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diff --git a/43749-0.txt b/43749-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..01fc617 --- /dev/null +++ b/43749-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8416 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43749 *** + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 43749-h.htm or 43749-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43749/43749-h/43749-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43749/43749-h.zip) + + + Images of the original pages are available through + the Google Books Library Project. See + http://www.google.com/books?id=KClwkmqxc-MC + + + + + +THE CARPET FROM BAGDAD + + +[Illustration] + + +THE CARPET FROM BAGDAD + +by + +HAROLD MACGRATH + +Author of +A Splendid Hazard +The Man on the Box + +With Illustrations by Andre Castaigne + + + + + + + +Indianapolis +The Bobbs-Merrill Company +Publishers + +Copyright 1911 +The Bobbs-Merrill Company + + + + +TO +ROBERT HICHENS + + + + + _The wild hawk to the windswept sky,_ + _The deer to the wholesome wold,_ + _And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,_ + _As it was in the days of old._ + + --_Rudyard Kipling._ + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + I WHAT'S IN A NAME? 1 + II AN AFFABLE ROGUE 20 + III THE HOLY YHIORDES 37 + IV AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 55 + V THE GIRL WHO WASN'T WANTED 74 + VI MOONLIGHT AND POETRY 96 + VII RYANNE TABLES HIS CARDS 114 + VIII THE PURLOINED CABLE 132 + IX THE BITTER FRUIT 145 + X MAHOMED LAUGHS 160 + XI EPISODIC 179 + XII THE CARAVAN IN THE DESERT 200 + XIII NOT A CHEERFUL OUTLOOK 219 + XIV MAHOMED OFFERS FREEDOM 240 + XV FORTUNE'S RIDDLE SOLVED 259 + XVI MAHOMED RIDES ALONE 279 + XVII MRS. CHEDSOYE HAS HER DOUBTS 301 + XVIII THE MAN WHO DIDN'T CARE 323 + XIX FORTUNE DECIDES 337 + XX MARCH HARES 354 + XXI A BOTTLE OF WINE 367 + XXII THE END OF THE PUZZLE 380 + + + + +CHAPTER I + +WHAT'S IN A NAME? + + +To possess two distinctly alien red corpuscles in one's blood, +metaphorically if not in fact, two characters or individualities under +one epidermis, is, in most cases, a peculiar disadvantage. One hears of +scoundrels and saints striving to consume one another in one body, +angels and harpies; but ofttimes, quite the contrary to being a curse, +these two warring temperaments become a man's ultimate blessing: as in +the case of George P. A. Jones, of Mortimer & Jones, the great +metropolitan Oriental rug and carpet company, all of which has a +dignified, sonorous sound. George was divided within himself. This he +would not have confessed even into the trusted if battered ear of the +Egyptian Sphynx. There was, however, no demon-angel sparring for points +in George's soul. The difficulty might be set forth in this manner: On +one side stood inherent common sense; on the other, a boundless, roseate +imagination which was likewise inherent--a kind of quixote imagination +of suitable modern pattern. This _alter ego_ terrified him whenever it +raised its strangely beautiful head and shouldered aside his +guardian-angel (for that's what common sense is, argue to what end you +will) and pleaded in that luminous rhetoric under the spell of which our +old friend Sancho often fell asleep. + +P. A., as they called him behind the counters, was but twenty-eight, and +if he was vice-president in his late father's shoes he didn't wabble +round in them to any great extent. In a crowd he was not noticeable; he +didn't stand head and shoulders above his fellow-men, nor would he have +been mistaken by near-sighted persons, the myopes, for the Vatican's +Apollo in the flesh. He was of medium height, beardless, slender, but +tough and wiry and enduring. You may see his prototype on the streets a +dozen times the day, and you may also pass him without turning round for +a second view. Young men like P. A. must be intimately known to be +admired; you did not throw your arm across his neck, first-off. His +hair was brown and closely clipped about a head that would have gained +the attention of the phrenologist, if not that of the casual passer-by. +His bumps, in the phraseology of that science, were good ones. For the +rest, he observed the world through a pair of kindly, shy, blue eyes. + +Young girls, myopic through ignorance or silliness, seeing nothing +beyond what the eyes see, seldom gave him a second inspection; for he +did not know how to make himself attractive, and was mortally afraid of +the opposite, or opposing, sex. He could bully-rag a sheik out of his +camels' saddle-bags, but petticoats and lace parasols and small Oxfords +had the same effect upon him that the prodding stick of a small boy has +upon a retiring turtle. But many a worldly-wise woman, drawing out with +tact and kindness the truly beautiful thoughts of this young man's soul, +sadly demanded of fate why a sweet, clean boy like this one had not been +sent to her in her youth. You see, the worldly-wise woman knows that it +is invariably the lay-figure and not Prince Charming that a woman +marries, and that matrimony is blindman's-buff for grown-ups. + +Many of us lay the blame upon our parents. We shift the burden of +wondering why we have this fault and lack that grace to the shoulders of +our immediate forebears. We go to the office each morning denying that +we have any responsibility; we let the boss do the worrying. But George +never went prospecting in his soul for any such dross philosophy. He was +grateful for having had so beautiful a mother; proud of having had so +honest a sire; and if either of them had endued him with false weights +he did his best to even up the balance. + +The mother had been as romantic as any heroine out of Mrs. Radcliff's +novels, while the father had owned to as much romance as one generally +finds in a thorough business man, which is practically none at all. The +very name itself is a bulwark against the intrusions of romance. One can +not lift the imagination to the prospect of picturing a Jones in ruffles +and highboots, pinking a varlet in the midriff. It smells of +sugar-barrels and cotton-bales, of steamships and railroads, of stolid +routine in the office and of placid concern over the daily news under +the evening lamp. + +Mrs. Jones, lovely, lettered yet not worldly, had dreamed of her boy, +bayed and decorated, marrying the most distinguished woman in all +Europe, whoever she might be. Mr. Jones had had no dreams at all, and +had put the boy to work in the shipping department a little while after +the college threshold had been crossed, outward bound. The mother, while +sweet and gentle, had a will, iron under velvet, and when she held out +for Percival Algernon and a decent knowledge of modern languages, the +old man agreed if, on the other hand, the boy's first name should be +George and that he should learn the business from the cellar up. There +were several tilts over the matter, but at length a truce was declared. +It was agreed that the boy himself ought to have a word to say upon a +subject which concerned him more vitally than any one else. So, at the +age of fifteen, when he was starting off for preparatory school, he was +advised to choose for himself. He was an obedient son, adoring his +mother and idolizing his father. He wrote himself down as George +Percival Algernon Jones, promised to become a linguist and to learn the +rug business from the cellar up. On the face of it, it looked like a big +job; it all depended upon the boy. + +The first day at school his misery began. He had signed himself as +George P. A. Jones, no small diplomacy for a lad; but the two initials, +standing up like dismantled pines in the midst of uninteresting +landscape, roused the curiosity of his school-mates. Boys are boys the +world over, and possess a finesse in cruelty that only the Indian can +match; and it did not take them long to unearth the fatal secret. For +three years he was Percy Algy, and not only the boys laughed, but the +pretty girls sniggered. Many a time he had returned to his dormitory +decorated (not in accord with the fond hopes of his mother) with a +swollen ear, or a ruddy proboscis, or a green-brown eye. There was a +limit, and when they stepped over that, why, he proceeded to the best of +his ability to solve the difficulty with his fists. George was no +milksop; but Percival Algernon would have been the Old Man of the Sea on +broader shoulders than his. He dimly realized that had he been named +George Henry William Jones his sun would have been many diameters +larger. There was a splendid quality of pluck under his apparent +timidity, and he stuck doggedly to it. He never wrote home and +complained. What was good enough for his mother was good enough for him. + +It seemed just an ordinary matter of routine for him to pick up French +and German verbs. He was far from being brilliant, but he was sensitive +and his memory was sound. Since his mother's ambition was to see him an +accomplished linguist, he applied himself to the task as if everything +in the world depended upon it, just as he knew that when the time came +he would apply himself as thoroughly to the question of rugs and +carpets. + +Under all this filial loyalty ran the pure strain of golden romance, +side by side with the lesser metal of practicality. When he began to +read the masters he preferred their romances to their novels. He even +wrote poetry in secret, and when his mother discovered the fact she +cried over the sentimental verses. The father had to be told. He laughed +and declared that the boy would some day develop into a good writer of +advertisements. This quiet laughter, unburdened as it was with ridicule, +was enough to set George's muse a-winging, and she never came back. + +After leaving college he was given a modest letter of credit and told +to go where he pleased for a whole year. George started out at once in +quest of the Holy Grail, and there are more roads to that than there are +to Rome. One may be reasonably sure of getting into Rome, whereas the +Holy Grail (diversified, variable, innumerable) is always the exact sum +of a bunch of hay hanging before old Dobbin's nose. Nevertheless, George +galloped his fancies with loose rein. He haunted the romantic quarters +of the globe; he hunted romance, burrowed and plowed for it; and never +his spade clanged musically against the hidden treasure, never a forlorn +beauty in distress, not so much as chapter one of the Golden Book +offered its dazzling first page. George lost some confidence. + +Two or three times a woman looked into the young man's mind, and in his +guilelessness they effected sundry holes in his letter of credit, but +left his soul singularly untouched. The red corpuscle, his father's +gift, though it lay dormant, subconsciously erected barriers. He was +innocent, but he was no fool. That one year taught him the lesson, +rather cheaply, too. If there was any romance in life, it came +uninvited, and if courted and sought was as quick on the wing as that +erstwhile poesy muse. + +The year passed, and while he had not wholly given up the quest, the +practical George agreed with the romantic Percival to shelve it +indefinitely. He returned to New York with thirty-pounds sterling out of +the original thousand, a fact that rejuvenated his paternal parent by +some ten years. + +"Jane, that boy is all right. Percival Algernon could not kill a boy +like that." + +"Do you mean to infer that it ever could?" Sometimes a qualm wrinkled +her conscience. Her mother's heart told her that her son ought not to be +shy and bashful, that it was not in the nature of his blood to suspect +ridicule where there was none. Perhaps she had handicapped him with +those names; but it was too late now to admit of this, and useless, +since it would not have remedied the evil. + +Jones hemmed and hawed for a space. "No," he answered; "but I was afraid +he might try to live up to it; and no Percival Algernon who lived up to +it could put his nose down to a Shah Abbas and tell how many knots it +had to the square inch. I'll start him in on the job to-morrow." + +Whereupon the mother sat back dreamily. Now, where was the girl worthy +her boy? Monumental question, besetting every mother, from Eve down, +Eve, whose trials in this direction must have been heartrending! + +George left the cellar in due time, and after that he went up the ladder +in bounds, on his own merit, mind you, for his father never stirred a +hand to boost him. He took the interest in rugs that turns a buyer into +a collector; it became a fascinating pleasure rather than a business. He +became invaluable to the house, and acquired some fame as a judge and an +appraiser. When the chief-buyer retired George was given the position, +with an itinerary that carried him half way round the planet once a +year, to Greece, Turkey, Persia, Arabia, and India, the lands of the +genii and the bottles, of arabesques, of temples and tombs, of +many-colored turbans and flowing robes and distracting tongues. He +walked always in a kind of mental enchantment. + +The suave and elusive Oriental, with his sharp practices, found his +match in this pleasant young man, who knew the history of the very wools +and cottons and silks woven in a rug or carpet. So George prospered, +became known in strange places, by strange peoples; and saw romance, +light of foot and eager of eye, pass and repass; learned that romance +did not essentially mean falling in love or rescuing maidens from +burning houses and wrecks; that, on the contrary, true romance was +kaleidoscopic, having more brilliant facets than a diamond; and that the +man who begins with nothing and ends with something is more wonderful +than any excursion recounted by Sinbad or any tale by Scheherazade. But +he still hoped that the iridescent goddess would some day touch his +shoulder and lead him into that maze of romance so peculiar to his own +fancy. + +And then into this little world of business and pleasure came death and +death again, leaving him alone and with a twisted heart. Riches mattered +little, and the sounding title of vice-president still less. It was with +a distinct shock that he realized the mother and the father had been +with him so long that he had forgotten to make other friends. From one +thing to another he turned in hope to soothe the smart, to heal the +wound; and after a time he drifted, as all shy, intelligent and +imaginative men drift who are friendless, into the silent and intimate +comradeship of inanimate things, such as jewels, ivories, old metals, +rare woods and ancient embroideries, and perhaps more comforting than +all these, good books. + +The proper tale of how the aforesaid iridescent goddess jostled (for it +scarce may be said that she led) him into a romance lacking neither +comedy nor tragedy, now begins with a trifling bit of retrospection. One +of those women who were not good and who looked into the clear pool of +the boy's mind saw the harmless longing there, and made note, hoping to +find profit by her knowledge when the pertinent day arrived. She was a +woman so pleasing, so handsome, so adroit, that many a man, older and +wiser than George, found her mesh too strong for him. Her plan matured, +suddenly and brilliantly, as projects of men and women of her class and +caliber without variation do. + +Late one December afternoon (to be precise, 1909), George sat on the +tea-veranda of the Hotel Semiramis in Cairo. A book lay idly upon his +knees. It was one of those yarns in which something was happening every +other minute. As adventures go, George had never had a real one in all +his twenty-eight years, and he believed that fate had treated him rather +shabbily. He didn't quite appreciate her reserve. No matter how late he +wandered through the mysterious bazaars, either here in Egypt or over +yonder in India, nothing ever befell more exciting than an argument with +a carriage-driver. He never carried small-arms, for he would not have +known how to use them. The only deadly things in his hands were +bass-rods and tennis-racquets. No, nothing ever happened to him; yet he +never met a man in a ship's smoke-room who hadn't run the gamut of +thrilling experiences. As George wasn't a liar himself, he believed all +he saw and most of what he heard. + +Well, here he was, eight-and-twenty, a pocket full of money, a heart +full of life, and as hopeless an outlook, so far as romance and +adventure were concerned, as an old maid in a New England village. Why +couldn't things befall him as they did the chap in this book? He was +sure he could behave as well, if not better; for this fellow was too +handsome, too brave, too strong, not to be something of an ass once in a +while. + +"George, you old fool, what's the use?" he thought. "What's the use of a +desire that never goes in a straight line, but always round and round in +a circle?" + +He thrust aside his grievance and surrendered to the never-ending wonder +of the Egyptian sunset; the Nile feluccas, riding upon perfect +reflections; the date-palms, black and motionless against the +translucent blue of the sky; the amethystine prisms of the Pyramids, and +the deepening gold of the desert's brim. He loved the Orient, always so +new, always so strange, yet ever so old and familiar. + +A carriage stopped in front, and his gaze naturally shifted. There is +ceaseless attraction in speculating about new-comers in a hotel, what +they are, what they do, where they come from, and where they are going. +A fine elderly man of fifty got out. In the square set of his shoulders, +the flowing white mustache and imperial, there was a suggestion of +militarism. He was immediately followed by a young woman of twenty, +certainly not over that age. George sighed wistfully. He envied those +polo-players and gentleman-riders and bridge-experts who were stopping +at the hotel. It wouldn't be an hour after dinner before some one of +them found out who she was and spoke to her in that easy style which he +concluded must be a gift rather than an accomplishment. You mustn't +suppose for a minute that George wasn't well-born and well-bred, simply +because his name was Jones. Many a Fitz-Hugh Maurice or Hugh +Fitz-Maurice might have been---- But, no matter. He knew instinctively, +then, what elegance was when he saw it, and this girl was elegant, in +dress, in movement. He rather liked the pallor of her skin, which hinted +that she wasn't one of those athletic girls who bounced in and out of +the dining-room, talking loudly and smoking cigarettes and playing +bridge for sixpenny points. She was tall. He was sure that her eyes were +on the level with his own. The grey veil that drooped from the rim of +her simple Leghorn hat to the tip of her nose obscured her eyes, so he +could not know that they were large and brown and indefinably sad. They +spoke not of a weariness of travel, but of a weariness of the world, +more precisely, of the people who inhabited it. + +She and her companion passed on into the hotel, and if George's eyes +veered again toward the desert over which the stealthy purples of night +were creeping, the impulse was mechanical; he saw nothing. In truth, he +was desperately lonesome, and he knew, moreover, that he had no business +to be. He was young; he could at a pinch tell a joke as well as the next +man; and if he had never had what he called an adventure, he had seen +many strange and wonderful things and could describe them with that +mental afterglow which still lingers over the sunset of our first +expressions in poetry. But there was always that hydra-headed monster, +for ever getting about his feet, numbing his voice, paralyzing his +hands, and never he lopped off a head that another did not instantly +grow in its place. Even the sword of Perseus could not have saved him, +since one has to get away from an object in order to cut it down. + +Had he really ever tried to overcome this monster? Had he not waited for +the propitious moment (which you and I know never comes) to throw off +this species from Hades? It is all very well, when you are old and dried +up, to turn to ivories and metals and precious stones; but when a +fellow's young! You can't shake hands with an ivory replica of the Taj +Mahal, nor exchange pleasantries with a Mandarin's ring, nor yet confide +joys and ills into a casket of rare emeralds; indeed, they do but +emphasize one's loneliness. If only he had had a dog; but one can not +carry a dog half way round the world and back, at least not with +comfort. What with all these new-fangled quarantine laws, duties, and +fussy ships' officers who wouldn't let you keep the animal in your +state-room, traveling with a four-footed friend was almost an +impossibility. To be sure, women with poodles.... And then, there was +the bitter of acid in the knowledge that no one ever came up to him and +slapped him on the shoulder with a--"_Hel_-lo, Georgie, old sport; +what's the good word?" for the simple fact that his shoulder was always +bristling with spikes, born of the fear that some one was making fun of +him. + +Perchance his mother's spirit, hovering over him this evening, might +have been inclined to tears. For they do say that the ghosts of the dear +ones are thus employed when we are near to committing some folly, or to +exploring some forgotten chamber of Pandora's box, or worse still, when +that lady intends emptying the whole contents down upon our unfortunate +heads. If so be, they were futile tears; Percival Algernon had +accomplished its deadly purpose. + +Pandora? Well, then, for the benefit of the children. She was a lady who +was an intimate friend of the mythological gods. They liked her +appearance so well that they one day gave her a box, casket, chest, or +whatever it was, to guard. By some marvelous method, known only of gods, +they had got together all the trials and tribulations of mankind (and +some of the joys) and locked them up in this casket It was the Golden +Age then, as you may surmise. You recall Eve and the Apple? Well, +Pandora was a forecast of Eve; she couldn't keep her eyes off the latch, +and at length her hands--Fatal curiosity! Whirr! And everything has been +at sixes and at sevens since that time. Pandora is eternally recurring, +now here, now there; she is a blonde sometimes, and again she is a +brunette; and you may take it from George and me that there is always +something left in the casket. + +George closed the book and consulted his sailing-list. In a short time +he would leave for Port Saïd, thence to Naples, Christmas there, and +home in January. Business had been ripping. He would be jolly glad to +get home again, to renew his comradeship with his treasures. And, by +Jove! there _was_ one man who slapped him on the shoulder, and he was no +less a person than the genial president of the firm, his father's +partner, at present his own. If the old chap had had a daughter now.... +And here one comes at last to the bottom of the sack. He had only one +definite longing, a healthy human longing, the only longing worth while +in all this deep, wide, round old top: to love a woman and by her be +loved. + +At exactly half after six the gentleman with the reversible cuffs +arrived; and George missed his boat. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +AN AFFABLE ROGUE + + +The carriage containing the gentleman with the reversible cuffs drew up +at the side entrance. Instantly the Arab guides surged and eddied round +him; but their clamor broke against a composure as effective as granite. +The roar was almost directly succeeded by a low gurgle, as of little +waves receding. The proposed victim had not spoken a word; to the Arabs +it was not necessary; in some manner, subtle and indescribable, they +recognized a brother. He carried a long, cylindrical bundle wrapped in +heavy paper variously secured by windings of thick twine. His regard for +this bundle was one of tender solicitude, for he tucked it under his +arm, cumbersome though it was, and waved aside the carriage-porter, who +was, however, permitted to carry in the kit-bag. + +The manager appeared. When comes he not upon the scene? His quick, +calculating eye was not wholly assured. The stranger's homespun was +travel-worn and time-worn, and of a cut popular to the season gone the +year before. No fat letter of credit here, was the not unreasonable +conclusion reached by the manager. Still, with that caution acquired by +years of experience, which had culminated in what is known as Swiss +diplomacy, he brought into being the accustomed salutatory smile and +inquired if the gentleman had written ahead for reservation, otherwise +it would not be possible to accommodate him. + +"I telegraphed," crisply. + +"The name, if you please?" + +"Ryanne; spelled R-y-a double-n e. Have you ever been in County Clare?" + +"No, sir." The manager added a question with the uplift of his eyebrows. + +"Well," was the enlightening answer, "you pronounce it as they do +there." + +The manager scanned the little slip of paper in his hand. "Ah, yes; we +have reserved a room for you, sir. The French style rather confused me." +This was not offered in irony, or sarcasm, or satire; mining in a Swiss +brain for the saving grace of humor is about as remunerative as the +extraction of gold from sea-water. Nevertheless, the Swiss has the +talent of swiftly substracting from a confusion of ideas one point of +illumination: there was a quality to the stranger's tone that decided +him favorably. It was the voice of a man in the habit of being obeyed; +and in these days it was the power of money alone that obtained +obedience to any man. Beyond this, the same nebulous cogitation that had +subdued the Arabs outside acted likewise upon him. Here was a brother. + +"Mail?" + +"I will see, sir." The manager summoned a porter. "Room 208." + +The porter caught up the somewhat collapsed kit-bag, which had in all +evidence received some rough usage in its time, and reached toward the +roll. Mr. Ryanne interposed. + +"I will see to that, my man," tersely. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Where is your guest-list?" demanded Mr. Ryanne of the manager. + +"The head-porter's bureau, sir. I will see if you have any mail." The +manager passed into his own bureau. It was rather difficult to tell +whether this man was an American or an Englishman. His accent was +western, but his manner was decidedly British. At any rate, that tone +and carriage must be bastioned by good English sovereigns, or for once +his judgment was at fault. + +The porter dashed up-stairs. Mr. Ryanne, his bundle still snug under his +arm, sauntered over to the head-porter's bureau and ran his glance up +and down the columns of visiting-cards. Once he nodded with approval, +and again he smiled, having discovered that which sent a ripple across +his sleeping sense of amusement. Major Callahan, room 206; Fortune +Chedsoye, 205; George P. A. Jones, 210. + +"Hm! the Major smells of County Antrim and the finest whisky in all the +isle. Fortune Chedsoye; that is a pleasing name; tinkling brooks, the +waving green grasses in the meadows, the kine in the water, the fleeting +shadows under the oaks; a pastoral, a bucolic name. To claim Fortune for +mine own; a happy thought." + +As he uttered these poesy expressions aloud, in a voice low and not +unpleasing, for all that it was bantering, the head-porter stared at +him with mingling doubt and alarm; and as if to pronounce these emotions +mutely for the benefit of the other, he permitted his eyes to open their +widest. + +"Tut, tut; that's all right, porter. I am cursed with the habit of +speaking my inmost thoughts. Some persons are afflicted with insomnia; +some fall asleep in church; I think orally. Beastly habit, eh?" + +The porter then understood that he was dealing not with a species of +mild lunacy, but with that kind of light-hearted cynicism upon which the +world (as porters know it) had set its approving seal. In brief, he +smiled faintly; and if he had any pleasantry to pass in turn, the +approach of the manager, now clothed metaphorically in deferentialism, +relegated it to the limbo of things thought but left unsaid. + +"Here is a letter for you, Mr. Ryanne. Have you any more luggage?" + +"No." Mr. Ryanne smiled. "Shall I pay for my room in advance?" + +"Oh, no, sir!" Ten years ago the manager would have blushed at having +been so misunderstood. "Your room is 208." + +"Will you have a boy show me the way?" + +"I shall myself attend to that. If the room is not what you wish it may +be exchanged." + +"The room is the one I telegraphed for. I am superstitious to a degree. +On three boats I have had fine state-rooms numbered 208. Twice the +number of my hotel room has been the same. On the last voyage there were +208 passengers, and the captain had made 208 voyages on the +Mediterranean." + +"Quite a coincident." + +"Ah, if roulette could be played with such a certainty." + +Mr. Ryanne sighed, hitched up his bundle, which, being heavy, was +beginning to wear upon his arm, and signified to the manager to lead the +way. + +As they vanished round the corner to the lift, the head-porter studied +the guest-list. He had looked over it a dozen times that day, but this +was the first instance of his being really interested in it. As his chin +was freshly shaven he had no stubble to stroke to excite his mental +processes; so he fell back, as we say, upon the consoling ends of his +abundant mustache. Curious; but all these persons were occupying or +about to occupy adjacent rooms. There was truly nothing mysterious +about it, save that the stranger had picked out these very names as a +target for his banter. Fortune Chedsoye; it was rather an unusual name; +but as she had arrived only an hour or so before, he could not +distinctly recall her features. And then, there was that word bucolic. +He mentally turned it over and over as physically he was wont to do with +post-cards left in his care to mail. He could make nothing of the word, +except that it smacked of the East Indian plague. + +Here he was saved from further cerebral agony by a timely interruption. +A man, who was not of bucolic persuasion either in dress or speech, +urban from the tips of his bleached fingers to the bulb of his bibulous +nose, leaned across the counter and asked if Mr. Horace Ryanne had yet +arrived. Yes, he had just arrived; he was even now on his way to his +room. The urban gentleman nodded. Then, with a finger slim and +well-trimmed, he trailed up and down the guest-list. + +"Ha! I see that you have the Duke of What-d'ye-call from Germany here. +I'll give you my card. Send it up to Mr. Ryanne. No hurry. I shall be in +again after dinner." + +He bustled off toward the door. He was pursy, well-fed, and decently +dressed, the sort of a man who, when he moved in any direction, created +the impression that he had an important engagement somewhere else or was +paring minutes from time-tables. For a man in his business it was a +clever expedient, deceiving all but those who knew him. He hesitated at +the door, however, as if he had changed his mind in the twenty-odd paces +it took to reach it. He stared for a long period at the elderly +gentleman who was watching the feluccas on the river through the window. +The white mustache and imperial stood out in crisp relief against the +ruddy sunburn on his face. If he was aware of this scrutiny on the part +of the pursy gentleman, he gave not the least sign. The revolving door +spun round, sending a puff of outdoor air into the lounging-room. The +elderly gentleman then smiled, and applied his thumb and forefinger to +the waxen point of his imperial. + +In the intervening time Mr. Ryanne entered his room, threw the bundle on +the bed, sat down beside it, and read his letter. Shadows and lights +moved across his face; frowns that hardened it, smiles that mellowed +it. Women hold the trick of writing letters. Do they hate, their +thoughts flash and burn from line to line. Do they love, 'tis lettered +music. Do they conspire, the breadth of their imagination is without +horizon. At best, man can indite only a polite business letter, his +love-notes were adjudged long since a maudlin collection of loose +sentences. In this letter Mr. Ryanne found the three parts of life. + +"She's a good general; but hang these brimstone efforts of hers. She +talks too much of heart. For my part, I prefer to regard it as a mere +physical function, a pump, a motor, a power that gives action to the +legs, either in coming or in going, more especially in going." He +laughed. "Well, hers is the inspiration and hers is the law. And to +think that she could plan all this on the spur of the moment, down to +the minutest detail! It's a science." He put the letter away, slid out +his legs and glared at the dusty tips of his shoes. "The United Romance +and Adventure Company, Ltd., of New York, London, and Paris. She has the +greatest gift of all, the sense of humor." + +He rose and opened his kit-bag doubtfully. He rummaged about in the +depths and at last straightened up with a mild oath. + +"Not a pair of cuffs in the whole outfit, not a shirt, not a collar. Oh, +well, when a man has to leave Bagdad the way I did, over the back fence, +so to speak, linen doesn't count." + +He drew down his cuffs, detached and reversed them, he turned his +folding collar wrong-side out, and used the under side of the foot-rug +as a shoe-polisher. It was the ingenius procedure of a man who was used +to being out late of nights, who made all things answer all purposes. +This rapid and singularly careless toilet completed, he centered his +concern upon the more vital matter of finances. He was close to the +nadir: four sovereigns, a florin, and a collection of battered coppers +that would have tickled the pulse of an amateur numismatist. + +"No vintage to-night, my boy; no long, fat Havana, either. A bottle of +stout and a few rags of plug-cut; that's the pace we'll travel this +evening. The United Romance and Adventure Company is not listed at +present. If it was, I'd sell a few shares on my own hook. The kind Lord +knows that I've stock enough and to spare." He laughed again, but +without the leaven of humor. "When the fool-killer snatches up the last +fool, let rogues look to themselves; and fools are getting scarcer every +day. + +"Percival Algernon! O age of poets! I wonder, does he wear high collars +and spats, or has she plumbed him accurately? She is generally right. +But a man changes some in seven years. I'm an authority when it comes to +that. Look what's happened to me in seven years! First, Horace, we shall +dine, then we'll smoke our pipe in the billiard-room, then we'll softly +approach Percival Algernon and introduce him to Sinbad. This independent +excursion to Bagdad was a stroke on my part; it will work into the +general plan as smoothly as if it had been grooved for the part. Sinbad. +I might just as well have assumed that name: Horace Sinbad, sounds well +and looks well." He mused in silence, his hand gently rubbing his chin; +for he did possess the trick of talking aloud, in a low monotone, a +habit acquired during periods of loneliness, when the sound of his own +voice had succeeded in steadying his tottering mind. + +What a woman, what a wife, she would have been to the right man! Odd +thing, a man can do almost anything but direct his affections; they +must be drawn. She was not for him; nay, not even on a desert isle. +Doubtless he was a fool. In time she would have made him a rich man. +Alack! It was always the one we pursued that we loved and never the one +that pursued us. + +"I'm afraid of her; and there you are. There isn't a man living who has +gone back of that Mona Lisa smile of hers. If she was the last woman and +I was the last man, I don't say." He hunted for a cigarette, but failed +to find one. "Almost at the bottom, boy; the winter of our discontent, +and no sun of York to make it glorious. Twenty-four hundred at cards, +and to lose it like a tyro! Wallace has taught me all he knows, but I'm +a booby. Twenty-four hundred, firm's money. It's a failing of mine, the +firm's money. But, damn it all, I can't cheat a man at cards; I'd rather +cut his throat." + +He found his pipe, and a careful search of the corners of his +coat-pockets revealed a meager pipeful of tobacco. He picked out the +little balls of wool, the ground-coffee, the cloves, and pushed the +charge home into the crusted bowl of his briar. + +"To the devil with economy! A pint of burgundy and a perfecto if they +hale us to jail for it. I'm dead tired. I've seen three corners in hell +in the past two months. I'm going as far as four sovereigns will take +me.... Fortune Chedsoye." His blue eyes became less hard and his mouth +less defiant. "I repeat, the heart should be nothing but a pump. +Otherwise it gets in the way, becomes an obstruction, a bottomless pit. +Will-power, that's the ticket. I can face a lion without an extra beat, +I can face the various countenances of death without an additional +flutter; and yet, here's a girl who, when I see her or think of her, +sends the pulse soaring from seventy-seven up to eighty-four. Bad +business; besides, it's so infernally unfashionable. It's hard work for +a man to keep his balance 'twixt the devil and the deep, blue sea; +Gioconda on one side and Fortune on the other. Gioconda throws open +windows and doors at my approach; but Fortune locks and bars hers, nor +knocks at mine. That's the way it always goes. + +"If a man could only go back ten years and take a new start. Ass!" +balling his fist at the reflection in the mirror. "Snivel and whine over +the bed of your own making. You had your opportunity, but you listened +to the popping of champagne-corks, the mutter of cards, the inane drivel +of chorus-ladies. You had a decent college record, too. Bah! What a +guileless fool you were! You ran on, didn't you, till you found your +neck in the loop at the end of the rope? And perhaps that soft-footed, +estimable brother of yours didn't yank it taut as a hangman's? You heard +the codicil; into one ear and out the other. Even then you had your +chance; patience for two short years, and a million. No, a thousand +times no. You knew what you were about, empty-headed fool! And to-day, +two pennies for a dead man's eyes." + +He dropped his fist dejectedly. Where had the first step begun? And +where would be the last? In some drab corner, possibly; drink, morphine, +or starvation; he'd never have the courage to finish it with a bullet. +He was terribly bitter. Everything worth while seemed to have slipped +through his fingers, his pleasure-loving fingers. + +"Come, come, Horace; buck up. Still the ruby kindles in the vine. No +turning back now. We'll go on till we come bang! against the wall. There +may be some good bouts between here and there. I wonder what Gioconda +would say if she knew why I was so eager for this game?" + +He went down to dinner, and they gave him a table in an obscure corner, +as a subtle reminder that his style was _passé_. He didn't care; he was +hungry and thirsty. He could see nearly every one, even if only a few +could see him. This was somewhat to his vantage. He endeavored to pick +out Percival Algernon; but there were too many high collars, too many +monocles. So he contented himself with a mild philosophical observance +of the scene. The murmur of voices, rising as the wail of the violins +sank, sinking as the wail rose; the tinkle of glass and china, the +silver and linen, the pretty women in their rustling gowns, the delicate +perfumes, the flash of an arm, the glint of a polished shoulder: this +was the essence of life he coveted. He smiled at the thought and the +sure knowledge that he was not the only wolf in the fold. Ay, and who +among these dainty Red Riding Hoods might be fooled by a vulpine +grandmother? Truth, when a fellow winnowed it all down to a handful, +there were only fools and rogues. If one was a fool, the rogue got you, +and he in turn devoured himself. + +He held his glass toward the table-lamp, moved it slowly to and fro +under his nose, epicureanly; then he sipped the wine. Something like! It +ran across his tongue and down his throat in tingling fire, nectarious; +and he went half way to Olympus, to the feet of the gods. For weeks he +had lived in the vilest haunts, in desperate straits, his life in his +open hands; and now once more he had crawled from the depths to the +outer crust of the world. It did not matter that he was destined to go +down into the depths again; so long as the spark burned he was going to +crawl back each time. Damnable luck! He could have lived like a prince. +Twenty-four hundred, and all in two nights, a steady stream of gold into +the pockets of men whom he could have cheated with consummate ease, and +didn't. A fine wolf, whose predatory instincts were still riveted to +that obsolete thing called conscience! + +"Conscience? Rot! Let us for once be frank and write it down as caution, +as fear of publicity, anything but the white guardian-angel of the +immortality of the soul. Heap up the gold, Apollyon; heap it up, higher +and higher, till not a squeak of that still small voice that once awoke +the chap in the Old Testament can ever again be heard. Now; no more +retrospection, Horace; no more analysis; the vital question simmers down +to this: If Percival Algernon balks, how far will four sovereigns go?" + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE HOLY YHIORDES + + +George drank _his_ burgundy perfunctorily. Had it been astringent as the +native wine of Corsica, he would not have noticed it. The little nerves +that ran from his tongue to his brain had temporarily lost the power of +communication. And all because of the girl across the way. He couldn't +keep his eyes from wandering in her direction. She faced him diagonally. +She ate but little, and when the elderly gentleman poured out for her a +glass of sauterne, she motioned it aside, rested her chin upon her +folded hands, and stared not at but through her _vis-à-vis_. + +It was a lovely head, topped with coils of lustrous, light brown hair; +an oval face, of white and rose and ivory tones; scarlet lips, a small, +regular nose, and a chin the soft roundness of which hid the resolute +lift to it. To these attributes of loveliness was added a perfect form, +the long, flowing curves of youth, not the abrupt contours of maturity. +George couldn't recollect when he had been so impressed by a face. From +the moment she had stepped down from the carriage, his interest had been +drawn, and had grown to such dimensions that when he entered the +dining-room his glance immediately searched for her table. What luck in +finding her across the way! He questioned if he had ever seen her +before. There was something familiar; the delicate profile stirred some +sleeping memory but did not wake it. + +How to meet her, and when he did meet her, how to interest her? If she +would only drop her handkerchief, her purse, something to give him an +excuse, an opening. Ah, he was certain that this time the hydra-headed +one should not overcome him. To gain her attention and to hold it, he +would have faced a lion, a tiger, a wild-elephant. To diagnose these +symptoms might not be fair to George. "Love at first sight" reads well +and sounds well, but we hoary-headed philosophers know that the phrase +is only poetical license. + +Once, and only once, she looked in his direction. It swept over him with +the chill of a winter wind that he meant as much to her as a tree, a +fence, a meadow, as seen from the window of a speeding railway train. +But this observation, transient as it was, left with him the indelible +impression that her eyes were the saddest he had ever seen. Why? Why +should a young and beautiful girl have eyes like that? It could not mean +physical weariness, else the face would in some way have expressed it. +The elderly man appeared to do his best to animate her; he was kindly +and courteous, and by the gentle way he laughed at intervals was trying +to bolster up the situation with a jest or two. The girl never so much +as smiled, or shrugged her shoulders; she was as responsive to these +overtures as marble would have been. + +George's romance gathered itself for a flight. Perhaps it was love +thwarted, and the gentleman with the mustache and imperial, in spite of +his amiability, might be the ogre. Perhaps it was love and duty. Perhaps +her lover had gone down to sea. Perhaps (for lovers are known to do such +things) he had run away with the other girl. If that was the case, +George did not think highly of that tentative gentleman's taste. Perhaps +and perhaps again; but George might have gone on perhapsing till the +crack o' doom, with never a solitary glimmer of the true state of the +girl's mind. Whenever he saw an unknown man or woman who attracted his +attention, he never could resist the impulse to invent a romance that +might apply. + +Immediately after dessert the two rose; and George, finding that nothing +more important than a pineapple ice detained him, got up and followed. +Mr. Ryanne almost trod on his heels as they went through the doorway +into the cosy lounging-room. George dropped into a vacant divan and +waited for his _café à la Turque_. Mr. Ryanne walked over to the +head-porter's bureau and asked if that gentleman would be so kind as to +point out Mr. George P. A. Jones, if he were anywhere in sight. He +thoughtfully, not to say regretfully, laid down a small bribe. + +"Mr. Jones?" The porter knew Mr. Jones very well. He was generous, and +treated the servants as though they were really human beings. Mr. +Ryanne, either by his inquiry or as the result of his bribe, went up +several degrees in the porter's estimation. "Mr. Jones is over there, +on the divan by the door." + +"Thanks." + +But Ryanne did not then seek the young man. He studied the quarry from a +diplomatic distance. No; there was nothing to indicate that George +Percival Algernon Jones was in any way handicapped by his Arthuresque +middle names. + +"No fool, as Gioconda in her infinite wisdom hath said; but romantic, +terribly romantic, yet, like the timid bather who puts a foot into the +water, finds it cold, and withdraws it. It will all depend upon whether +he is a real collector or merely a buyer of rugs. Forward, then, Horace; +a sovereign has already dashed headlong down the far horizon." The curse +of speaking his thoughts aloud did not lie heavily upon him to-night, +for these cogitations were made in silence, unmarked by any facial +expression. He proceeded across the room and sat down beside George. "I +beg your pardon," he began, "but are you not Mr. Jones?" + +Mildly astonished, George signified that he was. + +"George P. A. Jones?" + +George nodded again, but with some heat in his cheeks. "Yes. What is +it?" The girl had just finished her coffee and was going away. Hang this +fellow! What did he want at this moment? + +If Ryanne saw that he was too much, as the French say, he also perceived +the cause. The desire to shake George till his teeth rattled was +instantly overcome. She hadn't seen him, and for this he was grateful. +"You are interested in rugs? I mean old ones, rare ones, rugs that are +bought once and seldom if ever sold again." + +"Why, yes. That's my business." George had no silly ideas about trade. +He had never posed as a gentleman's son in the sense that it meant +idleness. + +Ryanne presented his card. + +"How do you pronounce it?" asked George naïvely. + +"As they do in Cork." + +"I never saw it spelled that way before." + +"Nothing surprising in that," replied Ryanne. "No one else has, either." + +George laughed and waited for the explanation. + +"You see, Ryan is as good a name as they make them; but it classes with +prize-fighters, politicians, and bar chemists. The two extra letters put +the finishing touch to the name. A jewel is all right, but what tells +is the way you hang it round your neck. To me, those additional letters +represent the jewel Ryan in the hands of a Lalique." + +"You talk like an American." + +"I am; three generations. What's the matter?" with sudden concern. + +George was frowning. "Haven't I met you somewhere before?" + +"Not to my recollection." A speculative frown now marred Ryanne's +forehead. It did not illustrate a search in his memory for such a +casualty as the meeting of George. He never forgot a face and certainly +did not remember George's. Rather, the frown had its source in the mild +dread that Percival Algernon had seen him somewhere during one of those +indispositions of the morning after. "No; I think you have made a +mistake." + +"Likely enough. It just struck me that you looked something like a chap +named Wadsworth, who was half-back on the varsity, when I entered my +freshman year." + +"A university man? Lord, no! I was turned loose at ten; been hustling +ever since." Ryanne spoke easily, not a tremor in his voice, although +he had received a slight mental jolt. "No; no college record here. But I +want to chat with you about rugs. I've heard of you, indirectly." + +"From the carpet fellows? We do a big business over here. What have you +got?" + +"Well, I've a rug up in my room I'd like to show you. I want your +judgment for one thing. Will you do me the favor?" + +Since the girl had disappeared and with her those imaginary +appurtenances that had for a space transformed the lounging-room into a +stage, George saw again with normal vision that the room was simply a +common meeting-ground for well-dressed persons and ill-dressed persons, +of the unimpeachable, the impeccable, the doubtful and the peccant; for +in Cairo, as in ancient Egypt, there is every class and kind of humans, +for whom the Decalogue was written, transcribed, and shattered by the +turbulent Moses, an incident more or less forgotten these days. From the +tail of his eye he gave swift scrutiny to this chance acquaintance, and +he found nothing to warrant suspicion. It was not an unusual procedure +for men to hunt him up in Cairo, in Constantinople, in Smyrna, or in +any of the Oriental cities where his business itinerary led him. The +house of Mortimer & Jones was widely known. This man Ryanne might have +been anywhere between thirty and forty. He was tall, well set up, blond +and smooth-skinned. True, he appeared to have been ill-fed recently. A +little more flesh under the cheek-bones, a touch of color, and the +Irishman would have been a handsome man. George could read a rug a +league off, as they say, but he was a child in the matter of +physiognomy, whereas Ryanne was a past-master in this regard; it was +necessary both for his business and safety. + +"Certainly, I'll take a look at it. But I tell you frankly," went on +George, "that to interest me it's got to be a very old one. You see, +it's a little fad of mine, outside the business end of it. I'm crazy +over real rugs, and I know something about every rare one in