CHAPTER VIII
On the succeeding morning it seemed to the foreman of the shipping department of the publishers that his new marker did not manifest the same enthusiasm for his work which had distinguished his earlier efforts.
It looked to him as if Dennis handled his paint-brush with the mien of one who considered his occupation a diversion rather than a means of livelihood.
As the day advanced and Dennis located an “e” in the spot designed for an “i,” and concluded an address with Detroit in place of Duluth, the foreman was more than ever convinced that something was wrong, and asked the young man if he was not feeling well.
“Sure!” exclaimed Dennis, a degree too cheerily, the foreman thought, in view of his delinquencies with the brush, “sure; but why do you ask?”
“Well,” returned the foreman, “iv’ry thing’s wid you this mornin’ but yure head,” and he pointed out several blunders which Dennis had made.
“Sure, an’ I’m sorry for that,” he said with blushing contriteness; “it will not happen again.”
The foreman, however, had told the truth only in part, for Dennis had left not only his head behind him, but a considerable portion of his heart.
All day he continued to think about the sweet-faced woman who had listened with such gratifying attention to the story, and more than once, in his agreeable preoccupation, had he noted an impulse to substitute the address she had provided for the one demanded by the shipping invoices.
“To-night at eight,” he repeated to himself over and over, like the refrain of a popular ballad, invariably concluding, by way of chorus: “Oh, I’ll be there; oh, I’ll be there.”
Therefore, as soon as his day’s duties were over, Dennis speeded to Baxter Street in search of Dickey Series C.
After a foray in a half dozen separate establishments, where neckties, collars and all the accessories were offered in place of what he required, he succeeded at last in securing the missing series.
At The Stag he was so full of emotion and anticipation that there was little room for such a substantial consideration as supper, so, dismissing that he proceeded to his room, and after indulging in the luxury of one of the few genuine shirts which remained to him, he anticipated his appointment a half hour by boarding the elevated, which carried him shortly to a point within three blocks of his destination.
In order that he might not appear too anxious or come into a premature collision with social usage, Dennis obliged himself to walk slowly in the vicinity indicated by the address.
The general aspect of his immediate surroundings looked promising and offered a comfortable assurance that his visit would not introduce him to a disappointment.
At last, from the opposite side of the street, he was able to measure, with an approvingglance, a prepossessing dwelling of four stories and a mansard.
The front was of brown stone and differed but little from its neighbors, but to Dennis it seemed that it possessed an identity which was largely the recollection of the lingering presence of its owner.
Directly alongside, a large conservatory extended rearward an indefinite length.
The glittering front was picturesque with clusters of ingeniously disposed electric lights within, which revealed to advantage a mass of varied plants and flowers in prosperous abundance.
Charmed by the glow and color, and stimulated by the dancing lights, Dennis presented himself “on the minute” before the door of the adjacent dwelling.
In response to his ring, a trim, bright-eyed maid appeared, who, accepting his name in place of his card with an amiable lack of surprise, instructed him to enter, which he did, with alert, observing eyes.
Although Dennis was not much of a judge of the elaborate surroundings in which hefound himself, he figured it out that the business of a florist must be a profitable one, and speculated, with wondering calculation, upon the length of time and the degree of application demanded to enable him to possess similar advantages.
Acting upon the parting instructions of the widow, Dennis had already canvassed his eligible points and was prepared to give an account of himself that was little short of eulogy.
At this juncture in his reflections the hangings at the parlor entrance parted with a musical swish that was suggestive of feminine approach, and the widow advanced into the room, with one slender hand extended in cordial informality.
If this woman had seemed charming to him in the park, she was certainly bewitching now.
The street costume in which she had first appeared was replaced by a gown of some clinging white fabric, which shimmered the light with a thousand blending radiations and fitted to every movement and contour like an embrace conscious of its privileges.
A delicate collar of filmy lace surrounded herneck like the intricate etchings of frost upon frost, and this was fastened with a solitary pearl as chaste as the exquisite skin with which it managed to offer only the faintest contrast.
Her head, crowned with a wavy nimbus of Titian auburn, was superbly set upon her fine, symmetrical shoulders.
As she flashed upon the vision of this palpitating young man through the parting curtains, like a dramatic climax or the goddess of reward, or denunciation, she seemed to Dennis, whose mythology was centralized from that moment, like another Aphrodite churned into lovely being by the sea.
