Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  Kāra looked at him with sudden suspicion.

  “Have you seen her?” he demanded.

  “Am I the keeper of your harem?” retorted Tadros, indignantly. “Old Tilga has been hidden in the” women’s quarters for hours. Probably she is attending to your Nephthys.”

  He eyed his master disdainfully, and Kāra walked an and entered the carriage. He had barely time to join the company at dinner, and Nephthys could wait.

  Winston was not present this evening, and the prince found Aneth unusually gracious. She chatted so pleasantly, her manner was so friendly and her clear eyes so sweet and intelligent, that Kāra gave way to the moment’s enchantment and forgot all else in the delight of her society.

  Nor did he recover readily from the spell. After returning home he paced the floor for an hour, recalling the English girl’s fair face and every change of its expression. Then he gave a guilty start as a recollection of Hatatcha swept over him, impressing upon his memory his fearful oath.

  Kāra’s nature, despite his cold exterior, was fervid in the extreme. He had sworn to hate this girl, yet to-night he loved her passionately. But Hatatcha’s training had not entirely failed. He calmed himself, and examined his danger critically, as an outsider might have done.

  To yield to his love for Aneth would mean enslavement by the enemy, a condition from which his judgment instinctively revolted. To steel his heart against her charms would be difficult, but its necessity was obvious. He determined to pursue his plot with relentless hatred, and to raise between the girl and himself as many bars as possible. He scorned his own weakness, and since he knew that it existed, he resolved to conquer it.

  Once Hatatcha had said to him: “You are cold, selfish and cruel, and I have made you so.” True; these qualities had been carefully instilled into his nature. He was proud that he possessed them, for he had a mission to fulfil. And if he desired any peace in his future life, that mission must be fully accomplished.

  In the morning he went to see Nephthys, and his face brightened as he realized how remarkably beautiful she was. The Orientals generally admire only the form of a woman, being indifferent to the face; but Kāra was modern enough to appreciate beauty of feature, while holding to an extent the Eastern prejudice that a fat and soft form is the chief attraction of the female sex. So he found Nephthys admirable in every way; and if her indifference and perfect subjection to his will in any way annoyed him, he was at this time unaware of the fact. He wished this girl to replace Aneth Consinor in his affection and esteem, and would forgive much in Nephthys if she could manage to bring about this excellent result.

  After this he devoted much of his attention to the Nile girl, striving in his association with her to exclude all outside interests. He purchased for her marvelous costumes and hired two Arab maidens to attend her and keep her royally attired. Kāra’s most splendid diamonds and rubies were set by Andalaft in many coronets, brooches and bracelets to deck her person, and many of the wonderful pearls he had brought from the secret tomb were carefully sized and strung to form a necklace for the Egyptian girl’s portly neck.

  Nephthys was pleased with these possessions. They drew her from the dull lassitude in which she had existed, and aroused in her breast a womanly exultation that even her mother could never have imagined her able to develop. It may be the girl began to think and to dream; yet if so, there was little outward indication of the fact. To comprehend any woman’s capabilities is difficult; to comprehend those of Nephthys seemed impossible. She was luxury-loving by nature, as are all Orientals, and accepted the comforts of her surroundings without questioning why they were bestowed upon her. Whatever sensibilities she possessed had long lain dormant. They might be awakening now; her delight in adornment seemed the first step in that direction.

  Kāra purposely remained away from the club for several evenings following that in which he had won Consinor’s ten thousand pounds. Perhaps he wished his enemy to become uneasy and fret at the delay in wiping out the debt, and if so, it would have gratified him to know the feverish anxiety with which the viscount haunted the club, and watched every new arrival in the hope that Kāra would appear.

