something lying in the center of a patch of light, and she stooped.
The light was too dim for her to read; so she reentered her own room
and turned on the lights. It was Warrington's letter of credit. She
gave a low laugh, perhaps a bit hysterical. There was no doubt of it.
Some one had entered his room. There had been a struggle in which he
had been the stronger, and the thief had dropped his plunder. (As a
matter of fact, the Chinaman, finding himself closed in upon, had
thrown the letter of credit toward the railing, in hope that it would
fall over to the ground below, where, later, he could recover it.) Elsa
pressed it to her heart as another woman might have pressed a rose, and
laughed again. Something of his; something to give her the excuse to
see and to speak to him again. To-morrow she would know; and he would
tell her the truth, even as her heart knew it now. For what other
reason had he turned away from her that first day out of Rangoon, hurt
and broken? Paul Ellison; and she had told him that she was going home
to marry his brother!
XVII
THE ANSWERING CABLE
Next morning, when it became known among the bankers and foreign
agencies that a letter of credit for ten thousand pounds had been lost
or stolen, there was more than a ripple of excitement. They searched
records, but no loss as heavy as this came to light. Add to the
flutter a reward of two hundred pounds for the recovery of the letter,
and one may readily imagine the scrutinizing alertness of the various
clerks and the subsequent embarrassments of peaceful tourists who
wished to draw small sums for current expenses. Even the managing
director of the Bank of Burma came in for his share of annoyance. He
was obliged to send out a dozen cables of notification of the loss, all
of which had to be paid out of accrued dividends. Thus Warrington had
blocked up the avenues. The marvelous rapidity with which such affairs
may be spread broadcast these days is the first wonder in a new epoch
of wonders. From Irkoutsh to Aukland, from St. Johns to Los Angeles,
wherever a newspaper was published, the news flew. Within twenty-four
hours it would be as difficult to draw against that letter as it would
be to transmute baser metals into gold.
At half past ten Warrington, apparently none the worse for a sleepless
night, entered the private office of the consul-general who, gravely
and with studied politeness, handed to him an unopened cablegram.
"I rather preferred to let you open it, Mr. Warrington," he said.
"Still, it might be something of your own," replied Warrington. He
noted the lack of cordiality, but with passive regret.
"No cablegram would come to me from the department, especially as the
diplomatic-pouch, as we call the mail-bag, arrives Monday. Open it. I
wish you good luck," a little more kindly.
"May I sit down?"
"To be sure you may."
The consul-general recovered his pen and pretended to become absorbed
in the litter of papers on his desk. But in truth he could see nothing
save the young man's face: calm, unmoved, expressing negligent interest
in what should be the most vital thing in his existence, next to life.
If the man hadn't met Elsa, to her interest and to his own alarm, he
would have been as affable as deep in his heart he wanted to be. A
minute passed. It seemed to take a very long time. He tried to resist
the inclination to turn his head, but the drawing of curiosity was
irresistible. What he saw only added to his general mystification.
The slip of paper hung pendulent in Warrington's hand; the other hand
was hidden in his beard, while his eyes seemed to be studying seriously
the medallion in the Kirmanshah. A fine specimen of a man, mused the
consul-general, incredibly wholesome despite his ten years' knocking
about in this ungodly part of the world. It was a pity. They had
evidently refused to compromise.
"Bad news?"
Warrington stood up with sudden and surprising animation in his face.
"Read it," he said.
"If Ellison will make restitution in person, yes.
"ANDES."
The consul-general jumped to his feet and held out his hand. "I am
glad, very glad. Everything will turn out all right now. If you wish,
I'll tell Miss Chetwood the news."
"I was going to ask you to do that," responded Warrington. The mention
of Elsa took the brightness out of his face. "Tell her that Parrot &
Co. will always remember her kindness, and ask her to forgive a lonely
chap for having caused her any embarrassment through her goodness to
him. I have decided not to see Miss Chetwood again."
"You are a strong man, Mr. Warrington."
"Warrington? My name is Ellison, Paul Warrington Ellison. After all,
I'm so used to Warrington, that I may as well let well enough alone.
There is one more favor; do not tell Miss Chetwood that my name is
Ellison."
"I should use my own name, if I were you. Why, man, you can return to
the States as if you had departed but yesterday. The world forgets
quickly. People will be asking each other what it was that you did.
Then I shall bid Miss Chetwood good-by for you?"