At the entrance of this beautiful woman Dennis had risen to his feet, and stood for a moment, offering, with his helpless silence, a compliment whose genuineness she thoroughly enjoyed.
When at last his tongue resumed its function, Dennis, like many another with even more self-possession and experience, uttered just the words which were intended for concealment, as he stammered:
“An’ it’s no wonder, at all, at all.”
The exclamation, however, was barely above a whisper, and it was only by following the motion of his lips and a shrewd intuition as to the rest which enabled the widow to realize what he had uttered, as she asked, smiling to note that the young man had neglected to release her hand:
“And what is it that is no wonder?”
At this question, Dennis, deserted for the moment by his customary adroitness, was unable to do anything else than respond, without evasion or subterfuge:
“Well, I was thinkin’ it’s no wonder the manager wanted to go into the business.”
“Ah!” laughed the widow with genuine enjoyment and a sensible realization of the spirit which urged his exclamation and its explanation, “that is Irish, I am sure”; and with that Dennis began to feel more at home, although still subdued by the accumulation of practical beatitudes.
“Tell me,” he said, when each was agreeably established, Dennis upon a comfortable divan and his listener in a chair which supplied its fascinating occupant with a sort of solicitoussupport, which Dennis assured himself would be poetry realized if he could be permitted to share, “tell me, shall I recite my abilities first or read the story?”
“Suppose,” suggested his hearer, “we hear the story first and reserve your catalogue as a climax, like the dessert after the banquet.”
“All right!” assented Dennis, as he produced a circular bundle, from which he extracted his absurd medium.
“One moment,” suggested his hearer, as she arranged an electric cluster in a manner that enabled her to witness every alternation of expression in that mobile countenance—“now.”
Withdrawing his gaze from the sweet face of his auditor with a reluctance sufficiently marked to advance him several leagues further in her good graces, Dennis, directing his attention to the closely-printed dickey, began, with racy Irish emphasis, as follows:
“With a bound the prince swept aside the curtains and reached his room.
“Advancing to the gong, which was suspendedby silken cords near the divan, he struck it sharply several times.
“There was no response.
“He repeated his summons with the added vigor of his irritation at the delay.
“Only the sullen echo answered.
“With impatient incredulity the prince was about to hasten to the ante-room in which his faithful Sepoy had always been found, when a strange trembling seized his limbs.
“A confusion obscured his mind; his sight grew dim.
“Alarmed at this unusual sensation, the prince asserted himself against its depressing influence with all his customary resolution, and was finally able to reach the ante-room.
“It was deserted!
“He hastened to the passageway outside.
“Not a soul was visible; an unearthly stillness prevailed.
“‘Ah!’ he cried with sudden realization, ‘my messenger has been too liberal with his news; they have heard of the British advance.’
“Thirty vital minutes had passed, and awayin the dim distance an animated spot of red and gleam began to emerge.
“Again that inexplicable numbness and alarming physical weakness.
“With trembling hands he supported himself along the walls and finally reached the apartment in which he held his mimic court.
“A burning thirst began to parch his lips and throat; he hastened to the carafe in which the water for his use was usually held.
“It was empty.
“‘Ah!’ the prince groaned aloud; the veins of his forehead knotted; a sharp, strained look appeared in his eyes, and he shivered with a mortal chill.
“A stinging, sharp surge attracted his attention to his right wrist.
“It was swollen beyond its usual size, and a bluish discoloration surrounded the livid line where the dagger point had penetrated.
“He placed his hands together and noted their disproportion, considered the wounded arm, and then—he remembered.
“‘The dagger!’ he gasped, and a new horror charged his bloodshot eyes as he recalled thedevilish craft employed by the natives to envenom their weapons.
“‘Poisoned! and by Lal Lu!’
“At this thought the malignant light of a fearful determination illumed his features and revealed their frightful distortion.
“‘I shall not—go—alone!’ he sighed, and repossessing himself of the fatal dagger, which he had cast upon the table on entering the room, he rose from the chair, looked with fearful purpose upon the curtains which disguised the entrance to the secret passageway from which he had emerged but a short time before, took one step forward, and then fell inertly on to the couch from which he had risen in the excitement of his malignant impulse.
“‘Ha!’ The faint sound of an alien air smote his ears.
