The Pagan Madonna Part 16

"Not yet, but you never can tell."

"Jane, you're a brick!"

"Jane!" she repeated. "Well, I don't suppose there's any harm in your calling me that, with part.i.tions in between."

"They used to call me Denny."

"And you want me to call you that?"

"Will you?"

"I'll think it over--Denny!"

They laughed. Both recognized the basic fact in this running patter. Each was trying to buck up the other. Jane was honestly worried. She could not say what it was that worried her, but there was a strong leaven in her of old-wives' prescience. It wasn't due to this high-handed adventure of Cleigh, senior; it was something leaning down darkly from the future that worried her. That hand mirror!

"Better not talk any more," she advised. "You'll be getting thirsty."

"I'm already that."

"You're a brave man, captain," she said, her tone altering from gayety to seriousness. "Don't worry about me. I've always been able to take care of myself, though I've never been confronted with this kind of a situation before. Frankly, I don't like it. But I suspect that your father will have more respect for us if we laugh at him. Has he a sense of humour?"

"My word for it, he has! What could be more humorous than tying me up in this fas.h.i.+on and putting me in the cabin that used to be mine? Ten thousand for a string of gla.s.s beads! I say, Jane!"

"What?"

"When he comes back tell him you might consider twenty thousand, just to get an idea what the thing is worth."

"I'll promise that."

"All right. Then I'll try to snooze a bit. Getting stuffy lying on my back."

"The brute! If I could only help you!"

"You have--you are--you will!"

He turned on his side, his face toward the door. His arms and legs began to sting with the sensation known as sleep. He was glad his father had overheard the initial conversation. A wave of terror ran over him at the thought of being set ash.o.r.e while Jane went on. Still he could have sent a British water terrier in hot pursuit.

Jane sat down and took inventory. She knew but little about antiques--rugs and furniture--but she was full of inherent love of the beautiful. The little secretary upon which she had written the order on the consulate was an exquisite lowboy of old mahogany of dull finish. On the floor were camel saddle-bays, Persian in pattern. On the panel over the lowboy was a small painting, a foot broad and a foot and a half long. It was old--she could tell that much. It was a portrait, tender and quaint. She would have gasped had she known that it was worth a cover of solid gold. It was a Holbein, The Younger, for which Cleigh some years gone had paid Cunningham sixteen thousand dollars. Where and how Cunningham had acquired it was not open history.

An hour pa.s.sed. By and by she rose and tiptoed to the part.i.tion. She held her ear against the panel, and as she heard nothing she concluded that Denny--why not?--was asleep. Next she gazed out of the port. It was growing dark outside, overcast. It would rain again probably. A drab sky, a drab sh.o.r.e. She saw a boat filled with those luscious vegetables which wrote typhus for any white person who ate them. A barge went by piled high with paddy bags--rice in the husk--with Chinamen at the forward and stern sweeps. She wondered if these poor yellow people had ever known what it was to play?

Suddenly she fell back, shocked beyond measure. From the direction of the salon--a pistol shot! This was followed by the tramp of hurrying feet.

Voices, now sharp, now rumbling--this grew nearer. A struggle of some dimensions was going on in the pa.s.sage. The racket reached her door, but did not pause there. She sank into the chair, a-tremble.

Dennison struggled to a sitting posture.

"Jane?"

"Yes!"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, what has happened?"

"A bit of mutiny, I take it; but it seems to be over."

"But the shot!"

"I heard no cry of pain, only a lot of scuffling and some high words.

Don't worry."

"I won't. Can't you break a piece of gla.s.s and saw your way out?"

"Lord love you, that's movie stuff! If I had a razor, I couldn't manage it without hacking off my hands. You are worried!"

"I'm a woman, Denny. I'm not afraid of your father; but if there is mutiny, with all these treasures on board--and over here----"

"All right. I'll make a real effort."

She could hear him stumbling about. She heard the crash of the water carafe on the floor. Several minutes dragged by.

"Can't be done!" said Dennison. "Can't make the broken gla.s.s stay put.

Can't reach my ankles, either, or I could get my feet free. There's a double latch on your door. See to it! Lord!"

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Just hunting round for some cuss words. Put the chair up against the door k.n.o.b and sit tight for a while."

The hours dragged by in stifling silence.

Meanwhile, Cleigh, having attended to errands, lunched, had gone to the American consulate and presented the order. His name and reputation cleared away the official red tape. He explained that all the fuss of the night before had been without cause. Miss Norman had come aboard the yacht, and now decided to go to Hong-Kong with the family. This suggested the presence of other women on board. In the end, Jane's worldly goods were consigned to Cleigh, who signed the receipt and made off for the launch.

It was growing dark. On the way down the river Cleigh made no attempt to search for the beads.

The salon lights snapped up as the launch drew alongside. Once below, Cleigh dumped Jane's possessions into the nearest chair and turned to give Dodge an order--only to find the accustomed corner vacant!

"Dodge!" he shouted. He ran to the pa.s.sage. "Dodge, where the devil are you?"

"Did you call, sir?"

Cleigh spun about. In the doorway to the dining salon stood Cunningham, on his amazingly handsome face an expression of anxious solicitude!

CHAPTER X