The Pagan Madonna

by Harold MacGrath

  CHAPTER XVIII

  The space through which Jane had passed held Dennison's gaze for two orthree minutes. Then he sat down on the companionway step, his arms acrosshis knees and his forehead upon his arms. What to say? What to do? Sheexpected him to be amusing!--when he knew that the calm on board was ofthe same deceptive quality as that of the sea--below, the terror!

  It did not matter that the crew was of high average. They would not beplaying such a game unless they were a reckless lot. At any moment theymight take it into their heads to swarm over Cunningham and obliteratehim. Then what? If the episode of the morning had not convinced Jane, whatwould? The man Flint had dropped his mask; the others were content to weartheirs yet awhile. Torture for her sake, the fear of what might actuallybe in store for her, and she expected him to talk and act like a chap outof a novel!

  Ordinarily so full of common sense, what had happened to her that hervision should become so obscured as not to recognize the danger of theman? Had he been ugly, Jane would probably have ignored him. But that faceof his, as handsome as a Greek god's, and that tongue with its roots inoil! And there was his deformity--that had drawn her pity. Playing withher, and she deliberately walked into the trap because he was amusing! Whyshouldn't he be, knowing that he held their lives in the hollow of hishand? What imp of Satan wouldn't have been amiable?

  Because the rogues did not run up the skull and crossbones; because theydid not swagger up and down the deck, knives and pistols in their sashes,she couldn't be made to believe them criminals!

  Amusing! She could not see that if he spoke roughly it was only anexpression of the smothered pain of his mental crucifixion. He could nottell her he loved her for fear she might misinterpret her own sentiments.Besides, her present mood was not inductive to any declaration on hispart; a confession might serve only to widen the breach. Who could saythat it wasn't Cunningham's game to take Jane along with him in the end?There was nothing to prevent that. His father holding aloof, the loyalmembers of the crew in a most certain negligible minority, what was thereto prevent Cunningham from carrying off Jane?

  Blood surged into Dennison's throat; a murderous fury boiled up in him;but he remembered in time what these volcanic outbursts had cost him inthe past. So he did not rush to the chart house. Cunningham would lash himwith ridicule or be forced to shoot him. But his rage carried him as faras the wireless room. He could hear the smack of the spark, but that wasall. He tried the door--locked. He tried the shutters--latched.Cunningham's man was either calling or answering somebody. Ten minutesinside that room and there would be another tale to tell.

  In the end Dennison spent his fury by travelling round the deck until thesea and sky became like pearly smoke. Then he dropped into a chair andfell asleep.

  Cunningham had also watched through the night. The silent steersman heardhim frequently rustling papers on the chart table or clumping to thebridge or lolling on the port sills--a restlessness that had about itsomething of the captive tiger.

  Retrospection--he could not break the crowding spell of it, twist mentallyas he would; and the counter-thought was dimly suicidal. The sea there; afew strides would carry him to the end of the bridge, and then--oblivion.And the girl would not permit him to enact this thought. He laughed. Godhad mocked him at his birth, and the devil had played with him eversince. He had often faced death hotly and hopefully, but to considersuicide coldly!

  A woman who had crossed his path reluctantly, without will of her own; thesort he had always ignored because they had been born for the peace ofchimney corners! She--the thought of her--could bring the past crowdingupon him and create in his mind a suicidal bent!

  Pearls! A great distaste of life fell upon him; the adventure grew flat.The zest that had been his ten days gone, where was it?

  Imagination! He had been cursed with too much of it. In his youth he hadskulked through alleys and back streets--the fear of laughter and ridiculedogging his mixed heels. Never before to have paused to philosophize overwhat had caused his wasted life! Too much imagination! Mental strabismus!He had let his over-sensitive imagination wreck and ruin him. A woman'slaughter had given him the viewpoint of a careless world; and he had fled,and he had gone on fleeing all these years from pillar to post. From ashadow!

