The Pagan Madonna

by Harold MacGrath

  CHAPTER XX

  Jane and Dennison were alone. "I wonder," he said, "are we two awake, orare we having the same nightmare?"

  "The way he hugs his word! Imagine a man stepping boldly and mockinglyoutside the pale, and carrying along his word unsullied with him! He'smad, Denny, absolutely mad! The poor thing!"

  That phrase seemed to liberate something in his mind. The broodingoppression lifted its siege. His heart was no longer a torture chamber.

  "I ought to be his partner, Jane. I'm as big a fool as he is. Who but afool would plan and execute a game such as this? But he's sound on onepoint. It's a colossal joke."

  "But your father?"

  "Cunningham will have to dig a pretty deep hole somewhere if he expects tohide successfully. It's a hundred-to-one shot that father will never seehis rug again. He probably realizes that, and he will be relentless. He'llcoal at Manila and turn back. He'll double or triple the new crew's wages.Money will mean nothing if he starts after Cunningham. Of course I'll beout of the picture at Manila."

  "Do you know why your father kidnaped me so easily? I thought maybe Icould find a chink in his armour and bring you two together."

  "And you've found the job hopeless!" Dennison shrugged.

  "Won't you tell me what the cause was?"

  "Ask him. He'll tell it better than I can. So you hid the beads in thathand-warmer! Not half bad. But why don't you take the sixty thousand?"

  "I've an old-fashioned conscience."

  "I don't mean Father's gold, but the French Government's. Comfort as longas you lived."

  "No, I could not touch even that money. The beads were stolen."

  "Lord, Lord! Then there are three of us--Cunningham, myself, and you!"

  "Are you calling me a tomfool?"

  "Not exactly. What's the feminine?"

  She laughed and rose.

  "You are almost human to-night."

  "Where are you going?"

  "I'm going to have a little talk with your father."

  "Good luck. I'm going to have a fresh pot of coffee. I shall want to keepawake to-night."

  "Why?"

  "Oh, just an idea. You'd better turn in when the interview is over. Goodluck."

  Jane stood framed in the doorway for a moment. Under the reading lamp inthe main salon she saw Cleigh. He was running the beads from hand to handand staring into space. Behind her she heard Dennison's spoon clatter inthe cup as he stirred the coffee.

  Wild horses! She felt as though she were being pulled two ways by wildhorses! For she was about to demand of Anthony Cleigh the promisedreparation. And which of two things should she demand? All this time,since Cleigh had uttered the promise, she had had but one thought--tobring father and son together, to do away with this foolish estrangement.For there did not seem to be on earth any crime that merited such acondition. If he humanly could--he had modified the promise with that.What was more human than to forgive--a father to forgive a son?

  And now Cunningham had to wedge in compellingly! She could hesitatebetween Denny and Cunningham! The rank disloyalty of it shocked her. Togive Cunningham his eight months! Pity, urgent pity for the broken bodyand tortured soul of the man--mothering pity! Denny was whole and sound,mentally and physically; he would never know any real mental torture,anything that compared with Cunningham's, which was enduring, now waxing,now waning, but always sensible. To secure for him his eight months,without let or hindrance from the full enmity of Cleigh; to give him hisboyhood dream, whether he found his pearls or not. Her throat becamestuffed with the presage of tears. The poor thing!

  But Denny, parting from his father at Manila, the cleavage wider thanever, beyond hope! Oh, she could not tolerate the thought of that! Thesetwo, so full of strong and bitter pride--they would never meet again ifthey separated now. Perhaps fate had assigned the role of peacemaker toher, and she had this weapon in her hand to enforce it or bring itabout--the father's solemn promise to grant whatever she might ask. Andshe could dodder between Denny and Cunningham!

  To demand both conditions would probably appeal to Cleigh as not humanlypossible. One or the other, but not the two together.

  An interval of several minutes of which she had no clear recollection, andthen she was conscious that she was reclining in her chair on deck,staring at the stars which appeared jerkily and queerly shaped--throughtears. She hadn't had the courage to make a decision. As if it became anyeasier to solve by putting it over until to-morrow!

