THE DEADLY RIVAL
When Carl reached his office, to take up once more his engineering work
he found Grace already awaiting him, ready to take up her secretarial
duties.
When Grace had first expressed the desire to return to New York, she
confessed to a lack of funds. Carl, grateful for the tender care she
had taken of him while he was ill at the hospital, offered to pay her
passage to New York. This she consented to, with the stipulation that
she be given work at his office where a weekly deduction could be made
from her salary until the money he had advanced was repaid. It was with
this understanding, then, that she accompanied Carl to New York.
Carl instructed her as to her duties, but did not notice that her eyes
seemed to flash with an eager light and an avid gleam, such as the mere
technique of the work could never have provoked. She seemed to bask in
the favor of his presence and look; to wither and wilt when he withdrew
from her gaze, as a flower might do, if withdrawn from the light and
the glow of the life-giving sun.
While his business mail had been attended to during his absence, quite
a collection of personal mail awaited him. He was too busy for the
moment to pay much attention to it and gave the envelopes but a passing
glance, as if looking for something of especial interest or note.
Not finding what he desired, the entire lot was set aside for more
leisurely perusal.
During the homeward journey, he had laid plans for the irrigation of
the Sahara, and with his assistant, in his private office, he discussed
the making of these plans for a scientific irrigation system, to take
the place of the French plan for flooding the Sahara by means of a
canal from the ocean.
With this work thus auspiciously commenced, Carl was at liberty to give
more careful consideration to his private matters, including that stack
of mail. On second thought, however, he waited until the evening when
the office force had left before he sat down to the task.
The contents of the letters were practically all alike, only that the
meaning in each was differently expressed, some were clever, some
witty, some downright dull. But Carl was used to that. Among them were
invitations to affairs that were already numbered among the annals
of the past and others of a future time, which he made note of in
anticipation of attending them, if circumstances permitted.
He had started his plans for the Sahara irrigating scheme, but with
Sana gone there was not the same enthusiasm and initiative as there was
prior to that fateful trip into the desert when they had been trapped
by Amshied and when he had so utterly failed to play the hero, the
rescuer of his beloved one. The spur was gone. Again, there came to
him Sana’s promise that she would give anything a woman could give to
the man, who of course was Carl, who saved her homestead at the Gurara
Oasis. But now she was dead and his desire to work on the Sahara plan
was likewise dying.
He cursed the hour when Sana and he, on the pretense of requiring
refreshments--while in reality it was Sana’s desire to listen to the
music, came to the spot destined to prove so fateful. And after all, it
was but the monotonous tones issuing from the flute of a snake charmer.
The minute attention Grace paid Carl in her first week in the office,
was not, in her mind, sufficiently reciprocated--so she thought,
although she realized that she was but an employee. But had she not
done her level best to bring him back to health, when he was lying
prostrate in the hospital? That this was her duty as a nurse, did not
occur to her. She loved Carl and was determined to secure his love. In
what way she secured it, did not matter to her. Well she knew that Carl
in paying her passage home had unconsciously stepped into a trap, from
which he would have difficulty in extricating himself once the meshes
of the net had enfolded him. The Mann Act deals severely with any
offender, whose offense comes within its provisions and Grace knew how
easy it would be to lend color to the story of her passage home, even
though it were an act of charity on Carl’s part.
She did not care to entertain this thought, yet it occurred to her mind
time and time again when Carl busily engaged appeared to be paying
no attention to her. His seemed an iceberg attitude, which made her
shiver. But she was ready to dig the flame out of the ice.
For some time Grace had become anxious, fearing that Carl knew or might
come to know of the cablegram she had withheld from him. Yet, how could
he learn of it? Did she not receive it early in the morning, just after
she had unlocked the office and when she was entirely alone?
It was her duty to open the mail, telegrams and the like. Thus she
reasoned she had done no wrong, insofar as reading the cablegram was
concerned. But to withhold it from her employer, even though she
considered him more in the light of a friend and even though it came
from a woman she felt to be her rival, equally if not more in love with
Carl--was this not a wrong of a hideous kind? Was it not even branded
with the name of crime?