"Yes. I am going to jog it home. I want to travel first-class, here,
there, wherever fancy takes me. It's so long since I've known absolute
ease and comfort. I wish to have time to readjust myself to the old
ways. I was once a luxury-loving chap. I sail at dawn for Saigon. I
may knock around in Siam for a few weeks. After that, I don't know
where I'll go. Of course I shall keep the Andes advised of my
whereabouts, from time to time."
"Another man would be in a hurry." It was on the tip of his tongue to
tell Warrington what he knew of the Andes Construction Company, but
something held back the words, a fear that Warrington might change his
mind about seeing Elsa.
"Well, wherever you go and whatever you do, good luck go with you."
"There are good men in this world, sir, and I shall always remember you
as one of them."
"By the way, that man Mallow; have you met him yet?"
The quizzical expression in his eyes made Warrington laugh. "No."
"I was in hopes . . ." The consul-general paused, but Warrington
ignored the invitation to make known his intentions.
He shunted further inquiry by saying: "A letter of credit of mine was
stolen last night. I had a tussle in the room, and was rather getting
the best of it. The thug slipped suddenly away. Probably hid the
letter in his loin-cloth."
"That's unfortunate."
"In a way. Ten thousand pounds."
"Good lord!"
"I have sent out a general stop-order. No one will be able to draw
against it. The sum will create suspicion anywhere."
"Have you any idea who was back of the thief? Is there any way I can
be of service to you?"
"Yes. I'll make you temporary trustee. I've offered two hundred
pounds for the recovery, and I'll leave that amount with you before I
go."
"And if the letter turns up?"
"Send it direct to the Andes people. After a lapse of a few weeks the
Bank of Burma will reissue the letter. It will simmer down to a matter
of inconvenience. The offer of two hundred is honestly made, but only
to learn if my suspicions are correct."
"Then you suspect some one?" quickly.
"I really suspect Mallow and a gambler named Craig, but no court would
hold them upon the evidence I have. It's my belief that it's a
practical joke which measures up to the man who perpetrated it. He
must certainly realize that a letter so large will be eagerly watched
for."
"I shall gladly take charge of the matter here for you. I suppose that
you will eventually meet Mallow?"
"Eventually suggests a long time," grimly.
"Ah . . . Is there . . . Do you think there will be any need of a
watch-holder?"
"I honestly believe you would like to see me have it out with him!"
"I honestly would. But unfortunately the dignity of my office forbids.
He has gone up and down the Settlements, bragging and domineering and
fighting. I have been given to understand that he has never met his
match."
"It's a long lane that has no turning. After all," Warrington added,
letting go his reserve; "you're the only friend I have. Why shouldn't
I tell you that immediately I am going out in search of him, and that
when I find him I am going to give him the worst walloping he ever
heard tell of. The Lord didn't give me all this bone and muscle for
the purpose of walking around trouble. Doesn't sound very dignified,
does it? A dock-walloper's idea; eh? Well, among other things, I've
been a dock-walloper, a beach-comber by force of circumstance, not
above settling arguments with fists, or boots, or staves. No false
modesty for me. I confess I've been mauled some, but I've never been
whipped in a man to man fight. It was generally a scrap for the
survival of the fittest. But I am going into this affair . . . Well,
perhaps it wouldn't interest you to know why. There are two sides to
every Waterloo; and I am going to chase Mallow into Paris, so to speak.
Oh, he and I shall take away pleasant recollections of each other. And
who's to care?" with a careless air that deceived the other.
"I don't believe that Mallow will fight square at a pinch."
"I shan't give him time to fight otherwise."
"I ought not to want to see you at it, but, hang it, I do!"
"Human nature. It's a pleasurable sensation to back up right by might.
Four years ago I vowed that some day I'd meet him on equal terms.
There's a raft of things on the slate, for he has been unspeakable
kinds of a rascal; beating harmless coolies . . . and women. I may not
see you again. If the letter of credit turns up, you know what to do
with it. I'm keen to get started. Good-by, and thank you."
A hand-clasp, and he was gone.
"I wish," thought the consul-general, "I could have told him about the
way the scoundrel spoke of Elsa."
And Warrington, as he sought the cafe-veranda, wished he could have
told the basic truth of his fighting mood: the look Mallow had given
Elsa that day in Penang. Diligently he began the search. Mallow and
Craig were still in their rooms, doubtless sleeping off the debauch of
the preceding night. He saw that he must wait. Luncheon he had in
town.
