the Palace, and Ling Foo to his shop and oblivion.</p> +<p>Dennison decided that he did not want the +police in the affair. In that event there would be +a lot of publicity, followed by the kind of talk that +stuck. He was confident that he could handle the +affair alone. So he invented a white lie, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +nobody questioned it because of his uniform. Miss +Norman had found friends, and shortly she would +send for her effects; but until that time she desired +the consulate to take charge. Under the eyes of +the relieved hotel manager and an indifferent clerk +from the consulate the following morning Dennison +packed Jane’s belongings and conveyed them +to the consulate, which was hard by. Next he +proceeded to the water front and engaged a motor +boat. At eleven o’clock he drew up alongside the +<i>Wanderer II</i>.</p> +<p>“Hey, there!” shouted a seaman. “Sheer off! +Orders to receive no visitors!”</p> +<p>Dennison began to mount, ignoring the order. +It was a confusing situation for the sailor. If he +threw this officer into the yellow water—as certainly +he would have thrown a civilian—Uncle +Sam might jump on his back and ride him to clink. +Against this was the old man, the very devil for +obedience to his orders. If he pushed this lad +over, the clink; if he let him by, the old man’s foot. +And while the worried seaman was reaching for +water with one hand and wind with the other, as +the saying goes, Dennison thrust him roughly +aside, crossed the deck to the main companionway, +and thundered down into the salon.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> + +<p>Cleigh sat before a card table; he was +playing Chinese Canfield. He looked up, +but he neither rose nor dropped the half-spent +deck of cards he held in his hand. The +bronzed face, the hard agate blue of the eyes that +met his own, the utter absence of visible agitation, +took the wind out of Dennison’s sails and left him +all a-shiver, like a sloop coming about on a fresh +tack. He had made his entrance stormily enough, +but now the hot words stuffed his throat to choking.</p> +<p>Cleigh was thirty years older than his son; he +was a finished master of sentimental emotions; +he could keep all his thoughts out of his countenance +when he so willed. But powerful as his will +was, in this instance it failed to reach down into +his heart; and that thumped against his ribs +rather painfully. The boy!</p> +<p>Dennison, aware that he stood close to the +ridiculous, broke the spell and advanced.</p> +<p>“I have come for Miss Norman,” he said.</p> +<p>Cleigh scrutinized the cards and shifted one.</p> +<p>“I found your note to her. I’ve a launch. I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +don’t know what the game is, but I’m going to take +Miss Norman back with me if I have to break in +every door on board!”</p> +<p>Cleigh stood up. As he did so Dodge, the Texan +appeared in the doorway to the dining salon. +Dennison saw the blue barrel of a revolver.</p> +<p>“A gunman, eh? All right. Let’s see if he’ll +shoot,” said the son, walking deliberately toward +Dodge.</p> +<p>“No, Dodge!” Cleigh called out as the Texan, +raised the revolver. “You may go.”</p> +<p>Dodge, a good deal astonished, backed out. +Once more father and son stared at each other.</p> +<p>“Better call it off,” advised the son. “You +can’t hold Miss Norman—and I can make a +serious charge. Bring her at once, or I’ll go for +her. And the Lord help the woodwork if I start!”</p> +<p>But even as he uttered the threat Dennison +heard a sound behind. He turned, but not soon +enough. In a second he was on the floor, three +husky seamen mauling him. They had their hands +full for a while, but in the end they conquered.</p> +<p>“What next, sir?” asked one of the sailors, +breathing hard.</p> +<p>“Tie him up and lock him in Cabin Two.”</p> +<p>The first order was executed. After Dennison’s +arms and ankles were bound the men stood him up.</p> +<p>“Are you really my father?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></p> +<p>Cleigh returned to his cards and shuffled them +for a new deal.</p> +<p>“Don’t untie him. He might walk through +the partition. He will have the freedom of the +deck when we are out of the delta.”</p> +<p>Dennison was thereupon carried to Cabin Two, +and deposited upon the stationary bed. He began +to laugh. There was a sardonic note in this +laughter, like that which greets you when you recount +some incredible tale. His old cabin!</p> +<p>The men shook their heads, as if confronted by +something so unusual that it wasn’t worth while +to speculate upon it. The old man’s son! They +went out, locking the door. By this time Dennison’s +laughter had reached the level of shouting, +but only he knew how near it was to tears—wrathful, +murderous, miserable tears! He fought his +bonds terrifically for a moment, then relaxed.</p> +<p>For seven years he had been hugging the hope +that when he and his father met blood would tell, +and that their differences would vanish in a strong +handclasp; and here he lay, trussed hand and foot, +in his old cabin, not a crack in that granite lump +his father called a heart!</p> +<p>A childish thought! Some day to take that +twenty thousand with accrued interest, ride up to +the door, step inside, dump the silver on that old +red Samarkand, and depart—forever. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></p> +<p>Where was she? This side of the passage or the +other?</p> +<p>“Miss Norman?” he called.</p> +<p>“Yes?” came almost instantly from the cabin +aft.</p> +<p>“This is Captain Dennison. I’m tied up and +lying on the bed. Can you hear me distinctly?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Your father has made a prisoner of you? +Of all the inhuman acts! You came in search of +me?”</p> +<p>“Naturally. Have you those infernal beads?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>Dennison twisted about until he had his shoulders +against the brass rail of the bed head.</p> +<p>“What happened?”</p> +<p>“It was a trick. It was not to talk about +you—he wanted the beads, and that made me +furious.”</p> +<p>“Were you hurt in the struggle?”</p> +<p>“There wasn’t any. I really don’t know what +possessed me. Perhaps I was a bit hypnotized. +Perhaps I was curious. Perhaps I wanted—some +excitement. On my word, I don’t know just what +happened. Anyhow, here I am—in a dinner +gown, bound for Hong-Kong, so he says. He offered +me ten thousand for the beads, and my freedom, +if I would promise not to report his high-handedness; +and I haven’t uttered a sound.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span></p> +<p>“Heaven on earth, why didn’t you accept his +offer?”</p> +<p>A moment of silence.</p> +<p>“In the first place, I haven’t the beads. In the +second place, I want to make him all the trouble +I possibly can. Now that he has me, he doesn’t +know what to do with me. Hoist by his own +petard. Do you want the truth? Well, I’m not +worried in the least. I feel as if I’d been invited to +some splendiferous picnic.”</p> +<p>“That’s foolish,” he remonstrated.</p> +<p>“Of course it is. But it’s the sort of foolishness +I’ve been aching for all my life. I knew something +was going to happen. I broke my hand mirror +night before last. Two times seven years’ bad +luck. Now he has me, I’ll wager he’s half frightened +out of his wits. But what made you think of +the yacht?”</p> +<p>“We forced the door of your room, and I found +the note. Has he told you what makes those infernal +beads so precious?”</p> +<p>“No. I can’t figure that out.”</p> +<p>“No more can I. Did he threaten you?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Would I enter the launch peacefully, or +would he have to carry me? I didn’t want my +gown spoiled—it’s the only decent one I have. +I’m not afraid. It isn’t as though he were a +stranger. Being your father, he would never +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +stoop to any indignity. But he’ll find he has +caught a tartar. I had an idea you’d find me.”</p> +<p>“Well, I have. But you won’t get to Hong-Kong. +The minute he liberates me I’ll sneak into +the wireless room and bring the destroyers. I +didn’t notify the police from a bit of foolish sentiment. +I didn’t quite want you mixed up in the +story. I had your things conveyed to the consulate.”</p> +<p>“My story—which few men would believe. +I’ve thought of that. Are you smoking?”</p> +<p>“Smoking, with my hands tied behind my +back? Not so you’d notice it.”</p> +<p>“I smell tobacco smoke—a good cigar, too.”</p> +<p>“Then someone is in the passage listening.”</p> +<p>Silence. Anthony Cleigh eyed his perfecto +rather ruefully and tiptoed back to the salon. +Hoist by his own petard. He was beginning to +wonder. Cleigh was a man who rarely regretted +an act, but in the clear light of day he was beginning +to have his doubts regarding this one. A +mere feather on the wrong side of the scale, and +the British destroyers would be atop of him like a +flock of kites. Abduction! Cut down to bedrock, +he had laid himself open to that. He ran his +fingers through his cowlicks. But drat the woman! +why had she accepted the situation so docilely? +Since midnight not a sound out of her, not a wail, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +not a sob. Now he had her, he couldn’t let her +go. She was right there.</p> +<p>There was one man in the crew Cleigh had begun +to dislike intensely, and he had been manœuvring +ever since Honolulu to find a legitimate excuse to +give the man his papers. Something about the +fellow suggested covert insolence; he had the air +of a beachcomber who had unexpectedly fallen +into a soft berth, and it had gone to his head. He +had been standing watch at the ladder head, and +against positive orders he had permitted a visitor +to pass him. To Cleigh this was the handle he had +been hunting for. He summoned the man.</p> +<p>“Get your duffle,” said Cleigh.</p> +<p>“What’s that, sir?”</p> +<p>“Get your stuff. You’re through. You had +positive orders, and you let a man by.”</p> +<p>“But his uniform fussed me, sir. I didn’t know +just how to act.”</p> +<p>“Get your stuff! Mr. Cleve will give you +your pay. My orders are absolute. Off with +you!”</p> +<p>The sailor sullenly obeyed. He found the first +officer alone in the chart house.</p> +<p>“The boss has sent me for my pay, Mr. Cleve. +I’m fired.” Flint grinned amiably.</p> +<p>“Fired? Well, well,” said Cleve, “that’s certainly +tough luck—all this way from home. I’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +have to pay you in Federal Reserve bills. The +old man has the gold.”</p> +<p>“Federal Reserve it is. Forty-six dollars in +Uncle Samuels.”</p> +<p>The first officer solemnly counted out the sum +and laid it on the palm of the discharged man.</p> +<p>“Tough world.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m not worrying! I’ll bet you this +forty-six against ten that I’ve another job before +midnight.”</p> +<p>Mr. Cleve grinned.</p> +<p>“Always looking for sure-thing bets! Better +hail that bumboat with the vegetables to row you +into town. The old man’ll dump you over by hand +if he finds you here between now and sundown.”</p> +<p>“I’ll try the launch there. Tell the lad his fare +ain’t goin’ back to Shanghai. Of course it makes +it a bit inconvenient, packing and unpacking; but +I guess I can live through it. But what about the +woman?”</p> +<p>Cleve plucked at his chin.</p> +<p>“Messes up the show a bit. Pippin, though. I +like ’em when they walk straight and look straight +like this one. Notice her hair? You never tame +that sort beyond parlour manners. But I don’t +like her on board here, or the young fellow, either. +Don’t know him, but he’s likely to bust the yacht +wide open if he gets loose.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span></p> +<p>“Well, so long, Mary! Know what my first +move’ll be?”</p> +<p>“A bottle somewhere. But mind your step! +Don’t monkey with the stuff beyond normal. You +know what I mean.”</p> +<p>“Sure! Only a peg or two, after all this psalm-singing!”</p> +<p>“I know, Flint. But this game is no joke. +You know what happened in town? Morrissy was +near croaked.”</p> +<p>Flint’s face lost some of its gayety.</p> +<p>“Oh, I know how to handle the stuff! See you +later.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Cleigh decided to see what the girl’s temper was, +so he entered the passage on the full soles of his +shoes. He knocked on her door.</p> +<p>“Miss Norman?”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>That was a good sign; she was ready to talk.</p> +<p>“I have come to repeat that offer.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Cleigh, I have nothing to say so long as the +key is on the wrong side of the door.”</p> +<p>Cleigh heard a chuckle from Cabin Two.</p> +<p>“Very well,” he said. “Remember, I offered +you liberty conditionally. If you suffer inconveniences +after to-night you will have only yourself +to thank.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span></p> +<p>“Have you calculated that some day you will +have to let me go?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I have calculated on that.”</p> +<p>“And that I shall go to the nearest authorities +and report this action?”</p> +<p>“If you will think a moment,” said Cleigh, his +tone monotonously level, “you will dismiss that +plan for two reasons: First, that no one will believe +you; second, that no one will want to believe +you. That’s as near as I care to put it. Your +imagination will grasp it.”</p> +<p>“Instantly!” cried the girl, hotly. “I knew you +to be cold and hard, but I did not believe you were +a scoundrel—having known your son!”</p> +<p>“I have no son.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, you have!”</p> +<p>“I disowned him. He is absolutely nothing to +me.”</p> +<p>“I do not believe that,” came back through the +cabin door.</p> +<p>“Nevertheless, it is the truth. The queer part is, +I’ve tried to resurrect the father instinct, and can’t. +I’ve tried to go round the wall—over it. I might +just as well try to climb the Upper Himalayas.”</p> +<p>In Cabin Two the son stared at the white ceiling. +It seemed to him that all his vitals had been +wrenched out of him, leaving him hollow, empty. +He knew his father’s voice; it rang with truth. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></p> +<p>“I offer you ten thousand.”</p> +<p>“The key is still on the outside.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid to trust you.”</p> +<p>“We understand each other perfectly,” said +Jane, ironically.</p> +<p>The son smiled. The sense of emptiness vanished, +and there came into his blood a warmth as +sweet as it was strong. Jane Norman, angel of +mercy. He heard his father speaking again:</p> +<p>“Since you will have it so, you will go to Hong-Kong?”</p> +<p>“To Patagonia if you wish! You cannot scare +me by threatening me with travel on a private +yacht. I had the beads, it is true; but at this +moment I haven’t the slightest idea where they +are; and if I had I should not tell you. I refuse to +buy my liberty; you will have to give it to me without +conditions.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry I haven’t anything on board in shape +of women’s clothes, but I’ll send for your stuff if +you wish.”</p> +<p>“That is the single consideration you have +shown me. My belongings are at the American +consulate, and I should be glad to have +them.”</p> +<p>“You will find paper and ink in the escritoire. +Write me an order and I promise to attend to the +matter personally.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span></p> +<p>“And search through everything at your +leisure!”</p> +<p>Cleigh blushed, and he heard his son chuckle +again. He had certainly caught a tartar—possibly +two. With a twisted smile he recalled the old yarn +of the hunter who caught the bear by the tail. +Willing to let go, and daring not!</p> +<p>“Still I agree,” continued the girl. “I want +my own familiar things—if I must take this +forced voyage. But mark me, Mr. Cleigh, you +will pay some day! I’m not the clinging kind, and +I shall fight you tooth and nail from the first hour +of my freedom. I’m not without friends.”</p> +<p>“Never in this world!” came resonantly from +Cabin Two.</p> +<p>Cleigh longed to get away. There was a +rumbling and a threatening inside of him that +needed space—Gargantuan laughter. Not the +clinging kind, this girl! And the boy, walking +straight at Dodge’s villainous revolver! Why, he +would need the whole crew behind him when he +liberated these two! But he knew that the +laughter striving for articulation was not the kind +heard in Elysian fields!</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> + +<p>“If you will write the order I will execute it at +once. The consulate closes early.”</p> +<p>“I’ll write it, but how will I get it to you? +The door closes below the sill.”</p> +<p>“When you are ready, call, and I will open the +door a little.”</p> +<p>“It would be better if you opened it full wide. +This is China—I understand that. But we are +both Americans, and there’s a good sound law +covering an act like this.”</p> +<p>“But it does not reach as far as China. Besides, +I have an asset back in the States. It is my word. +I have never broken it to any man or woman, and I +expect I never shall. You have, or have had, what +I consider my property. You have hedged the +question; you haven’t been frank.”</p> +<p>The son listened intently.</p> +<p>“I bought that string of glass beads in good +faith of a Chinaman—Ling Foo. I consider them +mine—that is, if they are still in my possession. +Between the hour I met you last night and the +moment of Captain Dennison’s entrance to my +room considerable time had elapsed.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span></p> +<p>“Sufficient for a rogue like Cunningham to +make good use of,” supplemented the prisoner in +Cabin Two. “There’s a way of finding out the +facts.”</p> +<p>“Indeed?”</p> +<p>“Yes. You used to carry a planchette that once +belonged to the actress Rachel. Why not give it +a whirl? Everybody’s doing it.”</p> +<p>Cleigh eyed Cabin Four, then Cabin Two, and +shook his head slightly, dubiously. He was not getting +on well. To come into contact with a strong +will was always acceptable; and a strong will in a +woman was a novelty. All at once it struck him +forcibly that he stood on the edge of boredom; that +the lure which had brought him fully sixteen +thousand miles was losing its bite. Was he growing +old, drying up?</p> +<p>“Will you tell me what it is about these beads +that makes you offer ten thousand for them? +Glass—anybody could see that. What makes +them as valuable as pearls?”</p> +<p>“They are love beads,” answered Cleigh, mockingly. +“They are far more potent than powdered +pearls. You have worn them about your throat, +Miss Norman, and the sequence is inevitable.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” cried Jane.</p> +<p>Dennison added his mite to the confusion:</p> +<p>“I thought that scoundrel Cunningham was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +lying. He said the string was a code key belonging +to the British Intelligence Office.”</p> +<p>“Rot!” Cleigh exploded.</p> +<p>“So I thought.”</p> +<p>“But hurry, Miss Norman. The sooner I have +that written order on the consulate the sooner +you’ll have your belongings.”</p> +<p>“Very well.”</p> +<p>Five minutes later she announced that the +order was completed, and Cleigh opened the door +slightly.</p> +<p>“The key will be given you the moment we +weigh anchor.”</p> +<p>“I say,” called the son, “you might drop into +the Palace and get my truck, too. I’m particular +about my toothbrushes.” A pause. “I’d like a +drink, too—if you’ve got the time.”</p> +<p>Cleigh did not answer, but he presently entered +Cabin Two, filled a glass with water, raised his +son’s head to a proper angle, and gave him drink.</p> +<p>“Thanks. This business strikes me as the +funniest thing I ever heard of! You would have +done that for a dog.”</p> +<p>Cleigh replaced the water carafe in the rack +above the wash bowl and went out, locking the +door. In the salon he called for Dodge:</p> +<p>“I am going into town. I’ll be back round +five. Don’t stir from this cabin.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span></p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“You remember that fellow who was here night +before last?”</p> +<p>“The good-looking chap that limped?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And I’m to crease him if he pokes his noodle +down the stairs?”</p> +<p>“Exactly! No talk, no palaver! If he starts +talking he’ll talk you out of your boots. Shoot!”</p> +<p>“In the leg? All right.”</p> +<p>His employer having gone, Dodge sat in a corner +from which he could see the companionway and +all the passages. He lit a long black cigar, laid his +formidable revolver on a knee, and began his vigil. +A queer job for an old cow-punch, for a fact.</p> +<p>To guard an old carpet that didn’t have “welcome” +on it anywhere—he couldn’t get that, none +whatever. But there was a hundred a week, the +best grub pile in the world, and the old man’s +Havanas as often as he pleased. Pretty soft!</p> +<p>And he had learned a new trick—shooting +target in a rolling sea. He had wasted a hundred +rounds before getting the hang of it. Maybe +these sailors hadn’t gone pop-eyed when they saw +him pumping lead into the bull’s-eye six times +running? Tin cans and raw potatoes in the +water, too. Something to brag about if he ever +got back home. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span></p> +<p>He broke the gun and inspected the cylinder. +There wasn’t as much grease on the cartridges as +he would have liked.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Miss Norman?” called Dennison.</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“Are you comfortable?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m all right. I’m only furious with rage, +that’s all. You are still tied?”</p> +<p>“Yes, ma’am.”</p> +<p>“I really don’t understand your father.”</p> +<p>“I have never understood him. Yet he was +very kind to me when I was little. I don’t suppose +there is anything in heaven or on earth that +he’s afraid of.”</p> +<p>“He is afraid of me.”</p> +<p>“Do you believe that?”</p> +<p>“I know it. He would give anything to be rid +of me. But go on.”</p> +<p>“With what?”</p> +<p>“Your past.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m something like him physically. We +are both so strong that we generally burst through +rather than take the trouble to go round. I’m +honestly sorry for him. Not a human being to +love or be loved by. He never had a dog. I don’t +recollect my mother; she died when I was three; +and that death had something to do with the iron +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +in his soul. Our old butler used to tell me that +Father cursed horribly, I mean blasphemously, +when they took the mother out of the house. +There are some men like that, who love terribly, +away and beyond the average human ability. +After the mother died he plunged into the money +game. He was always making it, piling it up ruthlessly +but honestly. Then that craving petered +out, and he took a hand in the collecting game. +What will come next I don’t know. As a boy I +was always afraid of him. He was kind to me, but +in the abstract. I was like an extra on the +grocer’s bill. He put me into the hands of a tutor—a +lovable old dreamer—and paid no more +attention to me. He never put his arms round +me and told me fairy stories.”</p> +<p>“Poor little boy! No fairy stories!”</p> +<p>“Nary a one until I began to have playmates.”</p> +<p>“Do the ropes hurt?”</p> +<p>“They might if I were alone.”</p> +<p>“What do you make of the beads?”</p> +<p>“Only that they have some strange value, or +father wouldn’t be after them. Love beads! +Doesn’t sound half so plausible as Cunningham’s +version.”</p> +<p>“That handsome man who limped?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“A real adventurer—the sort one reads about!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span></p> +<p>“And the queer thing about him, he keeps his +word, too, for all his business is a shady one. I +don’t suppose there is a painting or a jewel or a +book of the priceless sort that he doesn’t know +about, where it is and if it can be got at. Some of +his deals are aboveboard, but many of them aren’t. +I’ll wager these beads have a story of loot.”</p> +<p>“What he steals doesn’t hurt the poor.”</p> +<p>“So long as the tigers fight among themselves +and leave the goats alone, it doesn’t stir you. Is +that it?”</p> +<p>“Possibly.”</p> +<p>“And besides, he’s a handsome beggar, if there +ever was one.”</p> +<p>“He has the face of an angel!”</p> +<p>“And the soul of a vandal!”—with a touch of +irritability.</p> +<p>“Now you aren’t fair. A vandal destroys +things; this man only transfers——”</p> +<p>“For a handsome monetary consideration——”</p> +<p>“Only transfers a picture from one gallery to +another.”</p> +<p>“Well, we’ve seen the last of him for a while, +anyhow.”</p> +<p>“I wonder.”</p> +<p>“Will you answer me a question?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps.”</p> +<p>“Do you know where those beads are?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></p> +<p>“A little while gone I smelt tobacco smoke,” she +answered, dryly.</p> +<p>“I see. We’ll talk of something else then. +Have you ever been in love?”</p> +<p>“Have you?”</p> +<p>“Violently—so I believed.”</p> +<p>“But you got over it?”</p> +<p>“Absolutely! And you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I haven’t had the time. I’ve been too +busy earning bread and butter. What was she +like?”</p> +<p>“A beautiful mirage—the lie in the desert, you +might say. Has it ever occurred to you that the +mirage is the one lie Nature utters?”</p> +<p>“I hadn’t thought. She deceived you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>A short duration of silence.</p> +<p>“Doesn’t hurt to talk about her?”</p> +<p>“Lord, no! Because I wasn’t given fairy +stories when I was little, I took them seriously +when I was twenty-three.”</p> +<p>“Puppy love.”</p> +<p>“It went a little deeper than that.”</p> +<p>“But you don’t hate women?”</p> +<p>“No. I never hated the woman who deceived +me. I was terribly sorry for her.”</p> +<p>“For having lost so nice a husband?”—with a +bit of malice. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span></p> +<p>He greeted this with laughter.</p> +<p>“It is written,” she observed, “that we must +play the fool sometime or other.”</p> +<p>“Have you ever played it?”</p> +<p>“Not yet, but you never can tell.”</p> +<p>“Jane, you’re a brick!”</p> +<p>“Jane!” she repeated. “Well, I don’t suppose +there’s any harm in your calling me that, with +partitions in between.”</p> +<p>“They used to call me Denny.”</p> +<p>“And you want me to call you that?”</p> +<p>“Will you?”</p> +<p>“I’ll think it over—Denny!”</p> +<p>They laughed. Both recognized the basic fact +in this running patter. Each was trying to buck +up the other. Jane was honestly worried. She +could not say what it was that worried her, but +there was a strong leaven in her of old-wives’ +prescience. It wasn’t due to this high-handed +adventure of Cleigh, senior; it was something +leaning down darkly from the future that worried +her. That hand mirror!</p> +<p>“Better not talk any more,” she advised. +“You’ll be getting thirsty.”</p> +<p>“I’m already that.”</p> +<p>“You’re a brave man, captain,” she said, her +tone altering from gayety to seriousness. “Don’t +worry about me. I’ve always been able to take +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +care of myself, though I’ve never been confronted +with this kind of a situation before. Frankly, I +don’t like it. But I suspect that your father will +have more respect for us if we laugh at him. Has +he a sense of humour?”</p> +<p>“My word for it, he has! What could be more +humorous than tying me up in this fashion and +putting me in the cabin that used to be mine? +Ten thousand for a string of glass beads! I say, +Jane!”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“When he comes back tell him you might consider +twenty thousand, just to get an idea what the +thing is worth.”</p> +<p>“I’ll promise that.”</p> +<p>“All right. Then I’ll try to snooze a bit. +Getting stuffy lying on my back.”</p> +<p>“The brute! If I could only help you!”</p> +<p>“You have—you are—you will!”</p> +<p>He turned on his side, his face toward the door. +His arms and legs began to sting with the sensation +known as sleep. He was glad his father had overheard +the initial conversation. A wave of terror +ran over him at the thought of being set ashore +while Jane went on. Still he could have sent a +British water terrier in hot pursuit.</p> +<p>Jane sat down and took inventory. She knew +but little about antiques—rugs and furniture—but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +she was full of inherent love of the beautiful. +The little secretary upon which she had written +the order on the consulate was an exquisite lowboy +of old mahogany of dull finish. On the floor were +camel saddle-bays, Persian in pattern. On the +panel over the lowboy was a small painting, a foot +broad and a foot and a half long. It was old—she +could tell that much. It was a portrait, +tender and quaint. She would have gasped had +she known that it was worth a cover of solid +gold. It was a Holbein, The Younger, for +which Cleigh some years gone had paid Cunningham +sixteen thousand dollars. Where and how +Cunningham had acquired it was not open +history.</p> +<p>An hour passed. By and by she rose and tiptoed +to the partition. She held her ear against +the panel, and as she heard nothing she concluded +that Denny—why not?—was asleep. Next she +gazed out of the port. It was growing dark outside, +overcast. It would rain again probably. A +drab sky, a drab shore. She saw a boat filled with +those luscious vegetables which wrote typhus for +any white person who ate them. A barge went by +piled high with paddy bags—rice in the husk—with +Chinamen at the forward and stern sweeps. +She wondered if these poor yellow people had ever +known what it was to play? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></p> +<p>Suddenly she fell back, shocked beyond measure. +From the direction of the salon—a pistol shot! +This was followed by the tramp of hurrying feet. +Voices, now sharp, now rumbling—this grew +nearer. A struggle of some dimensions was going +on in the passage. The racket reached her door, +but did not pause there. She sank into the chair, +a-tremble.</p> +<p>Dennison struggled to a sitting posture.</p> +<p>“Jane?”</p> +<p>“Yes!”</p> +<p>“Are you all right?”</p> +<p>“Yes, what has happened?”</p> +<p>“A bit of mutiny, I take it; but it seems to be +over.”</p> +<p>“But the shot!”</p> +<p>“I heard no cry of pain, only a lot of scuffling +and some high words. Don’t worry.”</p> +<p>“I won’t. Can’t you break a piece of glass and +saw your way out?”</p> +<p>“Lord love you, that’s movie stuff! If I had a +razor, I couldn’t manage it without hacking off my +hands. You are worried!”</p> +<p>“I’m a woman, Denny. I’m not afraid of your +father; but if there is mutiny, with all these +treasures on board—and over here——”</p> +<p>“All right. I’ll make a real effort.”