existence, +or known to exist. Is it a copy?" + +"No. I'll tell you more about it when we get to my room." + +"Come on, then." George was now quite willing to discuss rugs and +carpets. + +Having gained the room, Ryanne threw off his coat and relighted his +cigar, which, in a saving mood, he had allowed to go out. He motioned +George to be seated. + +"Just a little yarn before I show you the rug. See these cuffs?" + +"Yes." + +"You will observe that I have had to reverse them. Note this collar? +Same thing. Trousers-hems a bit frayed, coat shiny at the elbows." +Ryanne exhibited his sole fortune. "Four sovereigns between me and a +jail." + +George became thoughtful. He was generous and kind-hearted among those +he knew intimately or slightly, but he had the instinctive reserve of +the seasoned traveler in cases like this. He waited. + +"The truth is, I'm all but done for. And if I fail to strike a bargain +here with you.... Well, I should hate to tell you the result. Our consul +would have to furnish me passage home. Were you ever up against it to +the extent of reversing your cuffs and turning your collars? You don't +know what life is, then." + +George gravely produced two good cigars and offered one to his host. +There was an absence of sound, broken presently by the cheerful crackle +of matches; two billowing clouds of smoke floated outward and upward. +Ryanne sighed. Here was a cigar one could not purchase in all the length +and breadth of the Orient, a Pedro Murias. In one of his doubtfully +prosperous epochs he had smoked them daily. How long ago had that been? + +"Yonder is a rug, a prayer-rug, as holy to the Moslem as the idol's eye +is to the Hindu, as the Bible is to the Christian. For hundreds of years +it never saw the outside of the Sultan's palace. One day the late, the +recently late, Abdul the Unspeakable Turk, gave it to the Pasha of +Bagdad. Whenever this rug makes its appearance in Holy Mecca, it is +worshiped, and none but a Sultan or a Sultan's favorite may kneel upon +it. Bagdad, the hundred mosques, the old capital of Suleiman the Great, +the dreary Tigris and the sluggish Euphrates, a muezzin from the turret +calls to prayer, and all that; eh?" + +George leaned forward from his chair, a gentle terror in his heart. "The +Yhiordes? By Jove! is that the Yhiordes?" + +Admiration kindled in Ryanne's eyes. To have hit the bull's-eye with so +free and quick an aim was ample proof that Percival Algernon had not +boasted when he said that he knew something about rugs. + +"You've guessed it." + +"How did you come by it?" George demanded excitedly. + +"Why do you ask that?" + +"Man, ten-thousand pounds could not purchase that rug, that bit of +carpet. Collectors from every port have been after it in vain. And you +mean to tell me that it lies there, wrapped in butcher's paper?" + +"Right-O!" + +Ryanne solemnly detached a cuff and rolled up his sleeve. The bare +muscular arm was scarred by two long, ugly knife-wounds, scarcely +healed. Next he drew up a trousers-leg, disclosing a battered shin. "And +there's another on my shoulder-blade, the closest call I ever had. A man +who takes his life in his hands, as I have done, merits some reward. Mr. +Jones, I'll be frank with you. I am a kind of derelict. Since I was a +boy, I have hated the humdrum of offices, of shops. I wanted to be my +own man, to go and come as I pleased. To do this and live meant +precarious exploits. This rug represents one of them. I am telling you +the family secret; I am showing you the skeleton in the closet, +confidentially. I stole that rug; and when I say that the seven labors +of our old friend Hercules were simple diversions compared, you'll +recognize the difficulties I had to overcome. You know something of the +Oriental mind. I handled the job alone. I may not be out of the jungle +yet." + +George listened entranced. He could readily construct the scenes through +which this adventurer had gone: the watchful nights, the untiring +patience, the thirst, the hunger, the heat. And yet, he could hardly +believe. He was a trifle skeptical. Many a rogue had made the mistake of +playing George's age against his experience. He had made some serious +blunders in the early stages of the business, however; and everybody, to +gain something in the end, must lose something at the start. + +"If that rug is the one I have in mind, you certainly have stolen it. +And if it's a copy, I'll tell you quickly enough." + +"That's fair. And that's why," Ryanne declared, "I wanted you to look at +it. To me, considering what I have gone through to get it, to me it is +the genuine carpet. To your expert eye it may be only a fine copy. I +know this much, that rare rugs and paintings have many copies, and that +some one is being hooked, sold, bamboozled, sandbagged, every day in the +week. If this is the real article, I want you to take it off my hands," +the adventurer finished pleasantly. + +"There will be a hue and cry." + +"No doubt of it." + +"And the devil's own job to get it out of Egypt." These were set phrases +of the expert, preliminaries to bargaining. "One might as well carry +round a stolen elephant." + +"But a man who is as familiar with the game as you are would have little +difficulty. Your integrity is an established fact, on both sides of the +water. You could take it to New York as a copy, and no appraiser would +know the difference. It's worth the attempt. I'd take it to New York +myself, but you see, I am flat broke. Come; what do you or I care about +a son-of-a-gun of a Turk?" drolly. + +"What do you want for it, supposing it's genuine?" George's throat was +dry and his voice harsh. His conscience roused herself, feebly, for it +had been a long time since occasion had necessitated her presence. + +Ryanne narrowed his eyes, carefully balancing the possibilities. "Say, +one thousand pounds. It is like giving it away. But when the devil +drives, you know. It is beyond any set price; it is worth what any +collector is willing to pay for it. I believe I know the kind of man you +are, Mr. Jones, and that is why, when I learned you were in Cairo, I +came directly to you. You would never sell this rug. No. You would +become like a miser over his gold. You would keep it with your emeralds +(I have heard about them, too); draw the curtains, lock the doors, +whenever you looked at it. Eh? You would love it for its own sake, and +not because it is worth so many thousand pounds. You are sailing in a +few days; that will help. The Pasha is in Constantinople, and it will be +three or four weeks before he hears of the theft, or the cost," with a +certain grimness. + +"You haven't killed any one?" whispered George. + +"I don't know; perhaps. Christianity against paganism; the Occidental +conscience permits it." Ryanne made a gesture to indicate that he would +submit to whatever moral arraignment Mr. Jones deemed advisable to make. + +But George made none. He rose hastily, sought his knife and, without so +much as by your leave, slashed the twine, flung aside the paper, and +threw the rug across the counterpane. It was the Yhiordes. There was not +the slightest doubt in his mind. He had heard it described, he had seen +a photograph of it, he knew its history and, most vital of all, he owned +a good copy of it. + +Against temptation that was robust and energetic and alluring (like the +man who insists upon your having a drink when you want it and ought not +to have it), what chance had conscience, grown innocuous in the long +period of the young man's good behavior? Collectors are always honest +before and after that moment arrives when they want something +desperately; and George was no more saintly than his kind. And how deep +Ryanne and his confederates had delved into human nature, how well they +could read and judge it, was made manifest in this moment of George's +moral relapse. + +[Illustration] + +Bagdad, the jinns, Sinbad, the Thousand and One Nights, Alibaba and the +Forty Thieves: George was transported mentally to that magic city, +standing between the Tigris and the Euphrates, in all its white glory of +a thousand years gone. Ryanne, the room and its furnishings, all had +vanished, all save the exquisite fabric patterned out of wool and cotton +and knotted with that mingling love and skill and patience the world +knows no more. He let his hand stray over it. How many knees had pressed +its thick yet pliant substance? How many strange scenes had it mutely +witnessed, scenes of beauty, of terror? It shone under the light like +the hide of a healthy hound. + +The nerves of a smoker are generally made apparent by the rapidity of +his exhalations. These two, in the several minutes, had filled the room +with a thick, blue haze; and through this the elder man eyed the +younger. The sign of the wolf gleamed in his eyes, but without +animosity, modified as it was by the half-friendly, half-cynical smile. + +"I'll risk it," said George finally, having stepped off the magical +carpet, as it were. "I can't give you a thousand pounds to-night. I can +give you three hundred, and the balance to-morrow, between ten and +eleven, at Cook's." + +"That will be agreeable to me." + +George passed over all the available cash he had, rolled up the treasure +and tucked it under his arm. That somewhere in the world was a true +believer, wailing and beating his breast and calling down from Allah +curses upon the giaour, the dog of an infidel, who had done this thing, +disturbed George not in the least. + +"I say," as he opened the door, "you must tell me all about the +adventure. It must have been a thriller." + +"It was," replied Ryanne. "The story will keep. Later, if you care to +hear it." + +"Of course," added George, moved by a discretionary thought, "this +transaction is just between you and me." + +"You may lay odds on that," heartily. "Well, good night. See you at +Cook's in the morning." + +"Good night." George passed down the corridor to the adjoining room. + +And now, bang! goes Pandora's box. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE + + +That faculty which decides on the lawlessness of our actions: so the +noted etymologist described conscience. It fell to another distinguished +intellect to add that conscience makes cowards of us all. Ay. She may be +overcome at times, side-tracked for any special desire that demands a +clear way; but she's after us, fast enough, with that battered red +lantern of hers, which, brought down from all tongues crisply into our +own, reads--"Don't do it!" She herself is not wholly without cunning. +She rarely stands boldly upon the track to flag us as we come. She +realizes that she might be permanently ditched. No; it is far safer to +run after us and catch us. A digression, perhaps, but more pertinently +an application. + +Temptation then no longer at his shoulder, George began to have qualms, +little chaps, who started buzzing into his moral ears with all that +maddening, interminable drone which makes one marvel however do +school-teachers survive their first terms. Among these qualms there was +none that pleaded for the desolate Turk or his minions whose +carelessness had made the theft possible. For all George cared, the +Moslem might grind his forehead in the soulless sand and make the air +palpitate with his plaints to Allah. No. The disturbance was due to the +fact that never before had he been wittingly the purchaser of stolen +goods. He never tried to gloze over the subtle distinction between +knowing and suspecting; and if he had been variously suspicious in +regard to certain past bargains, conscience had found no sizeable wedge +for her demurrers. The Yhiordes was confessedly stolen. + +He paused, with his hand upon the door-knob of his room. If he didn't +keep the rug, it would fall into the hands of a collector less +scrupulous. To return it to the Pasha at Bagdad would be pure folly, and +thankless. It was one of the most beautiful weavings in existence. It +was as priceless in its way as any Raphael in the Vatican. And he +desired its possession intensely. Why not? Insidious phrase! Was it not +better that the world should see and learn what a wonderful craft the +making of a rare rug had been, than to allow it to return to the sordid +chamber of a harem, to inevitable ruin? As Ryanne said, what the deuce +was a fanatical Turk or Arab to him? + +Against these specious arguments in favor of becoming the adventurer's +abettor and accomplice, there was first the possible stain of blood. The +man agreed that he had come away from Bagdad in doubt. George did not +like the thought of blood. Still, he had collected a hundred emeralds, +not one of which was without its red record. Again, if he carried the +rug home with his other purchases, he could pull it through the customs +only by lying, which was as distasteful to his mind as being a receiver +of stolen goods. + +He had already paid a goodly sum against the purchase; and it was not +likely that a man who was down to reversing his collars and cuffs would +take back the rug and refund the money. The Yhiordes was his, happen +what might. So conscience snuffed out her red lantern and retired. + +Some light steps, a rustle, and he wheeled in time to see a woman open a +door, stand for a minute in the full light, and disappear. It was she. +George opened the door of his own room, threw the rug inside, and +tiptoed along the corridor, stopping for the briefest time to ascertain +the number of that room. He felt vastly more guilty in performing this +harmless act than in smothering his mentor. + +There was no one in the head-porter's bureau; thus, unobserved and +unembarrassed, he was free to inspect the guest-list. Fortune Chedsoye. +He had never seen a name quite like that. Its quaintness did not suggest +to him, as it had done to Ryanne, the pastoral, the bucolic. Rather it +reminded him of the old French courts, of rapiers and buckles, of +powdered wigs and furbelows, masks, astrologers, love-intrigues, of all +those colorful, mutable scenes so charmingly described by the genial +narrator of the exploits of D'Artagnan. And abruptly out of this age of +Lebrun, Watteau, Molière, reached an ice-cold hand. If that elderly +codger wasn't her father, who was he and what? + +The Major--for George had looked him up also--was in excellent trim for +his age, something of a military dandy besides; but as the husband of so +young and exquisite a creature! Out upon the thought! He might be her +guardian, or, at most, her uncle, but never her husband. Yet (O +poisonous doubt!), at the table she had ignored the Major, both his +jests and his attentions. He had seen many wives, joyfully from a safe +distance, act toward their husbands in this fashion. Oh, rot! If his +name was Callahan and hers Chedsoye, they could not possibly be tied in +any legal bonds. He dismissed the ice-cold hand and turned again to the +comforting warmth of his ardor. + +He had never spoken to young women without presentation, and on these +rare occasions he had broached the weather, suggested the possibilities +of the weather, and concluded with an apostrophe on the weather at +large. It was usually a valedictory. For he was always positive that he +had acted like a fool, and was afraid to speak to the girl again. Never +it failed, ten minutes after the girl was out of sight, the brightest +and cleverest things crowded upon his tongue, to be but wasted on the +desert air. He was not particularly afraid of women older than himself, +more's the pity. And yet, had he been as shy toward them as toward the +girls, there would have been no stolen Yhiordes, no sad-eyed maiden, no +such thing as The United Romance and Adventure Company, Ltd.; and he +would have stepped the even tenor of his way, unknown of grand passions, +swift adventure, life. + +George was determined to meet Fortune Chedsoye, and this determination, +the first of its kind to take definite form in his mind, gave him a +novel sensation. He would find some way, and he vowed to best his old +enemy, diffidence, if it was the last fight he ever put up. He would +manoeuver to get in the way of the Major. He never found much trouble +in talking to men. Once he exchanged a word or two with the uncle or +guardian, he would make it a point to renew the acquaintance when he saw +the two together. It appeared to him as a bright idea, and he was rather +proud of it. Even now he was conscious of clenching his teeth strongly. +It's an old saying that he goes farthest who shuts his teeth longest. He +was going to test the precept by immediate practice. + +He had stood before the list fully three minutes. Now he turned about +face, a singular elation tingling his blood. Once he set his mind upon a +thing, he went forward. He had lost many pleasurable things in life +because he had doubted and faltered, not because he had reached out +toward them and had then drawn back. He was going to meet Fortune +Chedsoye; when or how were but details. And as he discovered the Major +himself idling before the booth of the East Indian merchant, he saw in +fancy the portcullis rise and the drawbridge fall to the castle of +enchantment. He strolled over leisurely and pretended to be interested +in the case containing mediocre jewels. + +"This is a genuine Bokhara embroidery?" the Major was inquiring. + +"Oh, yes, sir." + +"How old?" + +The merchant picked up the tag and squinted at it. "It is between two +and three hundred years old, sir." + +To George's opinion the gods themselves could not have arranged a more +propitious moment. + +"You've made a mistake," he interposed quietly. "That is Bokhara, but +the stitch is purely modern." + +The dark eyes of the Indian flashed. "The gentleman is an authority?" +sarcastically. + +"Upon that style of embroidery, absolutely." George smiled. And then, +without more ado, he went on to explain the difference between the +antique and the modern. "You have one good piece of old Bokhara, but it +isn't rare. Twenty-pounds would be a good price for it." + +The Major laughed heartily. "And just this moment he asked a hundred for +it. I'm not much of a hand in judging these things. I admire them, but +have no intimate knowledge regarding their worth. Nothing to-night," he +added to the bitter-eyed merchant. "The Oriental is like the amateur +fisherman: truth is not in him. You seem to be a keen judge," as they +moved away from the booth. + +"I suppose it's because I'm inordinately fond of the things. I've really +a good collection of Bokhara embroideries at home in New York." + +"You live in New York?" with mild interest. The Major sat down and +graciously motioned for George to do the same. "I used to live there; +twenty-odd years ago. But European travel spoils America; the rush +there, the hurry, the clamor. Over here they dine, there they eat. +There's as much difference between those two performances as there is +between _The Mikado_ and _Florodora_. From Portland in Maine to Portland +in Oregon, the same dress, same shops, same ungodly high buildings. Here +it is different, at the end of every hundred miles." + +George agreed conditionally. (The Major wasn't very original in his +views.) He would have shed his last drop of blood for his native land, +but he was honest in acknowledging her faults. + +Conversation idled in various channels, and finally became anchored at +jewels. Here the Major was at home, and he loved emeralds above all +other stones. He proved to be an engaging old fellow, had circled the +globe three or four times, and had had an adventure or two worth +recounting. And when he incidentally mentioned his niece, George wanted +to shake his hand. + +Would Mr. Jones join him with a peg to sleep on? Mr. Jones certainly +would. And after a mutual health, George diplomatically excused himself, +retired, buoyant and happy. How simple the affair had been! A fellow +could do anything if only he set his mind to it. To-morrow he would +meet Fortune Chedsoye, and may Beelzebub shrive him if he could not +manage to control his recalcitrant tongue. + +As he passed out of sight, Major Callahan smiled. It was that old +familiar smile which, charged with gentle mockery, we send after +departing fools. It was plain that he needed another peg to keep company +with the first, for he rose and gracefully wended his way down-stairs to +the bar. Two men were already leaning against the friendly, inviting +mahogany. There was a magnum of champagne standing between their +glasses. The Major ordered a temperate whisky and soda, drank it, +frowned at the magnum, paid the reckoning, and went back up-stairs +again. + +"Don't remember old friends, eh?" said the shorter of the two men, +caressing his incarnadined proboscis. "A smile wouldn't have hurt him +any, do you think?" + +"Shut up!" admonished Ryanne. "You know the orders; no recognition on +the public floors." + +"Why, I meant no harm," the other protested. He took a swallow of wine. +"But, dash it! here I am, more'n four thousand miles from old Broadway, +and still walking blind. When is the show to start?" + +"Not so loud, old boy. You've got to have patience. You've had some good +pickings for the past three months, in the smoke-rooms. That ought to +soothe you." + +"Well, it doesn't. Here I come from New York, three months ago, with a +wad of money for you and a great game in sight. It takes a week to find +you, and when I do.... Well, you know. No sooner are you awake, than +what? Off you go to Bagdad, on the wildest goose-chase a man ever heard +of. And that leaves me with nothing to do and nobody to talk to. I could +have cried yesterday when I got your letter saying you'd be in to-day." + +"Well, I got it." + +"The rug?" + +"Yes. It was wild; but after what I'd been through I needed something +wild to steady my nerves; some big danger, where I'd simply have to get +together." + +"And you got it?" There was frank wonder and admiration in the pursy +gentleman's eyes. "All alone, and you got it? Honest?" + +"Honest. They nearly had my hide, though." + +"Where is it?" + +"Sold." + +"Who?" + +"Percival." + +"Horace, you're a wonder, if there ever was one. Sold it to Percival! +You couldn't beat that in a thousand years. You're a great man." + +"Praise from Sir Hubert." + +"Who's he?" + +"An authority on several matters." + +"How much did he give you for it?" + +"Tut, tut! It was all my own little jaunt, Wallace. I should hate to lie +to you about it." + +"What about the stake I gave you?" + +Ryanne made a sign of dealing cards. + +"Threw it away on a lot of dubs, after all I've taught you!" + +"Cards aren't my _forte_." + +"There's a yellow streak in your hide, somewhere, Horace." + +"There is, but it is the tiger's stripe, my friend. What I did with my +money is my own business." + +"Will she allow for that?" + +"Would it matter one way or the other?" + +"No, I don't suppose it would. Sometimes I think you're with us as a +huge joke. You don't take the game serious enough." Wallace emptied his +glass and tipped the bottle carefully. "You're out of your class, +somehow." + +"So?" + +"Yes. You have always struck me as a man who was hunting trouble for one +end." + +"And that?" Ryanne seemed interested. + +Wallace drew his finger across his throat. Ryanne looked him squarely in +the eye and nodded affirmatively. + +"I don't understand at all." + +"You never will, Wallace, old chap. I am the prodigal son whose brother +ate the fatted calf before I returned home. I had a letter to-day. She +will be here to-morrow sometime. You may have to go to Port Saïd, if my +little plan doesn't mature." + +"The _Ludwig_?" + +"Yes." + +"Say, what a _Frau_ she would have made the right man!" + +Ryanne did not answer, but glowered at his glass. + +"The United Romance and Adventure Company." Wallace twirled his glass. +"If you're a wonder, she's a marvel. A Napoleon in petticoats! It does +make a fellow grin, when you look it all over. But this is going to be +her Austerlitz or her Waterloo. And you really got that rug; and on top +of that, you have sold it to George P. A. Jones! Here's----" + +"Many happy returns," ironically. + +They finished the bottle without further talk. There was no conviviality +here. Both were fond of good wine, but the more they drank, the tighter +grew their lips. Men who have been in the habit of guarding dangerous +secrets become taciturn in their cups. + +From time to time, flittingly, there appeared against one of the +windows, just above the half-curtain, a lean, dark face which, in +profile, resembled the kite--the hooked beak, the watchful, preyful +eyes. There were two hungers written upon that Arab face, food and +revenge. + +"Allah is good," he murmured. + +He had but one eye in use, the other was bandaged. In fact, the face, +exhibited general indications of rough warfare, the skin broken on the +bridge of the nose, a freshly healed cut under the seeing eye, a long +strip of plaster extending from the ear to the mouth. There was nothing +of the beggar in his mien. His lean throat was erect, his chin +protrusive, the set of his shoulders proud and defiant. Ordinarily, the +few lingering guides would rudely have told him to be off about his +business; but they were familiar with all turbans, and in the peculiar +twist of this one, soiled and ragged though it was, they recognized some +prince from the eastern deserts. Presently he strode away, but with a +stiffness which they knew came from long journeys upon racing-camels. + +George dreamed that night of magic carpets, of sad-eyed maidens, of +fierce Bedouins, of battles in the desert, of genii swelling +terrifically out of squat bottles. And once he rose and turned on the +lights to assure himself that the old Yhiordes was not a part of these +vivid dreams. + +He was up shortly after dawn, in white riding-togs, for a final canter +to Mena House and return. In two days more he would be leaving Egypt +behind. Rather glad in one sense, rather sorry in another. Where to put +the rug was a problem. He might carry it in his steamer-roll; it would +be handier there than in the bottom of his trunk, stored away in the +ship's hold. Besides, his experience had taught him that steamer-rolls +were only indifferently inspected. You will observe that the luster of +his high ideals was already dimming. He reasoned that insomuch as he was +bound to smuggle and lie, it might be well to plan something +artistically. He wished now that he was going to spend Christmas in +Cairo; but it was too late to change his booking without serious loss of +time and money. + +He had a light breakfast on the veranda of the Mena House, climbed up to +the desert, bantered the donkey-boys, amused himself by watching the +descent of some German tourists who had climbed the big Pyramid before +dawn to witness the sunrise, and threw pennies to the horde of blind +beggars who instantly swarmed about him and demanded, in the name of +Allah, a competence for the rest of their days. He finally escaped them +by footing it down the incline to the hotel gardens, where his horse +stood waiting. + +It was long after nine when he slid from the saddle at the side +entrance of the Semiramis. He was on his way to the bureau for his key, +when an exquisitely gloved hand lightly touched his arm. + +"Don't you remember me, Mr. Jones?" said a voice of vocal honey. + +George did. In his confusion he dropped his pith-helmet, and in stooping +to pick it up, bumped into the porter who had rushed to his aid. +Remember her! Would he ever forget her? He never thought of her without +dubbing himself an outrageous ass. He straightened, his cheeks afire; +blushing was another of those uncontrollable asininities of his. It was +really she, come out of a past he had hoped to be eternally +inresuscitant; the droll, the witty woman, to whom in one mad moment of +liberality and Galahadism he had loaned without security one hundred and +fifty pounds at the roulette tables in Monte Carlo; she, for whom he had +always blushed when he recalled how easily she had mulcted him! And here +she was, serene, lovely as ever, unchanged. + +"My dear," said the stranger (George couldn't recall by what name he had +known her); "my dear," to Fortune Chedsoye, who stood a little behind +her, "this is the gentleman I've often told you about. You were at +school at the time. I borrowed a hundred and fifty pounds of him at +Monte Carlo. And what do you think? When I went to pay him back the next +day, he was gone, without leaving the slightest clue to his whereabouts. +Isn't that droll? And to think that I should meet him here!" + +That her name had slipped his memory, if indeed he had ever known it, +was true; but one thing lingered incandescently in his mind, and that +was, he _had_ written her, following minutely her own specific +directions and inclosing his banker's address in Paris, Naples, and +Cairo; and for many passings of moons he had opened his foreign mail +eagerly and hopefully. But hope must have something to feed upon, and +after a struggle lasting two years, she rendered up the ghost.... It +wasn't the loss of money that hurt; it was the finding of dross metal +where he supposed there was naught but gold. Perhaps his later shyness +was due as much to this disillusioning incident as to his middle names. + +"Isn't it droll, my dear?" the enchantress repeated; and George grew +redder and redder under the beautiful, grateful eyes. "I must give him +a draft this very morning." + +"But.... Why, my dear Madame," stammered George. "You must not.... +I...!" + +Fortune laughed. Somehow the quality of that laughter pierced George's +confused brain as sometimes a shaft of sunlight rips into a fog, +suddenly, stiletto-like. It was full of malice. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE GIRL WHO WASN'T WANTED + + +If any one wronged George, defrauded him of money or credit, he was +always ready to forgive, agreeing that perhaps half the fault had been +his. This was not a sign of weakness, but of a sense of justice too well +leavened with mercy. Humanity errs in the one as much as in the other, +doubtless with some benign purpose in perspective. Now, it might be that +this charming woman had really never received his letter; such things +have been known to go astray. In any case he could not say that he had +written. That would have cast a doubt upon her word, an unpardonable +rudeness. So, for her very beauty alone, he gave her the full benefit of +the doubt. + +"You mustn't let the matter trouble you in the least," he said, his +helmet now nicely adjusted under his arm. "It was so long ago I had +really forgotten all about it." Which was very well said for George. + +"But I haven't. I have often wondered what you must have thought of me. +Monte Carlo is such a place! But I must present my daughter. I am Mrs. +Chedsoye." + +"I am glad to meet you, Mr. Jones;" and in the sad eyes there was a +glimmer of real friendliness. More, she extended her hand. + +It was well worth while, that hundred and fifty pounds. It was well +worth the pinch here and the pinch there which had succeeded that loan. +For he had determined to return to America with a pound or two on his +letter of credit, and the success of this determination was based upon +many a sacrifice in comfort, sacrifices he had never confided to his +parents. It was not in the nature of things to confess that the first +woman he had met in his wanderings should have been the last. As he took +the girl's hand, with the ulterior intent of holding it till death do us +part, he wondered why she had laughed like that. The echo of it still +rang in his ears. And while he could not have described it, he knew +instinctively that it had been born of bitter thought. + +They chatted for a quarter of an hour or more, and managed famously. It +seemed to him that Fortune Chedsoye was the first young woman he had +ever met who could pull away sudden barriers and open up pathways for +speech, who, when he was about to flounder into some _cul-de-sac_, +guided him adroitly into an alley round it. Not once was it necessary to +drag in the weather, that perennial if threadbare topic. He was truly +astonished at the ease with which he sustained his part in the +conversation, and began to think pretty well of himself. It did not +occur to him that when two clever and attractive women set forth to make +a man talk (always excepting he is dumb), they never fail to succeed. To +do this they contrive to bring the conversation within the small circle +of his work, his travels, his preferences, his ambitions. To be sure, +all this is not fully extracted in fifteen minutes, but a woman obtains +in that time a good idea of the ground plan. + +Two distinct purposes controlled the women in this instance. One +desired to interest him, while the other sought to learn whether he was +stupid or only shy. + +At last, when he left them to change his clothes and hurry down to +Cook's, to complete the bargain for the Yhiordes, he had advanced so +amazingly well that they had accepted his invitation to the polo-match +that afternoon. He felt that invisible Mercurial wings had sprouted from +his heels, for in running up the stairs, he was aware of no gravitative +resistance. That this anomaly (an acquaintance with two women about whom +he knew nothing) might be looked upon askance by those who conformed to +the laws and by-laws of social usages, worried him not in the least. On +the contrary, he was thinking that he would be the envy of every other +man out at the Club that afternoon. + +"Well?" said Mrs. Chedsoye, a quizzical smile slanting her lips. + +"You wish my opinion?" countered the daughter. "He is shy, but he is +neither stupid nor silly; and when he smiles he is really good-looking." + +"My child," replied the woman, drawing off her gloves and examining her +shapely hands, "I have looked into the very heart of that young man. A +thousand years ago, a red-cross on his surtout, he would have been +beating his fists against the walls of Jerusalem; five hundred years +later, he would have been singing _chant-royales_ under lattice-windows; +a paladin and a poet." + +"How do you know that? Did he make love to you?" + +"No; but I made love to him without his knowing it; and that was more to +my purpose than having him make love to me," enigmatically. "Three days, +and he was so guileless that he never asked my name. But in Monte Carlo, +as you know, one asks only your banker's name." + +"And your purpose?" + +"It is still mine, dear. Do you realize that we haven't seen each other +in four months, and that you haven't offered to kiss me?" + +"Did he go away without writing to you about that money?" + +Mrs. Chedsoye calmly plucked out the inturned fingers of her gloves. "I +believe I did receive a note inclosing his banker's address, but, +unfortunately, in the confusion of returning to Paris, I lost it. My +memory has always been a trial to me," sadly. + +"Since when?" coldly. "There is not a woman living with a keener memory +than yours." + +"You flatter me. In affairs that interest me, perhaps." + +"You never meant to pay him. It is horrible." + +"My dear Fortune, how you jump at conclusions! Did I not offer him a +draft the very first thing?" + +"Knowing that at such a moment he could not possibly accept it?" +derisively. "Sometimes I hate you!" + +"In these days filial devotion is a lost art." + +"No, no; it is a flower parents have ceased to cultivate." + +And there was in the tone a strained note which described an intense +longing to be loved. For if George Percival Algernon Jones was a lonely +young man, it was the result of his own blindness; whereas Fortune +Chedsoye turned hither and thither in search of that which she never +could find. The wide Lybian desert held upon its face a loneliness, a +desolation, less mournful than that which reigned within her heart. + +"Hush! We are growing sentimental," warned the mother. "Besides, I +believe we are attracting attention." Her glance swept a half-circle +complacently. + +"Pardon me! I should be sorry to draw attention to you, knowing how you +abhor it." + +"My child, learn from me; temper is the arch-enemy of smooth +complexions. Jones--it makes you laugh." + +"It is a homely, honest name." + +"I grant that. But a Percival Algernon Jones!" Mrs. Chedsoye laughed +softly. It was one of those pleasant sounds that caused persons within +hearing to wait for it to occur again. "Come; let us go up to the room. +It is a dull, dusty journey in from Port Saïd." + +Alone, Fortune was certain that for her mother her heart knew nothing +but hate. Neglect, indifference, injustice, misunderstanding, the chill +repellence that always met the least outreaching of the child's +affections, the unaccountable disappearances, the terror of the unknown, +the blank wall of ignorance behind which she was always kept, upon these +hate had builded her dark and brooding retreat. Yet, never did the +mother come within the radius of her sight that she did not fall under +the spell of strange fascination, enchaining, fight against it how she +might. A kindly touch of the hand, a single mother-smile, and she would +have flung her arms about the other woman's neck. + +But the touch and the mother-smile never came. She knew, she understood: +she wasn't wanted, she hadn't been wanted in the beginning; to her +mother she was as the young of animals, interesting only up to that time +when they could stand alone. That the mother never made and held +feminine friendships was in nowise astonishing. Beauty and charm, such +as she possessed, served immediately to stimulate envy in other women's +hearts. And that men of all stations in life flocked about her, why, it +is the eternal tribute demanded of beauty. Here and there the men were +not all the daughter might have wished. Often they burnt sweet flattery +at her shrine, tentatively; but as she coolly stamped out these +incipient fires, they at length came to regard her as one regards the +beauty of a frosted window, as a thing to admire and praise in passing. +One ache always abided: the bitter knowledge that had she met in kind +smile for smile and jest for jest, she might have been her mother's boon +companion. But deep back in some hidden chamber of her heart lay a +secret dread of such a step, a dread which, whenever she strove to +analyze it, ran from under her investigating touch, as little balls of +quicksilver run from under the pressure of a thumb. + +She was never without the comforts of life, well-fed, well-dressed, +well-housed, and often her mother flung her some jeweled trinket which +(again that sense of menace) she put away, but never wore. The bright +periods were when they left her in the little villa near Mentone, with +no one but her old and faithful nurse. There, with her horse, her books +and her flowers, she was at peace. Week into week and month into month +she was let be. Never a letter came, save from some former schoolmate +who was coming over and wanted letters of introduction to dukes and +duchesses. If she smiled over these letters it was with melancholy; for +the dukes and duchesses, who fell within her singular orbit, were not +the sort to whom one gave letters of introduction. + +Where her mother went she never had the least idea. She might be in any +of the great ports of the world, anywhere between New York and Port +Saïd. The Major generally disappeared at the same time. Then, perhaps, +she'd come back from a pleasant tram-ride over to Nice and find them +both at the villa, maid and luggage. Mayhap a night or two, and off +they'd go again; never a word about their former journey, +uncommunicative, rather quiet. These absences, together with the +undemonstrative reappearances, used to hurt Fortune dreadfully. It gave +her a clear proof of where she stood, exactly nowhere. The hurt had +lessened with the years, and now she didn't care much. Like as not, they +would drag her out of Eden for a month or two, for what true reason she +never could quite fathom, unless it was that at times her mother liked +to have the daughter near her as a foil. + +At rare intervals she saw steel-eyed, grim-mouthed men wandering up and +down before the gates of the Villa Fanny, but they never rang the bell, +nor spoke to her when she passed them on the street. If she talked of +these men, her mother and the Major would exchange amused glances, +nothing more. + +If, rightly or wrongly, she hated her mother, she despised her uncle, +who was ever bringing to the villa men of money, but of coarse fiber, +ostensibly with the view of marrying her off. But Fortune had her +dreams, and she was quite content to wait. + +There was one man more persistent than the others. Her mother called him +Horace, which the Major mellowed into Hoddy. He was tall, blond, +good-looking, a devil-may-care, educated, witty, amusing; and in evening +dress he appeared to be what it was quite evident he had once been, a +gentleman. At first she thought it strange that he should make her, +instead of her mother, his confidante. As to what vocation he pursued, +she did not know, for he kept sedulous guard over his tongue; but his +past, up to that fork in the road where manhood says good-by to youth, +was hers. And in this direction, clever and artful as the mother was, +she sought in vain to wrest this past from her daughter's lips. To the +mother, it was really necessary for her to know who this man really was, +had been, knowing thoroughly as she did what he was now. + +Persistent he undeniably was, but never coarse nor rude. Since that time +he had come bade from the casino at Monte Carlo, much the worse for +wine, she feared him; yet, in spite of this fear, she had for him a +vague liking, a hazy admiration. Whatever his faults might be, she stood +witness to his great physical strength and courage. He was the only man, +among all those who appeared at the Villa Fanny and immediately +vanished, who returned again. And he, too, soon grew to be a part of +this unreal drama, arriving mysteriously one day and departing the next. + +That a drama was being enacted under her eyes she no longer doubted; but +it was as though she had taken her seat among the audience in the middle +of the second act She could make neither head nor tail to it. + +Whenever she accompanied her mother upon these impromptu journeys, her +character, or rather her attitude, underwent a change. She swept aside +her dreams; she accepted the world as it was, saw things as they were; +laughed, but without merriment; jested, but with the venomed point. It +was the reverse of her real character to give hurt to any living thing, +but during these forced marches, as the Major humorously termed them, +and such they were in truth, she could no more stand against giving the +cruel stab than, when alone in her garden, she could resist the tender +pleasure of succoring a fallen butterfly. She was especially happy in +finding weak spots in her mother's armor, and she never denied herself +the thrust. Mrs. Chedsoye enjoyed these sharp encounters, for it must be +added that she gave as good as she took, and more often than not her +thrusts bit deeper and did not always heal. + +Fortune never asked questions relative to the family finances. If she +harbored any doubts as to their origin, to the source of their +comparative luxury, she never put these into speech. + +She had never seen her father, but she had often heard him referred to +as "that brute" or "that fool" or "that drunken imbecile." If a portrait +of him existed, Fortune had not yet seen it. She visited his lonely +grave once a year, in the Protestant cemetery, and dreamily tried to +conjure up what manner of man he had been. One day she plied her old +Italian nurse with questions. + +"Handsome? Yes, but it was all so long ago, _cara mia_, that I can not +describe him to you." + +"Did he drink?" Behind this question there was no sense of moral obloquy +as applying to the dead. + +"Sainted Mary! didn't all men drink their very souls into purgatory +those unreligious days?" + +"Had he any relatives?" + +"I never heard of any." + +"Was he rich?" + +"No; but when the signora, your mother, married him she thought he was." + +It was not till later years that Fortune grasped the true significance +of this statement. It illumined many pages. She dropped all +investigations, concluding wisely that her mother, if she were minded to +speak at all, could supply only the incidents, the details. + + * * * * * + +It was warm, balmy, like May in the northern latitudes. Women wore white +dresses and carried sunshades over their shoulders. A good band played +airs from the new light-operas, and at one side of the grand-stand were +tea-tables under dazzling linen. Fashion was out. Not all her votaries +enjoyed polo, but it was absolutely necessary to pretend that they did. +When they talked they discussed the Spanish dancer who paraded back and +forth across the tea-lawn. They discussed her jewels, her clothes, her +escort, and quite frankly her morals, which of the four was by all odds +the most popular theme. All agreed that she was handsome in a bold way. +This modification invariably distinguishes the right sort of women from +the wrong sort, from which there is no appeal to a higher court. They +could well afford to admit of her beauty, since the dancer was outside +what is called the social pale, for all that her newest escort was a +prince _incognito_. They also discussed the play at bridge, the dullness +of this particular season, the possibility of war between England and +Germany. And some one asked others who were the two well-gowned women +down in front, sitting on either side of the young chap in pearl-grey. +No one knew. Mother and daughter, probably. Anyhow, they knew something +about good clothes. Certainly they weren't ordinary tourists. They had +seen What's-his-name tip his hat; and this simple act would pass any one +into the inner shrine, for the general was not promiscuous. There, the +first-half was over. All down for tea! Thank goodness! + +George was happy. He was proud, too. He saw the glances, the nods of +approval. He basked in a kind of sunshine that was new. What an ass he +had been all his life! To have been afraid of women just because he was +Percival Algernon! What he should have done was to have gone forth +boldly, taken what pleasures he found, and laughed with the rest of +them. + +There weren't two other women in all Cairo to compare with these two. +The mother, shapely, elegant, with the dark beauty of a high-class +Spaniard, possessing humor, trenchant comment, keen deduction and +application; worldly, cynical, high-bred. The student of nations might +have tried in vain to place her. She spoke the French of the Parisians, +the Italian of the Florentines, the German of the Hanoverians, and her +English was the envy of Americans and the wonder of the Londoners. The +daughter fell behind her but little, but she was more reserved. The +worldly critic called this good form: no daughter should try to outshine +her widowed mother. + +As Fortune sat beside the young collector that afternoon, she marveled +why they had given him Percival Algernon. Jones was all right, solid +and substantial, but the other two turned it into ridicule. Still, what +was the matter with Percival Algernon? History had given men of these +names mighty fine things to accomplish. Then why ridicule? Was it due to +the perverted angle of vision created by wits and humorists in the comic +weeklies, who were eternally pillorying these unhappy prefixes to +ordinary cognomens? And why this pillorying? She hadn't studied the +subject sufficiently to realize that the business of the humorist is not +so much to amuse as to warn persons against becoming ridiculous. And +Percival Algernon Jones was all of that. It resolved itself into a +matter of values, then. Had his surname been Montmorency, Percival +Algernon would have fitted as a key to its lock. She smiled. No one but +a fond mother would be guilty of such a crime. And if she ever grew to +know him well enough, she was going to ask him all about this mother. + +What interest had her own mother in this harmless young man? Oh, some +day she would burst through this web, this jungle; some day she would +see beyond the second act! What then? she never troubled to ask +herself; time enough when the moment arrived. + +"I had an interesting adventure last night, a most interesting one," +began George, who was no longer the shy, blundering recluse. They were +on the way back to town. + +"Tell it me," said Mrs. Chedsoye. + +He leaned over from his seat beside the chauffeur of the hired +automobile. (Hang the expense on a day like this!) "A fellow brought me +a rug last night, one of the rarest outside the museums. How and where +he got it I'm not fully able to state. But he had been in a violent +struggle somewhere, arms slashed, shins battered. He admitted that he +had gone in where many shapes of death lurked. It was a bit irregular. I +bought the rug, however. Some one else would have snatched it up if I +hadn't. I wanted him to recount the adventure, but he smiled and +refused. I tell you what it is, these eastern ports are great places." + +"How interesting!" Mrs. Chedsoye's color was not up to the mark. "He was +not seriously wounded?" + +"Oh, no. He looks like a tough individual. I mean, a chap strong and +hardy enough to put himself out of pretty bad holes. He needed the +money." + +"Did he give his name?" asked Fortune. + +"Yes; but no doubt it was assumed. Ryanne and he spelt it with an 'ne,' +and humorously explained why he did so." + +"Is he young, old, good-looking, or what?" + +Mrs. Chedsoye eyed her offspring through narrowed lids. + +"I should say that he was about thirty-five, tall, something of an +athlete; and there remains some indications that in the flush of youth +he was handsome. Odd. He reminded me of a young man who was on the +varsity eleven--foot-baller--when I entered my freshman year. I didn't +know him, but I was a great admirer of his from the grand-stand. Horace +Wadsworth was _his_ name." + +Horace Wadsworth. Fortune had the sensation of being astonished at +something she had expected to happen. + +Just before going down to dinner that night, Fortune turned to her +mother, her chin combative in its angle. + +"I gave Mr. Jones a hundred and fifty pounds out of that money you left +in my care. Knowing how forgetful you are, I took the liberty of +attending to the affair myself." + +She expected a storm, but instead her mother viewed her with appraising +eyes. Suddenly she laughed mellowly. Her sense of humor was too +excitable to resist so delectable a situation. + +"You told him, of course, that the money came from me?" demanded Mrs. +Chedsoye, when she could control her voice. + +"Surely, since it did come from you." + +"My dear, my dear, you are to me like the song in _The Mikado_," and she +hummed lightly-- + + "'To make the prisoner pent + Unwillingly represent + A source of innocent merriment, + Of innocent merriment!'" + +"Am I a prisoner, then?" + +"Whatever you like; it can not be said that I ever held you on the +leash," taking a final look into the mirror. + +"What is the meaning of this rug? You and I know who stole it. + +"I have explicitly warned you, my child, never to meddle with affairs +that do not concern you." + +"Indirectly, some of yours do. You are in love with Ryanne, as he calls +himself." + +"My dear, you do not usually stoop to such vulgarity. And are you +certain that he has any other name?" + +"If I were I should not tell you." + +"Ah!" + +"A man will tell the woman he loves many things he will not tell the +woman he admires." + +"As wise as the serpent," bantered the mother; but she looked again into +the mirror to see if her color was still what it should be. "And whom +does he admire?" the Mona Lisa smile hovering at the corners of her +lips. + +"You," evenly. + +Mrs. Chedsoye thought for a moment, thought deeply and with new insight. +It was no longer a child but a woman, and mayhap she had played upon the +taut strings of the young heart once too often. Still, she was unafraid. + +"And whom does he love?" + +"Me. Shall I get you the rouge, mother?" + +Still with that unchanging smile, the woman received the stab. "My +daughter," as if speculatively, "you will get on. You haven't been my +pupil all these years for nothing. Let us go down to dinner." + +Fortune, as she silently followed, experienced a sense of disconcertion +rather than of elation. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +MOONLIGHT AND POETRY + + +A ball followed dinner that night, Wednesday. The ample lounging-room +filled up rapidly after coffee: officers in smart uniforms and spurs, +whose principal function in times of peace is to get in everybody's way, +rowel exposed ankles, and demolish lace ruffles, Egyptians and Turks and +sleek Armenians in somber western frock and scarlet eastern fez or +_tarboosh_, women of all colors (meaning, of course, as applied) and +shapes and tastes, the lean and fat, the tall and short, such as _Billy +Taylor_ is said to have kissed in all the ports, and tail-coats of as +many styles as Joseph's had patches. George could distinguish his +compatriots by the fit of the trousers round the instep; the Englishman +had his fitted at the waist and trusted in Providence for the hang of +the rest. This trifling detective work rather pleased George. The women, +however, were all Eves to his eye; liberal expanses of beautiful white +skin, the bare effect being modified by a string of pearls or diamonds +or emeralds, and hair which might or might not have been wholly their +own. He waited restlessly for the reappearance of Mrs. Chedsoye and her +daughter. All was right with the world, except that he was to sail +altogether too soon. His loan had been returned, and he knew that his +former suspicions had been most unworthy. Mrs. Chedsoye had never +received his note. + +Some one was sitting down beside him. It was Ryanne, in evening clothes, +immaculate, blasé, pink-cheeked. There are some men so happily framed +that they can don ready-made suits without calling your attention to the +fact. George saw at once that the adventurer was one of these fortunate +individuals. + +"Makes a rather good picture to look at; eh?" began Ryanne, rolling a +flake-tobacco cigarette. "Dance?" + +"No. Wish I could. You've done quick work," with admiring inspection. +"Not a flaw anywhere. How do you do it?" + +"Thanks. Thanks to you, I might say. I did some tall hustling, though. +Strange, how we love these funeral toggeries. We follow the dance and we +follow the dead, with never a variation in color. The man who invented +the modern evening clothes must have done good business during the day +as chief-mourner." + +"Why don't you send for your luggage?" + +Ryanne caressed his chin. "My luggage is, I believe, in the hands of the +enemy. It is of no great importance. I never carry anything of value, +save my skin. I'm not like the villain in the melodrama; no +incriminating documents, no lost wills, no directions for digging up +pirates' gold." + +"I suppose you'll soon be off for America?" George asked indifferently. + +"I suppose so. By the way, I saw you at the game to-day." + +"No! Where were you?" + +"Top row. I am going to ask a favor of you. It may sound rather odd to +your ears, but I know those two ladies rather well. I kept out of the +way till I could find some clothes. The favor I ask is that you will not +tell them anything regarding the circumstances of our meeting. I am +known to them as a globe-trotter and a collector." + +"That's too bad," said George contritely. "But I have already told +them." + +"The devil you have!" Ryanne dropped his cigarette into the ash-tray. +"If I remember rightly, you asked me to say nothing." + +"I know," said George, visibly embarrassed. "I forgot." + +"Well, the fat is in the fire. I dare say that I can get round it. It +was risky. Women like to talk. I expect every hour to hear of some one +arriving from Bagdad." + +"There's no boat from that direction till next week," informed George, +who was a stickler on time-tables. + +"There are other ways of getting into Egypt. Know anything about +racing-camels?" + +"You don't believe...?" + +"My friend I believe in all things that haven't been proved impossible. +You've been knocking about here long enough to know something of the +tenacity of the Arab and the East Indian. Given a just cause, an idol's +eye or a holy carpet, and they'll follow you round the world ten times, +if need be. I never worry needlessly, but I lay out before me all the +points in the game. There is one man in Bagdad who will never cease to +think of me. This fellow is an Arab, Mahomed-El-Gebel by name, the real +article, proud and savage, into whose keeping the Holy Yhiordes was +given; Mahomed-El-Gebel, the Pasha's right-hand, a sheik in his own +right." + +"But you haven't got the rug now." + +"No, Mr. Jones, I haven't; but on the other hand, you have. So, here we +are together. When he gets through with me, your turn." + +George laughed. Ryanne grew thoughtful over this sign. Percival Algernon +did not seem exactly worried. + +"Aren't you a little afraid?" + +"I? Why should I be?" inquired George innocently. "Certainly, whatever +your Arab friend's arguments may be, moral or physical, I'm going to +keep that Yhiordes." + +Was he bluffing? Ryanne wondered. Did he really have nerve? Well, +within forty-eight hours there would come a test. + +"Say, do you know, I rather wish you'd been with me on that trip--that +is, if you like a rough game." Ryanne said this in all sincerity. + +"I have never been in a rough game, as you call it; but I've often had a +strong desire to be, just to find out for myself what sort of a duffer I +am." + +Ryanne had met this sort of man before; the fellow who wanted to know +what stuff he was made of, and was ready to risk his hide to find out. +His experience had taught him to expect nothing of the man who knew just +what he was going to do in a crisis. + +"Did you ever know, Mr. Jones," said Ryanne, his eyes humorous, "that +there is an organization in this world of ours, a company that offers a +try-out to men of your kidney?" + +"What's that? What do you mean?" + +"What I say. There is an established concern which will, upon +application for a liberal purchase of stock, arrange any kind of +adventure you wish." + +"What?" George drew in his legs and sat up. "What sort of a jolly is +this?" + +"You put your finger upon the one great obstacle. No one will believe +that such a concern exists. Yet it is a fact. And why not?" + +"Because it wouldn't be real; it would be going to the moon _à la_ Coney +Island." + +"Wrong, absolutely wrong. If I told you that I am a stock-holder in this +company, and that the adventure of the Yhiordes rug was arranged for my +special benefit, what would you say?" + +"Say?" George turned a serious countenance toward the adventurer. "Why, +the whole thing is absurd on the face of it. As a joke, it might go; but +as a genuine affair, utterly impossible." + +"No," quietly. "I admit that it sounds absurd, yes; but ten years ago +they'd have locked up, as insane, a man who said that he could fly. But +think of last summer at Paris, at Rheims, at Frankfort; the Continental +air was full of flying-machines. Bah! It's pretty difficult to impress +the average mind with something new. Why shouldn't we cater to the +poetic, the romantic side of man? We've concerns for everything else. +The fact is, mediocrity is always standing behind the corner with +brickbats for the initiative. Believe me or not, Mr. Jones, but this +company exists. The proof is that you have the rug and I have the +scars." + +"But in these prosaic times!" murmured George, still skeptical. + +"Prosaic times!" sniffed Ryanne. "There's one of your brickbats. They +swung it at the head of the first printer. Prosaic times! My friend, +this is the most romantic and bewildering age humanity has yet seen. +There's more romance and adventure going about on wheels and +steel-bottoms than ever there was in the days of Drake and the +Spanish galleons. There's an adventure lurking round the nearest +corner--romance, too. What this organization does is to direct you; +after that you have to shift for yourself. But, like a first-rate +physical instructor, they never map out more than a man can do. They +gave me the rug. Your bones, on such a quest, would have been bleaching +upon the banks of the Tigris." + +"What the deuce is this company called?" George was enjoying the +conversation immensely. + +"The United Romance and Adventure Company, Ltd., of London, Paris, and +New York." + +"Have you any of the company's paper with you?" George repressed his +laughter because Ryanne's face was serious enough. + +"Unfortunately, no. But if you will give me your banker's address I'll +be pleased to forward you the prospectus." + +"Knauth, Nachod and Kühne. I am shortly leaving for home. Better send it +to New York. I say, suppose a chap buys an adventure that is not up to +the mark; can he return it or exchange it for another?" + +"No. It's all chance, you know. The rules of the game are steel-bound. +We find you an adventure; it's up to you to make good." + +"But, once more, suppose a chap gets a little too rough a game, and +doesn't turn up for his dividends; what then?" + +"In that event," answered Ryanne sadly, "the stock reverts to the +general fund." + +George lay back in his chair and let go his laughter. "You are mighty +good company, Mr. Ryanne." + +"Well, well; we'll say nothing more about it. But a moment gone you +spoke as if you were game for an exploit." + +"I still am. But if I knew the adventure was prearranged, as you say, +and I was up against a wall, there would be the inclination to cable the +firm for more instructions." + +Ryanne himself laughed this time. "That's a good idea. I don't believe +the company ever thought of such a contingency. But I repeat, our +business is to give you the kick-off. After that you have to fight for +your own downs." + +"The stock isn't listed?" again laughing. + +"Scarcely. One man tells another, as I tell you, and so on." + +"You send me the prospectus. I'm rather curious to have a look at it." + +"I certainly shall do so," replied Ryanne, with gravity unassumed. "Ah! +Here come Mrs. Chedsoye and her daughter. If you don't mind, I'll make +myself scarce. I do not care to see them just now, after your having +told them about the stolen Yhiordes." + +"I'm sorry," said George, rising eagerly. + +"It's all in the game," gallantly. + +George saw him gracefully manoeuver his way round the crush toward the +stairs leading to the bar. Really, he would like to know more about +this amiable free-lance. As the old fellows used to say, he little +dreamed that destiny, one of those things from Pandora's box, was +preparing a deeper and more intimate acquaintance. + +"And what has been amusing you, Mr. Jones?" asked Mrs. Chedsoye. "I saw +you laughing." + +"I was talking with the rug chap. He's a droll fellow. He said that he +had met you somewhere, but concluded not to renew the acquaintance, +since I told him that his adventure in part was known to you." + +"That is foolish. I rather enjoy meeting men of his stamp. Don't you, +Fortune?" + +"Sometimes," with a dry little smile. "I believe we have met him, +mother. There was something familiar about his head. Of course, we saw +him only from a distance." + +"I do not think there is any real harm in him," said George. "What made +me laugh was a singular proposition he set before me. He said he owned +stock in a concern called 'The United Romance and Adventure Company'; +and that for a specified sum of money, one could have any adventure one +pleased." + +"Did you ever hear of such a thing?" cried the mother merrily. Fortune +searched her face keenly. "The United Romance and Adventure Company! He +must have been joking. What did you say his name is?" + +"Ryanne. Joking is my idea exactly," George agreed. "The scheme is to +plunge the stock-holder into a real live adventure, and then let him +pull himself out the best way he can. Sounds good. He added that this +rug business was an instance of the success of the concern. There goes +the music. Do you dance, Miss Chedsoye?" + +"A little." Fortune was preoccupied. She was wondering what lay behind +Mr. Ryanne's amiable jest. + +"Go along, both of you," said Mrs. Chedsoye. "I am too old to dance. I +prefer watching people." She sat down and arranged herself comfortably. +She was always arranging herself comfortably; it was one of the secrets +of her perennial youth. She was very lovely, but George had eyes for the +daughter only. Mrs. Chedsoye saw this, but was not in the least +chagrined. + +"It is so many years since I tripped the light fantastic toe," George +confessed, reluctantly and nervously, now that he had bravely committed +himself. "It is quite possible that the accent will be primarily upon +the trip." + +"Perhaps, then," replied the girl, who truthfully was out of tune, +"perhaps I had better get my wraps and we'll go outside. The night is +glorious." + +She couldn't have suggested anything more to his liking. And so, after a +little hurrying about, the two young people went outside and began to +promenade slowly up and down the mole. Their conversation was desultory. +George had dropped back into his shell and the girl was not equal to the +task of drawing him out. Once he stumbled over a sleeping beggar, and +would have fallen had she not caught him by the arm. + +"Thanks. I'm clumsy." + +"It's rather difficult to see them in the moonlight; their rags match +the pavements." + +The Egyptian night, that sapphirine darkness which the flexible +imagination peoples with lovely and terrible shades, or floods with +mystery and romance and wonder, lay softly upon this strip of verdure +aslant the desert's face, the Valley of the Nile. The moon, round, +brilliant, strangely near, suffused the scarred old visage of the world +with phantom silver; the stones of the parapet glowed dully, the +pavement glistened whitely, all things it touched with gentleness, +lavishing beauty upon beauty, mellowing ugliness or effacing it. The +deep blue Nile, beribboned with the glancing lights from the silent +feluccas, curling musically along the sides of the frost-like dahabeahs +and steamers, rolled on to the sea; and the blue-white arc-lamps, +spanning the Great Nile Bridge, took the semblance of a pearl necklace. +From time to time a caravan trooped across the bridge into Cairo. The +high and low weird notes of the tom-toms, the wheezing protests of the +camels, the raucous defiance of the donkeys, the occasional thin music +of reeds, were sounds that crossed and recrossed one another, anciently. + +"Do you care for poetry, Mr. Jones?" + +"I? I used to write it." + +"And you aren't afraid to admit it?" + +"Well, I shouldn't confess the deed to every one," he answered frankly. +"We all write poetry at one time or another; but it's generally not +constitutional, and we recover." + +"I do not see why any one should be ashamed of writing poetry." + +"Ah, but there is poetry and poetry. My kind and Byron's is born of +kindred souls; but he was an active genius, whereas, I wasn't even a +passive one. In all great poets I find my own rejected thoughts, as +Emerson says; and that's enough for my slender needs. Poets are rather +uncomfortable chaps to have round. They are capricious, irritable, +temperamental, selfish, and usually demand all the attention." + +The little vocal stream dried up again, and once more they listened to +the magic sounds of the night. She stopped abruptly to look over the +parapet, and his shoulder met hers; after that the world to him was +never going to be the same again. + +Moonlight and poetry; not the safest channels to sail uncharted. The +girl was lonely, and George was lonely, too. His longing had now assumed +a definite form; hers moved from this to that, still indefinitely. The +quickness with which this definition had come to George rather startled +him. His first sight of Fortune Chedsoye had been but yesterday; yet, +here he was, not desperately but consciously in love with her. The +situation bore against all precepts; it ripped up his preconceived ideas +of romance as a gale at sea shreds a canvas. He felt a bit panicky. He +had always planned a courtship of a year or so, meetings, separations, +and remeetings, pleasurable expectations, little junkets to theatres and +country places; in brief, to witness the rose grow and unfold. Somewhere +he had read or heard that courtship was the plummet which sounded the +depths of compatibility. He knew nothing of Fortune Chedsoye, save that +she was beautiful to his eyes, and that she was as different from the +ordinary run of girls as yonder moon was from the stars. Here his +knowledge ended. But instinct went on, appraising and delving and +winnowing, and instinct told him what knowledge could not, that she was +all his heart desired. + +When a man finally decides that he is in love, his troubles begin, the +imaginary ones. Is he worthy? Can he always provide for her? Is it +possible for such a marvelous creature to love an insignificant chap +like himself? And that worst of mental poisons, is she in love with any +one else? What to do to win her? The feats of Hercules, of Perseus, of +Jason: what mad piece of heroism can he lay his hand to that he may wake +the slumbering fires, and having roused them, continue to feed them? + +Manhood, meaning that decade between thirty and forty, looks upon this +phase, abashed. After all, it wasn't so terrible; there were vaster +emotions, vaster achievements in life to which in comparison love was as +a candle held to the sun. + +Again she stopped, leaning over the parapet and staring down at the +water swirling past the stone embankment. He did likewise, resting upon +his folded arms. Suddenly his tongue became alive; and quietly, without +hesitancy or embarrassment, he began to tell her of his school life, his +life at home. And the manner in which he spoke of his mother warmed her; +and she was strangely and wonderingly attracted. + +"Of course, the mother meant the best in the world when she gave me +Percival Algernon; and because she meant the best, I have rarely tried +to hide them. What was good enough for her to give was good enough for +me to keep. It is simply that I have been foolish about it, +supersensitive. I should have laughed and accepted the thing as a joke; +instead, I made the fatal move of trying to run away and hide. But, +taking the name in full," lightly, "it sounds as incongruous as playing +_Traumerei_ on a steam-piano." + +He expected her to laugh, but her heart was too full of the old ache. +This young man, kindly, gentle, intelligent, if shy, was a love-child. +And she? An offspring, the loneliest of the lonely, the child that +wasn't wanted. Many a time she had thought of flinging all to the winds, +of running away and hiding where they never should find her, of working +with her own hands for her bread and butter. Little they'd have cared. +But always the rebel spirit died within her as she stepped outside the +villa gates. To leave behind for unknown privations certain assured +comforts, things of which she was fond, things to which she was used, +she couldn't do it, she just couldn't. Morally and physically she was a +little coward. + +"Let us go in," she said sharply. Another moment, and she would have +been in tears. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +RYANNE TABLES HIS CARDS + + +During this time Mrs. Chedsoye, the Major, Messrs. Ryanne and Wallace, +officers and directors in the United Romance and Adventure Company, +Ltd., sat in the Major's room, round the boudoir-stand which had +temporarily been given the dignity of a table. The scene would not have +been without interest either to the speculative physiognomist or to the +dramatist. To each it would have represented one of those astonishing +moments when the soul of a person comes out into the open, as one might +express it, incautiously, to be revealed in the expressions of the eyes +and the mouth. These four persons were about going forward upon a +singularly desperate and unusual enterprise. From now on they were no +longer to fence with one another, to shift from this topic to that, +with the indirect manoeuvers of a house-cat intent upon the quest of +the Friday mackerel. The woman's face was alive with eagerness; the +oldest man looked from one to the other with earnest calculation; +Wallace no longer hid his cupidity; Ryanne's immobility of countenance +was in itself a tacit admission to the burning of all his bridges that +he might become a part of this conclave. + +"Smuggling," said the Major, with prudent lowering of voice, evidently +continuing some previous debate, "smuggling is a fine art, a keen +sporting proposition; and the consequences of discovery are never very +serious. What's a fine of a thousand dollars against the profits of many +successful excursions into the port of New York? Nothing, comparatively. +For several years, now, we have carried on this business with the utmost +adroitness. Never have we drawn serious attention. We have made two or +three blunders, but the suspicions of the secret-service were put to +sleep upon each occasion. We have prospered. Here is a gem, let us say, +worth on this side a thousand; over there we sell it for enough to give +us a clean profit of three or four hundred. Forty per cent. upon our +investment. That ought to be enough for any reasonable person. Am I +right?" + +Mrs. Chedsoye alone was unresponsive to this appeal. + +"I continue, then. We are making enough to lay by something for our old +age. And that's the only goal which never loses its luster. But this +affair!" + +"Talk, talk," said Mrs. Chedsoye impatiently. + +"My dear Kate, allow me to relieve my mind." + +"You have done so till the topic is threadbare. It is rather late in the +day to go over the ground again. Time is everything just now." + +"Admitted. But this affair, Kate, is big; big with dangers, big with +pitfalls; there is a hidden menace in every step of it. Mayhap death; +who knows? The older I grow, the more I cling to material comforts, to +enterprises of small dangers. However, as you infer, there's no going +back now." + +"No," assented Ryanne, his mouth hard; "not if I have to proceed alone." + +She smiled at him. "You talk of danger," speaking to the Major. "What +danger can there be?" + +"The unforeseen danger, the danger of which we know nothing, and +therefore are unable to prepare for it. You do not see it, my dear, but +it is there, nevertheless." + +Wallace nodded approvingly. Ryanne shrugged. + +"Failure is practically impossible. And I want excitement; I crave it as +you men crave your tobacco." + +"And there we are, Kate. It really isn't the gold; it's the excitement +of getting it and coming away unscathed. If I could only get you to look +at all sides of the affair! It's the Rubicon." + +"I accept it as such. I am tired of petty things. I repeat, failure is +not possible. Have I not thought it out, detail by detail, mapped out +each line, anticipated dangers by eliminating them?" + +"All but that one danger of which we know nothing. You're a great woman, +Kate. You have, as you say, made ninety-nine dangers out of a hundred +impossible. Let us keep an eye out for that hundredth. Our photographs +have yet to grace the rogues' gallery." + +"With one exception." Ryanne's laughter was sardonic. + +"Whose?" shot the Major. + +"Mine. A round and youthful phiz, a silky young mustache. But rest +easy; there's no likeness between that and the original one I wear now." + +"You never told us...." began Mrs. Chedsoye. + +"There was never any need till now. Eight years ago. Certain powers that +be worked toward my escape. But I was never to return. You will +recollect that I have always remained this side. Enough. What I did does +not matter. I will say this much: my crime was in being found out. One +venture into New York and out to sea again; they will not have a chance. +I doubt if any could recall the circumstances of my meteoric career. You +will observe that I am keyed for anything. Let us get to work. It +doesn't matter, anyhow." + +"You did not...." Mrs. Chedsoye hesitated. + +"Blood?" reading her thought. "No, Gioconda; my hands are guiltless, at +least they were till this Bagdad affair; and I am not sure there. I was +a trusted clerk; I gambled; I took money that did not belong to me. And +here I am, room number 208." + +"It doesn't matter. Come, Kate; don't stare at Hoddy as if he were a new +species." The Major smoothed the ends of his mustache. "This confession +will be good for his soul." + +"Yes, Gioconda; I feel easier now. I am heart and soul in this affair. I +need excitement, too. Lord, yes. When I went to Bagdad, I had no idea +that I should ever lay eyes upon that rug. But I did. And there's the +emeralds, too, Major." + +The Major rubbed his hands pleasurably. "Yes, yes; the emeralds; I had +not forgotten them. One hundred lovely green stones, worth not a penny +under thirty thousand. A fine collection. But another idea has taken +possession of this teeming brain of mine. Have you noticed how this +fellow Jones hovers about Fortune? He's worth a million, if he's worth a +cent. I am sure, in pure gratitude, she would see to it that her loved +ones were well taken care of in their old age." + +"I am going to marry Fortune myself," said Ryanne blandly. + +"You?" The Major was nonplussed. + +Wallace shuffled his feet uneasily. This blond companion of his was +always showing kinks in his nature, kinks that rarely ever straightened +out. + +"Yes. And why not? What is she to either you or her mother? Nothing. +Affection you have never given her, being unable. It surprises you; but, +nevertheless, I love her, and I am going to marry her." + +"Really?" said Mrs. Chedsoye. + +"Even so." + +"You are a fool, Horace!" with rising fury. So then, the child had not +jibed her in a moment of pique? + +"Men in love generally are fools. I've never spoken before, because you +never absolutely needed me till now. There's my cards, pat." + +Mrs. Chedsoye's fury deepened, but not visibly. "You are welcome to her, +if she will have you." + +"Yes," supplemented the Major; "if she will have you, my friend, take +her, and our benedictions." + +Ryanne's shoulders stirred suggestively. + +"Of course, I expect to have the final word to say on the subject. She +is my daughter," said Mrs. Chedsoye. + +"A trifling accident, my dear Gioconda," smiled Ryanne; "merely that." + +"Just a little oil, just a little oil," the Major pleaded anxiously. +"Dash it all, this is no time for a row of this silly order. But it's +always the way," irritably. "A big enterprise, demanding a single +purpose, and a trifle like this to upset it all!" + +"I am ready for business at any moment." + +"And you, Kate?" + +"We'll say no more about it till the affair is over. After that...." + +"Those who live will see, eh?" Ryanne rolled a cigarette. + +"To business, then. In the first place, Mr. Jones must not reach the +_Ludwig_!" + +"He will not." Ryanne spoke with quiet assurance. + +"He will not even see that boat," added Wallace, glad to hear the sound +of his voice again. + +"Good. But, mind, no rough work." + +"Leave it all to me," said Ryanne. "The United Romance and Adventure +Company will give him an adventure on approval, as it were." + +"To you, then. The report from New York reads encouragingly. Our friends +there are busy. They are merely waiting for us. From now on Percival +Algernon must receive no more mail, telegrams or cables." + +"I'll take care of that also." Ryanne looked at Mrs. Chedsoye musingly. + +"His real-estate agent will wire him, possibly to-morrow." + +"In that event, he will receive a cable signifying that the transaction +is perfectly correct." + +"He may also inquire as to what to do with the valuables in the +wall-safe." + +"He will be instructed to touch nothing, as the people who will occupy +the house are old friends." Ryanne smoked calmly. + +"Wallace, you will return to New York at once." + +"I thought I was wanted here?" + +"No longer." + +"All right; I'm off. I'll sail on the _Prince Ludwig_, state-room 118. +I'll have my joke by the way." + +"You will do nothing of the kind. You will have a state-room by +yourself," said Mrs. Chedsoye crisply. "And no wine, no cards. If you +fail, I'll break you...." + +"As we would a churchwarden's pipe, Wallace, my lad." Ryanne gripped his +companion by the shoulder, and there was enough pressure in the grip to +cause the recipient to wince. + +"Well, well; I'll lay a straight course." Wallace slid his shoulder from +under Ryanne's hand. + +"To you, then, Hoddy, the business of quarantining our friend Percival. +Don't hurt him; simply detain him. You must realize the importance of +this. Have you your plans?" + +"I'll perfect them to-morrow. I shall find a way, never fear." + +"Does the rug come in anywhere?" The Major was curious. It sometimes +seemed to him that Ryanne did not always lay his cards face up upon the +table. + +"It will play its part. Besides, I am rather inclined to the idea of +taking it back. It may be the old wishing-carpet. In that case, it will +come in handy. Who knows?" + +"How much is it worth?" + +"Ah, Major, Percival himself could not say exactly. He gave me a +thousand pounds for it." + +"A thousand pounds!" murmured Wallace. + +The Major struck his hands lightly together. Whether in applause or +wonder he alone knew. + +"And it was worth every shilling of it, too. I'll tell you the story +some day. There are a dozen ways of suppressing Percival, but I must +have something appealing to my artistic side." + +"You have never told us your real name, Horace," Mrs. Chedsoye bent +toward him. + +He laughed. "I must have something to confess to you in the future, dear +Gioconda." + +"Well, the meeting adjourns, _sine die_." + +"What are you going to do with Fortune?" demanded Ryanne. + +"Send her back to Mentone." + +"What the deuce did you bring her here for, knowing what was in the +wind?" + +"She expressed a desire to see Cairo again," answered Mrs. Chedsoye. + +"We never deny her anything." The Major rose and yawned suggestively. + +In the corridor, Ryanne whispered softly: "Why not, Gioconda?" + +"She shall never marry a man of your stamp," coldly. + +"Charming mother! How tenderly you have cherished her!" + +"Horace," calmly enough, "is it wise to anger me?" + +"It may not be wise, but I have never seen you in a rage. You would be +magnificent." + +"Cease this foolery," patiently. "I am in no mood for it to-night. As an +associate in this equivocal business, you do very well; you are +necessary. But do not presume too much upon that. For all that I may not +have been what a mother should be, I still have some self-respect. So +long as I have any power over her, Fortune shall never marry a man so +far down in the social scale as yourself." + +"Social scale? Gioconda, how you hurt me!" mockingly. "I should really +like to know what your idea of that invincible barrier is. Is it because +my face is in the rogues' gallery? Surely, you would not be cruel!" + +"She is far above us all, my friend," continuing unruffled. "Sometimes I +stand in absolute awe of her." + +"A marvel! If my recollection is not at fault, many a man has entered +the Villa Fanny, with a view to courtship, men beside whom I am as +Roland to the lowest Saracen. You never objected to them." + +"They had money and position." + +"Magic talisman! And if I had money and position?" + +"My objections would be no less strong." + +"Your code puzzles me. You would welcome as a son-in-law a man who stole +openly the widow's mite, while I, who harass none but the predatory +rich, must dwell in the outland? Rank injustice!" + +"You couldn't take care of her." + +"Yes, I could. With but little effort I could make these two hands as +honest as the day is long." + +"I have my doubts," smiling a little. + +"Suppose, for the sake of an argument, suppose Fortune accepted me?" + +Mrs. Chedsoye's good humor returned. She knew her daughter tolerably +well; the child had a horror of men. "Poor Horace! Do you build upon +that?" + +"Less, perhaps, than upon my own bright invention. My suit, then, to be +brief, is rejected?" + +"Emphatically. I have spoken." + +"Oh, well; the feminine prerogative shall be mine, the last word. Good +night; _dormi bene_!" He bowed grandly and turned toward his own room. + +He possessed that kind of mockery which was the despair of those at whom +it was directed. They never knew whether his mood was one of harmless +fun or of deadly intent. And rather than mistake the one quality for the +other, they generally pretended to ignore. Mrs. Chedsoye, who had a +similar talent, was one of the few who felt along the wall as one does +in the dark, instinctively. To-night she recognized that there was no +harmless fun but a real desperateness behind the mask; and she had held +in her temper with a firm hand. This was not the hour for a clash. She +shivered a little; and for the first time in the six or seven years she +had known him, she faced a fear of him. His great strength, his reckless +courage, his subtle way of mastering men by appearing to be mastered by +them, held her in the thrall of a peculiar fascination which, in quiet +periods, she looked upon as something deeper. Marriage was not to her an +ideal state, nor was there any man, living or dead, who had appealed to +the physical side of her. But he was in the one sex what she was in the +other; and while she herself would never have married him, she raged +inwardly at the possibility of his wanting another woman. + +To her the social fabric which holds humanity together was merely a +convenience; the moral significance touched neither her heart nor her +mind. In her the primordial craving for ease, for material comforts, +pretty trinkets and gowns was strongest developed. It was as if this +sense had been handed down to her, untouched by contact with +progression, from the remote ages, that time between the fall of Roman +civilization and where modern civilization began. In short, a beautiful +barbarian, whose intellect alone had advanced. + +Fortune was asleep. The mother went over to the bed and gently shook the +slim, round arm which lay upon the coverlet. The child's nature lay +revealed as she opened her eyes and smiled. It did not matter that the +smile instantly changed to a frowning inquiry. The mother spoke truly +when she said that there were times when she stood in awe of this, her +flesh and blood. + +"My child, I wish to ask you a question, and for your own good answer +truthfully. Do you love Horace?" + +Fortune sat up and rubbed her eyes. "No." Had her wits been less +scattered she might have paltered. + +The syllable had a finality to it that reassured the mother more than a +thousand protestations would have done. + +"Good night," she said. + +Fortune lay down again and drew the coverlet up to her chin. With her +eyes shut she waited, but in vain. Her mother disrobed and sought her +own bed. + +Ryanne was intensely dissatisfied with himself. For once his desperate +mood had carried him too far. He had made too many confessions, had +antagonized a woman who was every bit as clever and ingenious as +himself. The enterprise toward which they were moving held him simply +because it was an exploit that enticed wholly his twisted outlook upon +life. There was a forbidding humor in the whole affair, too, which he +alone saw. The possible rewards were to him of secondary consideration. +It was the fun of the thing. It was the fun of the thing that had put +him squarely upon the wide, short road to perdition, which had made him +first a spendthrift, then a thief. The fun of the thing: sinister +phrase! A thousand times had he longed to go back, for he wasn't all +bad; but door after door had shut behind him; and now the single +purpose was to get to the end of the road by the shortest route. + +He did not deceive himself. His desperate mood was the result of an +infernal rage against himself, a rage against the weakness of his heart. +Fortune Chedsoye. Why had she not crossed his path at that time when he +might have been saved? And yet, would she have saved him? God alone +knew. + +He heard Jones stirring in his room next door. Presently all became +still. To sleep like that! He shrugged, threw off his coat, swept the +cover from the stand, found a pack of cards, and played solitaire till +the first pallor of dawn announced the new day. + +Reclining snugly against the parapet, wrapped in his tattered arbiyeh, +or cloak, his head pillowed upon his lean arm, motionless with that +pretended sleep of the watcher, Mahomed-El-Gebel kept his vigil. Miles +upon miles he had come, across three bleak, cold, blinding deserts, on +camels, in trains, on camels again, night and day, day and night, across +the soundless, yellow plains. Allah was good to the true believer. The +night was chill, but certain fires warmed his blood. All day long he +had followed the accursed, lying giaour, but never once had he wandered +into the native quarters of the city. Patience! What was a day, a week, +a year? Grains of sand. He could wait. _Inshalla!_ + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE PURLOINED CABLE + + +George, having made his bargain with conscience relative to the Yhiordes +rug, slept the sleep of the untroubled, of the just, of the man who had +nothing in particular to get up for. In fact, after having drunk his +breakfast cocoa and eaten his buttered toast, he evinced his +satisfaction by turning his face away from the attracting morning light +and passing off into sleep again. And thereby hangs this tale. + +So much depended upon his getting his mail as it came in that morning, +that Fate herself must have resisted sturdily the desire to shake him by +the shoulder. Perhaps she would have done so but for the serenity of his +pose and the infantile smile that lingered for a while round his lips. +Fate, as with most of us, has her sentimental lapses. + +The man next door, having no conscience to speak of (indeed, he had +derailed her while passing his twentieth meridian!), was up betimes. He +had turned in at four; at six he was strolling about the deserted +lounging-room, watching the entrances. It is inconceivable how easily +mail may be purloined in a large hotel. There are as many ways as points +to the wind. Ryanne chose the simplest. He waited for the mail-bag to be +emptied upon the head-porter's counter. Nonchalantly, but deftly, while +the porter looked on, the adventurer ran through the bulk. He found +three letters and a cable, the latter having been received by George's +bankers the day before and mailed directly to the hotel. The porter had +no suspicion that a bold theft was being committed under his very eyes. +Moreover, circumstances prevented his ever learning of it. Ryanne +stuffed the spoils into a pocket. + +"If any one asks for me," he said, "say that I shall be at my banker's, +the Anglo-Egyptian Bank, at ten o'clock." + +"Yes, sir," replied the porter, as he began to sort the rest of the +mail, not forgetting to peruse the postals. + +Ryanne went out into the street, walking rapidly into town. +Mahomed-El-Gebel shook the folds of his cloak and followed. The +adventurer did not slacken his gait till he reached Shepheard's Hotel. +Upon the steps he paused. Some English troops were marching past, on the +way to the railway station; the usual number of natives were patrolling +the sidewalks, dangling strings of imitation scarabs; a caravan of +pack-camels, laden with cotton, shuffled by haughtily; a blind beggar +sat on the curb in front, munching a piece of sugar-cane. Ryanne, +assured that no one he knew was about, proceeded into the writing-room, +wholly deserted at this early hour. + +He sat down at a desk and opened the cable. It contained exactly what he +expected. It was a call for advice in regard to the rental of Mr. George +P. A. Jones's mansion in New York and the temporary disposing of the +loose valuables. Ryanne read it over a dozen times, with puckered brow, +and finally balled it fiercely in his fist. Fool! He could not, at that +moment, remember the most essential point in the game, the name and +office of the agent to whom he must this very morning send reply. +Hurriedly he fished out the letters; one chance in a thousand. He swore, +but in relief. In the corner of one of the letters he saw that for some +unknown reason the gods were still with him. Reynolds and Reynolds, +estates, Broad Street; he remembered. He wrote out a reply on a piece of +hotel paper, intending to copy it off at the cable-office. This reply +covered the ground convincingly. "Renting for two months. Old friends. +Leave things as they are. P. A." The initials were a little stroke. From +some source Ryanne had picked up the fact that Jones's business +correspondence was conducted over those two initials. He tore up the +cable into small illegible squares and dropped some into one basket and +some into another. Next, he readdressed George's mail to Leipzig; +another stroke, meaning a delay of two or three months; from the head +office of his banker's there to Paris, Paris to Naples, Naples to New +York. That Ryanne did not open these letters was in nowise due to moral +suasion; whatever they contained could be of no vital importance to him. + +"Now, Horace, we shall bend the crook of our elbow in the bar-room. The +reaction warrants a stimulant." + +An hour later the whole affair was nicely off his hands. The cable had +cost him three sovereigns. But what was that? _Niente_, _rien_; nothing; +a mere bagatelle. For the first time in weeks a sense of security +invaded his being. + +It was by now nine o'clock; and Percival Algernon still reposed upon his +bed of ease. Let him sleep. Many days were to pass ere he would again +know the comfort of linen sheets, the luxury of down under his ear. + +What to do? mused the rogue. On the morrow Mr. Jones would leave for +Port Saïd. Ryanne shook his head and with his cane beat a light tattoo +against the side of his shin. Abduction was rather out of his sphere of +action. And yet, the suppression of Percival was by all odds the most +important move to be made. He had volunteered this service and +accomplish it he must, in face of all obstacles, or poof! went the whole +droll fabric. For to him it was droll, and never it rose in his mind +that he did not chuckle saturninely. It was a kind of nightmare where +one hung in mid-air, one's toes just beyond the flaming dragon's jaws. +The rewards would be enormous, but these he would gladly surrender for +the supreme satisfaction of turning the poisoned arrow in the heart of +that canting hypocrite, that smug church-deacon, the sanctimonious, the +sleek, the well-fed first-born. And poor Percival Algernon, for no blame +of his own, must be taken by the scruff of his neck and thrust bodily +into this tangled web of scheme and under-scheme. It was infinitely +humorous. + +He had had a vague plan regarding Mahomed, guardian of the Holy +Yhiordes, but it was not possible for him to be in Cairo at this early +date. That he would eventually appear Ryanne never doubted. He knew the +Oriental mind. Mahomed-El-Gebel would cross every barrier less effective +than death. It was a serious matter to the Moslem. If he returned to the +palace at Bagdad, minus the rug, it would mean free transportation to +the Arabian Gulf, bereft of the most important part of his excellent +anatomy, his head. Some day, if he lived, Ryanne intended telling the +exploit to some clever chap who wrote; it would look rather well in +print. + +To turn Mahomed against Percival as being the instigator would be an +adroit bit of work; and it would rid him of both of them. Gioconda said +that she wanted no rough work. How like a woman! Here was a man's game, +a desperate one; and Gioconda, not forgetting that it was her +inspiration, wanted it handled with gloves! It was bare-hand work, and +the sooner she was made to realize this, the better. It was no time for +tuning fiddles. + +Mahomed out of it, there was a certain English-Bar in the Quarter +Rosetti, a place of dubious repute. Many derelicts drifted there in +search of employment still more dubious. Dregs, scum; the bottom and the +top of the kettle; outcasts, whose hand and animus were directed against +society; black and brown and white men; not soldiers of fortune, like +Ryanne, but their camp-followers. In short, it was there (and Ryanne +still felt a dull shame of it) that Wallace, carrying the final +instructions of the enterprise, had found him, sleeping off the effects +of a shabby rout of the night before. It was there also that he had +heard of the history and the worth of the Yhiordes rug and the +possibility of its theft. He laughed. To have gone upon an adventure +like that, with nothing but the fumes of wine in his head! + +For a few pieces of gold he might enroll under his shady banner three or +four shining lights who would undertake the disposal of Percival. Not +that he wished the young man any harm--no; but business was business, +and in some way or another he must be made to vanish from the sight and +presence of men for at least two months. + +As for Major Callahan's unforeseen danger, the devil could look out for +that. + +Ryanne consulted his watch, a cheap but trustworthy article, costing a +dollar, not to be considered as an available asset. He would give it +away later in the day; for he had decided that while he was in funds +there would be wisdom in the purchase of a fine gold _Longines_. A good +watch, as every one knows, is always as easily converted into cash as a +London bank-note, providing, of course, one is lucky enough to possess +either. Many watches had he left behind, in this place or in that; and +often he had exchanged the ticket for a small bottle with a green neck. +Wherever fortune had gone against him heavily at cards, there he might +find his latest watch. Besides getting a new time-piece, he was +strongly inclined to leave the bulk of his little fortune in the +hotel-safe. One never could tell. + +And another good idea, he mused, as he swung the time-piece into his +vest-pocket, would be to add the splendor of a small white stone to his +modest scarf. There is only one well-defined precept among the sporting +fraternity: when flush, buy jewelry. Not to the cause of vanity, not at +all; but precious stones and gold watches constitute a kind of +reserve-fund against the evil day. When one has money in the pocket the +hand is quick and eager to find it. But jewelry is protected by a +certain quality of caution; it is not too readily passed over bars and +gaming-tables. While the pawnbroker stands between the passion and the +green-baize, there's food for thought. + +Having settled these questions to his satisfaction, there remained but +one other, how to spend his time. It would be useless to seek the +English-Bar before noon. Might as well ramble through the native town +and the bazaars. He might pick up some little curio to give to Fortune. +So he beckoned to an idle driver, climbed into the carriage, and was +driven off as if empires hung upon minutes. + +Ryanne never wearied of the bazaars in Cairo. They were to him no less +enchanting than the circus-parades of his youth. In certain ways, they +were not to be compared with those in Constantinople and Smyrna; but, on +the other hand, there was more light, more charm, more color. Perhaps +the magic nearness of the desert had something to do with it, the +rainless skies, the ever-recurring suggestions of antiquity. His lively +observation, his sense of the picturesque and the humorous, always close +to the surface, gave him that singular impetus which makes man a +prowler. This gift had made possible his success in old Bagdad. Some +years before he had prowled through the narrow city streets, had noted +the windings, the blind-alleys, and had never forgotten. Faces and +localities were written indelibly upon his memory. + +One rode to the bazaars, but walked through them or mounted donkeys. +Ryanne preferred his own legs. So did Mahomed. Once, so close did he +come that he could have put his two brown hands round the infidel's +throat. But, patience. Did not the Koran teach patience among the +higher laws? Patience. He could not, madly as he had dreamed, throttle +the white liar here in the bazaars. That would not bring the Holy +Yhiordes to his hands. He must wait. He must plan to lure the man out at +night, then to hurry him into the desert. Out into the desert, where no +man might be his master. Oh, the Holy Yhiordes should be his again; it +was written. + +The cries, the shouts, the tower of Babel reclaimed; the intermingling +of the races of the world: the Englishman, the American, the German, the +Italian, the Frenchman, the Greek, the Levantine, the purple-black +Ethiopian, the bronze Nubian; the veiled women, the naked children; all +the color-tones known to art, but predominating, that marvelous faded +tint of blue, the Cairene blue, in the heavens, in the waters, in the +dyes. + +"Make way, O my mother!" bawled a donkey-boy to the old crone peddling +matches. + +"Backsheesh! Backsheesh!" in the eight tones of the human voice. From +the beggar, his brother, his uncle, his grandfather, his children and +his children's children. "Backsheesh, backsheesh!" + +"To the right!" was shrilled into Ryanne's ear; and he dodged. A troop +of donkeys passed, laden with tourists, unhappy, fretful, +self-conscious. A water-carrier brushed against him, and he whiffed the +fresh dampness of the bulging goat-skin. A woman, the long, black +head-veil streaming out behind in the clutch of the monkey-like hand of +a toddling child, carried a terra-cotta water-jar upon her head. The +grace with which she moved, the abruptness of the color-changes, caught +Ryanne's roving eye and filled it with pleasure. + +Dust rose and subsided, eddied and settled; beggars blind and one-eyed +squatted in it, children tossed it in play, and beasts of burden +shuffled through it. + +The roar in front of the shops, the pressing and crowding of customers, +the high cries of the merchants; the gurgle of the water-pipes, the +pleasant fumes of coffee, the hardy loafers lolling before the khans or +caravansaries; a veiled face at a lattice-window; the violet shadows in +a doorway; the sunshine upon the soaring mosques; a true believer, +rocking and mumbling over his tattered Koran; gold and silver and +jewels; amber and copper and brass; embroideries and rugs and carpets; +and the pest of fleas, the plague of flies, the insidious smells. + +Rarely one saw the true son of the desert, the Bedouin. He disdained +streets and walls, and only necessity brought him here among the +polyglot and the polygon. + +Ryanne found himself inspecting "the largest emerald in the world, worth +twelve thousand pounds," which looked more like a fine hexagonal of onyx +than a gem. It was one of the curiosities of the bazaars, however, and +tourists were generally round it in force. To his experienced eye it was +no more than a fine specimen of emerald quartz, worth what any fool of a +collector was willing to pay for it. From this bazaar he passed on into +the next, and there he saw Fortune. + +And as Mahomed, always close at hand, saw the hard lines in Ryanne's +face soften, the cynical smile become tender, he believed he saw his way +to strike. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE BITTER FRUIT + + +Fortune had a hearty contempt for persons who ate their breakfast in +bed. For her the glory of the day was the fresh fairness of the morning, +when every one's step was buoyant, and all life stirred energetically. +There was cheer and hope everywhere; men faced their labors with clear +eye and feared nothing; women sang at their work. It was only at the +close of day that despair and defeat stalked the highways. So she was up +with the sun, whether in her own garden or in these odd and mystical +cities. Thus she saw the native as he was, not as he later in the day +pretended to be, for the benefit of the Feringhi about to be stretched +upon the sacrificial stone. She saw, with gladness, the honey-bee +thirling the rose, the plowman's share baring the soil: the morning, +the morning, the two or three hours that were all, all her own. Her +mother was always irritable and petulant in the morning, and her uncle +never developed the gift of speech till after luncheon. + +She had the same love of prowling that lured Ryanne from the beaten +paths. She was not inquisitive but curious, and that ready disarming +smile of hers opened many a portal. + +She was balancing upon her gloved palm, thoughtfully, a Soudanese +head-trinket, a pendant of twisted gold-wires, flawed emeralds and +second pearls, really exquisite and not generally to be found outside +the expensive shops in the European quarters, and there infrequently. +The merchant wanted twenty pounds for it. Fortune shook her head, +regretfully. It was far beyond her means. She sighed. Only once in a +great while she saw something for which her whole heart cried out. This +pendant was one of these. + +"I will give you five pounds for it. That is all I have with me." + +"Salaam, madame," said the jeweler, reaching for the pendant. + +"If you will send it to the Hotel Semiramis this afternoon...." But she +faltered at the sight of the merchant's incredulous smile. + +"I'll give you ten for it; not a piastre more. I can get one like it in +the Shâriâ Kâmel for that amount." + +Both Fortune and the merchant turned. + +"You, Horace?" + +"Yes, my child. And what are you doing here alone, without a dragoman?" + +"Oh, I have been through here alone many times. I'm not afraid. Isn't it +beautiful? He wants twenty pounds for it, and I can not afford that." + +She had not seen him in many weeks, yet she accepted his sudden +appearance without question or surprise. She was used to his turning up +at unexpected moments. Of course, she had known that he was in Cairo: +where her mother and uncle were this secretive man was generally within +calling. There had been a time when she had eagerly plied him with +questions, but he had always erected barriers of evasion, and finally +she ceased her importunities, for she concluded that her questions were +such. No matter to whom she turned, there was no one to answer her +questions, questions born of doubt and fear. + +"Ten pounds," repeated Ryanne, a hand in his pocket. + +[Illustration] + +The merchant laughed. Here were a young man and his sweetheart. His +experience had taught him, and not unwisely, that love is an easy +victim, too proud to haggle, too generous to bargain sharply. "Twenty," +he reiterated. + +"Salaam!" said Ryanne. "Good day!" He drew the somewhat resisting hand +of Fortune under his arm and made for the door. "Sh!" he whispered. +"Leave it to me." They gained the street. + +The merchant was dazed. He had misjudged what he now recognized as an +old hand. The two were turning up another street when he ran out, +shouting to them and waving the pendant. Ryanne laughed. + +"Ten pounds. I am a poor man, effendi, and I need the money. Ten pounds. +I am giving it away." The merchant's eyes filled with tears, a trick +left to him from out the ruins of his youth, that ready service to +forestall the merited rod. + +Ryanne counted out ten sovereigns and put the pendant in Fortune's +hand. And the pleasure in his heart was such as he had not known in many +days. The merchant wisely hurried back to his shop. + +"But...." she began protestingly. + +"Tut, tut! I have known you since you wore short dresses and +tam-o'-shanters." + +"I really can not accept it as a gift. Let me borrow the ten pounds." + +"And why can't you accept this little gift from me?" + +She had no ready answer. She gazed steadily at the dull pearls and the +flaky emeralds. She could not ask him where he had got those sovereigns. +She could not possibly be so cruel. She could not dissemble in words +like her mother. That gold she knew to be a part of a dishonest bargain +whose forestep had been a theft--more, a sacrilege. Her honesty was like +pure gold, unalloyed, unmixed with sophistic subterfuges. That the young +man who had purchased the rug might be mildly peccable had not yet +occurred to her. + +"Why not, Fortune?" Ryanne was very earnest, and there was a pinch at +his heart. + +"Because...." + +"Don't you like me, just a little?" + +"Why, I do like you, Horace. But I do not like any man well enough to +accept expensive gifts from him. I do not wish to hurt you, but it is +impossible. The only concession I'll make is to borrow the money." + +"Well, then, let it go at that." He was too wise to press her. + +"And can you afford to throw away ten pounds?" with assumed lightness. +"My one permanent impression of you is the young man who was always +forced to borrow car-fare whenever he returned from Monte Carlo." + +"A fool and his money. But I'm a rich man now," he volunteered. And +briefly he sketched the exploit of the Yhiordes rug. + +"It was very brave of you. But has it ever occurred to you that it +wasn't honest?" + +"Honest?" frankly astonished that she should question the ethics. "Oh, I +say, Fortune; you don't call it dishonest to get the best of a pagan! +Aren't they always getting the best of us?" + +"If you had bargained with him and beaten him down, it would have been +different. But, Horace, you stole it; you admit that you did." + +"I took my life in my hands. I think that evened up things." + +"No. And you sold it to Mr. Jones?" + +"Yes, and Mr. Jones was only too glad to buy it. I told him the facts. +He wasn't particularly eager to bring up the ethics of the case. Why, +child, what the deuce is a Turk? I shouldn't cry out if some one stole +my Bible." + +"Good gracious! do you carry one?" + +"Well, there's always one on the room-stand in the hotels I patronize." + +"I suppose it all depends upon how we look at things." + +"That's it. A different pair of spectacles for every pair of eyes." + +If only he weren't in love with her! thought the girl. He would then be +an amusing comrade. But whenever he met her he quietly pressed his suit. +He had never spoken openly of love, for which she was grateful, but his +attentions, his little kindnesses, his unobtrusive protection when those +other men were at the villa, made the reading between the lines no +difficult matter. + +"What shall you do if this Mahomed you speak of comes?" + +"Turn him loose upon our friend Jones," with a laugh. + +"And what will he do to him?" + +"Carry him off to Bagdad and chop off his head," Ryanne jested. + +"Tell me, is there any possibility of Mr. Jones coming to harm?" + +"Can't say." Her concern for Percival annoyed him. + +"Is it fair, when he paid you generously?" + +He did not look into the grave eyes. They were the only pair that ever +disconcerted him. "My dear Fortune, it's a question which is the more +valuable to me, my skin or Percival's." + +"It isn't fair." + +"From my point of view it's fair enough. I warned him; I told him the +necessary facts, the eventual dangers. He accepted them all with the +Yhiordes. I see nothing unfair in the deal, since I risked my own life +in the first place." + +"And why must you do these desperate things?" + +"Oh, I love excitement. My one idea in life is to avoid the humdrum." + +"Is it necessary to risk your life for these excitements? Is your life +nothing more to you than something to experiment with?" + +"Truth, sometimes I don't know, Fortune. Sometimes I don't care. When +one has gambled for big stakes, it is hard to play again for penny +points." + +"A strong, healthy man like you ought not to court death." + +"I do not seek it. My only temptation is to see how near I can get to +the Man in the Shroud, as some poet calls it, without being touched. +I'll make you my confessor. You see, it is like this. A number of +wearied men recently formed a company whereby monotony became an +obsolete word in our vocabulary. You must not think I'm jesting; I'm +serious enough. This company ferrets out adventures and romances and +sells them to men of spirit. I became a member, and the trip to Bagdad +is the result. One never has to share with the company. The rewards are +all yours. All one has to do is to pay a lump sum down for the adventure +furnished. You work out the end yourself, unhindered and unassisted." + +"Are you really serious?" + +"Never more so. Now, Percival Algernon has always been wanting an +adventure, but the practical side of him has made him hold aloof. I told +him about this concern, and he refuses to believe in it. So I am going +to undertake to prove it to him. This is confidential. You will say +nothing, I know." + +"He will come to no harm physically?" + +"Lord, no! It will be mild and innocuous. Of course, if any one told him +that an adventure was toward for his especial benefit, it would spoil +all. I can rely upon your silence?" + +She was silent. He witnessed her indecision with distrust. Perhaps he +had said too much. + +"Won't you promise? Haven't I always been kind to you, Fortune, times +when you most needed kindness?" + +"I promise to say nothing. But if any harm comes to that young man, +either in jest or in earnest, I will never speak to you again." + +"I see that, after getting Percival Algernon into an adventure, I've got +to cicerone him safely out of it. Well, I accept the responsibility." +Some days later he was going to recall this assurance. + +"Sometimes I wonder...." pensively. + +"Wonder about what?" + +"What manner of man you are." + +"I should have been a great deal better man had I met you ten years +ago." + +"What? When I was eleven?" with a levity intended to steer him away from +this channel. + +"You know what I mean," he answered, moody and dejected. + +She opened her purse and dropped the pendant into it, but did not speak. + +"Ten years ago," abstractedly. "What a lot of things may happen in ten +years! Deaths, births, marriages," he went on; "the snuffing out of +kingdoms and republics; wars, panics, famine; honor to some and dishonor +to others. It kind of makes a fellow grind his teeth, little girl; it +kind of makes him shut his fists and long to run amuck." + +"Why should a strong, intelligent man, such as you are, think like that? +You are resourceful and unafraid. Why should you talk like that? You are +young, too. Why?" + +He stopped and looked full into her eyes. "Do you really wish to know?" + +"Had I better?" with a wisdom beyond her years. + +"No, you had better not. I'm not a good man, Fortune, as criterions go. +I've slipped here and there; I've gambled and drunk and squandered my +time. Why, in my youth I was as model a boy as ever was Percival. Where +the divarication took place I can't say. There's always two forks in the +road, Fortune, and many of us take the wrong one. It's easier going. +Fine excuse; eh? Some persons would call me a scoundrel, a black-leg; in +some ways, yes. But in the days to come I want you always to remember +the two untarnished spots upon my shield of honor: I have never cheated +a man at cards nor run away with his wife. The devil must give me these +merits, however painful it may be to him. Ten years ago, only a decade; +good Lord! it's like a hundred years ago, sometimes." + +Fortune breathed with difficulty. Never before had he taken her into his +confidence to such extent. She essayed to speak; the old terror seemed +fairly to smother her. It was not what he had told her, but what she +wished to but dared not ask. She was like Bluebeard's wife, only she had +not the moral courage to open the door of the grisly closet.... Her +mother, her uncle; what of them, ah, what of them? The crooked street +vanished; the roar dwindled away; she was alone, all, all alone. + +"I suppose I ought not to have told you," he said troubled at the misery +he saw gathered in her eyes and vaguely conscious of what had written it +there. "Your mother and uncle have been very kind to me. They know less +of me than you do. I have been to them a kind of errand-boy; a +happy-go-lucky fellow, who cheered them when they had the doldrums." +With forced cheerfulness he again took her hand and snuggled it under +his arm, giving it a friendly, reassuring pat. "I'll not speak to you of +love, child, but a hair of your head is more precious to me than all +Midas' gold. Whenever I've thought of you, I've tried to be good. +Honestly." + +"And can't you go back to the beginning and start anew?" tremulously. + +"Can any one go back? The moving finger writes. An hour is a terrible +thing when you look to see what can happen in it. But, come; sermons! +I'd far rather see you smile. Won't you?" + +She tried to, but to him it was sadder than her tears would have been. + +For an hour they walked through the dim and musty streets. He exerted +himself to amuse her and fairly succeeded. But never did the +unaccountable fear, that presage of misfortune, sleep in her heart. And +at last, when he took her to her carriage and bade her good-by till +dinner, a half-formed idea began to grow in her brain: to save Mr. Jones +without betraying Ryanne. + +The latter's carriage was at the other end of the bazaars; so he strode +sullenly through the press, rudely elbowing those who got in his way. An +occasional curse was flung after him; but his height, his breadth of +shoulder, his lowering face, precluded anything more active. The Moslems +had a deal of faith in the efficacy of curses; so the jostled ones +rested upon the promise of these, satisfied that directly, or in the +near future, Allah would blast the unbelieving dog in his tracks. + +What cleverness the mother and scallawag of an uncle had shown to have +kept the child in ignorance all these years! That she saw darkly, as +through a fog, he was perfectly sure. Sooner or later the storm would +burst upon her innocent head, and then God alone knew what would become +of her. Oh, damn the selfish, sordid world! At that instant a great +longing rolled over him to cut loose from all these evil webs, to begin +anew somewhere, even if that somewhere were but a wilderness, a clearing +in a forest. + +This moment flashed and was gone. Next, he reviewed with chagrin and +irritation the folly of his ultimatum of the preceding night. He had had +not the slightest semblance of a plan in his head. Sifted down, he saw +only his savage and senseless humor and the desire to stir up discord. +Gioconda was right. Fortune was above them all, in feeling, in instinct, +in loyalty. What right had he, roisterer by night that he was, +predaceous outlaw, what right had he to look upon Fortune as his own? +Harm her! He would have lopped off his right hand first. + +Well, he had but little time, and Percival Algernon called for prompt +action. The young fool was smitten with Fortune. Any one could see that. +As he shouldered his pathway to the carriage, his eyes seeing but not +visualizing objects, three brown men glided in between him and the +carriage-step. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +MAHOMED LAUGHS + + +The drawing back of Ryanne's powerful arm was produced by the stimulus +of self-preservation; but almost instantly thought dominated impulse, +and all indications of belligerency disappeared. The arm sank, relaxed. +It was not possible nor politic that Mahomed-El-Gebel meant to take +reprisal in this congested quarter. It would have gained him no +advantage whatever. And Ryanne's perception of the exact situation +enabled him to smile with the cool effrontery of a man inured to sudden +dangers. + +"Well, well! So you have found your way to Cairo, Mahomed?" + +"Yes, effendi," returned Mahomed, with a smile that answered Ryanne's in +thought and expression, the only perceivable difference being in the +accentuated whiteness of his fine teeth. "Yes, I have found you." + +"And you have been looking for me?" + +"Surely." + +Ryanne, with an airy gesture, signified that he wished to enter his +carriage. Mahomed, with a movement equally light, implied his +determination to stand his ground. + +"In a moment, effendi," he said smoothly. + +Mahomed spoke English more or less fluently. His career of forty-odd +years had been most colorful. Once a young sheik of the desert, of ample +following, a series of tribal wars left him unattached, a wanderer +without tent, village, or onion-patch. He had first appeared in Cairo. +Here he had of necessity picked up a few words of English; and from a +laborer in the cotton fields he was eventually graduated to the envied +position of dragoman or guide. He tired of this, being nomadic by +instinct and inclination. He tried his hand at rugs in Smyrna, failed, +and found himself stranded in Constantinople. He drifted, became a +stevedore, a hotel porter, burying his pride till that moment when he +could, in dignity and security, resurrect it. Fortune, hanging fire, +relented upon his appointment as _cavass_ or messenger to the British +Consulate. After a time, he became what he considered prosperous; and +like all fanatic pagans of his faith, proposed to reconstruct his +religious life by a pilgrimage to Holy Mecca. While there, he had +performed a considerable service in behalf of the future Pasha of +Bagdad, who thereafter gave him a place in his retinue. + +Mahomed was not only proud but wise; and a series of events, sequences +of his own shrewdness, pushed him forward till he became in deed, if not +in fact, the Pasha's right-hand man in Bagdad. That quaint city, removed +as it is from the ordinary highways of the Orient, is still to most of +us an echo remote and mysterious; and the present Pasha enjoys great +privileges, over property, over life and death; and it is not enlarging +upon fact to say that when he deems it necessary to lop off a head, he +does so, without consulting his master in Constantinople. It is all in +the business of a day. Next to his celebrated pearls and rose-diamonds, +the Pasha held as his most precious treasure, the Holy Yhiordes. And for +its loss Mahomed knew that his own head rested but insecurely upon his +lean neck. That his star was still in ascendancy he believed. The Pasha +would not be in Bagdad for many weeks. The revolution in Constantinople, +the success of the Young Turk party, made the Pasha's future incumbency +a matter of conjecture. While he pulled those wires familiar to the +politician, Mahomed set out bravely to recover the stolen rug. He was +prepared to proceed to any length to regain it, even to the horrible (to +his Oriental mind) necessity of buying it. He retained his travel-worn +garments circumspectly, for none would believe that his burnouse was +well lined with English bank-notes. + +"Well?" said Ryanne, whirling his cane. He was by no means at ease. +There was going to be trouble somewhere along the road. + +"I have come for the Yhiordes, effendi." + +"The rug? That's too bad. I haven't it." + +"Who has?" One fear beset Mahomed's heart: this dog, whom he called +effendi, might have sold it, since that must have been the ultimate +purpose of the theft. And if he had sold it to one who had left +Egypt.... Mahomed's neck grew cold. "Who has it, effendi? Is the man +still in Cairo?" + +"Yes. If you and your two friends will come with me to the English-Bar, +I'll explain many things to you," assured Ryanne, beginning, as he +believed, to see his way forward. "Don't be afraid. I'm not setting any +trap for you. I'll tell you truthfully that I didn't expect to see you +so soon. If you'll come along I'll do the best I can to straighten out +the matter. What do you say?" + +Mahomed eyed him with keen distrust. This white man was as strong in +cunning as he was in flesh. He had had practical demonstrations. Still, +whatever road led to the recovery of the rug must needs be traveled. His +arm, though it still reposed in a sling, was not totally helpless. It +stood three to one, then. He spoke briefly to his companions, over whom +he seemed to have some authority. These two inventoried the smooth-faced +Feringhi. One replied. Mahomed approved. Three to one, and in these +streets many to call upon, in case of open hostilities. The English-Bar +Mahomed knew tolerably well. He had known it in the lawless and reveling +eighties. It would certainly be neutral ground, since the proprietor was +a Greek. With a dignified sweep of his hand, he signed for Ryanne to +get into the carriage. Ryanne did so, relieved. He was certain that he +could bring Mahomed round to a reasonable view of the affair. He was +even willing to give him a little money. The three Arabs climbed in +beside him, and the journey to the hostelry was made without talk. +Ryanne pretended to be vastly interested in the turmoil through which +the carriage rolled, now swiftly, now hesitant, now at a standstill, and +again tortuously. Once Mahomed felt beneath his burnouse for his money; +and once Ryanne, in the pretense of seeking a cigar, felt for his. They +were rather upon even terms in the adjudication of each other's +character. + +The English-Bar was not the most inviting place. Sober, Ryanne had never +darkened its doors. The odor of garlic prevailed over the lesser smells +of bad cooking. It was lighted only from the street, by two windows and +a door that swung open all the days in the year. The windows were +generally half obscured by bills announcing boxing-matches, +wrestling-bouts and the lithographs of cheap theaters. The walls were +decorated in a manner to please the inherent Anglo-Saxon taste for +strong men, fast horses, and pink-tighted Venuses. A few iron-topped +tables littered both room and sidewalk, and here were men of a dozen +nationalities, sipping coffee, drinking beer, or solemnly watching the +water-bubbles in their _sheeshas_, or pipes. + +A curious phase of this class of under-world is that no one is curious. +Strangers are never questioned except when they invite attention, which +they seldom do. So, when Ryanne and his quasi-companions entered, there +wasn't the slightest agitation. A blowsy barmaid stood behind the bar, +polishing the copper spigots. Ryanne threw her a greeting, to which she +responded with a smirk that once upon a time had been a smile. He, being +master of ceremonies, selected a table in the corner. The four sat down, +and Ryanne plunged intrepidly into the business under hand. To make a +tool of Mahomed, if not an ally, toward this he directed his effort. +Half a dozen times, Mahomed dropped a word in Arabic to the other two, +who understood little or no English. + +"So, you see, Mahomed, that's the way the matter stands. I'm not so much +to blame as you think. Here this man Jones has me in a vise. If I do not +get this bit of carpet, off I go, into the dark, into nothing, beaten. +I handled you roughly, I know. But could I help it? It was my throat or +yours. You're no chicken. You and that other chap made things exciting." + +Mahomed accepted this compliment to his prowess in silence. Indeed, he +gazed dreamily over Ryanne's head. The other fellow wouldn't trouble any +one again. To Mahomed it had not been the battle, man to man; it had +been the guile and trickery leading up to it. He had been bested at his +own game, duplicity, and that irked him. Death, he, as his kind, looked +upon with Oriental passivity. Ah, well! The game was to have a second +inning, and he proposed to play it in strictly Oriental ways. + +"How much did he give you for it?" + +The expression upon Ryanne's face would have deceived any one but +Mahomed. "Give for it!" indignantly. "Why, that's the whole trouble. All +my trouble, all the hard work, and not a piaster, not a piaster! Can't +you understand, I _had_ to do it?" + +"Is he going to sell it?" + +"Sell it? Not he! He's a collector, and crazy over the thing." + +Mahomed nodded. He knew something of the habits of collectors. "Is he +still in Cairo, and where may he be found?" + +Ryanne began to believe that the game was going along famously; Mahomed +was sure of it. + +"He is George P. A. Jones, of Mortimer & Jones, rich rug dealers of New +York. Money no object." + +Though his face did not show it, Mahomed was singularly depressed by +this news. If this man Jones had money, of what use was his little +packet of notes? + +"I must have that rug, effendi. There are two reasons why: it is holy, +and the loss of it means my head." + +"Good riddance!" thought Ryanne, a sympathetic look upon his face. + +"What have you to suggest in the way of a plan?" asked Mahomed. + +Ryanne felt a tingle of jubilation. He saw nothing but plain-sailing +into port. But Mahomed had arranged to guide his craft into the +whirlpool. Unto himself he kept up a ceaseless reiteration +of--"Patience, patience, patience!" + +Said Ryanne: "You do not care how you get the rug, so long as you do get +it?" + +"No, effendi." Mahomed smiled. + +"A little rough work wouldn't disturb you?" + +"No, it would not." + +"Well, then, listen to me. Suppose you arrange to take my friend Jones +into the desert for a little trip. Be his dragoman for a while. In fact, +kidnap him, abduct him, steal him. You can hold him in ransom for the +rug and a nice little sum of money besides." + +"Can they do such things these days in Cairo?" + +"Why not?" + +"Truly, why not?" Mahomed sat thoughtfully studying the outrageous +prints on the cracked walls. Had he dared he would have laughed. And he +had thought this dog cunning beyond all his kind! "I agree. But the +arrangements I must leave to you. Bring him here at nine o'clock +to-night," he continued, leaning across the table impressively, "and I +will give you one hundred pounds English." + +Ryanne quickly assumed the expression needed to meet such splendid news. +"I say, Mahomed, that is pretty square, after what has passed between +us." + +"It is nothing," gallantly. + +If Ryanne laughed in his sleeve, Mahomed certainly found ample room in +his for such silent and figurative cachinnations. He knew very well that +Ryanne had received a goodly sum for his adventure. No man took his life +in his hand to cancel an obligation which was not based upon +disinterested friendship; and already the man had disavowed any such +quality. Also, he had not been a seller of rugs himself, or guardian of +the Yhiordes all these years, without having had some contact with +collectors. Why, if there was one person dear at this moment to +Mahomed-El-Gebel's heart, it was this man sitting opposite. And he +wanted him far more eagerly than the rug; only, the rug must be +regained, for its loss was a passport into paradise; and he wasn't quite +prepared to be received by the houris. + +"Mr. Jones, then, shall be here promptly at nine," declared Ryanne, +beckoning the barmaid. "What will you have?" + +Mahomed shook his head. His two companions, gathering the significance +of the gesture, likewise declined. + +"A smoke, then?" + +A smiling negative. + +"Beware of the Greek bearing gifts," laughed Ryanne. "All right. You +won't mind if I have a beer to the success of the venture?" + +"No, effendi." + +Ryanne drank the lukewarm beverage, while Mahomed toyed with his +turquoise ring, that sacred badge of an honorable pilgrimage to Holy +Mecca. + +"The young lady, effendi; she was very pretty. Your sister?" casually +inquired Mahomed. + +"Oh, no. She is a young lady I met at the hotel the other day." + +The liar! thought the Moslem, as he recalled the light in Ryanne's eyes +and the tenderness of his smiles. Apparently, however, Mahomed lost +interest directly. "At nine o'clock to-night, then, this collector will +arrive to become my guest?" + +"By hook or crook," was the answer. "I'll have him here. Cash upon +delivery, as they say." + +"Cash upon delivery," Mahomed repeated, the phrase being familiar to his +tongue. + +"Frankly, I want this man out of the way for a while." + +"Ah!" + +"Yes. I want a little revenge for the way he has treated me." + +"So it is revenge?" softly. Traitorous to both sides. + +"And when I get him here?" + +"Leave the rest to me." + +"Good. I'm off, then. Take him to Bagdad. It will be an experience for +him. But when you get him there, keep an eye out for the Shah Abbas in +the Pasha's work-room." + +The affair had gone so smoothly that Ryanne's usual keenness fell below +the mark; fatuity was the word. There had been so many twists to the +morning that his abiding distrust of every one became, for the time +being, edgeless. The trick of purloining the cable had keyed him high; +the subsequent meeting of Fortune had depressed him. And besides, he was +too anxious to be rid of Jones to consider the possibilities of +Mahomed's state of mind. + +He got up, paid his score, turned a jest for the amusement of the +barmaid, and went out to his carriage. His deduction still fallow, he +rode away. Lord! how easy it had been. Not a hitch anywhere. And here, +for days, he had imagined all sorts of things, and his dreams, a jumble +of dungeons, of tortures. He understood. The old rascal's own head hung +in the balance. That's what saved him. To Mahomed the rug was the +paramount feature; revenge (and he knew that Mahomed was longing madly, +fiercely for it) must wait. And when Mahomed turned his attention to +this phase, why, he, Ryanne, would be at the other side of the Atlantic. +It was very hard not to drop off at Shepheard's and confide the whole +droll conspiracy to a bottle with a green and gilded neck. But, no; he +had had no sleep the night before; wine and want of rest would leave him +witless when the time came to see that Percival was safely stowed away. +A fine joke, a monstrous fine joke! By-by, Percival, old chap; pleasant +journey. The United Romance and Adventure Company gives you this little +romance upon approval. If you do not like it, return it ... if you can! + +Mahomed sat perfectly still in his chair. His two companions watched him +carefully. The mask had fallen, and their master's face was not pleasant +to see. Suddenly he laughed. The barmaid stopped at her work. She had +somewhere heard laughter like that. It gave her a shiver. Where had she +heard it? Yes, that was it. A man who had played the devil in an opera +called _Fawst_ or something like that. Would she ever see dear old foggy +London again? With a vain sigh she went on rinsing the glasses and +coffee-cups. + + * * * * * + +When George rolled out of bed it was eleven. He bathed and dressed, +absolutely content, regretless of the morning hours he had wasted. Truth +to tell, he hadn't enjoyed sleep so thoroughly in weeks. He set to work, +ridding the room of its clutter of books and clothes and what-nots. +Might as well get the bulk of his packing out of the way while he +thought of it. + +Why had he been in such a dreadful hurry to pull out? Cairo was just now +the most delightful place he knew of. To leave behind the blue skies and +warm sunshine, and to face instead the biting winds and northern snows, +rather dispirited him. He paused, a pair of trousers dangling from his +hand. Pshaw! Why not admit it frankly and honestly? Wherever Fortune +Chedsoye was or might be, there was the delectable country. He hadn't +thought to ask her when she was to leave, nor whither she was to go. The +abruptness with which she had left him the night before puzzled rather +than disturbed him. Oh, well; this old planet was neither so deep nor so +round as it had once been. What with steamships and railroads, the +so-called four ends were drawn closely together. He would ask her +casually, as if it did not particularly matter. In Naples it would be an +easy matter to change his booking to New York. From Naples to Mentone +was only a question of a few hours. + +"It doesn't seem possible, George, old boy, does it? But it's true; and +there's no use trying to fool yourself that it isn't. Fortune Chedsoye; +it will be a shame to add Jones to it; but I'm going to try." + +He pressed down the last book, the last collar, the last pair of shoes, +and sat upon the lid of the trunk. He growled a little. The lock was +always bothering him. It was wonderful how many things a chap could take +out of a trunk and how plagued few he could put back. It did not seem to +relieve the pressure if he added a steamer-trunk here or a suit-case +there; there was always just so much there wasn't any room for. Truly, +it needed a woman's hand to pack a trunk. However his mother in the old +school-days had got all his belongings into one trunk was still an +unsolved mystery. + +Stubborn as the lock was, perseverance overcame it. George then, as a +slight diversion, spread the ancient Yhiordes over the trunk and stared +at it in pleasurable contemplation. What a beauty it was! What exquisite +blue, what soft reds, what minute patterns! And this treasure was his. +He leaned down upon it with his two hands. A color stole into his +cheeks. It had its source in an old confusion: school-boys jeering a +mate seen walking home from school with a girl. It was all rot, he +perfectly knew, this wishing business; and yet he flung into the +sun-warmed, sun-gilded space an ardent wish, sent it speeding round the +world from east to west. Fast as heat, fast as light it traveled, for no +sooner had it sprung from his mind than it entered the window of a room +across the corridor. Whether the window was open or shut was of no +importance whatever. Such wishes penetrated and went through all +obstacles. And this one touched Fortune's eyes, her hair, her lips; it +caressed her in a thousand happy ways. But, alas! such wishes are +without temporal power. + +Fortune never knew. She sat in a chair, her fingers locked tensely, her +eyes large and set in gaze, her lips compressed, her whole attitude one +of impotent despair. + +George did not see her at lunch, and consequently did not enjoy the +hour. Was she ill? Had she gone away? Would she return before he +started? He greeted the Major as one greets a long-lost friend; and by +gradations George considered clever indeed, brought the conversation +down to Fortune. No, the Major did not know where she was. She had gone +early to the bazaars. Doubtless she was lunching alone somewhere. She +had the trick of losing herself at times. Mrs. Chedsoye was visiting +friends at Shepheard's. When did Mr. Jones leave for America? What! on +the morrow? The Major shook his head regretfully. There was no place +like Cairo for Christmas. + +George called a carriage, drove about the principal streets and shopping +districts, and used his eyes diligently; but it was love's labor lost. +Not even when he returned at tea-time did he see her. Why hadn't he +known and got up? He could have shown her the bazaars; and there wasn't +a dragoman in Cairo more familiar with them than he. A wasted day, +totally wasted. He hung about the lounging-room till it was time to go +up and dress for dinner. To-night (as if the gods had turned George's +future affairs over to the care of Momus) he dressed as if he were going +to the opera: swallow-tail, white vest, high collar and white-lawn +cravat, opera-Fedora, and thin-soled pumps; all those habiliments and +demi-habiliments supposed to make the man. When he reached what he +thought to be the glass of fashion and the mold of form, he turned for +the first time toward his trunk. He did not rub his eyes; it wasn't at +all necessary; one thing he saw, or rather did not see, was established +beyond a doubt, as plainly definite as two and two are four. The ancient +Yhiordes had taken upon itself one of the potentialities of its fabulous +prototype, that of invisibility: it was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +EPISODIC + + +Fortune had immediately returned from the bazaars. And a kind of torpor +blanketed her mind, usually so fertile and active. For a time the +process of the evolution of thought was denied her; she tried to think, +but there was an appalling lack of continuity, of broken threads. It was +like one of those circumferential railways: she traveled, but did not +get anywhere. Ryanne had told her too much for his own sake, but too +little for hers. She sat back in the carriage, inert and listless, and +indeterminedly likened her condition to driftwood in the ebb and flow of +beach-waves. The color and commotion of the streets were no longer +absorbed; it was as if she were riding through emptiness, through the +unreality of a dream. She was oppressed and stifled, too; harbinger of +storms. + +Mechanically she dismissed the carriage at the hotel, mechanically she +went to her room, and in this semiconscious mood sat down in a chair, +and there George's wish found her, futilely. Oh, there was one thing +clear, clear as the sky outside. All was not right; something was wrong; +and this wrong upon one side concerned her mother, her uncle and Ryanne, +and upon the other side, Mr. Jones. Think and think as she might, her +endeavors gave her no single illumination. Four blind walls surrounded +her. The United Romance and Adventure Company--there could not possibly +be such a thing in existence; it was a jest of Ryanne's to cover up +something far more serious. + +She pressed her eyes with a hand. They ached dully, the dull pain of +bewilderment, which these days recurred with frequency. A sense of time +was lacking; for luncheon hour came and passed without her being +definitely aware of it. This in itself was a puzzle. A jaunt, such as +she had taken that morning, always keened the edge of her appetite; and +yet, there was no craving whatever. + +Where was her mother? If she would only come now, the cumulative doubts +of all these months should be put into speech. They had treated her as +one would treat a child; it was neither just nor reasonable. If not as a +child, but as one they dared not trust, then they were afraid of her. +But why? She pressed her hands together, impotently. Ryanne, clever as +he was, had made a slip or two which he had sought to cover up with a +jest. Why should he confess himself to be a rogue unless his tongue had +got the better of his discretion? If he was a rogue, why should her +mother and her uncle make use of him, if not for roguery's sake? They +were fools, fools! If they had but seen and understood her as she was, +she would have gone to the bitter end with them, loyally, with sealed +lips. But no; they had chosen not to see; and in this had morally +betrayed her. Ah, it rankled, and the injustice of it grew from pain to +fury. At that moment, had she known anything, she certainly would have +denounced them. Of what use was loyalty, since none of them sought it in +her? + +The Major was wiser than he knew when he spoke of the hundredth danger, +the danger unforeseen, the danger against which they could make no +preparation. And he would have been first to sense the irony of it +could he have seen where this danger lay. + +Why should they wish the pleasant young man out of the way? Why should +Ryanne wish to inveigle him into the hands of this man Mahomed? Was it +merely self-preservation, or something deeper, more sinister? Think! Why +couldn't she think of something? It was only a little pleasure trip to +Cairo, they had told her, and when she had asked to go along, they +seemed willing enough. But they had come to this hotel, when formerly +they had always put up at Shepheard's. And here again the question, why? +Was it because Mr. Jones was staying here? She liked him, what little +she had seen of him. He was out of an altogether different world than +that to which she was accustomed. He was neither insanely mad over cards +nor a social idler. He was a young man with a real interest in life, a +worker, notwithstanding that he was reputed to be independently rich. +And her mother had once borrowed money of him, never intending to pay it +back. The shame of it! And why should she approach him the very first +day and recall the incident, if not with the ulterior purpose of using +him further? As a ball strikes a wall only to rebound to the thrower, +so it was with all these questions. There was never any answer. + +Tired out, mentally and physically, she laid her head upon the cool top +of the stand. And in this position her mother, who had returned to dress +for tea, found her. Believing Fortune to be asleep, Mrs. Chedsoye +dropped a hand upon her shoulder. + +Fortune raised her head. + +"Why, child, what is the matter?" the mother asked. The face she saw was +not tear-stained; it was as cold and passionless as that by which +sculptors represent their interpretations of Justice. + +"Matter?" Fortune spoke, in a tone that did not reassure the other. "In +the first place I have only one real question to ask. It depends upon +how you answer it. Am I really your daughter?" + +"Really my daughter?" Mrs. Chedsoye stepped back, genuinely astonished. +"Really my daughter? The child is mad!" as if addressing an imaginary +third person. "What makes you ask such a silly question?" She was in a +hurry to change her dress, but the new attitude of this child of hers +warranted some patience. + +"That is no answer," said Fortune, with the unmoved deliberation of a +prosecuting attorney. + +"Certainly you are my daughter." + +"Good. If you had denied it, I should have held my peace; but since you +admit that I am of your flesh and blood, I am going to force you to +recognize that in such a capacity I have some rights. I did not ask to +come into this world; but insomuch as I am here, I propose to become an +individual, not a thing to be given bread and butter upon sufferance. I +have been talking with Horace. I met him in the bazaars this morning. He +said some things which you must answer." + +"Horace? And what has he said, pray tell?" Her expression was flippant, +but a certain inquietude penetrated her heart and accelerated its +beating. What had the love-lorn fool said to the child? + +"He said that he was not a good man, and that you tolerated him because +he ran errands for you. What kind of errands?" + +Mrs. Chedsoye did not know whether to laugh or take the child by the +shoulders and shake her soundly. "He was laughing when he said that. +Errands? One would scarcely call it that." + +"Why did you renew the acquaintance with Mr. Jones, when you knew that +you never intended paying back that loan?" + +Here was a question, Mrs. Chedsoye realized, from the look of the child, +that would not bear evasion. + +"What makes you think I never intended to repay him?" + +Fortune laughed. It did not sound grateful in the mother's ears. + +"Mother, this is a crisis; it can not be met by counter-questions nor by +flippancy. You know that you did not intend to pay him. What I demand to +know is, why you spoke to him again, so affably, why you seemed so eager +to enter into his good graces once more. Answer that." + +Her mother pondered. For once she was really at a loss. The +unexpectedness of this phase caught her off her balance. She saw one +thing vividly, regretfully: she had missed a valuable point in the game +by not adjusting her play to the growth of the child, who had, with that +phenomenal suddenness which still baffles the psychologists, stepped out +of girlhood into womanhood, all in a day. What a fool she had been not +to have left the child at Mentone! + +"I am waiting," said Fortune. "There are more questions; but I want this +one answered first." + +"This is pure insolence!" + +"Insolence of a kind, yes." + +"And I refuse to answer. I have some authority still." + +"Not so much, mother, as you had yesterday. You refuse to explain?" + +"Absolutely!" + +"Then I shall judge you without mercy." Fortune rose, her eyes blazing +passionately. She caught her mother by the wrist, and she was the +stronger of the two. "Can't you understand? I am no longer a child, I am +a woman. I do not ask, I demand!" She drew the older woman toward her, +eye to eye. "You palter, you always palter; palter and evade. You do not +know what frankness and truth are. Is this continual evasion calculated +to still my distrust? Yes, I distrust you, you, my mother. You have made +the mistake of leaving me alone too much. I have always distrusted you, +but I never knew why." + +Mrs. Chedsoye tugged, but ineffectually. "Let go!" + +"Not till I have done. Out of the patchwork, squares have been formed. +What of the men who used to come to the villa and play cards with Uncle +George, the men who went away and never came back? What of your long +disappearances of which I knew nothing except that one day you vanished +and upon another you came back? Did you think that I was a fool, that I +had no time to wonder over these things? You have never tried to make a +friend of me; you have always done your best to antagonize me. Did you +hate my father so much that, when his death put him out of range, you +had to concentrate it upon me? My father!" Fortune roughly flung aside +the arm. "Who knows about him, who he was, what he was, what he looked +like? As a child, I used to ask you, but never would you speak. All I +know about him nurse told me. This much has always burned in my mind: +you married him for wealth that he did not have. What do you mean by +this simple young man across the corridor?" + +Mrs. Chedsoye was pale, and the artistic touch of rouge upon her cheeks +did not disguise the pallor. The true evidence lay in the whiteness of +her nose. Never in her varied life had she felt more helpless, more +impotent. To be wild with rage, and yet to be powerless! That alertness +of mind, that mental buoyancy, which had always given her the power to +return a volley in kind, had deserted her. Moreover, she was distinctly +alarmed. This little fool, with a turn of her hand, might send tottering +into ruins the skilful planning of months. + +"Are you in love with him?" aiming to gain time to regather her +scattered thoughts. + +"Love?" bitterly. "I am in a fine mood to love any one. My question, my +question," vehemently; "my question!" + +"I refuse absolutely to answer you!" Anger was first to reorganize its +forces; and Mrs. Chedsoye felt the heat of it run through her veins. +But, oddly enough, it was anger directed less toward the child than +toward her own palpable folly and oversight. + +"Then I shall leave you. I will go out into the world and earn my own +bread and butter. Ah," a little brokenly, "if you had but given me a +little kindness, you do not know how loyal I should have been to you! +But no; I am and always have been the child that wasn't wanted." + +The despair in the gesture that followed these words stirred the +mother's calloused heart, moved it strangely, mysteriously. "My child!" +she said impulsively, holding out her hands. + +"No." Fortune drew back. "It is too late." + +"Have it so. But you speak of going out into the world to earn your +bread and butter. What do you know about the world? What could you do? +You have never done anything but read romantic novels and moon about in +the flower-garden. Foolish chit! Harm Mr. Jones? Why? For what purpose? +I have no more interest in him than if he were one of those mummies over +in the museum. And I certainly meant to repay him. I should have done so +if you hadn't taken the task upon your own broad shoulders. I am in a +hurry. I am going out to Mena House to tea. I've let Celeste off for the +day; so please unhook my waist and do not bother your head about Mr. +Jones." She turned her back upon her daughter, quite confident that she +had for the time suppressed the incipient rebellion. She heard Fortune +crossing the room. "What are you doing?" petulantly. + +"I am ringing for the hall-maid." And Fortune resumed her chair, picked +up her Baedeker, and became apparently absorbed over the map of Assuan. + +Again wrath mounted to the mother's head. She could combat anger, tears, +protestations; but this indifference, studied and unfilial, left her +weaponless; and she was too wise to unbridle her tongue, much as she +longed to do so. She was beaten. Not an agreeable sensation to one who +counted only her victories. + +"Fortune, later you will be sorry for this spirit," she said, when she +felt the tremor of wrath no longer in her throat. + +Fortune turned a page, and jotted down some notes with a pencil. Sad as +she was at heart, tragic as she knew the result of this outbreak to be, +she could hardly repress a smile at the thought of her mother's +discomfiture. + +And so the chasm widened, and went on widening till the end of time. + +Mrs. Chedsoye was glad that the hall-maid knocked and came in just then. +It at least saved her the ignominy of a retreat. She dressed, however, +with the same deliberate care that she had always used. Nothing ever +deranged her sense of proportion relative to her toilet, nothing ever +made her forget its importance. + +"Good-by, dear," she said. "I shall be in at dinner." If the maid had +any suspicion that there had been a quarrel, she should at least be +impressed with the fact that she, Mrs. Chedsoye, was not to blame for +it. + +Fortune nibbled the end of her pencil. + +The door closed behind her mother and the maid. She waited for a time. +Then she sprang to the window and stood there. She saw her mother driven +off. She was dressed in pearl-grey, with a Reynolds' hat of grey velour +and sweeping plumes: as handsome and distinguished a woman as could be +found that day in all Cairo. The watcher threw her Baedeker, her +note-book, and her pencil violently into a corner. It had come to her at +last, this thing she had been striving for since noon. She did not care +what the risks were; the storm was too high in her heart to listen to +the voice of caution. She would do it; for she judged it the one thing, +in justice to her own blood, she must accomplish. She straightway +dressed for the street; and if she did not give the same care as her +mother to the vital function, she produced an effect that merited +comparison. + +She loitered before the porter's bureau till she saw him busily engaged +in answering questions of some women tourists. Then, with a slight but +friendly nod, she stepped into the bureau and stopped before the +key-rack. She hung up her key, but took it down again, as if she had +changed her mind. At least, this was the porter's impression as he bowed +to her in the midst of the verbal bombardment. Fortune went up-stairs. +Ten or fifteen minutes elapsed, when she returned, hung up the key, and +walked briskly toward the side-entrance at the very moment George, in +his fruitless search of her, pushed through the revolving doors in +front. And all the time she was wondering how it was that her knees did +not give under. It was terrible. She balanced between laughter and +tears, hysterically. + +She had gone scarcely a hundred yards when she was accosted by a tall +Arab whom she indistinctly recollected having seen before; where, she +could not definitely imagine. It was the ragged green turban that +cleared away her puzzlement. The Arab was the supposed beggar over whom +Percival (how easily she had fallen into the habit of calling him that!) +had stumbled. He stood so tall and straight that she knew he wasn't +going to beg; so naturally she stopped. Without a word, without even a +look that expressed anything, he slipped a note into her hand, bowed +with Oriental gravity, and stepped aside for her to proceed. She read +the note hastily as she continued her way. Horace? Why should he wish to +meet her that evening, at the southeast corner of the Shâri'a +Mahomoud-El-Fäläki, a step or so from the British Consulate's? And she +mustn't come in a carriage nor tell any one where she was going? Why all +such childish mystery? He could see her far more conveniently in the +lounging-room of the hotel. She tore the note into scraps and flung them +upon the air. She was afraid. She was almost certain why he wished to +meet her where neither her mother's nor her uncle's eyes would be within +range. Should she meet him? Deeper than this, dared she? Why had she +come to Cairo, when at Mentone she had known peace, such peace as +destiny was generous enough to dole out to her? And now, out of this +tolerable peace, a thousand hands were reaching to rend her heart, to +wring it. She decided quickly. Since she had come this far, to go on to +the end would add but little to her burden. Better to know all too soon +than too late. + +That the note had not been directed to her and that she was totally +unfamiliar with Ryanne's handwriting, escaped her. She had too many +other things upon her mind to see all things clearly, especially such +trifles. She finished her walk, returning by the way she had gone, gave +the key to the lift-boy, and in her room dropped down upon the bed, +dry-eyed and weary. The most eventful day she had ever known. + +And all the while George sat by the window and watched, and at length +fell into a frame of mind that was irritable, irascible and +self-condemnatory. And when he found that his precious Yhiordes was +gone, his condition was the essence of all disagreeable emotions. It was +beyond him how any one could have stolen it. He never failed to lock +his door and leave the key with the porter. And surely, only a man with +wings could have gained entrance by the window. Being a thorough +business man among other accomplishments, he reported his loss at once +to the management; and the management set about the matter with +celerity. At half after seven every maid and servant in the hotel had +been questioned and examined, without the least noticeable result. The +rug was nowhere to be found. George felt the loss keenly. He was not so +rich that he could afford to lose both the rug and the thousand pounds +he had paid for it. His first thought had been of Ryanne; but it was +proved that Ryanne had not been in the hotel since morning; at least, no +one had seen him. + +George gloomed about. A beastly day, all told; everything had gone +wrong, and all because he had overslept. At dinner something was wrong +with the soup; the fish was greasy; the roast was dry and stringy; the +wine, full of pieces of cork. Out into the lounging-room again; and then +the porter hurried over to him with a note from Ryanne. It stated +briefly that it was vitally important for Mr. Jones to meet him at nine +o'clock at the English-Bar in the Quarter Rosetti. Any driver would +show him the way. Mahomed-El-Gebel, the guardian of the Holy Yhiordes, +had turned up, and the band was beginning to play. Would Mr. Jones like +a little fun by the wayside? + +"I'm his man," said George. "But how the devil did this Mahomed ever get +into my room?" + +Had Fortune dined down-stairs instead of alone in her room, events might +have turned out differently. Ryanne had really written to George, but +not to Fortune. + +Mahomed, fatalist that he was, had thrown everything upon the whirling +scales of chance, and waited. Later, he may have congratulated himself +upon his good luck. But it wasn't luck; it was the will of Allah that +he, Mahomed, should contribute his slender share in working out the +destinies of two young people. + +George was in the proper mood for an adventure. He went so far as to +admit to himself that he would have liked nothing better than a +fisticuff. The one mistake he made in his calculations was dress. Men +didn't generally go a-venturing in such finical attire. They wore +bowlers and sack-coats and carried heavy walking-sticks. The only +weapons George had were his two hands, now adorned with snug-fitting +opera-gloves. + +He saw Mrs. Chedsoye, spoke to her, inquired about Fortune, and was +informed that she had dined in her room. A case of doldrums, Mrs. +Chedsoye believed. + +"I'm in a peck of trouble," said George, craving a little sympathy. + +"In what way?" + +"That rug I told you about is gone." + +"What? Stolen?" + +"Yes. Vanished into thin air." + +"That's too bad. Of course, the police will eventually find it for you." + +"I'm afraid that's exactly the trouble. I really daren't put the case in +the hands of the police." + +"Oh, I see." Mrs. Chedsoye looked profoundly sorry. + +"And here I am, due for Port Saïd to-morrow." + +"That's the kind that bowls you over," said the Major. "If there is +anything I can do after you are gone...." + +"Oh, I shouldn't think of bothering you. Thanks, though." + +"You must have lost your key," suggested Mrs. Chedsoye. + +"No. It's been hanging up in the porter's bureau all day." + +"Well, I hope you find the rug," said the Major, with a sly glance at +his sister. + +"Thanks. I must be off. The chap I bought it of says that the official +guardian from Bagdad has arrived, and that there's likely to be some +sport. I'm to meet him at a place called the English-Bar." + +"The English-Bar?" The Major shook his head. "A low place, if I +remember." + +"And you are going dressed like that?" asked Mrs. Chedsoye. + +"Haven't time to change." He excused himself and went in search of a +carriage. + +"The play begins, Kate," whispered the Major. "This Hoddy of ours is a +wonderful chap." + +"Poor fellow!" + +"What; Hoddy?" + +"No; Percival. He'll be very uncomfortable in patent-leather pumps." + +The Major laughed light-heartedly. "I suppose we might telegraph for +reservation on the _Ludwig_." + +"I shall pack at once. Fortune can find her way to Mentone from Naples. +I am beginning to worry about that girl. She has a temper; and she is +beginning to have some ideas." + +"Marry her, marry her! How much longer must I preach that sermon? She's +growing handsomer every day, too. Watch your laurels, Kate." + +Mrs. Chedsoye inspected her rings. + +Meanwhile, George directed his driver to go post-haste to the +English-Bar. That he found it more or less of a dive in nowise alarmed +him. He had been in places of more frightful aspect. As Ryanne had +written him to make inquiries of the barmaid relative to finding him, he +did so. She jerked her head toward the door at the rear. George went +boldly to it, opened it, and stepped inside. + +And vanished from the haunts of men. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE CARAVAN IN THE DESERT + + +Yes, George vanished from the haunts of men, as completely as if the +Great Roc had dropped him into the Valley of Diamonds and left him +there; and as nobody knows just where the Valley of Diamonds is, George +was very well lost. Still, there was, at the end of a most unique +experience, a recompense far beyond its value. But, of course, George, +being without the gift of clairvoyance, saw nothing save the immediate +and imminent circumstances: a door that banged behind him, portentously; +a sack, a cloak, a burnouse, or whatever it was, flung about his head, +and smelling evilly. + +George hit out valiantly, and a merry scuffle ensued. The room was +small; at least, George thought it was, for in the space of one minute +he thumped against the four sides of it. He could see nothing and he +couldn't breathe very well; but in spite of these inconveniences he put +up three rounds that would have made some stir among the middle-weights. +In the phraseology of the fancy, he had a good punch. All the +disappointments of the day seemed to become so many pounds of steam in +his shoulder; and he was aware of a kind of barbaric joy whenever he hit +some one. All the circumspection of years, all of the gentle blood of +his peaceful forebears, gave way to the strain which still lurks in the +blood of civilized humanity, even in the veins of poets and parsons. He +fought with all the tactics of a sailor in a bar-room, not overnicely. + +[Illustration] + +A table toppled over with a smashing noise. George and his assailants +fell in a heap beside it. Thwack! Bang! George struggled to his feet and +tugged at the stifling envelope. Some one jumped upon his back, Old Man +of the Sea style. A savage elbow-jab disposed of this incubus. And then +the racket began all over again. George never paused mentally to wonder +what all this rumpus was about; time enough to make inquiries after the +scrimmage. Intrepidly, as Hereward the Wake, as Bussy d'Ambois, as +Porthos in the cave of Loch-Maria, George fought. He wasn't a trained +athlete; he hadn't any science; he was simply ordinarily tough and +active and clean-lived; and the injustice of an unprovoked assault added +to physical prowess a full measure of nervous energy. It was +quasi-Homeric: a modern young gentleman in evening dress holding off for +several minutes five sleek, sinewy, unhampered Arabs. But the days of +the gods were no more; and no quick-witted goddess cast a veil across +the eyes of the Arabs. No; George had to shift for himself. Suddenly +there came a general rush from the center of the room into one of the +right-angular corners. The subsequent snarl of legs and arms was not +unlike that seen upon the foot-ball field. George was the man with the +ball. And then to George came merciful darkness. The conjunction, as in +astronomy, of two planets in the same degree of the Zodiac--meaning +George's head and the stucco-wall--gave the Arabs complete mastery of +the field of battle. + +From the opposite side of the room came the voice of the referee: +"Curses of Allah upon these white dogs! How they fight!" And Mahomed +peered down into the corner. + +One by one the Arabs got up, each examining his honorable wounds. George +alone remained unmoved, quiet and disinterested, under the folds of the +tattered burnouse. + +"Is he dead?" demanded Mahomed. + +"No, my father. His head hit the wall." + +"Hasten, then. Bind his feet and hands and cover his eyes and mouth. We +have but little time." + +There was a long way yet to go, and Mahomed was too wise and cautious to +congratulate himself at this early stage. George was thereupon trussed +up like a Christmas fowl ready for the oven. They wrapped him up in the +burnouse and carried him out to the closed carriage in waiting. No one +in the street seemed curious. No one in the English-Bar deemed it +necessary to be. Whatever happened in this resort had long been written +in the book of fate. Had a white man approached to inquire what was +going on, Mahomed would have gravely whispered that it was a case of +plague they were hurrying away to prevent interference by the English +authorities. + +Once George was snug inside the carriage, it was driven off at a run +toward the tombs of the caliphs. As the roads were not the levelest, the +vehicle went most of the way upon two wheels. Mahomed sat beside his +victim, watchful and attentive. His intention was to take him no farther +than the outskirts of the city, force him to send back to the hotel a +duly credited messenger for the rug, after which he would turn George +adrift, with the reasonable assurance that the young man would find some +one to guide him back to the hotel. After a while he observed that +George had recovered and was grimly fighting the imprisoning ropes. + +"You will need your strength," interposed Mahomed gently. "If I take the +cloth from your mouth, will you promise not to cry out?" There was an +affirmative nod, and Mahomed untied the bandage. "Listen. I mean you no +harm. If you will send to the hotel for the Holy Yhiordes, you will be +liberated the moment it is put into my hands." + +"Go to the deuce!" snapped George, still dizzy. The fighting mood +hadn't evaporated, by any means. "You know where it is better than I." +So this was Mahomed? + +"Fool!" cried the other, shaking George roughly. + +"Easy there! I had the rug, but it was stolen this afternoon." He was +very weak and tired. "And if I had it, I shouldn't give it to you," with +renewed truculence; "and you may put that in your water-pipe and smoke +it." + +Mahomed, no longer pacific, struck George violently upon the mouth. He, +on his part, was unknightly enough to attempt to sink his teeth in the +brutal hand. Queer fancies flit through a man's head in times like this; +for the ineffectuality of his bite reminded him of Hallowe'ens and the +tubs with the bobbing apples. One thing was certain: he would kill this +pagan the very first opportunity. Rather a startling metamorphosis in +the character of a man whose life had been passed in the peacefulest +environments. And to kill him without the least compunction, too. To +strike a man who couldn't help himself! + +"Hey there!" he yelled. "Help for a white man!" After such treatment he +considered it anything but dishonorable to break his parole. And where +was Ryanne? "Help!" + +Mahomed swung his arm round George's neck, and the third cry began with +a gurgle and ended with a sigh. Deftly, the Arab rebandaged the +prisoner's mouth. So be it. He had had his chance for freedom; now he +should drink to the bottom of the bitter cup, along with the others. He +had had no real enmity against George; he was simply one of the pawns in +the game he was playing. But now he saw that there was danger in +liberating him. The other! Mahomed caressed his wiry beard. To subject +him to the utmost mental agony; to break him physically, too; to pay him +back pound for pence; to bruise, to hurt, to rack him, that was all +Mahomed desired. + +George made no further effort to free himself, nor apparently to bestir +himself about the future. Somewhere in the fight, presumably as he fell +against the table, he had received a crushing blow in the small ribs; +and when Mahomed threw him back, he fainted for the second time in his +life. He reclined limply in the corner of the carriage, the bosom of his +shirt bulging open; for the thrifty Arabs had purloined the +pearl-studs, the gold collar-buttons, and the sapphire cuff-links. And +consciousness returned only when they lifted him out and dropped him +inconsiderately into the thick dust of the road. He stirred again at his +bonds, but presently lay still. The pain in his side hurt keenly, and he +wasn't sure that the rib was whole. What time had passed since his +entrance to the English-Bar was beyond his reckoning, but he knew that +it was yet in the dark of night, as no light whatever penetrated the +cloth over his eyes. That he was somewhere outside the city he was +assured by the tang of the winter wind. He heard low voices--Arabic; and +while he possessed a smattering of the tongue, his head ached too +sharply for him to sense a word. Later, a camel coughed. Camels? And +where were they taking him upon a camel? Bagdad? Impossible: there were +too many white men following the known camel-ways. He groaned a little, +but the sound did not reach the ears of his captors. To ride a camel +under ordinary conditions was a painful affair; but to straddle the +ungainly brute, dressed as he was, in a swallow-tail and paper-thin +pumps, did not promote any pleasurable thoughts. They would in all +truth kill him before they got through. Hang the rug! And doubly hang +the man who had sold it to him! + +His whilom friend, conscience, came back and gibbered at him. Once she +had said: "Don't do it!" and now she was saying quite humanly: "I told +you so!" Hadn't she warned him? Hadn't she swung her red lantern under +his very nose? Well, she hoped he was satisfied. His reply to this brief +jeremiad was that if ever he got his hands upon the rug again, he would +hang on till the crack of doom, and conscience herself could go hang. +Mere perverseness, probably. And where was it, since he was now certain +that Mahomed had it not? It was Ryanne; Ryanne, smooth and plausible of +tongue. Not being satisfied with a thousand pounds, he had stolen it +again to mulct some other simple, trustful person. George, usually so +unsuspicious, was now quite willing to believe anything of anybody. + +He felt himself being lifted to his feet. The rope round his ankles was +thrown off. His feet stung under the renewed flow of blood. He waited +for them to liberate his hands, but the galling rope was not disturbed. +It was evident that the natives still entertained some respect for his +fighting ability. Next, they boosted him, flung a leg here and a leg +there; then came a lurch forward, a lurch backward, the recurrence of +the pain in his side, and he knew that he was upon the back of a camel, +desert-bound. There were stirrups, and as life began to spread vigor +once more through his legs, he found the steel. The straps were too +short, and in time the upper turn of the steel chafed his insteps. He +eased himself by riding sidewise, the proper way to ride a camel, but +with constant straining to keep his balance without the use of his +hands. Fortunately, they were not traveling very fast, otherwise, what +with the stabbing pains in his side, produced by the unvarying dog-trot, +he must have fallen. He was miserable, yet defiant; tears of anger and +pain filled his eyes and burned down his cheeks in spite of the cloth. + +And he, poor fool, had always been longing for an adventure, a taste of +life outside the peaceful harbor wherein he had sailed his cat-boat! +Well, here he was, in the deep-sea water; and he read himself so truly +that he knew the adventure he had longed for had been the cut-and-dried +affairs of story-tellers, in which only the villains were seriously +discommoded, and everything ended happily. A dashing hero he was, to be +sure! Why hadn't he changed his clothes? Was there ever such an ass? +Ryanne had told him that there was likely to be sport; and yet he had +left the hotel as one dressed for the opera. Ass! And to-morrow the +_Ludwig_ would sail without him. + +The wind blew cold against his chest, and the fact that he could neither +see, nor use his tongue to moisten his bruised lips, added to the +discomforts. Back and forth he swayed and rocked. The pain in his side +was gradually minimized by the torture bearing upon his ankles, his +knees, across his shoulders. Finally, when in dull despair he was about +to give up and slide off, indifferent whether the camels following +trampled him or not, a halt was called. It steadied him. Some one +reached up and untied the thong that strangled the life in his hands. +Forward again. This was a trifle better. He could now ease himself with +his hands. No one interfered with him when he tore off the bandages over +his eyes and mouth. The camels were now urged to a swifter pace. + +Egyptian night, well called, he thought. He could discern nothing but +phantom-like grey silhouettes that bobbed up and down after the fashion +of corks upon water. Before him and behind him; how many camels made up +the caravan he could not tell. He could hear the faint slip-slip as the +beasts shuffled forward in the fine and heavy sand. They were well out +into the desert, but what desert was as yet a mystery. He had forgotten +to keep the points of the compass in his mind. And to pick out his +bearings by any particular star was to him no more simple than +translating Chinese. + +Far, far away behind he saw a luminous pallor in the sky, the reflected +lights of Cairo. And only a few hours ago he had complained to the +head-waiter because of the bits of cork floating in his glass of wine. +Ah, for the dregs of that bottle now; warmth, revival, new courage!... +Curse the luck! There went one of his pumps. He called out. The man +riding in front and leading George's camel merely gave a yank at the +rope. The camel responded with a cough and a quickened gait. + +Presently George became aware of a singular fact: that he could see out +of one eye better than the other; and that the semi-useless orb shot +out little stars with every beat of his heart. One of his ears, too, +began to throb and burn. He felt of it. It was less like an ear than a +mushroom. It had been a rattling good mix-up, anyhow; and he accepted +the knowledge rather proudly that the George Percival Algernon, who but +lately had entered the English-Bar sprucely and had made his exit in a +kind of negligible attire, had left behind one character and brought +away another. Never again was he going to be afraid of anything; never +again was he going to be shy: the tame tiger, as it were, had had his +first taste of blood. + +Dawn, dawn; if only the horizon would brighten up a little so that he +could get his bearings. By now they were at least fifteen or twenty +miles from Cairo; but in what direction? + +Hour after hour went by; over this huge grey roll of sand, down into +that cup-like valley; soundless save when the camels protested or his +stirrup clinked against a buckle; all with the somber aspect of a scene +from Dante. Several black spots, moving in circles far above, once +attracted George; and he knew them to be kites, which will follow a +caravan into the desert even as a gull will follow a ship out to sea. +Later, a torpid indifference took possession of him, and the sense of +pain grew less under the encroaching numbness. + +And when at last the splendor of the dawn upon the desert flashed like a +sword-blade along the sky in the east, grew and widened, George +comprehended one thing clearly, that they were in the Arabian desert, +out of the main traveled paths, in the middle of nowhere. + +His sense of beauty did not respond to the marvel of the transformation. +The dark grey of the sand-hills that became violet at their bases, to +fade away upward into little pinnacles of shimmering gold; the drab, +formless, scattered boulders, now assuming clear-cut shapes, transfused +with ruby and sapphire glowing; the sun itself that presently lifted its +rosal warming circle above the stepping-off place--George saw but noted +not. The physical picture was overshadowed by the one he drew in his +mind: the good ship _Ludwig_, boring her way out into the sea. + +The sun was free from the desert's rim when the leading camel was +halted. A confusion ensued; the camels following stupidly into one +another, in a kind of panic. Out of the silence came a babble of +voices, a grunting, a clatter of pack-baskets and saddle-bags. George, +as his camel kneeled, slid off involuntarily and tumbled against a small +hillock, and lay there, without any distinct sense of what was going on +round him. The sand, fine and mutable, formed a couch comfortingly under +his aching body; and he fell asleep, exhausted. Already the impalpable +dust, which had risen and followed the caravan all through the night, +had powdered his clothes, and his face was stained and streaked. His +head lay in the sand, his soft Fedora crushed under his shoulders. What +with the bruises visible, the rents in his coat, the open shirt, soiled, +crumpled, collarless, he invited pity; only none came from the busy +Arabs. As he slept, a frown gathered upon his face and remained there. + +When he came back from his troubled dreams, a bowl of rice, thinned by +hot water, was given him. He cleaned the bowl, not because he was +hungry, but because he knew that somewhere along this journey he would +need strength; and the recurring fury against his duress caused him to +fling the empty bowl at the head of the camel-boy who had brought it. +The boy ducked, laughing. George lay down again. Let them cut his throat +if they wanted to; it was all the same to him. Again he slept, and when +he was roughly and forcibly awakened, he sat up with a snarl and looked +about. + +His head was clear now, and he began to take notes. He counted ten, +eleven, twelve camels; a caravan in truth, prepared for a long and +continuous journey. There were three pack-camels, laden with wood, +tents, and such cooking utensils as the frugal Arab had need of. +Certainly Mahomed was a rich man, whether he owned the camels or hired +them for the occasion. Upon one of the beasts they were putting up a +_mahmal_, a canopy used to protect women from the sun while riding. One +Arab, taller, more robust than the others, moved hither and thither +authoritatively. Wound about his _tarboosh_ or fez was a bright green +_cufia_, signifying that the wearer had made the pilgrimage to Holy +Mecca. This individual George assumed to be Mahomed himself. And he +recognized him as the beggar over whom he had stumbled two nights gone. +Pity he hadn't known, and pitched him into the Nile when he had had the +chance. + +Mahomed completed his directions, and walked leisurely toward George, +but his attention was not directed toward him. A short distance away, at +George's left, was a man, stretched out as if in slumber. Over his inert +figure Mahomed watched. He drew back his foot and kicked the sleeping +man soundly, smiling amiably the while; a kick which, had Mahomed's foot +been cased in western leather, must have stove in the sleeper's ribs. +Strange, the victim did not stir. Mahomed shrugged, and returned to the +business of breaking camp. + +George was keenly interested in this man who could accept such a kick +apparently without feeling or resentment. He stood up for a better view. +One glance was sufficient. It was Ryanne, the erstwhile affable Ryanne +of the reversible cuffs: his feet and hands still in bondage, his +clothes torn, his face battered and bruised like a sailor's of a Sunday +morning on shore-leave. The sight of Ryanne brightened him considerably. +Although he was singularly free from the spirit of malevolence, he was, +nevertheless, human enough to subscribe to that unwritten and much +denied creed that the misery of one man reconciles another to his. And +here was company such as misery loved; here was a man worse off than +himself, whose prospects were a thousand times blacker. Poor devil! And +here he was, captive of the man he had wronged and beaten and robbed. As +seen through George's eyes, Ryanne's outlook was not a pleasant thing to +contemplate. But oh! the fight this one must have been! If it had taken +five natives to overcome him, how many had it taken to beat Ryanne into +such a shocking condition? He was genuinely sorry for Ryanne, but in his +soul he was glad to see him. One white man could accomplish nothing in +the face of these odds; but two white men, that was a different matter. +Ryanne, once he got his legs, strong, courageous, resourceful, Ryanne +would get them both out of it somehow.... And if Ryanne hadn't the rug, +who the dickens had? + +The jumble of questions that rose in his mind, seeking answers to the +riddle of the Yhiordes rug, subsided even as they rose. The bundle to +the far side of Ryanne stirred. He had, in his general survey of the +scene, barely set a glance upon it, believing it to be a conglomeration +of saddle-bags (made of wool and cotton) and blankets. It stirred +again. George studied it with a peculiar sense of detachment. A woman; a +woman in what had but recently been a smart Parisian tailor-made +street-dress. The woman, rubbing her eyes, bore herself up painfully to +a sitting posture. She was white. All the blows of the night past were +as nothing in comparison with this invisible one which seemed to strike +at the very source of life. + +Fortune Chedsoye! + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +NOT A CHEERFUL OUTLOOK + + +George, his brain in tumult, a fierce tigerish courage giving fictitious +strength to his body, staggered toward her. It was a mad dream, a mirage +of his own disordered thoughts. Fortune there? It was not believable. +What place had she in this tangled web? He ran his fingers into his +hair, gripped, and pulled. If it was a dream the pain did not waken him; +Fortune sat there still. Through what terrors might she not have passed +the preceding night? Alone in the desert, without any of those +conveniences which are to women as necessary as the air they breathe! He +tried to run, but his feet sank too deeply into the pale sand; he could +only plod. He must touch her or hear her voice; otherwise he stood upon +the brink of madness. There was no doubt in his mind now; he loved her, +loved her as deeply and passionately as any storied knight loved his +lady; loved her without thought of reward, unselfishly, with great and +tender pity, for unconsciously he saw that she, like he, was all alone, +not only here in the desert, but along the highways where men set up +their dwellings. + +Mahomed, having an eye upon all things, though apparently seeing only +that which was under his immediate concern, saw the young man's +intention, and more, read the secret in his face. He was infinitely +amused. There were two of them, so it seemed. Quietly he stepped in +between George and the girl, and his movement freed George's mind of its +bewilderment. Unhesitatingly, he flung himself upon the Arab, striving +to reach the lean, brown throat. Mahomed, strong and unwearied, having +no hand in the actual warfare, thrust George back so vigorously that the +young man lost his balance and fell prone upon the sand. He was so weak +that the fall stunned him. Mahomed stepped forward, doubtless with the +generous impulse to prove that in the matter of kicks he desired to show +no partiality, when a hand caught at his burnouse. He paused and looked +down. It was the girl. + +"Don't! A brave man would not do that." + +Mahomed, moved by some feeling that eluded immediate analysis, turned +about. It was time to be off, if he wished to reach Serapeum the +following night. Pursuit he knew to be out of the question, since who +was there to know that there was anything to pursue? But many miles +intervened between here and his destination. He dared not enter Serapeum +in the daytime. Lying upon the canal-bank as it did, the possibility of +encountering a stray white man confronted him. Every camel-way +frequented by Europeans must of necessity be avoided, every town of any +size skirted, and all the while he must keep parallel with known paths +or become lost himself. Not to become lost himself, that was his real +concern. The caravan was provisioned for months, and he knew Asia-Minor +as well as the lines upon his palms. There were sand-storms, too; but +against these blighting visitations he would match his vigilant eye and +the instinct of his camels. The one way in which these peculiar storms +might distress him lay in the total obliteration of the way-signs, +certain rocks, certain hills, without the guidance of which, like a good +ship bereft of its compass, he might fall away from his course, +notwithstanding that he would always travel toward the sun. + +And there was also the vital question of water; he must never forget +that; he must measure the time between each well, each oasis. So, then, +aside from these dangers with which he felt able to cope, there was one +unforeseen: the chance meeting with a wandering caravan headed by white +men in search of rugs and carpets. These fools were eternally hunting +about the wastes of the world; they were never satisfied unless they +were prowling into countries where they had no business to be, were +always breaking the laws of the caliphs and the Koran. + +The girl was beautiful in her pale, foreign way; beautiful as the star +of the morning, as the first rose of the Persian spring; and he sighed +for the old days that were no more. She would have brought a sultan's +ransom in the markets. But the accursed Feringhi were everywhere, and +these sickly if handsome white women were more to them than their +heart's blood; why, he had never ceased to wonder. But upon this +knowledge he had mapped out his plan of torture in regard to Ryanne. The +idea of selling Fortune had dimly formed in his mind, while his blood +had burned in anger; but today's soberness showed him the futility of +such a procedure. He would have to make the best of a foolish move; for +the girl would eventually prove an encumbrance. At any rate, he would +wring one white man's heart till it beat dry in his breast. That her +health might be ruined, that she might sicken and die, in no manner +aroused his pity. This attribute was destined never to be awakened in +Mahomed's heart. + +The _kisweh_, the _kisweh_, always the Holy Yhiordes; that he must have, +even if he had to forego the pleasure of breaking Ryanne. He was too old +to start life anew; at least, too old to stir ambition. He had wielded +authority too many years to surrender it lightly; he had known too long +his golden-flaked tobacco, his sherbet, his syrupy coffee, the pleasant +loafing in the bazaars with his merchant friends. To return to the +palace, to confess to the Pasha that his carelessness had lost him the +rug, would result either in death or banishment; and so far as he was +concerned he had no choice, the one was as bad as the other. So, if the +young fool who had bought the rug of Ryanne told the truth when he +declared that it had been stolen again, then Ryanne knew where it was; +and he could be made to tell; he, Mahomed, would attend to that. And +when Ryanne confessed, the girl and the other would be conveyed to the +nearest telegraph-post. That they might at once report the abduction to +the English authorities did not worry Mahomed. Not the fleetest +racing-camel could find him, and behind the walls of the palace of +Bagdad, only Allah could touch him. He had figured it all out closely; +and he was an admirable strategist in his way. Revenge upon Ryanne for +the dishonor and humiliation, and the return of the rug; there was +nothing more beyond that. + +Before George had the opportunity of speaking to Fortune, he was raised +from the sand and bodily lifted upon his camel; and by way of passing +pleasantry, his hat was jammed down over his eyes. He swore as he pulled +up the brim. Swearing was another accomplishment added to the list of +transformations. He had a deal to learn yet, but in his present mood he +was likely to proceed famously. He readjusted the hat in time to see +Ryanne unceremoniously dumped into one of the yawning pack-baskets, his +arms and legs hanging out, his head lolling against his shoulder, +exactly like a marionette, cast aside for the time being. A man of +ordinary stamina would have died under such treatment. But Ryanne +possessed an extraordinary constitution, against which years of +periodical dissipation had as yet made no permanent inroads. Moreover, +he never forgot to keep his chin up and his waist-line down. They put +him into the pack-basket because there was no alternative, being as he +was incapable of sitting upon a camel's back. + +Next, George saw Fortune, unresisting, placed upon the camel, under +canopy. At least, she would know a little comfort against the day's long +ride. His heart ached to see her. He called out bravely to her to be of +good cheer. She turned and smiled; and he saw only the smile, not the +swift, decisive battle against the onset of tears: she smiled, and he +was too far away to see the swimming eyes. + +A bawling of voices, a snapping of the _kurbash_ upon the flanks of the +camels, and the caravan was once more under way. George looked at his +watch, which fortunately had been overlooked by the thieving natives, +and found it still ticking away briskly. It was after nine. It was a +comfort to learn that the watch had not been injured. Most men are +methodical in the matter of time, no matter how desultory they may be in +other things. There is a peculiar restfulness in knowing what the hour +is, whether it passes quickly or whether it drags. + +Further investigation revealed that his letter of credit was undisturbed +and that he was the proud possessor of six damaged cigars and a box of +cigarettes. Instantly the thought of being days without tobacco smote +him almost poignantly. He was an inveterate smoker, and the fact that +the supply was so pitiably small gave unusual zest to his craving. He +now longed for the tang of the weed upon his lips, but he held out +manfully. He would not touch a cigar or cigarette till nightfall, and +then he made up his mind to smoke half of either. The touch, selfish and +calculating, of the miser stole over him. If Ryanne was without the +soother, so much the worse for him. The six cigars he would not share +with the Archangel Michael, supposing that gentleman came down for a +smoke. + +Forward, always forward, winding in and out of the valleys, trailing +over the hills, never faster, never slower. Noon came, and the +brilliance of afternoon dimmed and faded into the short twilight. Were +they never going to stop? One hill more, and George, to his infinite +delight, saw a cluster of date-palms ahead, a mile or so; and he knew +that this was to be the haven for the ship of the desert. The caravan +came to it under the dim light of the few stars that had not yet +attained their refulgence. Under the palms were a few deserted +mud-houses, huddled dejectedly together, like outcasts seeking the +nearness rather than the companionship of their co-unfortunates. Men had +dwelt here once upon a time, but the plague had doubtless counted them +out, one by one. They made camp near the well, which still contained +water. + +Prayers. A wailing chanted forth toward Mecca. "God is great. There is +no God but God." + +George had witnessed prayers so often that he no longer gave attention +to the muezzin calling at eventide from a minaret. But out here, in the +blank wilderness, it caught him again, caught him as it had never done +before. A shiver stirred the hair at the base of his neck. The lean +bodies, one not distinguishable from the other now, kneeling, standing, +sweeping the arms, touching the forehead upon the rug, for even the +lowest camel-boy had his prayer-rug, ceaselessly intoning the set +phrases--George felt shame grow in his heart. Was he as loyal to his God +as these were to theirs? + +A good fire was started, and the funereal aspect of the oasis became +quick and cheerful. A little distance from the blaze, George saw Fortune +bending over the inanimate Ryanne. She was bathing his face with a wet +handkerchief. After a time Ryanne turned over and flung his arms limply +across his face. It was the first sign of life he had exhibited since +the start. Fortune gently pulled aside his arms and continued her tender +mercies. + +"Can I help?" asked George. + +"You might rub his wrists," she answered. + +It seemed odd to him that they should begin in such a matter-of-fact +way. It would be only when they had fully adjusted themselves to the +situation that questions would put forth for answers. He knelt down at +the other side of Ryanne and massaged his wrists and arms. Once he +paused, catching his breath. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +"A rib seems to bother me. It'll be all right to-morrow." He went on +with his manipulations. + +"Is he badly hurt?" + +"I can't say." + +His knowledge of anatomy was not wide; still, Ryanne's arms and legs +worked satisfactorily. The trouble was either in his head or back of his +ribs. He put his arm under Ryanne's shoulder and raised him. Ryanne +mumbled some words. George bent down to catch them. "Hit 'em up in this +half, boys; we've got them going. Hell! Get off my head, you farmer!... +Two cards, please." His face puckered into what was intended for a +smile. George laid him back gently. Foot-ball and poker: what had this +man not known or seen in life? Some one came between the two men and the +fire, casting a long shadow athwart them. George looked up and saw +Mahomed standing close by. His arms were folded and his face grimly +inscrutable. + +"Have you any blankets?" asked George coolly. + +Mahomed gave an order. A blanket and two saddle-bags were thrown down +beside the unconscious man. George made a pillow of the bags and laid +the blanket over Ryanne. + +"Why do you waste your time over him?" asked Mahomed curiously. + +"I would not let a dog die this way," he retorted. + +"He would have let you die," replied Mahomed, turning upon his heel. + +George stared thoughtfully at his whilom accomplice. What did the old +villain insinuate? + +"Can I do anything to make you more comfortable?" speaking to Fortune. + +"I'm all right. I was chilled a little while ago, but the fire has done +away with that. Thank you." + +"You must eat when they bring you food." + +"I'll try to," smiling bravely. + +To take her in his arms, then and there, to appease their hunger and his +heart's! + +Self-consciously, her hand stole to her hair. A color came into her +cheeks. How frightful she must look! Neither hair-pin nor comb was left. +She threw the strands across her shoulder and plucked the snarls and +tangles apart, then braided the whole. He watched her, fascinated. He +had never seen a woman do this before. It was almost a sacrilege for him +to be so near her at such a moment. Afterward she drew her blanket over +her shoulders. + +"You've got lots of pluck." + +"Have I?" + +"Yes. You haven't asked a question yet." + +"Would it help any?" + +"No, I don't suppose it would. I've an idea that we're all on the way to +the home of Haroun-al-Rashid." + +"Bagdad," musingly. + +"It's the rug. But I do not understand you in the picture." + +"No more do I." + +With a consideration that spoke well of his understanding, he did not +speak to her again till food was passed. Later, when the full terror of +the affair took hold of her, she would be dreadfully lonely and would +need to see him near, to hear his voice. He forced some of the hot soup +down Ryanne's throat, and was glad to note that he responded a little. +After that he limped about the strange camp, but was careful to get in +no one's way. Slyly he took note of this face and that, and his +satisfaction grew as he counted the aftermath of the war. And it had +taken five of them, and even then the result had been in doubt up to +that moment when his head had gone bang against the stucco. He took a +melancholy pride in his swollen ear and half-shut eye. He had always +been doubtful regarding his courage; and now he knew that George +Percival Algernon Jones was as good a name as Bayard. + +The camel-boys (they are called boys all the way from ten years up to +forty), having hobbled the beasts, were portioning each a small bundle +of tibbin or chopped straw in addition to what they might find by +grazing. Funny brutes, thought George, as he walked among the kneeling +animals: to go five days without food or water, to travel continuously +from twenty-five to eighty miles the day! Others were busy with the +pack-baskets. A tent, presumably Mahomed's, was being erected upon a +clayey piece of ground in between the palms. No one entered the huts, +even out of curiosity; so George was certain that the desertion had been +brought about by one plague or another. A smaller tent was put up +later, and he was grateful at the sight of it. It meant a little privacy +for the poor girl. Great God, how helpless he was, how helpless they all +were! + +An incessant chatter, occasionally interspersed with a laugh, went on. +The Arab, unlike the East Indian, is not ordinarily surly; and these +seemed to be good-natured enough. They eyed George without malice. The +war of the night before had been all in a day's work, for which they had +been liberally paid. While he had spent much time in the Orient and had +ridden camels, a real caravan, prepared for weeks of travel, was a +distinct novelty; and so he viewed all with interest, knowing perfectly +well that within a few days he would look upon these activities with a +dull, hopeless anger. He went back to the girl and sat down beside her. + +"Have you any idea why you are here?" + +"No; unless he saw me in the bazaars with Horace, and thought to torture +him by bringing me along." + +Horace! A chill that was not of the night ran over his shoulders. So she +called the adventurer by his given name? And how might her presence +torture Ryanne? George felt weak in that bitter moment. Ay, how might +not her presence torture _him_ also? He had never, for the briefest +space, thought of Ryanne and Fortune at the same time. She spoke, +apathetically it was true, as if she had known him all her life. The +wisest thing he could do was to bring Ryanne to a condition where he +could explain some parts of the enigma and be of some use. Horace! + +"I'm going to have another try at him," he said. + +She nodded, but without any particular enthusiasm. + +George worked over Ryanne for the better part of an hour, and finally +the battered man moved. He made an effort to speak, but this time no +sound issued from his lips. At the end of the hour he opened his eyes +and smiled. It was more like the grin George had once seen upon the face +of a boxer who had returned to the contest after having been floored +half a dozen times. + +"Can you hear me?" asked George. + +Ryanne stared into his face. "Yes," thickly. "Where are we?" + +"In the desert." + +"Which one?" + +"Arabian." + +Ryanne tried to sit up alone. + +"Better not try to move. They banged you up at a great rate. Best thing +you can do is to go to sleep. You'll be all right in the morning." + +Ryanne sank back, and George bundled him up snugly. Poor devil! + +"He'll pull himself together in the morning," he said to Fortune. "I did +not know that you knew him well." + +"I have known him for eight or nine years. He used to visit my uncle at +our villa in Mentone." She smiled. "You look very odd." + +"No odder than I feel," with an ineffectual attempt to bring together +the ends of his collar-band. "I must be a sight. I was in too much of a +hurry to get here. Did you eat the soup and fish?" + +"The soup, yes; but I'm afraid that it will be some time before I can +find the dried fish palatable. I hope my courage will not fail me," she +added, the first sign of anxiety she had yet shown. She was very lonely, +very tired, very sad. + +It is quite possible that Mahomed, coming over, spoiled a pretty scene; +for George had some very brave words upon the tip of his tongue. + +"Come," said Mahomed to Fortune. "You will sleep in the little tent. No +one will disturb you." + +"Good night, Mr. Jones. Don't worry; I am not afraid." + +George was alone. He produced one of his precious cigars and lighted it. +Then he drew over his feet one of the empty saddle-bags, wrapped his +blanket round him, and sat smoking and thinking till the heat of the +fire, replenished from time to time, filled him with a comfortable +drowsiness; and the cigar, still smoking, slipped from his nerveless +fingers, as he lay back upon the hard clay and slept. Romance is the +greatest thing in the world; but for all that, a man must eat and a man +must sleep. + +The cold dew of dawn was the tonic that recalled him from the land of +grotesque dreams. He sat up and rubbed his face briskly with his hands, +drying it upon the sleeve of his coat, as hasty and as satisfying a +toilet as he had ever made. There was no activity in camp; evidently +they were not going to start early. The cook alone was busy. The fire +was crackling, the kettle was steaming, and a pot of pleasant-smelling +coffee leaned rakishly against the hot ashes. The flap to Fortune's tent +was still closed. And there was Ryanne, sitting with his knees drawn up +under his chin, his hands clasped about his shins, and glowering at no +visible thing. + +"Hello!" cried George. "Found yourself, eh?" + +Ryanne eyed him without emotion. + +"When and how did they get you?" George inquired. + +"About three hours before they got you. Something in a glass of wine. +Dope. I'd have cleaned them up but for that." + +"How do you feel?" + +"Damned bad, Percival." + +"Any bones broken?" + +"No; I'm just knocked about; sore spot in my side; kicked, maybe. But it +isn't that." + +George didn't ask what "that" was. "Where do you think he's taking us?" + +"Bagdad, if we don't die upon the way." + +"I don't think he'll kill us. It wouldn't be worth his while." + +"You did not give him the rug?" + +"Not I!" + +"It comes hard, Jones, I know, but your giving it up will save us both +many bad days. He asked you for it?" + +"He did." + +"Then why the devil didn't you give it to him? What's a thousand pounds +against this muddle?" + +"For the simple reason I didn't have it to give up." + +"What's that?" + +"When I went up to my room, night before last, some one had been there +ahead of me. And at first I had given you the credit," said George, with +admirable frankness. + +"Gone!" There was no mistaking the dismay in Ryanne's voice. + +"Absolutely." + +"Well, I be damn!" Ryanne threw aside the blanket and got up. It was a +painful moment, and he swayed a little. "If Mahomed hasn't it, and I +haven't it, and you haven't it, who the devil has, then?" + +George shook his head. + +"Jones, we are in for it. If that cursed rug is Mahomed's salvation, it +is no less ours. If we ever reach the palace of Bagdad and that rug is +not forthcoming, we'll never see the outside of the walls again." + +"Nonsense! There's an American consul at Bagdad." + +"And Mahomed will notify him of our arrival!" bitterly. + +"Isn't there some way we two might get at Mahomed?" + +"Perhaps; but it will take time. Don't bank upon money. Mahomed wants +his head. If the rug...." But Ryanne stopped. He looked beyond George, +his face full of terror. George turned to see what had produced this +effect. Fortune was coming out of her tent. "Fortune? My God!" Ryanne's +legs gave under and he sank, his face in his hands. "I see it all now! +Fool, fool! He's going to get me, Jones; he's going to get me through +her!