Masters did not recognize her at once. Her face lay buried deep in his
mind, covered with the debris of innumerable carouses, forgotten women,
and every defiance he had been able to fling in the face of the
civilization he had been made to adorn. As she stood quite still
looking at him he had a confused idea that she was a Madonna, and his
mind wandered to churches he had attended on another planet, where
pretty fashionable women had commanded his escort. Then he began to
laugh again. The idea of a Madonna in a groggery of the Five Points was
more amusing than the fracas just over.
"Langdon!" she said imperiously. "Don't you know me?"
Then he recognized her, but he believed she was a ghost. He had had
delirium tremens twice, and this no doubt was a new form. He gave a
shaking cry and shrank back, his hands raised with the palms outward.
"Curse you!" he screamed. "It's not there. I _don't_ see you!"
He extended one of his trembling hands, still with his horrified eyes
on the apparition, filled his mug from a bottle and drank the liquor
off with a gulp. Then he flung the mug to the floor and staggered to
his feet, his eyes roving to the men behind her. "What does this mean?"
he stammered. "Are you here or aren't you--dead or alive?"
"We're here all right," said Holt, in his matter-of-fact voice. "And
this really is she. She has come for you."
"Come for me--for me!" His roar of laughter was drunken but its note
was even more ironic than when his mirth had been excited by the mean
drama of the women. He fell back in his chair for he was unable to
stand. "Well, go back where you came from. There's nothing here for
you. Tout passe, tout lasse, tout casse.... Here--what's your name?" he
said brutally to his companion. "Go and get me another mug."
But the young woman, who had been gaping at the scene, suddenly
recovered herself. She ran round the table and flung her arms about his
neck. "He's my man!" she shrieked. "You can't have him." And she
sputtered obscenities.
Madeleine reached over, tore her from Masters, dragged her across the
table, whirled her about, and flung her to the floor. The neighborhood
shrieked its delight. The rest of the room took no notice of them. The
drunken sailors were still singing and many took up the refrain.
"No," said Madeleine. "He's mine and I'll have him."
"Now I know you are not Madeleine," cried Masters furiously, and trying
to rise again. "She never was your sort, you damned whore, to fight
over a man in a groggery. She was a lady--"
"She was also a woman," said Madeleine coolly. "And never more so than
now. You are coming with me."
"I'll see you in hell first."
"Well, I'll go there with you if you like. But you'll come home with me
first."
"Even if you were she, I've no use for you, I'd forgotten your
existence. If I'd remembered you at all it was to curse you. I'll
never--never--" His voice trailed off although his eyes still held
their look of hard contempt.
His companion had pulled herself to her feet with the aid of an empty
chair. She made a sudden dart at Madeleine, her claws extended,
recognizing a far more formidable rival than the harlot she had
hammered and displaced. But Madeleine had not forgotten to give her the
corner of an eye. She caught the threatening arm in her strong hand,
twisted it nearly from its socket, and the woman with a wild shriek of
pain collapsed once more.
Masters began to laugh again, then broke off abruptly and began to
shudder violently. He stared as if the nightmare of his terrible years
were racing across his vision.
"Now," said Madeleine. "I've fought for you on your own field and won
you. You are mine. Come."
"I'll come," he mumbled. He tried to rise but fell back. "I'm very
drunk," he said apologetically. "Sorry."
He made no resistance as Holt and Lacey took him by his arms and
supported him out of the groggery and out of the Five Points to a
waiting hack; Madeleine and the detectives forming a body-guard in the
rear.