CHAPTER XXVIII.
DOROTHY.
The ex-actor has reported matters in pretty much the way they occur. Samson plays his part in a manner that need never shame him, and perhaps secretly enjoys the situation. To a man engaged in his business, where he daily matches his wit and shrewdness against the diplomacy of others, the constant friction must of necessity polish these qualities. There is no danger of rust with a wide-awake operator on 'Change. This, then, really comes in line with his daily business, only now hedeals with a tricky Turk instead of howling brokers, and the stake is not a fortune—it may be his life.
It is characteristic of the man that he insists upon managing his own game and beating his old-time enemy in person. Most men, under similar conditions, would gladly turn the whole business over to the police, and put the Turk from the Golden Horn through a course of American law and justice that would prevent his reappearance in his old haunts until the holding of the next World’s Fair in Russia.
Not so Samson Cereal.
He has depended upon himself so many years, to reward his friends and punish his enemies, that it never occurs to him to shirk the responsibility.
Hence, in accordance with his well-arranged plans he walks over to the narrow doorway at exactly ten minutes of nine and enters. The camels have been withdrawn from the scene, and make ready to fill their places in the delayed bridal procession which will soon take possession of the narrow street. Now the donkey boys have full swing, and howthey do belabor the tough little beasts. Really it is astonishing that the officers of the S. P. C. A. do not interfere, unless it has been previously proven to their satisfaction that from the days of Balaam and his talking ass, the stubborn little animals are insensible to pain. Besides, this beating is all done with so much good nature, one can hardly find an excuse for interfering.
“How long do we wait?” asks Wycherley, as he raises his hand to his neck, which significant action causes the Canadian to laugh softly and move away from him.
“Oh, I’m perfectly harmless, I assure you, my dear boy. Not the least bit excited. Icicles are nothing in comparison. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“It may be five, it may be ten minutes. He will be kept waiting in there. The prophetess must charm him, and hold him until the noise of the passing procession fills the whole street. Then Scutari’s blow will fall. We will leave here when the booming of guns below announces that the camels are coming.”
“Ah, yes!” and Wycherley, of course, begins to whistle the old Scotch song that onceupon a time, to a band of desperate Britons caged in beleaguered Lucknow in India, was heard when hope had almost left them, and, wafted over the hills, came to their ears as the sweetest sound on God’s earth.
“No one else enters—see, a couple have just been turned away,” Aleck remarks.
“Yet there goes a red fez in. Turks are welcome—standing room only, greatest success of the Midway. I’m all of a quiver to see the grand entrance of Anthony Wayne, the valet, and the detective who is to represent Miss Dorothy. Great head, that of my respected partner. He believes in fighting fire with fire. Was that the drum signal?”
“No; they’re not ready yet—plenty of time. Be patient, comrade.”
“Jove! there’s my lovely senorita.”
“What, the Spanish cigar girl?”
“Sauntering along with a dandy dude, and casting coquettish looks up into his stupid face.”
“You don’t appear excited at all. How is this?” pretending to feel his pulse.
“That was Vagabond Claude. The gentleman Wycherley casts his eyes higher.”
“H’m! a banker’s daughter. That’s the way the wind blows, is it?”
“I protest—I’ve admitted nothing, only that an unfathomable gulf lies between the old life and the new.”
“Oh, Mr. Craig!”
“Good Heavens! who spoke?” exclaims Aleck, suddenly grasping his friend’s arm.
He looks around. There are people pushing this way and that—sight-seers, pilgrims, foreigners, and all the varieties of thegenus homodaily seen upon this gay passage—this cleft of folly. None of them gives any token of being the speaker. Besides the voice was that of a woman, and its tones thrilled Aleck through and through.
“Who called my name?” he asks again in bewilderment, as his companion has failed to make a reply.
“I pass, Aleck. Give me something easy,” returns that mystified individual.
“But you heard it?”
“Correct.”
“Do you think you know the voice?”
“Jove! now, I wouldn’t swear to it, but, somehow, it put me in mind of—Dorothy.”
“Just as I thought. She is here. In spite of her father’s precautions they have inveigled her to the spider’s web.” And filled with a new spirit of alarm, the young Canadian again begins to glance at each person near by, as though he suspects the speculator’s lovely daughter would come here in the disguise of an old woman with bonnet and blue glasses, or a dashing sport swinging a delicate cane and wearing eye-glasses.
In the midst of his dilemma he again hears his name called:
“Oh, Mr. Craig! look this way. I am in this little shop. I wish to speak to you. At first I dared not, but I saw my father enter there and as my necessity grew greater my courage arose. I need a friend’s advice. Will you give it to me?”