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +MAHOMED OFFERS FREEDOM + + +Fortune had slept, but only after hours of watchful terror. The +slightest sound outside the tent sent a scream into her throat, but she +succeeded each time in stifling it. Once the evil laughter of a hyena +came over the dead and silent sands, and she put her hands over her +ears, shivering. Alone! She laid her head upon the wadded saddle-bags +and wept silently, and every sob tore at her heart. She must keep up the +farce of being brave when she knew that she wasn't. The men must not be +discouraged. Her deportment would characterize theirs; any sign of +weakness upon her side would correspondingly depress them the more. She +prayed to God to give her the strength to hold out. She was afraid of +Mahomed; she was afraid of his grim smile, afraid of his mocking eyes; +she could not sponge out the scene wherein he had so gratuitously kicked +Horace in the side. Horace! No, she did not believe that she would ever +forgive him for this web which he had spun and fallen into himself. Two +things she must hide for the sake of them all: her fear of Mahomed and +her knowledge of Ryanne's trickery. + +What part in this tragedy had the Arab assigned her? Her fingers twined +and untwined, and she rocked and rocked, bit her lips, lay down, sat up +and rocked again. But for the exhaustion, but for the insistent call of +nature, she would never have closed her eyes that night. + +And her mother! What would her mother believe, after the scene that had +taken place between them? What could she believe, save that her daughter +had fulfilled her threat, and run away? And upon this not unreasonable +supposition her mother would make no attempt to find out what had become +of her. Perhaps she would be glad, glad to be rid of her and her +questions. Alone! Well, she had always been alone. + +The only ray of sunshine in all was the presence of Jones. She felt, +subtly, that he would not only stand between her and Mahomed, but also +between her and Ryanne. + + * * * * * + +"Hush!" whispered George. "Don't let her see you like this. She mustn't +know." + +"You don't understand," replied Ryanne miserably. + +"I believe I do." George's heart was heavy. This man was in love with +her, too. + +Ryanne struck the tears from his eyes and turned aside his head. He was +sick in soul and body. To have walked blindly into a trap like this, of +his own making, too! Fool! What had possessed him, usually so keen, to +trust the copper-hided devil? All for the sake of one glass of wine! +With an effort entailing no meager pain in his side, he stilled the +strangling hiccoughs, swung round and tried to smile reassuringly at the +girl. + +"You are better?" she asked. + +There was in the tone of that question an answer to all his dreams. One +night's work had given him his ticket to the land of those weighed and +found wanting. She knew; how much he did not care; enough to read his +guilt. + +It appeared to George that she was accepting the situation with a +philosophy deeper than either his or Ryanne's. Not a whimper, not a +plaint, not a protest so far had she made. She was a Roland in +petticoats. + +"Oh, I'm bashed up a bit," said Ryanne. "I'll get my legs in a day or +so. Fortune, will you answer one question?" + +"As many as you like." + +"How did you get here?" + +"Don't you know?" + +George wasn't certain, but the girl's voice was cold and accusing. + +"I?" + +"Yes. Wasn't it the note that you wrote to me?" + +Ryanne took his head in his hands, wearily. "I wrote you no note, +Fortune; I have never written you a note of any kind. You do not know my +handwriting from Adam's. In God's name, why didn't you ask your mother +or your uncle? They would have recognized the forgery at once. Who gave +it to you?" + +"Mahomed himself." + +"Damn him!" Ryanne grew strong under the passing fit of rage. "No, don't +tell me to be silent. I don't care about myself. I'm the kind of a man +who pulls through, generally. But this takes the spine out of me. I'm to +blame; it's all my fault." + +"Say no more about it." She believed him. She really hadn't thought him +capable of such baseness, though at the time of her abduction she had +been inclined to accuse him. That he was here, a prisoner like herself, +was conclusive evidence, so far as she was concerned, of his innocence. +But she knew him to be responsible for the presence of Jones; knew him +to be culpable of treachery of the meanest order; knew him to be lacking +in generosity and magnanimity toward a man who was practically his +benefactor. "What does Mahomed want?" + +"The bally rug, Fortune. And Jones here, who had it, says that it is +gone." + +"Vanished, magic-carpet-wise," supplemented George. + +"And Jones would have given it up." + +"And a thousand like it, if we could have bought you out of this." + +"Jones and I could have managed to get along." + +"We shouldn't have mattered." + +"And would you have returned to Mr. Jones his thousand pounds?" + +"Yes, and everything else I have," quite honestly. + +"Don't worry any more about the rug, then. I know where it is." + +"You?" cried the two men. + +"Yes. I stole it. I did so, thinking to avert this very hour; to save +you from harm," to George, "and you from doing a contemptible thing," to +Ryanne. "It is in my room, done up in the big steamer-roll. And now I am +glad that I stole it." + +Ryanne laughed weakly. + +Said George soberly: "What contemptible thing?" He recollected Mahomed's +words in regard to Ryanne as the latter lay insensible in the sand. + +Ryanne, quick to seize the opportunity of solving, to his own advantage, +the puzzle for George, and at the same time guiding Fortune away from a +topic, the danger of which she knew nothing, raised a hand. "I bribed +Mahomed to kidnap you, Jones. Don't be impatient. You laughed at me when +I laid before you the prospectus of the United Romance and Adventure +Company. I wished to prove to you that the concern existed. And so here +is your adventure upon approval. I thought, of course, you still had the +rug. Mahomed was to carry you into the desert for a week, and by that +time you would have surrendered the rug, returned to Cairo, the hero of +a full-fledged adventure. Lord! what a mess of it I've made. I forgot, +next to his bally rug, Mahomed loved me." + +The hitherto credulous George had of late begun to look into facts +instead of dreams. He did not believe a word of this amazing confession, +despite the additional testimony of Fortune, relative to Ryanne's +statements made to her in the bazaars. + +"The biter bitten," was George's sole comment. + +Ryanne breathed easier. + +"Why not tell Mahomed at once, and have him send a courier back for the +rug?" suggested Fortune. + +"By Jove, that clears up everything. We'll do it immediately." George +felt better than he had at any stage of the adventure. Here was a +simple way out of the difficulty. + +"Softly," said Ryanne. "Let us come down to the lean facts. If that rug +is in your room, Fortune, your mother has discovered it long before now. +She will turn it over to your estimable uncle. None of us will ever see +it again, I'm thinking. The Major knows that Jones gave me a thousand +pounds for it." Struck by a sense of impending disaster, Ryanne began to +fumble in his pockets. Gone! Every shilling of it gone! "He's got that, +too; Mahomed; the cash you gave me, Jones. Wait a moment; don't speak; +things are whirling about some. Over nine hundred pounds; every shilling +of it. We mustn't let him know that I've missed it. I've got to play +weak in order to grow strong.... But they will at least start up a row +as to your whereabouts, Fortune." + +"No," thoughtfully; "no, I do not think they will." + +The undercurrent was too deep for George. He couldn't see very clearly +just then. The United Romance and Adventure Company; was that all? Was +there not something sinister behind that name, concerning him? He +looked patiently from the girl to the adventurer. + +Ryanne stared at the yellow desert beyond. His brain was clearing +rapidly under the stimulus of thought. He himself did not believe that +they would send out search-parties either for him or for Fortune. He +could not fathom what had given Fortune her belief; but he realized that +his own was based upon the recollection of that savage mood when he had +thrown down the gauntlet. Now they would accept it. He had run away with +Fortune as he had boldly threatened to do. The mother and her precious +brother would proceed at once to New York without him. He had made a +fine muddle of it all. But for a glass of wine and a grain too much of +confidence, he had not been here this day. + +Mahomed, himself astir by this time, came over to the group, leisurely. +The three looked like conspirators to his suspicious eye, but unlike +conspirators they made no effort to separate because he approached. He +understood: as yet they were not afraid of him. That was one of the +reasons he hated white men; they could seldom be forced to show fear, +even when they possessed it. Well, these three should know what fear +was before they saw the last of him. He carried a _kurbash_, a cow-hide +whip, which he twirled idly, even suggestively. First, he came to +George. + +"If you have the Yhiordes, there is still a chance for you. Cairo is but +fifty miles away. Bagdad is several hundred." He drew the whip +caressingly through his fingers. + +"I do not lie," replied George, a truculent sparkle in his eyes. "I told +you that I had it not. It was the truth." + +A ripple of anxiety passed over Mahomed's face. "And you?" turning upon +Ryanne, with suppressed savageness. How he longed to lay the lash upon +the dog! + +"Don't look at me," answered Ryanne waspishly. "If I had it I should not +be here." Ah, for a bit of his old strength! He would have strangled +Mahomed then and there. But the drug and the beating had weakened him +terribly. + +"If I give you the rug," interposed Fortune, "will you promise freedom +to us all?" + +Mahomed stepped back, nonplussed. He hadn't expected any information +from this quarter. + +"I have the rug," declared Fortune calmly, though she could scarcely +hear her own voice, her heart beat so furiously. + +"You have it?" Mahomed was confused. Here was a turn in the road upon +which he had set no calculation. All three of them! + +"Yes. And upon condition that you liberate us all, I will put it into +your hands. But it must be my writing this time." + +A white man would have blushed under the reproach in her look. Mahomed +smiled amiably, pleased over his cleverness. "Where is the _kisweh_?" + +"The _kisweh_?" + +"The Holy Yhiordes. Where is it?" + +"That I refuse to tell you. Your word of honor first, to bind the +bargain." + +Ryanne laughed. It acted upon Mahomed like a goad. He raised the whip, +and had Ryanne's gaze swerved the part of an inch, the blow would have +fallen. + +"You laugh?" snarled Mahomed. + +"Why, yes. A bargain with your honor makes me laugh." + +"And _your_ honor?" returned Mahomed fiercely. He wondered why he held +his hand. "I have matched trickery against trickery. My honor has not +been called. I fed you, I gave you drink; in return you lied to me, +dishonored me in the eyes of my friends, and one of them you killed." + +"It was my life or his," exclaimed Ryanne, not relishing the recital of +this phase. "It was my life or his; and he was upon my back." + +Fortune shuddered. Presently she laid her hand upon Mahomed's arm. +"Would you take my word of honor?" + +Mahomed sought her eyes. "Yes. I read truth in your eyes. Bring me the +rug, and my word of honor to you, you shall go free." + +"But my friends?" + +"One of them." Mahomed laughed unpleasantly. It was an excellent idea. +"One of them shall go free with you. It will be for you to choose which. +Now, you dog, laugh, laugh!" and the tongue of the _kurbash_ bit the +dust within an inch of Ryanne's feet. + +"What shall I do?" asked Fortune miserably. + +"Accept," urged Ryanne. "If you are afraid to choose one or the other +of us, Jones and I will spin a coin." + +"I agree," said George, very unhappy. + +"Have you any paper, Jones?" + +George searched. He found the dance-card to the ball at the hotel. In +another pocket he discovered the little pencil that went with it. + +"You write," said Mahomed to Fortune. + +"I intend to." Fortune took the card and pencil and wrote as follows: + + "MOTHER: + + "Horace, Mr. Jones and I are prisoners of the man who owned the + rug, which you will find in the large steamer-roll. Give it to the + courier who brings this card. And under no circumstances set spies + upon his track." In French she added: "We are bound for Bagdad. In + case Mahomed receives the rug and we are not liberated, wire the + embassy at Constantinople and the consulate at Bagdad. + + "FORTUNE." + +She gave it to Mahomed. + +"Read it out loud," he commanded. While he spoke English fluently, he +could neither read nor write it in any serviceable degree. The note he +had given to Fortune had been written by a friend of his in the bazaars +who had upon a time lived in New York. Fortune read slowly, slightly +flushing as she evaded the French script. + +"That will do," Mahomed agreed. + +He shouted for one of his boys, bade him saddle the _hagin_ or +racing-camel, which of all those twelve, alone was his, and be off to +Cairo. The boy dipped his bowl into the kettle, ate greedily, saddled +the camel, and five minutes later was speeding back toward Cairo at a +gait that would bring him there late that night. + +Fortune and George and Ryanne watched him till he disappeared below a +dip and was gone from view. In the minds of the three watchers the same +question rose: would he be too late? George was cheerful enough +thereafter, but his cheerfulness was not of the infectious kind. + +At noon the caravan was once more upon its way. Ryanne was able to ride. +The fumes of whatever drug had been administered to him had finally +evaporated, and he felt only bruised, old, disheartened. An evil day for +him when he had set forth for Bagdad in quest of the rug. He was +confident that there would be no rug awaiting the courier, and what +would be Mahomed's procedure when the boy returned empty-handed was not +difficult to imagine. Mahomed was right; so far honor had not entered +into the contest. According to his lights, the Arab was only paying coin +for coin. But for the girl, Ryanne would have accepted the situation +with a shrug, to await that moment when Mahomed, eased by the sense of +security, would naturally relax vigilance. The presence of Fortune +changed the whole face of the affair. Mahomed could have his eyes and +heart if he would but spare her. He must be patient; he must accept +insults, even physical violence, but some day he and Mahomed would play +the final round. + +His past, his foolish, futile past: all the follies, all the petty +crimes, all the low dissipations in which he had indulged, seemed +trooping about his camel, mocking and gibbering at him. Why hadn't he +lived clean like Jones there? Why hadn't he fought temptation as he had +fought men? Environment was no excuse; bringing-up offered no +palliation; he had gone wrong simply because his inclinations had been +wrong. On the other hand, no one had ever tried to help him back to a +decent living. His mother had died during his childhood, and her +influence had left no impression. His father had been a money-maker, +consumed by the pleasure of building up pyramids of gold. He had never +reasoned with his youngest-born; he had paid his bills without protest +or reproach; it was so much a month to be written down in the expense +account. And the first-born had been his natural enemy since the days of +the nursery. Still, he could not acquit himself; his own arraignment was +as keen as any judge could have made. Strong as he was physically, +brilliant as he was mentally, there was a mortal weakness in his blood; +and search as he might the history of his ancestors, their lives shed no +light upon his own. + +In stating that his face had been granted that dubious honor and concern +of the perpetrators of the rogues' gallery, he had merely given rein to +a seizure of soul-bitterness. But there was truth enough in the +statement that he had been short in his accounts many thousands at his +father's bank; gambling debts; and in making no effort to replace the +loss, he was soon found out by his brother, who seemed only too glad to +dishonor him. He was given his choice: to sign over his million, due +him a year later (for at this time the father was dead), or go to +prison. The scandal of the affair had no weight with his brother; he +wanted the younger out of the way. Like the hot-headed fool he was, he +had signed away his inheritance, taken a paltry thousand and left +America, facing imprisonment if he returned. That was the kind of a +brother he had. Once he had burned his bridges, there came to him a +dozen ways by which he could have extricated himself. But once a fool, +always a fool! + +Disinherited, outcast, living by his wits, ingenious enough; the finer +senses callousing under the contact with his inferiors; a gambler, a +hard drinker periodically; all in all, a fine portrait for any gallery +given over to rogues. And he hadn't worried much over the moral problem +confronting him, that the way of the transgressor is hard. It was only +when love rent the veil of his fatuity that he saw himself as he really +was. + +Love! He gazed ahead at Fortune under the _mahmal_. That a guileless +young girl as she was should enchain him! That the sight of her should +always send a longing into his soul to go back and begin over! His jaws +hardened. Why not? Why not try to recover some of the crumbs of the fine +things he had thrown away? At least enough to permit him to go again +among his fellows without constantly looking behind to note if he were +followed? By the Lord Harry! once he was out of this web of his own +weaving, he _would_ live straight; he swore that every dollar hereafter +put in his pocket should be an honest one. Fortune could never be his +wife. He came to this fact without any roundabout or devious byways. In +the first place, he knew that he had not touched her; she had only been +friendly; and now even her friendship hung by a thread. All right. The +love he bore her was going to be his salvation just the same; and at +this moment he was deadly in earnest. + +It was after nine when they were ferried across the two canals, the +fresh-water and the salt, several miles below Serapeum. The three weary +captives saw a great liner slip past slowly and majestically upon its +way to the Far East. She radiated with light and cheer and comfort; and +all could hear faintly the pulsations of her engines. So near and yet so +far; a cup of water to Tantalus! At midnight they made camp. There were +no palms this time; simply a well in the center of a jumble of huge +boulders. The tents were pitched to the southwest, for now the wind +blew, biting from the land of northern snows; and a fire was a welcome +thing. This was Arabia; Africa had been left behind. Here they awaited +the return of the courier, who arrived two days later, dead tired. The +persons to whom the card had been sent had sailed for Naples with the +steamer _Ludwig_. Mahomed turned upon the three miserables. + +"I have you three, then; and by the beard of the Prophet, you shall pay, +you shall pay! You have robbed and beaten and dishonored me; and you +shall pay!" + +"Am I guilty of any wrong toward you?" faltered the girl. Her mother had +gone. She had hoped against hope. + +"No," cried Mahomed. He laughed. "You are free to return to Cairo ... +alone! Free to take your choice of these two men to accompany you. Free, +free as the air.... Well, why do you hesitate?" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +FORTUNE'S RIDDLE SOLVED + + +Fortune, without deigning to reply, walked slowly and proudly to her +tent, and disappeared within. She looked neither at Ryanne nor at +George. She knew that George, his soul filled with that unlucky quixotic +sense of chivalry which had made him so easy a victim to her mother, +would not accept his liberty at the price of Ryanne's, Ryanne, to whom +he owed nothing, not even mercy. And if she had had to ask one of the +two, George would have been the natural selection, for she trusted him +implicitly. Perhaps there still lingered in her mind a recollection of +how charmingly he had spoken of his mother. + +She could have set out for Cairo alone: even as she could have grown a +pair of wings and sailed through the air! The fate that walked behind +her was malevolent, cruel, unjust. She had wronged no one, in thought or +deed. She had put out her hand confidently to the world, to be laughed +at, distrusted, or ignored. Was it possible that a little more than a +month ago she wandered, if not happy, in the sense she desired, at least +in a peaceful state of mind, among her camelias and roses at Mentone? +Her world had been, in this short time, remolded, reconstructed; where +once had bloomed a garden, now yawned a chasm: and the psychological +earthquake had left her dizzy. That Mahomed, now wrought to a kind of +Berserk rage, might begin reprisals at once, did not alarm her; indeed, +her feeling was rather of dull, aching indifference. Nothing mattered +now. + +But Ryanne and George were keenly alive to the danger, and both agreed +that Fortune must go no farther. + +Ryanne, under his bitter raillery and seeming scorn for sacred things, +possessed a latent magnanimity, and it now pushed up through the false +layers. "Jones, it's my funeral. Go tell her. You two can find the way +back to the canal, and once there you will have no trouble. Don't +bother your head about me." + +"But what will you do?" + +"Take my medicine," grimly. + +"Ryanne, you are offering the cowardly part to me!" + +"You fool, it's the girl. What do you and I care about the rest of it? +You're as brave as a lion. When you put up your fists the other night, +you solved that puzzle for yourself. For God's sake, do it while I have +the courage to let you! Don't you understand? I love that girl better +than my heart's blood, and Mahomed can have it drop by drop. Go and go +quickly! He will give you food and water." + +"You go. She knows you better than me." + +"But will she trust me as she will you? Percival, old top, Mahomed will +never let me go till he's taken his pound of flesh. Fortune!" Ryanne +called. "Fortune, we want you!" + +She appeared at the flap of the tent. + +"Jones here will go back with you. Go, both of you, before Mahomed +changes his mind." + +"Miss Chedsoye, he is wrong. He's the one to go. He was hurt worse than +I was. Pride doesn't matter at a time like this. You two go," +desperately. + +Fortune shook her head. "All or none of us; all or none of us," she +repeated. + +And Mahomed, having witnessed and overheard the scene, laughed, a +laughter identical to that which had struck the barmaid's ears +sinisterly. He had not studied his white man without gathering some +insight into his character. Neither of these men was a poltroon. And +when he had made the offer, he knew that the conditions would erect a +barrier over which none of them would pass voluntarily. So much for +pride as the Christian dogs knew it. Pride is a fine buckler; none knew +that better than Mahomed himself; but a wise man does not wear it at all +times. + +"What is it to be?" he demanded of Fortune. + +"What shall I say to him?" + +"Whatever you will." Ryanne was tired. He saw that argument would be of +no use. + +"All or none of us." And Fortune looked at Mahomed with all the pride of +her race. "It is not because you wish me to be free; it is because you +wish to see one of my companions made base in my eyes. I will not have +it!" + +"The will of Allah!" He could not repress the fire of admiration in his +own eyes as they took in her beauty, the erect, slender figure, the +scorn upon her face, and the fearlessness in her great, dark eyes. Such +a woman might have graced the palace of the Great Caliph. He had had in +mind many little cruelties to practice upon her, that he might see the +men writhe, impotent and helpless to aid her. But in this tense and +dramatic scene, a sense of shame took possession of him; his pagan heart +softened; not from pity, but from that respect which one brave person +gives free-handed to another. + +Mahomed was not a bad man, neither was he a cruel one. He had been +terribly wronged, and his eastern way had but one angle of vision: to +avenge himself, believing that revenge alone could soothe his outraged +pride and reëstablish his honor as he viewed it from within. Had the +courier returned with the Holy Yhiordes, it is not impossible that he +would have liberated them all. But now he dared not; he was not far +enough away. To Bagdad, then, and as swiftly as the exigencies of +desert travel would permit. One beacon of hope burned in his breast. +The Pasha might be deposed, and in that case he could immediately +dispose of his own goods and chattels and seek new pastures. It would +come hard, doubly hard, since he never could regain the position he was +to lose. + +Nine hundred pounds English, and a comfortable fraction over; the +yellow-haired dog would have nothing in the end for his pains. It would +be what the Feringhi called a good joke. + +A week passed. Christmas. And not one of them recalled the day. Perhaps +it was because years had passed since that time when it meant anything +to them. The old year went out a-lagging; neither did they take note of +this. Having left behind civilization, customs and habits were +forgotten. + +Sometimes they rode all day and all night, sometimes but half a day, and +again, when the water was sweet, they rested the day and night. Never a +human being they saw, never a caravan met or crossed them. In this week, +the secret marvels of the desert became theirs. They saw it gleam and +waver and glitter under skies of brass, when the north wind let down and +a breeze came over from the Persian Gulf. They saw it covered with the +most amazing blues and greys and greens. They saw it under the rarest +azure and a stately fleet of billowy clouds; under the dawn, under the +set of sun, under the moon and the stars; and unfailingly the +interminable reaches of sand and rock and scrubby bush, chameleon-like, +readjusted its countenance to each change in the sky. George, who was a +poet without the gift of expression, never ceased to find new charms; +and nothing pleased his fancy more than to see the cloud-shadows scud +away across the sands. Once, toward the latter end of day, Fortune cried +out and pointed. Far away, palely yet distinctly, they saw an ocean +liner. She stood out against the yellowing sky as a magic-lantern +picture stands out upon the screen, and faded similarly. It was the one +and only mirage they saw, or at least noticed. + +[Illustration] + +Once another caravan, composed wholly of Arabs, passed. What hope the +prisoners had was instantly snuffed out. Before the strangers came +within hailing, Mahomed hustled his captives into his tent and swore he +would kill either George or Ryanne if they spoke. He forgot Fortune, +however. As the caravan was passing she screamed. Instantly Mahomed +clapped his hand roughly over her mouth. The sheik of the passing +caravan looked keenly at the tent, smiled grimly and passed on. What was +it to him that a white woman lay in yonder tent? His one emotion was of +envy. After this the prisoners became apathetic. + +Upon the seventh day, they witnessed the desert's terrifying anger. The +air that had been cool, suddenly grew still and hot; the blue above +began to fade, to assume a dusty, copperish color. The camels grew +restless. Quickly there rose out of the horizon saffron clouds, +approaching with incredible swiftness. Little whirlwinds of sand +appeared here and there, rose and died as if for want of air. Mahomed +veered the caravan toward a kind of bluff composed of sand and +precipitous boulders. All the camels were made to kneel. The boys +muffled up their mouths and noses, and Mahomed gave instructions to his +captives. Fortune buried her head in her coat and nestled down beside +her camel, while George and Ryanne used their handkerchiefs. George left +his camel and sought Fortune's side, found her hand and held it tightly. +He scarcely gave thought to what he did. He vaguely meant to encourage +her; and possibly he did. + +The storm broke. The sun became obscured. Pebbles and splinters of rock +sang through the pall of whirling sand. A golden tone enveloped the +little gathering. + +Had there been no natural protection, they must have ridden on, blindly +and desperately, for to have remained still in the open would have been +to await their tombs. It spent its fury in half an hour; and the +clearing air became cold again. The caravan proceeded. The hair of every +one was dimly yellow, their faces and their garments. + +When camp was made that night it found the captives untalkative. The +girl and the two men sat moodily about the fire. Fatigue had dulled +their bodies and hopelessness their minds. The men were ragged now, +unkempt; a stubble of beard covered their faces, gaunt yet burned. +George had lost his remaining pump, and as his stockings were now full +of holes, he had, in the last flicker of personal pride, wound about +them some cast-off cloths he had found. There was not enough water for +ablutions; there was scarcely enough to assuage thirst. + +By and by, Ryanne, without turning his head, spoke to George. "You say +you questioned the courier?" + +"Yes." + +"He says he showed the note to no one?" + +"Yes." + +"And so no one will try to find us? + +"No." + +Ryanne had asked these questions a dozen times and George had always +given the same answers. + +Up and away at dawn, for they must reach the well that night. It was a +terrible day for them all. Even the beasts showed signs of distress. And +the worst of it was, Mahomed was not quite sure of his route. +Fortunately, they found the well. They drank like mad people. + +Ryanne, who had discovered a pack of cards in his pocket, played +patience upon a spot smoothed level with his hand. He became absorbed in +the game; and the boys gathered round him curiously. Whenever he +succeeded in turning out the fifty-two cards, he would smile and rub his +hands together. The boys at length considered him unbalanced mentally, +and in consequence looked upon him as a near-holy man. + +Between Fortune and George, conversation dwindled down to a query and an +answer. + +"Can I do anything for you?" + +"No, thanks; I am getting along nicely." + +To-night she retired early, and George joined Ryanne's audience. + +"It averages about nine cards to the play," he commented. + +Ryanne turned over an ace. Ten or fifteen minutes went by. In the +several attempts he had failed to score the full complement. + +George laughed. + +"What's in your mind?" cried Ryanne peevishly. "If it's anything worth +telling, shoot it out, shoot it out!" + +"I was thinking what I'd do to a club-steak just about now." + +Ryanne stared beyond the fire. "A club-steak. Grilled mushrooms." + +"Sauce Bordelaise. Artichokes." + +"No. Asparagus, vinaigrette." + +"What's the matter with endives?" + +"That's so. Well, asparagus with butter-sauce." + +"Grilled sweets, coffee, Benedictine, and cigars." + +"And a magnum of '1900' to start off with!" Ryanne, with a sudden change +of mood, scooped up the cards and flung them at George's head. "Do you +want us both to become gibbering idiots?" + +George ducked. He and the boys gathered in the fluttering paste-boards. + +"You're right, Percival," Ryanne admitted humbly. "It will not hurt us +to talk out loud, and we are all brooding too much. I am crazy for the +want of tobacco. I'd trade the best dinner ever cooked for a decent +cigar." + +George put a hand reluctantly into his pocket. He brought forth, with +extreme gentleness, a cigar, the wrapper of which was broken in many +places. "I've saved this for days," he said. With his pen-knife he sawed +it delicately into two equal parts, and gave one to Ryanne. + +"You're a good fellow, Jones, and I've turned you a shabby trick. I +shan't forget this bit of tobacco." + +"It's the last we've got. The boys, you know, refuse a pull at the +water-pipe; defiles 'em, they say. Funny beggars! And if they gave us +tobacco, we shouldn't have paper or pipes." + +"I always carry a pipe, but I lost it in the shuffle. I never looked +upon smoking as a bad habit. I suppose it's because I was never caught +before without it. And it is a bad habit, since it knocks up a chap this +way for the lack of it. Where do you get your club-steaks in old N. Y.?" + +And for an hour or more they solemnly discussed the cooking here and +there upon the face of the globe. + +By judicious inquiries, George ascertained that the trip to Bagdad, +barring accidents, would take fully thirty-five days. The daily journeys +proceeded uneventfully. Mahomed maintained a taciturn grimness. If he +aimed at Ryanne at all, it was in trifling annoyances, such as +forgetting to give him his rations unless he asked for them, or walking +over the cards spread out upon the sand. Ryanne carried himself very +well. Had he been alone, he would have broken loose against Mahomed; but +he thought of the others, and restrained himself--some consideration was +due them. + +But into the blood of the two men there crept a petty irritability. +They answered one another sharply, and often did not speak. Fortune +alone seemed mild and gentle. Mahomed, since that night she had braved +him, let her go and come as she pleased, nor once disturbed her. Had she +shown weakness when most she needed courage, Mahomed might not have +altered his plans. Admiration of courage is inherent in all peoples. So, +without appreciating it, that moment had been a precious one, saving +them all much unpleasantness. + +By the twentieth day, the caravan was far into the Arabian desert, and +early in the afternoon, they came upon a beautiful oasis, nestling like +an emerald in a plaque of gold. So many days had passed since the +beloved green of growing things had soothed their inflamed eyes, that +the sight of this haven cheered them all mightily. Once under the shade +of the palms, the trio picked up heart. Fortune sang a little, George +told a funny story, and Ryanne wanted to know if they wouldn't take a +hand at euchre. Indeed, that oasis was the turning-point of the crisis. +Another week upon the dreary, profitless sands, and their spirits would +have gone under completely. + +This oasis was close to the regular camel-way, there being a larger +oasis some twenty-odd miles to the north. But Mahomed felt safe at this +distance, and decided to freshen up the caravan by a two-days' rest. + +George immediately began to show Fortune little attentions. He fixed her +saddle-bags, spread out her blanket, brought her some ripe dates of his +own picking, insisted upon going to the well and drawing the water she +was to drink. And oh! how sweet and cool that water was, after the +gritty flat liquid they had been drinking! Just before sundown, he and +Fortune set out upon a voyage of discovery; and Ryanne paused in his +game of patience to watch them. There was more self-abnegation than +bitterness in his eyes. Why not? If Fortune returned to her mother, +sooner or later the thunderbolt would fall. Far better that she should +fall in love with Jones than to go back to the overhanging shadow. A +smile lifted the corners of his lips, a sad smile. Percival didn't look +the part of a hero. His coat was variously split under the arms and +across the shoulders; his trousers were ragged, and he walked in his +cloth pads like a man who had gout in both feet. A beard covered his +face, and the bare spots were blistered and peeling. But there was youth +in Percival's eyes and youth in his heart, and surely the youth in hers +must some day respond. She would know this young man; she would know +that adversity could not crush him; that the promise of safety could not +make a coward of him; that he was loyal and brave and honest. She would +know in twenty days what it takes the average woman twenty years to +learn, the manner of man who professed to love her. Ryanne left the game +unfinished, stretched himself upon the ground with his face hidden in +the crook of his arms. Oh, the bitter cup, the bitter cup! + +Round the fire that night, the camel-boys got out their tom-toms and +reeds, and the eerie music affected the white people hauntingly and +mysteriously. For thousands of years, the high and low notes of the +drums (hollow earthen-jars or large gourds covered with goat-skin at one +end) and the thin, metallic wail of the reeds had echoed across the +deserts, unchanged. The boys swayed to and fro to the rhythm, gradually +working themselves into an ecstatic frenzy. + +Fortune always remembered that night. Wrapped in her blanket, she had +lain down just outside the circle, and had fallen into a doze. When the +music stopped and the boys left the prisoners to themselves, George and +Ryanne talked. + +"I never forget faces," began George. + +"No? That's a gift." + +"And I have never forgotten yours. I was in doubt at first, but not +now." + +"I never met you till that night at the hotel." + +"That's true. But you are Horace Wadsworth, all the same, the son of the +millionaire-banker, the man I used to admire in the field." + +"You still think I'm that chap?" + +"I am sure of it. The first morning you gave yourself away." + +"What did I say?" anxiously. + +"You mumbled foot-ball phrases." + +"Ah!" Ryanne was vastly relieved. He seemed to be thinking. + +"Do you persist in denying it?" + +"I might deny it, but I shan't. I'm Horace Wadsworth, all right. Fortune +knows something about that chapter, but not all. Strikes you odd, eh?" +continued Ryanne, iron in his voice. "Every opportunity in the world; +and yet, here I am. How much do you know, I wonder?" + +"You took some money from the bank, I think they said." + +"Right-O! Wine, Percival; cards, wine and other things. Advice and +warning went into one ear and out of the other. Always so, eh? You have +heard of my brother, I dare say. Well, he wouldn't lend me two stamps +were I to write for the undertaker to come and collect my remains. +Beautiful history! I've been doing some tall thinking these lonely +nights. Only the straight and narrow way pays. Be good, even if you are +lonesome. When I get back, if I ever do, it's a new leaf for mine. +Neither wine nor cards nor women." + +Silence. The fire no longer blazed; it glowed. + +"Who is Mrs. Chedsoye?" George finally began anew. + +"First, how did you chance to make her acquaintance?" + +"Some years ago, at Monte Carlo." + +"And she borrowed a hundred and fifty pounds of you." + +"Who told you that?" quickly. + +"She did. She paid you back." + +"Yes." + +"And she hadn't intended to. You poor innocent!" + +"Why do you call me that?" + +"To lend money at Monte Carlo to a woman whose name you did not know at +the time! Green, green as a paddy field! I'll tell you who she is, +because you're bound to learn sooner or later. She is one of the most +adroit smugglers of the age; jewels and rare laces. And never once has +the secret-service been able to touch her. Her brother, the Major, +assists her when he isn't fleecing tender lambs at all known games of +chance. He's a card-sharp, one of the best of them. He tried to teach +me, but I never could cheat a man at cards. Never makes any false moves, +but waits for the quarry to offer itself. That poor child has always +been wondering and wondering, but she never succeeded in finding out the +truth. Brother and sister have made a handsome living, and many a time I +have helped them out. There; you have me in the ring, too. But who +cares? The father, so I understand, married Fortune's mother for love; +she married him for his money, and he hadn't any. Drink and despair +despatched him quickly enough. She is a remarkable woman, and if she had +a heart, she would be the greatest of them all. She has as much heart as +this beetle," as he filliped the green iridescent shell into the fire. +"But, after all, she's lucky. It's a bad thing to have a heart, +Percival, a bad thing. Some one is sure to come along and wring it, to +jab it and stab it." + +"The poor little girl!" + +"Percival, I'm no fool. I've been watching you. Go in and win her; and +God bless you both. She's not for me, she's not for me!" + +"But what place have I in all this?" evasively. + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"Why did Mrs. Chedsoye pay me back, when her original intention had been +not to pay me?" + +"You'll find all that written in the book of fate, as Mahomed would say. +More, I can not tell you." + +"Will not?" + +"Well, that phrase expresses it." + +They both heard the sound. Fortune, her face white and drawn, stood +immediately behind them. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +MAHOMED RIDES ALONE + + +It was as if the stillness of the desert itself had encompassed the two +men. In their ears the slither of the brittle palm-leaves against one +another and the crackle of the fire were no longer sounds. They stared +at Fortune with that speechless wonder of men who had come unexpectedly +upon a wraith. What with the faint glow of the fire upon one side of her +and the pallor of moonshine upon the other, she did indeed resemble +man's conception of the spiritual. + +Ryanne was first to pull himself together. + +"Fortune, I am sorry; God knows I am. I'd have cut out my tongue rather +than have hurt you. I thought you were asleep in the tent." + +"Is it true?" + +"Yes." Ryanne looked away. + +"I had not quite expected this: the daughter of a thief." + +"Oh, come now; don't look at it that way. Smuggling is altogether a +different thing," protested Ryanne. (Women were uncertain; here she was, +apparently the least agitated of the three.) "Why, hundreds of men and +women, who regularly go to church, think nothing of beating Uncle Sam +out of a few dollars. Here's Jones, for instance; he would have tried to +smuggle in that rug. Isn't that right, Jones?" + +"Of course!" cried George eagerly, though scarcely knowing what he said. +"I'd have done it." + +"And you wouldn't call Percival a thief," with a forced laugh. "It's +like this, Fortune. Uncle Sam wants altogether too much rake-off. He +doesn't give us a square deal; and so we even up the matter by trying to +beat him. Scruples? Rot!" + +"It is stealing," with quiet conviction. + +"It isn't, either. Listen to me. Suppose I purchase a pearl necklace in +Rome, and pay five-thousand for it. Uncle Sam will boost up the value +more than one-half. And what for? To protect infant industries? Bally +rot! We don't make pearls in the States; our oysters aren't educated up +to it." His flippancy found no response in her. "Well, suppose I get +that necklace through the customs without paying the duty. I make +twenty-five hundred or so. And nobody is hurt. That's all your mother +does." + +"It is stealing," she reiterated. + +How wan she looked! thought George. + +"How can you make that stealing?" Ryanne was provoked. + +"The law puts a duty upon such things; if you do not pay it, you steal. +Oh, Horace, don't waste your time in specious arguments." She made a +gesture, weariness personified. "It is stealing; all the arguments in +the world can not change it into anything else. And how about my uncle +who fleeces the lambs at cards, and how about my mother who knows and +permits it?" + +Ryanne had no plausible argument to offer against these queries. + +"Is not my uncle a thief, and is not my mother an abettor? I do not +know of anything so vile." Her figure grew less erect. To George's eyes, +dimmed by the reflecting misery in hers, she drooped, as a flower +exposed to sudden cold. "I think the thief in the night much honester +than one who cheats at cards. A card-sharp; did you not call it that? +Don't lie, Horace; it will only make me sad." + +"I shan't lie any more, Fortune. All that you believe is true; and I +would to God that it were otherwise. And I've been a partner in many of +their exploits. But not at cards, Fortune; not at cards. I'm not that +kind of a cheat." + +"Thank you. I should have known some time, and perhaps only half a +truth. Now I know all there is to know." She held her hands out before +her and studied them. "I shall never go back." + +"Good Lord! Fortune, you must. You'd be as helpless as a babe. What +could you do without money and comfort?" + +"I can become a clerk in a shop. It will be honest. Bread at Mentone +would choke me;" and she choked a little then as she spoke. + +"My dear Fortune," said Ryanne, calling into life that persuasive +sweetness which upon occasions he could put into his tones, "have you +ever thought how beautiful you are? No, I don't believe you have. Some +ancestor of your father's has been reincarnated in you. You are without +vanity and dishonesty; and I have found that these usually go together. +Well, at Mentone you had a little experience with men. You were under +protection then; protection it was of a sort. If you go out into the +world alone, there will be no protection; and you will find that men are +wolves generally, and that the sport of the chase is a woman. Must I +make it plainer?" + +"I understand," her chin once more resolute. "I shall become a clerk in +a shop. Perhaps I can teach, or become a nurse. Whatever I do, I shall +never go back to Mentone. And all men are not bad. You're not all bad +yourself, Horace; and so far as I am concerned, I believe I might trust +you anywhere." + +"And God knows you could!" genuinely. "But I can't help you. If I had a +sister or a woman relative, I could send you to her. But I have no one +but my brother, and he's a worse scoundrel than I am. I at least work +out in the open. He transacts his villainies behind closed doors." + +George listened, sitting as motionless as a Buddhist idol. Why couldn't +_he_ think of something? Why couldn't _he_ come to the aid of the woman +he loved in this her hour of trial? A fine lover, forsooth! To sit there +like a yokel, stupidly! Could he offer to lend her money? A thousand +times, no! And he could not ask her to marry him; it would not have been +fair to either. She would have misunderstood; she would have seen not +love but pity, and refused him. Neither she nor Ryanne suffered more in +spirit than he did at that moment. + +"Jones, for God's sake, wake up and suggest something! You know lots of +decent people. Can't you think of some one?" + +But for this call George might have continued to grope in darkness. +Instantly he saw a way. He jumped to his feet and seized her by the +hands, boyishly. + +"Fortune, Ryanne is right. I've found a way. Mr. Mortimer, the president +of my firm, is an old man, kindly and lovable. He and his wife are +childless. They'll take you. Why, it's as easy as talking." + +She leaned back against the drawing of his hands. She was afraid that in +his eagerness he was going to take her in his arms. She wondered why, of +a sudden, she had become so weak. Slowly she withdrew her hands from +his. + +"I'll cable the moment we reach port," he said, as if reaching port +under the existing conditions was a thing quite possible. "Will you go +to them? Why, they will give you every care in the world. And they will +love you as ... as you ought to be loved!" + +Ryanne turned away his head. + +Fortune was too deeply absorbed by her misery to note how near George +had come to committing himself. "Thank you, Mr. Jones; thank you. I am +going to the tent. I am tired. And I am not so brave as you think I am." + +"But will you?" + +"I shall tell you when we reach port." And with that she fled to the +tent. + +Ryanne folded his arms and stared at the sand. George sat down and +aimlessly hunted for the stub of the cigar he had dropped; a kind of +reflex action. + +The two men were all alone. The camel-boys were asleep. Mahomed had now +ceased to bother about a guard. + +"I can't see where she gets this ridiculous sense of honesty," said +Ryanne gloomily. + +George leaned over and laid his hand upon Ryanne's knee. "She gets it +the same way I do, Ryanne--from here," touching his heart; "and she is +right." + +"I believe I've missed everything worth while, Percival. Till I met you +I always had a sneaking idea that money made a man evil. The boot seems +to be upon the other foot." + +"Ryanne, you spoke about becoming honest, once you get out of this. Did +you mean it?" + +"I did, and still do." + +"It may be that I can give you a lift. You worked in your father's bank. +You know something about figures. I own two large fruit-farms in +California. What do you say to a hundred and fifty a month to start +with, and begin life over again?" + +Ryanne got up and restlessly paced. Nonchalance had been beaten out of +him; the mercurial humor which had once been so pleasant to excite, +which had once given him foothold in such moments, was gone. He had only +one feeling, a keen, biting, bitter shame. At length he stopped in front +of George, who smiled and looked up expectantly. + +"Jones, when you stick your finger into water and withdraw it, what +happens? Nothing. Well, the man who gives me a benefit is sticking his +finger into water. I'm just as unstable. How many promises have I made +and broken! I mean, promises to myself. I don't know. This moment I +swear to be good, and along comes a pack of cards or a bottle of wine, +and back I slip. Would it be worth while to trust a man so damned weak +as that? Look at me. I am six-foot two, normally a hundred and eighty +pounds, no fat. I am as sound as a cocoanut. There isn't a boxer in the +States I'm afraid of. I can ride, shoot, fence, fight; there isn't a +game I can't take a creditable hand in. So much for that. There's the +other side. Morally, I'm putty. When it's soft you can mold it any +which way; when it's hard, it crumbles. Will you trust a man like that?" + +"Yes. Out there you'll be away from temptation." + +"Perhaps. Well, I accept. And if one day I'm missing, think kindly of +the poor devil of an outcast who wanted to be good and couldn't be. I'm +fagged. I'm going to turn in. Good night." + +He picked up his blanket and saddle-bags and made his bed a dozen yards +away. + +George set his gaze at the fire, now falling in places and showing +incandescent holes. A month ago, in the rut of commonplace, moving round +in the oiled grooves of mediocrity. Bang! like a rocket. Why, never had +those liars in the smoke-rooms recounted anything half so wild and +strange as this adventure. Smugglers, card-sharps, an ancient rug, a +caravan in the desert! He turned his head and looked long and earnestly +at the little tent. Love, too; love that had put into his diffident +heart the thrill and courage of a Bayard. Love! He saw her again as she +stepped down from the carriage; in the dining-room at his side, leaning +over the parapet; ineffably sweet, hauntingly sad. Would she accept the +refuge he had offered? He knew that old Mortimer would take her without +question. Would she accept the shelter of that kindly roof? She must! If +she refused and went her own way into the world, he would lose her for +ever. She must accept! He would plead with all the eloquence of his +soul, for his own happiness, and mayhap hers. He rose, faced the tent, +and, with a gesture not unlike that of the pagan in prayer, registered a +vow that never should she want for protection, never should she want for +the comforts of life. How he was going to keep such a vow was a question +that did not enter his head. Somehow he was going to accomplish the +feat. + +What mattered the ragged beard upon his face, the ragged clothes upon +his body, the tattered cloths upon his feet, the grotesque attitude and +ensemble? The Lord of Life saw into his heart and understood. And who +might say with what joy Pandora gazed upon this her work, knowing as she +did what still remained within her casket? + +From these heights, good occasionally for any man's soul, George came +down abruptly and humanly to the prosaic question of where would he +make his bed that night? To lie down at the north side of the fire meant +a chill in the morning; the south side, the intermittent, acrid breath +of the fire itself; so he threw down his blanket and bags east of the +fire, wrapped himself up, and sank into slumber, light but dreamless. + +What was that? He sat up, alert, straining his ears. How long had he +been asleep? An hour by his watch. What had awakened him? Not a sound +anywhere, yet something had startled him out of his sleep. He glanced +over the camp. That bundle was Ryanne. He waited. Not a movement there. +No sign of life among the camel-boys; and the flaps of the two tents +were closed. Bah! Nerves, probably; and he would have lain down again +had his gaze not roved out toward the desert. Something moved out there, +upon the misty, moonlit space. He shaded his eyes from the fire, now but +a heap of glowing embers. He got up, and shiver after shiver wrinkled +his spine. Oh, no; it could not be a dream; he was awake. It was a +living thing, that long, bobbing camel-train, coming directly toward the +oasis, no doubt attracted by the firelight. Fascinated, incapable of +movement, he watched the approach. Three white dots; and these grew and +grew and at length became ... pith-helmets! Pith-helmets! Who but white +men wore pith-helmets in the desert? White men! The temporary paralysis +left him. Crouching, he ran over to Ryanne and shook him. + +"What...." + +But George smothered the question with his hand. "Hush! For God's sake, +make no noise! Get up and stand guard over Fortune's tent. There's a +caravan outside, and I'm going out to meet it. Ryanne, Ryanne, there's a +white man out there!" + +George ran as fast as he could toward the incoming caravan. He met it +two or three hundred yards away. The broken line of camels bobbed up and +down oddly. + +"Are you white men?" he called. + +"Yes," said a deep, resonant voice. "And stop where you are; there's no +hurry." + +"Thank God!" cried George, at the verge of a breakdown. + +"What the devil.... Flanagan, here's a white man in a dress-suit! God +save us!" The speaker laughed. + +"Yes, a white man; and there's a white woman in the camp back there, a +white woman! Great God, don't you understand? A white woman!" George +clutched the man by the foot desperately. "A white woman!" + +The man kicked George's hand away and slashed at his camel. "Flanagan, +and you, Williams, get your guns in shape. This doesn't look good to me, +twenty miles from the main _gamelieh_. I told you it was odd, that fire. +Lively, now!" + +George ran after them, staggering. Twice he fell headlong. But he +laughed as he got up; and it wasn't exactly human laughter, either. When +he reached camp he saw Mahomed and the three strangers, the latter with +their rifles held menacingly. Fortune stood before the flap of her tent, +bewildered at the turn in their affairs. Behind the leader of the +new-comers was Ryanne, and he was talking rapidly. + +"Well," the leader demanded of Mahomed, "what have you to say for +yourself?" + +"Nothing!" + +"Take care! It wouldn't come hard to put a bullet into your ugly hide. +You can't abduct white women these days, you beggar! Well, what have you +to say?" + +Mahomed folded his arms; his expression was calm and unafraid. But down +in his heart the fires of hell were raging. If only he had brought his +rifle from the tent; even a knife; and one mad moment if he died for it! +And he had been gentle to the girl; he had withheld the lash from the +men; he had not put into action a single plan arranged for their misery +and humiliation! Truly his blood had turned to water, and he was worthy +of death. The white man, always and ever the white man won in the end. +To have come this far, and then to be cheated out of his revenge by +chance! _Kismet!