BELOVED CARL. I AM HOME AGAIN. NOTHING SERIOUS HAPPENED. LETTER WILL
FOLLOW. YOUR LOVING AND LONGING SANA.
These were the words that flashed across the mind of the guilty girl,
whenever her eyes rested upon Carl. They seemed to be graven on her
mind in letters of flame. To be near him in the taking of his dictation
was one of the uncertain pleasures of her daily life. She knew that
Carl had been deeply in love with Sana, but she knew too that he
believed Sana was dead. At the same time that she feared, she also
was angered by the fact that Carl’s affection even now seemed to be
inevitably riveted upon a thing which for him Death had long since
claimed. She, Grace, was still young and comely, yet he passed her by
in his worship at a shrine wherein the image lay crumbling to the dust.
This thought alone caused the girl to pursue the course, which even to
herself was no source of joy, but a hideous curse, and insidious menace
that seemed to follow her as a shadow even on the brightest day and
as a blighting curse even in moments that should have given a small
measure of joy and happiness.
To use the effect of the Mann Act as a stepping stone, to gain her
desires often occurred to her, but, although she did not mind the
notoriety attached to it she did not know how to go about it other than
to openly accuse Carl. At this she balked. She would bide her time. He
did not know Sana was alive and if she could help it, he would never
know. And who could tell but what with the passing of the days Carl
might turn to Grace for friendship.
The change in Grace became so obvious, that even Carl was forced to
take notice of it, but he could not account for it.
Grace watched every incoming mail very closely, for the cablegram had
stated, a letter would follow. That letter must never reach Carl, as
that would mean the failure of all her plans. No amount of watching, no
amount of worry, would be too great a price, Grace reasoned, to pay for
the opportunity of getting that letter in her possession.
Then, at last, came the long watched-for missive!
There it lay on the desk before her, with its African stamp and
postmark. The woman’s hand with which it had been addressed spoke
plainly that this letter was from Sana, Carl’s true love.
What should she do with it? Should she play the game squarely and
place the letter on Carl’s desk for him to read? The good in her made
a vain effort to fight down the evil. She would keep it. Carl must not
have it. No, a thousand times no!
All that day she kept the letter hidden at her bosom. How it seemed to
burn her flesh one moment and freeze her very blood the next! It seemed
to Grace that it would shriek out its message to the man from whom she
was hiding it. But she did not falter in her evil purpose. Although
heart sick and weary at the realization of her wrong, she clung to it
with grim resolve.
At last the day, the longest she had ever lived, came to an end and
she hurried home eager to read that letter, but weighed down with a
nameless fear, with strange foreboding.
It was but the work of a moment to unseal the envelope over the steam
of a kettle. With feverish haste, she drew out its contents, and read,
half aloud, with halting words:
My Beloved Carl:
I am home again with my mother, whom I found before the charred cross
you had erected over what you thought was my grave. Dear heart, I was
overjoyed to hear that you were alive. I had thought that the savage
cavemen had done their worst to you. When they carried me away, and
later while lying in their cave I prayed to God to receive your soul
with mercy. But now I am thanking Him for having kept you alive. I
can hardly believe it, darling.
The cavemen held the slave-girl, Cintani and myself captives for
several days, but Cintani, she is a clever one, managed to poison
them, so that we escaped.
On our way home we came across de Rochelle, who was almost dead with
thirst and fever. Perhaps I shouldn’t have done it, but I gave him
water and helped him to his feet. He came along with us to the site
of the burned cabin where mother was praying for me. At the sight of
me, she fainted dead away. You can well imagine the shock it would be.
De Rochelle has confessed that he set the place on fire, trying to
help us, and that he followed the cavemen when they carried me off.
This may be true, but I do not believe him. At any rate, he has
promised to leave Timbuktoo as soon as he has sufficient strength to
do so. So don’t worry about him, dear.
“In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wild waste there still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing
Which speaks to my spirit of thee.”
I shall write you more in a day or two. At present I am worn out and
still too much excited in the happiness and knowledge that my Carl is
still among the living. With heaps of love and kisses,
Your Sana.