  He was something of a monster. He saw now where the fault lay. He hadnever stayed long enough in any one place for people to get accustomed tohim. His damnable imagination! And there was conceit of a sort. Probablynobody paid any attention to him after the initial shock and curiosityhad died away. There was Scarron in his wheel chair--merry and cheerfuland brave, jesting with misfortune; and men and women had loved him.

  A moral coward, and until this hour he had never sensed the truth! Thatwas it! He had been a moral coward; he had tried to run away from fate;and here he was at last, in the blind alley the coward always found at theend of the run. He had never thought of anything but what he was--never ofwhat he might have been. For having thrust him unfinished upon athoughtless rather than a heartless world he had been trying to punishfate, and had punished only himself. A wastrel, a roisterer by night, aspendthrift, and a thief!

  What had she said?--reknead his soul so that it would fit his face? Toolate!

  One staff to lean on, one only--he never broke his word. Why had he laiddown for himself this law? What had inspired him to hold always to that?Was there a bit of gold somewhere in his grotesque make-up? A straw on thewater, and he clutched it! Why? Cunningham laughed again, and thesteersman turned his head slightly.

  "Williams, do you believe in God?" asked Cunningham.

  "Well, sir, when I'm holding down the wheel--perhaps. The screw is alwaysedging a ship off, and the lighter the ballast the wider the yaw. So youhave to keep hitching her over a point to starboard. You trust to me tokeep that point, and I trust to God that the north stays where it is."

  "And yet legally you're a pirate."

  "Oh, that? Well, a fellow ain't much of a pirate that plays the game weplay. And yet----"

  "Ah! And yet?"

  "Well, sir, some of the boys are getting restless. And I'll be mighty gladwhen we raise that old Dutch bucket of yours. They ain't bad, understand;just young and heady and wanting a little fun. They growl a lot becausethey can't sleep on deck. They growl because there's nothing to drink. Ofcourse it might hurt Cleigh's feelings, but I'd like to see all his groggo by the board. You see, sir, it ain't as if we'd just dropped down fromShanghai. It's been tarnation dull ever since we left San Francisco."

  "Once on the other boat, they can make a night of it if they want to. ButI've given my word on the _Wanderer_."

  "Yes, sir."

  "And it's final."

  Cunningham returned to his chart. All these cogitations because a womanhad entered his life uninvited! Ten days ago he had not been aware of herexistence; and from now on she would be always recurring in his thoughts.

  She was not conscious of it, but she was as a wild thing that had beenborn in captivity, and she was tasting the freedom of space again withoutknowing what the matter was. But it is the law that all wild things bornin captivity lose everything but the echo; a little freedom, a flash ofwhat might have been, and they are ready to return to the cage. So itwould be with her.

  Supposing--no, he would let her return to her cage. He wondered--had hemade his word a law simply to meet and conquer a situation such as this?Or was his hesitance due to the fear of her hate? That would be immediateand unabating. She was not the sort that would bend--she would break. No,he wasn't monster enough to play that sort of game. She should take backher little adventure to her cage, and in her old age it would become apleasant souvenir.

  He rose and leaned on his arms against a port sill and stared at the starsuntil they began to fade, until the sea and the sky became like the pearlshe would soon be seeking. A string of glass beads, bringing about allthese events!

  At dawn he went down to the deck for a bit of exercise before he turnedin. When he beheld Dennison sound asleep in the chair, his mou
th slightlyopen, his bare feet standing out conspicuously on the foot rest, abantering, mocking smile twisted the corners of Cunningham's lips.Noiselessly he settled himself in the adjacent chair, and cynically hopingthat Dennison would be first to wake he fell asleep.

  The _Wanderer's_ deck toilet was begun and consummated between six andsix-thirty, except in rainy weather. Hose, mops, and holystone, until theteak looked as if it had just left the Rangoon sawmills; then the brass,every knob and piping, every latch and hinge and port loop. The care giventhe yacht since leaving the Yang-tse might be well called ingratiating.Never was a crew more eager to enact each duty to the utmost--with mightygood reason.

