DOROTHY.
The ex-actor has reported matters in pretty much the way they occur.
Samson plays his part in a manner that need never shame him, and
perhaps secretly enjoys the situation. To a man engaged in his
business, where he daily matches his wit and shrewdness against the
diplomacy of others, the constant friction must of necessity polish
these qualities. There is no danger of rust with a wide-awake operator
on 'Change. This, then, really comes in line with his daily business,
only now he deals with a tricky Turk instead of howling brokers, and
the stake is not a fortune--it may be his life.
It is characteristic of the man that he insists upon managing his own
game and beating his old-time enemy in person. Most men, under similar
conditions, would gladly turn the whole business over to the police,
and put the Turk from the Golden Horn through a course of American law
and justice that would prevent his reappearance in his old haunts until
the holding of the next World’s Fair in Russia.
Not so Samson Cereal.
He has depended upon himself so many years, to reward his friends
and punish his enemies, that it never occurs to him to shirk the
responsibility.
Hence, in accordance with his well-arranged plans he walks over to the
narrow doorway at exactly ten minutes of nine and enters. The camels
have been withdrawn from the scene, and make ready to fill their places
in the delayed bridal procession which will soon take possession of
the narrow street. Now the donkey boys have full swing, and how they
do belabor the tough little beasts. Really it is astonishing that
the officers of the S. P. C. A. do not interfere, unless it has been
previously proven to their satisfaction that from the days of Balaam
and his talking ass, the stubborn little animals are insensible to
pain. Besides, this beating is all done with so much good nature, one
can hardly find an excuse for interfering.
“How long do we wait?” asks Wycherley, as he raises his hand to his
neck, which significant action causes the Canadian to laugh softly and
move away from him.
“Oh, I’m perfectly harmless, I assure you, my dear boy. Not the least
bit excited. Icicles are nothing in comparison. But you haven’t
answered my question.”
“It may be five, it may be ten minutes. He will be kept waiting in
there. The prophetess must charm him, and hold him until the noise of
the passing procession fills the whole street. Then Scutari’s blow will
fall. We will leave here when the booming of guns below announces that
the camels are coming.”
“Ah, yes!” and Wycherley, of course, begins to whistle the old Scotch
song that once upon a time, to a band of desperate Britons caged in
beleaguered Lucknow in India, was heard when hope had almost left them,
and, wafted over the hills, came to their ears as the sweetest sound on
God’s earth.
“No one else enters--see, a couple have just been turned away,” Aleck
remarks.
“Yet there goes a red fez in. Turks are welcome--standing room only,
greatest success of the Midway. I’m all of a quiver to see the grand
entrance of Anthony Wayne, the valet, and the detective who is to
represent Miss Dorothy. Great head, that of my respected partner. He
believes in fighting fire with fire. Was that the drum signal?”
“No; they’re not ready yet--plenty of time. Be patient, comrade.”
“Jove! there’s my lovely senorita.”
“What, the Spanish cigar girl?”
“Sauntering along with a dandy dude, and casting coquettish looks up
into his stupid face.”
“You don’t appear excited at all. How is this?” pretending to feel his
pulse.
“That was Vagabond Claude. The gentleman Wycherley casts his eyes
higher.”
“H’m! a banker’s daughter. That’s the way the wind blows, is it?”
“I protest--I’ve admitted nothing, only that an unfathomable gulf lies
between the old life and the new.”
“Oh, Mr. Craig!”
“Good Heavens! who spoke?” exclaims Aleck, suddenly grasping his
friend’s arm.
He looks around. There are people pushing this way and
that--sight-seers, pilgrims, foreigners, and all the varieties of the
_genus homo_ daily seen upon this gay passage--this cleft of folly.
None of them gives any token of being the speaker. Besides the voice
was that of a woman, and its tones thrilled Aleck through and through.
“Who called my name?” he asks again in bewilderment, as his companion
has failed to make a reply.
“I pass, Aleck. Give me something easy,” returns that mystified
individual.
“But you heard it?”
“Correct.”
“Do you think you know the voice?”
“Jove! now, I wouldn’t swear to it, but, somehow, it put me in mind
of--Dorothy.”
“Just as I thought. She is here. In spite of her father’s precautions
they have inveigled her to the spider’s web.” And filled with a new
spirit of alarm, the young Canadian again begins to glance at each
person near by, as though he suspects the speculator’s lovely daughter
would come here in the disguise of an old woman with bonnet and blue
glasses, or a dashing sport swinging a delicate cane and wearing
eye-glasses.
In the midst of his dilemma he again hears his name called:
“Oh, Mr. Craig! look this way. I am in this little shop. I wish to
speak to you. At first I dared not, but I saw my father enter there
and as my necessity grew greater my courage arose. I need a friend’s
advice. Will you give it to me?”
