Luna's Mexican restaurant has no address. It is on no particular
street, at no particular corner; even its habitues, its most
enthusiastic devotees, are unable to locate it upon demand. It is
"over there in the quarter," "not far from the cathedral there." One
could find it if one started out with that intent; but to direct
another there--no, that is out of the question. It CAN be reached by
following the alleys of Chinatown. You will come out of the last
alley--the one where the slave girls are--upon the edge of the Mexican
quarter, and by going straight forward a block or two and by keeping a
sharp lookout to right and left you will hit upon it. It is always to
be searched for. Always to be discovered.
On that particular Monday evening Blix and Condy arrived at Luna's some
fifteen minutes before seven. Condy had lost himself and all sense of
direction in the strange streets of the quarter, and they were on the
very brink of despair when Blix discovered the sign upon an opposite
corner.
As Condy had foretold, they had the place to themselves. They went
into the back room with its one mirror, six tables, and astonishing
curtains of Nottingham lace; and the waiter, whose name was Richard or
Riccardo, according to taste, began to officiate at the solemn rites of
the "supper Mexican." Condy and Blix ate with their eyes continually
wandering to the door; and as the FRIJOLES were being served, started
simultaneously and exchanged glances.
A man wearing two marguerites in the lapel of his coat had entered
abruptly, and sat down to a table close at hand.
Condy drew a breath of suppressed excitement.
"There he is," he whispered--"Captain Jack!"
They looked at the newcomer with furtive anxiety, and told themselves
that they were disappointed. For a retired sea captain he was
desperately commonplace. His hair was red, he was younger than they
had expected, and, worst of all, he did look tough.
"Oh, poor K. D. B.!" sighed Blix, shaking her head. "He'll never do,
I'm afraid. Perhaps he has a good heart, though; red-headed people are
SOMETIMES affectionate."
"They are impulsive," hazarded Condy.
As he spoke the words, a second man entered the little room. He, too,
sat down at a nearby table. He, too, ordered the "supper Mexican." He,
too, wore marguerites in his buttonhole.
"Death and destruction!" gasped Condy, turning pale.
Blix collapsed helplessly in her chair, her hands dropping in her lap.
They stared at each other in utter confusion.
"Here's a how-do-you-do," murmured Condy, pretending to strip a TAMALE
that Richard had just set before him. But Blix had pushed hers aside.
"What does it mean?" whispered Condy across the table. "In Heaven's
name, what does it mean?"
"It can only mean one thing," Blix declared; "one of them is the
captain, and one is a coincidence. Anybody might wear a marguerite; we
ought to have thought of that."
"But which is which?"
"If K. D. B. should come now!"
"But the last man looks more like the captain."
The last man was a sturdy, broad-shouldered fellow, who might have been
forty. His heavy mustache was just touched with gray, and he did have
a certain vaguely "sober and industrious" appearance. But the
difference between the two men was slight, after all; the red-headed
man could easily have been a sea captain, and he certainly was over
thirty-five.
"Which? which? which?--how can we tell? We might think of some way to
get rid of the coincidence, if we could only tell which the coincidence
was. We owe it to K. D. B. In a way, Condy, it's our duty. We brought
her here, or we are going to, and we ought to help her all we can; and
she may be here at any moment. What time is it now?"
"Five minutes after seven. But, Blix, I should think the right
one--the captain--would be all put out himself by seeing another chap
here wearing marguerites. Does either one of 'em seem put out to you?
Look. I should think the captain, whichever one he is, would kind of
GLARE at the coincidence."
Stealthily they studied the two men for a moment.
"No, no," murmured Blix, "you can't tell. Neither of them seems to
glare much. Oh, Condy"--her voice dropped to a faint whisper. "The
red-headed one has put his hat on a chair, just behind him, notice? Do
you suppose if you stood up you could see inside?"
"What good would that do?"
"He might have his initials inside the crown, or his whole name even;
and you could see if he had a 'captain' before it."
Condy made a pretence of rising to get a match in a ribbed, truncated
cone of china that stood upon an adjacent table, and Blix held her
breath as he glanced down into the depths of the hat. He resumed his
seat.
"Only initials," he breathed--"W. J. A. It might be Jack, that J., and
it might be Joe, or Jeremiah, or Joshua; and even if he was a captain
he might not use the title. We're no better off than we were before."
