The Pagan Madonna

by Harold MacGrath

  CHAPTER XVII

  Cunningham did not answer immediately. From Flint his glance went rovingfrom man to man, as if trying to read what they expected of him.

  "Flint, you were recommended to me for your knowledge of the Sulu lingo.We'll need a crew of divers, and we'll have to pick them up secretly.That's your job. It's your only job outside doing your watch with theshovel below. Somehow you've got the wrong idea. You think this is ajunket of the oil-lamp period. All wrong! You don't know me, and that's apity; because if you did know something about me you'd walk carefully.When we're off this yacht, I don't say. If you want what old-timers usedto call their pannikin of rum, you'll be welcome to it. But on board the_Wanderer_, nothing doing. Get your duffel out. I'll have a look at it."

  "Get it yourself," said Flint.

  Cunningham appeared small and boyish beside the ex-beachcomber.

  "I'm speaking to you decently, Flint, when I ought to bash in your head."

  The tone was gentle and level.

  "Why don't you try it?"

  The expectant men thereupon witnessed a feat that was not only deadly inits precision but oddly grotesque. Cunningham's right hand flew out withthe sinister quickness of a cobra's strike, and he had Flint's brawnywrist in grip. He danced about, twisted and lurched until he came to anabrupt stop behind Flint's back. Flint's mouth began to bend at thecorners--a grimace.

  "You'll break it yourself, Flint, if you move another inch," saidCunningham, nonchalantly. "This is the gentlest trick I have in the bag.Cut out the booze until we're off this yacht. Be a good sport and play thegame according to contract. I don't like these side shows. But you wantedme to show you. Want to call it off?"

  Sweat began to bead Flint's forehead. He was straining every muscle in hisbody to minimize that inexorable turning of his elbow and shoulder.

  "The stuff is in Number Two bunker," he said, with a ghastly grin. "I'llchuck it over."

  "There, now!" Cunningham stepped back. "I might have made it your neck.But I'm patient, because I want this part of the game to go throughaccording to schedule. When I turn back this yacht I want nothing missingbut the meals I've had."

  Flint rubbed his arm, scowling, and walked over to his bunk.

  "Boys," said Cunningham, "so far you've been bricks. Shortly we'll beheading southeast on our own. Wherever I am known, men will tell you thatI never break my word. I promised you that we'd come through with cleanheels. Something has happened which we could not forestall. There is awoman on board. It is not necessary to say that she is under myprotection."

  He clumped out into the passage.

  "Well, say!" burst out the young sailor named Hennessy. "I'm a tough guy,but I couldn't have turned that trick. Hey, you! If you've got any hoochin the coal bunkers, heave it over. I'm telling you! These soft-spokenguys are the kind I lay off, believe you me! I've seen all kinds, and Iknow."

  "Did they kick you out of the Navy?" snarled Flint.

  "Say, are you asking me to do it?" flared the Irishman. "You poor boob,you'd be in the sick bay if there hadn't been a lady on board."

  "A lady?"

  "I said a lady! Stand up, you scut!"

  But Flint rolled into his bunk and turned his face to the partition.

  Cunningham leaned against the port rail. These bursts of fury always lefthim depressed. He was not a fighting man at all and fate was alwaysflinging him into physical contests. He might have killed the fool: he hadbeen in a killing mood. He was tired. Somehow the punch was gone from theaffair, the thrill. Why should that be?

  For years he had been planning something like this, and then to have ittaste like stale wine! Vaguely he knew that he had made a discovery. Thegirl! If he were poring over his chart, his glance would drift away; if hewere reading, the printed page had a peculiar way of vanishing. Of courseit was all nonsense. But that night in Shanghai something had drawn himirresistibly to young Cleigh's table. It might have been the colour of herhair. At any rate, he hadn't noticed the beads until he had spoken toyoung Cleigh.

  Glass beads! Queer twist. A little trinket, worthless except forsentimental reasons, throwing these lives together. Of course an oil wouldhave lured the elder Cleigh across the Pacific quite as successfully. Theold chap had been particularly keen for a sea voyage after having beencooped up for four years. But in the event of baiting the trap with apainting neither the girl nor the son would have been on board. And Flintcould have had his noggin without anybody disturbing him, even if thecontract read otherwise.

  Law-abiding pirates! How the world would chuckle if the yarn ever reachedthe newspapers! He had Cleigh in the hollow of his hand. In fancy he sawCleigh placing his grievance with the British Admiralty. He could imaginethe conversation, too.

  "They returned the yacht in perfect condition?"

  "Yes."

  "Did they steal anything?"

  Cunningham could positively see Cleigh's jowls redden as he shook his headto the query.

