The Pagan Madonna Part 14

"If you will write the order I will execute it at once. The consulate closes early."

"I'll write it, but how will I get it to you? The door closes below the sill."

"When you are ready, call, and I will open the door a little."

"It would be better if you opened it full wide. This is China--I understand that. But we are both Americans, and there's a good sound law covering an act like this."

"But it does not reach as far as China. Besides, I have an a.s.set back in the States. It is my word. I have never broken it to any man or woman, and I expect I never shall. You have, or have had, what I consider my property. You have hedged the question; you haven't been frank."

The son listened intently.

"I bought that string of gla.s.s beads in good faith of a Chinaman--Ling Foo. I consider them mine--that is, if they are still in my possession.

Between the hour I met you last night and the moment of Captain Dennison's entrance to my room considerable time had elapsed."

"Sufficient for a rogue like Cunningham to make good use of," supplemented the prisoner in Cabin Two. "There's a way of finding out the facts."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. You used to carry a planchette that once belonged to the actress Rachel. Why not give it a whirl? Everybody's doing it."

Cleigh eyed Cabin Four, then Cabin Two, and shook his head slightly, dubiously. He was not getting on well. To come into contact with a strong will was always acceptable; and a strong will in a woman was a novelty.

All at once it struck him forcibly that he stood on the edge of boredom; that the lure which had brought him fully sixteen thousand miles was losing its bite. Was he growing old, drying up?

"Will you tell me what it is about these beads that makes you offer ten thousand for them? Gla.s.s--anybody could see that. What makes them as valuable as pearls?"

"They are love beads," answered Cleigh, mockingly. "They are far more potent than powdered pearls. You have worn them about your throat, Miss Norman, and the sequence is inevitable."

"Nonsense!" cried Jane.

Dennison added his mite to the confusion:

"I thought that scoundrel Cunningham was lying. He said the string was a code key belonging to the British Intelligence Office."

"Rot!" Cleigh exploded.

"So I thought."

"But hurry, Miss Norman. The sooner I have that written order on the consulate the sooner you'll have your belongings."

"Very well."

Five minutes later she announced that the order was completed, and Cleigh opened the door slightly.

"The key will be given you the moment we weigh anchor."

"I say," called the son, "you might drop into the Palace and get my truck, too. I'm particular about my toothbrushes." A pause. "I'd like a drink, too--if you've got the time."

Cleigh did not answer, but he presently entered Cabin Two, filled a gla.s.s with water, raised his son's head to a proper angle, and gave him drink.

"Thanks. This business strikes me as the funniest thing I ever heard of!

You would have done that for a dog."

Cleigh replaced the water carafe in the rack above the wash bowl and went out, locking the door. In the salon he called for Dodge:

"I am going into town. I'll be back round five. Don't stir from this cabin."

"Yes, sir."

"You remember that fellow who was here night before last?"

"The good-looking chap that limped?"

"Yes."

"And I'm to crease him if he pokes his noodle down the stairs?"

"Exactly! No talk, no palaver! If he starts talking he'll talk you out of your boots. Shoot!"

"In the leg? All right."

His employer having gone, Dodge sat in a corner from which he could see the companionway and all the pa.s.sages. He lit a long black cigar, laid his formidable revolver on a knee, and began his vigil. A queer job for an old cow-punch, for a fact.

To guard an old carpet that didn't have "welcome" on it anywhere--he couldn't get that, none whatever. But there was a hundred a week, the best grub pile in the world, and the old man's Havanas as often as he pleased.

Pretty soft!

And he had learned a new trick--shooting target in a rolling sea. He had wasted a hundred rounds before getting the hang of it. Maybe these sailors hadn't gone pop-eyed when they saw him pumping lead into the bull's-eye six times running? Tin cans and raw potatoes in the water, too. Something to brag about if he ever got back home.

He broke the gun and inspected the cylinder. There wasn't as much grease on the cartridges as he would have liked.

"Miss Norman?" called Dennison.

"What is it?"

"Are you comfortable?"

"Oh, I'm all right. I'm only furious with rage, that's all. You are still tied?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I really don't understand your father."

"I have never understood him. Yet he was very kind to me when I was little. I don't suppose there is anything in heaven or on earth that he's afraid of."

"He is afraid of me."

"Do you believe that?"