At four o'clock his inquiries led him into the billiard-annex. His
throat tightened a little as he discovered the two men engaged in a
game of American billiards. He approached the table quietly. Their
interest in the game was deep, possibly due to the wager laid upon the
result; so they did not observe him. He let Mallow finish his run.
Liquor had no effect upon the man's nerves, evidently, for his eyes and
stroke were excellent. A miscue brought an oath from his lips, and he
banged his cue upon the floor.
"Rotten luck," said Warrington sympathetically, with the devil's banter
in his voice.
XVIII
THE BATTLE
Mallow spun around, stared for a moment, then grinned evilly. "Here's
our crow at last, Craig."
"Speaking of birds of ill-repute, the crow passes his admiration to the
kite and the vulture." Warrington spoke coolly.
"Hey, boy; the _chit_!" called Mallow.
"No, no," protested Warrington; "by all means finish the game. I've
all the time in the world."
Mallow looked at Craig, who scowled back. He was beginning to grow
weary at the sight of Warrington, bobbing up here, bobbing up there,
always with a subtle menace.
"What's the odds?" said Mallow jovially.
"Only twenty points to go. Your shot."
Craig chalked his cue and scored a run of five. Mallow ran three,
missed and swore amiably. Craig got the balls into a corner and
finished his string.
"That'll be five pounds," he said.
"And fifty quid for me," added Warrington, smiling, though his eyes
were as blue and hard as Artic ice.
"I'll see you comfortably broiled in hell," replied Mallow, as he
tossed five sovereigns to Craig. "Now, what else is on your mind?"
Warrington took out the cigar-band and exhibited it. "I found that in
my room last night. You're one of the few, Mallow, who smoke them out
here. He was a husky Chinese, but not husky enough. Makes you turn a
bit yellow; eh, Craig, you white-livered cheat? You almost got my
money-belt, but almost is never quite. The letter of credit is being
reissued. It might have been robbery; it might have been just
deviltry; just for the sport of breaking a man. Anyhow, you didn't
succeed. Suppose we take a little jaunt out to where they're building
the new German Lloyd dock? There'll be no one working at this time of
day. Plenty of shade."
For a moment the click of the balls on the other tallies was the only
sound. Craig broke the tableau by reaching for his glass of whisky,
which he emptied. He tried to assume a nonchalant air, but his hand
shook as he replaced the glass on the tabouret. It rolled off to the
floor and tinkled into pieces.
"Nerves a bit rocky, eh?" Warrington laughed sardonically.
"You're screeching in the wrong jungle, Parrot, old top," said Mallow,
who, as he did not believe in ghosts, was physically nor morally afraid
of anything. "Though, you have my word for it that I'd like to see you
lose every cent of your damned oil fluke."
"Don't doubt it."
"But," Mallow went on, "if you're wanting a little argument that
doesn't require pencils or voices, why, you're on. You don't object to
my friend Craig coming along?"
"On the contrary, he'll make a good witness of what happens."
"The _chit_, boy!" Mallow paid the reckoning. "Now, then, come on.
Three rickshaws!" he called.
"Make it two," said Warrington. "I have mine."
"All fine and dandy!"
The barren plot of ground back of the dock was deserted. Warrington
jumped from his rickshaw and divested himself of his coat and flung his
hat beside it. Gleefully as a boy Mallow did likewise. Warrington
then bade the coolies to move back to the road.
"Rounds?" inquired Mallow.
"You filthy scoundrel, you know very well that there won't be any rules
to this game. Don't you think I know you? You'll have a try at my
knee-pans, if I give you the chance. You'll stick your finger into my
eyes, if I let you get close enough. I doubt if in all your life you
ever fought a man squarely." Warrington rolled up his sleeves and was
pleased to note the dull color of Mallow's face. He wanted to rouse
the brute in the man, then he would have him at his mercy. "I swore
four years ago that I'd make you pay for that night."
"You scum!" roared Mallow; "you'll never be a whole man when they carry
you away from here."
"Wait and see."
On the way to the dock Warrington had mapped out his campaign. Fair
play from either of these men was not to be entertained for a moment.
One was naturally a brute and the other was a coward. They would not
hesitate at any means to defeat him. And he knew what defeat would
mean at their hands: disfigurement, probably.
"Will you take a shilling for your fifty quid?" jeered Craig. He was
going to enjoy this, for he had not the least doubt as to the outcome.
Mallow was without superior in a rough and tumble fight.
