THE PROFESSOR ACTS.
The medical student looks at her eagerly.
"When--where?" he asks, huskily.
Any one who has met the woman about whom cluster all the tender
associations and thoughts of his lonely years of childhood, must assume
new importance in his eyes.
"It was a year or so ago. At the time I was in Paris with my uncle, Sir
Hugh, then alive."
"Yes, yes, she was there about that time, as I have since learned."
"I was out driving alone; it was just at dusk when we were returning
from the boulevards, and a wheel came off the vehicle.
"Though a little alarmed, I kept my senses, and bade the driver tie his
horse and then seek another vehicle for me.
"The neighborhood chanced to be a rather unsavory one. I could hear
boisterous men singing, and on finding myself alone I grew alarmed. From
windows frowzy heads were thrust out and rude women mocked at me. I
feared insult, injury. I was ready to fly for my life when a hand
touched my arm, and a gentle voice said:
"'Come with me, miss, I will protect you.'"
John trembles with emotion.
"Then you have heard her speak! Oh, what bliss that would be for me--my
mother, my poor mother who has suffered so long."
"When I looked in her face I knew I could trust her. Besides, her garb
reassured me."
"Her garb?" wonderingly.
"Yes. She was dressed as a Sister of Charity or some other order in
Paris. Willingly I followed her to an adjoining house. She begged me to
sit down and await the vehicle. I was grateful and asked her questions
about the great work being done by such organizations in the gay city of
Paris.
"I was interested in her and asked her name. She told me she was known
as Sister Magdalen. Then the carriage came and I left her."
"One question, Lady Ruth--how did she impress you?"
"Frankly, as one who had passed through the furnace of affliction; her
face was sad, yet oh, so inexpressibly sweet. It haunted me. I have
looked at every sister I met wherever I traveled, in the hope of meeting
her, but it has been useless."
It can be readily believed that this arouses the deepest interest in the
young student of medicine. The desire to find his mother has been the
one aim of his life; it has carried him over many a dark crisis, and has
become stronger with the passage of years.
Now he is getting daily, hourly, nearer the object of his solicitude,
and his anticipation so long and fondly cherished, bids fair to be a
realization.
"How I envy you, Lady Ruth. You have seen her, pressed her hand. It makes
you seem less a stranger to me to think that my mother was able to do you
a service."
"I am positive it was she. Wait--perhaps I can prove it. I noticed she
had a medallion secured around her neck with a guard, and once I was
enabled to see the face upon it. It was that of a man."
"Oh! describe it if you can."
"The gentleman, I should judge, was about twenty-three. He wore a
mustache and small side whiskers. I judged he was English. His hair was
light and inclined to be curly."
John Craig smiles.
"Ah! the last doubt has been swept away."
"You recognize this picture, then?"
"Yes; your description answers for my father when he was a young man. I
have not the slightest doubt that it was the one I seek who rendered you
this service. And she a Sister of Charity! I don't understand."
"Your story has interested me deeply, doctor. You have my most sincere
wishes for success; and if I can in any way assist you, don't hesitate
to call upon me."
"I believe you mean every word of it, and from my heart I thank you. I
must leave you now, to seek the house in the Strada Mezzodi--the house
that may reveal much or little."
At this moment the others enter; fortune has been kind to allow the
conversation to reach its legitimate end, and John, with a pleasant word
for Aunt Gwen and her husband, and only a peculiar look for the Briton,
hurries out.
In five minutes more he comes down stairs, ready for the street. To his
surprise he is stopped near the door by some one he knows--Philander
Sharpe, wearing a ridiculous helmet hat, as becomes a traveler.
"Pardon me, but I'm in a hurry," he says, as the other plucks his
sleeve.
"Oh! yes; but I'm going with you, Chicago," pipes the little professor,
shutting one eye and nodding in a very knowing manner.
"But I'm not off to paint the town red," says John, believing the other
thinks it is his intention to see the sights of Malta's capital by
night--"I have an engagement."
"In the Strada Mezzodi; eh?"
"Thunder; how did you guess it?" ejaculates the man of medicine,
astonished beyond measure.