“‘The bagpipes!’ he muttered; ‘the Scots, the hellish Highlanders.’
“Nearer and nearer the lively air was borne to him.
“His raging pulse thrummed through his palpitating veins a rhythmic, mocking accompaniment to the swelling music.
“His frame stiffened and stretched as though subjected to the distortion of the ancient rack.
“The agony was unendurable. With a final conscious effort he reached for the poisoned weapon to bring his sufferings to a summary conclusion, but his failing will could no longer vitalize his palsied arm, and with a gasp that seemed to rend his tortured body, to the weird orchestration of that refrain which was destined in the near future to herald such joy at Lucknow, ‘The Campbells Are Coming, Hi-ay, Hi-ay!’ the spirit of Prince Otondo returned to Him who gave it, to be put into what repair was possible for such a proposition.
“As the last writhing rigor ceased to convulse his frame, the prince lurched forward, and his body collapsed into an attitude not unlike that of one engaged in some dejecting reflection.
“By a singular nervous caprice he had raised his hands to his face, which he had clutched in his agony, and his elbows rested upon the table in grewsome support of his head.
“This ghastly calm, however, of which he was the center, was to be interrupted.
“A trumpet blast sounded without the gate; a clamor of voices filled the air.
“The bagpipes, in anticipation of some show of resistance, had ceased their stirring strains; within, the silence of an ambuscade prevailed.
“Suddenly, through the unguarded entrance rushed a body of red-coated soldiers; but their advance was unopposed; the courtyard was abandoned.
“One danger alone remained—an attack from within. But there was none to receive the detested intruders but the pulseless master, from whom all majesty had departed.
“Over the grounds they swarmed, through the doors, along the passageways.
“Abreast of the leading officer appeared the turbaned head and white-robed figure of Ram Lal.
“As the two entered the apartment and gazed upon its silent occupant, with the same impulse both came to a standstill, impressed by the unnatural attitude and the chill undemonstration of the richly-clad figure.
“‘It is the prince!’ cried Ram Lal.
“At once the officer turned to command thecurious detachment which had followed them to remain without, and placing a sergeant on guard in the ante-room, he resumed his investigation of the dead man.
“He had not seen the quick approach of Ram Lal, nor the rapid movement of his searching hand.
“It was over in an instant, but in that instant Ram Lal had assured himself of the presence of the precious jacket beneath the cambric folds.
“‘He is dead!’ he cried to the officer, as the latter approached to discover some reason for this shocking sight.
“‘He is still warm,’ exclaimed the other, as he placed his hand, with careless familiarity, upon the cheek of the prince.
“‘Let us see,’ he continued, ‘if his heart still beats.’
“As the officer knelt in order to accommodate his head to the leaning position of the body, Ram Lal stood as one transfixed.
“His hand crept slowly to the dagger upon the table, which he grasped with an expression of desperate determination as the officer placedhis ear close to the riches concealed beneath the tunic of the prince.
“Kneeling thus, with scarcely a hand-breadth between him and wealth such as he had never dared to dream of, with the menacing figure of the merchant directly above him, prepared to strike at the least indication of suspicion of the jacket and its priceless contents, the pair presented a striking tableau of the sardonic jest in which fate sometimes indulges in providing such nearness of opportunity and such a threat to its embrace.
“‘There is something thick about the body!’ exclaimed the kneeling officer.
“Ram Lal crept nearer.
“‘Yes,’ he replied with a stifled voice, as he shot a quick glance toward the curtained doorway, on the other side of which the sergeant was posted, ‘yes, the prince was of a phthisical tendency.
“‘He was compelled to protect himself against inequalities of temperature.’
“At this instant the quick eye of the merchant detected the livid scratch on the dead man’s arm. ‘Ha!’ he cried, with an intonationwhich caused the officer to forego his examination for the moment and regard the merchant attentively.
“‘Here!’ cried the latter, pointing to the discolored and swollen wrist, ‘here! There is no need to look for further sign of life; his heart will beat no more. This dagger has been inserted in the poison sac of the cobra—and here is the result!’
“As the officer rose to regard the wound, and understood its significance, he shuddered and looked upon the hapless heir-apparent with a sort of bluff compassion, but he made no further attempt to pursue his investigations, and Ram Lal was spared one sanguinary entry upon the book of his recording angel.
