CARDS ON THE TABLE
A rickety table had been drawn against the wall of the teakwood room.
On two boxes, facing each other across this table, sat John Donovan
and Monsey. A guard stood at the door. Near the stove Edith had seated
herself, with Abbas at her side.
"And so you want to know what I am doing with this woman in the
castle?" Monsey stroked his mustache complacently and surveyed his
visitor. Donovan had hardly looked at Edith. He sat erect, hands
clasped over crossed knees. He had been released from the bandage and
his tranquil gaze searched the opposite wall, without in the least
attempting to watch his enemy.
"Well, I will tell you." Monsey rested solid shoulders against the
teakwood, his nervous hand straying about the revolver holster. "It's
none of your damn business."
Lower lip thrust out, eyes narrowed, he surveyed Donovan. Monsey, also,
had guessed that his enemy came to the _Kurgan_ hoping that he would
not be recognized.
"Suppose," ventured Donovan, "I should make it so?"
"Oh, fine words. Tell me who you are and what you want."
He smiled, hoping to hear Donovan lie. It rather grieved the Russian
that the other had shown no surprise at seeing him. Monsey had fancied
his visitor would be startled, afraid.
"You do well to be civil, Mr. Donovan Khan, sometimes called the
Falcon. I'll have you know I'm master here. It's very convenient you
walked in just now. Miss Rand has been telling me about you--how you
deserted the army to be a renegade chief of the Yakka Arik scum. I've
heard you have a father who is a knight and an uncle who is a minister
of God. They'll be proud of you----"
"I didn't," cried Edith, heedless of Abbas' warning mutter, "say
anything of the kind."
"My father is dead." Donovan's words were very cold. His brown, boyish
face was quiet except for the eyes that now held Monsey's wavering
stare--the Russian had had a sleepless night and his nerves were none
of the best.
The self-possession of good breeding was Donovan's; his was the high
code of one who has been a law to others for many years; his also was
the calmness that comes through long contact with this other world of
the Orient.
"Answering the rest of your question, Monsey," he went on, "I have come
to ask Miss Rand to marry me."
Sheer surprise made the Russian gape. Edith's glance flew to Donovan's
honest eyes, then fell. She had grown quite pale.
"So," Monsey grinned, "you still want her, after she's been in the
hands of the natives? Or maybe you have to marry her?"
Donovan took not the slightest notice of the other's insulting remark.
"Will you do me the honor, Edith"--and his voice quivered--"to be
my--wife?"
Not Abbas nor all the powers of the Tower could prevent the girl from
answering. "Yes." And she was no longer pale.
"You don't happen to know, Donovan," sneered Monsey, "that Rand, her
father, has lost his money--is bankrupt?"
Edith was surprised and could not keep from searching Donovan's face.
Money was such a slight thing at this moment, and so Donovan plainly
considered it "Really?" His brows went up. "I was not aware--as you
seem to be--that Miss Rand possessed wealth.
"You, Monsey, and this man, Abbas Abad," he went on, "are marked down
by the Sayaks. You know the belief of the Moslems that each criminal
has in Heaven a stone marked with his name that will one day fall upon
him no matter where he is. The Sayaks have condemned you to death;
there will be fighting before long. You cannot leave the tower. I wish
to take Edith Rand away from danger."
Monsey broke into a long laugh. "Oh, you are a fool. Well, Edith Rand
won't go away. She will stay, with me. Is that clear?"
A slight shrug answered him. "I wanted to give you the chance, Monsey,
to play the gentleman, you know."
The Russian flushed, biting his mustache. He watched his visitor draw
an object carefully from his pocket. It was a heavy jade necklace of
many folds, set with some inferior turquoise. Donovan laid it on the
table, rolled into a ball.
"You remember this?" His words were crisp. "Well, perhaps Abbas does.
It belonged to the wife of Iskander ibn Tahir. He bought it back, in
the Kashgar bazaar. And he has kept it. You know the fate in store for
a man who violates the home of an Arab of high birth?" While he spoke,
he put his hand on the necklace. Monsey's eyes widened a little, and he
licked his full lips. Then he shook his head.
"Not good enough. You can't bluff me."
"I am not bluffing. Whatever happens to Miss Rand, your life is
forfeit. It is beyond my saving."
So calmly he spoke, he seemed to be explaining the inevitable. Edith
felt this and Monsey was silent a space. As if finished with the
business of the necklace, Donovan tossed it, still rolled tightly, into
Edith's lap.
"Presents from such a man as Iskander have a meaning," he said.
Donovan had not looked at her. Monsey took the words to himself, but
the girl glanced up with awakened curiosity. Abbas would have picked up
the necklace, but the Englishman turned to him sharply.
"Mahmoud is coming for you, Abbas," he said in Turki. "Are you ready?"
The simple speech caused the Alaman to draw a long breath and to step
back instinctively. Edith wondered whether it was surprise at being
addressed in his own tongue. But she remembered the fear that had
flashed into the face of the Sart upon the mountain side. The name of
the physician seemed to carry a potent spell.
Edith drew the necklace under her lace shawl. Here her quick fingers
explored its folds tentatively and she felt a piece of paper crumpled
within the jade ornaments. Eagerly she separated the wad of paper
from the necklace and thrust it into the bosom of her dress. When the
ornament of the wife of Iskander fell again to her lap it revealed
nothing but the stones, strung on a gold chain. Abbas later claimed it,
with an eye to spoil.