"I am not a guesser. I know what I know, and a dused sight more than
some people think, especially my beloved wife, Gwendolin."
"What do you know--come to the point?"
"First, all about your past, and the trouble in the Craig family."
"Confusion! and you never told me you had ever heard of me before? This
explains the manner in which you seemed to study me at times on the
steamer," reproachfully.
"Just so. I had reasons for my silence; _she_ was one of them," jerking
his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the parlor above, whence
the voice of the amiable Gwendolin Makepeace floats to their ears.
"In haste, then, let me tell you a secret, John. I was not always what
you see me, a docile, hen-pecked man. Twenty-five years ago Philander
Sharpe, young, good-looking, conceited, and rich, had the world before
him."
"Cut it short, I beg, professor," groans John, impatient to be off.
"I fell in love; my affection was returned; we were engaged; a friend in
whose honor I fully believed stole her heart away from me, but all these
years I have never forgotten--never. John Craig, the girl I loved and
who was to have been my wife was--your mother."
The little man folds his arms and throws his head back in a peculiar way
he has. How strangely full of dignity these undersized people can be at
times.
"Is it possible, and you never breathed a word of all this to me before?"
"Ah! my dear boy, the time was not ripe. I said nothing but sawed wood."
"Why do you speak now?"
"I have an idea that you are about to make a step in the dark, and after
duly considering the matter, came to the conclusion that it was time to
speak--time to let you know my sympathies were with you, time to take a
hand in this game myself."
John hardly knows what to do or say, he is so amazed at such a strange
happening.
"But, professor, I am only going now to see if I can learn anything
about my mother at the house where she staid six weeks ago, when a line
was sent to me."
The little man wags his head wisely.
"That information was given to you by one whom you believed to be Signor
Stucco, otherwise Luther Keene, the person having charge of the police
of Valetta?"
"Yes," replies John, wonderingly.
"At that hour the signer was in his own room, engaged in other business,
and oblivious of the fact whether one John Alexander Craig, M.D., was in
the land of the living or not."
All of which excites the curiosity of the young man not a little.
"Since you know so much, professor, perhaps you can tell me who it is
plays with me, the object he has, and whether my mother was ever in
that house on the Strada Mezzodi."
"I can answer in part. I believe she was there. These enemies of yours,
dear boy, have baited a trap. You are about to walk into it."
"A trap, professor! why should they seek to harm me?"
"They have reasons. I can't mention them all, but perhaps some event in
your past may give you a clew. Have you ever heard of a person, by name
Pauline Potter?"
The young man starts.
"Ah! I see you have," pursues Philander, dryly.
"I confess it; she was a pretty actress, but my boyish passion for her
died out when I discovered her perfidy."
"Very true; but she has never forgiven you. What harm did you do her,
boy?"
"The harm was on her side. When I found what deception she had put upon
me I simply denounced her in the presence of several who were at supper
with her, a new admirer among them. Perhaps she hates me for that, but
it seems queer that Pauline Potter, whom I knew in Chicago, should bob
up in Malta. Almost like a modern play."
"Well, she's here. I've seen her."
"Professor, pardon me for saying it, but you've allowed yourself to be
maligned. I believed you were a nonentity, but I find you possessed of
a remarkable mind. You are a second Richelieu."
"You flatter me. John, grant my favor; allow me to accompany you on this
errand. I will then have a chance to explain how I managed to learn all
these things."
"I see no reason to refuse."
"Good! Come, let's move off," with a quick glance over his shoulder.
"Oh," laughs the student, "_she's_ up stairs yet," and his words are
corroborated, for a burst of almost masculine laughter comes floating
down from the next floor, causing Philander to shrug his shoulders.
"She'll imagine I'm off seeing the sights. I went to see the modern
Mabille in Paris and have never heard the last of it. Stand by me in
case of war, my boy."
"That I will, professor."
They have left the hotel, and John's face tells of the puzzle which he
is trying to solve--the strange connection between Pauline Potter, the
actress who won his boyish admiration only to deceive him, and she whom
he seeks with reverent love in his heart, his mother, the Sister
Magdalen of Lady Ruth's Paris adventure.
And the professor guesses the truth.