  Chance--the Blind Madonna of the Pagan--was preparing to solve the riddlefor her--with a thunderbolt!

  The mental struggle had exhausted Jane somewhat, and she fell into a doze.When she woke she was startled to see by her wrist watch that it was aftereleven. The yacht was plowing along through the velvet blackness of thenight. The inclination to sleep gone, Jane decided to walk the deck untilshe was as bodily tired as she was mentally. All the hidden terror wasgone. To-morrow these absurd pirates would be on their way.

  Study the situation as she might, she could discover no flaw in thiswhimsical madman's plans. He held the crew in his palm, even as he heldCleigh--by covetousness. Cleigh would never dare send the British afterCunningham; and the crew would obey him to the letter because that meantsafety and recompense. The Great Adventure Company! Only by an act of God!And what could possibly happen between now and the arrival of the_Haarlem_?

  Cleigh had evidently turned in, for through the transoms she saw that thesalon lights were out. She circled the deck house six times, then went upto the bow and stared down the cutwater at the phosphorescence. Bluefire! The eternal marvel of the sea!

  A hand fell upon her shoulder. She thought it would be Denny's. It wasFlint's!

  "Be a good sport, an' give us a kiss!"

  She drew back, but he caught her arm. His breath was foul with tobacco andwhisky.

  "All right, I'll take it!"

  With her free hand she struck him in the face. It was a sound blow, forJane was no weakling. That should have warned Flint that a struggle wouldnot be worth while. But where's the drunken man with caution? The blowstung Flint equally in flesh and spirit. He would kiss this woman if itwas the last thing he ever did!

  Jane fought him savagely, never thinking to call to the bridge. Twice sheescaped, but each time the fool managed to grasp either her waist or herskirt. Then out of nowhere came the voice of Cunningham:

  "Flint!"

  Dishevelled and breathless, Jane found herself free. She stumbled to therail and rested there for a moment. Dimly she could see the two menenacting a weird shadow dance. Then it came to her that Cunningham wouldnot be strong enough to vanquish Flint, so she ran aft to rouse Denny.

  As she went down the companionway, her knees threatening to give way, sheheard voices, blows, crashings against the partitions. Instinct told herto seek her cabin and barricade the door; curiosity drove her through thetwo darkened salons to the forward passage. Only a single lamp was on, butthat was enough. Anthony Cleigh's iron-gray head towering above awhirlwind of fists and forearms!

  What had happened? This couldn't be real! She was still in her chair ondeck, and what she saw was nightmare! Out of the calm, all in a moment,this! Where was Denny, if this picture wasn't nightmare? Cunningham above,struggling with the whisky-maddened Flint--Cleigh fighting in the passage!Dear God, what had happened?

  Where was Denny? The question let loose in her heart and mind all that wasemotional, at the same time enchaining her to the spot where she stood.Denny! Why, she loved Denny! And she had not known it consciously untilthis moment. Because some presciential instinct warned her that Denny waseither dead or badly hurt!

  The narrowness of the passage gave Cleigh one advantage--none of the mencould get behind him. Sometimes he surged forward a little, sometimes hestepped back, but never back of the line he had set for himself. By and byJane forced her gaze to the deck to see what it was that held him like arock. What she saw was only the actual of what she had alreadyenvisaged--Denny, either dead or badly hurt!

 
What had happened was this: Six of the crew, those spirits who hadsuccumbed to the secret domination of the man Flint--the drinkers--haddecided to celebrate the last night on the _Wanderer_. Their argument wasthat old man Cleigh wouldn't miss a few bottles, and that it would be along time between drinks when they returned to the States; and never mightthey again have so easy a chance to taste the juice of the champagnegrape. Where was the harm? Hadn't they behaved like little Fauntleroys forweeks? They did not want any trouble--just half a dozen bottles, and backto the forepeak to empty them. That wouldn't kill the old man. Theywouldn't even have to force the door of the dry-stores; they had alreadylearned that they could tickle the lock out of commission by the use of abent wire. Young, restless, and mischievous--none of them bad. A bit oflaughter and a few bars of song--that was all they wanted. No doubt theaffair would have blown itself out harmlessly but for the fact that Chancehad other ideas. She has a way with her, this Pagan Madonna, of taking offthe cheerful motley of a jest and substituting the Phrygian cap of terror,subitaneously.

