Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China

by George F. Worts

  CHAPTER XVII

  There was a noticeable ripple when Eileen Lorimer walked into theballroom that evening in the winsome attire of a Quaker maid, withProfessor Hodgson, as Pierrot, on one side, and the tall, commandingfigure of Peter the Brazen, in a spick-and-span white-and-gold uniformof the Pacific Mail Line, on the other.

  For Peter the Brazen, in any garb, was that type of man at whom anynormal woman would have looked twice--or, if only once, just twice aslong.

  Knotted about his lean waist was a flaunting blue sarong. The saronggave to his straight, white figure the deft touch of romance. Itverified the adventurous blue of his deep-set eyes, and the stubbornoutward thrust of his tanned, smooth-shaven jaw.

  When the young women of Eileen's acquaintance, to whom had beenwhispered some of the details of this man's thrilling past, crowdedabout for introductions, Peter had little difficulty in filling theremaining half of his program.

  And when the music started for the second event Peter recovered hisflushed and glowing Quaker maiden from the reluctant arms of ProfessorHodgson, upon whom had fallen, like a dark shroud, a gloom heavy andprofound, and the man who had that morning said good-by forever toChina and the wireless game and to ships and the sea, found himselffloating in and out upon a sea of gold, with a sprite from elf-landdazzling him with her rosebud smile.

  He would have liked to shock their beholders then and there by kissingher squarely upon that smile! And all the while, from the side line,Professor Hodgson, the professor of Chinese, watched their everymovement with a face as long and as gray as an alley in the fog.

  A little later in the evening, when Peter looked for his partner, aMiss Somebody or Other, whose penciled name had been smudged on hisprogram so that it had become an unintelligible blue, he looked in vain.

  He looked then among the dancers for the face of his Quaker maiden,and, unable to see her in the syncopating throng, elected to hunt forher, despite the known fact that she was in the company of his defeatedrival, the professor.

  Peter searched the refreshment room futilely, and decided that the pairhad probably retired to the palm garden, where Eileen was possiblyengaged to the best of her ability in soothing the ruffled feelings ofher revolver and Chinese instructor.

  As Peter parted the golden velvet hangings which shrouded the entranceto the dimly lighted conservatory, he espied a half-dozen couplesdisposed on as many small benches under the drooping fronds in variedattitudes of tete-a-tete.

  The curtains fell in alignment behind him; he caught the angry glare oftwo brown eyes from a bench, and realized that Eileen's versatileprofessor was not yet pacified. At Professor Hodgson's side, with herback toward Peter, was a young woman attired in Quaker costume. Herhead was not intimately close to that of the young professor; but itwas close.

  As Peter started to cross the waxed floor to her side, he saw Hodgson'shead dip low; saw the girl apparently yield herself into his arms; andas Peter stopped, stock-still, he saw the long arms of the professorwrap themselves about the slim shoulders, drawing the hidden facetoward him until the lips met his.

  In that dreadful instant the heart of Peter the Brazen deliberatelyskipped a beat. Black swam into his eyes, and he trembled, then becamestiff, as his gaze was glued to that ghastly pantomime. He hesitated,then leaped across the intervening distance.

  Both Eileen and her professor leaped up.

  Her face was white, and her fingers clutched in convulsion at herthroat; but Peter's face was equally as white and strained as hers.

  He stared in pain and utter disbelief, while a smile slowly crept overthe features of Eileen's professor. She seemed about to faint, andsank back, with eyes tightly closed, against Hodgson's breast.

  Peter tried to speak, but a moment passed before he could find words.

  "Eileen--Eileen," he muttered, "you said--you told me--oh, God!"

  He wheeled and dashed out of the hall, as he proposed to dash out ofher life, with terrible, sinking thoughts in his brain, and his heartpounding dismally against his ribs. He recovered his coat and hat inthe cloak-room.

  Hardly had he vanished than Eileen, recovering slowly from her daze,sprang after. But Hodgson detained her, gripping her arm.

  She seemed to realize for the first time what had been done, and to theprofound astonishment of the several round-eyed couples, she wiped herhand fiercely across her mouth, the recent repository of theprofessor's sudden and unexpected kiss.

  "You--beast!" she stammered. "You--you saw him come in! How daredyou! How dared you! I thought you were a--gentleman--you--you beast!"

  Her professor merely grinned, as though the tragedy were a comedy ofthe most amusing order.

  "One stolen kiss----" he chuckled.

  And Eileen slapped him smartly across the mouth. She started to boltfor the door, but he dragged her back, clinging to her struggling hand."You--one of that band!" she cried.

  "Oh, let me apologize," he laughed, rubbing the red mark about hismouth with his free hand. "If your hero resents my robbing him of onestingy, little kiss---- Band? What band?" But there was no questionin his eyes.

  "Stop him!" cried Eileen shrilly. "Oh, please, somebody call him back!"

  A sophomore, always willing to aid a lady in distress, sprang to thechase, and Eileen, breaking loose, stumbled after him out upon thedance floor. A waltz was under way, and the floor was jammed.

  They tried to break through, but were thrust aside by laughing dancers,who seemed to take this to be a new and diverting game.

  They tried again, and now Professor Hodgson, smiling blandly, came uponthe scene and interposed further interference. Dodging past him andnarrowly avoiding collision with a whirling couple close to the wall,Eileen scurried down the side in the direction of the cloakroom, withbig, hot tears burning down her flushed cheeks.

  When she reached the cloak-room she searched it in anxious haste forthe Marconi cap, the light-blue overcoat. Both were missing.

  With the sophomore atow, and conscious of the romantic nature of hiserrand, she ran into the moonlit street, looking up and down theblack-shadowed sidewalk for signs of the straight, tall figure.

  Down the street, perhaps a quarter of a mile distant, she made out themotionless streamer of lights of a train, the San Francisco train.

  With her gray Quaker dress flapping, and the clutter of whitepetticoats hindering the rhythm of her knees and ankles, Eileen speddown the middle of the road with the excited sophomore bringing up amad rear.

  The fate of her life lay in the train's waiting. She knew what PeterMoore would do. And if she could not stop him, she would be nothingless than his murderer. Had the evidences of her apparent infidelitybeen less damning she knew that Peter Moore would have waited, wouldhave listened to her explanation, and believed her.

  If she could only reach the train, she could tell him, could compel himto wait, and thereupon have it out with that cad Hodgson. It would befolly to pursue by later train, because Peter, as was customary withthat young philanderer, had neglected to leave his forwarding address.

  But Eileen never reached the train. The engine screamed scornfullywhen she was less than a block distant. The red and green tail-lightswere dwindling away along the throbbing rails when she arrived at thestation.

  The night had swallowed up her love and her high hopes. Before long,miles, and thousands of miles, would soon stretch between her and herlover.

  With a broken sob she wilted upon the station steps, while thesophomore stood awkwardly above her, bursting with questions,misty-eyed with youthful sympathy and fidgeting in acute discomfort.

  And thus was Peter the Brazen swept out of her life and into his nextadventure.