The Pagan Madonna Part 36

CHAPTER XX

Jane and Dennison were alone. "I wonder," he said, "are we two awake, or are we having the same nightmare?"

"The way he hugs his word! Imagine a man stepping boldly and mockingly outside the pale, and carrying along his word unsullied with him! He's mad, Denny, absolutely mad! The poor thing!"

That phrase seemed to liberate something in his mind. The brooding oppression lifted its siege. His heart was no longer a torture chamber.

"I ought to be his partner, Jane. I'm as big a fool as he is. Who but a fool would plan and execute a game such as this? But he's sound on one point. It's a colossal joke."

"But your father?"

"Cunningham will have to dig a pretty deep hole somewhere if he expects to hide successfully. It's a hundred-to-one shot that father will never see his rug again. He probably realizes that, and he will be relentless. He'll coal at Manila and turn back. He'll double or triple the new crew's wages.

Money will mean nothing if he starts after Cunningham. Of course I'll be out of the picture at Manila."

"Do you know why your father kidnaped me so easily? I thought maybe I could find a c.h.i.n.k in his armour and bring you two together."

"And you've found the job hopeless!" Dennison shrugged.

"Won't you tell me what the cause was?"

"Ask him. He'll tell it better than I can. So you hid the beads in that hand-warmer! Not half bad. But why don't you take the sixty thousand?"

"I've an old-fashioned conscience."

"I don't mean Father's gold, but the French Government's. Comfort as long as you lived."

"No, I could not touch even that money. The beads were stolen."

"Lord, Lord! Then there are three of us--Cunningham, myself, and you!"

"Are you calling me a tomfool?"

"Not exactly. What's the feminine?"

She laughed and rose.

"You are almost human to-night."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to have a little talk with your father."

"Good luck. I'm going to have a fresh pot of coffee. I shall want to keep awake to-night."

"Why?"

"Oh, just an idea. You'd better turn in when the interview is over. Good luck."

Jane stood framed in the doorway for a moment. Under the reading lamp in the main salon she saw Cleigh. He was running the beads from hand to hand and staring into s.p.a.ce. Behind her she heard Dennison's spoon clatter in the cup as he stirred the coffee.

Wild horses! She felt as though she were being pulled two ways by wild horses! For she was about to demand of Anthony Cleigh the promised reparation. And which of two things should she demand? All this time, since Cleigh had uttered the promise, she had had but one thought--to bring father and son together, to do away with this foolish estrangement.

For there did not seem to be on earth any crime that merited such a condition. If he humanly could--he had modified the promise with that.

What was more human than to forgive--a father to forgive a son?

And now Cunningham had to wedge in compellingly! She could hesitate between Denny and Cunningham! The rank disloyalty of it shocked her. To give Cunningham his eight months! Pity, urgent pity for the broken body and tortured soul of the man--mothering pity! Denny was whole and sound, mentally and physically; he would never know any real mental torture, anything that compared with Cunningham's, which was enduring, now waxing, now waning, but always sensible. To secure for him his eight months, without let or hindrance from the full enmity of Cleigh; to give him his boyhood dream, whether he found his pearls or not. Her throat became stuffed with the presage of tears. The poor thing!

But Denny, parting from his father at Manila, the cleavage wider than ever, beyond hope! Oh, she could not tolerate the thought of that! These two, so full of strong and bitter pride--they would never meet again if they separated now. Perhaps fate had a.s.signed the role of peacemaker to her, and she had this weapon in her hand to enforce it or bring it about--the father's solemn promise to grant whatever she might ask. And she could dodder between Denny and Cunningham!

To demand both conditions would probably appeal to Cleigh as not humanly possible. One or the other, but not the two together.

An interval of several minutes of which she had no clear recollection, and then she was conscious that she was reclining in her chair on deck, staring at the stars which appeared jerkily and queerly shaped--through tears. She hadn't had the courage to make a decision. As if it became any easier to solve by putting it over until to-morrow!

Chance--the Blind Madonna of the Pagan--was preparing to solve the riddle for her--with a thunderbolt!

The mental struggle had exhausted Jane somewhat, and she fell into a doze.

When she woke she was startled to see by her wrist watch that it was after eleven. The yacht was plowing along through the velvet blackness of the night. The inclination to sleep gone, Jane decided to walk the deck until she was as bodily tired as she was mentally. All the hidden terror was gone. To-morrow these absurd pirates would be on their way.

Study the situation as she might, she could discover no flaw in this whimsical madman's plans. He held the crew in his palm, even as he held Cleigh--by covetousness. Cleigh would never dare send the British after Cunningham; and the crew would obey him to the letter because that meant safety and recompense. The Great Adventure Company! Only by an act of G.o.d!

And what could possibly happen between now and the arrival of the _Haarlem_?

Cleigh had evidently turned in, for through the transoms she saw that the salon lights were out. She circled the deck house six times, then went up to the bow and stared down the cut.w.a.ter at the phosph.o.r.escence. Blue fire! The eternal marvel of the sea!

A hand fell upon her shoulder. She thought it would be Denny's. It was Flint's!

"Be a good sport, an' give us a kiss!"

She drew back, but he caught her arm. His breath was foul with tobacco and whisky.

"All right, I'll take it!"

With her free hand she struck him in the face. It was a sound blow, for Jane was no weakling. That should have warned Flint that a struggle would not be worth while. But where's the drunken man with caution? The blow stung Flint equally in flesh and spirit. He would kiss this woman if it was the last thing he ever did!

Jane fought him savagely, never thinking to call to the bridge. Twice she escaped, but each time the fool managed to grasp either her waist or her skirt. Then out of nowhere came the voice of Cunningham:

"Flint!"

Dishevelled and breathless, Jane found herself free. She stumbled to the rail and rested there for a moment. Dimly she could see the two men enacting a weird shadow dance. Then it came to her that Cunningham would not be strong enough to vanquish Flint, so she ran aft to rouse Denny.

As she went down the companionway, her knees threatening to give way, she heard voices, blows, crashings against the part.i.tions. Instinct told her to seek her cabin and barricade the door; curiosity drove her through the two darkened salons to the forward pa.s.sage. Only a single lamp was on, but that was enough. Anthony Cleigh's iron-gray head towering above a whirlwind of fists and forearms!

What had happened? This couldn't be real! She was still in her chair on deck, and what she saw was nightmare! Out of the calm, all in a moment, this! Where was Denny, if this picture wasn't nightmare? Cunningham above, struggling with the whisky-maddened Flint--Cleigh fighting in the pa.s.sage!

Dear G.o.d, what had happened?

Where was Denny? The question let loose in her heart and mind all that was emotional, at the same time enchaining her to the spot where she stood.