"And K. D. B. may come at any moment. Maybe she has come already and
looked through the windows, and saw TWO men with marguerites and went
away. She'd be just that timid. What can we do?"
"Wait a minute, look here," murmured Condy. "I've an idea. I'LL find
out which the captain is. You see that picture, that chromo, on the
wall opposite?"
Blix looked as he indicated. The picture was a gorgeously colored
lithograph of a pilot-boat, schooner-rigged, all sails set, dashing
bravely through seas of emerald green color.
"You mean that schooner?" asked Blix.
"That schooner, exactly. Now, listen. You ask me in a loud voice what
kind of a boat that is; and when I answer, you keep your eye on the two
men."
"Why, what are you going to do?"
"You'll see. Try it now; we've no time to lose."
Blix shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. Then:
"What a pretty boat that is up there, that picture on the wall. See
over there, on the wall opposite? Do you notice it? Isn't she pretty?
Condy, tell me what kind of a boat is that?"
Condy turned about in his place with great deliberation, fixed the
picture with a judicial eye, and announced decisively:
"That?--why, that's a BARKENTINE."
Condy had no need to wait for Blix's report. The demonstration came
far too quickly for that. The red-headed man at his loud declaration
merely glanced in the direction of the chromo and returned to his
enchellados. But he of the black mustache followed Condy's glance,
noted the picture of which he spoke, and snorted contemptuously. They
even heard him mutter beneath his mustache:
"BARKENTINE your eye!"
"No doubt as to which is the captain now," whispered Condy so soon as
the other had removed from him a glance of withering scorn.
They could hardly restrain their gayety; but their gravity promptly
returned when Blix kicked Condy's foot under the table and murmured:
"He's looking at his watch, the captain is. K. D. B. isn't here yet,
and the red-headed man, the coincidence, is. We MUST get rid of him.
Condy, can't you think of something?"
"Well, he won't go till he's through his supper, you can depend upon
that. If he's here when K. D. B. arrives, it will spoil everything.
She wouldn't stay a moment. She wouldn't even come in."
"Isn't it disappointing? And I had so counted upon bringing these two
together! And Captain Jack is a nice man!"
"You can see that with one hand tied behind you," whispered Condy.
"The other chap's tough."
"Looks just like the kind of man to get into jail sooner or later."
"Maybe he's into some mischief now; you never can tell. And the
Mexican quarter of San Francisco is just the place for 'affairs.' I'll
warrant he's got PALS."
"Well, here he is--that's the main point--just keeping those people
apart, spoiling a whole romance. Maybe ruining their lives. It's
QUITE possible; really it is. Just stop and think. This is a positive
crisis we're looking at now."
"Can't we get rid of him SOMEHOW?"
"O-oh!" whispered Blix, all at once, in a quiver of excitement. "There
is a way, if we'd ever have the courage to do it. It might work; and
if it didn't, he'd never know the difference, never would suspect us.
Oh! but we wouldn't dare."
"What? what? In Heaven's name what is it, Blix?"
"We wouldn't dare--we couldn't. Oh! but it would be such--"
"K. D. B. may come in that door at any second."
"I'm half afraid, but all the same--Condy, let me have a pencil." She
dashed off a couple of lines on the back of the bill of fare, and her
hand trembled like a leaf as she handed him what she had written.
"Send him--the red-headed man--that telegram. There's an office just
two doors below here, next the drug-store. I saw it as we came by.
You know his initials: remember, you saw them in his hat. W. J. A.,
Luna's restaurant. That's all you want."
"Lord," muttered Condy, as he gazed upon what Blix had written.
"Do you dare?" she whispered, with a little hysterical shudder.
"If it failed we've nothing to lose."
"And K. D. B. is coming nearer every instant!"
"But would he go--that is, at once?"
"We can only try. You won't be gone a hundred seconds. You can leave
me here that length of time. Quick, Condy; decide one way or the
other. It's getting desperate."
Condy reached for his hat.
"Give me some money, then," he said. "You won all of mine."
A few moments later he was back again and the two sat, pretending to
eat their chili peppers, their hearts in their throats, hardly daring
to raise their eyes from their plates. Condy was actually sick with
excitement, and all but tipped the seltzer bottle to the floor when a
messenger boy appeared in the outer room. The boy and the proprietor
held a conference over the counter. Then Richard appeared between the
portieres of Nottingham lace, the telegram in his hand and the boy at
his heels.