  But when they came upon Dennison and Cunningham, asleep side by side, theydrew round the spot, dumfounded. But their befuddlement was only a titheof that which struck Cleigh an hour later. It was his habit to take ashort constitutional before breakfast; and when he beheld the two, asleepin adjoining chairs, the fact suggesting that they had come to somefriendly understanding, he stopped in his tracks, as they say, never moreastonished in all his days.

  For as long as five minutes he remained motionless, the fine, rugged faceof his son on one side and the amazing beauty of Cunningham's on theother. But in the morning light, in repose, Cunningham's face was tingedwith age and sadness. There was, however, no grain of pity in Cleigh'sheart. Cunningham had made his bed of horsehair; let him twist and writheupon it.

  But the two of them together, sleeping as peacefully as babes! Dennisonhad one arm flung behind his head. It gave Cleigh a shock, for herecognized the posture. As a lad Dennison had slept that way. Cunningham'swithered leg was folded under his sound one.

  What had happened? Cleigh shook his head; he could not make it out.Moreover, he could not wake either and demand the solution to the puzzle.He could not put his hand on his son's shoulder, and he would not put iton Cunningham's. Pride on one side and distaste on the other. But the twoof them together!

  He got round the impasse by kicking out the foot rest of the third chair.Immediately Cunningham opened his eyes. First he turned to see if Dennisonwas still in his chair. Finding this to be the case, he grinned amiably atthe father. Exactly the situation he would have prayed for had he believedin the efficacy of prayer.

  "Surprises you, eh? Looks as if he had signed on with the Great AdventureCompany."

  His voice woke Dennison, who blinked in the sunshine for a moment, thenlooked about. He comprehended at once.

  With easy dignity he swung his bare feet to the deck and made for thecompanion; never a second glance at either his father or Cunningham.

  "Chip of the old block!" observed Cunningham. "You two! On my word, Inever saw two bigger fools in all my time! What's it about? What the devildid he do--murder someone, rob the office safe, or marry Tottie Lightfoot?And Lord, how you both love me! And how much more you'll love me when Ibecome the dear departed!"

  Cleigh, understanding that the situation was a creation of pure malice onCunningham's part--Cleigh wheeled and resumed his tramp round the deck.

  Cunningham plowed his fingers through his hair, gripped and pulled it in akind of ecstasy. Cleigh's phiz. The memory of it would keep him in goodhumour all day. After all, there was a lot of good sport in the world. Thedays were all right. It was only in the quiet vigils of the night that theuninvited thought intruded. On board the old Dutch tramp he would sleepo'nights, and the past would present only a dull edge.

  If the atoll had cocoanut palms, hang it, he would build a shack and makeit his winter home! _Dolce far niente!_ Maybe he might take up the brushagain and do a little amateur painting. Yes, in the daytime the old topwasn't so bad. He hoped he would have no more nonsense from Flint. A surlybeggar, but a necessary pawn in the game.

  Pearls! Some to sell and some to play with. Lovely, tenderly beautifulpearls--a rope of them round Jane Norman's throat. He slid off the chair.As a fool, he hung in the same gallery as the Cleighs.

  Cleigh ate his breakfast alone. Upon inquiry he learned that Jane wasindisposed and that Dennison had gone into the pantry and picked up hisbreakfast there. Cleigh found the day unspeakably dull. He read, playedthe phonograph, and tried all the solitaires he knew; but a hundred timeshe sensed the want of the pleasant voice of the girl in his ears.

  What would she be demanding of him as a reparation? He was always siftingthis query about, now on this side, now on that, without getting anywhere.Not money. What then?