_ There was but one thing left for him to do, and he did +it. He spoke hurriedly to his head-boy. The boy without hesitation +obeyed him. He ran to the racing-camel, applied a kick, flung on the +saddle-bags, stuffed dates and dried fish and two water-bottles into +them, and waited. Mahomed walked over to the animal and mounted. + +"Stop!" The white man leveled his rifle. "Get down from there!" + +Mahomed, as if he had not heard, kicked the camel with his heels. The +beast lurched to its feet resentfully. Mahomed picked up the +guiding-rope which served as a bridle, and struck the camel across the +neck. + +Click! went the hammer of the rifle, and Mahomed was at that moment very +near death. He gave no heed. + +"No, no!" cried Fortune, pushing up the barrel. "Let him go. He was kind +to me, after his fashion." + +Mahomed smiled. He had expected this, and that was why he had gone about +the business unconcernedly. + +"What do you say?" demanded the stranger of Ryanne. + +Ryanne, having no love whatever for Mahomed, shrugged. + +"Humph! And you?" to George. + +"Oh, let him go." + +"All right. Two to one. Off with you, then," to Mahomed. "But wait! What +about these beggars of yours? What are you going to do with them?" + +"They have been paid. They can go back." + +The moment the camel felt the sand under his pads, he struck his gait +eastward. And when the mists and shadows crept in behind him and his +rider, that was the last any of them ever saw of Mahomed-El-Gebel, +keeper of the Holy Yhiordes in the Pasha's palace at Bagdad. + +"Now then," said the leader of the strange caravan, "my name is +Ackermann, and mine is a carpet-caravan, in from Khuzistan, bound for +Smyrna. How may I help you?" + +"Take us as far as Damascus," answered Ryanne. "We can get on from there +well enough." + +"What's your name?" directly. + +"Ryanne." + +"And yours?" + +"Fortune Chedsoye." + +"Next?" + +"Jones." + +The humorous bruskness put a kind of spirit into them all, and they +answered smilingly. + +"Ryanne and Jones are familiar enough, but Chedsoye is a new one. Here, +you!" whirling suddenly upon the boys who were pressing about. He +volleyed some Arabic at them, and they dropped back. "Well, I've heard +some strange yarns myself in my time, but this one beats them all. +Shanghaied from Cairo! Humph! If some one had told me this, anywhere +else but here, I'd have called him a liar. And you, Mr. Ryanne, went +into Bagdad alone and got away with that Yhiordes! It must have been the +devil's own of a job." + +"It was," replied Ryanne laconically. He did not know this man +Ackermann; he had never heard of him; but he recognized a born leader of +men when he saw him. Gray-haired, lean, bearded, sharp of word, quick of +action, rude; he saw in this carpet-hunter the same indomitable +qualities of the ivory-seeker. "You did not stop at Bagdad?" he asked, +after the swift inventory. + +"No. I came direct. I always do," grimly. "Better turn in and sleep; +we'll be on the way at dawn, sharp." + +"Sleep?" Ryanne laughed. + +"Sleep?" echoed George. + +Fortune shook her head. + +"Well, an hour to let the reaction wear away," said Ackermann. "But +you've got to sleep. I'm boss now, and you won't find me an easy one," +with a humorous glance at the girl. + +"We are all very happy to be bossed by you," she said. + +"Twenty days," Ackermann mused. "You're a plucky young woman. No +hysterics?" + +"Not even a sigh of discontent," put in George. "If it hadn't been for +her pluck, we'd have gone to pieces just from worry. Are you Henry +Ackermann, of the Oriental Company in Smyrna?" + +"Yes; why?" + +"I'm George P. A. Jones, of Mortimer & Jones, New York. I've heard of +you; and God bless you for this night's work!" + +"Mortimer & Jones? You don't say! Well, if this doesn't beat the Dutch! +Why, if you're Robert E. Jones's boy, I'll sell you every carpet in the +pack at cost." He laughed; and it was laughter good to hear, dry and +harsh though it was. "Your dad was a fine gentleman, and one of the +best judges of his time. You couldn't fool him a knot. He wrote me when +you came into this world of sin and tribulation. Didn't they call you +Percival Algernon, or something like that?" + +"They did!" And George laughed, too. + +"You're a sight. Any one sick? Got a medicine-chest aboard." + +"No, only banged up and discouraged. I say, Mr. Ackermann, got an extra +pipe or two and some 'baccy?" + +"Flanagan, see what's in the chest." + +Shortly Flanagan returned. He had half a dozen fresh corn-cob pipes and +a thick bag of tobacco. George and Ryanne lighted up, about as near +contentment as two men in their condition could possibly be. + +Said Flanagan to Fortune: "Do you chew?" + +Fortune looked horrified. + +"Oh, I mean gum!" roared Flanagan. + +No, Fortune did not possess that dubious accomplishment. + +"Mighty handy when you're thirsty," Flanagan advised. + +They built up the fire and sat round it cosily. They were all more or +less happy, all except Fortune. So long as she had been a captive of +Mahomed, she had forced the thought from her mind; but now it came back +with a full measure of misery. Never, never would she return to Mentone, +not even for the things that were rightfully hers. Where would she go +and what would she do? She was without money, and the only thing she +possessed of value was the Soudanese trinket Ryanne had forced upon her +that day in the bazaars. She heard the men talking and laughing, but +without sensing. No, she could not accept charity. She must fight out +her battle all alone.... The child of a thief: for never would her clear +mind accept smuggling as other than thieving.... Neither could she +accept pity; and she stole a glance at George, as he blew clouds of +smoke luxuriantly from his mouth and nose, his eyes half closed in +ecstasy. How little it took to comfort a man! + +Ryanne suddenly lowered his pipe and smote his thigh. "Hell!" he +muttered. + +"What's up?" asked George. + +"I want you to look at me, Percival; I want you to take a good look at +this thing I've been carrying round as a head." + +"It looks all right," observed George, puzzled. + +"Empty as a dried cocoanut! I never thought of it till this moment. I +wondered why he was in such a hurry to get out. I've let that +copper-hided devil get away with that nine hundred pounds!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +MRS. CHEDSOYE HAS HER DOUBTS + + +Mrs. Chedsoye retired to her room early that memorable December night. +Her brother could await the return of Horace. She hadn't the least doubt +as to the result; a green young man pitted against a seasoned veteran's +duplicity. She wished Jones no harm physically; in fact, she had put +down the law against it. Still, much depended upon chance. But for all +her confidence of the outcome, a quality of restlessness pervaded her. +She tried to analyze it, ineffectually at first. Perhaps she did not +look deep enough; perhaps she did not care thoroughly to examine the +source of it. Insistently, however, it recurred; and by repeated +assaults it at length conquered her. It was the child. + +Did she possess, after all, a latent sense of motherhood, and was it +stirring to establish itself? She really did not know. Was it not fear +and doubt rather than motherly instinct? She paused in front of the +mirror, but the glass solved only externals. She could not see her soul +there in the reflection; she saw only the abundant gifts of nature, +splendid, double-handed, prodigal. And in contemplating that reflection, +she forgot for a space what she was seeking. But that child! From whom +did she inherit her peculiar ideas of life? From some Puritan ancestor +of her father's; certainly not from her side. She had never bothered her +head about Fortune, save to house and clothe her, till the past +forty-eight hours. And now it was too late to pick up the thread she had +cast aside as not worth considering. To no one is given perfect wisdom; +and she recognized the flaw in hers that had led her to ignore the +mental attitude of the girl. She had not even made a friend of her; a +mistake, a bit of stupidity absolutely foreign to her usual keenness. +The child lacked little of being beautiful, and in three or four years +she would be. Mrs. Chedsoye was without jealousy; she accepted beauty +in all things unreservedly. Possessing as she did an incomparable beauty +of her own, she could well afford to be generous. Perhaps the true cause +of this disturbance lay in the knowledge that there was one thing her +daughter had inherited from her directly, almost identically; indeed, of +this pattern the younger possessed the wider margin of the two: courage. +Mrs. Chedsoye was afraid of nothing except wrinkles, and Fortune was too +young to know this fear. So then, the mother slowly began to comprehend +the spirit which had given life to this singular perturbation. Fortune +had declared that she would run away; and she had the courage to carry +out the threat. + +Resolutely Mrs. Chedsoye rang for her maid Celeste. Thoughts like these +only served to disturb the marble smoothness of her forehead. + +The two began to pack. That is to say, Celeste began; Mrs. Chedsoye +generally took charge of these manoeuvers from the heights, as became +the officer in command. Bending was likely to enlarge the vein in the +neck; and all those beautiful gowns would not be worth a _soldi_ without +the added perfection of her lineless throat and neck. She was getting +along in years, too, a fact which was assuming the proportions of a +cross; and more and more she must husband these lingering (not to say +beguiling) evidences of youthfulness. + +"We might as well get Fortune's things out of the way, too, Celeste." + +"Yes, Madame." + +"And bring my chocolate at half after eight in the morning. It is quite +possible that we shall sail to-morrow night from Port Saïd. If not from +there, from Alexandria. It all depends upon the booking, which can not +be very heavy going west this time of year." + +"As madame knows!" came from the depth of the cavernous trunk. Celeste +was no longer surprised; at least she never evinced this emotion. For +twelve years now she had gone from one end of the globe to the other, +upon the shortest notice. While surprise was lost to her or under such +control as to render it negligible, she still shivered with pleasurable +excitement at the thought of entering a port. Madame was so clever, so +transcendently clever! If she, Celeste, had not been loyal, she might +have retired long ago, and owned a shop of her own in the busy Rue de +Rivoli. But that would have meant a humdrum existence; and besides, she +would have grown fat, which, of the seven horrors confronting woman, so +madame said, was first in number. + +"Be very careful how you handle that blue ball-gown." + +"Oh, Madame!" reproachfully. + +"It is the silver braid. Do not press the rosettes too harshly." + +Celeste looked up. Mrs. Chedsoye answered her inquiring gaze with a thin +smile. + +"You are wonderful, Madame!" + +"And so are you, Celeste, in your way." + +At ten o'clock Mrs. Chedsoye was ready for her pillow. She slept +fitfully; awoke at eleven and again at twelve. After that she knew +nothing more till the maid roused her with the cup of chocolate. She sat +up and sipped slowly. Celeste waited at the bedside with the tray. Her +admiration for her mistress never waned. Mrs. Chedsoye was just as +beautiful in dishabille as in a ball-gown. She drained the cup, and as +she turned to replace it upon the tray, dropped it with a clatter, a +startled cry coming from her lips. + +"Madame?" + +"Fortune's bed!" + +It had not been slept in. The steamer-cloak lay across the counterpane +exactly where Celeste herself had laid it the night before. Mrs. +Chedsoye sprang out of her bed and ran barefoot to the other. Fortune +had not been in the room since dinner-time. + +"Celeste, dress me as quickly as possible. Hurry! Something has happened +to Fortune." + +Never, in all her years of service, could she recollect such a toilet as +madame made that morning. And never before had she shown such concern +over her daughter. It was amazing! + +"The little fool! The little fool!" Mrs. Chedsoye repeatedly murmured as +the nimble fingers of the maid flew over her. "The silly little fool; +and at a time like this!" Not that remorse of any kind stirred Mrs. +Chedsoye's conscience; she was simply extremely annoyed. + +She hastened out into the corridor and knocked at the door of her +brother's room. No answer. She flew down-stairs, and there she saw him +coming in from the street. He greeted her cheerily. + +"It's all right, Kate; plenty of room on the _Ludwig_. We shall take the +afternoon train for Port Saïd. She sails at dawn to-morrow instead of +to-night.... What's up?" suddenly noting his sister's face. + +"Fortune did not return to her room last night." + +"What? Where do you suppose the little fool went, then?" + +They both seemed to look upon Fortune as a little fool. + +"Yesterday she threatened to run away." + +"Run away? Kate, be sensible. How the deuce could she run away? She +hasn't a penny. It takes money to go anywhere over here. She has +probably found some girl friend, and has spent the night with her. We'll +soon find out where she is." The Major wasn't worried. + +"Have you seen Horace?" with discernible anxiety. + +"No. I didn't wait up for him. He's sleeping off a night of it. You know +his failing." + +"Find out if he _is_ in his room. Go to the porter's bureau and inquire +for both him and Jones." + +The Major, perceiving that his sister was genuinely alarmed, rushed over +to the bureau. No, neither Mr. Ryanne nor Mr. Jones had been in the +hotel since yesterday. Would the porter send some one up to the rooms of +those gentlemen to make sure? Certainly. No; there was no one in the +rooms. The Major was now himself perturbed. He went back to Mrs. +Chedsoye. + +"Kate, neither has been in his room since yesterday. If you want my +opinion, it is this: Hoddy has sequestered Jones all right, and is +somewhere in town, sleeping off the effects of a night of it." + +"He has run away with Fortune!" she cried. Her expression was tragic. +She couldn't have told whether it was due to her daughter's +disappearance or to Horace's defection. "Did he not threaten?" + +"Sh! not so loud, Kate." + +"The little simpleton defied me yesterday, and declared she would leave +me." + +"Oho!" The Major fingered his imperial. "That puts a new face to the +subject. But Jones! He has not turned up. We can not move till we find +out what has become of him. I know. I'll jump into a carriage and see if +he got as far as the English-Bar." + +Mrs. Chedsoye did not go up-stairs, but paced the lounging-room, lithe +and pantherish. Frequently she paused, as if examining the patterns in +the huge carpets. She entered the reception-room, came back, wandered +off into the ball-room, stopped to inspect the announcement hanging upon +the bulletin-board, returned to the windows and watched the feluccas +sail past as the great bridge opened; and during all these aimless +occupations but a single thought busied her mind: what could a man like +Horace see in a chit like Fortune? + +It was an hour and a half before the Major put in an appearance. He was +out of breath and temper. + +"Come up to the room." Once there, he sat down and bade her do likewise. +"There's the devil to pay. You heard Hoddy speak of the nigger who +guarded the Holy Yhiordes, and that he wanted to get out of Cairo +before he turned up? Well, he turned up. He fooled Hoddy to the top of +his bent. So far as I could learn, Fortune and Hoddy and Jones are all +in the same boat, kidnapped by this Mahomed, and carried out into the +desert, headed, God knows where! Now, don't get excited. Take it easy. +Luck is with us, for Hoddy left all the diagrams with me. We need him, +but not so much that we can't go on without him. You see, these Arabs +are like the Hindus; touch anything that concerns their religion, and +they'll have your hair off. How Fortune got into it I can't imagine, +unless Mahomed saw her with Hoddy and jumped to the conclusion that they +were lovers. All this Mahomed wants is the rug; and he is going to hold +them till he gets it. No use notifying the police. No one would know +where to find him. None of them will come to actual harm. Anyhow, the +coast is clear. Kate, there's a big thing in front. No nerves. We've got +to go to-day. Time is everything. Our butler and first man cabled this +morning that they had just started in, and that everything was running +like clockwork. We'll get into New York in time for the _coup_. +Remember, I was against the whole business at the start, but now I'm +going to see it off." + +Feverishly Mrs. Chedsoye prepared for the journey. She was irritable to +Celeste, she was unbearable to her brother, who took a seat in a forward +compartment to be rid of her. It was only when they went aboard the +steamer that night that she became reconciled to the inevitable. At any +rate, the presence of Jones would counteract any influence Horace might +have gained over Fortune. That the three of them might suffer unheard-of +miseries never formed thought in her mind. It appealed to her in the +sense of a comedy which annoyed rather than amused her. + +They were greeted effusively by Wallace, he of the bulbous nose; and his +first inquiry was of Ryanne. Briefly the Major told him what had +happened and added his fears. Wallace was greatly cast-down. Hoddy had +so set his heart upon this venture that it was a shame to proceed +without him. He had warned him at the beginning about that infernal +rug; but Hoddy was always set in his daredevil schemes. So long as the +Major had the plans, he supposed that they could turn the trick without +Hoddy's assistance; only, it seemed rather hard for him not to be in the +sport. + +"He told me that nothing would give him greater pleasure than to stick +his fist into the first bag of yellow-boys. There was something +mysterious in the way he used to chuckle over the thing when I first +sprung it on him. He saw a joke somewhere. Let's go into the smoke-room +for a peg. It won't hurt either of us. And that poor little girl! It's a +hell of a world; eh?" + +The Major admitted that it was; but he did not add that Fortune's +welfare or ill-fare was of little or no concern of his. The little +spitfire had always openly despised him. + +They were drinking silently and morosely, when Mrs. Chedsoye, pale and +anxious, appeared in the companionway. She beckoned them to follow her +down to her cabin. Had Fortune arrived? Had Ryanne? She did not answer. +Arriving at her cabin she pushed the two wondering men inside, and +pointed at the floor. A large steamer-roll lay unstrapped, spread out. + +"I only just opened it," she said. "I never thought of looking into it +at Cairo. Here, it looked so bulky that I was curious." + +"Why, it's that damned Yhiordes!" exclaimed the Major wrathfully. "What +the devil is it doing in Fortune's steamer-roll?" + +"That is what I should like to know. If they have been kidnapped in +order to recover the rug, whatever will become of them?" And Mrs. +Chedsoye touched the rug with her foot, absently. She was repeating in +her mind that childish appeal: "You don't know how loyal I should have +been!" + + * * * * * + +They took the first sailing out of Naples. Twelve days later they landed +at the foot of Fourteenth Street. There was some trifling difficulty +over the rug. It had been declared; but as Mrs. Chedsoye and her brother +always declared foreign residence, there was a question as to whether it +was dutiable or not. Being a copy, it was not an original work of art, +therefore not exempt, and so forth and so on. It was finally decided +that Mrs. Chedsoye must pay a duty. The Major paid grumblingly, very +cleverly assuming an irritability well known to the inspectors. The way +the United States Government mulcted her citizens for the benefit of the +few was a scandal of the nations. + +A smooth-faced young man approached them from out the crowd. + +"Is this Major Callahan?" + +"Yes. This must be Mr. Reynolds, the agent?" + +"Yes. Everything is ready for your occupancy. Your butler and first man +have everything ship-shape. I could have turned over to you Mr. +Jones's." + +"Not at all, not at all," said the Major. "They would have been +strangers to us and we to them. Our own servants are best." + +"You must be very good friends of my client?" + +"I have known him for years," said Mrs. Chedsoye sweetly. "It was at his +own suggestion that we take the house over for the month. He really +insisted that we should pay him nothing; but, of course, such an +arrangement could not be thought of. Oh, good-by, Mr. Wallace," +tolerantly. "We hope to see you again some day." + +Wallace, taking up his role once more, tipped his hat and rushed away +for one of his favorite haunts. + +"Bounder!" growled the Major. "Well, well; a ship's deck is always +Liberty-Hall." + +"You have turned your belongings over to an expressman?" asked the +agent. These were charming people; and any doubts he might have +entertained were dissipated. And why should he have any doubts? Jones +was an eccentric young chap, anyhow. An explanatory letter (written by +the Major in Jones's careless hand), backed up by a cable, was enough +authority for any reasonable man. + +"Everything is out of the way," said the Major. + +"Then, if you wish, I can take you right up to the house in my car. Your +butler said that he would have lunch ready when you arrived." + +"Very kind of you. How noisy New York is! You can take our +hand-luggage?" Mrs. Chedsoye would have made St. Anthony uneasy of mind; +Reynolds, young, alive, metaphorically fell at her feet. + +"Plenty of room for it." + +"I am glad of that. You see, Mr. Jones intrusted a fine old rug to us to +bring home for him; and I shouldn't want anything to happen to it." + +The Major looked up at the roof of the dingy shed. He did not care to +have Reynolds note the flicker of admiration in his eyes. The cleverest +woman of them all! The positive touch to the whole daredevil affair! And +he would not have thought of it had he lived to be a thousand. "One +might as well disembark in a stable," he said aloud. "Ah! We are ready +to go, then?" + +They entered the limousine and went off buzzing and zigzagging among the +lumbering trucks. The agent drove the car himself. + +"Where is Jones now?" he asked of the Major, who sat at his left. +"Haven't had a line from him for a month." + +"Just before we sailed," said Mrs. Chedsoye through the window, over the +Major's shoulder, "he went into the desert for a fortnight or so; with a +caravan. He had heard of some fabulous carpet." + +Touch number two. The Major grinned. "Jones is one of the best judges I +have ever met. He was off at a bound. I only hope he will get back +before we leave for California." The Major drew up his collar. It was a +cold, blustery day. + +The agent was delighted. What luck a fellow like Jones had! To wander +all over creation and to meet charming people! And when they invited him +to remain for luncheon, the victory was complete. + +Mrs. Chedsoye strolled in and out of the beautifully appointed rooms. +Never had she seen more excellent taste. Not too much; everything +perfectly placed, one object nicely balanced against another. Here was a +rare bit of Capo di Monte, there a piece of Sèvres or Canton. Some +houses, with their treasures, look like museums, but this one did not. +The owner had not gone mad over one subject; here was a sane and prudent +collector. The great yellow Chinese carpet represented a fortune; she +knew enough about carpets to realize this fact. Ivories, jades, +lapis-lazuli, the precious woods, priceless French and Japanese +tapestries, some fine paintings and bronzes; the rooms were full of +unspoken romance and adventure; echoed with war and tragedy, too. And +Fortune might have married a man like this one. A possibility occurred +to her, and the ghost of a smile moderated the interest in her face. +They might be upon the desert for weeks. Who knew what might not happen +to two such romantic simpletons? + +The butler and the first man (who was also the cook) were impeccable +types of servants; so thought Reynolds. They moved silently and +anticipated each want. Reynolds determined that very afternoon to drop a +line to Jones and compliment him upon his good taste in the selection of +his friends. A subsequent press of office work, however, drove the +determination out of his mind. + +The instant his car carried him out of sight, a strange scene was +enacted. The butler and the first man seized the Major by the arms, and +the three executed a kind of _pas-seul_. Mrs. Chedsoye eyed these +manifestations of joy stonily. + +"Now then, what's been done?" asked the Major, pulling down his cuffs +and shaking the wrinkles from his sleeves. + +"Half done!" cried the butler. + +"Fine! What do you do with the refuse?" + +"Cart it away in an automobile every night, after the gun starts down +the other end of the street." + +"Gun?" The Major did not quite understand. + +"Gun or bull; that's the argot for policeman." + +"Thieves' argot," said Mrs. Chedsoye contemptuously. + +The butler laughed. He knew Gioconda of old. + +"Where's that wall-safe?" the Major wanted to know. + +"Behind that sketch by Detaille." And the butler, strange to say, +pronounced it Det-i. + +"Can you open it?" + +"Tried, but failed. Wallace is the man for that." + +"He'll be along in an hour or so." + +"Where's Ryanne?" + +"Don't know; don't care." The Major sketched the predicament of their +fellow-conspirator. + +The butler whistled, but callously. One more or less didn't matter in +such an enterprise. + +When Wallace arrived he applied his talent and acquired science to the +wall-safe, and finally swung outward the little steel-door. The Major +pushed him aside and thrust a hand into the metaled cavity, drawing out +an exquisite Indian casket of rosewood and mother-of-pearl. He opened +the lid and dipped a hand within. Emeralds, deep and light and shaded, +cut and uncut and engraved, flawed and almost perfect. He raised a +handful and let them tinkle back into the casket. One hundred in all, +beauties, every one of them, and many famous. + +And while he toyed with them, pleased as a child would have been over a +handful of marbles, Mrs. Chedsoye spread out the ancient Yhiordes in the +library. She stood upon the central pattern, musing. Her mood was not +one which she had called into being; not often did she become +retrospective; the past to her was always like a page in a book, once +finished, turned down. Her elbow in one palm, her chin in the other, she +stared without seeing. It was this house, this home, it was each sign of +riches without luxury or ostentation, where money expressed itself by +taste and simplicity; a home such as she had always wanted. And why, +with all her beauty and intellect, why had she not come into possession? +She knew. Love that gives had never been hers; hers had been the love +that receives, self-love. She had bartered her body once for riches and +had been fooled, and she never could do it again.... And the child was +overflowing with the love that gives. She couldn't understand. The child +was the essence of it; and she, her mother, had always laughed at her. + +The flurry of snow outside in the court she saw not. Her fancy re-formed +the pretty garden at Mentone, inclosed by pink-washed walls. Many a +morning from her window she had watched Fortune among the flowers, going +from one to the other, like a bee or a butterfly. She had watched her +grow, too, with that same detachment a machinist feels as he puts +together the invention of another man. Would she ever see her again? Her +shoulders moved ever so little. Probably not. She had blundered +wilfully. She should have waited, thrown the two together, +manoeuvered. And she had permitted this adventure to obsess her! She +might have stood within this house by right of law, motherhood, +marriage. Ryanne was in love with Fortune, and Jones by this time might +be. The desert was a terribly lonely place. + +She wished it might be Jones. And immediately retrospection died away +from her gaze and actualities resumed their functions. The wish was not +without a phase of humor, formed as it was upon this magic carpet; but +it nowise disturbed the gravity of her expression. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE MAN WHO DIDN'T CARE + + +It was the first of February when Ackermann's caravan drew into the +ancient city of Damascus. That part of the caravan deserted by Mahomed +put out for Cairo immediately they struck the regular camel-way. +Fortune, George and Ryanne were in a pitiable condition, heart and body +weary, in rags and tatters. George, now that the haven was assured, +dropped his forced buoyancy, his prattle, his jests. He had done all a +mortal man could do to keep up the spirits of his co-unfortunates; and +he saw that, most of the time, he had wasted his talents. Ryanne, sullen +and morose, often told him to "shut up"; which wasn't exhilarating. And +Fortune viewed his attempts without sensing them and frequently looked +at him without seeing him. + +Now, all this was not particularly comforting to the man who loved her +and was doing what he could to lighten the dreariness of the journey. He +made allowances, however; besides suffering unusual privations, Fortune +had had a frightful mental shock. A girl of her depth of character could +not be expected to rise immediately to the old level. Sometimes, while +gathered about the evening fire, he would look up to find her sad eyes +staring at him, and it mattered not if he stared in return; a kind of +clairvoyance blurred visibilities, for she was generally looking into +her garden at Mentone and wondering when this horrible dream would pass. +Subjects for conversation were exhausted in no time. Dig as he might, +George could find nothing new; and often he recounted the same tale +twice of an evening. Sardonic laughter from Ryanne. + +Ackermann had given them up as hopeless. He was a strong, vain, +domineering man, kindly at heart, however, but impatient. When he told a +story, he demanded the attention of all; so, when Ryanne yawned before +his eyes, and George drew pictures in the sand, and the girl fell +asleep with her head upon her knees, he drew off abruptly and left them +to their own devices. He had crossed and recrossed the silences so often +that he was no longer capable of judging accurately another man's mental +processes. That they had had a strange and numbing experience he readily +understood; but now that they were out of duress and headed for the +coast, he saw no reason why they should not act like human beings. + +They still put up the small tent for Fortune, but the rest of them slept +upon the sand, under the stars. Once, George awoke as the dawn was +gilding the east. Silhouetted against the sky he saw Fortune. She was +standing straight, her hands pressed at her sides, her head tilted +back--a tense attitude. He did not know it, but she was asking God why +these things should be. He threw off his blanket and ran to her. + +"Fortune, you mustn't do that. You will catch cold." + +"I can not sleep," she replied simply. + +He took her by the hand and led her to the tent. "Try," he said. Then he +did something he had never done before to any woman save his mother. He +kissed her hand, turned quickly, and went over to his blanket. She +remained motionless before the tent. The hand fascinated her. From the +hand her gaze traveled to the man settling himself comfortably under his +blanket.... Pity, pity; that was ever to be her portion; pity! + +In Damascus the trio presented themselves at the one decent hotel, and +but for Ackermann's charges upon the manager, it is doubtful if he would +have accepted them as guests; for a more suspicious-looking trio he had +never set eyes upon. (A hotel man weighs a person by the quality of his +clothes.) Moreover, they carried no luggage. Ackermann went sponsor; and +knowing something of the integrity of the rug-hunter, the manager +surrendered. And when George presented his letter of credit at the +Imperial Ottoman Bank, again it was Ackermann who vouched for him. It +had been agreed to say nothing of the character of their adventure. None +of them wanted to be followed by curious eyes. + +With a handful of British gold in his pocket, George faced the future +hopefully. He took his companions in and about town, hunting the shops +for clothing, which after various difficulties they succeeded in +finding. It was ill-fitting and cheap, but it would serve till they +reached either Alexandria or Naples. + +"How are you fixed?" asked Ryanne, gloomily surveying George's shoddy +cotton-wool suit. + +"Cash in hand?" + +"Yes." + +"About four-hundred pounds. At Naples I can cable. Do you want any?" + +"Would you mind advancing me two months' salary?" + +"Ryanne, do you really mean to stick to that proposition?" + +"It's on my mind just now." + +"Well, we'll go back to the bank and I'll draw a hundred pounds for you. +You can pay your own expenses as we go. But what are we going to do in +regard to Fortune?" + +"See that she gets safely back to Mentone." + +"Suppose she will not go there?" + +"It's up to you, Percival; it's all up to you. You're the gay Lochinvar +from the west. I'm not sure--no one ever is regarding a woman--but I +think she'll listen to you. She wouldn't give an ear to a scallawag like +me. This caravan business has put me outside the pale. I've lost caste." + +"You're only desperate and discouraged; you can pull up straight." + +"Much obliged!" + +"You haven't looked at life normally; that's what the matter is." + +"Solon, you're right. There's that poor devil back in Bagdad. I've +killed a man, Percival. It doesn't mix well with my dreams." + +"You said that it was in self-defense." + +"And God knows it was. But if I hadn't gone after that damned rug, he'd +have been alive to-day. Oh, damn it all; let's go back to the hotel and +order that club-steak, or the best imitation they have. I'm going to +have a pint of wine. I'm as dull as a ditch in a paddy-field." + +"A bottle or two will not hurt any of us. We'll ask Ackermann. For God +knows where we'd have been to-day but for him. And let him do all the +yarning. It will please him." + +"And while he gabs, we'll get the best of the steak and the wine!" For +the first time in days Ryanne's laughter had a bit of the erstwhile +rollicking tone. + +The dinner was an event. No delicacy (mostly canned) was overlooked. The +manager, as he heard the guineas jingle in George's pocket, was filled +with shame; not over his original doubts, but relative to his lack of +perception. The tourists who sat at the other tables were scandalized at +the popping of champagne-corks. Sanctimonious faces glared reproof. A +jovial spirit in the Holy Land was an anacronism, not to be tolerated. +And wine! Horrible! Doubtless, when they retired to their native +back-porches, they retold with never-ending horror of having witnessed +such a scene and having heard such laughter upon the sacred soil. + +Even Fortune laughed, though Ryanne's ear, keenest then, detected the +vague note of hysteria. If the meat was tough, the potatoes greasy, the +vegetables flavorless, the wine flat, none of them appeared to be aware +of it. If Ackermann could talk he could also eat; and the clatter of +forks and knives was the theme rather than the variation to the +symphony. + +George felt himself drawn deeper and deeper into those magic waters from +which, as in death, there is no return. She was so lonely, so sad and +forlorn, that there was as much brother as lover in his sympathy. How +patient she had been during all those inconceivable hardships! How brave +and steady; and never a murmur! The single glass of wine had brought the +color back to her cheek and the sparkle into her eye; yet he was sure +that behind this apparent liveliness lay the pitiful desperation of the +helpless. He had not spoken again about old Mortimer. He would wait till +after he had sent a long cable. Then he would speak and show her the +answer, of which he had not a particle of doubt. As matters now stood, +he could not tell her that he loved her; his quixotic sense of chivalry +was too strong to permit this step, urge as his heart might upon it. She +might misinterpret his love as born of pity, and that would be the end +of everything. He was confident now that Ryanne meant nothing to her. +Her lack of enthusiasm, whenever Ryanne spoke to her in these days; the +peculiar horizontality of her lips and brows, whenever Ryanne offered a +trifling courtesy--all pointed to distrust. George felt a guilty +gladness. After all, why shouldn't she distrust Ryanne? + +George concluded that he must acquire patience. She was far too loyal to +run away without first giving him warning. In the event of her refusing +Mortimer's roof and protection, he knew what his plans would be. Some +one else could do the buying for Mortimer & Jones; his business would be +to revolve round this lonely girl, to watch and guard her without her +being aware of it. Of what use were riches if he could not put them to +whatever use he chose? So he would wait near her, to see that she came +and went unmolested, till against that time when she would recognize how +futile her efforts were and how wide and high the wall of the world was. + +That mother of hers! To his mind it was positively unreal that one so +charming and lovely should be at heart strong as the wind and merciless +as the sea. His mother had been everything; hers, worse than none, an +eternal question. What a drama she had moved about in, without +understanding! + +George did not possess that easy and adjustable sophistry which made +Ryanne look upon smuggling as a clever game between two cheats. His +point of view coincided with Fortune's; it was thievery, more or less +condoned, but the ethics covering it were soundly established. He had +come very near being culpable himself. True, he would not have been +guilty of smuggling for profit; but none the less he would have tried to +cheat the government. His sin had found him out; he had now neither the +rug nor his thousand pounds. + +All these cogitations passed through his mind, disjointedly, as the +dinner progressed toward its end. They bade Ackermann good-by and +God-speed, as he was to leave early for Beirut, upon his way to Smyrna. +Fortune went to bed; Ryanne sought the billiard-room and knocked about +the balls; while George asked the manager if he could send a cable from +the hotel. Certainly he could. It took some time to compose the cable to +Mortimer; and it required some gold besides. Mortimer must have a fair +view of the case; and George presented it, requesting a reply to be sent +to Cook's in Naples, where they expected to be within ten days. + +"How much will this be?" + +The porter got out his telegraph-book and studied the rates carefully. + +"Twelve pounds and six, sir." + +The porter greeted each sovereign with a genuflection, the lowest being +the twelfth. George pocketed the receipt and went in search of Ryanne. + +But that gentleman was no longer in the billiard-room. Indeed, he had +gone quietly to the other hotel and written a cable himself, the code of +which was not to be found in any book. For a long time he seemed to be +in doubt, for he folded and refolded his message half a dozen times +before his actions became decisive. He tore it up and threw the scraps +upon the floor and hastened into the street, as if away from temptation. +He walked fast and indirectly, smoking innumerable cigarettes. He was +fighting, and fighting hard, the evil in him against the good, the +chances of the future against the irreclaimable past. At the end of an +hour he returned to the strange hotel. His lips were puffed and +bleeding. He had smoked so many cigarettes and had pulled them so +impatiently from his mouth, that the dry paper had cracked the delicate +skin. + +He rewrote his cable and paid for the sending of it. Then he poked about +the unfamiliar corridors till he found the dingy bar. He sat down before +a peg of whisky, which was followed by many more, each a bit stiffer +than its predecessor. At last, when he had had enough to put a normal +man's head upon the table or to cover his face with the mask of inanity, +Ryanne fell into the old habit of talking aloud. + +"Horace, old top, what's the use? We'd just like to be good if we could; +eh? But they won't let us. We'd grow raving mad in a monastery. We were +honest at the time, but we couldn't stand the monotony of watching green +olives turn purple upon the silvery bough. Nay, nay!" + +He pushed the glass away from him and studied the air-bubbles as they +formed, rose to the surface, and were dissipated. + +"No matter what the game has been, somehow or other, they've bashed us, +and we've lost out." + +He emptied the glass and ordered another. He and the bartender were +alone. + +"After all, love is like money. It's better to live frugally upon the +interest than to squander the capital and go bankrupt. And who cares, +anyhow?" + +He drank once more, dropped a half-sovereign upon the table, and pushed +back his chair. His eyes were bloodshot now, and the brown of his skin +had become a slaty tint; but he walked steadily enough into the +reading-room, where he wrote a short letter. It was not without a +perverted sense of humor, for a smile twisted his lips till he had +sealed the letter and addressed the envelope to George Percival Algernon +Jones. He stuffed it into a pocket and went out whistling _The Heavy +Dragoons_ from the opera _Patience_. + +Before the lighted window of a shop he paused. He swayed a little. From +a pocket of his new coat he pulled out a glove. It was gray and small +and much wrinkled. From time to time he drew it through his fingers, +staring the while at the tawdry trinkets in the shop-window. Finally he +looked down at the token. He became very still. A moment passed; then he +flung the glove into the gutter, and proceeded to his own hotel. He left +the letter with the porter, paid his bill, and went out again into the +dark, chill night. + +He was now what he had been two months ago, the man who didn't care. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +FORTUNE DECIDES + + +George and Fortune were seated at breakfast. It was early morning. At +ten they were to depart for Jaffa, to take the tubby French packet there +to Alexandria. They could just about make it, and any delay meant a week +or ten days longer upon this ragged and inhospitable coast. + +"Ryanne has probably overslept. After breakfast I'll go up and rout him +out. The one thing that really tickles me," George continued, as he +pared the tough rind from the skinny bacon, "is, we shan't have any +luggage. Think of the blessing of traveling without a trunk or a valise +or a steamer-roll!" + +"Without even a comb or a hairbrush!" + +"It's great fun." George broke his toast. + +And Fortune wondered how she should tell him. She was without any toilet +articles. She hadn't even a tooth-brush; and it was quite out of the +question for her to bother him about such trifles, much as she needed +them. She would have to live in the clothes she wore, and trust that the +ship's stewardess might help her out in the absolute necessities. + +Here the head-waiter brought George a letter. The address was enough for +George. No one but Ryanne could have written it. Without excusing +himself, he ripped off the envelope and read the contents. Fortune could +not resist watching him, for she grasped quickly that only Ryanne could +have written a letter here in Damascus. At first the tan upon George's +cheeks darkened--the sudden suffusion of blood; then it became lighter, +and the mouth and eyes and nose became stern. + +"Is it bad news?" + +"It all depends upon how you look at it. For my part, good riddance to +bad rubbish. Here, read it yourself." + +She read: + + "MY DEAR PERCIVAL: + + "After all, I find that I can not reconcile myself to the dullness + of your olive-groves. I shall send the five-hundred to you when I + reach New York. With me it is as it was with the devil. When he + was sick, he vowed he would be a saint; but when he got well, + devil a saint was he. There used to be a rhyme about it, but I + have forgotten that. Anyhow, there you are. I feel that I am + conceding a point in regard to the money. It is contrary to the + laws and by-laws of the United Romance and Adventure Company to + refund. Still, I intend to hold myself to it. + + "With hale affection, + "RYANNE." + +"What do you think of that?" demanded George hotly. "I never did a good +action in my life that wasn't served ill. I'm a soft duffer, if there +ever was one." + +"I shall never be ungrateful for your kindness to me." + +"Oh, hang it! You're different; you're not like any other woman in the +world," he blurted; and immediately was seized with a mild species of +fright. + +Fortune stirred her coffee and delicately scooped up the swirling +circles of foam. + +"Old maids call that money," he said understandingly, eager to cover up +his boldness. "My mother used to tell me that there were lots of wonders +in a tea-cup." + +"Tell me about your mother." + +To him it was a theme never lacking in new expressions. When he spoke of +his mother, it altered the clear and boyish note in his voice; it became +subdued, reverent. He would never be aught than guileless; it was not in +his nature to divine anything save his own impulses. While he thought he +was pleasing her, each tender recollection, each praise, was in fact a +nail added to her crucifixion, self-imposed. However, she never lowered +her eyes, but kept them bravely directed into his. In the midst of one +of his panegyrics he caught sight of his watch which he had placed at +the side of his plate. + +"By Jove! quarter to nine. I've got an errand or two to do, and there's +no need of your running your feet off on my account. I'll be back +quarter after." He dug into his pocket and counted out fifty pounds in +paper and gold. "You keep this till I get back." + +She pushed it aside, half rising from her chair. + +"Fortune, listen. Hereafter I am George, your brother George; and I do +not want you ever to question any action of mine. I am leaving this +money in case some accident befell me. You never can tell." He took her +hand and firmly pressed it down upon the money. "In half an hour, +sister, I'll be back. You did not think that I was going to run away?" + +"No." + +"Do you understand me now?" + +"Yes." + +While he was gone she remained seated at the table. She made little +pyramids of the gold, divided the even dates from the odd, arranged +Maltese crosses and circles and stars.... Pity, pity! Well, why should +she rebel against it? Was it not more than she had had hitherto? What +should she do? She closed her eyes. She would trouble her tired brain no +more about the future till they reached Naples. She would let this one +week drift her how it would. + +George came in under the time-limit of his adventure. He had been upon +the most difficult errand imaginable, at least from a bachelor's point +of view. He carried two hand-bags. One of these he deposited in +Fortune's lap. + +"Shall I open it?" + +"If you wish." + +She noted his embarrassment, and her immediate curiosity was not to be +denied. She slipped the catch and looked inside. There were combs and +brushes, soap and tooth-powder and talc, a manicure-set, a pair of soft +woolen slippers, and.... She glanced up quickly. The faintest rose stole +under her cheeks. It was droll; it was pathetically funny. She would +have given worlds to have seen him making the purchases. + +"You are not offended?" he stammered. + +"Why should I be? I am human; I have slept and lived for days in a +dress, and worn my hair down my back for lack of hair-pins and combs. I +am sure that it is a very nice nightgown." + +Laughter overcame her. He laughed, too; not because the situation +appealed to him as laughable, but because there was something, an +indefinable something, in that laughter of hers that made him +wonderfully happy. + +"Mr. Jones...." + +"George," he interrupted determinedly. + +"Brother George, it was very kind and thoughtful of you. Not one man in +a thousand would have thought of--of ... hair-pins!" More laughter. + +"I didn't think of them; it was the clerk." + +"He...." + +"She." + +"Well, then, she will achieve great things," lightly, though her heart +was full. + +Tactfully he reached over and swept up the money. + +"Shall I ever be able to repay you?" she said. + +"Yes, by letting me be your brother; by not deciding the future till we +land in Naples; by letting me keep in touch with you, whatever your +ultimate decision may be. That isn't much. Will you promise that?" + +"Yes." + +They spoke no more of Ryanne. It was as though he had dropped out of +their lives completely. To a certain extent he had. They were to meet +him once again, however, in the last act of this whimsical drama, which +had drawn them both out of the commonplace and dropped them for a full +spin upon the whirligig of life. + +In due time they arrived at Alexandria. There they found the great +transatlantic liner, homeward bound. + +Ryanne would beat them into New York by ten days. He had picked up a +boat of the P. & O. line at Port Saïd, sailing without stop to +Marseilles. From there to Cherbourg was a trifling journey. + +George knew the captain, and the captain not only knew George, but had +known George's father before him. The young man went to the heart of the +matter at once; and when he had finished his remarkable tale, the +captain lowered his cigar. It had gone out. + +"And all this happened in the year 1909-1910! If any one but you, Mr. +Jones, had told me this, I'd have sent him ashore as a lunatic. You have +reported it?" + +"What good would it do? We are out of it, and that's enough. More, we +do not want any one to know what we've been through. If the newspapers +got hold of it, there would be no living." + +"You leave it to me," said the big-hearted German. "From here to Naples +she shall be as mine own daughter. You have not told me all?" + +"No; only what I had of necessity to tell." + +"Well, you know best I shall do my share to make her feel at home. She +is as pretty as a flower." + +To this George agreed, but not verbally. + +The steamer weighed anchor at six o'clock that evening, with only a +handful of passengers for the trip to Naples. George had wired from +Damascus to Cairo to have his luggage sent on, and he saw it put aboard +himself. Without letting Fortune know, he had also telegraphed the hotel +to forward whatever she had left; but the return wire informed him that +Mrs. Chedsoye had taken everything. + + * * * * * + +They were leaning against the starboard-rail, watching the slowly +converging lights of the harbor. Fortune had borrowed a cloak from her +stewardess and George wore the mufti of the first-officer. The captain +had offered his, but George had declined. He would have been lost in its +ample folds. + +"I can not understand why they made no effort to find you," he mused. +"It doesn't seem quite human." + +"Don't you understand? It is simple. My mother believes that Horace and +I ran away together. If not that, I ran away myself, as I that day +threatened to do. In either case, she saw nothing could be done in +trying to find out where I had gone. Perhaps she knows exactly what did +happen. Doubtless she has sent on my things to Mentone, which, of +course, I shall never see again. No, no! I can not go back there. I have +known the misery of suspense long enough." She lowered her head to the +rail. + +He came quite near to her. His arms went out toward her, only to drop +down. He must wait. It was very hard. But nothing prevented his putting +forth a hand to press hers reassuringly, and saying: "Don't do that, +Fortune. It makes my heart ache to see a woman cry." + +"I am not crying," came in muffled tones. "I am only sad, and tired, +tired." + +"Everything will come out all right in the end," he encouraged. "Of +course you are tired. What woman wouldn't be, having gone through what +you have? Here; let's sit in the steamer-chairs till the bugle blows for +dinner. I'm a bit fagged out myself." + +They lay back in the chairs, and no longer cared to talk. The lights +twinkled, but fainter and fainter, till at last only the pale line +between the sky and the sea remained. She turned her head and looked +sharply at him. He was sound asleep. "Poor boy!" she murmured softly. +"How careworn!" There was something grotesque in the mask of desert tan +and shaven skin. How patient he had been through it all, and how kind +and gentle to her! She remembered now of seeing him that night in Cairo, +and of remarking how young and fresh he seemed in comparison to the men +she knew and had met. And she must leave him, to go into the world and +fight her own battles. If God had but given to her a brother like this! +But brother he never could be, no, not even in the pleasant sense of +adoption. She did not want pity.... To think of his getting those things +for her in Damascus!... Pity suggested that she was weak and helpless, +whereas she knew that she was both patient and strong.... What did she +want? She glanced up and down the deck. It was totally deserted save for +them. Then, "clad in the beauty of a thousand stars," she leaned over +and down and brushed his hand with her lips. + +And George slept on. Only the blare of the bugle brought him back to +mundane affairs. He was hungry, and he announced the fact with gusto. +They would dine well that night. The captain placed Fortune at his right +and George at his left, and broached a bottle of fine old +Johannisberger. And the three of them had coffee in the smoke-room. If +the other passengers had any curiosity, they did not manifest it openly. + +Upon finding that they had no real need of staying over in Naples, the +captain urged that they take the return voyage with him. He saw more +than either of the young people, with those blue Teutonic eyes of his. +George promised to let him know within a dozen hours of the sailing. +Certainly Fortune would decide one way or the other within that time. + +Both had seen the Vesuvian bay many times, with never-failing love and +interest. They sailed across the bay in the bright clearness of the +morning. + +"You are going back with me," George announced in a tone which inferred +that nothing more was to be said upon the subject. But, for all his +confidence, there was a great and heavy fear upon his heart as he asked +for mail at the little inclosure at Cook's, in the Galleria Vittoria. +There was a cable; nothing more. + +"Now, Fortune...." + +"Have I ever given you permission to call me by that name?" + +"Why...." + +"Have I?" + +"No." + +"Then I give you that permission now." + +"What do you frighten a man like that for?" he cried. "What I was going +to say...." + +"Fortune." + +"What I was going to say, Fortune, was this: here is the cable from +Mortimer. I'm not going to open it till after dinner to-night. We'll go +up to the Bertolini to dine. You'll stay there for the night, while I +put up at the Bristol, which is only a little ways up the Corso. I'm not +going to ask you a question till coffee. Then we'll thrash out the +subject till there isn't a grain left." + +She made no protest. Secretly she was pleased to be bullied like this. +It proved that among all these swarming peoples there was one interested +in her welfare. But she knew in her heart what she was going to say when +the proper time came. She did not wish to spoil his dinner. She was also +going to put her courage to its supreme test: borrow a hundred pounds, +and bravely promise to pay him back. If she failed to pay it, it would +be because she was dead! For she could not survive a comparison between +herself and her mother. Here in Naples she might find something, an +opportunity. She spoke French and Italian fluently; and in this crowded +season of the year it would not be difficult to find a situation as a +maid or companion. So long as she could earn a little honestly, she was +not afraid. She was desperately resolved. + +Such a dinner! Long would she remember it; and longer still, how little +either of them ate of it! She knew enough about these things to +appreciate it. It must have cost a pretty penny. She smiled, she +laughed, she jested; and always a battle to dam the uprising tears. + +The dining-room was filled; women in beautiful evening gowns and men in +sober black. But the two young people were oblivious. Their +fellow-diners, however, bent more than one glance in their direction. +Ill-fitting clothes, to be sure, but it was observed that they ate to +the manner born. The girl was beautiful in a melancholy way, and the +young man was well-bred and pleasant of feature, though oddly burned. + +Coffee. George produced the cable. It was still sealed. + +"You read it first," he said, passing it across the table. + +Her hands shook as she ripped the sealed flap and opened the message. +She read. Her eyes gathered dangerously. + +"Be careful!" he warned. "You've been brave so long; be brave a little +longer." + +"I did not know that there lived such good and kindly men. Oh, thank +him, thank him a thousand times for me. Read it." And she no longer +cared if any saw her tears. + + "Bring her home, and God bless you both. + + "MORTIMER." + +"I knew it!" he cried exultantly. "He and my father were the finest two +men in the world. The sky is all clear now." + +"Is it?" sadly. "Oh, I do not wish to pain you, but it is charity; and I +am too proud." + +"You refuse?" He could not believe it. + +"Yes. But when things grow dark, and the day turns bitter, I shall +always remember those words. I can see no other way. I must fight it out +alone." + +Love makes a man dumb or eloquent; and as George saw all his treasured +dreams fading swiftly, eloquence became his buckler in this battle of +love unspoken and pride in arms. Each time he paused for breath, she +shook her head slowly. + +The diners were leaving in twos and fours, and presently they were all +alone. Servants were clearing up the tables; there was a clatter of +dishes and a tread of hurrying feet. They noted it not. + +"Well, one more plea!" And he swept aside his self-imposed restrictions. +"Will you come for my sake? Because I am lonely and want you? Will you +come for my sake?" + +This time her head did not move. + +"Is it pity?" she whispered. + +"Pity!" His hands gripped the linen and the coffee-cups rattled. "No! It +is not pity. Because you were lonely, because you had no one to turn to, +I could not in honor tell you. But now I do. Fortune, will you come for +my sake, because I love you and want you always and always?" + +"I shall come." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +MARCH HARES + + +George, in that masterful way which was not wholly acquired, but which +had been a latency till the episodic journey--George paid for the +dinner, called the head-waiter and thanked him for the attention given +it, and laid a generous tip upon the cover. From the dining-room the two +young people, outwardly calm but inwardly filled with the Great Tumult, +went to the manager's bureau and arranged for Fortune's room. This +settled, Fortune went down to the cavernous entrance to bid George good +night. They were both diffident and shy, now that the great problem was +solved. George was puzzled as to what to do in bidding her good night, +and Fortune wondered if he would kiss her right here, before all these +horrid cab-drivers. + +"I shall call for you at nine," he said. "We've got to do some +shopping." + +A tinkle of laughter. + +"These ready-made suits are beginning to look like the deuce." + +"Do you always think of everything?" + +"Well, what I don't remember, the clerk will," slyly. "Till recently I +believe I never thought of anything. I must be off. It's too cold down +here for you." He offered his hand nervously. + +She gave hers freely. He looked into her marvelous eyes for a moment. +Then he turned the palm upward and kissed it, lightly and loverly; and +she drew it across his face, over his eyes, till it left in departing a +caress upon his forehead. He stood up, breathing quickly, but not more +so than she. A little tableau. Then he jammed his battered fedora upon +his head and strode up the Corso. He dared not turn. Had he done so, he +must have gone back and taken her in his arms. She followed him with +brave eyes; she saw him suddenly veer across the street and pause at +the parapet. It was then that she became conscious of the keenness of +the night-wind. She went in. Somehow, all earth's puzzles had that night +been solved. + +George lighted a cigar, doubtless the most costly weed to be found in +all Naples that night. The intermittent glowing of the end faintly +outlined his face. Far away across the shimmering bay rose Capri in a +kind of magic, amethystine transparency. A light or two twinkled where +Sorrento lay. His gaze roved the half-circle, and finally rested upon +the grim dark ash-heap, Vesuvius. Beauty, beauty everywhere; beauty in +the sky, beauty upon earth, in his heart and mind. He was twenty-eight, +and all these wonderful things had happened in a little more than so +many days! + + "God's in His heaven, + All's right with the world!" + +He flung the half-finished cigar into the air, careless as to where it +fell, or that in falling it might set Naples on fire. It struck a roof +somewhere below; a sputter of sparks, and all was dark again. + +"I shall come." All through his dreams that night he heard it. "I shall +come." + +Next morning he notified the captain to retain their cabins. After that +they proceeded to storm the shops. They were like March hares; +irresponsible children, both of them. What did propriety matter? What +meaning had circumspection? They two were all alone; the rest of the +world didn't count. It never had counted to either of them. Certainly +they should have gone to a parsonage; Mrs. Grundy would prudently have +suggested it. The trivialities of convention, however, had no place at +that moment in their little Eden. They were a law unto themselves. + +Into twenty shops they went; _modiste_ after _modiste_ was interviewed; +and Fortune at length found two models. These were pretty, and, being +models, quite inexpensive. Once, George was forced to remain outside in +the carriage. It was in front of the _lingerie_ shop. He put away each +receipt, just like a husband upon his honeymoon. Later, receipts would +mean as much, but from a different angle of vision. He bought so many +violets that the carriage looked as though it were ready for the flower +carnival. He laughingly disregarded her protests. It was the Song of +Songs. + +"My shopping is done," she said at last, dropping the bundles upon the +carriage floor. "Now, it is your turn." + +"You have forgotten a warm steamer-cloak," he reminded her. + +"So I have!" + +This oversight was easily remedied; and then George sought the +tailor-shops for ready-made clothes. He had more difficulty than +Fortune; ready-made suits were not the easiest things to find in Naples. +By noon, however, he had acquired a Scotch woolen for day wear and a +fairly decent dinner suit, along with other necessities. + +"Well, I say!" he murmured, struck by a revealing thought. + +"Have you forgotten anything?" + +"No. On the contrary, I've just remembered something. I've got all _I_ +need or want in my steamer-trunk; and till this minute I never once +thought of it." + +How they laughed! Indeed, so high were their spirits that they would +have laughed at any inconsequent thing. They lunched at the Gambrinus, +and George mysteriously bought up all the pennies from the hunchback +tobacco vendor. Later, as they bowled along the sea-front, George +created a small riot by flinging pennies to small boys and whining +beggars. At five they went aboard the ship, which was to leave at +sundown, some hours ahead of scheduled time. The captain himself +welcomed them as they climbed the swaying ladder. There were a hundred +first-class passengers for the final voyage. The two, however, still sat +at the right and left of the captain; but the table was filled, and they +maintained a guarded prattle. Every one at once assumed that they were a +bridal couple, and watched them with tolerant amusement. The captain had +considerately left their names off the passenger-list as published for +the benefit of the passengers and the saloon-sitting. So they moved in a +sort of mystery which rough weather prevented being solved. + +One night, when the sea lay calm and the air was caressingly mild, +George and Fortune had gone forward and were leaning over the +starboard-rail where it meets and joins the forward beam-rail. They +were watching for the occasional flicker of phosphorescence. Their +shoulders touched, and George's hand lay protectingly over hers. + +"I love you," he said; "I love you better than all the world." + +"Are you sure?" + +"Sure? Can you doubt it?" + +"Sometimes." + +"Why...." + +But she interrupted him quickly. "In all this time you have never asked +me if I love you. Why haven't you?" + +"I have been afraid." + +"Ask me!" + +"Do you love me?" his heart missing a beat. + +She leaned toward him swiftly. "Here is my answer," pursing her lips. + +"Fortune!" + +"Be careful! I've a terrible temper." + +But she was not quite prepared for such roughness. She could not stir, +so strongly did he hold her to his heart. Not only her lips, but her +eyes, her cheeks, her throat, and again her lips. He hurt her, but her +heart sang. No man could imitate love like that; and doubt spread its +dark pinions and went winging out to sea. + +"That is the way I want to be loved. Always love me like that. Never +wait for me to ask. Come to me at all times, no matter how I am engaged, +and take me in your arms, roughly like this. Then I shall know. I have +been so lonely; my heart has been so filled with love and none to +receive it! I love you. I haven't asked why; I don't care. When it began +I do not know either. But it is in my heart, strong and for ever." + +"Heart o' mine, I'm going to be the finest lover there ever was!" + + * * * * * + +The great ship came up the bay slowly. It was a clear, sparkling, winter +day, and the towering minarets of business stood limned against the +pale-blue sky with a delicacy not unlike Japanese shell-carving. A +thousand thousand ribbons of cheery steam wavered and slanted and +dartled; the river swarmed with bustling ferries and eager tugs; and +great floats of ice bumped and jammed about the invisible highways. + +"This is where _I_ live," said George, running his arm under hers. "The +greatest country in the world, with the greatest number of mistaken +ideas," he added humorously. + +"What is it about the native land that clutches at our hearts so? I am +an American, and yet I was born in the south of France. I went to school +for a time near Philadelphia. America, America! Can't I be an American, +even if I was born elsewhere?" + +"You can never be president," he said gravely. + +"I don't want to be president!" She snuggled closer to him. "All I want +to be is a good man's wife; to watch the kitchen to see that he gets +good things to eat; to guard his comforts; to laugh when he laughs; to +be gentle when he is sad; to nurse him when he is ill; to be all and +everything to him in adversity as well as in prosperity: a true wife." +She touched his sleeve with her cheek. "And I don't want him to think +that he must always be with me; if he belongs to a man-club, he must go +there once in a while." + +"I am very happy," was all he could say. + +"George, I am uneasy. I don't know why. It's my mother, my uncle, and +Horace. I am going to meet them somewhere. I know it. And I worry about +you." + +"About me? That's foolish." He smiled down at her. + +"Ah, why did my mother seek to renew the acquaintance with you? Why did +Horace have you kidnapped into the desert? There can be no such a thing +as the United Romance and Adventure Company. It is a cloak for something +more sinister." + +"Pshaw! What's the use of worrying, little woman? Whatever schemes they +had must be out of joint by now. Sometimes I think I must be dreaming, +little girl." + +"I am not little. I'm almost as tall as you are." + +"You are vastly taller in many ways." + +"Don't be too sure. I am human; I have my moods. I am sometimes +crotchety; sometimes unjust and quick of temper." + +"All right; I want you, temper and all, just the same." + +"But will they like me? Won't they think I'm an adventuress, or +something like that?" + +"Bless your heart, not in a thousand years! I'm a pretty wise man in +some ways, and they know it." + +And so it proved to be. Both Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer greeted them at the +pier in Hoboken. One glance at the face of the girl was sufficient. Mrs. +Mortimer held out her arms. It was a very fine thing to do. + +"I was in doubt at first," she said frankly. "George is so guileless. +But to look at you, my child, would scatter the doubts of a Thomas. Will +you let me be your mother, if only for a little while?" with a wise and +tender smile. + +Shyly Fortune accepted the embrace. Never had she been so happy. Never +had she felt arms like these about her. + +"What did he cable you?" she asked in a whisper. + +"That he loved you and wanted me to mother you against that time when he +might have the right to take you as his own. Has he that right?" + +"Yes. And oh! he is the bravest and tenderest man I know; and below it +all he is only a boy." + +Mrs. Mortimer patted her hand. A little while later all four went over +to the city and drove uptown to the Mortimer home. On the way Fortune +told her story, simply, without avoiding any essential detail. And all +her new mother did was to put an arm about her and draw her closer. + +The Mortimer home was only three blocks away from George's. So, when +dinner was over, George declared that he would run over and take a look +at his own house. He wanted to wander about the rooms a bit, to fancy +how it would look when Fortune walked at his side. He promised to return +within an hour. He had forgotten many things, ordinarily important; such +as wiring his agent, his butler and cook, who were still drawing their +wages. He passed along the street above which was his own. He paused for +a moment to contemplate the great banking concern. And the president of +this bank was the elder brother of Ryanne! Lots of queer kinks in the +world; lots of crooked turnings. He passed on, turned the corner, and +strode toward his home, ecstasy thrilling his heart. Lightly he ran up +the steps. Three doors below he noticed two automobiles. He gave them +only a cursory glance. He took out his ring of keys, found the +night-latch and thrust it into the keyhole. He never had believed in +this putting up of iron-gates and iron-shutters. A night-latch and a +caretaker who came round once a day was enough for any sensible person. +He turned the key. Eh? It didn't seem to go round. He tried several +times, but without success. Puzzled, he struck a match and stooped +before the keyhole. + +It was a new one. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +A BOTTLE OF WINE + + +George stood irresolutely upon the steps. A new keyhole! What the deuce +did the agent mean by putting a new keyhole in the door without +notifying him? As the caretaker never entered that door, it was all the +agent's fault. There was no area-way in front, but between George's +house and the next there was a court eight feet in width, running to the +dividing wall between the bank property and his own. A grille gate +protected this court. George had a key. The gate opened readily enough. +His intention was to enter by the basement-door. But he suddenly paused. +To his amazement he saw just below the library curtain a thin measure of +light. Light! Some one in the house! He did the most sensible thing +possible: he stood still till the shock left him. Some one in the house, +some one who had no earthly or heavenly business there! Near the window +stood a tubbed bay-tree. Cautiously he mounted this, holding the ledge +of the window with his fingers. That he did not instantly topple over +with a great noise was due to the fact that he was temporarily +paralyzed. + +Here was the end of the puzzle. The riddle of the United Romance and +Adventure Company was solved. At last he understood why Mrs. Chedsoye +had sought him, why Ryanne had kidnapped him. But for his continuing his +journey upon the German-Lloyd boat, he would have come home a week too +late; he would have missed being a spectator (already an innocent +contributor) to one of the most daring and ingenious bank-robberies +known in the pages of metropolitan crime. There was Mrs. Chedsoye, +intrusively handsome as ever; there was her rascally card-sharper +brother, that ingrate who called himself Ryanne, and three unknown men. +The impudence of it; the damnable insolence of it! And there they were, +toasting their success in a brace of his own vintage-champagne! But the +wine was, after all, inconsequential. It was what he saw upon the floor +that caught him by the throat. His knees weakened, but he held on grimly +to his perch. + +White bags of gold, soiled bags of gold, and neat packets of green and +yellow notes: riches! Twenty bags and as many packets of currency; a +million, not a penny under that! George was seized with a horrible +desire to yell with laughter. He felt the cachinnations bubble in his +throat. He swallowed violently and gnawed his lips. They had got into +his house under false pretenses and had tunneled back into the +Merchant-Mechanic Bank, of which Horace's brother was president and in +which he, George P. A. Jones, always carried a large private balance! It +was the joke of the century. + +As quietly as he possibly could, he stepped down from his uncertain +perch. In the fine fury that followed his amazement, his one thought was +to summon the police at once, to confront the wretches in their +villainy; but once outside in the street, he cooled. Instantly he saw +the trial in court. Fortune as witness against her own mother. That was +horrible and not to be thought of. But what should he do? He was shaken +to his soul. The stupendous audacity of such a plan! To have worked out +every detail, down to the altering of the keyhole to prevent surprise! +He saw the automobiles. They were leaving that night. If he acted at +all, it must be within an hour; in less than that time they would be +loading the cars. His mind began to rid itself of its confusion. Without +the aid of the police; and presently he saw the way to do it. + +He was off at a dog-trot, upon the balls of his feet, silently. Within +five minutes he was mounting the steps to the Mortimer home, and in +another minute was inside. The others saw directly that something +serious had happened. + +"What's the trouble, George? House vanished?" asked Mortimer. + +"Have you got a brace of revolvers?" said George quietly. + +"Two automatics. But...." + +"Give them to me," less evenly in tone. "Will you call up Arthur +Wadsworth, president of the Merchant-Mechanic Bank?" + +"The bank?" + +"Yes, the bank. You know, it is just in the rear of my house." + +Here Fortune came forward. All the bright color was gone from her +cheeks; the old mask of despair had re-formed. She needed no further +enlightenment. + +"Are you going back there?" she asked. + +"Yes, dear; I must. Mr. Mortimer will go with me." + +"And I?" + +"No, heart o' mine; you've got to stay here." + +"If you do not take me with you, you will not find me here when you +return." + +"My child," began Mortimer soothingly, "you must not talk like that. +There will be danger." + +"Then notify the police, and let the danger rest upon their shoulders," +she said, her jaws set squarely. + +"I can't call in the police," replied George, miserable. + +"Shall I tell you why?" + +"Dearest, can't you understand that it is you I am thinking of?" + +"I am determined. If I do not go with you, you shall never see me again. +My mother is there!" + +Tragedy. Mrs. Mortimer stretched out a hand, but the girl did not see +it. Her mother; her own flesh and blood! Oh, the poor child! + +"Come, then," said George, in despair. "But you are hurting me, +Fortune." + +"Forgive me, but I _must_ go with you. I _must_!" + +"Get me the revolvers, Mr. Mortimer. We'll wait for Wadsworth. Will you +please telephone him? I'm afraid I couldn't talk steadily enough. +Explain nothing save that it concerns his bank." + +George sat down. Not during those early days of the journey across the +desert had he felt so pitiably weak and inefficient. + +Fortune paced the room, her arms folded tightly across her breast. +Strange, there was neither fear nor pain in her heart, only a wild +wrath. + +When Mortimer returned from the telephone, saying that Wadsworth would +be right over, he asked George to explain fully what was going on. It +was rather a long story. George managed to get through it with a +coherency understandable, but no more. Mrs. Mortimer put her motherly +arms about the girl, but she found no pliancy. There was no resistance, +but there was that stiffness peculiar to felines when picked up under +protest. And there was a little more than the cat in Fortune then; the +tigress. She was not her mother's daughter for nothing. To confront her, +to overwhelm her with reproach, to show her not the least mercy, stonily +to see her led away to prison! + +George inspected the revolvers carefully to see if they were loaded. + +The bell rang, and Arthur Wadsworth came in. Mortimer knew him; George +did not. He drew his interest as it fell due and deposited it in another +bank. That was the extent of his relations with Arthur Wadsworth, +president of the Merchant-Mechanic Bank of New York. + +Arthur was small, thin, blond like his brother, but the hair was so +light upon the top of his head that he gave one the impression that he +was bald. His eyes looked out from behind half-shut lids; his cheeks +were cadaverous; his pale lips met in a straight, unpleasant line. There +was not the slightest resemblance between the two brothers, either in +their bodies or in their souls. George recognized this fact immediately. +He disliked the man instinctively, just as he could not help admiring +his rogue of a brother. + +"I want you to go with me to my house at once," began George. + +"Please explain." + +George disliked the voice even more than the man himself. "Everything +will be explained there," he replied. + +"This is very unusual," the banker complained. + +"You will find it so. Come." George moved toward the hall, the revolvers +in his coat-pocket. + +"But I insist...." + +"Mr. Wadsworth, everything will be fully explained to you the moment you +enter my house; More I shall not tell you. You are at liberty to return +home." + +"It concerns the bank?" The voice had something human in it now; a note +of affection. + +Arthur Wadsworth loved the bank as a man loves his sweetheart, but more +explicitly, as a miser loves the hoard hidden in the stocking. He loved +every corner of the building. He worshiped the glass-covered marbles +over which the gold passed and repassed. He adored the sight of the bent +backs of the bookkeepers, the individual-account clerks, the little +cages of the paying and receiving tellers, always so beautifully +littered with little slips of paper, packets of bills, stacks of gold +and silver; he loved the huge steel-vault, stored with bags of gold and +bundles of notes, bonds, and stocks. Money was his god. Summed up, he +was a miser in all that contemptible word implies: stingy, frugal, +cautious, suspicious, sly, cruel, and relentless; he was in the concrete +what his father had been in the abstract. + +"It concerns the bank?" he repeated, torn by doubt. + +George shrugged. "Let us be going." + +"Will it be necessary to call in the police?" + +"No." + +"I suppose, then," said Wadsworth bitterly, wondering, too, over the +strange animosity of this young man he did not know--"I suppose I must +do just as you say?" + +"Absolutely." George's teeth came together with a click. + +The four of them passed out of the house, each singularly wrought with +agitation. Fortune walked ahead with George. Neither spoke. They could +hear the occasional protest from the banker into Mortimer's ear; but +Mortimer did not open his lips. They came to the house, and then George +whispered his final instructions to Wadsworth. The latter, when he +understood what was taking place, became wild with rage and terror; and +it was only because George threatened to warn the conspirators that he +subsided. + +"And," went on George, "if you do not obey, you can get out of it the +best you know how. Now, silence, absolute silence." + +He pressed back the grille gate, and the others tiptoed after him. + + * * * * * + +Ryanne tipped the third bottle delicately. Not a drop was wasted. How +the golden beads swarmed up to the brim, to break into little essences +of perfume! And this was good wine; twelve years in the bottle. + +"It's like some dream; eh?" + +Wallace smacked his lips loudly. + +"Wallace," chided Ryanne, "you always drink like a sailor. You don't +swallow champagne; you sip it, like this." + +Major Callahan swayed his glass back and forth under his nose. "Smells +like a vineyard after a rain. + +"There's poetry for you!" laughed the butler. + +Mrs. Chedsoye alone seemed absorbed in other things. She was trying to +discover what it was that gave this supreme moment so flat a taste. It +was always so; it was the chase, the goal was nothing. It was the +excitement of going toward, not arriving at, the destination. Was she, +who considered herself so perfect, a freak after all, shallow like a +hill-stream and as aimless in her endeavors? Had she possessed a real +enthusiasm for anything? She looked back along the twisted avenue of +years. Had anything really stirred her profoundly? From the bags of gold +her glance strayed up and over to Ryanne. Love? Love a man so weak that +he could not let be the bottle? She had a horror of drunkenness, the +inane giggles, the attending nausea; she had been through it all. Had +she loved him, or was it because he loved the child? Even this she could +not tell. Inwardly she was opaque to her searchings. She stirred +restlessly. She wanted to be out of this house, on the way. The gold, as +gold, meant nothing. She had enough for her needs. What was it, then? +Was she mad? What flung her here and about, without real purpose? + +"We could have taken every dollar from the vault," said Wallace +cheerfully. + +"But we couldn't have made our get-away with it," observed the butler, +holding his empty glass toward Ryanne, who was acting as master of +ceremonies. + +"A clear, unidentified million," mused Ryanne. "Into the cars with it; +over to Jersey City; on to Philadelphia; but there for Europe; quietly +transfer the gold to the various Continental banks; and in six months, +who could trace hair or hide of it?" Ryanne laughed. + +"It's all right to laugh," said the Major. "But are you sure about +Jones? He could have arrived this afternoon." + +"Impossible! He left Alexandria for Naples on a boat that stopped but +thirty hours. With Fortune on his hands he could not possibly sail +before the following week, and maybe not then. Sit tight. I know what I +am talking about." + +"He might cable." + +"So he might. But if he had we'd have heard from him before now. I'm +going to tell you a secret. My name is not Ryanne." + +"We all know that," said the Major. + +"It's Wadsworth. Does that tickle your mind any?" + +The men shook their heads. Mrs. Chedsoye did not move hers. + +"Bah! Greatest joke of the hour. I'm Horace Wadsworth, and Arthur +Wadsworth, president of the Merchant-Mechanic Bank, is my beloved +brother!" + +"Ay, damnable wretch!" + +A shock ran through them all. In the doorway leading to the rear hall +stood George, his revolvers leveled steadily. Peering white-faced over +his shoulder was the man who had spoken, Arthur Wadsworth. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE END OF THE PUZZLE + + +The elder brother tried to push past George, but old Mortimer caught him +by the shoulders and dragged him back. + +"Let me go!" he cried, his voice nasal and high. "Do you hear me? Let me +go!" + +"Mr. Mortimer," said George, without turning his head or letting his eye +waver, "keep him back. Thanks." George stepped over the threshold. "Now, +gentlemen, I shall shoot the first man who makes a movement." + +And Ryanne, who knew something about George, saw that he meant just what +he said. "Steady, every one," he said. "My friend George here can't +shoot; but that kind of a man is deadliest with a pistol. I surrender." + +The brother was struggling. "The telephone! The telephone! I demand to +call the police. This is accessory to the fact! I tell you, let me go!" + +"Mr. Wadsworth," replied George, "if you do not be still and let me run +this affair, I'll throw the pistols to the floor, and your brother and +his friends may do as they bally please. Now, step back and be quiet. +Stop!" to Ryanne, whose hand was reaching out toward the table. + +[Illustration] + +"Don't shoot, Percival; I want only a final glass of wine." Ryanne +calmly took the slender stem of the glass between his fingers, lifted it +and drank. He set it down empty. From his outside pocket he drew a +handkerchief and delicately dried his lips. He alone of his confederates +had life. It was because he alone understood. Prison wasn't staring them +in the face just yet. "Well, Arthur, old top, how goes it? Nearly got +your money-bags, didn't we? And we surely would have but for this +delicious vintage." + +"Damn you and your wine!" roared the Major, shaking with rage. This +adventure had been no joke to him, no craving for excitement. He wanted +the gold, the gold. With what would have been his share he could have +gambled at Monte Carlo and Ostend till the end of his days. For the +first time he saw long, thick bars of iron running up and down a window. +And all for a bottle of wine! + +"Damn away, old sport!" Ryanne reached for the bottle and filled his +glass again. "Percival, I'm blamed sorry about that olive-tree of +yours." He waved his hand toward the bags. "You can see that my +intentions in regard to refunding that hundred pounds were strictly +honorable. Now, what's on the ticket?" + +"I suppose your luggage is outside in the automobiles?" + +"Right-O!" + +"Well, I need not explain my reasons; you will understand them; but I am +going to give you all two hours' time. Then I shall notify the police. +You will have to take your chance after that time." + +The circling faces brightened perceptibly. Two hours--that would carry +them far into Jersey. + +"Accepted with thanks," said Ryanne. + +"I refuse to permit it!" yelled the brother. "Mr. Jones, you will rue +this night's work. I shall see that the law looks into your actions. +This is felony. I demand to be allowed to telephone." + +"Percival, for heaven's sake, let him!" cried Ryanne wearily. "Let him +shout; it will soften his voice. He will hurt nobody. The wires were cut +hours ago." + +Mortimer felt the tense muscles in his grasp relax. Arthur Wadsworth +grew limp and reeled against the jamb of the door. + +"You had better start at once," George advised. "You three first," with +a nod toward Wallace (his bulbous nose now lavender in hue), the butler +and the first-man. "Forward march, front door. Go on!" + +"What about me?" asked Ryanne. + +"In a moment." George could not but admire the man, rascal though he +was. There was a pang of regret in his heart as the thought came and +went swiftly: what a comrade this man would have made under different +circumstances! Too late! "Halt!" he cried. The trio marching toward the +door came to a stop, their heads turned inquiringly. "Here, Mr. +Mortimer; take one of these guns and cover the Major. He's the one I +doubt." Then George followed the others into the hall and ironically +bade them God-speed as he opened the door for them. They went out +stupidly; the wine had dulled them. George immediately returned to the +library. + +Neither Fortune nor her mother had stirred in all this time. A quality +of hypnotism held them in bondage. The mother could not lower her glance +and the daughter would not. If there was a light of triumph in Fortune's +eyes, it was unconsciously there. And no one will know the full +bitterness that shone from the mother's. She could have screamed with +fury; she could have rent her clothes, torn her skin, pulled her hair; +and yet she sat there without physical sign of the tempest. This offers +a serio-comic suggestion; but it was tragedy enough for the woman who +was in the clutch of these emotional storms. It was not her predicament; +it was not that she was guilty of a crime against society; it was not +that she had failed. No. It was because she, in leaving this house for +ever, was leaving her daughter behind, mistress of it. + +On her side, Fortune knew, that, had there been a single gesture +inviting pity, she must have flown to her mother's side. But there was +no sign. Finally, Fortune stepped back, chilled. It was all too late. + +"Fortune," said George, terribly embarrassed, "do you wish to speak to +your mother, alone?" + +"No." It was a little word, spoken in a little, hushed tone. + +Mrs. Chedsoye rose and proceeded to put on her furs, which she had flung +across the back of her chair. + +"Mother!" This came in a gasp from the elder Wadsworth. An understanding +of this strange proceeding began to filter through his mind. The young +girl's mother! + +Mrs. Chedsoye drew on her gloves slowly. She offered them to the Major +to button. He flung the hands aside. He was not nice under the veneer. +But Ryanne was instantly at her service. And curiously she watched his +agile fingers at work over the buttons; they were perfectly steady. +Then, followed by the Major and Ryanne, she walked easily toward the +hall. Ryanne paused. + +"Good night, Arthur. I'm sure you will not sleep well. That handsome +safe is irreparably damaged. I dare say you will find a way to cover the +loss without any injury to your own pocket. Old top, farewell! Who was +it, Brutus or Cæsar, who said: 'I go but to return'?" The banter left +his face and voice swiftly. "You sneaking black-guard, you cheater of +widows; yes, I shall come again; and then look to your sleek, +sanctimonious neck! You chucked me down the road to hell, and the pity +of it is, some day I must meet you there! Fortune, child," his voice +becoming sad, "you might remember a poor beggar in your prayers +to-night. Percival, a farewell to you. We shall never meet again. But +when you stand upon that bally old rug there, you'll always see me, the +fire, the tents, the camels and the desert, and the moon in the +date-palms. By-by!" + +And presently they were gone. A moment later those remaining could hear +the chug-chug of the motors as they sped away. The banker was first to +recover from the spell. He rushed for the hall, but George stopped him +rudely. + +"Two hours, if you please. I never break my word. Your money is all +there. If you do not act reasonably, I'll throw you down and sit on you +till the time is up. Sit down. I do not propose that my future wife +shall appear in court as a witness against her mother. Do you understand +me now?" + +The banker signified that he did. He sat down, rather subdued. Then he +got up nervously and inventoried the steal. He counted roughly a +million. A million! He felt sick and weak. It would have wrecked the +bank, wiped it out of existence. And saved by the merest, the most +trifling chance! A bottle of wine! He resumed his chair and sat there +wonderingly till the time-limit expired. + +The public never heard how nearly the Merchant-Mechanic had gone to the +wall; nor how six policemen had worked till dawn carrying back the gold; +nor that the banker had not even thanked them for their labor. The first +impulse of the banker had been to send the story forth to the world, to +harass and eventually capture his brother; but his foresight becoming +normal, he realized that silence was best, even if his brother escaped. +If the depositors heard that the bank had been entered and a million +taken from the vaults, there would naturally follow a terrific run. + +When the last bag had been taken out of the library and the banker and +the police had gone, the bell rang. George went to the door. A messenger +handed him a small satchel and a note. There was to be no reply. The +note was from Ryanne. Briefly it stated that the satchel contained the +emeralds. There had been some difficulty in forcing the Major to +surrender them. But that much was due to George for his generosity. +Later in the day he--George--might inform his--Horace's--brother that +the _coup_ hadn't been a total fizzle. They had already packed away in +suit-cases something like two hundred thousand dollars in bills of all +denominations. "Tell that dear brother of mine to charge it to our +account. It will be less than the interest upon a million in ten years. +To you, my boy, I add: Fortune favors the brave!" + + * * * * * + +"George," said Mortimer, "you will not mind if I forage round in the +kitchen? A bottle of beer and a bit of cheese would go handy. It's +almost my breakfast time." + +"Bless your heart, help yourself!" + +And George turned to Fortune. + +"Ah," she cried, seizing his hands, "you will not think ill of me?" + +"And for what?" astonished. + +"For not speaking to my mother. Oh, I just couldn't; I just couldn't! +When I thought of all the neglect, all the indifference, the loneliness, +I couldn't! It was horribly unnatural and cruel!" + +"I understand, heart o' mine. Say no more about it." And he put his two +hands against her cheeks and kissed her. "Never shall you be lonely +again, for I am going to be all things to you. Poor heart! Just think +that all that has passed has been only a bad dream, and that it's clear +sunshiny morning; eh?" He held her off a ways and then swept her into +his arms as he had done on board the ship, roughly and masterly. "And +there's that old rug! Talk about magic carpets! There never was one just +like this. But for it I shouldn't even have known you. And, by Jove! +when the minister comes this afternoon...." + +"This afternoon!" + +"Exactly! When he comes, you and I are going to stand upon that +beautiful, friendly old rug, and both of us are going to be whisked +right away into Eden." + +"Please!" + +Silence. + +"How brave you are!" + +"I? Oh, pshaw!" + +"Would you have shot one of them?" + +"Girl, your Percival Algernon couldn't have hit the broad side of a +barn." He laughed joyously. + +"I knew it. And that is why I call you brave." + +And when the pale gold of winter dawn filled the room, it found them, +hand in hand, staring down at the old Yhiordes, the magic old Yhiordes +from Bagdad. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43749 *** |