  "Sorry. You can't expect us to waste coal hunting for a scoundrel who onlyborrowed your yacht."

  But what was the row between Cleigh and his son? That was a puzzler. Not aword! They ignored each other absolutely. These dinners were queer games,to be sure. All three men spoke to the girl, but neither of the Cleighsspoke to him or to each other. A string of glass beads!

  What about himself? What had caused his exuberance to die away, hisenthusiasm to grow dim? Why, a month gone he would burst into such galesof laughter that his eyes would fill with tears at the thought of thishour! And the wine tasted flat. The greatest sea joke of the age, and hecouldn't boil up over it any more!

  Love? He had burnt himself out long ago. But had it been love? Rather hadit not been a series of false dawns? To a weepy-waily woman he would haveoffered the same courtesies, but she would not have drawn his thoughts inany manner. And this one kept entering his thoughts at all times. Thatwould be a joke, wouldn't it? At this day to feel the scorch of genuinepassion!

  To dig a pit for Cleigh and to stumble into another himself! In settingthis petard he hadn't got out of range quickly enough. His sense of humourwas so keen that he laughed aloud, with a gesture which invited the godsto join him.

  Jane, who had been watching the solitary figure from the corner of thedeck house and wondering who it was, recognized the voice. The cabin hadbeen stuffy, her own mental confusion had driven sleep away, so she hadstolen on deck for the purpose of viewing the splendours of the Orientalnight. The stars that seemed so near, so soft; the sea that tossed theirreflections hither and yon, or spun a star magically into a silver threadand immediately rolled it up again; the brilliant electric blue of thephosphorescence and the flash of flying fish or a porpoise that ought tohave been home and in bed.

  She hesitated. She was puzzled. She was not afraid of him--the puzzle laysomewhere else. She was a little afraid of herself. She was afraid ofanything that could not immediately be translated into ordinary terms ofexpression. The man frankly wakened her pity. He seemed as lonely as thesea itself. Slue-Foot! And somewhere a woman had laughed at him. Perhapsthat had changed everything, made him what he was.

  She wondered if she would ever be able to return to the shell out of whichthe ironic humour of chance had thrust her. Wondered if she could pick upagain philosophically the threads of dull routine. Jane Norman, glidingover this mysterious southern sea, a lone woman among strong and recklessmen! Piracy! Pearls! Rugs and paintings worth a quarter of a million!Romance!

  Did she want it to last? Did she want romance all the rest of her days?What was this thing within her that was striving for expression? For whatwas she hunting? What worried her and put fear into her heart was theknowledge that she did not know what she wanted. From all directions camequestions she could not answer.

  Was she in love? If so, where was the fire that should attend? Was itDenny--or yonder riddle? She felt contented with Denny, but Cunningham'spresence seemed to tear into unexplored corners of her heart and brain.If she were in love with Denny, why didn't she thrill
when he approached?There was only a sense of security, contentment.

  The idea of racing round the world romantically with Denny struck her asabsurd. Equally contrary to reason was the picture of herself andCunningham sitting before a wood fire. What was the matter with JaneNorman?

  There was one bar of light piercing the fog. She knew now why she hadpermitted Cleigh to abduct her. To bring about a reconciliation betweenfather and son. And apparently there was as much chance as of east meetingwest. She walked over to the rail and joined Cunningham.

  "You?" he said.

  "The cabin was stuffy. I couldn't sleep."

  "I wonder."

  "About what?"

  "If there isn't a wild streak in you that corresponds with mine. You fallinto the picture naturally--curious and unafraid."

  "Why should I be afraid, and why shouldn't I be curious?"

  "The greatest honour a woman ever paid me. I mean that you shouldn't beafraid of me when everything should warn you to give me plenty of searoom."

  "I know more about men than I do about women."

  "And I know too much about both."

  "There have been other women--besides the one who laughed?"

  "Yes. Perhaps I was cruel enough to make them pay for that.

  "'Funny an' yellow an' faithful-- Doll in a teacup she were, But we lived on the square, like a true-married pair, An' I learned about women from 'er!'

  "But I wonder what would have happened if it had been a woman like youinstead of the one who laughed."

  "I shouldn't have laughed."

  "This damned face of mine!"

  "You mustn't say that! Why not try to make over your soul to match it?"

  "How is that done?"

  The irony was so gentle that she fell silent for a space.

  "Are you going to take Mr. Cleigh's paintings when you leave us?"