  Dennison had lain down on the lounge in the main salon. Restless, unhappy,bitter toward his father, he had lain there counting the throbs of theengine to that point where they mysteriously cease to register and one hasto wait a minute or two to pick up the throb again.

  For years he had lived more or less in the open, which attunes the humanear to sounds that generally pass unnoticed. All at once he was sure thathe had heard the tinkle of glass, but he waited. The tinkle was repeated.Instinct led him at once to the forward passage, and one glance down thiswas sufficient. From the thought of a drunken orgy--the thing he had beenfearing since the beginning of this mad voyage--his thought leaped toJane. Thus his subsequent acts were indirectly in her defense.

  "What the devil are you up to there?" he called.

  The unexpectedness of the challenge disconcerted the men. They had enoughloot. A quick retreat, and Dennison would have had nothing to do but closethe dry-stores door. But middle twenties are belligerent rather thandiscreet.

  "What you got to say about it?" jeered one of the men, shifting his braceof bottles to the arms of another and squaring off.

  Dennison rushed them, and the melee began. It was a strenuous affairwhile it lasted. When a strong man is full of anger and bitterdisappointment, when six young fellows are bored to distraction, nothingis quite so satisfying as an exchange of fisticuffs. Dennison had theadvantage of being able to hit right and left, at random, while hisopponents were not always sure that a blow landed where it was directed.

  Naturally the racket drew Cleigh to the scene, and he arrived in time tosee a champagne bottle descend upon the head of his son. Dennison wentdown.

  Cleigh, boiling with impotent fury, had gone to bed, not to sleep but toplan; some way round the rogue, to trip him and regain the treasures thatmeant so much to him. Like father, like son. When he saw what was going onin the passage he saw also that here was something that linked up with hismood. Of course it was to defend the son; but without the bitter rage andthe need of physical expression he would have gone for the hidden revolverand settled the affair with that. Instead he flew at the men with thesavageness of a gray wolf. He was a tower of a man, for all his sixtyyears; and he had mauled three of the crew severely before Cunninghamarrived.

  Why had the mutinous six offered battle? Why hadn't they retreated withgood sense at the start? Originally all they had wanted was the wine. Whystop to fight when the wine was theirs? In the morning none of them couldanswer these questions. Was there ever a rough-and-tumble that anybodycould explain lucidly the morning after? Perhaps it was the false pride ofyouth; the bitter distaste at the thought of six turning tail for one.

  Cunningham fired a shot at the ceiling, and a dozen of the crew camepiling in from the forward end of the passage. The fighting stoppedmagically.

  "You fools!" cried Cunningham in a high, cracked voice. "To put our headsinto hemp at the last moment. If anything happens to young Cleigh, back toManila you go with the yacht! Clear out! At the last moment!" It was likea sob.

  Jane, still entranced, saw Cleigh stoop and put his arms under the body ofhis son, heave, and stand up under the dead weight. He staggered past hertoward the main salon. She heard him mutter.

  "God help me if I'm too late--if I've waited too long! Denny?"

  That galvanized her into action, and she flew to the light buttons,flooding both the dining and the main salons. She helped Cleigh to placeDennison on the lounge. After that it was her affair. Dennison was alive,but how much alive could be told only by the hours. She bathed andbandaged his head. Beyond that she could do nothing but watch and wait.

  "I wouldn't mind--a little of that--water," said Cunningham, weakly.

  Cleigh, with menacing fists, wheeled upon him; but he did not strike theman who was basically the cause of Denny's injuries. At the same timeJane, looking up across Dennison's body, uttered a gasp of horror. Theentire left side of Cunningham was drenched in blood, and the armdangled.

  "Flint had a knife--and--was quite handy with it."

  "For me!" she cried. "For defending me! Mr. Cleigh, Flint caught me ondeck--and Mr. Cunningham--oh, this is horrible!"

  "You were right, Cleigh. The best-laid plans of mice and men! What an assI am! I honestly thought I could play a game like this without hurt toanybody. It was to be a whale of a joke. Flint----"

  Cunningham reached blindly for the nearest chair and collapsed in it.

