A FIGHT FOR THE GOOD.
Neither of the interested parties--if perchance both were
interested--could see Red Mike; neither one had heard the sound of his
approach, the opening of the door, or his tread upon the soft and
yielding rug.
As a matter of fact he barely trod upon it at all, for he had not taken
the second step before he discovered the scene that was being enacted
before him, and halted.
It has been said that despite his red hair and an unmistakable air of
brutality about him, Red Mike was a handsome man, stalwart, powerful,
and sensuous in his appearance.
His face, always of a redder hue than most masculine faces, flushed to a
deep crimson when he came upon that scene in the parlor of the house
boat, and he halted, and waited, and listened.
If Nick Carter could have looked upon him at that moment, he would have
discovered in the aspect of the man, and in the scowl that became deeper
with every second, that he had doubtless been correct in his
prognostication.
Red Mike was jealous; there could have been no denying that fact.
He stood there near the door by which he had entered, his weight upon
the foot that he had put forward in the act of stepping so that his
attitude was that of a man about to leap upon another.
His upper lip curled beneath his mustache, showing his teeth, like the
snarl of a dog when angered. His fingers twitched, then clenched
together in the palms of his hands, and then one of them relaxed as it
sought the pocket where he carried his automatic revolver.
But he thought better of that impulse, and dropped the hand at his side
again.
“Do you like to have me do this?” he heard Madge say to Lynne; and Lynne
replied:
“I have no choice.”
Perhaps it was that answer which made Mike leave the gun inside his
pocket.
“Would you like to have me tell you about myself?” was her next
question.
“I am here to be entertained,” Lynne answered.
“Do you know--have you been told--that I have been twice married?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know also that I was indicted and tried for complicity in the
murder of your cousin Edythe?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe that I could have been guilty of such a hideous thing?”
“It would seem to be unbelievable.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Then I will accept the verdict of the jury, and reply: ‘Not guilty.’”
“Even that does not tell me your impression concerning it, Mr. Lynne.”
“I would much prefer to believe you to be entirely innocent than to
think that you had so much as a guilty thought in your mind, madam.”
“Thank you. Don’t call me madam.”
“How shall I address you?”
“By my given name if you will; not by name at all, if it is difficult.
The difficulty will be overcome after a little.”
He did not reply. She took her hands away from his head and swung
herself around beside him and seated herself upon the arm of the chair.
It was a morris chair, and she could sit there comfortably. Still she
did not discover the presence of Red Mike, for she did not take her eyes
from the face of Lynne, although he was not looking at her.
“This is better,” she said; and she sighed.
“Is it?” he asked; and, before she could reply, he added: “Do you know,
madam, I believe you are creating no end of trouble for yourself?”
She misunderstood him, and, because she did so, she laughed softly.
“Do you mean that I am falling in love with you, and that it is hopeless
because of the other woman?”
“No; I did not mean that. I had no thought of such a thing. The other
woman--the one to whom I referred, has been dead for many years. She was
my mother.”
“Oh!”
Startled, chastened for the moment, Madge sat quite still. If he had
looked up at her then he would have seen that moisture had gathered
suddenly in her eyes; that all that quality of flame had departed out of
them, and that they were soft, kindly, and genuine. And she remained so,
quite silent and still, until he spoke again.
“She passed away, out of my sight, when I was only a little kiddie,” he
said softly, “but in some ways she is just as much alive to me now as
then; and sometimes it seems as if I can see her just as plainly as I
used to.”
Madge was silent a moment. Then, in a voice so low that it was barely
audible, she said:
“You believe me to be a bad woman; how, then, can you talk to me of your
mother?”
“I do not believe you to be a bad woman,” he replied calmly.
“You do not? You do not? Oh, say that again!” she cried out to him, and
her voice did not sound natural even to herself.
“I do not believe you to be a bad woman,” he repeated. “You have done
wrong things; so have I; none of us does right always. That would be
impossible. In some of us, the bad elements are dominant; in others it
is the good that dominates. We are free agents to select between the
good and the bad, and therefore whatever we are, whatever we confess
ourselves to be, we have become by choice. Do you prefer the good or the
bad, Mrs. Babbington?”
“Oh, the good! The good! Help me to be good, Carleton Lynne. You can, if
you will. You can make me good, if you will try, and you may throw your
millions away, or give them away, I do not care. I would not care. I
hate them. They--not yours, but the mere longing for riches--have made
me what I am, a despicable woman. I hate myself, now! I see myself now
for the first time as others see me; as you see me. Oh!” She dropped her
head upon his shoulder and broke into a passion of sobs, so that any one
who had known her in the past would have been amazed.
But it was all real. Madge, for once, was very much in earnest. Again
Nick Carter’s prophecy had come true.
