DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.
Craig is as good as his word. At the hour appointed he appears at the
house of the great grain manipulator. John meets him at the door and
welcomes him, but is on the way down town to attend to some important
business for his father connected with the deal that has given the
operator new life.
“I thought I saw our friend the sheriff down on Clark Street, aboard a
car,” Craig remarks, at which the other smiles.
“Yes, he was here. I had a long chat with Bob, and he starts home
to-night satisfied. He put in the night watching the Sherman, but of
course Phœnix never turned up again. By this time he is in Canada, if
he caught that late train. I will be back in an hour or two. Stay to
dinner.”
“Thanks,” returns Aleck, mentally deciding to await an invitation from
Dorothy or her father before committing himself.
“You’ll find father in the library, I believe; walk right in, Craig, I
must be gone.”
Aleck knows the way. That library will never be forgotten by him, since
the strange occurrences of the preceding night.
But Mr. Cereal is not there. On the contrary, as Aleck opens the door
and enters, he finds himself in the presence of Dorothy--in tears.
This, of course, confounds him; no man knows how to act under such
circumstances. Bold enough to face any danger, the hero feels weak in
the presence of a weeping woman.
She looks up and sees him, then smiles through her tears; it is like
the April sunshine peeping out amid the clouds, and Aleck can mentally
see the rainbow of promise.
“Oh, Mr. Craig! how silly I must appear in your eyes; but want of sleep
and nervous exhaustion have made me hysterical,” she hastens to say,
holding out a hand, then quickly withdrawing it.
“I trust nothing further of a serious nature has happened,” he remarks
anxiously.
“No, no! She is getting along nicely. Father is at her side much of the
time. He has forgiven all and is eager to make her happy. She knows the
end is not far distant, and you would be surprised to see how contented
she is. I doubt whether in the whole of Chicago to-day you could find a
woman so happy as Adela. It is because she is going--if she had to live
she would fear for the future. The future seems bright and heavenly now
to her, poor Adela.”
“And you are crying over her woes! Ah, Miss Dorothy! you have seen
little of this world’s sorrows. All around they lie, but the loving
care of your father has kept you free from them.”
“Yes, I have been reflecting. It never came to me before. Adela’s sad
story has shamed me. From this hour, Mr. Craig, I am resolved to be
of some account in the world. I grow sick at heart to think that I
have lived nearly twenty years and never have I gone out of my way to
minister to the sick, the suffering. This poor woman has been an angel.
She has taught me a lesson. I will tell father you are here, Mr.
Craig,” she says, possibly anxious to escape from his observation after
the recent scene.
Presently Samson Cereal appears. He has not slept all night, and at
his age such things show. His eyes look red, but his face is cheerful.
Aleck fails to discover the stern lines of old. Perhaps the barriers to
his heart have been overthrown by the strong rush of sympathy, and he
is humbled with the discovery that all these years he has been bitter
toward a helpless woman, striving with might and main to retrieve the
past.
“Ah! Craig, my dear fellow, you’re on time. Glad to see you. Seems to
me your destiny is strangely interwoven with that of my family, and
even now I am forced to call on you for counsel, perhaps assistance.”
“Indeed! I shall be happy to continue the pleasant relation that a
strange fortune has brought about between us. In what way can I serve
you, Mr. Cereal?”
“It concerns that notebook placed in my hands by Jack Phœnix. The
fellow is good at heart--his actions prove it, and I am glad to know
John gave him another chance.”
“You want me to translate it into long hand? I’m somewhat out of
practice, but in all probability I can get the sense of it all.”
“I anticipated you there, Mr. Craig. Chancing to know a smart
stenographer who lives down on Superior Street, I sent word to him
early this morning, and he came to see me. Half an hour’s time reduced
the jumble to sense. There were a few things he could not make out,
but on the whole Jack Phœnix did admirably, considering that he worked
under such disadvantages. I have it written out, but can tell you
briefly in narrative shape what these men have discovered, and the plan
they have arranged to satisfy the old Turk’s crazy desire for revenge.”
“That will answer just as well, and save time,” replies Aleck, seating
himself.
The operator produces a box of prime Conchas.
“Have a weed, Craig, and I’ll give you a synopsis of the game for
to-night’s desperate play, which of course is to be carried out within
the classic shades of the Midway Plaisance.”
When both of them are comfortably settled, and the cigars pronounced
excellent, Samson Cereal opens fire upon the peculiar subject that
must next demand their attention--the plotting of the Oriental, Aroun
Scutari.