  "My dear young lady, all I have left to be proud of is my word. I give itto you that I am going after pearls. It may sound crazy, but I can't helpthat. I am realizing a dream. I'm something of a fatalist--I've had tobe. I've always reasoned that if I could make the dream come true--thisdream of pearls--I'd have a chance to turn over a new leaf. I've had tocommit acts at times that were against my nature, my instincts. I've hadto be cruel and terrible, because men would not believe a pretty man couldbe a strong one. Do you understand? I have been forced to cruel deedsbecause men would not credit a man's heart behind a woman's face. Ipossess tremendous nervous energy. That's the principal curse. I can't sitstill; I can't remain long anywhere; I must go, go, go! Like the WanderingJew, Ishmael."

  "Do you know what Ishmael means?"

  "No. What?"

  "'God heareth.' Have you ever asked Him for anything?"

  "No. Why should I, since He gave me this withered leg? Please don't preachto me."

  "I won't, then. But I'm terribly sorry."

  "Of course you are. But--don't become too sorry. I might want to carry youoff to my atoll."

  "If you took me away with you by force, I'd hate you and you'd hateyourself. But you won't do anything like that."

  "What makes you believe so?"

  "I don't know why, but I do believe it."

  "To be trusted by a woman, a good woman! I'll tell that to the stars. Tellme about yourself--what you did and how you lived before you came thisside."

  It was not a long story, and he nodded from time to time understandingly.Genteel poverty, a life of scrimp and pare--the cage. Romance--a flash ofit--and she would return to the old life quite satisfied. Peace, a stormyinterlude; then peace again indefinitely. It came to him that he wantedthe respect of this young woman for always. But the malice that was everbubbling up to his tongue and finding speech awoke.

  "Suppose I find my pearls--and then come back for you? Romance andadventure! These warm stars always above us at night; the brilliant days;the voyages from isle to isle; palms and gay parrakeets, cocoanuts andmangosteens--and let the world go hang!"

  She did not reply, but she moved a little away. He waited for a minute,then laughed softly.

  "My dear young lady, this is the interlude you've always been longing for.Fate has popped you out of the normal for a few days, and presently she'llpop you back into it. Some day you'll marry and have children; you'll sinkinto the rut of monotony again and not be conscious of it. On winternights, before the fire, when the children have been put to bed, your manburied behind his evening paper, you will recall Slue-Foot and theinterlude and be happy over it. You'll hug and cuddle it to your heartsecretly. A poignant craving in your life had been satisfied. Kidnapped bypirates, under Oriental stars! Fifteen men on a dead man's chest--yo-ho,and a bottle of rum! A glorious adventure, with three meals the day andgrand opera on the phonograph. Shades of Gilbert and Sullivan! And youwill always be wondering whether the pirate made love to you in jest or inearnest--and he'll always be wondering, too!"

  Cunningham turned away abruptly and clumped toward the bridge ladder,which he mounted.

  For some inexplicable reason her heart became filled with wild resentmentagainst him. Mocking her, when she had only offered him kindness! Sheclung to the idea of mockery because it was the only tangible thing shecould pluck from her confusion. Thus when she began the descent of thecompanionway and ran into Dennison coming up her mood was not receptive toreproaches.

  "Where have you been?" he demanded.

  "Watching the stars and the phosphorescence. I could not sleep."

  "Alone?"

  "No. Mr. Cunningham was with me."

  "I warned you to keep away from that scoundrel!"

  "How dare you use that tone to me? Have you any right to tell me what Ishall and shall not do?" she stormed at him. "I've got to talk to someone.You go about in one perpetual gloom. I purpose to see and talk toCunningham as often as I please. At least he amuses me."

  With this she rushed past him and on to her cabin, the door of which sheclosed with such emphasis that it was heard all over the yacht--so sharpwas the report that both Cleigh and Dodge awoke and sat up, half convincedthat they had heard a pistol shot!

  Jane sat down on her bed, still furious. After a while she was able tounderstand something of this fury. The world was upside down, wrong endto. Dennison, not Cunningham, should have acted the debonair, thenonchalant. Before this adventure began he had been witty, amusing,companionable; now he was as interesting as a bump on a log. At table hewas only a poor counterfeit of his father, whose silence was maintainedadmirably, at all times impressively dignified. Whereas at each encounterDennison played directly into Cunningham's hands, and the latter was toomuch the banterer not to make the most of these episodes.

  What if he was worried? Hadn't she more cause to worry than any one else?For all that, she did not purpose to hide behind the barricaded door ofher cabin. If there was a tragedy in the offing it would not fall lessheavily because one approached it with melancholy countenance.

  Heaven knew that she was no infant as regarded men! In the six years ofhospital work she had come into contact with all sorts and conditions ofmen. Cunningham might be the greatest scoundrel unhung, but so far as shewas concerned she need have no fear. This knowledge was instinctive.

  But when her cheek touched the pillow she began to cry softly. She was soterribly lonely!