Before half of this speech is finished Aleck has fastened his eyes upon
the speaker. The little shop is dim, and he can only see that it is a
female form, for a heavy veil conceals the face.
Instantly Craig remembers what was said by Happy Jack concerning the
hatred of Aroun Scutari for him, on account of the interference with
his plans, in connection with the strange Ferris wheel game, and that
should the opportunity offer he has a rod in pickle for the Canadian.
He has read of the ancient Circe, the stories of mythical mermaids who
sang so sweetly to mariners of old, and, strange as it may appear,
these things flash into his mind now.
Can it be a trap? Have his enemies arranged a nice little web to
entangle the Canadian fly?
That voice--no other could thrill him as it has done. He hesitates only
a few seconds, and she has hardly finished speaking when his mind is
quite made up.
To enter the booth it is necessary to drop down and under the counter
at one corner. Wycherley makes no effort to follow him, but stands
guard just outside, watching the couple for fear lest some evil befall
his companion, and casting an occasional glance across the way at the
sign of the fortune teller, while he listens for the beginning of the
infernal racket that will announce the wedding procession’s start from
the lower end of Cairo Street.
When Aleck has entered the booth, he pays no attention to the girl
who has charge of it and who has befriended Dorothy. All his doubt
is removed, for the latter has raised her veil. He is amazed to see
her here, after being assured by Samson Cereal that she would not be
notified of the plot.
Her agitation shows that she knows something of the danger. Time
presses, and Aleck awakens to the fact that whatever he does must be
done with speed.
“Miss Dorothy, how come you to be here?” he asks, pressing the hand
held out to him.
“It is too long a story to tell in detail. I heard something last
night, when that wild young man, Mr. Phœnix, was present, that not
only aroused my curiosity but my anxiety. It came back to me again and
again, how my father bade him be silent about the woman in Cairo Street
whom he had long believed dead. I could see from his actions that there
was a mystery behind it all. This evening when I sat alone after supper
I received a note. I don’t know how it came to the house, but someone
put it in my hands.
“This note--I can recall every word of it--was written in a hand
evidently unused to our language, but I made it out. It ran like this:
“I beg of you, sweet Dorothy, to come with your maid, or your
half-brother, to the Street in Cairo to-night at nine. I can no longer
remain silent. If I die for it I must see you, talk with you. Ask for
Saidee, the fortune teller. Your heart will tell you who it is signs
herself.
“ONE YOU HAVE LONG BELIEVED DEAD.
“Oh, Mr. Craig! I could guess--my heart indeed told me that this was my
mother. From my father I have never heard the story of the past, but it
would be strange if, living to almost twenty, I were unable to discover
something of the truth. I have never known a mother’s love, and though
she may have sinned like the other one, yet she is my mother. I would
see her, _must_ see her. I knew not what to do at first. John was out,
my maid sick. I am not easily balked in anything of this nature. There
is too much of Samson Cereal’s blood in my veins for that. We have a
faithful coachman. I sent for Pat, and, as well as I could, explained
that I wanted his company. He would lay down his life for me, and
although dreading my father’s wrath, he consented to come.
“So we started. The elevated brought us here, and Pat stands just
a dozen feet yonder, ready to do anything I tell him, from fight
to running away. My heart failed me as the time drew near. I sought
shelter here and waited in trembling suspense. Imagine my surprise when
I saw my father entering yonder place. While I debated upon my course,
and became more and more excited as the minutes flew by, I was suddenly
relieved, for you came and stood near by. On several other occasions,
Mr. Craig, you have been able to assist me in times of great distress.
Forgive me if I am importunate, but I must see this woman who calls out
for me. John has found his mother, and strange though it may seem to
you, I would look upon the face of the one who once loved me as a babe.
“You can help me, will help me, I feel sure, for I am determined to
solve this mystery, come what may.”
She waits for an answer.
Aleck fears that Mr. Cereal may take him to task for it, but he cannot
prevent her from going, at any rate, and in his company she will be
safer. Besides, once in the presence of those eyes, now tear-dimmed, he
is powerless to refuse her anything. There never was a more helpless
captive.
“Miss Dorothy, your wishes are law to me. I had hoped you would be safe
at home while this singular climax of the drama was taking place in
Cairo Street, but since you are here, I cannot refuse your request.”
“I thank you from my heart, sir. It is this craving to look upon her
face, to hear her speak, to call her that dear name--for she is my
mother no matter how guilty or how sadly wronged--that has made me dare
all. When shall we enter? It is surely nine o’clock.”
Her manner is eager; she trembles not with fear, but with the
excitement of anticipation.
“We will go now,” replies Aleck, for the boom of drums announces the
coming of the weird wedding procession.