“‘At least,’ said the officer, as if in continuation of some unexpressed idea, ‘let us do ourselves the honor of disposing the prince upon his bed’; and Ram Lal supporting the head and shoulders and the officer grasping the feet, they carried the stiffened form to the bed.
“‘May I ask the privilege,’ said Ram Lal, ‘of composing the features and the body of the prince?’
“‘Surely,’ replied the officer, as he bestowed a departing glance upon this last descendant of the long line of moghuls with a degree of deference that was the result of his military training and his own subjection to discipline, ‘surely he is sadly in need of such a service.’
“For his arms, although disengaged somewhat by their efforts, and the clutch of the distorted fingers, though not so distended, still pointed upward in a sort of eerie, rigid salutation to the subdued watchers.
“The eyes, too, which but a short time before had been so vivid with the contentions of restraint and desire, stared with a ghastly lack of speculation.
“As the officer turned to leave Ram Lal undisturbed in the performance of this last duty to the dead, the merchant, presently assured that he would be free from intrusion for a time sufficient for his ostensible purposes, approached the body, tore aside the delicate fabric, which covered the breast, and with surprising dexterity released the fastenings which held the jacket to the body, wrenched it away with desperate haste, and in an incredibly shorttime had secured this treasure-trove around his own loins beneath the folds of his linen.
“Then, with a grin of malignant triumph, he murmured: ‘This is more speedy, O prince, than pebbles for diamonds—and now for Lal Lu.’
“With this the merchant darted to the hangings from which the prince had issued with such desperate purpose, cast them ruthlessly aside, hurried along the passageway, shouting as he speeded: ‘Lal Lu—Lal Lu!’
“A joyful cry responded.
“‘Here, father, here!’ and Lal Lu, who had recognized her father’s call, rushed toward the entrance just as the merchant crossed its threshold, and in a moment she was enfolded in his protecting embrace.”
“Is that all?” asked Raikes as the Sepoy paused.
“Isn’t it enough?” laughed the narrator. “The villain punished, the righteous rewarded, the maiden rescued. It seems to me that all the proprieties are preserved.”
“True,” assented Raikes. “You are to becongratulated upon your consistency. But as usual your art is a bit too refined. You still discontinue with a question unsolved.”
“Name it,” replied the Sepoy; “perhaps I can clear up the difficulty at once.”
“Well,” returned Raikes, “there is all that wealth concealed about the person of Ram Lal; I am interested to know if he retained it, to what use he put it. If it is inconsistent in your narrative to reply to these questions, waive your formalities for once.”
“Why not?” laughed the Sepoy. “Still, I can only approximate to your request. There was a report that Ram Lal and his daughter disappeared shortly after the raid upon the Kutub.
“It is also said that a dealer in precious stones opened an establishment on the Strand in London, and that his description corresponded in so many points with that of Ram Lal that it is safe to infer that the twain are identical.”
“That is better,” sighed Raikes. “I will assume that the report is correct since it relieves my mind on one point, at any rate. However,there is one question more: Can you tell me how that substitution was made?”
“Pebbles for diamonds?”
“Yes.”
“To do so requires another story, which I cannot tell you to-night,” replied the Sepoy. “How about to-morrow evening?”
“If that’s the only way?” queried Raikes.
“It is,” the Sepoy assured him.
“I will be here, then,” said Raikes, “but I must leave you now; I will see you at breakfast-time.”
With this Raikes departed and made his way along the dim passages to his room.
Arrived at this point, and taking his customary precautions for the night, Raikes prepared to retire.
Since the process involved such little attention to detail in its almost aboriginal readiness, it was not long before Raikes was tucked away in his uneasy rest.
Possibly a half hour later a series of labored snores announced his successful escape from the disturbing realities of the day and his stentorianentrance upon more fictitious complications.
Just across the hallway, in the room occupied by his nephew, conditions were more animated, for Robert, giving his admiring and somewhat incredulous attention to the alert Gratz, sat with his eyes bright with the acknowledgment of the purport of the speaker.
Just a trace of excitement appeared in the manner of the detective.
He had witnessed the return of the sleepy Raikes to his room, and was relieved to be able to assure himself that the miser was altogether unaware of his presence.
Gratz was about to provide himself with the confirmation of a theory which he dared not discuss in advance.
The possibilities of failure were numerous enough to provide him with the element of fascination, and its bizarre unfamiliarity piqued his imagination.
