The Pagan Madonna Part 11

"Something tells me," said Cunningham, easily, "that Miss Norman is in no danger. But she would never have gone out if I had been in the lobby. If she has not returned by one call me. Any a.s.sistance I can give will be given gladly. Women ought never to be mixed up in affairs such as this one, on this side of the world. Tell your father that he ought to know by this time that he is no match for me."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Innocent! You know very well what I mean. If you hadn't a suspicion of what has happened you would be roaring up and down the corridors with the police. You run true to the breed. It's a good one, I'll admit. But your father will regret this night's work."

"Perhaps. Here, read this."

Dennison extended the note. Cunningham, his brows bent, ran through the missive.

MISS NORMAN: Will you do me the honour to meet me at the bridgehead at half-past nine--practically at once? My son and I are not on friendly terms. Still, I am his father, and I'd like to hear what he has been doing over here. I will have a limousine, and we can ride out on the Bubbling Well Road while we talk.

ANTHONY CLEIGH.

"Didn't know," said Cunningham, returning the note, "that you two were at odds. But this is a devil of a mix-up, if it's what I think."

"What do you think?"

"That he's abducted her--carried her off to the yacht."

"He's no fool," was the son's defense.

"He isn't, eh? Lord love you, sonny, your father and I are the two biggest fools on all G.o.d's earth!"

The door closed sharply in Dennison's face and the key rasped in the lock.

For a s.p.a.ce Dennison did not stir. Why should he wish to protect his father? Between his father and this handsome rogue there was small choice.

The old boy made such rogues possible. But supposing Cleigh had wished really to quiz Jane? To find out something about these seven years, lean and hard, with stretches of idleness and stretches of furious labour, loneliness? Well, the father would learn that in all these seven years the son had never faltered from the high level he had set for his conduct.

That was a stout staff to lean on--he had the right to look all men squarely in the eye.

He had been educated to inherit millions; he had not been educated to support himself by work in a world that specialized. He had in these seven years been a jeweller's clerk, an auctioneer in a salesroom; he had travelled from Baluchistan to Damascus with carpet caravans, but he had never forged ahead financially. Generally the end of a job had been the end of his resources. One fact the thought of which never failed to buck him up--he had never traded on his father's name.

Then had come the war. He had returned to America, trained, and they had a.s.signed him to Russia. But that had not been without its reward--he had met Jane.

In a New York bank, to his credit, was the sum of twenty thousand dollars, at compound interest for seven years, ready to answer to the scratch of a pen, but he had sworn he would never touch a dollar of it. Never before had the thought of it risen so strongly to tempt him. His for the mere scratch of a pen!

In the lobby he found the manager pacing nervously, while Ling Foo sat patiently and inscrutably.

"Why do you wait?" inquired Dennison, irritably.

"The lady has some jade of mine," returned Ling Foo, placidly. "It was a grave mistake."

"What was?"

"That you interfered this afternoon. The lady would be in her room at this hour. The devil beads would not be casting a spell on us."

"Devil beads, eh?"

Ling Foo shrugged and ran his hands into his sleeves. Somewhere along the banks of the Whangpoo or the Yang-tse would be the body of an unknown, but Ling Foo's lips were locked quite as securely as the dead man's. Devil beads they were.

"When did the man upstairs leave the beads with you?"

"Last night."

"For what reason?"

"He will tell you. It is none of my affair now." And that was all Dennison could dig out of Ling Foo.

Jane Norman did not return at one o'clock; in fact, she never returned to the Astor House. Dennison waited until three; then he went back to the Palace, and Ling Foo to his shop and oblivion.

Dennison decided that he did not want the police in the affair. In that event there would be a lot of publicity, followed by the kind of talk that stuck. He was confident that he could handle the affair alone. So he invented a white lie, and n.o.body questioned it because of his uniform.

Miss Norman had found friends, and shortly she would send for her effects; but until that time she desired the consulate to take charge. Under the eyes of the relieved hotel manager and an indifferent clerk from the consulate the following morning Dennison packed Jane's belongings and conveyed them to the consulate, which was hard by. Next he proceeded to the water front and engaged a motor boat. At eleven o'clock he drew up alongside the _Wanderer II_.

"Hey, there!" shouted a seaman. "Sheer off! Orders to receive no visitors!"

Dennison began to mount, ignoring the order. It was a confusing situation for the sailor. If he threw this officer into the yellow water--as certainly he would have thrown a civilian--Uncle Sam might jump on his back and ride him to clink. Against this was the old man, the very devil for obedience to his orders. If he pushed this lad over, the clink; if he let him by, the old man's foot. And while the worried seaman was reaching for water with one hand and wind with the other, as the saying goes, Dennison thrust him roughly aside, crossed the deck to the main companionway, and thundered down into the salon.

CHAPTER VIII

Cleigh sat before a card table; he was playing Chinese Canfield. He looked up, but he neither rose nor dropped the half-spent deck of cards he held in his hand. The bronzed face, the hard agate blue of the eyes that met his own, the utter absence of visible agitation, took the wind out of Dennison's sails and left him all a-s.h.i.+ver, like a sloop coming about on a fresh tack. He had made his entrance stormily enough, but now the hot words stuffed his throat to choking.

Cleigh was thirty years older than his son; he was a finished master of sentimental emotions; he could keep all his thoughts out of his countenance when he so willed. But powerful as his will was, in this instance it failed to reach down into his heart; and that thumped against his ribs rather painfully. The boy!

Dennison, aware that he stood close to the ridiculous, broke the spell and advanced.

"I have come for Miss Norman," he said.

Cleigh scrutinized the cards and s.h.i.+fted one.

"I found your note to her. I've a launch. I don't know what the game is, but I'm going to take Miss Norman back with me if I have to break in every door on board!"

Cleigh stood up. As he did so Dodge, the Texan appeared in the doorway to the dining salon. Dennison saw the blue barrel of a revolver.

"A gunman, eh? All right. Let's see if he'll shoot," said the son, walking deliberately toward Dodge.

"No, Dodge!" Cleigh called out as the Texan, raised the revolver. "You may go."

Dodge, a good deal astonished, backed out. Once more father and son stared at each other.

"Better call it off," advised the son. "You can't hold Miss Norman--and I can make a serious charge. Bring her at once, or I'll go for her. And the Lord help the woodwork if I start!"

But even as he uttered the threat Dennison heard a sound behind. He turned, but not soon enough. In a second he was on the floor, three husky seamen mauling him. They had their hands full for a while, but in the end they conquered.

"What next, sir?" asked one of the sailors, breathing hard.

"Tie him up and lock him in Cabin Two."