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 approving glance, 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 he found 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 her neck 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 solicitous support, 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 suspended by 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 away in 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 the devilish 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 the curious 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 placed his
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 intonation which
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 short time 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 be congratulated 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
stentorian entrance 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 a startling
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 the young 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 by the 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 a man'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 the cellar 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 embraced all 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 recognized the 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 when he 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 prodigal with 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 one thing"--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 naive 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 somebody else
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 of
the 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 aesthetic 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 companion looked 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 embodied his 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!"