THE DIABOLICAL BARGAIN.
As Carlotta ceased speaking she tapped a curiously shaped bell. In an
instant a Chinese servant entered noiselessly.
“I want to smoke, John,” said the woman, with a wave of her hand.
Marion’s eyes followed the motion and saw she had pointed toward an
“opium layout” on one of the small tables.
The grave girl watched what followed with wide-staring eyes. She had
not fully realized yet that she was really a prisoner.
Carlotta, as one who was perfectly familiar with the place, stepped
behind a heavy curtain. When she emerged again she had completely
discarded her disguise and was dressed in a long, loose Oriental
garment.
Without a word to Marion she passed slowly across the room. There was
another heavy portiere before her—she disappeared behind it.
In a moment the Chinaman followed, carrying the little table. His
movements were so noiseless and cat-like that they were almost uncanny.
Marion walked deliberately toward the curtain and looked behind it,
then darted back with an exclamation of horror.
What she saw was another room adjoining the one she was in, but this
apartment was fitted with curious berth-like beds, and in three of
these she saw women sleeping.
A glance was enough to show her the full horror of the place, for
upon one face was stamped the most hideous expression that could be
conceived—as if the dreamer was being tormented by unspeakable visions.
Two Chinamen in their native garments, but with queues curled tightly
around their heads, were sitting by the sleepers, preparing the opium,
and as they rolled the little “pills” in their long yellow fingers,
Marion clasped her hands before her eyes—it was too horrible to witness.
“Oh, I am lost, I am lost!” she whispered to herself. “If ever I am
forced to touch that stuff I shall die of horror! Oh, this is awful!
awful!”
She sprang back into the large room which she now concluded was a sort
of parlor, and just at that instant she became aware that some one was
watching her.
She turned to find the beady eyes of an Oriental fixed steadily upon
her. He was better dressed than the others, and his fingers were
covered with jewels.
“Oh, sir!” cried Marion, desperately, “for the love of Heaven, save me!
Help me to escape from this place and I will reward you handsomely!”
Much to her delight the fellow understood her, but he shook his head
and crept softly nearer, as he answered:
“Chi-Lung-Hing no savee, he keepee, treat allee light. Chinamen muchee
love Amelican bleauty,” he murmured, glibly.
Marion shuddered as she caught the full meaning of his words. His eyes
were fixed upon her with an expression of gloating that filled her soul
with horror.
“But I will not stay! He shall not keep me!” she cried, in desperation.
“I will set the house on fire and perish in the flames before you shall
keep me prisoner.”
She spoke so firmly and her eyes gleamed with such fury that the
Celestial actually looked frightened. He edged a little nearer.
“What, no love Chinaman money, Missee? No workee—no
slavee—Chi-Lung-Hing mally Amelican bleauty—Dlive her plenty pletty
dresses—makee her happy!”
“Never!” cried Marion, who was now thoroughly alarmed. She bounded away
from him and began examining the premises.
There was nothing but the four walls and they seemed almost impervious
to sound. She began to think that the magnificent room was located in
a cellar.
The Celestial watched her with glittering, stealthy eyes as she peered
behind each curtain and then in a fit of desperation shook the one door
of the apartment.
“I am a prisoner!” she cried, at last. “Oh, Dollie, little sister, will
I ever come back to you?”
She sank down on a divan to think a little, then once more she rushed
over to the curtain to look for Carlotta.
As she peered behind the heavy drapery she saw that something unusual
was evidently happening. The three Chinamen inside were whispering
excitedly to each other. Carlotta was lying in one of the bunks, her
face strangely blue and distorted, and as Marion stared at her from the
entrance, she felt the bejeweled Chinaman slip past her. Something was
wrong with Carlotta, she did not know what—she moved forward a step and
her foot struck something lying on the carpet.
Marion bent down and picked it up—it was an ordinary key. In an instant
she had flown back across the room to the door and had opened it softly.
The next moment she found herself in a heavily draped hall-way. It was
so thickly strewn with rugs and mats that no sound from the outer world
could possibly penetrate to it.
The young girl darted ahead, peering behind the heavy curtains in hopes
of finding an exit, but after a few terrible moments, during each of
which she expected that her Chinese jailer would notice her flight
and follow her, she suddenly heard muffled voices behind one of the
draperies and tried to calm herself enough to listen.
“You promised the woman five hundred dollars,” said Jack Green’s voice
on the other side of the thick curtain, “and you promised me three
hundred if I would help her. Now the girl is here—we have kept our part
of the bargain. If she escapes you now, it is not our fault, is it?”
“She will not escape,” answered a soft, Oriental voice, in the clearest
English. “Your American girls like my Chinese harem. She will stay
from preference after she becomes acquainted.”
“Or after you have made her your wife, you mean,” said Jack Green, with
a laugh. “Well, I’m telling you right now—this girl is a beauty.”
“I must see her before I pay,” said the voice again. “Wait here; I will
go in; if I like her, you shall have your money.”
“I agree to that,” was Jack Green’s quick answer, “but don’t expect a
tame bird, Chi-Lung, for Marion Marlowe is a wild one!”
“I will find a way to tame her,” said the oily voice. There was silence
after that, and Marion clenched her hands in fury.
“Listen!”
Jack Green spoke suddenly and in evident alarm.
There was a commotion of some kind above her head. Marion listened
intently as she crouched in the semi-darkness.
“Some trouble in the laundry,” said the musical voice. “A great scheme,
that laundry in the front of this building.”
“Nevertheless that noise sounds serious,” said Green, again.
There was the sound of chairs moving as if they had both risen.
Marion listened again. The noise above her head was growing louder.
Not only were there sounds of trampling feet, but a great confusion of
voices, all talking together.
Suddenly Marion heard a crash and a fearful shriek, then a score of
slip-shod feet seemed scampering to shelter.
For an instant the young girl stood almost petrified with fear; then
she turned and fled through the narrow hall-way, hardly knowing or
caring in which direction.