Before half of this speech is finished Aleck has fastened his eyes upon the speaker. The little shop is dim, and he can only see that it is a female form, for a heavy veil conceals the face.
Instantly Craig remembers what was said by Happy Jack concerning the hatred of Aroun Scutari for him, on account of the interference with his plans, in connection with the strangeFerris wheel game, and that should the opportunity offer he has a rod in pickle for the Canadian.
He has read of the ancient Circe, the stories of mythical mermaids who sang so sweetly to mariners of old, and, strange as it may appear, these things flash into his mind now.
Can it be a trap? Have his enemies arranged a nice little web to entangle the Canadian fly?
That voice—no other could thrill him as it has done. He hesitates only a few seconds, and she has hardly finished speaking when his mind is quite made up.
To enter the booth it is necessary to drop down and under the counter at one corner. Wycherley makes no effort to follow him, but stands guard just outside, watching the couple for fear lest some evil befall his companion, and casting an occasional glance across the way at the sign of the fortune teller, while he listens for the beginning of the infernal racket that will announce the wedding procession’s start from the lower end of Cairo Street.
When Aleck has entered the booth, he pays no attention to the girl who has charge of itand who has befriended Dorothy. All his doubt is removed, for the latter has raised her veil. He is amazed to see her here, after being assured by Samson Cereal that she would not be notified of the plot.
Her agitation shows that she knows something of the danger. Time presses, and Aleck awakens to the fact that whatever he does must be done with speed.
“Miss Dorothy, how come you to be here?” he asks, pressing the hand held out to him.
“It is too long a story to tell in detail. I heard something last night, when that wild young man, Mr. Phœnix, was present, that not only aroused my curiosity but my anxiety. It came back to me again and again, how my father bade him be silent about the woman in Cairo Street whom he had long believed dead. I could see from his actions that there was a mystery behind it all. This evening when I sat alone after supper I received a note. I don’t know how it came to the house, but someone put it in my hands.
“This note—I can recall every word of it—was written in a hand evidently unused to our language, but I made it out. It ran like this:
“I beg of you, sweet Dorothy, to come with your maid, or your half-brother, to the Street in Cairo to-night at nine. I can no longer remain silent. If I die for it I must see you, talk with you. Ask for Saidee, the fortune teller. Your heart will tell you who it is signs herself.“One You Have Long Believed Dead.
“I beg of you, sweet Dorothy, to come with your maid, or your half-brother, to the Street in Cairo to-night at nine. I can no longer remain silent. If I die for it I must see you, talk with you. Ask for Saidee, the fortune teller. Your heart will tell you who it is signs herself.
“One You Have Long Believed Dead.
“Oh, Mr. Craig! I could guess—my heart indeed told me that this was my mother. From my father I have never heard the story of the past, but it would be strange if, living to almost twenty, I were unable to discover something of the truth. I have never known a mother’s love, and though she may have sinned like the other one, yet she is my mother. I would see her,mustsee her. I knew not what to do at first. John was out, my maid sick. I am not easily balked in anything of this nature. There is too much of Samson Cereal’s blood in my veins for that. We have a faithful coachman. I sent for Pat, and, as well as I could, explained that I wanted his company. He would lay down his life for me, and although dreading my father’s wrath, he consented to come.
“So we started. The elevated brought us here, and Pat stands just a dozen feet yonder,ready to do anything I tell him, from fight to running away. My heart failed me as the time drew near. I sought shelter here and waited in trembling suspense. Imagine my surprise when I saw my father entering yonder place. While I debated upon my course, and became more and more excited as the minutes flew by, I was suddenly relieved, for you came and stood near by. On several other occasions, Mr. Craig, you have been able to assist me in times of great distress. Forgive me if I am importunate, but I must see this woman who calls out for me. John has found his mother, and strange though it may seem to you, I would look upon the face of the one who once loved me as a babe.
“You can help me, will help me, I feel sure, for I am determined to solve this mystery, come what may.”
She waits for an answer.
Aleck fears that Mr. Cereal may take him to task for it, but he cannot prevent her from going, at any rate, and in his company she will be safer. Besides, once in the presence of those eyes, now tear-dimmed, he is powerlessto refuse her anything. There never was a more helpless captive.
“Miss Dorothy, your wishes are law to me. I had hoped you would be safe at home while this singular climax of the drama was taking place in Cairo Street, but since you are here, I cannot refuse your request.”
“I thank you from my heart, sir. It is this craving to look upon her face, to hear her speak, to call her that dear name—for she is my mother no matter how guilty or how sadly wronged—that has made me dare all. When shall we enter? It is surely nine o’clock.”
Her manner is eager; she trembles not with fear, but with the excitement of anticipation.
“We will go now,” replies Aleck, for the boom of drums announces the coming of the weird wedding procession.