Donovan turned to Monsey earnestly.
"I do not need to conceal my cards, Monsey. Believe it or not, the
Sayaks hold you fast. Your men have heard of them, and they are afraid.
You know the fear that centers about Yakka Arik."
Sure of himself again, Monsey laughed. He rose, motioning the other to
come to the door. There he pointed through the outer entrance that gave
on the courtyard.
"Oh, I know the legends. Maybe if I had only a handful of men"--he
shrugged--"but look out there!"
He watched, pleased, as Donovan stiffened at sight of the numbers in
the _Kurgan_ and their weapons.
"You see. Likewise, the old moat on the side away from the cliff
is dug out into a mantrap. Also, I have had great pine flares made
ready to light in case of a night attack. _Vous voyez que je suis en
garde_. Naturally, I don't intend to let you leave with this valuable
information."
"In spite of your assurance, given me outside the castle?"
"Oh, that. Well, I wanted to let your men who were watching from the
wood think you and I were on friendly terms." Monsey's lips writhed and
his hand darted to his weapon as Donovan made a quick move toward him.
"Stay where you are, my fine gentleman. Now, have you any more cards to
show?"
Donovan stared quizzically at the vista of the _Kurgan_. His
lips closed firmly under the light mustache. Edith, watching him
prayerfully, felt her heart sink. He was her champion, and fighting
against great odds.
"I think--not."
"Ah. That is too bad. You have given me a good trump." He grinned, once
more enjoying himself. "You are worth more to me alive than dead. And
so is Miss Rand. Do you think your assassin friends will attack the
tower with the two of you helpless in my hands?"
The lines in Donovan's lean face deepened. "I don't think--I know it."
"Even if they are led to believe I will kill the woman when they
attack?"
"It would not change their purpose." Donovan flung out an eloquent
hand. "Don't you see, man! Those Sayaks will come, in spite of
everything. The _Kurgan_ will be a shambles. That is why I came here.
On the chance that you, who were once a Russian nobleman, would have
enough vestige of honor to spare her that. It doesn't matter, you know,
what you do with me if you will release her."
Monsey relished his distress. He stepped back, still fingering his
heavy revolver.
"Oh, I don't intend to play the saint--now." He hesitated, as if
wishing to say more. Then his eyes gleamed and he smiled. "Besides, I
can't afford to."
Edith glanced at him inquiringly. She had been aroused by the scene at
the table, where Monsey's character was laid bare brutally. Even now,
she could not believe that Donovan was powerless against the men of the
_Kurgan_.
"Mr. Rand and Major Fraser-Carnie are approaching these hills," said
Monsey agreeably. "They have an escort of a half-troop of one of the
native English cavalry. It seems the gentlemen, after comparing notes,
did not trust me."
He paused, enjoying the effect of his words. "Unfortunately," continued
the Russian, "they will arrive too late."
Edith clenched her hands. Her father was near Yakka Arik! She had felt
that he would come if he was able. It was not in the nature of Arthur
Rand to leave his daughter's fate in other hands. She knew now that
Monsey had not been sent by Rand.
"English troopers in foreign territory." Monsey shook his head. "A
grave offense, if any serious fighting results. The--ah--irregulars
here might resent it."
"It's a habit," observed Donovan mildly, "of the English border forces
to wander to the scene of a--crime, for example."
"Once you paid high for that--habit. And you will pay more."
"Oh, it's in the game. We always blunder in, you know." Donovan smiled
a little. "So the major and his Garhwalis are in the hills! As a matter
of curiosity, do you intend to face him with your--irregulars?"
Monsey tugged at his mustache, and glanced at Abbas.
"No need, my fine gentleman. As you are a former officer and a scion
of a _noble_ house"--he tried to mimic the Englishman's irony--"you
will appreciate the strength of my position. I don't think the
Rand-Fraser-Carnie forces will arrive before a day or two. Meanwhile,
the lawless Sayaks will assault a Russian traveler and a peaceful
merchant in their camp--to the great loss of the Sayaks. Then, of
course, there will be some justifiable reprisals by my men."
"Entirely to be expected."
"You take the point. Merely one of the mountain feuds, if the worthy
drill-book major tries to ask questions. The mosque may suffer,
likewise the lawless residents of Yakka Arik. But I will not be here
nor will Miss Rand."
"And my father?" Edith voiced her anxiety.
"If he is curious, he will be told by some of these natives"--Monsey
nodded at the door--"that a certain renegade Britisher named Donovan
Khan _alias_ the Falcon has disappeared with her. Of course _Captain_
Donovan will not be here to cause further trouble. The ravine, to the
river, is very deep."
"Five hundred feet, I think," nodded Donovan.
"Exactly. I see you are not altogether a fool. Presently you will be
able to judge for yourself."
"I regret that I could not climb the cliff."
"Oh, yes. I believe you. I took pains to investigate that. No, I think
you are better apart--so!" Edith had crept to Donovan's side and taken
his hand in hers. She was very near to tears. Brusquely, Monsey thrust
her aside, while Abbas grinned. "That is well. Now, Donovan Khan, I
will ask you to let your hands be bound behind your back and submit to
an armed guard, in a corner of this outer room."
"Let me stay with him," Edith pleaded. She felt very weak, very
helpless. She wondered why Donovan was so quiet.
"The air in the tower will benefit you. In case you should want to
converse, my lady, I will provide you with another of my men. He will
have orders."