  At last the Egyptian judged that he had waited long enough, and prepared to still further enmesh his victim. In his room that evening he took from a secret drawer of his cabinet a small roll of papyrus, on which were closely written hieroglyphics. To refresh his memory he read the scroll carefully, although it was not the first time he had studied it since it had fallen at his feet when the bust of Isis was overturned at the tomb of Ahtka-Rā. Freely translated, the writing was as follows:

  “Being finally prepared to join Anubis in the nether world, I, Ahtka-Rā, son of the Sun and High Priest of Amen, have caused to be added to the decoration of my sarcophagus the precious Stone of Fortune given to me by the King of Kesh (Ethiopia) in return for having preserved him and his people from the wrath of Rameses. It is my belief that this wondrous stone will guard my tomb when my spirit has departed, and by its powers preserve my body and my treasure from being despoiled, until that time when I shall return to Qemt (Egypt) to live again. Let no descendant of my house remove it from its place, for the Stone of Fortune is mine, and I bequeath it not to any of those who may come after me. In time of need my children may take of the treasure what they require, but to disturb my Stone of Fortune will be to draw upon the offender the bitterest curse of my spirit. It may be known to all from its changing color, being never the same for long; and the color of it is not bright, as is the ruby or the camelian or amethyst, but ever gloomy and mysterious. That none may mistake its location, I have embedded it in a triple band of gold, and it is placed at the head of my sarcophagus. There shall it remain. Since it came into my possession I have ever worn it in my bosom, and by its magic I have been able to control Rameses the son of Seti, to rule his kingdom as if it were my own, to confound all my enemies and accusers, and to amass such riches as no man of Qemt has ever before possessed. Also has it brought to me health and many years in which to accomplish the purpose of my present existence. For this reason do I refuse to part with it in the ages during which I await the new life. Whatever else may happen to my tomb, I implore those who live in the days to come to leave to me this one treasure.”

  It was signed by Ahtka-Rā and sealed with his seal, being doubtless the work of his own hand.

  Kāra rerolled the papyrus and put it away, pausing to glance with a smile at the strange ring he wore upon his hand.

  “My great ancestor was selfish,” he murmured, “and wished to prevent any of his descendants from becoming as famous as he himself was. Nevertheless, had I read the script before I removed the stone from the sarcophagus, I would have respected Ahtka-Rā’s wish; but I did not know what treasure I had gained until afterward, when it was too late to restore the stone without another visit to the tomb. A curse is a dreadful thing, especially from one’s ancestor, and it is even to avoid Hatatcha’s curse that I am now fulfilling her vengeance. But Ahtka-Rā may rest content; I have merely borrowed his talisman, and it shall be returned to him when I have obtained full satisfaction from my grandmother’s enemies. Meantime, the stone will protect me from evil fortune, and when it is restored the curse will be averted.”

  Something in this expression struck him as incongruous. He thought deeply for a moment, a frown gathering upon his brow. Then he said: “I must not deceive myself with sophistries. What if the curse is already working, and because of it the English girl has turned my strength to weakness? But that cannot be. Whenever I have worn this ring I have mastered all difficulties and triumphed as I desired; and I will triumph in my undertaking to-night, in spite of the reproach I can already see in Aneth’s eyes. I am still the controller of my own destiny as well as the destinies of others; for if the talisman did so much for Ahtka-Rā. as he claims, it will surely prove stronger than any curse.”

  With a laugh he shook off the uncanny feeling that had for the moment oppressed him, and went to the club.


  CHAPTER XIV.

  ROGUES ANCIENT AND MODERN.

  Consinor arrived early at the Lotus Club and took his seat at a small table facing the doorway, where he whiled away the time by playing solitaire.

  Presently Kāra entered and greeted him cordially, seeming to be in an especially happy mood.

  “Well, shall we try our luck?” he said, seating himself at the opposite side of the table.

  Nodding assent, Consinor gathered up the cards and shuffled them. Several loungers who knew of the previous game and wondered what the next meeting between the two men would evolve, clustered around the table to watch the result.

  Kāra won the cut and dealt. He played rather carelessly and lost. The stakes were a pound sterling.

  “Double!” he cried, laughing, and again the viscount nodded.

  The luck had shifted, it seemed, for the prince repeatedly lost. At first he chatted gaily with those present and continued to double with reckless disregard of his opponent’s success; but by and by he grew thoughtful and looked at his cards more closely, watching the game as shrewdly as his adversary. The stakes had grown to four hundred pounds, and a subtle thrill of excitement spread over the little group of watchers.