Warrington did not reply. He walked cautiously toward Mallow. This
maneuver brought Craig within reach. It was not a fair blow, but
Warrington delivered it without the least compunction. It struck Craig
squarely on the jaw. Lightly as a cat Warrington jumped back. Craig's
knees doubled under him and he toppled forward on his face.
"Now, Mallow, you and I alone, with no one to jump on my back when I'm
looking elsewhere!"
Mallow, appreciating the trick, swore foully, and rushed. Warrington
jabbed with his left and side-stepped. One thing he must do and that
was to keep Mallow from getting into close quarters. The copra-grower
was more than his match in the knowledge of those Oriental devices that
usually cripple a man for life. He must wear him down scientifically;
he must depend upon his ring-generalship. In his youth Warrington had
been a skilful boxer. He could now back this skill with rugged health
and a blow that had a hundred and eighty pounds behind it.
From ordinary rage, Mallow fell into a frenzy; and frenzy never won a
ring-battle. Time after time he endeavored to grapple, but always that
left stopped him. Warrington played for his face, and to each jab he
added a taunt. "That for the little Cingalese!" "Count that one for
Wheedon's broken knees!" "And wouldn't San admire that? Remember her?
The little Japanese girl whose thumbs you broke?" "Here's one for me!"
It was not dignified; but Warrington stubbornly refused to look back
upon this day either with shame or regret. Jab-jab, cut and slash!
went the left. There was no more mercy in the mind back of it than
might be found in the sleek felines who stalked the jungles north.
Doggedly Mallow fought on, hoping for his chance. He tried every trick
he knew, but he could only get so near. The ring was as wide as the
world; there were no corners to make grappling a possibility.
Some of his desperate blows got through. The bezel of his ring laid
open Warrington's forehead. He was brave enough; but he began to
realize that this was not the same man he had turned out into the
night, four years ago. And the pain and ignominy he had forced upon
others was now being returned to him. Warrington would have prolonged
the battle had he not seen Craig getting dizzily to his feet. It was
time to end it. He feinted swiftly. Mallow, expecting a body-blow,
dropped his guard. Warrington, as he struck, felt the bones in his
hand crack. Mallow went over upon his back, fairly lifted off his
feet. He was tough; an ordinary man would have died.
[Illustration: The Battle.]
"I believe that squares accounts," said Warrington, speaking to Craig.
"If you hear of me in America, in Europe, anywhere, keep away from the
places I'm likely to go. Tell him," with an indifferent jerk of his
head toward the insensible Mallow, "tell him that I give him that fifty
pounds with the greatest good pleasure. Sorry I can't wait."
He trotted back to his rickshaw, wiped the blood from his face, put on
his hat and coat, and ordered the respectful coolie to hurry back to
town. He never saw Mallow or Craig again. The battle itself became a
hazy incident. In life affairs of this order generally have abrupt
endings.
And all that day Elsa had been waiting patiently to hear sounds of him
in the next room. Never could she recall such long weary hours. Time
and again she changed a piece of ribbon, a bit of lace, and twice she
changed her dress, all for the purpose of making the hours pass more
quickly. She had gone down to luncheon, but Warrington had not come
in. After luncheon she had sent out for half a dozen magazines.
Beyond the illustrations she never knew what they contained. Over and
over she conned the set phrases she was going to say when finally he
came. Whenever Martha approached, Elsa told her that she wanted
nothing, that she was head-achy, and wanted to be left alone.
Discreetly Martha vanished.
To prevent the possibility of missing Warrington, Elsa had engaged the
room boy to loiter about down-stairs and to report to her the moment
Warrington arrived. The boy came pattering up at a quarter to six.
"He come. He downside. I go, he come top-side?"
"No. That will be all."
The boy kotowed, and Elsa gave him a sovereign.
The following ten minutes tested her patience to the utmost. Presently
she heard the banging of a trunk-lid. He was there. And now that he
was there, she, who had always taken pride in her lack of feminine
nerves, found herself in the grip of a panic that verged on hysteria.
Her heart fluttered and missed a beat. It had been so easy to plan!
She was afraid. Perhaps the tension of waiting all these hours was the
cause. With an angry gesture she strove to dismiss the feeling of
trepidation by walking resolutely to her door. Outside she stopped.
What was she going to say to him? The trembling that struck at her
knees was wholly a new sensation. Presently the tremor died away, but
it left her weak. She stepped toward his door and knocked gently on
the jamb. No one answered. She knocked again, louder.
"Come in!"
"It wouldn't be proper," she replied, with a flash of her old-time
self. "Won't you please come out?"