</p> +<p>She could hear him stumbling about. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +heard the crash of the water carafe on the floor. +Several minutes dragged by.</p> +<p>“Can’t be done!” said Dennison. “Can’t +make the broken glass stay put. Can’t reach my +ankles, either, or I could get my feet free. There’s +a double latch on your door. See to it! Lord!”</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“Nothing. Just hunting round for some cuss +words. Put the chair up against the door knob +and sit tight for a while.”</p> +<p>The hours dragged by in stifling silence.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Cleigh, having attended to errands, +lunched, had gone to the American consulate and +presented the order. His name and reputation +cleared away the official red tape. He explained +that all the fuss of the night before had been without +cause. Miss Norman had come aboard the +yacht, and now decided to go to Hong-Kong with +the family. This suggested the presence of other +women on board. In the end, Jane’s worldly +goods were consigned to Cleigh, who signed the +receipt and made off for the launch.</p> +<p>It was growing dark. On the way down the +river Cleigh made no attempt to search for the +beads.</p> +<p>The salon lights snapped up as the launch drew +alongside. Once below, Cleigh dumped Jane’s +possessions into the nearest chair and turned to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +give Dodge an order—only to find the accustomed +corner vacant!</p> +<p>“Dodge!” he shouted. He ran to the passage. +“Dodge, where the devil are you?”</p> +<p>“Did you call, sir?”</p> +<p>Cleigh spun about. In the doorway to the +dining salon stood Cunningham, on his amazingly +handsome face an expression of anxious solicitude!</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> + +<p>Cleigh was not only a big and powerful +man—he was also courageous, but the +absence of Dodge and the presence of +Cunningham offered such sinister omen that +temporarily he was bereft of his natural wit and +initiative.</p> +<p>“Where’s Dodge?” he asked, stupidly.</p> +<p>“Dodge is resting quietly,” answered Cunningham, +gravely. “He’ll be on his feet in a day or +two.”</p> +<p>That seemed to wake up Cleigh a bit. He drew +his automatic.</p> +<p>“Face to the wall, or I’ll send a bullet into +you!”</p> +<p>Cunningham shook his head.</p> +<p>“Did you examine the clip this morning? +When you carry weapons like that for protection +never put it in your pocket without a look-see. +Dodge wouldn’t have made your mistake. Shoot! +Try it on the floor, or up through the lights—or at +me if you’d like that better. The clip is empty.”</p> +<p>Mechanically Cleigh took aim and bore against +the trigger. There was no explosion. A +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +depressing sense of unreality rolled over the <i>Wanderer’s</i> +owner.</p> +<p>“So you went into town for her luggage? Did +you find the beads?”</p> +<p>Cleigh made a negative sign. It was less an +answer to Cunningham than an acknowledgment +that he could not understand why the bullet clip +should be empty.</p> +<p>“It was an easy risk,” explained Cunningham. +“You carried the gun, but I doubt you ever +looked it over. Having loaded it once upon a +time, you believed that was sufficient, eh? Know +what I think? The girl has hidden the beads in +her hair. Did you search her?”</p> +<p>Again Cleigh shook his head, as much over the +situation as over the question.</p> +<p>“What, you ran all this risk and hadn’t the +nerve to search her? Well, that’s rich! Unless +you’ve read her from my book. She would +probably have scratched out your eyes. There’s +an Amazon locked up in that graceful body. I’d +like to see her head against a bit of clear blue sky—a +touch of Henner blues and reds. What a whale +of a joke! Abduct a young woman, risk prison, +and then afraid to lay hands on her! You poor old +piker!” Cunningham laughed.</p> +<p>“Cunningham——”</p> +<p>“All right, I’ll be merciful. To make a long +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +story short, it means that for the present I am in +command of this yacht. I warned you. Will you +be sensible, or shall I have to lock you up like +your two-gun man from Texas?”</p> +<p>“Piracy!” cried Cleigh, coming out of his maze.</p> +<p>“Maritime law calls it that, but it isn’t really. +No pannikins of rum, no fifteen men on a dead +man’s chest. Parlour stuff, you might call it. +The whole affair—the parlour side of it—depends +upon whether you purpose to act philosophically +under stress or kick up a hullabaloo. In the latter +event you may reasonably expect some rough +stuff. Truth is, I’m only borrowing the yacht +as far as latitude ten degrees and longitude one +hundred and ten degrees, off Catwick Island. +You carry a boson’s whistle at the end of your +watch chain. Blow it!” was the challenge.</p> +<p>“You bid me blow it?”</p> +<p>“Only to convince you how absolutely helpless +you are,” said Cunningham, amiably. “Yesterday +this day’s madness did prepare, as our old +friend Omar used to say. Vedder did great work on +that, didn’t he? Toot the whistle, for shortly we +shall weigh anchor.”</p> +<p>Like a man in a dream, Cleigh got out his +whistle. The first blast was feeble and windy. +Cunningham grinned.</p> +<p>“Blow it, man, blow it!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></p> +<p>Cleigh set the whistle between his lips and blew +a blast that must have been heard half a mile +away.</p> +<p>“That’s something like! Now we’ll have results!”</p> +<p>Above, on deck, came the scuffle of hurrying +feet, and immediately—as if they had been prepared +against this moment—three fourths of the +crew came tumbling down the companionway.</p> +<p>“Seize this man!” shouted Cleigh, thunderously, +as he indicated Cunningham.</p> +<p>The men, however, fell into line and came to +attention. Most of them were grinning.</p> +<p>“Do you hear me? Brown, Jessup, McCarthy—seize +this man!”</p> +<p>No one stirred. Cleigh then lost his head. +With a growl he sprang toward Cunningham. +Half the crew jumped instantly into the gap between, +and they were no longer grinning. Cunningham +pushed aside the human wall and faced +the <i>Wanderer’s</i> owner.</p> +<p>“Do you begin to understand?”</p> +<p>“No! But whatever your game is, it will prove +bad business for you in the end. And you men, +too. The world has grown mighty small, and +you’ll find it hard to hide—unless you kill me and +have done with it!”</p> +<p>“Tut, tut! Wouldn’t harm a hair of your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +head. The world is small, as you say, but just at +this moment infernally busy mopping up. What, +bother about a little dinkum dinkus like this, with +Russia mad, Germany ugly, France grumbling at +England, Italy shaking her fist at Greece, and +labour making a monkey of itself? Nay! I’ll +shift the puzzle so you can read it. When the +yacht was released from auxiliary duties she was +without a crew. The old crew, that of peace times, +was gone utterly, with the exception of four. You +had the yacht keelhauled, gave her another daub +of war paint and set about to find a crew. And I +had one especially picked for you! Ordinarily, +you’ve a tolerably keen eye. Didn’t it strike you +odd to land a crew who talked more or less grammatically, +who were clean bodily, who weren’t +boozers?”</p> +<p>Cleigh, fully alive now, coldly ran his inspecting +glance over the men. He had never before given +their faces any particular attention. Besides, this +was the first time he had seen so many of them at +once. During boat drill they had been divided +into four squads. Young faces, lean and hard +some of them, but reckless rather than bad. All +of them at this moment appeared to be enjoying +some huge joke.</p> +<p>“I can only repeat,” said Cleigh, “that you are +all playing with dynamite.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></p> +<p>“Perhaps. Most of these boys fought in the +war; they played the game; but when they returned +nobody had any use for them. I caught +them on the rebound, when they were a bit desperate. +We formed a company—but of that more +anon. Will you be my guest, or will you be my +prisoner?”</p> +<p>The velvet fell away from Cunningham’s voice.</p> +<p>“Have I any choice? I’ll accept the condition +because I must. But I’ve warned you. I suppose +I’d better ask at once what the ransom is.”</p> +<p>“Ransom? Not a copper cent! You can make +Singapore in two days from the Catwick.”</p> +<p>“And for helping me into Singapore I’m to agree +not to hand such men as you leave me over to the +British authorities?”</p> +<p>“All wrong! The men who will help you into +Singapore or take you to Manila will be as innocent +as newborn babes. Wouldn’t believe it, +would you, but I’m one of those efficiency sharks. +Nothing left to chance; all cut and dried; pluperfect. +Cleigh, I never break my word. I honestly +intended turning over those beads to you, +but Morrissy muddled the play.”</p> +<p>“Next door to murder.”</p> +<p>“Near enough, but he’ll pull out.”</p> +<p>“Are you going to take Miss Norman along?”</p> +<p>“What, set her ashore to sic the British Navy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +on us? I’m sorry. I don’t want her on board; +but that was your play, not mine. You tried to +double-cross me. But you need have no alarm. I +will kill the man who touches her. You understand +that, boys?”</p> +<p>The crew signified that the order was understood, +though one of them—the returned Flint—smiled +cynically. If Cunningham noted the smile +he made no verbal comment upon it.</p> +<p>“Weigh anchor, then! Look alive! The sooner +we nose down to the delta the sooner we’ll have the +proper sea room.”</p> +<p>The crew scurried off, and almost at once came +familiar sounds—the rattle of the anchor chain on +the windlass, the creaking of pulley blocks as the +launch came aboard, the thud of feet hither and +yon as portables were stowed or lashed to the +deck-house rail. For several minutes Cleigh and +Cunningham remained speechless and motionless.</p> +<p>“You get all the angles?” asked Cunningham, +finally.</p> +<p>“Some of them,” admitted Cleigh.</p> +<p>“At any rate, enough to make you accept a bad +situation with good grace?”</p> +<p>“You’re a foolhardy man, Cunningham. Do +you expect me to lie down when this play is over? +I solemnly swear to you that I’ll spend the rest of +my days hunting you down.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span></p> +<p>“And I solemnly swear that you shan’t catch +me. I’m through with the old game of playing the +genie in the bottle for predatory millionaires. +Henceforth I’m on my own. I’m romantic—yes, +sir—I’m romantic from heel to cowlick; and now +I’m going to give rein to this stifled longing.”</p> +<p>“You will come to a halter round your neck. I +have always paid your price on the nail, Cunningham.”</p> +<p>“You had to. Hang it, passions are the very +devil, aren’t they? Sooner or later one jumps +upon your back and rides you like the Old Man of +the Sea.”</p> +<p>Cleigh heard the rumble of steam.</p> +<p>“Objects of art!” went on Cunningham. “It +eats into your vitals to hear that some rival has +picked up a Correggio or an ancient Kirman or a +bit of Persian plaque. You talk of halters. Lord +lumme, how obliquely you look at facts! Take +that royal Persian there—the second-best animal +rug on earth—is there no murder behind the woof +and warp of it? What? Talk sense, Cleigh, talk +sense! You cable me: Get such and such. I +get it. What the devil do you care how it was got, +so long as it eventually becomes yours? It’s a +case of the devil biting his own tail—pot calling +kettle black.”</p> +<p>“How much do you want?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></p> +<p>“No, Cleigh, it’s the romantic idea.”</p> +<p>“I will give you fifty thousand for the rug.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry. No use now of telling you the plot; +you wouldn’t believe me, as the song goes. Dinner +at seven. Will you dine in the salon with me, +or will you dine in the solemn grandeur of your own +cabin, in company with Da Vinci, Teniers, and that +Carlo Dolci the Italian Government has been hunting +high and low for?”</p> +<p>“I will risk the salon.”</p> +<p>“To keep an eye on me as long as possible. +That’s fair enough. You heard what I said to +those boys. Well, every mother’s son of ’em will +toe the mark. There will be no change at all in +the routine. Simply we lay a new course that +will carry us outside and round Formosa, down to +the South Sea and across to the Catwick. I’ll +give you one clear idea. A million and immunity +would not stir me, Cleigh.”</p> +<p>“What’s the game—if it’s beyond ransom?”</p> +<p>Cunningham laughed boyishly.</p> +<p>“It’s big, and you’ll laugh, too, when I tell you.”</p> +<p>“On which side of the mouth?”</p> +<p>“That’s up to you.”</p> +<p>“Is it the rug?”</p> +<p>“Oh, that, of course! I warned you that I’d +come for the rug. It took two years out of my +young life to get that for you, and it has always +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +haunted me. I just told you about passions, +didn’t I? Once on your back, they ride you like +the devil—down-hill.”</p> +<p>“A crook.”</p> +<p>“There you go again—pot calling kettle black! +If you want to moralize, where’s the line between +the thief and the receiver? Fie on you! Dare +you hang that Da Vinci, that Dolci, that Holbein +in your gallery home? No! Stolen goods. What +a passion! You sail across the seas alone, alone +because you can’t satisfy your passion and have +knowing companions on board. When the yacht +goes out of commission you store the loot, and +tremble when you hear a fire alarm. All right. +Dinner at seven. I’ll go and liberate your son and +the lady.”</p> +<p>“Cunningham, I will kill you out of hand the +very first chance.”</p> +<p>“Old dear, I’ll add a fact for your comfort. +There will be guns on board, but half an hour +gone all the ammunition was dumped into the +Whangpoo. So you won’t have anything but +your boson’s whistle. You’re a bigger man than I +am physically, and I’ve a slue-foot, a withered leg; +but I’ve all the barroom tricks you ever heard of. +So don’t make any mistakes in that direction. +You are free to come and go as you please; but the +moment you start any rough house, into your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +cabin you go, and you’ll stay there until we raise +the Catwick. You haven’t a leg to stand on.”</p> +<p>Cunningham lurched out of the salon and into +the passage. He opened the door to Cabin Two +and turned on the light. Dennison blinked +stupidly. Cunningham liberated him and stood +back.</p> +<p>“Dinner at seven.”</p> +<p>“What the devil are you doing on board?” +asked Dennison, thickly.</p> +<p>“Well, here’s gratitude for you! But in order +that there will be no misunderstanding, I’ve turned +to piracy for a change. Great sport! I’ve chartered +the yacht for a short cruise.” His banter +turned into cold, precise tones. Cunningham +went on: “No nonsense, captain! I put this +crew on board away back in New York. Those +beads, though having a merit of their own, were +the lure to bring your father to these parts. +Your presence and Miss Norman’s are accidents +for which I am genuinely sorry. But frankly, I +dare not turn you loose. That’s the milk in the +cocoanut. I grant you the same privileges as I +grant your father, which he has philosophically +agreed to accept. Your word of honour to take it +sensibly, and the freedom of the yacht is yours. +Otherwise, I’ll lock you up in a place not half so +comfortable as this.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></p> +<p>“Piracy!”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. These are strangely troubled days. +We’ve slumped morally. Humanity has been +on the big kill, with the result that the tablets +of Moses have been busted up something fierce. +And here we are again, all kotowing to the +Golden Calf! All I need is your word—the word +of a Cleigh.”</p> +<p>“I give it.” Dennison gave his word so that he +might be free to protect the girl in the adjoining +cabin. “But conditionally.”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>“That the young lady shall at all times be +treated with the utmost respect. You will have to +kill me otherwise.”</p> +<p>“These Cleighs! All right. That happens to +be my own order to the crew. Any man who +breaks it will pay heavily.”</p> +<p>“What’s the game?” asked Dennison, rubbing +his wrists tenderly while he balanced unsteadily +upon his aching legs.</p> +<p>“Later! I’ll let Miss Norman out. That’s so—her +things are in the salon. I’ll get them, but +I’ll unlock her door first.”</p> +<p>“What in heaven’s name has happened?” asked +Jane as she and Dennison stood alone in the passage.</p> +<p>“The Lord knows!” gloomily. “But that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +scoundrel Cunningham has planted a crew of his +own on board, and we are all prisoners.”</p> +<p>“Cunningham?”</p> +<p>“The chap with the limp.”</p> +<p>“With the handsome face? But this is piracy!”</p> +<p>“About the size of it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I knew something was going to happen! +But a pirate! Surely it must be a joke?”</p> +<p>So it was—probably the most colossal joke that +ever flowered in the mind of a man. The devil +must have shouted and the gods must have held +their sides, for it took either a devil or a god to +understand the joke.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> + +<p>That first dinner would always remain +vivid and clear-cut in Jane Norman’s +mind. It was fantastic. To begin with, +there was that picturesque stone image at the +head of the table—Cleigh—who appeared utterly +oblivious of his surroundings, who ate with apparent +relish, and who ignored both men, his son and +his captor. Once or twice Jane caught his glance—a +blue eye, sharp-pupiled, agate-hard. But +what was it she saw—a twinkle or a sparkle? The +breadth of his shoulders! He must be very +powerful, like the son. Why, the two of them +could have pulverized this pretty fellow opposite!</p> +<p>Father and son! For seven years they had not +met. Their indifference seemed so inhuman! Still, +she fancied that the son dared not make any +approach, however much he may have longed to. +A woman! They had quarrelled over a woman! +Something reached down from the invisible and +pinched her heart.</p> +<p>All this while Cunningham had been talking—banter. +The blade would flash toward the father +or whirl upon the son, or it would come toward +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +her by the handle. She could not get away from +the initial idea—that his eyes were like fire opals.</p> +<p>“Miss Norman, you have very beautiful hair.”</p> +<p>“You think so?”</p> +<p>“It looks like Judith’s. You remember, Cleigh, +the one that hangs in the Pitti Galleria in Florence—Allori’s?”</p> +<p>Cleigh reached for a piece of bread, which he +broke and buttered.</p> +<p>Cunningham turned to Jane again.</p> +<p>“Will you do me the favour of taking out the +hairpins and loosing it?”</p> +<p>“No!” said Dennison.</p> +<p>“Why not?” said Jane, smiling bravely enough, +though there ran over her spine a chill.</p> +<p>It wasn’t Cunningham’s request—it was Dennison’s +refusal. That syllable, though spoken moderately, +was the essence of battle, murder, and sudden +death. If they should clash it would mean +that Denny—how easy it was to call him that!—Denny +would be locked up and she would be all +alone. For the father seemed as aloof and remote +as the pole.</p> +<p>“You shall not do it!” declared Dennison. +“Cunningham, if you force her I will break every +bone in your body here and now!”</p> +<p>Cleigh selected an olive and began munching it.</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” cried Jane. “It’s all awry +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +anyhow.” And she began to extract the hairpins. +Presently she shook her head, and the ruddy mass +of hair fell and rippled across and down her +shoulders.</p> +<p>“Well?” she said, looking whimsically into +Cunningham’s eyes. “It wasn’t there, was it?”</p> +<p>This tickled Cunningham.</p> +<p>“You’re a woman in a million! You read my +thought perfectly. I like ready wit in a woman. +I had to find out. You see, I had promised those +beads to Cleigh, and when I humanly can I keep +my promises. Sit down, captain!” For Dennison +had risen to his feet. “Sit down! Don’t +start anything you can’t finish.” To Jane there +was in the tone a quality which made her compare +it with the elder Cleigh’s eyes—agate-hard. “You +are younger and stronger, and no doubt you could +break me. But the moment my hand is withdrawn +from this business—the moment I am off +the board—I could not vouch for the crew. They +are more or less decent chaps, or they were before +this damned war stood humanity on its head. +We wear the same clothes, use the same phrases; +but we’ve been thrust back a thousand years. +And Miss Norman is a woman. You understand?”</p> +<p>Dennison sat down.</p> +<p>“You’d better kill me somewhere along this +voyage.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span></p> +<p>“I may have to. Who knows? There’s no +real demarcation between comedy and tragedy; +it’s the angle of vision. It’s rough medicine, +this; but your father has agreed to take it sensibly, +because he knows me tolerably well. Still, it will +not do him any good to plan bribery. Buy the +crew, Cleigh, if you believe you can. You’ll waste +your time. I do not pretend to hold them by +loyalty. I hold them by fear. Act sensibly, all +of you, and this will be a happy family. For after +all, it’s a joke, a whale of a joke. And some day +you’ll smile over it—even you, Cleigh.”</p> +<p>Cleigh pressed the steward’s button.</p> +<p>“The jam and the cheese, Togo,” he said to the +Jap.</p> +<p>“Yess, sair!”</p> +<p>A hysterical laugh welled into Jane’s throat, but +she did not permit it to escape her lips. She began +to build up her hair clumsily, because her hands +trembled.</p> +<p>Adventure! She thrilled! She had read somewhere +that after seven thousand years of tortuous +windings human beings had formed about themselves +a thin shell which they called civilization. +And always someone was breaking through and +retracing those seven thousand years. Here was +an example in Cunningham. Only a single step +was necessary. It took seven thousand years to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +build your shell, and only a minute to destroy it. +There was something fascinating in the thought. +A reckless spirit pervaded Jane, a longing to burst +through this shell of hers and ride the thunderbolt. +Monotony—that had been her portion, and only +her dreams had kept her from withering. From +the house to the hospital and back home again, +days, weeks, years. She had begun to hate white; +her soul thirsted for colour, movement, thrill. +The call that had been walled in, suppressed, +broke through. Piracy on high seas, and Jane +Norman in the cast!</p> +<p>She was not in the least afraid of the whimsical +rogue opposite. He was more like an uninvited +dinner guest. Perhaps this lack of fear had its +origin in the oily smoothness by which the yacht +had changed hands. Beyond the subjugation of +Dodge, there had not been a ripple of commotion. +It was too early to touch the undercurrents. All +this lulled and deceived her. Piracy? Where +were the cutlasses, the fierce moustaches, the red +bandannas, the rattle of dice, and the drunken +songs?—the piracy of tradition? If she had any +fear at all it was for the man at her left—Denny—who +might run amuck on her account and spoil +everything. All her life she would hear the father’s +voice—“The jam and the cheese, Togo.” What +men, all three of them! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span></p> +<p>Cunningham laid his napkin on the table and +stood up.</p> +<p>“Absolute personal liberty, if you will accept +the situation sensibly.”</p> +<p>Dennison glowered at him, but Jane reached out +and touched the soldier’s sleeve.</p> +<p>“Please!”</p> +<p>“For your sake, then. But it’s tough medicine +for me to swallow.”</p> +<p>“To be sure it is,” agreed the rogue. “Look +upon me as a supercargo for the next ten days. +You’ll see me only at lunch and dinner. I’ve a lot +of work to do in the chart house. By the way, the +wireless man is mine, Cleigh, so don’t waste any +time on him. Hope you’re a good sailor, Miss +Norman, for we are heading into rough weather, +and we haven’t much beam.”</p> +<p>“I love the sea!”</p> +<p>“Hang it, you and I shan’t have any trouble! +Good-night.”</p> +<p>Cunningham limped to the door, where he +turned and eyed the elder Cleigh, who was stirring +his coffee thoughtfully. Suddenly the rogue burst +into a gale of laughter, and they could hear recurrent +bursts as he wended his way to the companion.</p> +<p>When this sound died away Cleigh turned his +glance levelly upon Jane. The stone-like mask +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +dissolved into something that was pathetically +human.</p> +<p>“Miss Norman,” he said, “I don’t know what +we are heading into, but if we ever get clear I will +make any reparation you may demand.”</p> +<p>“Any kind of a reparation?”—an eager note in +her voice.</p> +<p>Dennison stared at her, puzzled, but almost +instantly he was conscious of the warmth of +shame in his cheeks. This girl wasn’t that sort—to +ask for money as a balm for the indignity offered +her. What was she after?</p> +<p>“Any kind of reparation,” repeated Cleigh.</p> +<p>“I’ll remember that—if we get through. And +somehow I believe we shall.”</p> +<p>“You trust that scoundrel?” asked Cleigh, +astonishedly.</p> +<p>“Inexplicably—yes.”</p> +<p>“Because he happens to be handsome?”—with +frank irony.</p> +<p>“No.” But she looked at the son as she spoke. +“He said he never broke his word. No man can +be a very great villain who can say that. Did he +ever break his word to you?”</p> +<p>“Except in this instance.”</p> +<p>“The beads?”</p> +<p>“I am quite confident he knows where they +are.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span></p> +<p>“Are they so precious? What makes them +precious?”</p> +<p>“I have told you—they are love beads.”</p> +<p>“That’s rank nonsense! I’m no child!”</p> +<p>“Isn’t love rank nonsense?” Cleigh countered. +He was something of a banterer himself.</p> +<p>“Have you never loved anybody?” she shot +back at him.</p> +<p>A shadow passed over the man’s face, clearing +the ironic expression.</p> +<p>“Perhaps I loved not wisely but too well.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean——”</p> +<p>“You are young; all about you is sunshine; I myself +have gone down among the shadows. Cunningham +may keep his word; but there is always +the possibility of his not being able to keep it. He +has become an outlaw; he is in maritime law a +pirate. The crew are aware of it; prison stares +them in the face, and that may make them reckless. +If you weren’t on board I shouldn’t care. +But you are young, vital, attractive, of the type +that appeals to strong men. In the dry stores +there are many cases of liquor and wine. The +men may break into the stuff before we reach the +Catwick. That will take ten or twelve days if +Cunningham lays a course outside Formosa. +What’s his game? I don’t know. Probably he +will maroon us on the Catwick, an island I know +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +nothing about, except that it is nearer to Saigon +than to Singapore. So then in the daytime stay +where I am or where Captain Dennison is. Good-night.”</p> +<p>Dennison balanced his spoon on the rim of the +coffee cup—not a particularly easy job.</p> +<p>“Whatever shall I do with the jade?” Jane +asked, irrelevantly.</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“The jade necklace. That poor Chinaman!”</p> +<p>“Ling Foo? I wish I had broken his infernal +yellow neck! But for him neither of us would be +here. But he is right,” Dennison added, with a +jerk of his head toward the door. “You must always +be with one or the other of us—preferably +me.” He smiled.</p> +<p>“Will you promise me one thing?”</p> +<p>“Denny.”</p> +<p>“Will you promise me one thing, Denny?”</p> +<p>“And that is not to attempt to mix it with the +scoundrel?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I promise—so long as he keeps his. But if he +touches you—well, God help him!”</p> +<p>“And me! Oh, I don’t mean him. It is you +that I am afraid of. You’re so terribly strong—and—and +so heady. I can never forget how you +went into that mob of quarrelling troopers. But +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +you were an officer there; your uniform doesn’t +count here. If only you and your father stood +together!”</p> +<p>“We do so far as you are concerned. Never +doubt that. Otherwise, though, it’s hopeless. +What are you going to demand of him—supposing +we come through safely?”</p> +<p>“That’s my secret. Let’s go on deck.”</p> +<p>“It’s raining hard, and there’ll be a good deal of +pitching shortly. Better turn in. You’ve been +through enough to send the average woman into +hysterics.”</p> +<p>“It won’t be possible to sleep.”</p> +<p>“I grant that, but I’d rather you would go at +once to your cabin.”</p> +<p>“I wonder if you will understand. I’m not +really afraid. I know I ought to be, but I’m not. +All my life has been a series of humdrum—and +here is adventure, stupendous adventure!” She +rose abruptly, holding out her arms dramatically +toward space. “All my life I have lived in a shell, +and chance has cracked it. If only you knew how +wonderfully free I feel at this moment! I want +to go on deck, to feel the wind and the rain in my +face!”</p> +<p>“Go to bed,” he said, prosaically.</p> +<p>Though never had she appeared so poignantly +desirable. He wanted to seize her in his arms, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +smother her with kisses, bury his face in her hair. +And swiftly upon this desire came the thought that +if she appealed to him so strongly, might she not +appeal quite as strongly to the rogue? He laid +the spoon on the rim of the cup again and teetered +it.</p> +<p>“Go to bed,” he repeated.</p> +<p>“An order?”</p> +<p>“An order. I’ll go along with you to the cabin. +Come!” He got up.</p> +<p>“Can you tell me you’re not excited?”</p> +<p>“I am honestly terrified. I’d give ten years of +my life if you were safely out of this. For seven +long years I have been knocking about this world, +and among other things I have learned that plans +like Cunningham’s never get through per order. +I don’t know what the game is, but it’s bound to +fail. So I’m going to ask you, in God’s name, not +to let any romantical ideas get into your head. +This is bad business for all of us.”</p> +<p>There was something in his voice, aside from +the genuine seriousness, that subdued her.</p> +<p>“I’ll go to bed. Shall we have breakfast together?”</p> +<p>“Better that way.”</p> +<p>To reach the port passage they had to come out +into the main salon. Cleigh was in his corner +reading. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></p> +<p>“Good-night,” she called. All her bitterness +toward him was gone. “And don’t worry about +me.”</p> +<p>“Good-night,” replied Cleigh over the top of the +book. “Be sure of your door. If you hear any +untoward sounds in the night call to the captain +whose cabin adjoins yours.”