To this letter was pinned a short note to the effect that, because
of incorrect address on the first envelope, the letter had been
returned to her after some seven weeks had passed, and that she had
promptly readdressed it correctly and with the second sending had also
dispatched a cablegram.
Grace said to herself, “Poor thing, writing a wrong address on a letter
to her lover. However, it finally found its destination. Here it is!
And the cablegram!”
As Grace read this loving message, her face grew livid and her eyes
expanded and contracted in her rage. She rose up suddenly, exclaiming
through quivering lips, “Why couldn’t she have died, or that caveman
taken her. Then I should not have to suffer now. Then she would have
been out of my way.”
For an hour she sat in the chair, where she had thrown herself in a
fit of rage, torturing herself with cruel thoughts. But finally the
madness died down, and the look of hatred was replaced by one of utmost
depression and despair.
“What is the use? Sooner or later he will learn that his desert flame
is still burning.”
At this juncture, Grace rose and replaced the message within the
envelope, sealing it carefully once more. Yes, it would be for the best
if she turned it over to its rightful owner. With that thought in mind
she sought the comfort of her pillows.
The next morning, however, the good resolution of the night before
had paled. Grace seized upon the letter and striking a match soon
reduced Sana’s message to a little heap of black fragments, saying with
a bitter laugh “Here goes Carl’s flame like the will-of-the-whisp,
flitting over the ground in its misleading way, lasting but a little
while.”
But Grace could not alter the ways of Fate or Destiny! She might stave
them off for the while, but all her plans and wiles could not prevent
them from eventually rushing past her and on to the predestined goal.
The days rolled by and still Grace bore her grudge against Carl. In
what strange actions love chooses to express itself! And yet--did not
the great Alexander burn Persepolis, the Gem of the East, in order to
satisfy the whim of Thaïs, the courtesan? Did not Antony lose the world
to follow in the footsteps of her who fled in vain back to her lost
empire--Cleopatra? Yes, these are the ways of love and strange ways
they are.
Grace assumed an outward attitude that did not correspond with her
feelings within. Whenever Carl addressed her she replied in a kindly,
gracious tone, without hint of the madness that was eating away
her soul. Carl appeared to be more business like and calculating
than before. Often there were times when she longed to tell him her
innermost feelings, but she could not bring herself to the point of
doing so.
And then Fate took a hand.
What had brought Carl to the office so early that morning? Why should
he have been there in the outer office when the postman delivered
a second letter from Sana? Grace asked herself these questions as
reluctantly she passed the letter over to Carl. He took it mechanically
and not recognizing Sana’s writing, laid the missive aside for a few
moments while he took up duties of greater importance to him than any
personal letter possibly could be.
His evident non-recognition of the missive struck Grace rather forcibly
as she watched him closely from her desk. No opportunity presented
itself whereby she could secure this letter, and much to her chagrin
she was obliged to watch Carl at last pick it up for reading.
He studied the stamp and the postmark, and as he did so became very
restless, excitably so and with more than eager fingers he tore open
the envelope. A small slip of paper fluttered to the floor. Eagerly he
stooped to pick it up. Unfolding it his surprised eyes were confronted
with--
HERE LIES MY BELOVED
SANA VON SECKT
REST IN PEACE
CARL
It was the note he had pinned to the charred cross on Sana’s grave. His
face grew pale, and scarcely able to control his emotions he seized the
letter itself and unfolded it. As he did so he stared with eyes that
could not believe what they saw. He turned at once to the signature
and the pallor of his face changed and gradually brightened while the
fearsome look in his eyes was changed to one of wonder and joy. He
read, scarcely breathing the while:
My beloved Carl:
As I promised you, I am writing you more at length now that I am at
ease. I trust that my cablegram and first letter found you in good
health and spirits, dearest darling boy.
I soon recovered from the experience I had in the captivity of those
strange cavemen, and my quick recovery I ascribe to the joy of
knowing that you, my sweetheart, were not murdered in cold blood. I
went to church and thanked God for the wonderful escape you had. The
terrible agony I endured until I met my mother kneeling before the
cross, praying for my soul, I can hardly describe. All that I care
about now is that you are safe.