"I may be able to assist you, John, though you shall be the judge. Will
you listen to my yarn?"
"With pleasure."
They walk on, arm in arm; the doctor has lighted a cigar, and seems to
take much comfort in the mechanical puffs of smoke which he sends out
into the darkness--not that there is anything of the inky pall about
this, throwing a silvery path way along the mysterious waters of the
romantic sea, and besides, the lanterns that flash on trees and from
house fronts serve to render the scene far from gloomy, though a modern
city dweller, used to electric lights, might notice the change.
"Before we enter into a discussion, my dear boy, let me explain how I
came to know these facts connected with the presence of Pauline Potter
in Valetta, and the duplicity of the man representing the head of the
police, Signor Stucco.
"After returning from our eventful walk to the hill-top back of the
town, I had business in another section, business connected with my trip
along the Mediterranean, and which has been kept a secret from my spouse.
"When on my way back to the hotel, just at dusk, I crossed and passed
down a street, thinking to shorten my route, but in a way became
confused, and made up my mind I would inquire of the first person
I came to.
"That, my boy, was the hand of fate leading me on, as you will speedily
learn.
"In all these years that have flown I have at times heard of you. I knew
the skeleton that lay hidden in your family closet, and believing your
mother innocent, made no sign, for she was supposed to be dead.
"Let me go back a step, and begging your pardon for the fact, confess
that I heard your interesting interview with Lady Ruth."
"Professor!" in reproach.
"My dear boy, it was all an accident. I had thrown myself upon the
lounge in the corner of the little parlor, for an after-dinner nap, when
you came in and failed to notice me, owing to the arm-chair I had drawn
in front of me to shut out the light.
"At first I thought you would simply look at the picture and then go
away, but when I heard you telling her your sad story and the new hopes
you entertained, I felt that I had a right to listen then. Thus you
understand how I know these facts.
"This takes me back to where I was lost in the streets of Valetta and
forced to inquire my way. As luck would have it I saw a man before me,
but ere I reached him he was joined by a woman.
"I stood still; in the dusk I heard him say something that gave me a
thrill, and as near as I can remember those words were:
"'For love of you, Pauline Potter, I have assumed this disguise and
become for the present Signor Stucco, the master of Valetta's police.
Now give me orders; tell me how I am to win your favor; how bring to the
Strada Mezzodi--' I heard no more, as his voice fell, but presently my
ears, sharpened to an intensity, caught a name--it was--'Doctor
Chicago.'"
"You interest me, professor; please proceed."
"Ah! that is all. I lost track of them and managed to work my way to the
hotel in time for dinner. When that man called you out, I recognized the
dim figure I had seen talking with the soft-voiced woman at dusk. It
takes time for me to figure things out, and I must be beyond the range
of her voice. That was one reason I lay down in the little parlor. When
I heard you announce your intention of visiting the Strada Mezzodi I
made up my mind to act quickly. That is why I tapped you on the arm, why
I am now tramping at your side. Now let us probe deeper.
"Mark the first point; this Pauline is a shrewd creature, and doubtless
possessed of more than an ordinary Corsican nature to hate so bitterly."
"Ah! you know her mother was a Corsican?"
"I believe I have heard it told in New York, and it is easy to realize
the fact now. Pauline is a good hater--her father was Scotch I presume.
"What I want to point out is this--she has been investigating your
record--the skeleton in your closet, or rather your family, is no secret
with her."
"I understand that, sir. It is no accident, her presence in the same
house my mother occupied."
"Well, as to that, you're not sure. That fellow who brought the news was
paid to represent the head of the Valetta police, for they knew you had
invoked official aid, and just as like as not he gave you an address
that your mother never heard of."
"Well, here we are!" suddenly.
"Eh? This is the Strada Mezzodi?"
"Any objections to it?" laughing.
"Oh, no! one place is as good as another to me, in this Maltese city,
where you seem to be climbing to paradise or descending into hades all
the time. Only I'm glad I came."
"Why, professor?"
"Well," with a look down the street, "I'm afraid you'll need the
services of a friend before long--that you are about to experience a
sensation you won't soon forget," replies Philander, coolly.