“How the devil they learned of it--except through that treacherous
valet of mine, who has, it seems, gone hand and glove with this pirate,
on account of some Turkish dancer he’s fallen in love with--I’m at a
loss to know; but they seem to understand that I have an engagement in
the Midway with two gentlemen this evening. They are bent on seeing
it by electric light. What their object is I really don’t know, but I
suspect they mean to reproduce something of the sort, it has proved
so popular--perhaps on the stages of the East; it may be within the
grounds of the Mid-winter Exposition at San Francisco. That’s not my
business. They are both friends, and I’m under obligations to them.
“Since they request me to accompany them, I have agreed. Besides, I
never tire of seeing the Congress of Nations, though, truth to tell,
as you yourself know, my boy, I have no reason to look upon anything
Turkish with love.
“This duty takes me there, and by the exercise of a little diplomacy I
may be inveigled into some trap, for there are many unsuspected ones in
that same Plaisance, don’t forget it. This is only the prelude. Listen
to what follows, and for devilish ingenuity it takes the cake:
“The valet--I ought to call him varlet, for if ever a treacherous
dog lived, it is this same Anthony Wayne whom I have loaded with
favors--this valet now plays his miserable part in the drama.
“He is a penman--he can imitate my fist to perfection, and I have more
than once in a joke plainly told him this faculty and gift would get
him into trouble yet. He will write a note in my hand, and himself be
the bearer to Dorothy.”
“The deuce! does that miserable Turk still hope to run away with her?
I see very plainly I--that is, your pardon, sir, someone--will have to
wring his neck for him yet,” bursts out Aleck with much animation, and
not a little confusion at seeing the smile on Samson’s face.
“Glad to relegate that task to you, Craig, if the proper occasion
arises. Now with regard to this note--what will it contain, you ask?
Some startling intelligence for Dorothy--nothing more nor less than the
fact that I have been injured in a personal encounter with my old enemy
Scutari, who is used up worse than myself, and that I am being taken
care of by--who do you think?”
“Marda, the fortune teller of Cairo Street--once your wife and her
mother! Would they use such a lever as that to open her heart and blind
her eyes?” says Craig, frowning.
“Bah! you don’t know these Turks. They are utterly devoid of the
tender feelings we cherish. They buy their wives, and I tell you the
average Turkish woman is almost as much to be pitied as some of the
women of India, who, once married, retire to their husband’s house to
look no more on a man’s face other than his, and at his death consider
themselves lucky not to be buried with him. Ah, Craig! our girls, bless
them, never realize what privileges they enjoy until they visit Turkey,
India, and China, where women are marketable articles. But to return
to this remarkable tale from Aladdin or some of the Arabian Nights’
entertainments.
“The letter is expected to deceive Dorothy, and cause her to accompany
Anthony Wayne, who has long been with me, and shares my confidence. Her
first thought would be to take her maid, but Anthony will see to it
that she is indisposed--he can easily drug the poor girl in some way.
It is the purpose of the scoundrels to bring Dorothy to the Midway, for
half of the Turk’s pleasure would be lost if I met my fate ignorant of
his full purpose.”
“Good Heavens, Mr. Cereal! you speak so calmly about it, I am amazed.
Do you really mean that it is his intention to--injure you bodily--to
make away with you?”
“I have reason to believe so, though ready to confess the Turk is a
puzzle to me. Beyond a certain point this description of their plan
does not go. Enough is known for me to block their little game in the
start, if I so desire, by calling upon the police and having them
arrested.”
“You will do so, of course.”
Samson Cereal gives a dry chuckle.
“That would be the allopathic way--putting an obstacle in front of the
runaway horse, Fever, and checking him with a smash. I’m a homeopath,
and my principle is to start another horse after him, gradually
overtake the flying rascal, and bring him to terms. Thence, I shall
meet cunning with cunning--_similia similibus curantur_.”
“But--my dear sir, will you allow Dorothy--I beg pardon, Miss
Cereal--to undergo these terrible chances?”
Aleck is worried--he is a Canadian, and hardly understands what a
reckless American speculator like Samson Cereal might be tempted to do,
once a wild freak seized upon him.
“No occasion for worry, my dear Craig. We’ll arrange it so that you and
your friend may be on hand at the climax. Oh! I’ve got a part for each
of you to play, never fear. The curtain rises on the grand _finale_
when our trustworthy Anthony enters with the lady he has brought from
here in a carriage----”
“Then you do--oh, Mr. Cereal, think----”
“The lady,” continues the operator calmly, flipping the ashes from
his cigar with his little finger, and not noticing Aleck’s excited
interruption, “who is veiled, who appears terribly uneasy, and sobs
now and then, yet who has not spoken a word on the long journey to
the Midway. In short, Mr. Craig, it is my intention to personate my
daughter with one of the keenest detectives in Chicago, who can play
his part to a dot, up to the climax.”
“Mr. Cereal, I beg pardon. I had not grasped your idea. Now I can
commend it as splendid, sir,” says Craig heartily.