I shudder when I think of how that caveman struck you down with his
club. You really had no chance. And with that same club, while I was
prisoner, he tried to make love to me. It is hard for me to realize
today that such a brutal man should have let me off so easily, but
then I suppose I should thank Cintani for this. She poisoned the
entire tribe, at least, so I think, as mentioned in my first letter.
When we escaped that night I took a last look at those cruel people
and they were all lying silently on the ground--a veritable court of
the dead.
After all, I believe cavemen to a certain extent are chivalrous to
women. If it were not so, I would not be alive today. I would have
taken the poison myself. You should have seen the way in which those
women loved their mates--yet their affection is secured and held by
the club. I wonder how it would be if you were king of the cavemen?
But I suppose now that you are again in the company of the New York
girls you no longer care for your “desert flower.” Was it after all,
but a Fata Morgana that we held in our arms while sitting on the
beach? Write me, dear, as I have been so lonesome since you left. I
feel as if I were standing alone on a huge sand wave in the great
desert, not certain of my foundation.
But I do trust in you and I often thank our Lord that He sent you to
me to save my life. How can I ever repay you? All I can give you is
my devotion and love. Love is life. So come to my arms.
Cintani, the little slave-girl, is staying at my home. I am so
grateful to her. If it had not been for her pluck the chances are I
should not now be writing this letter.
De Rochelle, as I wrote you, will shortly leave for France. My mother
tells me he has recovered his strength although I have not seen him
since my return.
He promised to stay away from me and so far he has kept good that
promise. To think that he should have set Amshied’s place on fire
while you and I were there. He claims he did it to save me from
Amshied, but this is probably on the same par with his desire to have
me jump from the bridge.
I am enclosing herewith my tombstone inscription “Here Sana, rest
in peace....” As you now know you certainly did exaggerate. It is
seldom that one has the opportunity of reading the inscription on
one’s own gravemarker. But when I saw the grave you had made, I could
not keep from crying. I want to tell you how I appreciate your kind
manly spirit. You are just wonderful and I wish we were together now.
But alas, I shall have to have patience.
With love and many kisses and regards from mother, yours as ever,
Sana.
Carl read the letter a second time. Then resting back in his arm chair
he smiled. And yet the close observer might have perceived that his
eyes were veiled with a slight mist--tears of joy that welled up from
the soul.
Grace, who had been watching Carl closely, grew furious, so much so,
that she ground her teeth and bit her lips until the blood appeared.
After Carl had again glanced over Sana’s message, he placed it in his
pocket and summoned Grace into his private office to take dictation.
Grace rose unsteadily from her chair, believing that Carl would dictate
a message to Sana. That she determined, she would not stand for. Then
the thought flashed through her mind that Carl surely would not expect
her to attend to his love affairs.
Carl commenced to dictate a business letter, but his mind was far
from the subject. Repeatedly he corrected himself and requested his
secretary to read and re-read the notes which she had taken down. This
mental disturbance in the usually fine poise of her employer could not
go by Grace unnoticed. It served to anger her all the more to realize
that his love for Sana had the power to drive all else from his mind
and make him even oblivious to the duties of his office.
Grace had read the letter back to him for the fourth time when Carl,
even in his confused mental state realized that there was neither sense
nor reason in what he had dictated. So he decided to commence again.
A new beginning was made but that was about all. At last with a thin
and rather wan smile he gave it up for the time being, dismissing his
secretary with the words “Never mind, just now. I will get the letter
out before five. Don’t fail to remind me of it.”
A strange look had settled over Grace’s countenance as she returned
to her desk. A serious expression it was, born of the thought of the
withheld cablegram and the purloined letter. She had suffered far more
in proportion to her doings than the satisfaction she had derived from
them.
Presently Carl entered her office and in a strangely calm voice asked,
“Miss Huntington, do you know if there is another party in this
building by the name of Lohman? There was a cablegram and a letter
that I should have received probably some ten days ago.”
“I do not know,” was her rather quickly spoken reply, and a flush that
spread over her face, but without any apparent hesitation she went on
with her work. Fortunately, Carl did not notice her embarrassment.