  Was Consinor going to win back his ten thousand pounds at one sitting?

  Suddenly Kāra, in dealing, fumbled the cards and dropped one of them. In reaching to pick it up it slipped beneath his foot and he tore it into two. It was the queen of hearts.

  “How stupid!” he laughed, showing the pieces. “Here, boy, bring us a fresh pack of cards,” addressing an attendant.

  Consinor scowled and reached out his hand for the now useless deck. Kāra slipped the cards into his pocket, including the mutilated one.

  “They are mine, prince,” said the viscount; “I use them for playing my game of solitaire.”

  “Pardon, but I have destroyed their value,” returned Kāra. “I shall insist upon presenting you with a new deck, since my awkwardness has rendered your own useless.”

  Consinor bit his lip, but made no reply, watching silently while the prince tore open the new deck and shuffled the cards.

  The viscount lost the next hand, and the score was evened. He lost again, and still a third time.

  “The luck has changed with the new cards,” said he. “Let us postpone the game until another evening, unless you prefer to continue.”

  “Very well,” Kāra readily returned, and throwing down the cards, he leaned back in his chair, selected a fresh cigar from his case and carefully lighted it.

  Consinor had pushed back his own chair, but he did not rise. After watching Kāra’s nonchalant movements for a time, the viscount drew from his pocket three curious dice, and after an instant’s hesitation tossed them upon the table.

  “Here is a curiosity,” he remarked. “I am told these cubes were found in an Egyptian tomb at Thebes. They are said to be three thousand years old.”

  The men present, including Kāra, examined the dice curiously. The spots were arranged much as they are at the present day, an evidence that this mode of gambling has been subjected to little improvement since the early Egyptians first invented it.

  “They are excellently preserved,” said van Roden. “Where did you get them, viscount?”

  “I picked them up the other day from a strolling Arab. They seemed to me very quaint.”

  “There are several sets in the museum,” remarked Pintsch, a German in charge of the excavations at Dashur. “It is very wonderful how much those ancients knew.”

  Lord Consinor drew the dice toward him.

  “See here, Prince,” said he, “let us try our luck with these antiquities. It is quicker and easier than écarté.”

  “Very well,” consented Kāra. “What are the stakes?”

  “Let us say a hundred pounds the throw.”

  This suggestion startled the group of spectators; but Kāra said at once:

  “I will agree to that, my lord.”

  He lost once, twice, thrice.

  Then, as Consinor, with a triumphant leer, pushed the dice toward him, Kāra thrust his hands in his pockets and said in a quiet voice to the onlookers:

  “Gentlemen, I call upon you to witness that I am playing with a rogue. These dice are loaded.”

  Following a moment’s horrified silence, the viscount sprang up with an oath.

  “This is an insult, Prince Kāra!” he cried.

  “Sit down,” said Colonel Varrin, sternly. “No mere words can condemn you, sir. Let us examine the dice.”

  The others concurred, their faces bearing witness to their dismay and alarm. Such a disgraceful occurrence had never before been known within those eminently respectable walls. The honor of the club was, they felt, at stake.

  The cubes were carefully tested. It was as Kāra had charged — they were loaded.

  “Can you explain this, Lord Consinor?” asked one of the party.

  “I cannot see why I should be called upon to explain,” was the reply. “In purchasing the dice, I was, wholly ignorant of their condition. It was a mere impulse that led me to offer to play with them.”

  “It is well known that these ancient dice are frequently loaded,” interrupted Pintsch, eagerly, as if he saw a solution of the affair. “Two of the sets exhibited in the museum have been treated in the same clever manner.”

  “That is true,” agreed Varrin, nodding gravely.

  “In that case,” said Consinor, “I am sure you gentlemen will exonerate me from any intentional wrong. It is simply my misfortune that I offered to play with the dice.”