If he was not mistaken in his calculations, he would be in possession, before morning, of some interesting data which would make astartling addition to the criminal records to which his past activities had contributed.
The suggestion which stimulated him was the last which would occur to a wholly sensible man and the first which would be likely to present itself to a genius for speculation and morbid analysis.
Consequently silence upon these somewhat abstruse reasonings was his safeguard against ridicule in the event of failure.
However, he had intimated to Robert that events would transpire during the night which would be illuminative, but he could not be persuaded to indicate to the curious youth just what to expect.
Whatever was to occur, Robert was assured that he would witness; in fact, he would be a necessary feature to the mysterious plans of the detective.
Stimulated, therefore, by these occult hints and the lively prospect they introduced, the young man developed a clandestine emotion of weird anticipation, which he readily accredited to an unsuspected fitness for intrigue.
Gratz, in the meantime, having primed theyoung enthusiast, maintained an irritating silence, and when an hour had passed in this spiritless fashion Robert was electrified by the solitary word “Now!” from the lips of the enigmatical Gratz.
Unable to comprehend the significance of the subdued exclamation, Robert nevertheless followed the detective with confiding docility, and the pair hastened down a flight of stairs which conducted them to the main hallway.
From this Gratz proceeded to a door directly beneath the stairway which they had just traversed, and which opened upon another short series of steps that concluded in the cellar.
Descending these, the two hastened along the chill floor and presently paused by the main coal-bin in which the widow stored her fuel.
With an impressive injunction to silence, Gratz indicated the course which Robert was expected to pursue, and in the recess created by a flight of disused stairs the two secreted themselves.
It was pitch dark.
Neither of the watchers could see the other, and communication was only maintained bythe reassuring pressure of the hand of the detective upon the arm of the excited Robert.
At last the latter ventured to inquire in a whisper what it was that Gratz expected to discover.
“The solution of the puzzle,” replied the other in the same tone.
“The thief?” asked Robert.
“No, the accessory,” was the reply; “but do not ask any further questions; you will be treated to the surprise of your life in a little while, unless I am much mistaken.”
Scarcely had the detective uttered these words when the faint click of a door-latch was borne to their ears from the direction of the stairway they had just descended.
The next moment a dim ray of light flickered into the darkness, and a figure vaguely shadowed its grotesque disproportion on the walls just behind as it crept, with cautious lightness, step by step down the stairs.
At last it reached the floor and moved in the direction of the bin.
The light, which was furnished by a candle, was raised in the air at about the height of aman’s face, and directly behind it a man’s face appeared.
“Great heavens!” whispered Robert as the strange figure advanced, “it is uncle!”
“Steady, now!” whispered the detective; “not a word or you will ruin everything.”
Revealed by the weird light, the miserable countenance of the miser had never looked so contemptible.
The sputtering flame seemed to have the power to betray all the miserly emotions and mean parsimonies usually concealed behind its starved pallor.
The lips had fallen inanely apart with an absurd look of silly wonder.
The eyes were wide open and stared directly ahead with the most unnatural expression or lack of it that Robert had ever beheld in the visage of mortal man.
Even the detective, accustomed as he was to all sorts of uncommon spectacles, could not repress a slight disposition to shudder.
One bony hand grasped the candlestick, and the other held some sort of round object, to which Robert directed his attention.
By the sudden motion he made the detective knew that the young man had discovered what this object was, and pressed his arm warningly.
It was one of the canvas bags from the recess in the wall.
Just before the opening of the bin his uncle paused, like a speculative phantom, as if to consider its next doleful move.
His entire countenance, upon nearer view, like the canvas which the painter has roughly outlined, was suggestive of anything, according to the fancy of the beholder.
Upon this spiritless blank Robert depicted, with a morbid genius and the stimulation of his unnatural surroundings, all that was reminiscent of his uncle’s littleness.
But this uneasy transit from the room upstairs to the bin below, the vacant, irresponsible ensemble, the inscrutable determination to fulfill some strange obligation, enforced by what influence or moral unrest he could not tell, culminated in the mind of the young man in the only possible explanation:
His uncle was engaged in the unaware execution of some fixed idea.
He was responding to an uncontrollable, secret impulse, and Robert, guiding himself by the touch of his hand in order to locate his lips as close to the ear of the detective as he might, whispered with conviction:
“Somnambulist!”