Evidently Richard knew the red-headed man, for he crossed over to him
at once with the words:
"I guess this is for you, Mr. Atkins?"
He handed him the despatch and retired. The red-headed man signed the
receipt; the boy departed. Blix and Condy heard the sound of torn
paper as the red-headed man opened the telegram.
Ten seconds passed, then fifteen, then twenty. There was a silence.
Condy dared to steal a glance at the red-headed man's reflection in the
mirror. He was studying the despatch, frowning horribly. He put it
away in his pocket, took it out again with a fierce movement of
impatience, and consulted it a second time. His "supper Mexican"
remained untasted before him; Condy and Blix heard him breathing loud
through his nose. That he was profoundly agitated, they could not
doubt for a single moment. All at once a little panic terror seemed to
take possession of him. He rose, seized his hat, jammed it over his
ears, slapped a half-dollar upon the table, and strode from the
restaurant.
This is what the read-headed man had read in the despatch; this is what
Blix had written:
"ALL IS DISCOVERED. FLY AT ONCE."
And never in all their subsequent rambles about the city did Blix or
Condy set eyes upon the red-headed man again, nor did Luna's
restaurant, where he seemed to have been a habitue, ever afterward know
his presence. He disappeared; he was swallowed up. He had left the
restaurant, true. Had he also left that neighborhood? Had he fled the
city, the State, the country even? What skeleton in the red-headed
man's closet had those six words called to life and the light of day.
Had they frightened him forth to spend the rest of his days fleeing
from an unnamed, unknown avenger--a veritable wandering Jew? What
mystery had they touched upon there in the bald, bare back room of the
Quarter's restaurant? What dark door had they opened, what red-headed
phantom had they evoked? Had they broken up a plot, thwarted a
conspiracy, prevented a crime? They never knew. One thing only was
certain. The red-headed man had had a past.
Meanwhile the minutes were passing, and K. D. B. still failed to
appear. Captain Jack was visibly growing impatient, anxious. By now
he had come to the fiery liqueur called mescal. He was nearly through
his supper. At every moment he consulted his watch and fixed the
outside door with a scowl. It was already twenty minutes after seven.
"I know the red-headed man spoiled it, after all," murmured Blix. "K.
D. B. saw the two of them in here and was frightened."
"We could send Captain Jack a telegram from her," suggested Condy.
"I'm ready for anything now."
"What could you say?"
"Oh, that she couldn't come. Make another appointment."
"He'd be offended with her. He'd never make another appointment. Sea
captains are always so punctilious, y' know."
Richard brought them their coffee and kirsch, and Condy showed Blix how
to burn a lump of sugar and sweeten the coffee with syrup. But they
were disappointed. Captain Jack was getting ready to leave. K. D. B.
had evidently broken the appointment.
Then all at once she appeared.
They knew it upon the instant by a brisk opening and shutting of the
street door, and by a sudden alertness on the part of Captain Jack,
which he immediately followed by a quite inexplicable move. The street
door in the outside room had hardly closed before his hand shot to his
coat lapel and tore out the two marguerites.
The action was instinctive; Blix knew it for such immediately. The
retired captain had not premeditated it. He had not seen the face of
the newcomer. She had not time to come into the back room, or even to
close the street door. But the instant that the captain had recognized
a bunch of white marguerites in her belt he had, without knowing why,
been moved to conceal his identity.
"He's afraid," whispered Blix. "Positively, I believe he's afraid.
How absolutely stupid men are!"
But meanwhile, K. D. B., the looked-for, the planned-for and
intrigued-for; the object of so much diplomacy, such delicate
manoeuvring; the pivot upon which all plans were to turn, the
storm-centre round which so many conflicting currents revolved, and for
whose benefit the peace of mind of the red-headed man had been forever
broken up--had entered the room.
"Why, she's PRETTY!" was Blix's first smothered exclamation, as if she
had expected a harridan.
K. D. B. looked like a servant-girl of the better sort, and was really
very neatly dressed. She was small, little even. She had snappy black
eyes, a resolute mouth, and a general air of being very quiet, very
matter-of-fact and complacent. She would be disturbed at nothing,
excited at nothing; Blix was sure of that. She was placid, but it was
the placidity not of the absence of emotion, but of emotion disdained.
Not the placidity of the mollusk, but that of a mature and
contemplative cat.
Quietly she sat down at a corner table, quietly she removed her veil
and gloves, and quietly she took in the room and its three occupants.