</p> +<p>When she and Dennison arrived at the door of +her cabin she turned impulsively and gave him +both her hands. He held them lightly, because +his emotions were at full tide, and he did not care +to have her sense it in any pressure. Her confidence +in him now was absolute, and he must +guard himself constantly. Poor fool! Why hadn’t +he told her that last night on the British transport? +What had held him back?</p> +<p>The uncertain future—he had let that rise up +between. And now he could not tell her. If she +did not care, if her regard did not go beyond comradeship, +the knowledge would only distress her.</p> +<p>The yacht was beginning to roll now, for they +were making the East China Sea. The yacht +rolled suddenly to starboard, and Jane fell against +him. He caught her, instantly turned her right +about and gently but firmly forced her into the +cabin.</p> +<p>“Good-night. Remember! Rap on the partition +if you hear anything you don’t like.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span></p> +<p>“I promise.”</p> +<p>After she had locked and latched the door she +set about the business of emptying her kit bags. +She hung the evening gown she had worn all day +in the locker, laid her toilet articles on the dresser, +and set the brass hand warmer on the lowboy. +Then she let down her hair and began to brush it. +She swung a thick strand of it over her shoulder +and ran her hand down under it. The woman in +“Phra the Phœnician,” Allori’s Judith—and she +had always hated the colour of it! She once more +applied the brush, balancing herself nicely to meet +the ever-increasing roll.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, she did feel free, freer than she had +felt in all her life before. A stupendous adventure! +After the braids were completed she flung them +down her back, turned off the light, and peered out +of the rain-blurred port. She could see nothing +except an occasional flash of angry foam as it +raced past. She slipped into bed, but her eyes +remained open for a long time.</p> +<p>Dennison wondered if there would be a slicker +in his old locker. He opened the door. He +found an oilskin and a yellow sou’wester on the +hooks. He took them down and put them on +and stole out carefully, a hand extended each side +to minimize the roll. He navigated the passage +and came out into the salon. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></p> +<p>Cleigh was still immersed in his book. He +looked up quickly, but recognizing the intruder, +dropped his gaze instantly. Dennison crossed the +salon to the companionway and staggered up the +steps. Had his father ever really been afraid of +anything? He could not remember ever having +seen the old boy in the grip of fear. What a +devil of a world it was!</p> +<p>Dennison was an able seaman. He had been +brought up on the sea—seven years on the first +<i>Wanderer</i> and five on the second. He had, in +company with his father, ridden the seven seas. +But he had no trade; he hadn’t the money instinct; +he would have to stumble upon fortune; he knew +no way of making it. And this knowledge stirred +his rancor anew—the father hadn’t played fair +with the son.</p> +<p>He gripped the deck-house rail to steady himself, +for the wind and rain caught him head-on.</p> +<p>Then he worked his way slowly along to the +bridge. Twice a comber broke on the quarter and +dropped a ton of water, which sloshed about the +deck, drenching his feet. He climbed the ladder, +rather amused at the recurrence of an old thought—that +climbing ship ladders in dirty weather +was a good deal like climbing in nightmares: one +weighed thousands of pounds and had feet of lead.</p> +<p>Presently he peered into the chart room, which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +was dark except for the small hooded bulbs over +the navigating instruments. He could see the +chin and jaws of the wheelman and the beard of +old Captain Newton. From time to time a wheel +spoke came into the light.</p> +<p>On the chart table lay a pocket lamp, facing +sternward, the light pouring upon what looked to +be a map; and over it were bent three faces, one +of which was Cunningham’s. A forefinger was +tracing this map.</p> +<p>Dennison opened the door and stepped inside.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> + +<p>“How are you making out, Newton?” he +asked, calmly.</p> +<p>“Denny? Why, God bless me, boy, +I’m glad to see you! How’s your dad?”</p> +<p>“Reading.”</p> +<p>“That would be like him. I don’t suppose if +hell opened under his feet he’d do anything except +look interested. And it ’pears to me’s though hell +had opened up right now!”</p> +<p>A chuckle came from the chart table.</p> +<p>“What’s your idea of hell, Newton?” asked +Cunningham.</p> +<p>“Anything you might have a hand in,” was the +return bolt.</p> +<p>“Why, you used to like me!”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes! But I didn’t know you then. The +barometer’s dropping. If it was August I’d say +we were nosing into a typhoon. I always hated +this yellow muck they call a sea over here. Did +you pick up that light?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” answered the wheelman. “I take +it she’s making south—Hong-Kong way. There’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +plenty of sea room. She’ll be well down before we +cross her wake.”</p> +<p>Silence except for the rumble of the weather +canvas standing up against the furious blasts of +the wind. Dennison stepped over to the chart +table.</p> +<p>“Cunningham, I would like to have a word with +you.”</p> +<p>“Go ahead. You can have as many as you +like.”</p> +<p>“At dinner you spoke of your word.”</p> +<p>“So I did. What about it?”</p> +<p>“Do you keep it?”</p> +<p>“Whenever I humanly can. Well?”</p> +<p>“What’s this Catwick Island?”</p> +<p>“Hanged if I know!”</p> +<p>“Are you going to maroon us there?”</p> +<p>“No. At that point the yacht will be turned +back to your father, and he can cruise until the +crack o’ doom without further interference from +yours truly.”</p> +<p>“That’s your word?”</p> +<p>“It is—and I will keep it. Anything else?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I will play the game as it lies, provided +that Miss Norman is in nowise interfered with +or annoyed.”</p> +<p>“How is she taking it?”</p> +<p>“My reply first.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span></p> +<p>“Neither I nor the crew will bother her. She +shall come and go free as the gull in the air. If at +any time the men do not observe the utmost politeness +toward her you will do me a favour to report +to me. That’s my word, and I promise to +keep it, even if I have to kill a man or two. I wish +to come through clean in the hands so far as your +father, Miss Norman, and yourself are concerned. +I’m risking my neck and my liberty, for this is +piracy on the high seas. But every man is +entitled to one good joke during his lifetime, and +when we raise the Catwick I’ll explain this joke +in full. If you don’t chuckle, then you haven’t +so much as a grain of humour in your make-up.”</p> +<p>“Well, there’s nothing for me to do but take +your word as you give it.”</p> +<p>“That’s the way to talk. Now, Flint, this bay +or lagoon——”</p> +<p>The voice dropped into a low, indistinguishable +murmur. Dennison realized that the moment had +come to depart; the edge of the encounter was in +Cunningham’s favour and to remain would only +serve to sharpen this edge. So he went outside, +slamming the door behind him.</p> +<p>The word of a rogue! There was now nothing +to do but turn in. He believed he had a glimmer. +Somewhere off the Catwick Cunningham and his +crew were to be picked up. He would not be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +going to the Catwick himself, not knowing whether +it was jungle or bald rock. But if a ship was to +pick him up, why hadn’t she made Shanghai and +picked him up there? Why commit piracy—unless +he was a colossal liar, which Dennison was +ready enough to believe. The word of a rogue!</p> +<p>Some private war? Was Cunningham paying +off an old grudge? But was any grudge worth +this risk? The old boy wasn’t to be scared; +Cunningham ought to have known that. If +Cleigh came through with a whole skin he’d hunt +the beggar down if it carried him to the North +Pole. Cunningham ought to have known that, +too. A planted crew, piracy—and he, Dennison +Cleigh, was eventually to chuckle over it! He +had his doubts. And where did the glass beads +come in? Or had Cunningham spoken the truth—a +lure? A big game somewhere in the offing. +And the rogue was right! The world, dizzily +stewing in a caldron of monumental mistakes, +would give scant attention to an off-side play such +as this promised to be. Not a handhold anywhere +to the puzzle. The old boy might have the key, +but Dennison Cleigh could not go to him for the +solution.</p> +<p>His own father! Just as he had become used +to the idea that the separation was final, absolute, +to be thrown together in this fantastic manner! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +The father’s arm under his neck and the cup at his +lips had shaken him profoundly. But Cleigh +would not have denied a dog drink had the dog +exhibited signs of thirst. So nothing could be +drawn from that.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Morning. Jane opened her eyes, only to shut +them quickly. The white brilliancy of the cabin +hurt. Across the ceiling ran a constant flicker of +silver—reflected sunshine on the water. Southward—they +were heading southward. She jumped +out of bed and stepped over to the port. Flashing +yellow water, a blue sky, and far off the oddly +ribbed sails of a Chinese junk labouring heavily in +the big sea that was still running. Glorious!</p> +<p>She dressed hurriedly and warmly, bundling +her hair under a velours hat and ramming a pin +through both.</p> +<p>“Denny?” she called.</p> +<p>There was no answer. He was on deck, probably.</p> +<p>An odd scene awaited her in the main salon. +Cleigh, senior, stood before the phonograph listening +to Caruso. The roll of the yacht in nowise +disturbed the mechanism of the instrument. +There was no sudden sluing of the needle, due to an +amateurish device which Cleigh himself had constructed. +The son, stooping, was searching the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +titles of a row of new novels. The width of the +salon stretched between the two.</p> +<p>“Good morning, everybody!”</p> +<p>There was a joyousness in her voice she made +not the least attempt to conceal. She was joyous, +alive, and she did not care who knew it.</p> +<p>Dennison acknowledged her greeting with a +smile, a smile which was a mixture of wonder and +admiration. How in the world was she to be +made to understand that they were riding a deep-sea +volcano?</p> +<p>“Nothing disturbed you through the night?” +asked Cleigh, lifting the pin from the record.</p> +<p>“Nothing. I lay awake for an hour or two, but +after that I slept like a log. Have I kept you +waiting?”</p> +<p>“No. Breakfast isn’t quite ready,” answered +Cleigh.</p> +<p>“What makes the sea so yellow?”</p> +<p>“All the big Chinese rivers are mud-banked and +mud-bottomed. They pour millions of tons of +yellow mud into these waters. By this afternoon, +however, I imagine we’ll be nosing into the blue. +Ah!”</p> +<p>“Breakfast iss served,” announced Togo the +Jap.</p> +<p>The trio entered the dining salon in single file, +and once more Jane found herself seated between +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +the two men. One moment she was carrying on +a conversation with the father, the next moment +with the son. The two ignored each other perfectly. +Under ordinary circumstances it would +have been strange enough; but in this hour, when +no one knew where or how this voyage would end! +A real tragedy or some absurd trifle? Probably a +trifle; trifles dug more pits than tragedies. Perhaps +tragedy was mis-named. What humans +called tragedy was epic, and trifles were real +tragedies. And then there were certain natures +to whom the trifle was epical; to whom the inconsequent +was invariably magnified nine diameters; +and having made a mistake, would die +rather than admit it.</p> +<p>To bring these two together, to lure them from +behind their ramparts of stubbornness, to see +them eventually shake hands and grin as men will +who recognize that they have been playing the +fool! She became fired with the idea. Only +she must not move prematurely; there must arrive +some psychological moment.</p> +<p>During the meal, toward the end of it, one of the +crew entered. He was young—in the early +twenties. The manner in which he saluted convinced +Dennison that the fellow had recently been +in the United States Navy.</p> +<p>“Mr. Cunningham’s compliments, sir. Canvas +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +has been rigged on the port promenade and chairs +and rugs set out.”</p> +<p>Another salute and he was off.</p> +<p>“Well, that’s decent enough,” was Dennison’s +comment. “That chap has been in the Navy. +It’s all miles over my head, I’ll confess. Cunningham +spoke of a joke when I accosted him in the +chart house last night.”</p> +<p>“You went up there?” cried Jane.</p> +<p>“Yes. And among other things he said that +every man is entitled to at least one good joke. +What the devil can he mean by that?”</p> +<p>Had he been looking at his father Dennison +would have caught a fleeting, grim, shadowy smile +on the strong mouth.</p> +<p>“You will find a dozen new novels on the shelves, +Miss Norman,” said Cleigh as he rose. “I’ll be +on deck. I generally walk two or three miles in +the morning. Let us hang together this day to +test the scalawag’s promise.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Cleigh, when you spoke of reparation last +night, you weren’t thinking in monetary terms, +were you?”</p> +<p>Cleigh’s brows lowered a trifle, but it was the +effect of puzzlement.</p> +<p>“Because,” she proceeded, gravely, “all the +money you possess would not compensate me for +the position you have placed me in.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span></p> +<p>“Well, perhaps I did have money in mind. However, +I hold to my word. Anything you may ask.”</p> +<p>“Some day I will ask you for something.”</p> +<p>“And if humanly possible I promise to give it,” +and with this Cleigh took leave.</p> +<p>Jane turned to Dennison.</p> +<p>“It is so strange and incomprehensible! You +two sitting here and ignoring each other! Surely +you don’t hate your father?”</p> +<p>“I have the greatest respect and admiration for +him. To you no doubt it seems fantastic; but we +understand each other thoroughly, my father and +I. I’d take his hand instantly, God knows, if he +offered it! But if I offered mine it would be glass +against diamond—I’d only get badly scratched. +Suppose we go on deck? The air and the sunshine——”</p> +<p>“But this catastrophe has brought you together +after all these years. Isn’t there something providential +in that?”</p> +<p>“Who can say?”</p> +<p>On deck they fell in behind Cleigh, and followed +him round for fully an hour; then Jane signified +that she was tired, and Dennison put her in the +centre chair and wrapped the rug about her. He +selected the chair at her right.</p> +<p>Jane shut her eyes, and Dennison opened a +novel. It was good reading, and he became +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +partially absorbed. The sudden creak of a chair +brought his glance round. His father had seated +himself in the vacant chair.</p> +<p>The phase that dug in and hurt was that his +father made no endeavour to avoid him—simply +ignored his existence. Seven years and not a +crack in the granite! He laid the book on his +knees and stared at the rocking horizon.</p> +<p>One of the crew passed. Cleigh hailed him.</p> +<p>“Send Mr. Cleve to me.”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>The air and the tone of the man were perfectly +respectful.</p> +<p>When Cleve, the first officer, appeared his manner +was solicitous.</p> +<p>“Are you comfortable, sir?”</p> +<p>“Would ten thousand dollars interest you?” said +Cleigh, directly.</p> +<p>“If you mean to come over to your side, no. +My life wouldn’t be worth a snap of the thumb. +You know something about Dick Cunningham. +I know him well. The truth is, Mr. Cleigh, we’re +off on a big gamble, and if we win out ten thousand +wouldn’t interest me. Life on board will be +exactly as it was before you put into Shanghai. +More I am not at liberty to tell you.”</p> +<p>“How far is the Catwick?”</p> +<p>“Somewhere round two thousand—eight or +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +nine days, perhaps ten. We’re not piling on—short +of coal. It’s mighty difficult to get it for a +private yacht. You may not find a bucketful in +Singapore. In America you can always commandeer +it, having ships and coal mines of your +own. The drop down to Singapore from the Catwick +is about forty hours. You have coal in +Manila. You can cable for it.”</p> +<p>“You are honestly leaving us at that island?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. You can, if you wish, take the run +up to Saigon; but your chance for coal there is +nil.”</p> +<p>“Cleve,” said Cleigh, solemnly, “you appreciate +the risks you are running?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Cleigh, there are no risks. It’s a dead +certainty. Cunningham is one of your efficiency +experts. Everything has been thought of.”</p> +<p>“Except fate,” supplemented Cleigh.</p> +<p>“Fate? Why, she’s our chief engineer!”</p> +<p>Cleve turned away, chuckling; a dozen feet off +this chuckle became boisterous laughter.</p> +<p>“What can they be after? Sunken treasure?” +cried Jane, excitedly.</p> +<p>“Hangman’s hemp—if I live long enough,” +was the grim declaration, and Cleigh drew the rug +over his knees.</p> +<p>“But it can’t be anything dreadful if they can +laugh over it!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span></p> +<p>“Did you ever hear Mephisto laugh in Faust? +Cunningham is a queer duck. I don’t suppose +there’s a corner on the globe he hasn’t had a peek +at. He has a vast knowledge of the arts. His +real name nobody seems to know. He can make +himself very likable to men and attractive to +women. The sort of women he seeks do not mind +his physical deformity. His face and his intellect +draw them, and he is as cruel as a wolf. It never +occurred to me until last night that men like me +create his kind. But I don’t understand him in +this instance. A play like this, with all the future +risks! After I get the wires moving he won’t be +able to stir a hundred miles in any direction.”</p> +<p>“But so long as he doesn’t intend to harm us—and +I’m convinced he doesn’t—perhaps we’d better +play the game as he asks us to.”</p> +<p>“Miss Norman,” said Cleigh in a tired voice, +“will you do me the favour to ask Captain Dennison +why he has never touched the twenty thousand +I deposited to his account?”</p> +<p>Astonished, Jane turned to Dennison to repeat +the question, but was forestalled.</p> +<p>“Tell Mr. Cleigh that to touch a dollar of that +money would be a tacit admission that Mr. Cleigh +had the right to strike Captain Dennison across +the mouth.”</p> +<p>Dennison swung out of the chair and strode off +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +toward the bridge, his shoulders flat and his neck +stiff.</p> +<p>“You struck him?” demanded Jane, impulsively.</p> +<p>But Cleigh did not answer. His eyes were +closed, his head rested against the back of the chair +so Jane did not press the question. It was enough +that she had seen behind a corner of this peculiar +veil. And, oddly, she felt quite as much pity +for the father as for the son. A wall of pride, +Alpine high, and neither would force a passage!</p> +<p>They did not see the arch rogue during the day, +but he came in to dinner. He was gay—in a +story-telling mood. There was little or no banter, +for he spoke only to Jane, and gave her flashes of +some of his amazing activities in search of art +treasures. He had once been chased up and down +Japan by the Mikado’s agents for having in his +possession some royal-silk tapestry which it is +forbidden to take out of the country. Another +time he had gone into Tibet for a lama’s ghost +mask studded with raw emeralds and turquoise, +and had suffered untold miseries in getting down +into India. Again he had entered a Rajput haremlik +as a woman, and eventually escaped with the +fabulous rug which hung in the salon. Adventure, +adventure, and death always at his elbow! There +was nothing of the braggart in the man; he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +recounted his tales after the manner of a boy relating +some college escapades, deprecatingly.</p> +<p>Often Jane stole a glance at one or the other of +the Cleighs. She was constantly swung between—but +never touched—the desire to laugh and the +desire to weep over this tragedy, which seemed so +futile.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you write a book about these +adventures?” she asked.</p> +<p>“A book? No time,” said Cunningham. “Besides, +the moment one of these trips is over it ends; +I can recount it only sketchily.”</p> +<p>“But even sketchily it would be tremendously +interesting. It is as if you were playing a game +with death for the mere sport of it.”</p> +<p>“Maybe that hits it, though I’ve never stopped +to analyze. I never think of death; it is a waste +of gray matter. I should be no nearer death in +Tibet than I should be asleep in a cradle. Why +bother about the absolute, the inevitable? Humanity +wears itself out building bridges for +imaginary torrents. I am an exception; that is why +I shall be young and handsome up to the moment +the grim stalker puts his claw on my shoulder.”</p> +<p>He smiled whimsically.</p> +<p>“But you, have you never caught some of the +passion for possessing rare paintings, rugs, manuscripts?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span></p> +<p>“You miss the point. What does the sense of +possession amount to beside the sense of seeking +and finding? Cleigh here thinks he is having a +thrill when he signs a check. It is to laugh!”</p> +<p>“Have you ever killed a man?” It was one of +those questions that leap forth irresistibly. Jane +was a bit frightened at her temerity.</p> +<p>Cunningham drank his coffee deliberately.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Oh!”</p> +<p>Jane shrank back a little.</p> +<p>“But never willfully,” Cunningham added—“always +in self-defence, and never a white man.”</p> +<p>There was a peculiar phase about the man’s +singular beauty. Animated, it was youthful; in +grim repose, it was sad and old.</p> +<p>“Death!” said Jane in a kind of awed whisper. +“I have watched many die, and I cannot get over +the terror of it. Here is a man with all the faculties, +physical and mental; a human being, loving, +hating, working, sleeping; and in an instant he is +nothing!”</p> +<p>“A Chinaman once said that the thought of +death is as futile as water in the hand. By the +way, Cleigh—and you too, captain—give the wireless +a wide berth. There’s death there.”</p> +<p>Jane saw the fire opals leap into the dark eyes.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> + +<p>The third day out they were well below +Formosa, which had been turned on a wide +arc. The sea was blue now, quiescent, +waveless; there was only the eternal roll. Still +Jane could not help comparing the sea with the +situation—the devil was slumbering. What if he +waked?</p> +<p>Time after time she tried to force her thoughts +into the reality of this remarkable cruise, but it was +impossible. Romance was always smothering her, +edging her off, when she approached the sinister. +Perhaps if she had heard ribald songs, seen evidence +of drunkenness; if the crew had loitered +about and been lacking in respect, she would have +been able to grasp the actuality; but so far the idea +persisted that this could not be anything more +than a pleasure cruise. Piracy? Where was it?</p> +<p>So she measured her actions accordingly, read, +played the phonograph, went here and there over +the yacht, often taking her stand in the bow and +peering down the cutwater to watch the antics of +some humorous porpoise or to follow the smother of +spray where the flying fish broke. In fact, she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +conducted herself exactly as she would have done +on board a passenger ship. There were moments +when she was honestly bored.</p> +<p>Piracy! This was an established fact. Cunningham +and his men had stepped outside the pale +of law in running off with the <i>Wanderer</i>. But +piracy without drunken disorder, piracy that wiped +its feet on the doormat and hung its hat on the +rack! There was a touch of the true farce in it. +Hadn’t Cunningham himself confessed that the +whole affair was a joke?</p> +<p>Round two o’clock on the afternoon of the third +day Jane, for the moment alone in her chair, heard +the phonograph—the sextet from Lucia. She +left her chair, looked down through the open +transom and discovered Dennison cranking the +machine. He must have seen her shadow, for he +glanced up quickly.</p> +<p>He crooked a finger which said, “Come on +down!” She made a negative sign and withdrew +her head.</p> +<p>Here she was again on the verge of wild laughter. +Donizetti! Pirates! Glass beads for which +Cleigh had voyaged sixteen thousand miles! A +father and son who ignored each other! She +choked down this desire to laugh, because she was +afraid it might end suddenly in hysteria and tears. +She returned to her chair, and there was the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +father arranging himself comfortably. He had a +book.</p> +<p>“Would you like me to read a while to you?” +she offered.</p> +<p>“Will you? You see,” he confessed, “I’m +troubled with insomnia. If I read by myself I only +become interested in the book, but if someone +reads aloud it makes me drowsy.”</p> +<p>“As a nurse I’ve done that hundreds of times. +But frankly, I can’t read poetry; I begin to sing-song +it at once; it becomes rime without reason. +What is the book?”</p> +<p>Cleigh extended it to her. The moment her +hands touched the volume she saw that she was +holding something immeasurably precious. The +form was unlike the familiar shapes of modern +books. The covers consisted of exquisitely hand-tooled +calf bound by thongs; there was a subtle +perfume as she opened them. Illuminated vellum. +She uttered a pleasurable little gasp.</p> +<p>“The Song of Songs, which is Solomon’s,” she +read.</p> +<p>“Fifteenth century—the vellum. The Florentine +covers were probably added in the seventeenth. +I have four more downstairs. They are +museum pieces, as we say.”</p> +<p>“That is to say, priceless?”</p> +<p>“After a fashion.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></p> +<p>“‘Many waters cannot quench love, neither can +the floods drown it; if a man would give all the +substance of his house for love, it would utterly be +contemned!’”</p> +<p>“Why did you select that?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t select it; I remembered it—because +it is true.”</p> +<p>“You have a very pleasant voice. Go on—read.”</p> +<p>Thus for an hour she read to him, and by the +time she grew tired Cleigh was sound asleep. The +look of granite was gone from his face, and she +saw that he, too, had been handsome in his youth. +Why had he struck Denny on the mouth? What +had the son done so to enrage the father? Some +woman! And where had she met the man? Oh, +she was certain that she had encountered him before! +But for the present the gate to recollection +refused to swing outward. Gently she laid the +beautiful book on his knees and stole over to the +rail. For a while she watched the flying fish.</p> +<p>Then came one of those impulses which keep +human beings from becoming half gods—a wrong +impulse, surrendered to immediately, unweighed, +unanalyzed, unchallenged. The father asleep, the +son amusing himself with the phonograph, she +was now unobserved by her guardians; and so she +put into execution the thought that had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +urging and intriguing her since the strange voyage +began—a visit to the chart house. She wanted +to ask Cunningham some questions. He would +know something about the Cleighs.</p> +<p>The port door to the chart house was open, +latched back against the side. She hesitated for +a moment outside the high-beamed threshold—hesitated +because Captain Newton was not visible. +The wheelman was alone. Obliquely she saw +Cunningham, Cleve, and a third man seated round +a table which was littered. This third man sat +facing the port door, and sensing her presence he +looked up. Rather attractive until one noted the +thin, hard lips, the brilliant blue eyes. At the +sight of Jane something flitted over his face, and +Jane knew that he was bad.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, Flint?” asked Cunningham, +observing the other’s abstraction.</p> +<p>“We have a visitor,” answered Flint.</p> +<p>Cunningham spun his chair round and jumped +to his feet.</p> +<p>“Miss Norman? Come in, come in! Anything +you need?” he asked with lively interest.</p> +<p>“I should like to ask you some questions, Mr. +Cunningham.”</p> +<p>“Oh! Well, if I can answer them, I will.”</p> +<p>He looked significantly at his companions, who +rose and left the house by the starboard door. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span></p> +<p>“They can’t keep away from him, can they?” +said Flint, cynically. “Slue-Foot has the come-hither, +sure enough. I had an idea she’d be hiking +this way the first chance she got.”</p> +<p>“You haven’t the right dope this trip,” replied +Cleve. “The contract reads: Hands off women +and booze.”</p> +<p>“Psalm-singing pirates! We’ll be having +prayers Sunday. But that woman is my style.”</p> +<p>“Better begin digging up a prayer if you’ve got +that bug in your head. If you make any fool +play in that direction Cunningham will break you. +I saw you last night staring through the transom. +Watch your step, Flint. I’m telling you.”</p> +<p>“But if she should happen to take a fancy to +me, who shall say no?”</p> +<p>“Hate yourself, eh? There was liquor on your +breath last night. Did you bring some aboard?”</p> +<p>“What’s that to you?”</p> +<p>“It’s a whole lot to me, my bucko—to me and to +the rest of the boys. Cleigh will not prosecute us +for piracy if we play a decent game until we raise +the Catwick. On old Van Dorn’s tub we can +drink and sing if we want to. If Cunningham gets +a whiff of your breath, when you’ve had it, you’ll +get yours. Most of the boys have never done anything +worse than apple stealing. It was the +adventure. All keyed up for war and no place to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +go, and this was a kind of safety valve. Already +half of them are beginning to knock in the knees. +Game, understand, but now worried about the +future.”</p> +<p>“A peg or two before turning in won’t hurt anybody. +I’m not touching it in the daytime.”