Lynne took one of her hands between his own and stroked it gently. She
recovered herself.
“I am silly to give way so at the first kind word,” she murmured.
“No, you are only natural. You have found yourself. You have found the
true, the real woman; you have lost the pretense that has been
dominating you. You are very lovely, now; very tender; very lovable. I
think you could be very true if you would be so, and could live down all
that hideous past that is so hateful. Will you?”
“Yes, if you ask me to do so.”
“Whether I ask you to do it for me or not? If I ask you to do it only
for yourself?”
“Yes. I will leave here to-night. We will leave here together. You shall
return to your home in the city, and I will go--I will go far away,
anywhere, and, and----” She broke down once more, with her head upon
his shoulder, weeping softly this time. And he stroked her hand as he
had done before, saying nothing. Red Mike still listened, silent,
watchful.
It was a long time before she spoke again. Then she asked:
“Tell me what you meant when you said that I was creating trouble for
myself.”
“I would rather forget, now, what I had in mind then,” he replied.
“Why?”
“Because it seems a sacrilege even to mention it, now.”
“What was it? What did you mean?”
“I meant Red Mike.” The object of that remark started, and listened the
more intently.
“Red Mike?” she exclaimed, amazed. “What of him?”
Instead of replying directly to the question, he asked another. He said:
“What do you suppose Red Mike would do now if he were to enter this room
suddenly, and find you with your head upon my shoulder, and discover
that I was holding one of your hands and stroking it?”
She shuddered and caught her breath.
“Don’t,” she said; and then again, “don’t. The mere reference to it
makes me see myself as I was--and, oh, it seems so long ago. Red Mike is
a brute; a creature whom I have made use of to further my selfish ends.
I sent him to you when he demanded the two millions, and so nearly
murdered you. I took him with me to aid in your capture, making him
beieve that I would lead you on to make me your wife, so that I might
get your millions, and--oh, there is more!--making him believe that he
might--might--if you should die suddenly after that--making him
believe that I would not ask questions about it, but that I
would--become--his--wife. Oh, God! The horror of it! That I ever
consented to such a thought, for I did not mean it, ever. Oh, you will
believe me, won’t you? I never once meant such a thing. I hate, I
loathe, I despise myself; but I must tell you. You must know all of it;
must know that even for a moment I consented to bargain about such a
hideous matter, even though I never had the remotest intention to----”
“Hush!” Lynne said to her softly. “You never could do a more courageous
thing in your life than to tell me of this. I am no better than you are,
Madge. I have harbored such impossible thoughts, too. I know what they
are, and what they mean. Come here. Move around so that I can see you;
so I can look into your wonderful eyes. I want to kiss them. I want to
hear you tell me that you will be a good and true woman, a good and true
wife, and that when we leave here to return to the world, you will help
me to spend that fortune that has come to me so strangely, for the good
of others--for the good of those who suffer. That is what I want to do,
Madge; that is what I want you to help me to do, for that is what my
mother would have wished.”
She had raised herself from his shoulder and from the arm of the chair
upon which she had been seated, and now she moved gently around until
she was almost in front of him.
Her whole soul was shining in her eyes when she chanced to raise them,
impelled by an impulse she could not have named; and she saw Red Mike
standing near that door, with the automatic pistol raised and leveled at
her own heart.
Her eyes, which had been looking down tenderly upon Lynne, shone
suddenly with horror, and she released Lynne’s hand and backed away from
him.
It was an utterance of Red Mike’s that told Lynne what had happened.
“Caught you, didn’t I?” he snarled. Then he laughed brutally. “I heard
you, too, my beauty. I heard it all. I have been here since it began. I
saw the beginning, and I will see the end. Used me, have you? Lied to
me, have you? Played with me, have you? Well, it’s my turn now to play
with you--and him; and no Apache Indian ever knew better how to do it
than I do.”
Madge crouched partly down. All the tiger in her was aroused now, in
defense of the man she had suddenly found that she loved.
Her right hand sought her bosom where, doubtless, she carried a weapon;
where Red Mike seemed to understand that she did carry one, for he cried
out:
“Drop that, or I’ll kill you where you stand, if you _are_ a woman!”
She paid no heed, and he leaped forward toward her; and then the
unexpected happened.
To reach Madge, Red Mike had to pass close to the chair where Lynne was
seated; and as he passed, Lynne thrust out one foot in his path. Red
Mike tripped upon it. He fell to the floor at Madge’s feet, and the
automatic flew from his grasp, almost into hers.
On the instant she seized upon it. She turned it butt end foremost. She
raised it and struck with it before he could recover himself, and he
made no attempt to rise, for he was stunned and helpless.