  That night both Jane and Dennison came in to dinner. Cleigh saw instantlythat something was amiss. The boy's face was gloomy and his lips locked,and the girl's mouth was set and cheerless. Cleigh was fired by curiosityto ascertain the trouble, but here again was an impasse.

  "I'm sorry I spoke so roughly last night," said Dennison, unexpectedly.

  "And I am sorry that I answered you so sharply. But all this worry andfuss over me is getting on my nerves. You've written down Cunningham as adespicable rogue, when he is only an interesting one. If only you wouldgive banter for banter, you might take some of the wind out of his sails.But instead you go about as if the next hour was to be our last!"

  "Who knows?"

  "There you go! In a minute we'll be digging up the hatchet again."

  But she softened the reproach by smiling. At this moment Cunningham camein briskly and cheerfully. He sat down, threw the napkin across his knees,and sent an ingratiating smile round the table.

  "Cleigh"--he was always talking to Cleigh, and apparently not minding inthe least that he was totally ignored--"Cleigh, they are doing a good jobin the Santa Maria delle Grazie, so I am told. Milan, of course. They arerestoring Da Vinci's Cenacolo. What called it to mind is the fact thatthis is also the last supper. To-morrow at this hour you will be inpossession and I'll be off for my pearls."

  The recipients of this remarkable news appeared petrified for a space.Cunningham enjoyed the astonishment.

  "Sounds almost too good to be true, doesn't it? Still, it's a fact."

  "That's tiptop news, Cunningham," said Dennison. "I hope when you go downthe ladder you break your infernal neck. But the luck is on your side."

  "Let us hope that it stays there," replied Cunningham, unruffled. Heturned to Cleigh again: "I say, we've always been bewailing that job of DaVinci's. But the old boy was a seer. He knew that some day there would beAmerican millionaires and that I'd become a force in art. So he put hissubject on a plaster wall so I couldn't lug it off. A canvas the samesize, I don't say; but the side of a church!"

  "A ship is going to pick you up to-morrow?" asked Jane.

  "Yes. The crew of the _Wanderer_ goes to the _Haarlem_ and the _Haarlem_crew transships to the _Wanderer_. You see, Cleigh, I'm one of thoseefficiency sharks. In this game I have left nothing to chance. Nothingexcept an act of God--as they say on the back of your steamer ticket--canderange my plans. Not the least bit of inconvenience to you beyond goingout of your course for a few days. The new crew was signed on inSingapore--able seamen wanting to return to the States. Hired them in yourname. Clever idea of me, eh?"

  "Very," said Cleigh, speaking directly to Cunningham for the first timesince the act of piracy.

  "And this will give you enough coal to turn and make Manila, where you canrob the bunkers of one of your freighters. Now, then, early last winter inNew York a company was formed, the most original company in all this rockyold world--the Great Adventure Company, of which I am president andgeneral adviser. Pearls! Each member of the crew is a shareholder,undersigned at fifteen hundred shares, par value one dollar. These sharesare redeemable October first in New York City if the company fails, or areconvertible into pearls of equal value if we succeed. No widows andorphans need apply. Fair enough."

  "Fair enough, indeed," admitted Cleigh.

  Dennison stared at his father. He did not quite understand thiswillingness to hold converse with the rogue after all this rigorouslymaintained silence.

  "Of course the Great Adventure Company had to be financed," went onCunningham with a deprecating gesture.
/>   "Naturally," assented Cleigh. "And that, I suppose, will be my job?"

  "Indirectly. You see, Eisenfeldt told me he had a client ready to payeighty thousand for the rug, and that put the whole idea into my noodle."

  "Ah! Well, you will find the crates and frames and casings in the forwardhold," said Cleigh in a tone which conveyed nothing of his thoughts. "Itwould be a pity to spoil the rug and the oils for the want of a littlecareful packing."

  Cunningham rose and bowed.

  "Cleigh, you are a thoroughbred!"

  Cleigh shook his head.

  "I'll have your hide, Cunningham, if it takes all I have and all I am!"