</p> +<p>“Keep away from him when you do—that’s all. +We’re depending on you and Cunningham to pull +through. If you two get to scrapping the whole +business will go blooey. If we play the game +according to contract there’s a big chance of +getting back to the States without having the +sheriff on the dock to meet us. But if you mess it +up because an unexpected stroke put a woman on +board, you’ll end up as shark bait.”</p> +<p>“Maybe I will and maybe I won’t,” was the +truculent rejoinder.</p> +<p>“Lord!” said Cleve, a vast discouragement in +his tone. “You lay a course as true and fine as a +hair, and run afoul a rotting derelict in the night!”</p> +<p>Flint laughed.</p> +<p>“Oh, I shan’t make any trouble. I’ll say my +prayers regular until we make shore finally. The +agreement was to lay off the Cleigh booze. I +brought on board only a couple of quarts, and +they’ll be gone before we raise the Catwick. +But if I feel like talking to the woman I’ll do it.”</p> +<p>“It’s your funeral, not mine,” was the ominous +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +comment. “You’ve been on the beach once too +often, Flint, to play a game like this straight. +But Cunningham had to have you, because you +know the Malay lingo. Remember, he isn’t afraid +of anything that walks on two feet or four.”</p> +<p>“Neither am I—when I want anything. But +glass beads!”</p> +<p>“That was only a lure for Cleigh, who’d go +round the world for any curio he was interested +in.”</p> +<p>“That’s what I mean. If it were diamonds or +pearls or rubies, all well and good. But a string +of glass beads! The old duffer is a nut!”</p> +<p>“Maybe he is. But if you had ten or twelve +millions, what would you do?”</p> +<p>“Jump for Prome and foot it to the silk bazaar, +where there are three or four of the prettiest Burmese +girls you ever laid your eyes on. Then I’d +buy the Galle Face Hotel in Colombo and close it +to the public.”</p> +<p>“And in five years—the old beach again!”</p> +<p>Flint scowled at the oily, heaving rolls, brassy +and dazzling. He was bored. For twelve weeks +he had circled the dull round of ship routine, with +never shore leave that was long enough for an +ordinary drinking bout. He was bored stiff. +Suddenly his thin lips broke into a smile. Cleve, +noting the smile, divined something of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +impellent thought behind that smile, and he grew uneasy. +He recalled his own expression of a few moments +gone—the unreckoned derelict.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Thank you for coming up,” said Cunningham. +“It makes me feel that you trust me.”</p> +<p>“I want to,” admitted Jane.</p> +<p>A disturbing phenomenon. Always there was +a quickening of her heart-beats at the beginning of +each encounter with this unusual gentleman rover. +It was no longer fear. What was it? Was it the +face of him, too strong and vital for a woman’s, too +handsome for a man’s? Was it his dark, fiery eye +which was always reversing what his glib tongue +said? Some hidden magnetism? Alone, the +thought of him was recurrent, no matter how +resolutely she cast it forth. Even now she could +not honestly say whether she was here to ask +questions of Cunningham or of herself. Perhaps +it was because he was the unknown, whereas +Denny was for the most part as readable as an +open book. The one like the forest stream, sometimes +turbulent but always clear; the other like the +sea through which they plowed, smooth, secret, +ominous.</p> +<p>“Do your guardians know where you are?”—raillery +in his voice.</p> +<p>“No. I came to ask some questions.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></p> +<p>“Curiosity. Sit down. What is it you wish to +know?”</p> +<p>“All this—and what will be the end?”</p> +<p>“Well, doubtless there will be an end, but I’m +not seer enough to foretell it.”</p> +<p>“Then you have some doubts?”</p> +<p>“Only those that beset all of us.”</p> +<p>“But somehow—well, you don’t seem to belong +to this sort of game.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>Unexpectedly he had set a wall between. She +had no answer, and her embarrassment was +visible on her cheeks.</p> +<p>“Here and there across the world rough men +call me Slue-Foot. Perhaps my deformity has +reacted upon my soul and twisted that. Perhaps +if my countenance had been homely and rugged I +would have walked the beaten paths of respectability. +But the two together!”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry!”</p> +<p>“A woman such as you are would be. You are +a true daughter of the great mother—Pity. But +I have never asked pity of any. I have asked only +that a man shall keep his word to me as I will keep +mine to him.”</p> +<p>“But you are risking your liberty, perhaps your +life!”</p> +<p>“I’ve been risking that for more than twenty +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +years. The habit has become normal. All my +life I’ve wanted a real adventure.”</p> +<p>She gazed at him in utter astonishment.</p> +<p>“An adventure? Why, you yourself told me +that you had risked your life a hundred times!”</p> +<p>“That?”—with a smile and a shrug. “That +was business, the day’s work. I mean an adventure +in which I am accountable to no man.”</p> +<p>“Only to God?”</p> +<p>“Well, of course, if you want it that way. For +myself, I’m something of a pagan. I have dreamed +of this day. When you were a little girl didn’t you +dream of a wonderful doll that could walk and +make almost human noises? Well, I’m realizing +my doll. I am going pearl hunting in the South +Seas—the thing I dreamed of when I was a +boy.”</p> +<p>“But why commit piracy? Why didn’t you +hire a steamer?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I must have my joke, too. But I hadn’t +counted on you. In every campaign there is the +hollow road of Ohain. Napoleon lost Waterloo +because of it. Your presence here has forced me +to use a hand without velvet. These men expected +a little fun—cards and drink; and some of +them are grumbling with discontent. But don’t +worry. In five days we’ll be off on our own.”</p> +<p>“What is the joke?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span></p> +<p>“That will have to wait. For a few minutes +I heard you reading to-day. Your voice is like a +bell at sea in the evening. ‘Many waters cannot +quench love,’” he quoted, the flash of opals in his +eyes, though his lips were smiling gently. “The +Bible is a wonderful book. Its authors were +poets who were not spoiled by the curse of rime. +Does it amuse you to hear me talk of the Bible?—an +unregenerate scalawag? Well, it is like this: +I am something of an authority on illuminated +manuscripts. I’ve had to wade through hundreds +of them. That is the method by which I became +acquainted with the Scriptures. The Song of +Songs! Lord love you, if that isn’t pure pagan, +what is? I prefer the Proverbs. Ask Cleigh if +he has that manuscript with him. It’s in a +remarkable state of preservation. Remember? +‘There be three things which are too wonderful for +me, yea, four which I know not: The way of an +eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; +the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the +way of a man with a maid.’ Ask Cleigh to show +you that.”</p> +<p>Cleigh! The name swung her back to the +original purpose of this visit.</p> +<p>“Do you know the Cleighs well?”</p> +<p>“I know the father. He has the gift of strong +men—unforgetting and unforgiving. I know little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +or nothing about the son, except that he is a chip +of the old block. Queer twist in events, eh?”</p> +<p>“Have you any idea what estranged them?”</p> +<p>“Didn’t know they were at outs until the night +before we sailed. They don’t speak?”</p> +<p>“No. And it seems so utterly foolish!”</p> +<p>“<i>Cherchez la femme!</i>”</p> +<p>“You believe that was it?”</p> +<p>“It is always so, always and eternally the +woman. I don’t mean that she is always to +blame; I mean that she is always there—in the +background. But you! I say, now, here’s the +job for you! Bring them together. That’s your +style. For weeks now you three will be together. +Within that time you’ll be able to twist both of +them round your finger. I wonder if you realize +it? You’re not beautiful, but you are something +better—splendid. Strong men will always be +gravitating toward you, wanting comfort, peace. +You’re not the kind that sets men’s hearts on +fire, that makes absconders, fills the divorce courts, +and all that. You’re like a cool hand on a hot +forehead. And you have a voice as sweet as a +bell.”</p> +<p>Instinct—the female fear of the trap—warned +Jane to be off, but curiosity held her to the chair. +She was human; and this flattery, free of any +suggestion of love-making, gave her a warming, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +pleasurable thrill. Still there was a fly in the +amber. Every woman wishes to be credited with +hidden fires, to possess equally the power to damn +men as well as to save them.</p> +<p>“Has there never been——”</p> +<p>“A woman? Have I not just said there is always +a woman?” He was sardonic now. “Mine, +seeing me walk, laughed.”</p> +<p>“She wasn’t worth it!”</p> +<p>“No, she wasn’t. But when we are twenty the +heart is blind. So Cleigh and the boy don’t +speak?”</p> +<p>“Cleigh hasn’t injured you in any way, has he?”</p> +<p>“Injured me? Of course not! I am only +forced by circumstance—and an oblique sense of +the comic—to make a convenience of him. And +by the Lord Harry, it’s up to you to help me out!”</p> +<p>“I?”—bewildered.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> + +<p>Jane gazed through the doorway at the sea. +There was apparently no horizon, no telling +where the sea ended and the faded blue of the +sky began. There was something about this sea +she did not like. She was North-born. It +seemed to her that there was really less to fear +from the Atlantic fury than from these oily, +ingratiating, rolling mounds. They were the +Uriah Heep of waters. She knew how terrible +they could be, far more terrible than the fiercest +nor’easter down the Atlantic. Typhoon! How +could a yacht live through a hurricane? She +turned again toward Cunningham.</p> +<p>“You are like that,” she said, irrelevantly.</p> +<p>“Like what?”</p> +<p>“Like the sea.”</p> +<p>Cunningham rose and peered under the half-drawn +blind.</p> +<p>“That may be complimentary, but hanged if I +know! Smooth?—is that what you mean?”</p> +<p>“Kind of terrible.”</p> +<p>He sat down again. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></p> +<p>“That rather cuts. I might be terrible. I +don’t know—never met the occasion; but I do +know that I’m not treacherous. You certainly +are not afraid of me.”</p> +<p>“I don’t exactly know. It’s—it’s too peaceful.”</p> +<p>“To last? I see. But it isn’t as though I +were forcing you to go through with the real +voyage. Only a few days more, and you’ll have +seen the last of me.”</p> +<p>“I hope so.”</p> +<p>He chuckled.</p> +<p>“What I meant was,” she corrected, “that +nothing might happen, nobody get hurt. Human +beings can plan only so far.”</p> +<p>“That’s true enough. Every programme is subject +to immediate change. But, Lord, what a +lot of programmes go through per schedule! Still, +you are right. It all depends upon chance. We +say a thing is cut and dried, but we can’t prove it. +But so far as I can see into the future, nothing is +going to happen, nobody is going to walk the +plank. Piracy on a basis of 2.75 per cent.—the +kick gone out of it! But if you can bring about +the reconciliation of the Cleighs the old boy will +not be so keen for chasing me all over the map +when this job is done.”</p> +<p>“Will you tell me what those beads are?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></p> +<p>“To be sure I will—all in due time. What does +Cleigh call them?”</p> +<p>“Love beads!” scornfully.</p> +<p>“On my solemn word, that’s exactly what they +are.”</p> +<p>“Very well. But remember, you promise to +tell me when the time comes.”</p> +<p>“That and other surprising things.”</p> +<p>“I’ll be going.”</p> +<p>“Come up as often as you like.”</p> +<p>Cunningham accompanied her to the bridge +ladder and remained until she was speeding along +the deck; then he returned to his chart. But the +chart was no longer able to hold his attention. So +he levelled his gaze upon the swinging horizon and +kept it there for a time. Odd fancy, picturing the +girl on the bridge in a hurricane, her hair streaming +out behind her, her fine body leaning on the +wind. A shadow in the doorway broke in upon +this musing. Cleigh.</p> +<p>“Come in and sit down,” invited Cunningham.</p> +<p>But Cleigh ignored the invitation and stepped +over to the steersman.</p> +<p>“Has Miss Norman been in here?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“How long was she here?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, sir; perhaps half an hour.”</p> +<p>Cleigh stalked to the door, but there he turned, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +and for the first time since Cunningham had taken +the yacht Cleigh looked directly, with grim intentness, +into his enemy’s eyes.</p> +<p>“Battle, murder, and sudden death!” Cunningham +laughed. “You don’t have to tell me, +Cleigh! I can see it in your eyes. If Miss Norman +wants to come here and ask questions, I’m the +last man to prevent her.”</p> +<p>Cleigh thumped down the ladder. Cunningham +was right—there was murder in his heart. +He hurried into the main salon, and there he found +Jane and Dennison conversing.</p> +<p>“Miss Norman, despite my warning you went +up to the chart house.”</p> +<p>“I had some questions to ask.”</p> +<p>“I forbid you emphatically. I am responsible +for you.”</p> +<p>“I am no longer your prisoner, Mr. Cleigh; I +am Mr. Cunningham’s.”</p> +<p>“You went up there alone?” demanded Dennison.</p> +<p>“Why not? I’m not afraid. He will not break +his word to me.”</p> +<p>“Damn him!” roared Dennison.</p> +<p>“Where are you going?” she cried, seizing him +by the sleeve.</p> +<p>“To have it out with him! I can’t stand this +any longer!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></p> +<p>“And what will become of me—if anything +happens to you, or anything happens to him? +What about the crew if he isn’t on hand to hold +them?”</p> +<p>The muscular tenseness of the arm she held relaxed. +But the look he gave his father was on a +par with that which Cleigh had so recently spent +upon Cunningham. Cleigh could not support it, +and turned his head aside.</p> +<p>“All right. But mind you keep in sight! If +you will insist upon talking with the scoundrel, at +least permit me to be within call. What do you +want to talk to him for, anyhow?”</p> +<p>“Neither of you will stoop to ask him questions, +so I had to. And I have learned one thing. He is +going pearl hunting.”</p> +<p>“What? Off the Catwick? There’s no pearl +oyster in that region,” Dennison declared. +“Either he is lying or the Catwick is a blind. The +only chance he’d have would be somewhere in the +Sulu Archipelago; and this time of year the pearl +fleets will be as thick as flies in molasses. Of +course if he is aware of some deserted atoll, why, +there might be something in it.”</p> +<p>“Have you ever hunted pearls?”</p> +<p>“In a second-hand sort of way. But if pearls +are his game, why commit piracy when he could +have chartered a tramp to carry his crew? There’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +more than one old bucket hereabouts ready to his +hand for coal and stores. He’ll need a shoe spoon +to get inside or by the Sulu fleets, since the oyster +has been pretty well neglected these five years, and +every official pearler will be hiking down there. +But it requires a certain amount of capital and a +stack of officially stamped paper, and I don’t +fancy Cunningham has either.”</p> +<p>Cleigh smiled dryly, but offered no comment. +He knew all about Cunningham’s capital.</p> +<p>“Did he say anything about being picked up by +another boat?” asked Dennison.</p> +<p>“No,” answered Jane. “But I don’t believe it +will be hard for me to make him tell me that. I +believe that he will keep his word, too.”</p> +<p>“Jane, he has broken the law of the sea. I don’t +know what the penalty is these days, but it used to +be hanging to the yard-arm. He won’t be particular +about his word if by breaking it he can save +his skin. He’s been blarneying you. You’ve let +his plausible tongue and handsome face befog +you.”</p> +<p>“That is not true!” she flared. Afterward she +wondered what caused the flash of perversity. +“And I resent your inference!” she added with +uplifted chin.</p> +<p>Dennison whirled her about savagely, stared +into her eyes, then walked to the companion, up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +which he disappeared. This rudeness astonished +her profoundly. She appealed silently to the father.</p> +<p>“We are riding a volcano,” said Cleigh. “I’m +not sure but he’s setting some trap for you. He +may need you as a witness for the defense. Of +course I can’t control your actions, but it would +relieve me immensely if you’d give him a wide +berth.”</p> +<p>“He was not the one who brought me aboard.”</p> +<p>“No. And the more I look at it, the more I am +convinced that you came on board of your own +volition. You had two or three good opportunities +to call for assistance.”</p> +<p>“You believe that?”</p> +<p>“I’ve as much right to believe that as you have +that Cunningham will keep his word.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” she cried, but it was an outburst of anger. +And it had a peculiar twist, too. She was furious +because both father and son were partly correct; +and yet there was no diminution of that trust she +was putting in Cunningham. “Next you’ll be +hinting that I’m in collusion with him!”</p> +<p>“No. Only he is an extraordinarily fascinating +rogue, and you are wearing the tinted goggles of +romance.”</p> +<p>Fearing that she might utter something regrettable, +she flew down the port passage and +entered her cabin, where she remained until dinner. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +She spent the intervening hours endeavouring to +analyze the cause of her temper, but the cause was +as elusive as quicksilver. Why should she trust +Cunningham? What was the basis of this trust? +He had, as Denny said, broken the law of the sea. +Was there a bit of black sheep in her, and was the +man calling to it? And this perversity of hers +might create an estrangement between her and +Denny; she must not let that happen. The +singular beauty of the man’s face, his amazing +career, and his pathetic deformity—was that it?</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Where’s the captain?” asked Cunningham, +curiously, as he noted the vacant chair at the table +that night.</p> +<p>“On deck, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t he dining to-night?”—an accent of +suspicion creeping into his voice. “He isn’t +contemplating making a fool of himself, is he? +He’ll get hurt if he approaches the wireless.”</p> +<p>“Togo,” broke in Cleigh, “bring the avocats +and the pineapple.”</p> +<p>Cunningham turned upon him with a laugh.</p> +<p>“Cleigh, when I spin this yarn some day I’ll +carry you through it as the man who never batted +an eye. I can see now how you must have bluffed +Wall Street out of its boots.”</p> +<p>When Cunningham saw that Jane was distrait +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +he made no attempt to pull her out of it. He ate +his dinner, commenting only occasionally. Still, +he bade her a cheery good-night as he returned to +the chart house, where he stayed continually, +never quite certain what old Captain Newton +might do to the wheel and the compass if left +alone too long.</p> +<p>Dennison came in immediately after Cunningham’s +departure and contritely apologized to Jane +for his rudeness.</p> +<p>“I suppose I’m on the rack; nerves all raw; tearing +me to pieces to sit down and twiddle my +thumbs. Will you forgive me?”</p> +<p>“Of course I will! I understand. You are all +anxious about me. Theoretically, this yacht is a +volcano, and you’re trying to keep me from kicking +off the lid. But I’ve an idea that the lid will stay +on tightly if we make believe we are Mr. Cunningham’s +guests. But it is almost impossible to suspect +that anything is wrong. Whenever a member +of the crew comes in sight he is properly polite, +just as he would be on a liner. If I do go to the +bridge again I’ll give you warning. Good-night, +Mr. Cleigh, I’ll read to you in the morning. Good-night—Denny.”</p> +<p>Cleigh, sighing contentedly, dipped his fingers +into the finger bowl and brushed his lips.</p> +<p>The son drank a cup of coffee hastily, lit his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +pipe, and went on deck. He proceeded directly +to the chart house.</p> +<p>“Cunningham, I’ll swallow my pride and ask a +favour of you.”</p> +<p>“Ah!”—in a neutral tone.</p> +<p>“The cook tells me that all the wine and liquor +are in the dry-stores compartment. Will you open +it and let me chuck the stuff overboard?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Cunningham, promptly. “When +I turn this yacht back to your father not a single +guy rope will be out of order. It would be a fine +piece of work to throw all those rare vintages over +the rail simply to appease an unsubstantial fear on +your part! No!”</p> +<p>“But if the men should break in? And it would +be easy, because it is nearer them than us.”</p> +<p>“Thank your father for building the deck like a +city flat. But if the boys should break in, there’s +the answer,” said Cunningham, laying his regulation +revolver on the chart table. “And every +mother’s son of them knows it.”</p> +<p>“You refuse?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“All right. But if anything happens I’ll be on +top of you, and all the bullets in that clip won’t +stop me.”</p> +<p>“Captain, you bore me. Your father and the +girl are good sports. You ought to be one. I’ve +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +given you the freedom of the yacht for the girl’s +sake when caution bids me dump you into the +brig. I begin to suspect that your misfortunes are +due to a violent temper. Run along with your +thunder; I don’t want you hurt.”</p> +<p>“If I come through this alive——”</p> +<p>“You’ll join your dad peeling off my hide—if +you can catch me!”</p> +<p>It was with the greatest effort that Dennison +crushed down the desire to leap upon his tormentor. +He stood tense for a moment, then stepped +out upon the bridge. His fury was suffocating +him, and he realized that he was utterly helpless.</p> +<p>Ten minutes later the crew in their quarters +were astonished to see the old man’s son enter. +None of them stirred.</p> +<p>“I say, any you chaps got an extra suit of twill? +This uniform is getting too thick for this latitude. +I’m fair melting down to the bone.”</p> +<p>“Sure!” bellowed a young giant, swinging out +of his bunk. He rummaged round for a space and +brought forth a light-weight khaki shirt and a pair +of ducks. “Guess these’ll fit you, sir.”</p> +<p>“Thanks. Navy stores?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. You’re welcome.”</p> +<p>Dennison’s glance travelled from face to face, +and he had to admit that there was none of the +criminal type here. They might carry through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +decently. Nevertheless, hereafter he would sleep on +the lounge in the main salon. If any tried to force +the dry-stores door he would be likely to hear it.</p> +<p>At eleven o’clock the following morning there +occurred an episode which considerably dampened +Jane’s romantical point of view regarding this +remarkable voyage. Cleigh had gone below for +some illuminated manuscripts and Dennison was +out of sight for the moment. She leaned over the +rail and watched the flying fish. Suddenly out +of nowhere came the odour of whisky.</p> +<p>“You ought to take a trip up to the cutwater +at night and see the flying fish in the phosphorescence.”</p> +<p>She did not stir. Instinctively she knew who +the owner of this voice would be—the man Cunningham +called Flint. A minute—an unbearable +minute—passed.</p> +<p>“Oh! Too haughty to be a good fellow, huh?”</p> +<p>Footsteps, a rush of wind, a scuffling, and an +oath brought her head about. She saw Flint go +balancing and stumbling backward, finally to +sprawl on his hands and knees, and following him, +in an unmistakable attitude, was Dennison. Jane +was beginning to understand these Cleighs; their +rage was terrible because it was always cold.</p> +<p>“Denny!” she called.</p> +<p>But Dennison continued on toward Flint.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> + +<p>Flint was a powerful man, or had been. +The surprise of the attack over, he jumped +to his feet, and blazing with murderous +fury rushed Dennison. Jane saw a tangle of +arms, and out of this tangle came a picture that +would always remain vivid—Flint practically +dangling at the end of Dennison’s right arm. The +rogue tore and heaved and kicked and struck, but +futilely, because his reach was shorter. Dennison +let go unexpectedly.</p> +<p>“Listen to me, you filthy beachcomber! If +you ever dare speak to Miss Norman again or +come within ten feet of her I’ll kill you with bare +hands! There are no guns on board this yacht—bare +hands. Now go back to your master and say +that I’d like to do the same to him.”</p> +<p>Flint, his hands touching his throat with inquiring +solicitude—Flint eyed Dennison with that +mixture of pain and astonishment that marks the +face of a man who has been grossly deceived. +Slowly he revolved on his shaking legs and staggered +forward, shortly to disappear round the deck +house. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span></p> +<p>“Oh, Denny, you’ve done a foolish thing! +You’ve shamed that man before me and put murder +in his heart. It isn’t as if we were running +the yacht. We are prisoners of that man and his +fellows. It would have been enough for you to +have stepped in between.”</p> +<p>“I haven’t any parlour varnish left, Jane. His +shoulder was almost touching yours. It was an +intentional insult, and that was enough for me. The +dog! Still looking at the business romantically?”</p> +<p>His tone was bitter. Her reproach, no doubt +justified, cut deeply.</p> +<p>“No, I’m beginning to become a little afraid—afraid +that the men may get out of hand. I don’t +care what you and your father think, but I believe +Cunningham honestly wishes us to reach the +Catwick without any conflict.”</p> +<p>“Ah, Cunningham!”</p> +<p>“There you go again—angry and bitter! Why +can’t you take it sensibly, like your father?”</p> +<p>“My father doesn’t happen to be——”</p> +<p>He stopped with mystifying abruptness.</p> +<p>“Doesn’t happen to be what?”</p> +<p>“The sort of fool I am!”</p> +<p>“You’re not so good a comrade as you were.”</p> +<p>“Can’t you understand? I’ve been stood upon +my head. The worry about you on one side and +the contact with my father on the other would be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +sufficient. But Cunningham and this pirate crew +as a tail to the kite! But, thank God, I had the wit +to come in search of you!”</p> +<p>“I thank God every minute, Denny! You are +very strong,” she added, shyly.</p> +<p>“Glad of that, too. But I repeat, I’ve lost the +parlour varnish and the art of parlour talk. For +seven years I’ve been wandering in strange places, +most of them hard; so I say what I think and act +on the spur. That dog had liquor on his breath. +Is Cunningham secretly letting them into the dry-stores?”</p> +<p>“The man may have brought it aboard at +Shanghai. What a horrible thing a great war +is! In a week it knocks aside all the bars of +restraint it took years to erect. Could a venture +like this have happened in 1913? I doubt it. +There comes your father. But who is the man +with him? He’s been hurt.”</p> +<p>“Father’s watchdog. They had to beat him up +to get his gun away from him. That was the +racket we heard. Evidently Father expects you to +read to him, so I’ll take a constitutional.”</p> +<p>“Why, where’s your uniform?” she cried.</p> +<p>“Laid it aside. From now on it will be stuffy. +Those military boots were killing me. I borrowed +the rig from one of the pirates, but I’ll have to go +barefoot.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span></p> +<p>“Will you come to your chair soon? I shall +worry otherwise. You might run into that man +again.”</p> +<p>“I shan’t go below,” he promised, starting off.</p> +<p>Twenty thousand at compound interest for +seven years, he thought, as he made the first turn. +A tidy sum to start life with. Could he swallow +his pride? And yet what hope was there of making +a real living? He had never specialized in +anything, and the world was calling for specialists +and discarding the others. Another point to consider: +Foot-loose for seven years, could he stand +the shackles of office work, routine, the sameness +day in and day out? He was returning to the +States without the least idea what he wanted to +do; that was the disturbing phase of it. If only he +were keen for something! A typical son of the rich +man. The only point in his favour was that he +had not spent his allowances up and down Broadway. +No, he would never touch a dollar of that +money. That was final.</p> +<p>What lay back of this sudden desire to make +good in the world? Love! There wasn’t the +slightest use in lying to himself. He wanted Jane +Norman with all the blood in his body, with all the +marrow in his bones; and he had nothing to offer +her but empty hands.</p> +<p>He shot a glance toward the bridge. And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +because he had no right to speak—obligated to silence +by two reasons—that easy-speaking scoundrel +might trap her fancy. It could not be denied +that he was handsome, but he was nevertheless a +rogue. The two reasons why he must not speak +were potent. In the first place, he had nothing +to offer; in the second place, the terror she was no +doubt hiding bravely would serve only to confuse +her—that is, she might confuse a natural desire for +protection with something deeper and tenderer, +and then discover her mistake when it was too late.</p> +<p>What was she going to ask of his father when the +time came for reparation? That puzzled him.</p> +<p>He made the rounds steadily for an hour, and +during this time Jane frequently looked over the +top of the manuscript she was reading aloud. At +length she laid the manuscript upon her knees.</p> +<p>“Mr. Cleigh, what is it that makes art treasures +so priceless?”</p> +<p>“Generally the depth of the buyer’s purse. +That is what they say of me in the great auction +rooms.”</p> +<p>“But you don’t buy them just because you are +rich enough to outbid somebody else?”</p> +<p>“No, I am actually fond of all the treasures I +possess. Aside from this, it is the most fascinating +game there is. The original! A painting that +Holbein laid his own brushes on, mixed his own +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +paint for! I have then something of the man, +tangible, visible; something of his beautiful dreams, +his poverty, his success. There before me is the +authentic labour of his hand, which was guided by +the genius of his brain—before machinery spoiled +mankind. Oh, yes, machinery has made me rich! +It has given the proletariat the privilege of wearing +yellow diamonds and riding about in flivvers. +That must be admitted. But to have lived in +those days when ambition thought only in beauty! +To have been the boon companions of men like +Da Vinci, Cellini, Michelangelo! Then there are +the adventures of this concrete dream of the artist. +I can trace it back to the bare studio in which it +was conceived, follow its journeys, its abiding +places, down to the hour it comes to me.”