“It is very strange. I ought to be able to find out the particulars
of delivery at the cable office. Would you be kind enough to drop in
there on your way to lunch and inquire if they have any record for the
last two weeks, or longer, of receiving and delivering a cablegram for
me from Timbuktoo, Africa? You know, when they deliver a cablegram the
receiver must sign for it.”
“Yes, surely, with pleasure,” came with difficulty from Grace’s pale
lips and then momentarily summoning courage, she added, “Were you
expecting a cablegram?”
“No, but I received a letter in which it was stated that a cablegram
had been sent.”
“Was it an important message?”
“Yes--and no.”
“Probably the sender confirmed the cable wording in the letter you
received this morning.”
Carl turned without an answer, as though he had not heard this final
remark and stepped into his own office.
Her heart beat high, and fearfully she racked her mind for some way out
of the difficulty in which she now perceived she had gotten herself.
It would never do to let Carl make any personal inquiries at the cable
office since then most assuredly she would be detected in the game she
had tried to play. Many plans and schemes came to her mind but upon
consideration none appeared to answer her purpose. As she murmured to
herself, “I may as well take the chance and pretend to have stopped
there. He would never know the difference and I can easily report that
no such cablegram had been received.”
Her lunch hour having arrived she prepared to go out, and as she was
putting on her hat, Carl happened to pass and gave a parting caution,
“Now don’t forget about that cable.”
Her reply, “No I won’t,” was given in a rather strange tone and she was
thankful that Carl did not appear to notice it. Hurriedly she left the
office, her entire body atremble. She did not go near the cable office
nor did she partake of her customary ice-cream soda lunch. The fear
that rose up within her had robbed her of all desire to eat. Instead
she walked the streets, thinking, thinking.
Returning to the office a little later than usual she summoned her
courage and at once went to Carl’s private office.
In response to his eager and questioning look she said, “There has been
no such message received for the past three months.”
This she figured, certainly covered the period since Carl himself had
left Timbuktoo, and continued, “I had them look over all the books and
through all their files, and having done so, they were positive that no
cable of any sort had been received for you from Timbuktoo or any other
place in Africa. In fact, you did not receive any foreign messages
since you returned from abroad.”
Carl turned away in silence, not knowing what to make of it, but
realizing all too well that the cable might have gone astray.
Grace stood silently, noting carefully Carl’s every gesture and
expression, as she awaited a reply. He dismissed her with apparently
kindly spoken words, “All right, never mind it then.”
As she left his office, she breathed much easier and a great burden
seemed to have been lifted from her guilty soul. He suspected nothing!
A few minutes later however, Carl asked her for a cablegram blank and
instead of dictating the message to her he wrote it out himself, and
personally rang for a messenger.
When the messenger arrived, Grace, going to the door of Carl’s office,
said, “The boy is here Mr. Lohman, will you give me the cablegram?”
“Send the boy in here.”
As the boy entered the office, Grace closed the door behind him,
remaining close outside in an effort to hear what was said. But all she
heard was “Charge it.”
She went quickly to her desk and sat down as the boy came out and
departed through the outer door. It occurred to her too late that she
might have gone out into the hall and demanded the message from the
boy and after having perused it, handed it back to him with no one the
wiser as to her deception.
In her high-strung and nervous state, her mind was not working as
clearly as usual, or she surely would have realized that she could have
gone to the cable office, at the end of the day, and for some plausible
reason, such as having failed to retain a copy for the office file,
procured a copy of the message.
Picking up her pencil and notebook she muttered sadly, “Out of luck
this time,” and entered Carl’s office with the words “Mr. Lohman, you
wished me to remind you of that letter you desired to dictate before
the close of the day. Shall I take it now?”
“Ah yes, sit down and I will dictate at once.”
And, greatly to the surprise and chagrin, of Grace, he, in the calmest
manner imaginable, sat back in his chair and dictated the long business
letter without a single halt or change. He was at ease, mentally and
physically, in great contrast with his bewildered words of the morning.
It was the message he had sent to Sana that had relieved his spirit and
restored him to his normal bearing.
It was Grace, who, if she had known the contents of that cablegram,
would have trembled and been unfit to take the letter he was now
dictating.