Condy and Blix glued their eyes upon their coffee cups like guilty
conspirators; but a crash of falling crockery called their attention to
the captain's table.
Captain Jack was in a tremor. Hitherto he had acted the role of a sane
and sensible gentleman of middle age, master of himself and of the
situation. The entrance of K. D. B. had evidently reduced him to a
semi-idiotic condition. He enlarged himself; he eased his neck in his
collar with a rotary movement of head and shoulders. He frowned
terribly at trifling objects in corners of the room. He cleared his
throat till the glassware jingled. He pulled at his mustache. He
perspired, fumed, fretted, and was suddenly seized with an insane
desire to laugh. Once only he caught the eye of K. D. B., calmly
sitting in her corner, picking daintily at her fish, whereupon he
immediately overturned the vinegar and pepper casters upon the floor.
Just so might have behaved an overgrown puppy in the presence of a
sleepy, unperturbed chessy-cat, dozing by the fire.
"He ought to be shaken," murmured Blix at the end of her patience.
"Does he think SHE is going to make the first move?"
"Ha, ah'm!" thundered the captain, clearing his throat for the
twentieth time, twirling his mustache, and burying his scarlet face in
an enormous pocket handkerchief.
Five minutes passed and he was still in his place. From time to time
K. D. B. fixed him with a quiet, deliberate look, and resumed her
delicate picking.
"Do you think she knows it's he, now that he's taken off his
marguerites?" whispered Condy.
"Know it?--of course she does! Do you think women are absolutely BLIND,
or so imbecile as men are? And, then, if she didn't think it was he,
she'd go away. And she's so really pretty, too. He ought to thank his
stars alive. Think what a fright she might have been! She doesn't LOOK
thirty-one."
"Huh!" returned Condy. "As long as she SAID she was thirty-one, you
can bet everything you have that she is; that's as true as revealed
religion."
"Well, it's something to have seen the kind of people who write the
personals," said Blix. "I had always imagined that they were kind of
tough."
"You see they are not," he answered. "I told you they were not.
Maybe, however, we have been exceptionally fortunate. At any rate,
these are respectable enough."
"Not the least doubt about that. But why don't he do something, that
captain?" mourned Blix. "Why WILL he act like such a ninny?"
"He's waiting for us to go," said Condy; "I'm sure of it. They'll
never meet so long as we're here. Let's go and give 'em a chance. If
you leave the two alone here, one or the other will HAVE to speak. The
suspense would become too terrible. It would be as though they were on
a desert island."
"But I wanted to SEE them meet," she protested.
"You wouldn't hear what they said."
"But we'd never know if they did meet, and oh--and WHO spoke first?"
"She'll speak first," declared Condy.
"Never!" returned Blix, in an indignant whisper.
"I tell you what. We could go and then come back in five minutes.
I'll forget my stick here. Savvy?"
"You would probably do it anyhow," she told him.
They decided this would be the better course. They got together their
things, and Condy neglected his stick, hanging upon a hook on the wall.
At the counter in the outside room, Blix, to the stupefaction of
Richard, the waiter, paid the bill. But as she was moving toward the
door, Condy called her back.
"Remember the waiter," he said severely, while Richard grinned and
bobbed. "Fifty cents is the very least you could tip him." Richard
actually protested, but Condy was firm, and insisted upon a half-dollar
tip.
"Noblesse oblige," he declared with vast solemnity.
They walked as far as the cathedral, listened for a moment to the bell
striking the hour of eight; then as they remembered that the restaurant
closed at that time, hurried back and entered the outside room in
feigned perturbation.
"Did I, could I have possibly left my stick here?" exclaimed Condy to
Richard, who was untying his apron behind the counter. But Richard had
not noticed.
"I think I must have left it back here where we were sitting."
Condy stepped into the back room, Blix following. They got his stick
and returned to the outside room.
"Yes, yes, I did leave it," he said, as he showed it to Richard. "I'm
always leaving that stick wherever I go."
"Come again," said Richard, as he bowed them out of the door.
On the curb outside Condy and Blix shook hands and congratulated each
other on the success of all their labors. In the back room, seated at
the same table, a bunch of wilting marguerites between them, they had
seen their "matrimonial objects" conferring earnestly together,
absorbed in the business of getting acquainted.
Blix heaved a great sigh of relief and satisfaction, exclaiming:
"At last K. D. B. and Captain Jack have met!"