</p> +<p>Jane stared at him astonishedly. All that had +been crampedly hidden in his soul flowed into his +face, warming and mellowing it, even beautifying +it. Cleigh went on:</p> +<p>“Where will it go when I have done my little +span? What new adventures lie in store for it? +Across the Ponte Vecchio in Florence runs a +gallery of portraits: at the south end of this +gallery there is or was a corner given over to a +copyist. He strikes you dumb with the cleverness +of his work, but he has only an eye and a hand—he +hasn’t a soul. A copy is to the original what a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +dummy is to a live man, no matter how amazingly +well done the copy is. The original, the dream; +nothing else satisfies the true collector.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know,” said Jane, “that you had so +much romance in you.”</p> +<p>“Romance?” It was almost a bark.</p> +<p>“Why, certainly. No human being could love +beauty the way you do and not be romantic.”</p> +<p>“Romantic!” Cleigh leaned back in his chair. +“That’s a new point of view for Tungsten Cleigh. +That’s what my enemies call me—the hardest +metal on earth. Romantic!” He chuckled. “To +hear a woman call me romantic!”</p> +<p>“It does not follow that to be romantic one must +be sentimental. Romance is something heroic, +imaginative, big; it isn’t a young man and a girl +spooning on a park bench. I myself am romantic, +but nobody could possibly call me sentimental.”</p> +<p>“No?”</p> +<p>“Why, if I knew that we’d come through this +without anybody getting hurt I’d be gloriously +happy. All my life I’ve been cooped up. For a +little while to be free! But I don’t like that.”</p> +<p>She indicated Dodge, who sat in Dennison’s +chair, his head bandaged, his arm in a sling, +thousands of miles from his native plains, at odds +with his environment. His lean brown jaws were +set and the pupils of his blue eyes were mere pin +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +points. During the discussion of art, during the +reading, he had not stirred.</p> +<p>“You mean,” said Cleigh, gravely, “that Dodge +may be only the beginning?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Your—Captain Dennison had an encounter +with the man Flint before you came +up. He is very strong and—and a bit intolerant.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” Cleigh rubbed his jaw and smiled +ruminatively. “He was always rather handy +with his fists. Did he kill the ruffian?”</p> +<p>“No, held him at arm’s length and threatened +to kill him. I’m afraid Flint will not accept the +situation with good grace.”</p> +<p>“Flint? I never liked that rogue’s face.”</p> +<p>“He has found liquor somewhere, and I saw +murder in his eyes. Denny isn’t afraid, and that’s +why I am—afraid he’ll run amuck uselessly. His +very strength will react against him.”</p> +<p>“I was like that thirty years ago.” So she +called him Denny? Cleigh laid his hand over +hers. “Keep your chin up. There’s a revolver +handy should we need it. I dare not carry it for +fear Cunningham might discover and confiscate +it. Six bullets.”</p> +<p>“And if worse comes to worse, will—will you +save one for me? Please don’t let Denny do it! +You are old, and if you lived after it wouldn’t be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +in your thoughts so long as it would be in his—if +he killed me. Will you promise?”</p> +<p>“Yes—if worse comes to worse. Will you forgive +me?”</p> +<p>“I do. But still I’m going to hold you to your +word.”</p> +<p>“I’ll pay the score, whatever it is. Now suppose +you come below with me and take a look at +the paintings? You haven’t seen my cabin yet.”</p> +<p>What was this unusual young woman going to +ask of him? He wondered. The more he thought +over it the more convinced he was that she had +assisted in the abduction.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> + +<p>After they had gone below Dennison +dropped into Jane’s chair. Immediately +Dodge began to talk: “So you nearly +throttled that ornery coyote, huh? Whata you +know about this round-up? The three o’ ’em +came in, and I never smelt nothin’ until they were +on top o’ me. How should I smell anythin’? +Hobnobbing together for days, how was I to know +they were a bunch of pirates? Is your old man +sore?”</p> +<p>“Naturally.”</p> +<p>“I mean appertainin’ to me?”</p> +<p>“I don’t see how he could be. Who took care +of you—bound you up?”</p> +<p>“That nice-lookin’ greaser with the slue foot. +Soft speakin’ like a woman and an eye like a +timber wolf. Some <i>hombre</i>! Where we bound +for?”</p> +<p>“God knows!”—dejectedly.</p> +<p>“Bad as that, huh? Your girl?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“No place for a girl. If they hadn’t busted my +arm I wouldn’t care so much! If it comes to a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +show-down I won’t be no good to anybody. +Gimme my guns and we’d be headin’ home in five +minutes. These <i>hombres</i> know somethin’ o’ my +gun play. Gee, it’s lonesome here!” Dodge +mused for a moment. “Say, what’s your old +man’s idea hog-tyin’ you that-a-way?”</p> +<p>“He’ll tell you perhaps.”</p> +<p>“Uh-huh. Say, what did the Lord make all +that stuff for?” with a gesture toward the brazen +sea. “What’s it good for, anyhow?”</p> +<p>“But for the sea we wouldn’t have any oysters +or codfish,” said Dennison, soberly.</p> +<p>Dodge chuckled.</p> +<p>“Oysters and codfish! Say, you’re all right! +Never knew the old man had a son until you blew +in. Back in New York nobody ever said nothin’ +about you. Where you been?”</p> +<p>“Lots of places.”</p> +<p>“Any ridin’?”</p> +<p>“Some.”</p> +<p>“Can you shoot?”</p> +<p>“A little.”</p> +<p>“Kill any o’ them Bolsheviks?”</p> +<p>“That would be guesswork. Did you ever kill a +man?”</p> +<p>“Nope. Didn’t have to. I’m pretty good on +the draw, and where I come from they knew it and +didn’t bother me.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></p> +<p>“I see.”</p> +<p>“Shootin’ these days is all in the movies. I was +ridin’ for a film company when your old man +lassoed me for this job. Never know when you’re +well off—huh? I thought there wouldn’t be +nothin’ to do but grub pile three times a day and +the old man’s cheroots in between. And here I be +now, ridin’ along with a bunch of pirates! Whata +you know about that? And some of them nice boys, +too. If they were riff-raff, barroom bums, I could +get a line on it. But I’ll have to pass the buck.”</p> +<p>“You haven’t got an extra gun anywhere, have +you?”</p> +<p>“We’d be headin’ east if I had”—grimly. “I’d +have pared down the odds this mornin’. That +<i>hombre</i> with the hop-a-long didn’t leave me a quill +toothpick. Was you thinkin’ of startin’ somethin’?”—hopefully.</p> +<p>“No, but I’d feel more comfortable if Miss Norman +could carry a gun.”</p> +<p>“Uh-huh. Say, she’s all right. No hysterics. +Ain’t many of ’em that wouldn’t ’a’ been snivellin’ +all day and night in her bunk. Been listenin’ to +her readin’. Gee, you’d think we were floatin’ +round this codfish lake just for the fun of it! She +won’t run to cover if a bust-up comes. None +whatever! And I bet she can cook, too. Them +kind can always cook.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span></p> +<p>Conversation lapsed.</p> +<p>Below, Jane was passing through an unusual +experience.</p> +<p>Said Cleigh at the start: “I’m going to show +you the paintings—there are fourteen in all. I +will tell you the history of each. And above all, +please bear in mind the price of each picture.”</p> +<p>“I’ll remember.”</p> +<p>But she thought the request an odd one, coming +from the man as she knew him.</p> +<p>Most of the treasures were in his own spacious +cabin. There was a Napoleonic corner—a Meissonier +on one side and a Detaille on the other. In +a stationary cabinet there were a pair of stirrups, a +riding crop, a book on artillery tactics, a pair of +slippers beaded with seed pearls, and a buckle +studded with sapphires.</p> +<p>“What are those?” she asked, attracted.</p> +<p>“They belonged to the Emperor and his first +Empress.”</p> +<p>“Napoleon?”</p> +<p>“The Corsican. Next to the masters, I’ve a +passion for things genuinely Napoleonic. The +hussar is by Meissonier and the skirmish by +Detaille.”</p> +<p>“How much is this corner worth?”</p> +<p>“I can’t say, except that I would not part with +those objects for a hundred thousand; and there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +are friends of mine who would pay half that sum +for them—behind my back. This is a Da Vinci.”</p> +<p>Half an hour passed. Jane honestly tried to be +thrilled by the splendour of the names she heard, +but her eye was always travelling back toward the +slippers and the buckle. The Empress Josephine! +Romance and gallantry in the old, old days!</p> +<p>“The painting in your cabin is by Holbein. It +cost me sixteen thousand. Now let us go out and +look at the rug. That is the apple of my eye. It +is the second finest example of the animal rug in +the world. A sheet of pure gold, half an inch +thick, covering the rug from end to end, would not +equal its worth.”</p> +<p>Jane admired the rug, but she would have preferred +the gold. Her sense of the beautiful was +alive, but there was always in her mind the genteel +poverty of the past. She was beginning to understand. +To go in quest of the beautiful required +an unlimited purse and an endless leisure; and she +would have never the one nor the other.</p> +<p>“How much gold would that be?” she inquired, +naďvely.</p> +<p>“Nearly eighty thousand. Have you kept in +mind the sums I have given you?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Let me see—good heavens, a quarter of +a million! But why do you carry them about like +this?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></p> +<p>“Because I’m something of a rogue myself. I +could not enjoy the rug and the paintings except +on board. The French, the Italian, and the +Spanish governments could confiscate every solitary +painting except the Meissonier and the Detaille, +for the simple reason that they were stolen. +Oh, I did not steal them myself; I merely purchased +them with one eye shut. If I hadn’t +bought them they would have gone to some other +collector. Do you get a glimmer of the truth +now?”</p> +<p>“The truth?”—perplexedly.</p> +<p>“Yes—where Cunningham will get his pearls?”—bitterly.</p> +<p>“Oh!”</p> +<p>“And I could not touch him. A quarter of a +million! And with his knowledge of the secret +marts he could easily dispose of them. Worth a +bold stroke, eh?”</p> +<p>“But how will he get them off the yacht—transship +them?”</p> +<p>Her faith in Cunningham began to waver. A +quarter of a million! The thought was as bells in +her ears.</p> +<p>“Of the outside issues I have no inkling. But I +have shown you his pearls.”</p> +<p>“But the crew! Certainly they will not return +to any port with us. And why should he lie to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +me? There is no reason in the world why he +shouldn’t have told me, if he had committed +piracy to obtain your paintings. And he was +poring over maps.”</p> +<p>“Some tramp is probably going to pick him up. +He’s ordered us away from the wireless. Cunningham +must have his joke, so he is beguiling you +with twaddle about hunting pearls. He is robbing +me of my treasures, and I can’t strike back on +that count. But I can land him in prison on the +count of piracy; and by the Lord Harry, I’ll do it +if it takes my last dollar! He’ll rue this adventure, +or they call me Tungsten for nothing!”</p> +<p>“I wanted so to believe in him!”</p> +<p>“Not difficult to understand why. He has a +silver tongue and a face like John the Baptist—del +Sarto’s—and you are romantic. The picture +of him has enlisted your sympathies. You are +filled with pity that he should be so richly endowed, +facially and mentally, and to be a cripple +such as children laugh over.”</p> +<p>“Have you never considered what mental +anguish must be the portion of a man whose body +is twisted as his is? I know. So I pity him profoundly, +even if he is a rogue. That’s all I was +born for—to pity and to bind up. And I pity you, +Mr. Cleigh, you who have walled your heart in +granite.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span></p> +<p>“You’re plain-spoken, young lady.”</p> +<p>“Yes, certain sick minds need plain speaking.”</p> +<p>“Then my mind is sick?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And only a little while gone it was romantic!”</p> +<p>“Two hundred million hands begging for bread, +and you crossing the world for a string of glass +beads whose value is only sentimental!”</p> +<p>“I can’t let that pass, Miss Norman. I have +trusted lieutenants who attend to my charities. +I’m not a miser.”</p> +<p>“You are, with the greatest thing in the world—human +love.”</p> +<p>“Shall a man give it where it is not wanted? +But enough of this talk. I have shown you Cunningham’s +pearls.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Night and wheeling stars. It was stuffy in the +crew’s quarters. Half naked, the men lolled +about, some in their bunks, some on the floor. +The orders were that none should sleep on deck +during the voyage to the Catwick.</p> +<p>“All because the old man brings a skirt on board, +we have to sweat blood in the forepeak!” growled +Flint. “We’ve got a right to a little sport.”</p> +<p>“Sure we have!”</p> +<p>The speaker was sitting on the edge of his bunk. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +He was a fine specimen of young manhood, with a +pleasant, rollicking Irish countenance. He looked +as if he had been brought up clean and had carried +his cleanliness into the world. The blue anchor +and love birds on his formidable forearms proclaimed +him a deep-sea man. It was he who had +given Dennison the shirt and the ducks.</p> +<p>“Sure, we have a right to a little sport! But +why call in the undertaker to help us out? You +poor fish, all the way from San Francisco you’ve +been grousing because shore leaves weren’t long +enough for you to get prime soused in. What’s +two months in our young lives?”</p> +<p>“I’ve always been free to do as I liked.”</p> +<p>“You look it! I’ll say so! The chief laid down +the rules of this game, and we all took oath to +follow those rules. The trouble with you is, you’ve +been reading dime novels. Where do you think +you are—raiding the Spanish Main? There’s +every chance of our coming out top hole, as those +lime-juicers say, with oodles of dough and a whole +skin.”</p> +<p>“Say, don’t I know this Sulu game? I tell you, +if he does find his atoll there won’t be any shell. +Not a chance in a hundred! Somebody’s been +giving him a song and dance. As I get the dope, +some pearl-hunting friend of his croaks and leaves +him this chart. Old stuff! I bet a million boobs +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +have croaked trying to locate the red cross on a +chart.”</p> +<p>“Why the devil did you sign on, then?”</p> +<p>“I wanted a little fun, and I’m going to have it. +There’s champagne and Napoleon brandy in the +dry-stores. Wouldn’t hurt us to have a little of it. +If we’ve got to go to jail we might as well go lit up.”</p> +<p>“Flint, you talk too much,” said a voice from +the doorway. It was Cunningham’s. He leaned +carelessly against the jamb. The crew fell silent +and motionless. “Boys, you’ve heard Hennessy. +Play it my way and you’ll wear diamonds; mess it +up and you’ll all wear hemp. The world will forgive +us when it finds out we’ve only made it +laugh.” Cunningham strolled over to Flint, who +rose to his feet. “Flint, I want that crimp-house +whisky you’ve been swigging on the sly. No back +talk! Hand it over!”</p> +<p>“And if I don’t?” said Flint, his jaw jutting.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +</div> + +<p>Cunningham did not answer immediately. +From Flint his glance went roving +from man to man, as if trying to read +what they expected of him.</p> +<p>“Flint, you were recommended to me for your +knowledge of the Sulu lingo. We’ll need a crew +of divers, and we’ll have to pick them up secretly. +That’s your job. It’s your only job outside doing +your watch with the shovel below. Somehow +you’ve got the wrong idea. You think this is a +junket of the oil-lamp period. All wrong! You +don’t know me, and that’s a pity; because if you +did know something about me you’d walk carefully. +When we’re off this yacht, I don’t say. If +you want what old-timers used to call their pannikin +of rum, you’ll be welcome to it. But on board +the <i>Wanderer</i>, nothing doing. Get your duffel out. +I’ll have a look at it.”</p> +<p>“Get it yourself,” said Flint.</p> +<p>Cunningham appeared small and boyish beside +the ex-beachcomber.</p> +<p>“I’m speaking to you decently, Flint, when I +ought to bash in your head.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></p> +<p>The tone was gentle and level.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you try it?”</p> +<p>The expectant men thereupon witnessed a feat +that was not only deadly in its precision but oddly +grotesque. Cunningham’s right hand flew out +with the sinister quickness of a cobra’s strike, and +he had Flint’s brawny wrist in grip. He danced +about, twisted and lurched until he came to an +abrupt stop behind Flint’s back. Flint’s mouth +began to bend at the corners—a grimace.</p> +<p>“You’ll break it yourself, Flint, if you move +another inch,” said Cunningham, nonchalantly. +“This is the gentlest trick I have in the bag. Cut +out the booze until we’re off this yacht. Be a +good sport and play the game according to contract. +I don’t like these side shows. But you +wanted me to show you. Want to call it off?”</p> +<p>Sweat began to bead Flint’s forehead. He was +straining every muscle in his body to minimize +that inexorable turning of his elbow and shoulder.</p> +<p>“The stuff is in Number Two bunker,” he said, +with a ghastly grin. “I’ll chuck it over.”</p> +<p>“There, now!” Cunningham stepped back. +“I might have made it your neck. But I’m +patient, because I want this part of the game to +go through according to schedule. When I turn +back this yacht I want nothing missing but the +meals I’ve had.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span></p> +<p>Flint rubbed his arm, scowling, and walked over +to his bunk.</p> +<p>“Boys,” said Cunningham, “so far you’ve been +bricks. Shortly we’ll be heading southeast on our +own. Wherever I am known, men will tell you +that I never break my word. I promised you +that we’d come through with clean heels. Something +has happened which we could not forestall. +There is a woman on board. It is not necessary +to say that she is under my protection.”</p> +<p>He clumped out into the passage.</p> +<p>“Well, say!” burst out the young sailor named +Hennessy. “I’m a tough guy, but I couldn’t +have turned that trick. Hey, you! If you’ve +got any hooch in the coal bunkers, heave it over. +I’m telling you! These soft-spoken guys are the +kind I lay off, believe you me! I’ve seen all kinds, +and I know.”</p> +<p>“Did they kick you out of the Navy?” snarled +Flint.</p> +<p>“Say, are you asking me to do it?” flared the +Irishman. “You poor boob, you’d be in the sick +bay if there hadn’t been a lady on board.”</p> +<p>“A lady?”</p> +<p>“I said a lady! Stand up, you scut!”</p> +<p>But Flint rolled into his bunk and turned his +face to the partition. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></p> +<p>Cunningham leaned against the port rail. +These bursts of fury always left him depressed. +He was not a fighting man at all and fate was +always flinging him into physical contests. He +might have killed the fool: he had been in a killing +mood. He was tired. Somehow the punch was +gone from the affair, the thrill. Why should that +be?</p> +<p>For years he had been planning something like +this, and then to have it taste like stale wine! +Vaguely he knew that he had made a discovery. +The girl! If he were poring over his chart, his +glance would drift away; if he were reading, the +printed page had a peculiar way of vanishing. Of +course it was all nonsense. But that night in +Shanghai something had drawn him irresistibly to +young Cleigh’s table. It might have been the +colour of her hair. At any rate, he hadn’t noticed +the beads until he had spoken to young Cleigh.</p> +<p>Glass beads! Queer twist. A little trinket, +worthless except for sentimental reasons, throwing +these lives together. Of course an oil would have +lured the elder Cleigh across the Pacific quite as +successfully. The old chap had been particularly +keen for a sea voyage after having been cooped up +for four years. But in the event of baiting the +trap with a painting neither the girl nor the son +would have been on board. And Flint could have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +had his noggin without anybody disturbing him, +even if the contract read otherwise.</p> +<p>Law-abiding pirates! How the world would +chuckle if the yarn ever reached the newspapers! +He had Cleigh in the hollow of his hand. In fancy +he saw Cleigh placing his grievance with the +British Admiralty. He could imagine the conversation, +too.</p> +<p>“They returned the yacht in perfect condition?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Did they steal anything?”</p> +<p>Cunningham could positively see Cleigh’s jowls +redden as he shook his head to the query.</p> +<p>“Sorry. You can’t expect us to waste coal +hunting for a scoundrel who only borrowed your +yacht.”</p> +<p>But what was the row between Cleigh and his +son? That was a puzzler. Not a word! They +ignored each other absolutely. These dinners +were queer games, to be sure. All three men +spoke to the girl, but neither of the Cleighs +spoke to him or to each other. A string of glass +beads!</p> +<p>What about himself? What had caused his +exuberance to die away, his enthusiasm to grow +dim? Why, a month gone he would burst into +such gales of laughter that his eyes would fill with +tears at the thought of this hour! And the wine +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +tasted flat. The greatest sea joke of the age, and +he couldn’t boil up over it any more!</p> +<p>Love? He had burnt himself out long ago. +But had it been love? Rather had it not been a +series of false dawns? To a weepy-waily woman +he would have offered the same courtesies, but +she would not have drawn his thoughts in any +manner. And this one kept entering his thoughts +at all times. That would be a joke, wouldn’t it? +At this day to feel the scorch of genuine passion!</p> +<p>To dig a pit for Cleigh and to stumble into +another himself! In setting this petard he hadn’t +got out of range quickly enough. His sense of +humour was so keen that he laughed aloud, with a +gesture which invited the gods to join him.</p> +<p>Jane, who had been watching the solitary +figure from the corner of the deck house and +wondering who it was, recognized the voice. The +cabin had been stuffy, her own mental confusion +had driven sleep away, so she had stolen on deck +for the purpose of viewing the splendours of the +Oriental night. The stars that seemed so near, so +soft; the sea that tossed their reflections hither +and yon, or spun a star magically into a silver +thread and immediately rolled it up again; the +brilliant electric blue of the phosphorescence and +the flash of flying fish or a porpoise that ought to +have been home and in bed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></p> +<p>She hesitated. She was puzzled. She was not +afraid of him—the puzzle lay somewhere else. +She was a little afraid of herself. She was afraid +of anything that could not immediately be translated +into ordinary terms of expression. The man +frankly wakened her pity. He seemed as lonely +as the sea itself. Slue-Foot! And somewhere a +woman had laughed at him. Perhaps that had +changed everything, made him what he was.</p> +<p>She wondered if she would ever be able to return +to the shell out of which the ironic humour +of chance had thrust her. Wondered if she could +pick up again philosophically the threads of dull +routine. Jane Norman, gliding over this mysterious +southern sea, a lone woman among strong and +reckless men! Piracy! Pearls! Rugs and paintings +worth a quarter of a million! Romance!</p> +<p>Did she want it to last? Did she want romance +all the rest of her days? What was this thing +within her that was striving for expression? For +what was she hunting? What worried her and +put fear into her heart was the knowledge that +she did not know what she wanted. From all +directions came questions she could not answer.</p> +<p>Was she in love? If so, where was the fire that +should attend? Was it Denny—or yonder riddle? +She felt contented with Denny, but Cunningham’s +presence seemed to tear into unexplored corners +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +of her heart and brain. If she were in love with +Denny, why didn’t she thrill when he approached? +There was only a sense of security, contentment.</p> +<p>The idea of racing round the world romantically +with Denny struck her as absurd. Equally contrary +to reason was the picture of herself and +Cunningham sitting before a wood fire. What +was the matter with Jane Norman?</p> +<p>There was one bar of light piercing the fog. +She knew now why she had permitted Cleigh to +abduct her. To bring about a reconciliation between +father and son. And apparently there was +as much chance as of east meeting west. She +walked over to the rail and joined Cunningham.</p> +<p>“You?” he said.</p> +<p>“The cabin was stuffy. I couldn’t sleep.”</p> +<p>“I wonder.”</p> +<p>“About what?”</p> +<p>“If there isn’t a wild streak in you that corresponds +with mine. You fall into the picture +naturally—curious and unafraid.”</p> +<p>“Why should I be afraid, and why shouldn’t +I be curious?”</p> +<p>“The greatest honour a woman ever paid me. +I mean that you shouldn’t be afraid of me when +everything should warn you to give me plenty of +sea room.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></p> +<p>“I know more about men than I do about +women.”</p> +<p>“And I know too much about both.”</p> +<p>“There have been other women—besides the one +who laughed?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Perhaps I was cruel enough to make +them pay for that.</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto; font-style:italic;'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>“‘Funny an’ yellow an’ faithful—</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Doll in a teacup she were,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>But we lived on the square, like a true-married pair,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>An’ I learned about women from ’er!’</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>“But I wonder what would have happened if it +had been a woman like you instead of the one who +laughed.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t have laughed.”</p> +<p>“This damned face of mine!”</p> +<p>“You mustn’t say that! Why not try to make +over your soul to match it?”</p> +<p>“How is that done?”</p> +<p>The irony was so gentle that she fell silent for a +space.</p> +<p>“Are you going to take Mr. Cleigh’s paintings +when you leave us?”</p> +<p>“My dear young lady, all I have left to be +proud of is my word. I give it to you that I am +going after pearls. It may sound crazy, but I +can’t help that. I am realizing a dream. I’m +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +something of a fatalist—I’ve had to be. I’ve always +reasoned that if I could make the dream +come true—this dream of pearls—I’d have a +chance to turn over a new leaf. I’ve had to commit +acts at times that were against my nature, +my instincts. I’ve had to be cruel and terrible, +because men would not believe a pretty man could +be a strong one. Do you understand? I have +been forced to cruel deeds because men would not +credit a man’s heart behind a woman’s face. I +possess tremendous nervous energy. That’s the +principal curse. I can’t sit still; I can’t remain +long anywhere; I must go, go, go! Like the +Wandering Jew, Ishmael.”</p> +<p>“Do you know what Ishmael means?”</p> +<p>“No. What?”</p> +<p>“‘God heareth.’ Have you ever asked Him +for anything?”</p> +<p>“No. Why should I, since He gave me this +withered leg? Please don’t preach to me.”</p> +<p>“I won’t, then. But I’m terribly sorry.”</p> +<p>“Of course you are. But—don’t become too +sorry. I might want to carry you off to my atoll.”</p> +<p>“If you took me away with you by force, I’d +hate you and you’d hate yourself. But you won’t +do anything like that.”</p> +<p>“What makes you believe so?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know why, but I do believe it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span></p> +<p>“To be trusted by a woman, a good woman! +I’ll tell that to the stars. Tell me about yourself—what +you did and how you lived before you came +this side.”</p> +<p>It was not a long story, and he nodded from +time to time understandingly. Genteel poverty, +a life of scrimp and pare—the cage. Romance—a +flash of it—and she would return to the old life +quite satisfied. Peace, a stormy interlude; then +peace again indefinitely. It came to him that he +wanted the respect of this young woman for always. +But the malice that was ever bubbling up to his +tongue and finding speech awoke.</p> +<p>“Suppose I find my pearls—and then come back +for you? Romance and adventure! These warm +stars always above us at night; the brilliant days; +the voyages from isle to isle; palms and gay +parrakeets, cocoanuts and mangosteens—and let +the world go hang!”</p> +<p>She did not reply, but she moved a little away. +He waited for a minute, then laughed softly.</p> +<p>“My dear young lady, this is the interlude +you’ve always been longing for. Fate has popped +you out of the normal for a few days, and presently +she’ll pop you back into it. Some day you’ll +marry and have children; you’ll sink into the rut of +monotony again and not be conscious of it. On +winter nights, before the fire, when the children +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +have been put to bed, your man buried behind his +evening paper, you will recall Slue-Foot and the +interlude and be happy over it. You’ll hug and +cuddle it to your heart secretly. A poignant craving +in your life had been satisfied. Kidnapped by +pirates, under Oriental stars! Fifteen men on a +dead man’s chest—yo-ho, and a bottle of rum! +A glorious adventure, with three meals the day +and grand opera on the phonograph. Shades of +Gilbert and Sullivan! And you will always be +wondering whether the pirate made love to you +in jest or in earnest—and he’ll always be wondering, +too!”</p> +<p>Cunningham turned away abruptly and clumped +toward the bridge ladder, which he mounted.