  “Was it also your misfortune, my lord,” returned Kāra, calmly, “that you have been playing all the evening with marked cards? I will ask you to explain to these gentlemen why this deck, which you have claimed in their presence to be your private property, bears secret marks that could only have been placed there with one intent — to swindle an unsuspecting antagonist.”

  He drew the cards from his pocket as he spoke handed them to Colonel Varrin, who examined them with a troubled countenance and then turned them over to his neighbor for inspection.

  While the cards passed around, Consinor sat staring blankly at the group. The evidence against him was so incontrovertible that he saw no means of escape from the disgrace which was sure to follow.

  “Gentlemen,” said Kāra, when the last man haH examined the cards and laid them upon the table again, “I trust you will all bear evidence that it is not my ususl custom or desire to win money from those I play with. Rather do I prefer to lose, for in that way I obtain the amusement of playing, without the knowledge that I may have inconvenienced my friends. But when a common trickster and cheat conspires to rob me, my temper is different. Lord Consinor owes me ten thousand pounds, and I demand from him in your presence prompt payment of the debt. Also, I depend upon you to protect me and my fellow-members from card sharpers in the future, which I am sure you will gladly do. For the rest, the matter is in your hands. Good evening, gentlemen.”

  He bowed with dignity and withdrew. The others silently followed, scattering to other rooms of the club. Varrin, as a club official, took with him the incriminating dice and the marked cards.

  Lord Consinor, knowing well that he was ruined, sat muttering curses upon Kāra and his own “hard luck” until he noticed the deserted room and decided to go home. The disaster had fairly dazed him, so that he failed to realize the fact that as he called for his hat and coat in the lobby the groups of bystanders ceased their eager talk and carefully turned their backs in his direction.

  The viscount had never heard of Hatatcha; yet it was her vengeance that had overtaken him.

  CHAPTER XV.

  WINSTON BEY IS INDIGNANT.

  In their rooms at the Savoy next morning Lord Roane and his son quarreled violently. The day’s paper contained a full account of the affair at the club, and while no names were mentioned, there was no misunderstanding who the culprit was. “An English nobleman who had lately arrived to fill an impor
tant position in the Ministry of Finance was detected playing with marked cards and loaded dice by a well-known Egyptian gentleman of wealth and high station, who promptly exposed the fraud in the presence of several reputable dub members. Fortunately, the Englishman’s name had only been posted and he had not yet been admitted to membership in the club, so that his trickery and consequent disgrace in no way reflects upon that popular and admirably conducted institution, etc.”

  Lord Roane was vastly chagrined and indignant as he read the account.

  “You low, miserable scoundrel!” he roared, facing his son; “how dare you drag the name of your family in the mire, just as we are assuming an indisputable position of respectability in Cairo? To be a gambler is despicable enough, but to become a common cheat and swindler is utterly unpardonable. What have you to say for yourself?”

  “Nothing,” said Consinor, sullenly. “I am innocent. It was a plot to ruin me.”

  “Pah! a plot of yours to ruin others rather. Speak up, man! Have you nothing to say to excuse or palliate your shame and dishonor?”

  “What use?” asked the viscount, apathetically. “You will not believe me.”

  “Do you believe him, Aneth?” asked the old man, turning to gaze upon the girl’s horrified face. “Do you believe that this cur, who is my son and your father, is innocent?”

  “No,” she answered, shrinking back as Consinor looked up curiously to hear her reply. “He has deceived me cruelly. He promised me he would not touch a card again, or play for money, and he has broken his word. I cannot believe him now.”

  “Of course not,” her father retorted, reddening for the first time. “My precious family is so rotten throughout that even its youngest member cannot give a Consinor credit for being honest or sincere.”

  “See here, Roger; I will not have Aneth insulted, even by you. I’m not a saint, I’ll admit; but I’ve never been guilty of petty swindling, and your daughter is pure enough to shame us both. As for you, I’ve done with you, and you must from this time work out your salvation in your own way. You’ve dissipated any inheritance you might have had; but I’ll give you a thousand pounds in cash if you’ll take your ugly face out of Cairo and promise not to come near us again.