“No,” replied Gratz—“worse; be silent.”
Amazed and wondering what could possibly be worse, and rummaging through the garret of all his unusual experiences, Robert could find nothing to correspond to this inexplicable phenomenon; and it was with a sort of superstitious distraction that he beheld his uncle discard his transient hesitation and proceed with ghostly purpose to the opening of the bin.
Advancing, Raikes placed the candle upon the bed of coals and began to unfasten the cord which secured the mouth of the bag which he carried.
Robert had never beheld anything so ghastly as his uncle’s eyes, intent but unseeing; nor so frightful as his motions, direct but unintelligent,like those of a midnight marionette controlled by invisible strings.
In a few moments his efforts were successful, and the incredulous Robert beheld his uncle invert his precious burden and send a clinking, intrinsic shower of coin to the floor.
Apparently this familiar sound had penetrated in some degree to his inner consciousness.
An expression of vague uneasiness, of troubled irresolution, clouded his eyes, but this semi-intellection and its transient phasis subsided to his original apathy as, with a sigh of helpless impersonality, he began to collect, with a silly, childish selection, as if to balance, by the size of the individual coals, the proportion of the discharged gold, handfuls of these dusky diamonds and substitute the sordid heaps in the bag.
This weird absurdity concluded, Raikes, repossessing himself of the candle, turned wearily and retraced the path of his ghostly journey.
In a little while his shuffling footfalls had concluded with the doorway at the top of thecellar stairs, the latch was heard to click into place, and all was still.
“Now,” whispered Gratz with concentrated emphasis, “not a word—not a sound from this moment. We have seen the accessory, now for the principal.”
In reply Robert pressed his hand upon the arm of the detective to indicate that his instructions were understood and would be obeyed, and in a silence through which he felt that his heart-throbs must certainly be audible, the watchers awaited developments.
The obscurity and silence which prevailed, and the vault-like chill and dampness, harmonized so fully with the unnatural spectacle which he had just witnessed, and the grim expectation of something untoward still to come, that Robert was prepared to reconsider his views of the earlier portion of the evening as to his fitness for secret investigation and criminal analysis.
He no longer felt the exultation of this association with relentless and cunning pursuit, and began to wonder how any normal human being could adopt a profession which embracedall these cheerless handicaps when there were so many occupations into which a little sunlight and geniality penetrated now and then.
He had about decided that such industry was the manifestation of a disease, and that his silent companion was a desperate incurable, when his diagnosis was suddenly interrupted.
The detective pressed the shoulders of his companion, communicating a slight impulse toward the opposite end of the cellar, and Robert, in obedience to its intimation, turned and beheld an approaching light.
It had the unreal appearance of a detached eye of some malignant Cyclops, glancing in a ghastly, bodiless way, from object to object, and concentrating itself at last in a definite course along the floor.
To witness the approach of this stealthy, gleam, without visible means of support or guidance, caused the young man’s flesh to creep and his heart to throb almost to the point of suffocation.
If it requires experience to become a successful narrator, Robert was certainly in a way to accumulate a budget of startling data.
Nothing, hitherto, in his life could explain the marvel, but Gratz, with trained certainty, knew that he gazed upon the disk of a dark lantern which, exposing all else to view, shielded, with its distracting flash, the object of this midnight quest.
With an assurance that indicated a definite purpose, the figure at last stood within the door of the coal bin.
At once the searching gleam began to dance hither and thither upon the floor, and finally, with unerring pause, fell directly upon the heap of glittering coin.
“Ah!” exclaimed a voice.
In its concentrated emphasis there was the unmistakable accent of certitude, of expectation gratified.
The next instant the light was placed upon the floor with a tilt that sent its rays upon the treasure, and the unknown began to collect the gold with oblivious haste and bestow it in some receptacle near-by.
Suddenly Robert felt his companion move forward noiselessly, at the same time he recognizedthe intimation of a detaining hand; and then he stood alone.
Scarcely had he adjusted himself to these startling conditions when he heard a sharp, metallic snap, and beheld a sudden flood of light directed upon the kneeling figure.
There was a cry of desperate amazement, the quick clink of scattering coin, and the next instant a wild, rage-distorted face shot into view.
“My God!” cried Robert.
It was the Sepoy!