</p> +<p>For some inexplicable reason her heart became +filled with wild resentment against him. Mocking +her, when she had only offered him kindness! +She clung to the idea of mockery because it was the +only tangible thing she could pluck from her confusion. +Thus when she began the descent of the +companionway and ran into Dennison coming up +her mood was not receptive to reproaches.</p> +<p>“Where have you been?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“Watching the stars and the phosphorescence. +I could not sleep.”</p> +<p>“Alone?”</p> +<p>“No. Mr. Cunningham was with me.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span></p> +<p>“I warned you to keep away from that scoundrel!”</p> +<p>“How dare you use that tone to me? Have you +any right to tell me what I shall and shall not do?” +she stormed at him. “I’ve got to talk to someone. +You go about in one perpetual gloom. I purpose +to see and talk to Cunningham as often as I please. +At least he amuses me.”</p> +<p>With this she rushed past him and on to her +cabin, the door of which she closed with such +emphasis that it was heard all over the yacht—so +sharp was the report that both Cleigh and Dodge +awoke and sat up, half convinced that they had +heard a pistol shot!</p> +<p>Jane sat down on her bed, still furious. After +a while she was able to understand something of +this fury. The world was upside down, wrong +end to. Dennison, not Cunningham, should have +acted the debonair, the nonchalant. Before this +adventure began he had been witty, amusing, +companionable; now he was as interesting as a +bump on a log. At table he was only a poor +counterfeit of his father, whose silence was maintained +admirably, at all times impressively dignified. +Whereas at each encounter Dennison played +directly into Cunningham’s hands, and the latter +was too much the banterer not to make the most +of these episodes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span></p> +<p>What if he was worried? Hadn’t she more +cause to worry than any one else? For all that, +she did not purpose to hide behind the barricaded +door of her cabin. If there was a tragedy in the +offing it would not fall less heavily because one +approached it with melancholy countenance.</p> +<p>Heaven knew that she was no infant as regarded +men! In the six years of hospital work +she had come into contact with all sorts and +conditions of men. Cunningham might be the +greatest scoundrel unhung, but so far as she was +concerned she need have no fear. This knowledge +was instinctive.</p> +<p>But when her cheek touched the pillow she began +to cry softly. She was so terribly lonely!</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +</div> + +<p>The space through which Jane had passed +held Dennison’s gaze for two or three minutes. +Then he sat down on the companionway +step, his arms across his knees and his forehead +upon his arms. What to say? What to +do? She expected him to be amusing!—when +he knew that the calm on board was of the same +deceptive quality as that of the sea—below, the +terror!</p> +<p>It did not matter that the crew was of high +average. They would not be playing such a game +unless they were a reckless lot. At any moment +they might take it into their heads to swarm over +Cunningham and obliterate him. Then what? +If the episode of the morning had not convinced +Jane, what would? The man Flint had dropped +his mask; the others were content to wear theirs +yet awhile. Torture for her sake, the fear of +what might actually be in store for her, and she +expected him to talk and act like a chap out of a +novel!</p> +<p>Ordinarily so full of common sense, what had +happened to her that her vision should become so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +obscured as not to recognize the danger of the +man? Had he been ugly, Jane would probably +have ignored him. But that face of his, as handsome +as a Greek god’s, and that tongue with its +roots in oil! And there was his deformity—that +had drawn her pity. Playing with her, and she +deliberately walked into the trap because he was +amusing! Why shouldn’t he be, knowing that he +held their lives in the hollow of his hand? What +imp of Satan wouldn’t have been amiable?</p> +<p>Because the rogues did not run up the skull and +crossbones; because they did not swagger up and +down the deck, knives and pistols in their sashes, +she couldn’t be made to believe them criminals!</p> +<p>Amusing! She could not see that if he spoke +roughly it was only an expression of the smothered +pain of his mental crucifixion. He could not tell +her he loved her for fear she might misinterpret +her own sentiments. Besides, her present mood +was not inductive to any declaration on his part; +a confession might serve only to widen the breach. +Who could say that it wasn’t Cunningham’s game +to take Jane along with him in the end? There +was nothing to prevent that. His father holding +aloof, the loyal members of the crew in a most certain +negligible minority, what was there to prevent +Cunningham from carrying off Jane?</p> +<p>Blood surged into Dennison’s throat; a murderous +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +fury boiled up in him; but he remembered in +time what these volcanic outbursts had cost him in +the past. So he did not rush to the chart house. +Cunningham would lash him with ridicule or be +forced to shoot him. But his rage carried him as +far as the wireless room. He could hear the smack +of the spark, but that was all. He tried the door—locked. +He tried the shutters—latched. Cunningham’s +man was either calling or answering +somebody. Ten minutes inside that room and +there would be another tale to tell.</p> +<p>In the end Dennison spent his fury by travelling +round the deck until the sea and sky became like +pearly smoke. Then he dropped into a chair and +fell asleep.</p> +<p>Cunningham had also watched through the +night. The silent steersman heard him frequently +rustling papers on the chart table or clumping +to the bridge or lolling on the port sills—a restlessness +that had about it something of the captive +tiger.</p> +<p>Retrospection—he could not break the crowding +spell of it, twist mentally as he would; and the +counter-thought was dimly suicidal. The sea +there; a few strides would carry him to the end of +the bridge, and then—oblivion. And the girl +would not permit him to enact this thought. He +laughed. God had mocked him at his birth, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +the devil had played with him ever since. He had +often faced death hotly and hopefully, but to consider +suicide coldly!</p> +<p>A woman who had crossed his path reluctantly, +without will of her own; the sort he had always +ignored because they had been born for the peace +of chimney corners! She—the thought of her—could +bring the past crowding upon him and +create in his mind a suicidal bent!</p> +<p>Pearls! A great distaste of life fell upon him; +the adventure grew flat. The zest that had been +his ten days gone, where was it?</p> +<p>Imagination! He had been cursed with too +much of it. In his youth he had skulked through +alleys and back streets—the fear of laughter and +ridicule dogging his mixed heels. Never before +to have paused to philosophize over what had +caused his wasted life! Too much imagination! +Mental strabismus! He had let his over-sensitive +imagination wreck and ruin him. A woman’s +laughter had given him the viewpoint of a careless +world; and he had fled, and he had gone on fleeing +all these years from pillar to post. From a shadow!</p> +<p>He was something of a monster. He saw now +where the fault lay. He had never stayed long +enough in any one place for people to get accustomed +to him. His damnable imagination! And +there was conceit of a sort. Probably nobody +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +paid any attention to him after the initial shock +and curiosity had died away. There was Scarron +in his wheel chair—merry and cheerful and brave, +jesting with misfortune; and men and women had +loved him.</p> +<p>A moral coward, and until this hour he had +never sensed the truth! That was it! He had +been a moral coward; he had tried to run away +from fate; and here he was at last, in the blind +alley the coward always found at the end of the +run. He had never thought of anything but +what he was—never of what he might have been. +For having thrust him unfinished upon a thoughtless +rather than a heartless world he had been +trying to punish fate, and had punished only himself. +A wastrel, a roisterer by night, a spendthrift, +and a thief!</p> +<p>What had she said?—reknead his soul so that +it would fit his face? Too late!</p> +<p>One staff to lean on, one only—he never broke +his word. Why had he laid down for himself this +law? What had inspired him to hold always to +that? Was there a bit of gold somewhere in his +grotesque make-up? A straw on the water, and +he clutched it! Why? Cunningham laughed +again, and the steersman turned his head slightly.</p> +<p>“Williams, do you believe in God?” asked +Cunningham. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></p> +<p>“Well, sir, when I’m holding down the wheel—perhaps. +The screw is always edging a ship off, +and the lighter the ballast the wider the yaw. So +you have to keep hitching her over a point to starboard. +You trust to me to keep that point, and I +trust to God that the north stays where it is.”</p> +<p>“And yet legally you’re a pirate.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that? Well, a fellow ain’t much of a +pirate that plays the game we play. And yet——”</p> +<p>“Ah! And yet?”</p> +<p>“Well, sir, some of the boys are getting restless. +And I’ll be mighty glad when we raise that old +Dutch bucket of yours. They ain’t bad, understand; +just young and heady and wanting a little +fun. They growl a lot because they can’t sleep +on deck. They growl because there’s nothing +to drink. Of course it might hurt Cleigh’s feelings, +but I’d like to see all his grog go by the board. +You see, sir, it ain’t as if we’d just dropped down +from Shanghai. It’s been tarnation dull ever +since we left San Francisco.”</p> +<p>“Once on the other boat, they can make a night +of it if they want to. But I’ve given my word on +the <i>Wanderer</i>.”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“And it’s final.”</p> +<p>Cunningham returned to his chart. All these +cogitations because a woman had entered his life +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +uninvited! Ten days ago he had not been aware +of her existence; and from now on she would be +always recurring in his thoughts.</p> +<p>She was not conscious of it, but she was as a +wild thing that had been born in captivity, and +she was tasting the freedom of space again without +knowing what the matter was. But it is the law +that all wild things born in captivity lose everything +but the echo; a little freedom, a flash of +what might have been, and they are ready to return +to the cage. So it would be with her.</p> +<p>Supposing—no, he would let her return to her +cage. He wondered—had he made his word a +law simply to meet and conquer a situation such +as this? Or was his hesitance due to the fear of +her hate? That would be immediate and unabating. +She was not the sort that would bend—she +would break. No, he wasn’t monster enough +to play that sort of game. She should take back +her little adventure to her cage, and in her old age +it would become a pleasant souvenir.</p> +<p>He rose and leaned on his arms against a port +sill and stared at the stars until they began to fade, +until the sea and the sky became like the pearls he +would soon be seeking. A string of glass beads, +bringing about all these events!</p> +<p>At dawn he went down to the deck for a bit of +exercise before he turned in. When he beheld +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +Dennison sound asleep in the chair, his mouth +slightly open, his bare feet standing out conspicuously +on the foot rest, a bantering, mocking +smile twisted the corners of Cunningham’s lips. +Noiselessly he settled himself in the adjacent chair, +and cynically hoping that Dennison would be +first to wake he fell asleep.</p> +<p>The <i>Wanderer’s</i> deck toilet was begun and consummated +between six and six-thirty, except in +rainy weather. Hose, mops, and holystone, until +the teak looked as if it had just left the Rangoon +sawmills; then the brass, every knob and piping, +every latch and hinge and port loop. The care +given the yacht since leaving the Yang-tse might +be well called ingratiating. Never was a crew +more eager to enact each duty to the utmost—with +mighty good reason.</p> +<p>But when they came upon Dennison and Cunningham, +asleep side by side, they drew round the +spot, dumfounded. But their befuddlement was +only a tithe of that which struck Cleigh an hour +later. It was his habit to take a short constitutional +before breakfast; and when he beheld the +two, asleep in adjoining chairs, the fact suggesting +that they had come to some friendly understanding, +he stopped in his tracks, as they say, never +more astonished in all his days.</p> +<p>For as long as five minutes he remained motionless, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +the fine, rugged face of his son on one side +and the amazing beauty of Cunningham’s on the +other. But in the morning light, in repose, +Cunningham’s face was tinged with age and sadness. +There was, however, no grain of pity +in Cleigh’s heart. Cunningham had made his +bed of horsehair; let him twist and writhe upon +it.</p> +<p>But the two of them together, sleeping as peacefully +as babes! Dennison had one arm flung behind +his head. It gave Cleigh a shock, for he +recognized the posture. As a lad Dennison had +slept that way. Cunningham’s withered leg was +folded under his sound one.</p> +<p>What had happened? Cleigh shook his head; +he could not make it out. Moreover, he could +not wake either and demand the solution to the +puzzle. He could not put his hand on his son’s +shoulder, and he would not put it on Cunningham’s. +Pride on one side and distaste on the +other. But the two of them together!</p> +<p>He got round the impasse by kicking out the +foot rest of the third chair. Immediately Cunningham +opened his eyes. First he turned to see +if Dennison was still in his chair. Finding this to +be the case, he grinned amiably at the father. +Exactly the situation he would have prayed for +had he believed in the efficacy of prayer. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span></p> +<p>“Surprises you, eh? Looks as if he had signed +on with the Great Adventure Company.”</p> +<p>His voice woke Dennison, who blinked in the +sunshine for a moment, then looked about. He +comprehended at once.</p> +<p>With easy dignity he swung his bare feet to the +deck and made for the companion; never a second +glance at either his father or Cunningham.</p> +<p>“Chip of the old block!” observed Cunningham. +“You two! On my word, I never saw two bigger +fools in all my time! What’s it about? What +the devil did he do—murder someone, rob the +office safe, or marry Tottie Lightfoot? And Lord, +how you both love me! And how much more +you’ll love me when I become the dear departed!”</p> +<p>Cleigh, understanding that the situation was a +creation of pure malice on Cunningham’s part—Cleigh +wheeled and resumed his tramp round the +deck.</p> +<p>Cunningham plowed his fingers through his +hair, gripped and pulled it in a kind of ecstasy. +Cleigh’s phiz. The memory of it would keep him +in good humour all day. After all, there was a lot +of good sport in the world. The days were all +right. It was only in the quiet vigils of the night +that the uninvited thought intruded. On board +the old Dutch tramp he would sleep o’nights, and +the past would present only a dull edge. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span></p> +<p>If the atoll had cocoanut palms, hang it, he +would build a shack and make it his winter home! +<i>Dolce far niente!</i> Maybe he might take up the +brush again and do a little amateur painting. +Yes, in the daytime the old top wasn’t so bad. +He hoped he would have no more nonsense from +Flint. A surly beggar, but a necessary pawn in +the game.</p> +<p>Pearls! Some to sell and some to play with. +Lovely, tenderly beautiful pearls—a rope of them +round Jane Norman’s throat. He slid off the +chair. As a fool, he hung in the same gallery as +the Cleighs.</p> +<p>Cleigh ate his breakfast alone. Upon inquiry +he learned that Jane was indisposed and that +Dennison had gone into the pantry and picked up +his breakfast there. Cleigh found the day unspeakably +dull. He read, played the phonograph, +and tried all the solitaires he knew; but a hundred +times he sensed the want of the pleasant voice of +the girl in his ears.</p> +<p>What would she be demanding of him as a +reparation? He was always sifting this query +about, now on this side, now on that, without getting +anywhere. Not money. What then?</p> +<p>That night both Jane and Dennison came in to +dinner. Cleigh saw instantly that something was +amiss. The boy’s face was gloomy and his lips +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +locked, and the girl’s mouth was set and cheerless. +Cleigh was fired by curiosity to ascertain the +trouble, but here again was an impasse.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry I spoke so roughly last night,” said +Dennison, unexpectedly.</p> +<p>“And I am sorry that I answered you so sharply. +But all this worry and fuss over me is getting on +my nerves. You’ve written down Cunningham as +a despicable rogue, when he is only an interesting +one. If only you would give banter for banter, you +might take some of the wind out of his sails. But +instead you go about as if the next hour was to be +our last!”</p> +<p>“Who knows?”</p> +<p>“There you go! In a minute we’ll be digging up +the hatchet again.”</p> +<p>But she softened the reproach by smiling. At +this moment Cunningham came in briskly and +cheerfully. He sat down, threw the napkin across +his knees, and sent an ingratiating smile round the +table.</p> +<p>“Cleigh”—he was always talking to Cleigh, and +apparently not minding in the least that he was +totally ignored—“Cleigh, they are doing a good +job in the Santa Maria delle Grazie, so I am told. +Milan, of course. They are restoring Da Vinci’s +Cenacolo. What called it to mind is the fact that +this is also the last supper. To-morrow at this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +hour you will be in possession and I’ll be off for my +pearls.”</p> +<p>The recipients of this remarkable news appeared +petrified for a space. Cunningham enjoyed the +astonishment.</p> +<p>“Sounds almost too good to be true, doesn’t it? +Still, it’s a fact.”</p> +<p>“That’s tiptop news, Cunningham,” said Dennison. +“I hope when you go down the ladder you +break your infernal neck. But the luck is on your +side.”</p> +<p>“Let us hope that it stays there,” replied Cunningham, +unruffled. He turned to Cleigh again: +“I say, we’ve always been bewailing that job of +Da Vinci’s. But the old boy was a seer. He +knew that some day there would be American +millionaires and that I’d become a force in art. +So he put his subject on a plaster wall so I couldn’t +lug it off. A canvas the same size, I don’t say; +but the side of a church!”</p> +<p>“A ship is going to pick you up to-morrow?” +asked Jane.</p> +<p>“Yes. The crew of the <i>Wanderer</i> goes to the +<i>Haarlem</i> and the <i>Haarlem</i> crew transships to the +<i>Wanderer</i>. You see, Cleigh, I’m one of those +efficiency sharks. In this game I have left nothing +to chance. Nothing except an act of God—as +they say on the back of your steamer ticket—can +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +derange my plans. Not the least bit of inconvenience +to you beyond going out of your +course for a few days. The new crew was signed +on in Singapore—able seamen wanting to return to +the States. Hired them in your name. Clever +idea of me, eh?”</p> +<p>“Very,” said Cleigh, speaking directly to +Cunningham for the first time since the act of +piracy.</p> +<p>“And this will give you enough coal to turn and +make Manila, where you can rob the bunkers of +one of your freighters. Now, then, early last +winter in New York a company was formed, the +most original company in all this rocky old world—the +Great Adventure Company, of which I am +president and general adviser. Pearls! Each +member of the crew is a shareholder, undersigned +at fifteen hundred shares, par value one dollar. +These shares are redeemable October first in New +York City if the company fails, or are convertible +into pearls of equal value if we succeed. No +widows and orphans need apply. Fair enough.”</p> +<p>“Fair enough, indeed,” admitted Cleigh.</p> +<p>Dennison stared at his father. He did not +quite understand this willingness to hold converse +with the rogue after all this rigorously maintained +silence.</p> +<p>“Of course the Great Adventure Company had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +to be financed,” went on Cunningham with a +deprecating gesture.</p> +<p>“Naturally,” assented Cleigh. “And that, I +suppose, will be my job?”</p> +<p>“Indirectly. You see, Eisenfeldt told me he +had a client ready to pay eighty thousand for the +rug, and that put the whole idea into my noodle.”</p> +<p>“Ah! Well, you will find the crates and frames +and casings in the forward hold,” said Cleigh in a +tone which conveyed nothing of his thoughts. +“It would be a pity to spoil the rug and the oils +for the want of a little careful packing.”</p> +<p>Cunningham rose and bowed.</p> +<p>“Cleigh, you are a thoroughbred!”</p> +<p>Cleigh shook his head.</p> +<p>“I’ll have your hide, Cunningham, if it takes all +I have and all I am!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +</div> + +<p>Cunningham sat down. “The spirit +is willing, Cleigh, but the flesh is weak. +You’ll never get my hide. How will +you go about it? Stop a moment and mull it over. +How are you going to prove that I’ve borrowed +the rug and the paintings? These are your +choicest possessions. You have many at home +worth more, but these things you love. Out of +spite, will you inform the British, the French, the +Italian governments that you had these objects +and that I relieved you of them? In that event +you’ll have my hide, but you’ll never set eyes upon +the oils again except upon their lawful walls—the +rug, never! On the other hand, there is every +chance in the world of my returning them to +you.”</p> +<p>“Your word?” interrupted Jane, ironically.</p> +<p>So Cleigh was right? A quarter of a million in +art treasures!</p> +<p>“My word! I never before realized,” continued +Cunningham, “what a fine thing it is to possess +something to stand on firmly—a moral plank.”</p> +<p>Dennison’s laughter was sardonic. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></p> +<p>“Moral plank is good,” was his comment.</p> +<p>“Miss Norman,” said Cunningham, maliciously, +“I slept beside the captain this morning, and he +snores outrageously.” The rogue tilted his chin +and the opal fire leaped into his eyes. “Do you +want me to tell you all about the Great Adventure +Company, or do you want me to shut up and +merely proceed with the company’s business without +further ado? Why the devil should I care +what you think of me? Still, I do care. I want +you to get my point of view—a rollicking adventure, +in which nobody loses anything and I have +a great desire fulfilled. Hang it, it’s a colossal +joke, and in the end the laugh will be on nobody! +Even Eisenfeldt will laugh,” he added, enigmatically.</p> +<p>“Do you intend to take the oils and the rug +and later return them?” demanded Jane.</p> +<p>“Absolutely! That’s the whole story. Only +Cleigh here will not believe it until the rug and +oils are dumped on the door-step of his New York +home. I needed money. Nobody would offer to +finance a chart with a red cross on it. So I had to +work it out in my own fashion. The moment +Eisenfeldt sees these oils and the rug he becomes +my financier, but he’ll never put his claw on them +except for one thing—that act of God they mention +on the back of your ticket. Some raider may +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +have poked into this lagoon of mine. In that case +Eisenfeldt wins.”</p> +<p>Cleigh smiled.</p> +<p>“A pretty case, Cunningham, but it won’t hold +water. It is inevitable that Eisenfeldt gets the +rug and the paintings, and you are made comfortable +for the rest of your days. A shabby business, +and you shall rue it.”</p> +<p>“My word?”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe in it any longer,” returned +Cleigh.</p> +<p>Cunningham appealed to Jane.</p> +<p>“Give me the whole story, then I’ll tell you +what I believe,” she said. “You may be telling +the truth.”</p> +<p>What a queer idea—wanting his word believed! +Why should it matter to him whether they believed +in the honour of his word or not, when he +held the whip hand and could act as he pleased? +The poor thing! And as that phrase was uttered +in thought, the glamour of him was dissipated; +she saw Cunningham as he was, a poor benighted +thing, half boy, half demon, a thing desperately +running away from his hurt and lashing out at +friends and enemies alike on the way.</p> +<p>“Tell your story—all of it.”</p> +<p>Cunningham began:</p> +<p>“About a year ago the best friend I had—perhaps +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +the only friend I had—died. He left me his +chart and papers. The atoll is known, but uncharted, +because it is far outside the routes. I +have no actual proofs that there will be shell in +the lagoon; I have only my friend’s word—the +word of a man as honest as sunshine. Where this +shell lies there is never any law. Some pearl +thiever may have fallen upon the shell since my +friend discovered it.”</p> +<p>“In that case,” said Cleigh, “I lose?”</p> +<p>“Frankly, yes! All financial ventures are attended +by certain risks.”</p> +<p>“Money? Why didn’t you come to me for +that?”</p> +<p>“What! To you?”</p> +<p>Cunningham’s astonishment was perfect.</p> +<p>“Yes. There was a time when I would have +staked a good deal on your word.”</p> +<p>Cunningham rested his elbows on the table and +clutched his hair—a despairing gesture.</p> +<p>“No use! I can’t get it to you! I can’t make +you people understand! It isn’t the pearls, it’s +the game; it’s all the things that go toward the +pearls. I want to put over a game no man ever +played before.”</p> +<p>Jane began to find herself again drawn toward +him, but no longer with the feeling of unsettled +mystery. She knew now why he drew her. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +was the male of the species to which she belonged—the +out-trailer, the hater of humdrum, of +dull orbits and of routine. The thrilling years he +had spent—business! This was the adventure of +which he had always dreamed, and since it would +never arrive as a sequence, he had proceeded to +dramatize it! He was Tom Sawyer grown up; +and for a raft on the Mississippi substitute a seagoing +yacht. There was then in this matter-of-fact +world such a man, and he sat across the table +from her!</p> +<p>“Supposing I had come to you and you had advanced +the money?” said Cunningham, earnestly. +“All cut and dried, not a thrill, not a laugh, nothing +but the pearls! I have never had a boyhood +dream realized but, hang it, I’m going to realize +this one!” He struck the table violently. “Set +the British after me, and you’ll never see this stuff +again. You’ll learn whether my word is worth +anything or not. Lay off for eight months, and if +your treasures are not yours again within that +time you won’t have to chase me. I’ll come to +you and have the tooth pulled without gas.”</p> +<p>Dennison’s eyes softened a little. Neither had +he realized any of his boyhood dreams. For all +that, the fellow was as mad as a hatter.</p> +<p>“Of course I’m a colossal ass, and half the fun +is knowing that I am.” The banter returned to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +Cunningham’s tongue. “But this thing will go +through—I feel it. I will have had my fun, and +you will have loaned your treasures to me for +eight months, and Eisenfeldt will have his principal +back without interest. The treasures go +directly to a bank vault. There will be two receipts, +one dated September—mine; and one dated +November—Eisenfeldt’s. I hate Eisenfeldt. He’s +tricky; his word isn’t worth a puff of smoke; he’s +ready at all times to play both ends from the +middle. I want to pay him out for crossing my +path in several affairs. He’s betting that I will +find no pearls. So to-morrow I will exhibit the +rug and the Da Vinci to convince him, and he will +advance the cash. Can’t you see the sport of it?”</p> +<p>“That would make very good reading,” said +Cleigh, scraping the shell of his avocado pear. +“I can get you on piracy.”</p> +<p>“Prove it! You can say I stole the yacht, but +you can’t prove it. The crew is yours; you hired +it. The yacht returns to you to-morrow without +a scratch on her paint. And the new crew will +know absolutely nothing, being as innocent as +newborn babes. Cleigh, you’re no fool. What +earthly chance have you got? You love that rug. +You’re not going to risk losing it positively, merely +to satisfy a thirst for vengeance. You’re human. +You’ll rave and storm about for a few days, then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +you’ll accept the game as it lies. Think of all the +excitement you’ll have when a telegram arrives +or the phone rings! I told you it was a whale of a +joke; and in late October you’ll chuckle. I know +you, Cleigh. Down under all that tungsten there +is the place of laughter. It will be better to laugh +by yourself than to have the world laugh at you. +Hoist by his own petard! There isn’t a newspaper +syndicate on earth that wouldn’t give me a +fortune for just the yarn. Now, I don’t want the +world to laugh at you, Cleigh.”</p> +<p>“Considerate of you.”</p> +<p>“Because I know what that sort of laughter is. +Could you pick up the old life, the clubs? Could +a strong man like you exist in an atmosphere of +suppressed chuckles? Mull it over. If these +treasures were honourably yours I’d never have +thought of touching them. But you haven’t any +more right to them than I have, or Eisenfeldt.”</p> +<p>Dennison leaned back in his chair. He began +to laugh.</p> +<p>“Cunningham, my apologies,” he said. “I +thought you were a scoundrel, and you are only a +fool—the same brand as I! I’ve been aching to +wring your neck, but that would have been a pity. +For eight months life will be full of interest for +me—like waiting for the end of a story in the +magazines.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span></p> +<p>“But there is one thing missing out of the tale,” +Jane interposed.</p> +<p>“And what is that?” asked Cunningham.</p> +<p>“Those beads.”</p> +<p>“Oh, those beads! They belonged to an empress +of France, and the French Government is +offering sixty thousand for their return. Napoleonic. +And now will you answer a question of +mine? Where have you hidden them?”</p> +<p>Jane did not answer, but rose and left the dining +salon. Silence fell upon the men until she returned. +In her hand she held Ling Foo’s brass +hand warmer. She set it on the table and pried +back the jigsawed lid. From the heap of punk and +charcoal ashes she rescued the beads and laid them +on the cloth.</p> +<p>“Very clever. They are yours,” said Cunningham.