She heard something click as it struck the floor. (It was Warrington's
cutty which he had carried for seven years, now in smithereens.) She
saw a hand, raw knuckled and bleeding slightly, catch at the curtain
and swing it back rattling upon its rings.
"Miss Chetwood?" he said.
"Yes . . . Oh, you've been hurt!" she exclaimed, noting the gash upon
his forehead. A strip of tissue-paper (in lieu of court-plaster) lay
soaking upon the wound: a trick learned in the old days when razors
grew dull over night.
"Hurt? Oh, I ran against something when I wasn't looking," he
explained lamely. Then he added eagerly: "I did not know that you were
on this gallery. First time I've put up at a hotel in years." It did
not serve.
"You have been fighting! Your hand!"
He looked at the hand dumbly. How keen her eyes were.
"I know!"
"You do?" inanely.
"Was it . . . Mallow?"
"Yes."
"Did you . . . whip him?"
"I . . . did," imitating her tone and hesitance. It was the wisest
thing he could have done, for it relaxed the nerves of both of them.
Elsa smiled, smiled and forgot the substance of all her rehearsals,
forgot the letter of credit, warm with the heat of her heart. "I am a
pagan," she confessed.
"And I am a barbarian. I ought to be horribly ashamed of myself."
"But you are not?"
For a moment their eyes drew. Hers were like dark whirlpools, and he
felt himself drifting helplessly, irresistibly. He dropped his hands
upon the railing and gripped; the illusion of fighting a current was
almost real to him. Every fiber in his body cried out against the
struggle.
"No, not in the least," he said, looking toward the sunset. "Fighting
is riff-raff business, and I'm only a riff-raffer at best."
"Rather, aren't you Paul Ellison, brother, twin brother, of the man I
said I was going home to marry?"
How far away her voice seemed! The throb in his forehead and the dull
ache over his heart, where some of the sledge-hammer blows had gone
home, he no longer felt.
"Don't deny it. It would be useless. Knowing your brother as I do,
who could doubt it?"
He remained dumb.
"I couldn't understand, just simply couldn't. They never told me; in
all the years I have known them, in all the years I have partly made
their home my own, there was nothing. Not a trinket. Once I saw a
camera-picture. I know now why Arthur snatched it from my hand. It
was you. You were bending over an engineer's tripod. Even now I
should have doubted had I not recalled what you said one day on board,
that you had built bridges. Arthur couldn't build anything stronger
than an artist's easel. You are Paul Ellison."
"I am sorry you found out."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to be no more than an incident in your life, just
Parrot & Co."
"Parrot & Co.!"
It was like a caress; but he was too dull to sense it, and she was
unconscious of the inflection. The burning sunshine gave to his hair
and beard the glistening of ruddy gold. Her imagination, full of
unsuspected poetry at this moment, clothed him in the metals of a
viking. There were other whirlpools beside those in her eyes, but Elsa
did not sense the drifting as he had done. It was insidious.
"An incident," she repeated.
"Could I be more?" with sudden fierceness. "Could I be more in any
woman's life? I take myself for what I am, but the world will always
take me for what I have done. Yes, I am Paul Ellison, forgotten, I
hope, by all those who knew me. Why did you seek me that night? Why
did you come into my life to make bitterness become despair? The
blackest kind of despair? Elsa Chetwood, Elsa! . . . Well, the consul
is right. I _am_ a strong man. I can go out of your life, at least
physically. I can say that I love you, and I can add to that good-by!"
He wheeled abruptly and went quickly down the gallery, bareheaded,
without any destination in his mind, with only one thought, to leave
her before he lost the last shreds of his self-control.
It was then that Elsa knew her heart. She had spoken truly. She was a
pagan: for, had he turned and held out his hands, she would have gone
to him, gone with him, anywhere in the world, lawfully or unlawfully.
XIX
TWO LETTERS
Elsa sang. She flew to her mirror. The face was hers and yet not
hers. Always her mirror had told her that she was beautiful; but up to
this moment her emotion had recorded nothing stronger than placid
content. Now a supreme gladness filled and tingled her because her
beauty was indisputable. When Martha came to help her dress for
dinner, she still sang. It was a wordless song, a melody that every
human heart contains and which finds expression but once. Elsa loved.
Doubt, that arch-enemy of love and faith and hope, doubt had spread its
dark pinions and flown away into yesterdays. She felt the zest and
exhilaration of a bird just given its freedom. Once she slipped from
Martha's cunning hands and ran out upon the gallery.
"Elsa, your waist!"