“Hands up!” commanded a voice which the young man recognized as that of Gratz; “hands up, or you are a dead man. There are five bullets in reserve for you if you budge from where you stand.”
With an imprecation that was charged with malignant venom, the Sepoy looked upon the gleaming barrel of a pistol which was advancing into the light, recognized his helplessness, and with snarling obedience elevated his arms in the air.
“Robert!” called Gratz.
The young man, trembling, hurried to the opening.
“Get behind me,” directed Gratz; “put your hand in my coat pocket; you’ll find a pair of bracelets there for our friend here.”
With shaking hands Robert followed these sharply delivered instructions, and withdrew a set of handcuffs, gaping at the fastenings to receive a pair of guilty wrists.
“Now move around to the rear of this gentleman,” continued the relentless Gratz, “and snap them on his wrists.”
Somehow Robert managed to obey these commands.
He reached to the uplifted hands of the Sepoy, embraced his wrists with the handcuffs, and closed them with a snap.
(To be continued on Bosom No. 2,Series C.)
Unknown to himself, Dennis, stimulated by the lively succession of incidents, had spurred his enunciation in a racy adjustment to these animated conditions.
His eyes appeared to have appropriated the sparkle which had intensified the glance of the Sepoy of whom he had just read, and whenhe arrived at the familiar legend at the bottom of the bosom, his expression, vivid with all these communicated emotions, was duplicated in the sweet, absorbed face of his bewitching listener, who, in order the better to follow his rapid utterance, leaned, with the exquisite intoxication of her presence, in rapt nearness to the reader.
Consequently, when Dennis looked up from his reading, he was transported along the highway of a sympathetic glance into deeps of dazzling blue.
For a moment he abandoned himself to the enchanting witchery with the dreamful enjoyment of the voluptuary inhaling the odors of a scented bath.
He seemed to be on the best of terms with some well-disposed harlequin.
Scarcely had the excitement of one series of events developed to its climax when he was whisked to another.
His providence was working overtime in his behalf, and being at heart sound and genuine, the weight of his obligations to all these auspices warned him not to be too prodigalwith his privileges; so, with an effort, the stress of which communicated some of its rigors to his countenance, he closed his eyes for one ascetic moment and came bravely to earth again.
Suspecting something of the nature of his confusion, as a lovely woman will, and secretly applauding his undemonstrative deference, which, in the cynical atmosphere to which she was habituated, came to her like a refreshing zephyr, the widow asked him with an engaging smile of encouragement:
“Of what were you thinking, Mr. Muldoon?”
“Mr. Muldoon!” he repeated to himself with an endeavor to reflect the intonation of personal distinction which issued so entrancingly from the Cupid’s bow of a mouth. He had not been so ceremoniously addressed since he knew not when, and never realized that his homely name had such music in it. “Oh!” he thought, “if she would only say ‘Dennis,’ it would be like grand opera.”
“Why,” replied Dennis with simple frankness. “I was thinking, for one thing—for onething”—but encouraged by her smiling invitation he stammered—“how beautiful you are!” and added to himself, or it looked as though he might express his sentiments that way: “There, you’ve done it!”
“Ah!” exclaimed his companion, with a rosy enjoyment of this unstudied situation and frank appreciation, “and what was the other?”
“I don’t know how to tell you the other,” answered Dennis. Then with an unreflective inspiration: “Did you ever read about Launcelot and Guinevere?”
“Ye-yes,” was the apprehensive answer.
“Well,” continued Dennis with a naïve remembrance only of the chivalry of this idyllic indiscretion, “when I look at you I can understand how a knight could battle for a queen.”
There was silence for a moment, but in the interval the lady did not laugh, though her eyes were bright as she said:
“You are a strange boy.”
“Oh!” cried Dennis, “tell me, have I offended? I would not do that for the world.”
“I am sure of that,” replied the widow, “and I believe that you mean what you say.”
“Oh, I do, I do!” exclaimed Dennis impulsively; then, with a realization of the thin surface over which he was making such rapid strides despite the danger signals of conventionality, and with a diplomacy born of his native good sense, he glided, with cheerful Celtic sagacity, to safer footing by asking abruptly: “May I recommend myself”—as if he had not already done so—“for the position you offer?”
“Ah!” exclaimed the widow, from whom no alternation of his mobile countenance seemed to escape, “it is your turn now; I must not receive all the honors.”