</p> +<p>“Mine?”</p> +<p>“Why not? Findings is keepings. They are +as much yours as mine.”</p> +<p>Jane pushed the string toward Cleigh.</p> +<p>“For me?” he said.</p> +<p>“Yes—for nothing.”</p> +<p>“There is sixty thousand dollars in gold in my +safe. When we land in San Francisco I will turn +over the money to you. You have every right in +the world to it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></p> +<p>Cleigh blew the ash from the glass beads and +circled them in his palm.</p> +<p>“I repeat,” she said, “they are yours.”</p> +<p>Cunningham stood up.</p> +<p>“Well, what’s it to be?”</p> +<p>“I have decided to reserve my decision,” +answered Cleigh, dryly. “To hang you ’twixt +wind and water will add to the thrill, for evidently +that’s what you’re after.”</p> +<p>“If it’s on your own you’ll only be wasting coal.”</p> +<p>Cleigh toyed with the beads.</p> +<p>“The <i>Haarlem</i>. Maybe I can save you a lot +of trouble,” said Cunningham. “The name is +only on her freeboard and stern, not on her +master’s ticket. The moment we are hull down +the old name goes back.” Cunningham turned to +Jane. “Do you believe I’ve put my cards on the +table?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And that if I humanly can I’ll keep my word?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“That’s worth many pearls of price!”</p> +<p>“Supposing,” said Cleigh, trickling the beads +from palm to palm—“supposing I offered you the +equivalent in cash?”</p> +<p>“No, Eisenfeldt has my word.”</p> +<p>“You refuse?” Plainly Cleigh was jarred out of +his calm. “You refuse?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></p> +<p>“I’ve already explained,” said Cunningham, +wearily. “I’ve told you that I like sharp knives +to play with. If you handle them carelessly +you’re cut. How about you?” Cunningham +addressed the question to Dennison.</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m neutral and interested. I’ve always +had a sneaking admiration for a tomfool. They +were Shakespeare’s best characters. Consider me +neutral.”</p> +<p>Cleigh rose abruptly and stalked from the salon.</p> +<p>Cunningham lurched and twisted to the forward +passage and disappeared.</p> +<p>When next Jane saw him in the light he was +bloody and terrible.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +</div> + +<p>Jane and Dennison were alone. “I wonder,” +he said, “are we two awake, or are we having +the same nightmare?”</p> +<p>“The way he hugs his word! Imagine a man +stepping boldly and mockingly outside the pale, +and carrying along his word unsullied with him! +He’s mad, Denny, absolutely mad! The poor +thing!”</p> +<p>That phrase seemed to liberate something in his +mind. The brooding oppression lifted its siege. +His heart was no longer a torture chamber.</p> +<p>“I ought to be his partner, Jane. I’m as big a +fool as he is. Who but a fool would plan and +execute a game such as this? But he’s sound on +one point. It’s a colossal joke.”</p> +<p>“But your father?”</p> +<p>“Cunningham will have to dig a pretty deep +hole somewhere if he expects to hide successfully. +It’s a hundred-to-one shot that father will never +see his rug again. He probably realizes that, and +he will be relentless. He’ll coal at Manila and +turn back. He’ll double or triple the new crew’s +wages. Money will mean nothing if he starts after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +Cunningham. Of course I’ll be out of the picture +at Manila.”</p> +<p>“Do you know why your father kidnaped me so +easily? I thought maybe I could find a chink in +his armour and bring you two together.”</p> +<p>“And you’ve found the job hopeless!” Dennison +shrugged.</p> +<p>“Won’t you tell me what the cause was?”</p> +<p>“Ask him. He’ll tell it better than I can. So +you hid the beads in that hand-warmer! Not half +bad. But why don’t you take the sixty thousand?”</p> +<p>“I’ve an old-fashioned conscience.”</p> +<p>“I don’t mean Father’s gold, but the French +Government’s. Comfort as long as you lived.”</p> +<p>“No, I could not touch even that money. The +beads were stolen.”</p> +<p>“Lord, Lord! Then there are three of us—Cunningham, +myself, and you!”</p> +<p>“Are you calling me a tomfool?”</p> +<p>“Not exactly. What’s the feminine?”</p> +<p>She laughed and rose.</p> +<p>“You are almost human to-night.”</p> +<p>“Where are you going?”</p> +<p>“I’m going to have a little talk with your +father.”</p> +<p>“Good luck. I’m going to have a fresh pot of +coffee. I shall want to keep awake to-night.”</p> +<p>“Why?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span></p> +<p>“Oh, just an idea. You’d better turn in when +the interview is over. Good luck.”</p> +<p>Jane stood framed in the doorway for a moment. +Under the reading lamp in the main salon she saw +Cleigh. He was running the beads from hand to +hand and staring into space. Behind her she +heard Dennison’s spoon clatter in the cup as he +stirred the coffee.</p> +<p>Wild horses! She felt as though she were being +pulled two ways by wild horses! For she was +about to demand of Anthony Cleigh the promised +reparation. And which of two things should she +demand? All this time, since Cleigh had uttered +the promise, she had had but one thought—to +bring father and son together, to do away with +this foolish estrangement. For there did not +seem to be on earth any crime that merited such +a condition. If he humanly could—he had modified +the promise with that. What was more human +than to forgive—a father to forgive a son?</p> +<p>And now Cunningham had to wedge in compellingly! +She could hesitate between Denny and +Cunningham! The rank disloyalty of it shocked +her. To give Cunningham his eight months! +Pity, urgent pity for the broken body and tortured +soul of the man—mothering pity! Denny was +whole and sound, mentally and physically; he +would never know any real mental torture, anything +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +that compared with Cunningham’s, which +was enduring, now waxing, now waning, but +always sensible. To secure for him his eight +months, without let or hindrance from the full +enmity of Cleigh; to give him his boyhood dream, +whether he found his pearls or not. Her throat +became stuffed with the presage of tears. The +poor thing!</p> +<p>But Denny, parting from his father at Manila, +the cleavage wider than ever, beyond hope! Oh, +she could not tolerate the thought of that! These +two, so full of strong and bitter pride—they +would never meet again if they separated now. +Perhaps fate had assigned the rôle of peacemaker +to her, and she had this weapon in her hand to enforce +it or bring it about—the father’s solemn +promise to grant whatever she might ask. And +she could dodder between Denny and Cunningham!</p> +<p>To demand both conditions would probably +appeal to Cleigh as not humanly possible. One +or the other, but not the two together.</p> +<p>An interval of several minutes of which she had +no clear recollection, and then she was conscious +that she was reclining in her chair on deck, staring +at the stars which appeared jerkily and queerly +shaped—through tears. She hadn’t had the +courage to make a decision. As if it became +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +any easier to solve by putting it over until to-morrow!</p> +<p>Chance—the Blind Madonna of the Pagan—was +preparing to solve the riddle for her—with a +thunderbolt!</p> +<p>The mental struggle had exhausted Jane somewhat, +and she fell into a doze. When she woke +she was startled to see by her wrist watch that it +was after eleven. The yacht was plowing along +through the velvet blackness of the night. The +inclination to sleep gone, Jane decided to walk the +deck until she was as bodily tired as she was +mentally. All the hidden terror was gone. To-morrow +these absurd pirates would be on their +way.</p> +<p>Study the situation as she might, she could discover +no flaw in this whimsical madman’s plans. +He held the crew in his palm, even as he held +Cleigh—by covetousness. Cleigh would never +dare send the British after Cunningham; and the +crew would obey him to the letter because that +meant safety and recompense. The Great Adventure +Company! Only by an act of God! +And what could possibly happen between now +and the arrival of the <i>Haarlem</i>?</p> +<p>Cleigh had evidently turned in, for through the +transoms she saw that the salon lights were out. +She circled the deck house six times, then went up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +to the bow and stared down the cutwater at the +phosphorescence. Blue fire! The eternal marvel +of the sea!</p> +<p>A hand fell upon her shoulder. She thought it +would be Denny’s. It was Flint’s!</p> +<p>“Be a good sport, an’ give us a kiss!”</p> +<p>She drew back, but he caught her arm. His +breath was foul with tobacco and whisky.</p> +<p>“All right, I’ll take it!”</p> +<p>With her free hand she struck him in the face. +It was a sound blow, for Jane was no weakling. +That should have warned Flint that a struggle +would not be worth while. But where’s the +drunken man with caution? The blow stung +Flint equally in flesh and spirit. He would kiss +this woman if it was the last thing he ever did!</p> +<p>Jane fought him savagely, never thinking to call +to the bridge. Twice she escaped, but each time +the fool managed to grasp either her waist or her +skirt. Then out of nowhere came the voice of +Cunningham:</p> +<p>“Flint!”</p> +<p>Dishevelled and breathless, Jane found herself +free. She stumbled to the rail and rested there for +a moment. Dimly she could see the two men enacting +a weird shadow dance. Then it came to +her that Cunningham would not be strong enough +to vanquish Flint, so she ran aft to rouse Denny. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span></p> +<p>As she went down the companionway, her knees +threatening to give way, she heard voices, blows, +crashings against the partitions. Instinct told her +to seek her cabin and barricade the door; curiosity +drove her through the two darkened salons to the +forward passage. Only a single lamp was on, but +that was enough. Anthony Cleigh’s iron-gray head +towering above a whirlwind of fists and forearms!</p> +<p>What had happened? This couldn’t be real! +She was still in her chair on deck, and what she saw +was nightmare! Out of the calm, all in a moment, +this! Where was Denny, if this picture wasn’t +nightmare? Cunningham above, struggling with +the whisky-maddened Flint—Cleigh fighting in +the passage! Dear God, what had happened?</p> +<p>Where was Denny? The question let loose in +her heart and mind all that was emotional, at the +same time enchaining her to the spot where she +stood. Denny! Why, she loved Denny! And +she had not known it consciously until this moment. +Because some presciential instinct warned +her that Denny was either dead or badly hurt!</p> +<p>The narrowness of the passage gave Cleigh one +advantage—none of the men could get behind +him. Sometimes he surged forward a little, +sometimes he stepped back, but never back of the +line he had set for himself. By and by Jane forced +her gaze to the deck to see what it was that held +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +him like a rock. What she saw was only the actual +of what she had already envisaged—Denny, either +dead or badly hurt!</p> +<p>What had happened was this: Six of the crew, +those spirits who had succumbed to the secret +domination of the man Flint—the drinkers—had +decided to celebrate the last night on the <i>Wanderer</i>. +Their argument was that old man Cleigh wouldn’t +miss a few bottles, and that it would be a long +time between drinks when they returned to the +States; and never might they again have so easy +a chance to taste the juice of the champagne grape. +Where was the harm? Hadn’t they behaved like +little Fauntleroys for weeks? They did not want +any trouble—just half a dozen bottles, and back +to the forepeak to empty them. That wouldn’t +kill the old man. They wouldn’t even have to +force the door of the dry-stores; they had already +learned that they could tickle the lock out of commission +by the use of a bent wire. Young, restless, +and mischievous—none of them bad. A bit of +laughter and a few bars of song—that was all they +wanted. No doubt the affair would have blown +itself out harmlessly but for the fact that Chance +had other ideas. She has a way with her, this +Pagan Madonna, of taking off the cheerful motley +of a jest and substituting the Phrygian cap of +terror, subitaneously. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></p> +<p>Dennison had lain down on the lounge in the +main salon. Restless, unhappy, bitter toward his +father, he had lain there counting the throbs of the +engine to that point where they mysteriously cease +to register and one has to wait a minute or two to +pick up the throb again.</p> +<p>For years he had lived more or less in the open, +which attunes the human ear to sounds that +generally pass unnoticed. All at once he was sure +that he had heard the tinkle of glass, but he +waited. The tinkle was repeated. Instinct led +him at once to the forward passage, and one +glance down this was sufficient. From the thought +of a drunken orgy—the thing he had been fearing +since the beginning of this mad voyage—his +thought leaped to Jane. Thus his subsequent +acts were indirectly in her defense.</p> +<p>“What the devil are you up to there?” he +called.</p> +<p>The unexpectedness of the challenge disconcerted +the men. They had enough loot. A quick +retreat, and Dennison would have had nothing +to do but close the dry-stores door. But middle +twenties are belligerent rather than discreet.</p> +<p>“What you got to say about it?” jeered one of +the men, shifting his brace of bottles to the arms +of another and squaring off.</p> +<p>Dennison rushed them, and the męlée began. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +It was a strenuous affair while it lasted. When a +strong man is full of anger and bitter disappointment, +when six young fellows are bored to distraction, +nothing is quite so satisfying as an exchange +of fisticuffs. Dennison had the advantage +of being able to hit right and left, at random, +while his opponents were not always sure that a +blow landed where it was directed.</p> +<p>Naturally the racket drew Cleigh to the scene, +and he arrived in time to see a champagne bottle +descend upon the head of his son. Dennison went +down.</p> +<p>Cleigh, boiling with impotent fury, had gone to +bed, not to sleep but to plan; some way round the +rogue, to trip him and regain the treasures that +meant so much to him. Like father, like son. +When he saw what was going on in the passage he +saw also that here was something that linked up +with his mood. Of course it was to defend the +son; but without the bitter rage and the need of +physical expression he would have gone for the +hidden revolver and settled the affair with that. +Instead he flew at the men with the savageness of +a gray wolf. He was a tower of a man, for all his +sixty years; and he had mauled three of the crew +severely before Cunningham arrived.</p> +<p>Why had the mutinous six offered battle? Why +hadn’t they retreated with good sense at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +start? Originally all they had wanted was the +wine. Why stop to fight when the wine was +theirs? In the morning none of them could answer +these questions. Was there ever a rough-and-tumble +that anybody could explain lucidly the +morning after? Perhaps it was the false pride of +youth; the bitter distaste at the thought of six +turning tail for one.</p> +<p>Cunningham fired a shot at the ceiling, and a +dozen of the crew came piling in from the forward +end of the passage. The fighting stopped magically.</p> +<p>“You fools!” cried Cunningham in a high, +cracked voice. “To put our heads into hemp at +the last moment. If anything happens to young +Cleigh, back to Manila you go with the yacht! +Clear out! At the last moment!” It was like a +sob.</p> +<p>Jane, still entranced, saw Cleigh stoop and put +his arms under the body of his son, heave, and +stand up under the dead weight. He staggered +past her toward the main salon. She heard him +mutter.</p> +<p>“God help me if I’m too late—if I’ve waited +too long! Denny?”</p> +<p>That galvanized her into action, and she flew +to the light buttons, flooding both the dining and +the main salons. She helped Cleigh to place +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +Dennison on the lounge. After that it was her +affair. Dennison was alive, but how much alive +could be told only by the hours. She bathed and +bandaged his head. Beyond that she could do +nothing but watch and wait.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t mind—a little of that—water,” +said Cunningham, weakly.</p> +<p>Cleigh, with menacing fists, wheeled upon him; +but he did not strike the man who was basically +the cause of Denny’s injuries. At the same time +Jane, looking up across Dennison’s body, uttered a +gasp of horror. The entire left side of Cunningham +was drenched in blood, and the arm dangled.</p> +<p>“Flint had a knife—and—was quite handy with +it.”</p> +<p>“For me!” she cried. “For defending me! +Mr. Cleigh, Flint caught me on deck—and Mr. +Cunningham—oh, this is horrible!”</p> +<p>“You were right, Cleigh. The best-laid plans of +mice and men! What an ass I am! I honestly +thought I could play a game like this without +hurt to anybody. It was to be a whale of a joke. +Flint——”</p> +<p>Cunningham reached blindly for the nearest +chair and collapsed in it.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>An hour later. The four of them were still +in the main salon. Jane sat at the head of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +lounge, and from time to time she took Dennison’s +pulse and temperature. She had finally deduced +that there had been no serious concussion. Cleigh +sat at the foot of the lounge, his head on his hands. +Cunningham occupied the chair into which he had +collapsed. Three ugly flesh wounds, but nothing +a little time would not heal. True, he had had a +narrow squeak. He sat with his eyes closed.</p> +<p>“Why?” asked Jane suddenly, breaking the +silence.</p> +<p>“What?” said Cleigh, looking up.</p> +<p>“Why these seven years—if you cared? I heard +you say something about being too late. Why?”</p> +<p>“I’m a queer old fool. An idea, when it enters +my head, sticks. I can’t shift my plans easily; I +have to go through. What you have witnessed +these several days gives you the impression that I +have no heart. That isn’t true. But we Cleighs +are pigheaded. Until he was sent to Russia he +was never from under the shadow of my hand. +My agents kept me informed of all his moves, +his adventures. The mistake was originally mine. +I put him in charge of an old scholar who taught +him art, music, languages, but little or nothing +about human beings. I gave him a liberal allowance; +but he was a queer lad, and Broadway never +heard of him. Now I hold that youth must +have its fling in some manner or other; after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +thirty there is no cure for folly. So when he ran +away I let him go; but he never got so far away +that I did not know what he was doing. I liked +the way he rejected the cash I gave him; the way +he scorned to trade upon the name. He went +clean. Why? I don’t know. Oh, yes, he got hilariously +drunk once in a while, but he had his +fling in clean places. I had agents watching him.”</p> +<p>“Why did he run away?” asked Jane.</p> +<p>“No man can tell another man; a man has to +find it out for himself—the difference between a +good woman and a bad one.”</p> +<p>“I play that statement to win,” interposed +Cunningham without opening his eyes.</p> +<p>“There was a woman?” said Jane.</p> +<p>“A bad one. Pretty and clever as sin. My +fault. I should have sent him to college where +he’d have got at least a glimmer of life. But I +kept him under the tutor until the thing happened. +He thought he was in love, when it was only his +first woman. She wanted his money—or, more +properly speaking, mine. I had her investigated +and found that she was bad all through. When +I told him boldly what she was he called me a liar. +I struck him across the mouth, and he promptly +knocked me down.”</p> +<p>“Pretty good punch for a youngster,” was +Cunningham’s comment. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></p> +<p>“It was,” replied Cleigh, grimly. “He went +directly to his room, packed, and cleared out. In +that he acted wisely, for at that moment I would +have cast him out had he come with an apology. +But the following day I could not find him; nor did +I get track of him until weeks later. He had +married the woman and then found her out. +That’s all cleared off the slate, though. She’s been +married and divorced three times since then.”</p> +<p>“Did you expect to see him over here?”</p> +<p>“In Shanghai? No. The sight of him rather +knocked me about. You understand? It was +his place to make the first sign. He was in the +wrong, and he has known it all these seven +years.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Jane, “it was your place to make the +first advance. If you had been a comrade to him +in his boyhood he would never have been in the +wrong.”</p> +<p>“But I gave him everything!”</p> +<p>“Everything but love. Did you ever tell him +a fairy story?”</p> +<p>“A fairy story!” Cleigh’s face was the essence +of bewilderment.</p> +<p>“You put him in the care of a lovable old +dreamer, and then expected him to accept life as +you knew it.”</p> +<p>Cleigh rumpled his cowlicks. A fairy story? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +But that was nonsense! Fairy stories had long +since gone out of fashion.</p> +<p>“When I saw you two together an idea popped +into my head. But do you care for the boy?”</p> +<p>“I care everything for him—or I shouldn’t be +here!”</p> +<p>Cunningham relaxed a little more in his chair, +his eyes still closed.</p> +<p>“What do you mean by that?” demanded Cleigh.</p> +<p>“I let you abduct me. I thought, maybe, if I +were near you for a little I might bring you two +together.”</p> +<p>“Well, now!” said Cleigh, falling into the old +New England vernacular which was his birthright. +“I brought you on board merely to lure him after +you. I wanted you both on board so I could observe +you. I intended to carry you both off on a +cruise. I watched you from the door that night +while you two were dining. I saw by his face and +his gestures that he would follow you anywhere.”</p> +<p>“But I—I am only a professional nurse. I’m +nobody! I haven’t anything!”</p> +<p>“Good Lord, will you listen to that?” cried the +pirate, with a touch of his old banter. “Nobody +and nothing?”</p> +<p>Neither Jane nor Cleigh apparently heard this +interpolation.</p> +<p>“Why did you maltreat him?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span></p> +<p>“Otherwise he would have thought I was offering +my hand, that I had weakened.”</p> +<p>“And you expected him to fall on your shoulder +and ask your pardon after that? Mr. Cleigh, for +a man of your intellectual attainments, your stand +is the biggest piece of stupidity I ever heard of! +How in the world was he to know what your +thoughts were?”</p> +<p>“I was giving him his chance,” declared Cleigh, +stubbornly.</p> +<p>“A yacht? It’s a madhouse,” gibed Cunningham. +“And this is a convention of fools!”</p> +<p>“How do you want me to act?” asked Cleigh, +surrendering absolutely.</p> +<p>“When he comes to, take his hand. You don’t +have to say anything else.”</p> +<p>“All right.”</p> +<p>From Dennison’s lips came a deep, long sigh. +Jane leaned over.</p> +<p>“Denny?” she whispered.</p> +<p>The lids of Dennison’s eyes rolled back heavily.</p> +<p>“Jane—all right?” he asked, quickly.</p> +<p>“Yes. How do you feel?”</p> +<p>He reached out a hand whence her voice came. +She met the hand with hers, and that seemed to be +all he wanted just then.</p> +<p>“You’d better get your bathrobe, Mr. Cleigh,” +she suggested. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span></p> +<p>Cleigh became conscious for the first time of the +condition of his pyjama jacket. It hung upon his +torso in mere ribbons. He became conscious also +of the fact that his body ached variously and +substantially.</p> +<p>“Thirty-odd years since I was in a racket like +this. I’m getting along.”</p> +<p>“And on the way,” put in Cunningham, “you +might call Cleve. I’d feel better—stretched out.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I had forgotten!” cried Jane, reproaching +herself. Weakened as he was, and sitting in a +chair!</p> +<p>“And don’t forget, Cleigh, that I’m master of +the <i>Wanderer</i> until I leave it. I sympathize +deeply,” Cunningham went on, ironically, “but I +have some active troubles of my own.”</p> +<p>“And God send they abide with you always!” +was Cleigh’s retort.</p> +<p>“They will—if that will give you any comfort. +Do you know what? You will always have me to +thank for this. That will be my comforting +thought. The god in the car!”</p> +<p>Later, when Cleve helped Cunningham into +his bunk, the latter asked about the crew.</p> +<p>“Scared stiff. They realize that it was a close +shave. I’ve put the fools in irons. They’re best +there until we leave. But we can’t do anything +but forget the racket when we board the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +Dutchman. Where’s that man Flint? We can’t find +him anywhere. He’s at the bottom of it. I +knew that sooner or later there’d be the devil to +pay with a woman on board. Probably the fool’s +hiding in the bunkers. I’ll give every rat hole +a look-see. Pretty nearly got you.”</p> +<p>“Flint was out of luck—and so was I! I +thought in pistols, and forgot that there might be a +knife or two. I’ll be on my feet in the morning. +Little weak, that’s all. Nobody and nothing!” +said Cunningham, addressing the remark to the +crossbeam above his head.</p> +<p>“What’s that?” asked Cleve.</p> +<p>“I was thinking out loud. Get back to the +chart house. Old Newton may play us some +trick if he isn’t watched. And don’t bother to +search for Flint. I know where he is.”</p> +<p>Something in Cunningham’s tone coldly touched +Cleve’s spine. He went out, closing the door +quietly; and there was reason for the sudden sweat +in his palms.</p> +<p>Chance! A wry smile stirred one corner of +Cunningham’s mouth. He had boasted that he +had left nothing to chance, with this result! +Burning up! Inward and outward fires! Love +beads! Well, what were they if not that? But +that she would trust him when everything about +him should have repelled her! Was there a nugget +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +of forgotten gold in his cosmos, and had she discovered +it? She still trusted him, for he had +sensed it in the quick but tender touch of her +hands upon his throbbing wounds.</p> +<p>To learn, after all these years, that he had been +a coward! To have run away from misfortune +instead of facing it and beating it down!</p> +<p>Pearls! All he had left! And when he found +them, what then? Turn them into money he no +longer cared to spend? Or was this an interlude—a +mocking interlude, and would to-morrow see +his conscience relegated to the dustbin out of +which it had so oddly emerged?</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>When Dennison opened his eyes again Jane was +still holding his hand. Upon beholding his father +Dennison held out his free hand.</p> +<p>“Will you take it, Father? I’m sorry.”</p> +<p>“Of course I’ll take it, Denny. I was an old +fool.”</p> +<p>“And I was a young one.”</p> +<p>“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Cleigh asked, +eagerly.</p> +<p>“If it won’t be too much trouble.”</p> +<p>“No trouble at all.”</p> +<p>A hand pressure, a few inconsequent phrases, +that is always enough for two strong characters in +the hour of reconciliation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span></p> +<p>Cleigh out of the way, Jane tried to disengage +her hand, but Dennison only tightened his grip.</p> +<p>“No”—a pause—“it’s different now. The old +boy will find some kind of a job for me. Will you +marry me, Jane? I did not speak before, because +I hadn’t anything to offer.”</p> +<p>“No?”</p> +<p>“I couldn’t offer marriage until I had a job.”</p> +<p>“But supposing your father doesn’t give you +one?”</p> +<p>“Why——”</p> +<p>“You poor boy! I’m only fishing.”</p> +<p>“For what?”</p> +<p>“Well, why do you want to marry me?”</p> +<p>“Hang it, because I love you!”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? +How was I to know unless you told me? But oh, +Denny, I want to go home!” She laid her cheek +against his hand. “I want a garden with a picket +fence round it and all the simple flowers. I never +want another adventure in all my days!”</p> +<p>“Same here!”</p> +<p>A stretch of silence.</p> +<p>“What happened to me?”</p> +<p>“Someone hit you with a wine bottle.”</p> +<p>“A vintage—and I never got a swallow!”</p> +<p>“And then your father went to your defense.”</p> +<p>“The old boy? Honestly?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span></p> +<p>“He stood astride your body until Mr. Cunningham +came in and stopped the męlée.”</p> +<p>“Cunningham! They quit?”</p> +<p>“Yes—Flint. I didn’t dream it wouldn’t be +safe to go on deck, and Flint caught me. He was +drunk. But for Cunningham, I don’t know what +would have happened. I ran and left them +fighting, and Flint wounded Cunningham with a +knife. It was for me, Denny. I feel so sorry for +him! So alone, hating himself and hating the +world, tortured with misunderstanding—good in +him that he keeps smothering and trampling down. +His unbroken word—to hang to that!”</p> +<p>“All right. So far as I’m concerned, that cleans +the slate.”</p> +<p>“I loved you, Denny, but I didn’t know how +much until I saw you on the floor. Do you know +what I was going to demand of your father as a +reparation for bringing me on board? His hand +in yours. That was all I wanted.”</p> +<p>“Always thinking of someone else!”</p> +<p>“That’s all the happiness I’ve ever had, Denny—until +now!”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +</div> + +<p>A good deal of orderly commotion took +place the following morning. Cunningham’s +crew, under the temporary leadership +of Cleve, proceeded to make everything shipshape. +There was no exuberance; they went at +the business quietly and grimly. They sensed a +shadow overhead. The revolt of the six discovered +to the others what a rickety bridge they +were crossing, how easily and swiftly a jest may +become a tragedy.</p> +<p>They had accepted the game as a kind of huge +joke. Everything had been prepared against +failure; it was all cut and dried; all they had to do +was to believe themselves. For days they had +gone about their various duties thinking only of the +gay time that would fall to their lot when they left +the <i>Wanderer</i>. The possibility that Cleigh would +not proceed in the manner advanced by Cunningham’s +psychology never bothered them until now. +Supposing the old man’s desire for vengeance was +stronger than his love for his art objects? He was +a fighter; he had proved it last night. Supposing he +put up a fight and called in the British to help him? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span></p> +<p>Not one of them but knew what the penalty +would be if pursued and caught. But Cunningham +had persuaded them up to this hour that they +would not even be pursued; that it would not be +humanly possible for Cleigh to surrender the hope +of eventually recovering his unlawful possessions. +And now they began to wonder, to fret secretly, to +reconsider the ancient saying that the way of the +transgressor is hard.</p> +<p>On land they could have separated and hidden +successfully. Here at sea the wireless was an +inescapable net. Their only hope was to carry +on. Cunningham might pull them through. For, +having his own hide to consider, he would bring to +bear upon the adventure all his formidable ingenuity.</p> +<p>At eleven the commotion subsided magically +and the men vanished below, but at four-thirty +they swarmed the port bow, silently if interestedly. +If they talked at all it was in a whispering undertone.</p> +<p>The mutinous revellers formed a group of their +own. They appeared to have been roughly +handled by the Cleighs. The attitude was humble, +the expression worriedly sorrowful. Why hadn’t +they beat a retreat? The psychology of their madness +escaped them utterly. There was one grain +of luck—they hadn’t killed young Cleigh. What +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +fool had swung that bottle? Not one of them +could recall.</p> +<p>The engines of the <i>Wanderer</i> stopped, and she +rolled lazily in the billowing brass, waiting.</p> +<p>Out of the blinding topaz of the sou’west nosed +a black object, illusory. It appeared to ride +neither wind nor water.</p> +<p>From the bridge Cleigh eyed this object dourly, +and with a swollen heart he glanced from time +to time at the crates and casings stacked below. +He knew that he would never set eyes upon any +of these treasures again. When they were lowered +over the side that would be the end of them. Cunningham +might be telling the truth as to his +intentions; but he was promising something that +was not conceivably possible, any more than it was +possible to play at piracy and not get hurt.</p> +<p>At Cleigh’s side stood the son, his head swathed +in bandages. All day long he had been subjected +to splitting headaches, and his face looked tired +and drawn. He had stayed in bed until he had +heard “Ship ahoy!”</p> +<p>“Are you going to start something?” he asked.</p> +<p>Cleigh did not answer, but peered through the +glass again.</p> +<p>“I don’t see how you’re going to land him without +the British. On the other hand, you can’t +tell. Cunningham might bring the stuff back.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span></p> +<p>Cleigh laughed, but still held the glass to his eye.</p> +<p>“When and where are you going to get married?”</p> +<p>“Manila. Jane wants to go home, and I want +a job.”</p> +<p>Cleigh touched his split lips and his bruised +cheekbone, for he had had to pay for his gallantry; +and there was a spot in his small ribs that +racked him whenever he breathed deeply.</p> +<p>“What the devil do you want of a job?”</p> +<p>“You’re not thinking that I’m going back on an +allowance? I’ve had independence for seven +years, and I’m going to keep it, Father.”</p> +<p>“I’ve money enough”—brusquely.</p> +<p>“That isn’t it. I want to begin somewhere and +build something for myself. You know as well +as I do that if I went home on an allowance you’d +begin right off to dominate me as you used to, and +no man is going to do that again.”</p> +<p>“What can you do?”</p> +<p>“That’s the point—I don’t know. I’ve got to +find out.”</p> +<p>Cleigh lowered the glass.</p> +<p>“Let’s see; didn’t you work on a sugar plantation +somewhere?”</p> +<p>“Yes. How’d you find that out?”</p> +<p>“Never mind about that. I can give you a +job, and it won’t be soft, either. I’ve a sugar +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +plantation in Hawaii that isn’t paying the dividends +it ought to. I’ll turn the management over +to you. You make good the second year, or back +you come to me, domination and all.”</p> +<p>“I agree to that—if the plantation can be +developed.”</p> +<p>“The stuff is there; all it needs is some pep.”</p> +<p>“All right, I’ll take the job.”</p> +<p>“You and your wife shall spend the fall and +winter with me. In February you can start to +work.”</p> +<p>“Are you out for Cunningham’s hide?”</p> +<p>“What would you do in my place?”</p> +<p>“Sit tight and wait.”</p> +<p>Cleigh laughed sardonically.</p> +<p>“Because,” went on Dennison, “he’s played the +game too shrewdly not to have other cards up his +sleeve. He may find his pearls and return the +loot.”</p> +<p>“Do you believe that? Don’t talk like a fool! +I tell you, his pearls are in those casings there! +But, son, I’m glad to have you back. And you’ve +found a proper mate.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t she glorious?”</p> +<p>“Better than that. She’s the kind that’ll always +be fussing over you, and that’s the kind a +man needs. But mind your eye! Don’t take it +for granted! Make her want to fuss over you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span></p> +<p>When the oncoming tramp reached a point four +hundred yards to the southwest of the yacht she +slued round broadside. For a moment or two the +reversed propeller—to keep the old tub from drifting—threw +up a fountain; and before the sudsy +eddies had subsided the longboat began a jerky +descent. No time was going to be wasted evidently.</p> +<p>The <i>Haarlem</i>—or whatever name was written +on her ticket—was a picture. Even her shadows +tried to desert her as she lifted and wallowed in the +long, burnished rollers. There was something astonishingly +impudent about her. She reminded +Dennison of an old gin-sodden female derelict of +the streets. There were red patches all over her, +from stem to stern, where the last coat of waterproof +black had blistered off. The brass of her +ports were green. Her name should have been +Neglect. She was probably full of smells; and +Dennison was ready to wager that in a moderate +sea her rivets and bedplates whined, and that the +pump never rested.</p> +<p>But it occurred to him that there must be some +basis of fact in Cunningham’s pearl atoll, and +yonder owner was game enough to take a sporting +chance; that, or he had been handsomely paid for +his charter.</p> +<p>An atoll in the Sulu Archipelago that had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +overlooked—that was really the incredible part of +it. Dennison had first-hand knowledge that there +wasn’t a rock in the whole archipelago that had +not been looked over and under by the pearl +hunters.</p> +<p>He saw the tramp’s longboat come staggering +across the intervening water. Rag-tag and bob-tail +of the Singapore docks, crimp fodder—that +was what Dennison believed he had the right to +expect. And behold! Except that they were +older, the newcomers lined up about average with +the departing—able seamen.</p> +<p>The transshipping of the crews occupied about +an hour. As the longboat’s boat hook caught the +<i>Wanderer’s</i> ladder for the third time the crates and +casings were carried down and carefully deposited +in the stern sheets.</p> +<p>About this time Cunningham appeared. He +paused by the rail for a minute and looked up at +the Cleighs, father and son. He was pale, and his +attitude suggested pain and weakness, but he was +not too weak to send up his bantering smile. +Cleigh, senior, gazed stonily forward, but Dennison +answered the smile by soberly shaking his +head. Dennison could not hear Cunningham’s +laugh, but he saw the expression of it.</p> +<p>Cunningham put his hand on the rail in preparation +for the first step, when Jane appeared with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +bandages, castile soap, the last of her stearate of +zinc, absorbent cotton and a basin of water.</p> +<p>“What’s this—a clinic?” he asked.</p> +<p>“You can’t go aboard that awful-looking ship +without letting me give you a fresh dressing,” she +declared.</p> +<p>“Lord love you, angel of mercy, I’m all right!”</p> +<p>“It was for me. Even now you are in pain. +Please!”</p> +<p>“Pain?” he repeated.</p> +<p>For one more touch of her tender hands! To +carry the thought of that through the long, hot +night! Perhaps it was his ever-bubbling sense of +malice that decided him—to let her minister to +him, with the Cleighs on the bridge to watch and +boil with indignation. He nodded, and she followed +him to the hatch, where he sat down.</p> +<p>Dennison saw his father’s hands strain on the +bridge rail, the presage of a gathering storm. He +intervened by a rough seizure of Cleigh’s arm.</p> +<p>“Listen to me, Father! Not a word of reproach +out of you when she comes up—God bless her! +Anything in pain! It’s her way, and I’ll not have +her reproached. God alone knows what the beggar +saved her from last night! If you utter a word +I’ll cash that twenty thousand—it’s mine now—and +you’ll never see either of us after Manila!”</p> +<p>Cleigh gently disengaged his arm. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span></p> +<p>“Sonny, you’ve got a man’s voice under your +shirt these days. All right. Run down and give +the new crew the once-over, and see if they have a +wireless man among them.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>Sunset—a scarlet horizon and an old-rose sea. +For a little while longer the trio on the bridge could +discern a diminishing black speck off to the southeast. +The <i>Wanderer</i> was boring along a point +north of east, Manila way. The speck soon lost +its blackness and became violet, and then magically +the streaked horizon rose up behind the +speck and obliterated it.</p> +<p>“The poor benighted thing!” said Jane. “God +didn’t mean that he should be this kind of a man.”</p> +<p>“Does any of us know what God wants of us?” +asked Cleigh, bitterly.</p> +<p>“He wants men like you who pretend to the +world that they’re granite-hearted when they’re +not. Ever since we started, Denny, I’ve been trying +to recall where I’d seen your father before; and +it came a little while ago. I saw him only once—a +broken child he’d brought to the hospital to be +mended. I happened to be passing through the +children’s ward for some reason. He called himself +Jones or Brown or Smith—I forget. But they +told me afterward that he brought on an average +of four children a month, and paid all expenses +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +until they were ready to go forth, if not cured at +least greatly bettered. He told the chief that if +anybody ever followed him he would never come +back. Your father’s a hypocrite, Denny.”</p> +<p>“So that’s where I saw you?” said Cleigh, +ruminatively. He expanded a little. He wanted +the respect and admiration of this young woman—his +son’s wife-to-be. “Don’t weave any golden +halo for me,” he added, dryly. “After Denny +packed up and hiked it came back rather hard that +I hadn’t paid much attention to his childhood. It +was a kind of penance.”</p> +<p>“But you liked it!”</p> +<p>“Maybe I only got used to it. Say, Denny, +was there a wireless man in the crew?”</p> +<p>“No. I knew there wouldn’t be. But I can +handle the key.”</p> +<p>“Fine! Come along then.”</p> +<p>“What are you going to do?”</p> +<p>“Do? Why, I’m going to have the Asiatic +fleets on his heels inside of twenty-four hours! +That’s what I’m going to do! He’s an unprincipled +rogue!”</p> +<p>“No,” interposed Jane, “only a poor broken +thing.”</p> +<p>“That’s no fault of mine. But no man can +play this sort of game with me, and show a clean +pair of heels. The rug and the paintings are gone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +for good. I swore to him that I would have +his hide, and have it I will! I never break my +word.”</p> +<p>“Denny,” said Jane, “for my sake you will not +touch the wireless.”</p> +<p>“I’m giving the orders!” roared Cleigh.</p> +<p>“Wait a moment!” said Jane. “You spoke of +your word. That first night you promised me any +reparation I should demand.”</p> +<p>“I made that promise. Well?”</p> +<p>“Give him his eight months.”</p> +<p>She gestured toward the sea, toward the spot +where they had last seen the <i>Haarlem</i>.</p> +<p>“You demand that?”</p> +<p>“No, I only ask it. I understand the workings +of that twisted soul, and you don’t. Let him have +his queer dream—his boyhood adventure. Are +you any better than he? Were those treasures +honourably yours? Fie! No, I won’t demand +that you let him go; I’ll only ask it. Because +you will not deny to me what you gave to those +little children—generosity.”</p> +<p>Cleigh did not speak.</p> +<p>“I want to love you,” she continued, “but I +couldn’t if there was no mercy in your sense of +justice. Be merciful to that unhappy outcast, +who probably never had any childhood, or if he +had, a miserable one. Children are heartless; they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +don’t know any better. They pointed the finger +of ridicule and contempt at him—his playmates. +Imagine starting life like that! And he told me +that the first woman he loved—laughed in his +face! I feel—I don’t know why—that he was always +without care, from his childhood up. He +looked so forlorn! Eight months! We need +never tell him. I’d rather he shouldn’t know that +I tried to intercede for him. But for him we +three would not be here together, with understanding. +I only ask it.”</p> +<p>Cleigh turned and went down the ladder. +Twenty times he circled the deck; then he paused +under the bridge and sent up a hail.</p> +<p>“Dinner is ready!”</p> +<p>The moment Jane reached the deck Cleigh put +an arm round her.</p> +<p>“No other human being could have done it. +It is a cup of gall and wormwood, but I’ll take it. +Why? Because I am old and lonely and want a +little love. I have no faith in Cunningham’s +word, but he shall go free.”</p> +<p>“How long since you kissed any one?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“Many years.” And he stooped to her cheek. +To press back the old brooding thought he said +with cheerful brusqueness: “Suppose we celebrate? +I’ll have Togo ice a bottle of that vintage +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +those infernal ruffians broke over your head last +night.”</p> +<p>Dennison laughed.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>October.</p> +<p>The Cleigh library was long and wide. There +was a fine old blue Ispahan on the floor. The +chairs were neither historical nor uncomfortable. +One came in here to read. The library was on the +second floor. When you reached this room you +left the affairs of state and world behind.</p> +<p>A wood fire crackled and shifted in the fireplace, +the marble hood of which had been taken from a +famous Italian palace. The irons stood ready as +of yore for the cups of mulled wine. Before this +fire sat a little old woman knitting. Her feet were +on a hassock. From time to time her bird-like +glance swept the thinker in the adjacent chair. +She wondered what he could see in the fire there +to hold his gaze so steadily. The little old lady +had something of the attitude of a bird that had +been given its liberty suddenly, and having always +lived in a cage knew not what to make of all these +vast spaces.</p> +<p>She was Jane’s mother, and sitting in the chair +beside her was Anthony Cleigh.</p> +<p>“There are said to be only five portable authentic +paintings by Leonardo da Vinci,” said Cleigh, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +“and I had one of them, Mother. Illegally, perhaps, +but still I had it. It is a copy that hangs in +the European gallery. There’s a point. Gallery +officials announce a theft only when some expert +had discovered the substitution. There are a +number of so-called Da Vincis, but those are the +works of Boltraffio, Da Vinci’s pupil. I’ll always +be wondering, even in my grave, where that crook, +Eisenfeldt, had disposed of it.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Norman went on with her knitting. What +she heard was as instructive and illuminating to +her as Chinese would have been.</p> +<p>From the far end of the room came piano music; +gentle, dreamy, broken occasionally by some fine, +thrilling chord. Dennison played well, but he had +the habit of all amateurs of idling, of starting something, +and running away into improvisations. +Seated beside him on the bench was Jane, her head +inclined against his shoulder. Perhaps that was +a good reason why he began a composition and did +not carry it through to its conclusion.</p> +<p>“That was a trick of his mother’s,” said Cleigh, +still addressing the fire. “All the fine things in +him he got from her. I gave him his shoulders, +but I guess that’s about all.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Norman did not turn her head. She had +already learned that she wasn’t expected to reply +unless Cleigh looked at her directly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></p> +<p>“There’s a high wind outside. More rain, +probably. But that’s October in these parts. +You’ll like it in Hawaii. Never any of this brand +of weather. I may be able to put the yacht into +commission.”</p> +<p>“The sea!” she said in a little frightened whisper.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Doorbells!” said Dennison with gentle mockery. +“Jane, you’re always starting up when you +hear one. Still hanging on? It isn’t Cunningham’s +willingness to fulfill his promise; it’s his +ability I doubt. A thousand and one things may +upset his plans.”</p> +<p>“I know. But, win or lose, he was to let me +know.”</p> +<p>“The poor devil! I never dared say so to +Father, but when I learned that Cunningham +meant no harm to you I began to boost for him. I +like to see a man win against huge odds, and that’s +what he has been up against.”</p> +<p>“Denny, I’ve never asked before; I’ve been a +little afraid to, but did you see Flint when the +crew left?”</p> +<p>“I honestly didn’t notice; I was so interested +in the disreputable old hooker that was to take +them off.”</p> +<p>She sighed. Fragments of that night were always +recurring in her dreams. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span></p> +<p>The door opened and the ancient butler entered. +His glance roved until it caught the little tuft of +iron-gray hair that protruded above the rim of the +chair by the fire. Noiselessly he crossed the room.</p> +<p>“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, “but a van arrived +a few minutes ago with a number of packing cases. +The men said they were for you, sir. The cases are +in the lower hall. Any orders, sir?”</p> +<p>Cleigh rose.</p> +<p>“Cases? Benson, did you say—cases?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. I fancy some paintings you’ve +ordered, sir.”</p> +<p>Cleigh stood perfectly still. The butler eyed +him with mild perturbation. Rarely he saw bewilderment +on his master’s countenance.</p> +<p>“Cases?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. Fourteen or fifteen of them, sir.”</p> +<p>Cleigh felt oddly numb. For days now he had +denied to himself the reason for his agitation whenever +the telephone or doorbell rang. Hope! It +had not served to crush it down, to buffet it aside +by ironical commentaries on the weakness of human +nature; the thing was uncrushable, insistent. +Packing cases!</p> +<p>“Denny! Jane!” he cried, and bolted for the +door.</p> +<p>The call needed no interpretation. The two +understood, and followed him downstairs +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +precipitately, with the startled Benson the tail to the +kite.</p> +<p>“No, no!” shouted Cleigh. “The big one +first!” as Dennison laid one of the smaller cases +on the floor. “Benson, where the devil is the claw +hammer?”</p> +<p>The butler foraged in the coat closet and +presently emerged with a prier. Cleigh literally +snatched it from the astonished butler’s grasp, +pried and tore off a board. He dug away at the +excelsior until he felt the cool glass under his +fingers. He peered through this glass.</p> +<p>“Denny, it’s the rug!”</p> +<p>Cleigh’s voice cracked and broke into a queer +treble note.</p> +<p>Jane shook her head. Here was an incurable +passion, based upon the specious argument that +galleries and museums had neither consciences nor +stomachs. You could not hurt a wall by robbing +it of a painting—a passion that would abide with +him until death. Not one of these treasures in +the casings was honourably his, but they were more +to him than all his legitimate possessions. To ask +him to return the objects to the galleries and +museums to which they belonged would be asking +Cleigh to tear out his heart. Though the passion +was incomprehensible, Jane readily observed its +effects. She had sensed the misery, the anxiety, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +the stinging curiosity of all these months. Not to +know exactly what had become of the rug and the +paintings! Not to know if he would ever see them +again! There was only one comparison she could +bring to bear as an illustration: Cleigh was like +a man whose mistress had forsaken him without +explanations.</p> +<p>She was at once happy and sad: happy that her +faith in Cunningham had not been built upon sand, +sad that she could not rouse Cleigh’s conscience. +Secretly a charitable man, honest in his financial +dealings, he could keep—in hiding, mind you!—that +which did not belong to him. It was beyond +her understanding.</p> +<p>An idea, which had been nebulous until this +moment, sprang into being.</p> +<p>“Father,” she said, “you will do me a favour?”</p> +<p>“What do you want—a million? Run and get +my check book!” he cried, gayly.</p> +<p>“The other day you spoke of making a new will.”</p> +<p>Cleigh stared at her.</p> +<p>“Will you leave these objects to the legal +owners?”</p> +<p>Cleigh got up, brushing his knees.</p> +<p>“After I am dead? I never thought of that. +After I’m dead,” he repeated. “Child, a conscience +like yours is top-heavy. Still, I’ll mull it +over. I can’t take ’em to the grave with me, that’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +a fact. But my ghost is bound to get leg-weary +doing the rounds to view them again. What do +you say, Denny?”</p> +<p>“If you don’t, I will!”</p> +<p>Cleigh chuckled.</p> +<p>“That makes it unanimous. I’ll put it in the +codicil. But while I live! Benson, what did +these men look like? One of them limp?”</p> +<p>“No, sir. Ordinary trucking men, I should +say, sir.”</p> +<p>“The infernal scoundrel! No message?”</p> +<p>“No, sir. The man who rang the bell said he +had some cases for you, and asked where he should +put them. I thought the hall the best place, sir, +temporarily.”</p> +<p>“The infernal scoundrel!”</p> +<p>“What the dickens is the matter with you, +Father!” demanded Dennison. “You’ve got back +the loot.”</p> +<p>“But how? The story, Denny! The rogue +leaves me ’twixt wind and water as to how he got +out of this hole.”</p> +<p>“Maybe he was afraid you still wanted his +hide,” suggested Jane, now immeasurably happy.</p> +<p>“He did it!” said Cleigh, his sense of amazement +awakening. “One chance in a thousand, +and he caught that chance! But never to know +how he did it!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span></p> +<p>“Aren’t you glad now,” said Jane, “that you +let him go?”</p> +<p>Cleigh chuckled.</p> +<p>“There!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. +“Just as he said! He prophesied that some day +you would chuckle over it. He found his pearls. +He knew he would find them! The bell!” she +broke off, startled.</p> +<p>Never had Benson, the butler, witnessed such +an exhibition of undignified haste. Cleigh, Jane, +and Dennison, all three of them started for the +door at once, jostling. What they found was only +a bedraggled messenger boy, for it was now raining.</p> +<p>“Mr. Cleigh,” said the boy, grumpily, as he +presented a letter and a small box. “No answer.”</p> +<p>“Where is the man who sent you?” asked Jane, +tremendously excited.</p> +<p>“De office pushed me on dis job, miss. Dey +said maybe I’d git a good tip if I hustled.”</p> +<p>Dennison thrust a bill into the boy’s hand and +shunted him forth into the night again.</p> +<p>The letter was marked Number One and addressed +to Cleigh; the box was marked Number +Two and addressed to Jane.</p> +<p>Mad, thought Benson, as he began to gather up +the loose excelsior; quite mad, the three of them.</p> +<p>With Jane at one shoulder and Dennison at the +other, Cleigh opened his letter. The first +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +extraction was a chart. An atoll; here were +groups of cocoanut palm, there of plantain; a rudely +drawn hut. In the lagoon at a point east of +north was a red star, and written alongside was +a single word. But to the three it was an Odyssey—“Shell.” +In the lower left-hand corner of the +chart were the exact degrees and minutes of longitude +and latitude. With this chart a landlubber +could have gone straight to the atoll.</p> +<p>Next came the letter, which Cleigh did not read +aloud—it was not necessary. With what variant +emotions the three pairs of eyes leaped from word +to word!</p> +<div class='blockquot'> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Friend Buccaneer</span>: Of course I found the shell. That was +the one issue which offered no odds. The shell lay in its bed +peculiarly under a running ledge. The ordinary pearler +would have discovered it only by the greatest good luck. +Atherton—my friend—discovered it, because he was a sea +naturalist, and was hunting for something altogether different. +Atherton was wealthy, and a coral reef was more to him than a +pearl. But he knew me and what such a game would mean. +He was in ill health and had to leave the South Pacific and +fare north. This atoll was his. It is now mine, pearls and +all, legally mine. For a trifling sum I could have chartered a +schooner and sought the atoll.</p> +<p>But all my life I’ve hunted odds—big, tremendous odds—to +crush down and swarm over. The only interest I had in life. +And so I planted the crew and stole the <i>Wanderer</i> because it +presented whopping odds. I selected a young and dare-devil +crew to keep me on edge. From one day to another I was always +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +wondering when they would break over. I refused to +throw overboard the wines and liquors to make a good measure.</p> +<p>And there was you. Would you sit tight under such an +outrage, or would your want of revenge ride you? Would you +send the British piling on top of me, or would you make it a +private war? Suspense! Dick Cunningham would not be +hard to trace. Old Slue Foot. The biggest odds I’d ever +encountered. Nominally, I had about one chance in a +thousand of pulling through.</p> +<p>The presence of Mrs. Cleigh—of course she’s Mrs. Cleigh by +this time!—added to the zest. To bring her through with +nothing more than a scare! Odds, odds! Cleigh, on my +word, the pearls would have been of no value without the +game I built to go with them. Over the danger route! Mad? +Of course I’m mad!</p> +<p>Four-year-old shell, the pearls of the finest orient! The +shell alone—in buttons—would have recouped Eisenfeldt. +He was ugly when he saw that I had escaped him. Threatened +to expose you. But knowing Eisenfeldt for what he is, I had +a little sword of Damocles suspended over his thick neck. +The thought of having lost eight months’ interest will follow +him to Hades.</p> +<p>The crew gave me no more trouble. They’ve been paid +their dividends in the Great Adventure Company, and have +gone seeking others. But I’ll warrant they’ll take only +regular berths in the future.</p> +<p>And now those beads. I’m sorry, but I’m also innocent. I +have learned that Morrissy really double-crossed us all. He +had had a copy made in Venice. The beads you have are +forgeries. So the sixty thousand offered by the French +Government remains uncalled for. Who has the originals I +can’t say. I’m sorry. Morrissy’s game was risky. His idea +was to make a sudden breakaway with the beads—lose them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +in the gutter—and trust to luck that we would just miss killing +him, which was the case.</p> +<p>Leaving to-night. Bought a sloop down there, and I’m +going back there to live. Tired of human beings. Tired of +myself. Still, there’s the chart. Mull it over. Maybe it’s +an invitation. The lagoon is like turquoise and the land like +emerald and the sky a benediction.</p> +</div> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>A spell of silence and immobility. Not a word +about his battle with Flint, thought Jane. A +little shiver ran over her. But what a queer, +whimsical madman! To have planned it all so +that he could experience a thrill! The tragic +beauty of his face and the pitiable, sluing, lurching +stride! She sighed audibly, so did the two men.</p> +<p>“Denny, I don’t know,” said Cleigh.</p> +<p>“I do!” said Dennison, anticipating his father’s +thought. “He’s a man, and some day I’d like to +clasp his hand.”</p> +<p>“Maybe we all shall,” said Cleigh. “But open +the box, Jane, and let’s see.”</p> +<p>Between the layers of cotton wool she found a +single pearl as large as a hazelnut, pink as the +Oriental dawn. One side was slightly depressed, +as though some mischievous, inquisitive mermaid +had touched it in passing.</p> +<p>“Oh, the lovely thing!” she gasped. “The +lovely thing! But, Denny, I can’t accept it!”</p> +<p>“And how are you going to refuse it? Keep it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +It is an emblem of what you are, honey. The +poor devil!”</p> +<p>And he put his arm round her. He understood. +Why not? There are certain attractions which +are irresistible, and Jane was unconscious of her +possessions.</p> +<p>Jane raised the bottom layer of cotton wool. +What impulse led her to do this she could not say, +but she found a slip of paper across which was +written:</p> +<div class='ce'> +<p>“<i>An’ I learned about women from ’er.</i>”</p> +</div> + +<p>All this while, across the street, in the shadow +of an areaway, stood a man in a mackintosh and a +felt hat drawn well down. He had watched the +van disgorge and roll away, the arrival and the +departure of the messenger boy.</p> +<p>He began to intone softly: “‘Many waters +cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown +it: if a man would give all the substance of his +house for love, it would utterly be contemned.’”</p> +<p>With a sluing lurch to his stride he started +off down the street, into the lashing rain. A +great joke; and now there was nothing at all to disturb +his dreams—but the dim white face of Jabez +Flint spinning in the dark of the sea.</p> +<div class='ce'> +<p>THE END</p> +</div> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-emb.png' alt='' title='' /><br /> +</div> + +<div class='ce'> +<p>THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS</p> +<p>GARDEN CITY, N. Y.</p> +</div> + +<!-- generated by ppgen.rb version: 2.55 --> +<!-- timestamp: Wed Nov 26 18:03:10 -0700 2008 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Pagan Madonna, by Harold MacGrath + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PAGAN MADONNA *** + +***** This file should be named 27339-h.htm or 27339-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/3/3/27339/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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