“Well,” replied Dennis, altogether aware of the graceful courtesy of this exquisite woman, and constituted by nature, if not by past association, to accord it due appreciation, “well, there isn’t much to say, but here’s my outfit:
“I am sorry to have to begin badly. I don’t know anything about flowers. I can’t tell you, even, the difference between a shamrock and a clover.”
“All that can be easily remedied,” his listener reassured him; “but proceed.”
“But there’s one thing I’m sure about,” continued Dennis. “You can rely upon me, an’ that’s better.”
“It is, indeed,” answered the widow.
“I am anxious to do the best I can for myself,” resumed Dennis. “I have just one way of doing it, and that is to do the best I can for others.”
“That is real business principle,” exclaimed his companion, “and very rare. What else?”
“I guess that’s about all,” answered Dennis, “an’ it don’t sound so very much, does it?”
“More than you think,” answered the widow. “Now listen to me:
“I need such service as I hope from you very much. Would you like to come and help me here?”
“Oh!” cried Dennis.
“I am answered,” responded his companion, “When can you come?”
“At once!” cried Dennis—“or no, wait a bit; that wouldn’t be fair to my present employer. But I can tell him to look out for somebodyelse right away; surely he can fill my place within a week. Suppose I say next Monday?”
“Very well, that will suit,” answered the widow; “but you have not asked me what your salary will be.”
Dennis blushed, and his blush was appreciated. To enjoy the genial inspiration of such an association would be a perquisite which, other things being only approximately even, would repair any possible shortage.
“Will twenty dollars a week and your board satisfy you for the present?”
Dennis held his breath and pictured the contrast.
His present employment brought him just ten dollars and the association of a barkeeper—would it satisfy him? However, he managed to say, without too great a show of emotion: “It is more than I expected.”
“Well, then, that point is settled,” said the widow with a brisk business air, which provided such a sharp contrast to her delightful womanly qualities and caused Dennis to wonder at the graceful alternation of the one with the other. “Now as to board: In the rear ofthe conservatory is a suite of rooms as cozy as any young man could wish. At the end of the week I expect to have them vacated.
“They are occupied just now by the manager, but he has already been notified through my attorney, and all will be in readiness for you by next Monday.
“It has been somewhat difficult to make him comprehend my purpose; it is so different from what he expected. He is incautious enough to demand a reason.”
“There is one,” ventured Dennis boldly, “if I may venture to suggest it.”
“Surely!” replied the widow, remarking Dennis curiously.
“Well,” replied the young man as he recalled the astonishing array of details surrounding the death of the æsthetic proprietor, “just enclose him a note with two words in it.”
“And those?” queried the widow as Dennis paused.
“Cape Jessamine.”
For a space Dennis feared that he had offended. A shade of depression darkened the lovely features before him, but his companionlooked into his apprehensive eyes reassuringly as she said: “You have penetration.”
His momentary embarrassment, however, introduced another perturbation, for in glancing away for an instant to reassemble himself, so to speak, his eyes fell upon the clock, which at that very moment chimed the hour of eleven.
This was startling!
Dennis was familiar enough with social usage, or, at least, had the practical good sense to realize that he had exceeded the limits of good taste by an hour, and began to make disconcerted preparations for departure.
Perceiving his embarrassment, his companion relieved him with genial tact by asking: “And what about bosom No. 2? I want to hear the rest of that story.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Dennis, brightening, “when shall it be?”
“How will Wednesday evening suit?” suggested the widow.
And Dennis, with a mien which plainly indicated that he considered the time represented in the space that must elapse between the delightful present and the evening appointed embodiedhis views of a brief eternity, assured the widow that he would be on hand, and added: “I will not read a line until then.”
“Leave the story here, then, and I will put it away until you make your appearance. I promise, too, that I will not read it in the meantime,” and the widow received the remaining bosoms from Dennis with an extravagant show of gravity, which caused them both to laugh, in view of its absurd occasion, as she bestowed them in a music rack and turned to conduct him to the entrance.
“Good-by!” she said, and once more extended her hand, which Dennis received with an unmistakable indication of his appreciation of the exceptional favor.
“Good-by!” he responded as he prepared to descend the steps, “good-by!” and added to himself, with a fervor which conveyed some intimation of his sentiments if it did not suggest his words:
“An’ may the saints preserve you!”