  * * * * *

  An hour later. The four of them were still in the main salon. Jane sat atthe head of the lounge, and from time to time she took Dennison's pulseand temperature. She had finally deduced that there had been no seriousconcussion. Cleigh sat at the foot of the lounge, his head on his hands.Cunningham occupied the chair into which he had collapsed. Three uglyflesh wounds, but nothing a little time would not heal. True, he had had anarrow squeak. He sat with his eyes closed.

  "Why?" asked Jane suddenly, breaking the silence.

  "What?" said Cleigh, looking up.

  "Why these seven years--if you cared? I heard you say something aboutbeing too late. Why?"

  "I'm a queer old fool. An idea, when it enters my head, sticks. I can'tshift my plans easily; I have to go through. What you have witnessed theseseveral days gives you the impression that I have no heart. That isn'ttrue. But we Cleighs are pigheaded. Until he was sent to Russia he wasnever from under the shadow of my hand. My agents kept me informed of allhis moves, his adventures. The mistake was originally mine. I put him incharge of an old scholar who taught him art, music, languages, but littleor nothing about human beings. I gave him a liberal allowance; but he wasa queer lad, and Broadway never heard of him. Now I hold that youth musthave its fling in some manner or other; after thirty there is no cure forfolly. So when he ran away I let him go; but he never got so far away thatI did not know what he was doing. I liked the way he rejected the cash Igave him; the way he scorned to trade upon the name. He went clean. Why? Idon't know. Oh, yes, he got hilariously drunk once in a while, but he hadhis fling in clean places. I had agents watching him."

  "Why did he run away?" asked Jane.

  "No man can tell another man; a man has to find it out for himself--thedifference between a good woman and a bad one."

  "I play that statement to win," interposed Cunningham without opening hiseyes.

  "There was a woman?" said Jane.

  "A bad one. Pretty and clever as sin. My fault. I should have sent him tocollege where he'd have got at least a glimmer of life. But I kept himunder the tutor until the thing happened. He thought he was in love, whenit was only his first woman. She wanted his money--or, more properlyspeaking, mine. I had her investigated and found that she was bad allthrough. When I told him boldly what she was he called me a liar. I struckhim across the mouth, and he promptly knocked me down."

  "Pretty good punch for a youngster," was Cunningham's comment.

  "It was," replied Cleigh, grimly. "He went directly
to his room, packed,and cleared out. In that he acted wisely, for at that moment I would havecast him out had he come with an apology. But the following day I couldnot find him; nor did I get track of him until weeks later. He had marriedthe woman and then found her out. That's all cleared off the slate,though. She's been married and divorced three times since then."

  "Did you expect to see him over here?"

  "In Shanghai? No. The sight of him rather knocked me about. Youunderstand? It was his place to make the first sign. He was in the wrong,and he has known it all these seven years."

  "No," said Jane, "it was your place to make the first advance. If you hadbeen a comrade to him in his boyhood he would never have been in thewrong."

  "But I gave him everything!"

  "Everything but love. Did you ever tell him a fairy story?"

  "A fairy story!" Cleigh's face was the essence of bewilderment.

  "You put him in the care of a lovable old dreamer, and then expected himto accept life as you knew it."

  Cleigh rumpled his cowlicks. A fairy story? But that was nonsense! Fairystories had long since gone out of fashion.

  "When I saw you two together an idea popped into my head. But do you carefor the boy?"

  "I care everything for him--or I shouldn't be here!"

  Cunningham relaxed a little more in his chair, his eyes still closed.

  "What do you mean by that?" demanded Cleigh.

  "I let you abduct me. I thought, maybe, if I were near you for a little Imight bring you two together."

  "Well, now!" said Cleigh, falling into the old New England vernacularwhich was his birthright. "I brought you on board merely to lure him afteryou. I wanted you both on board so I could observe you. I intended tocarry you both off on a cruise. I watched you from the door that nightwhile you two were dining. I saw by his face and his gestures that hewould follow you anywhere."

  "But I--I am only a professional nurse. I'm nobody! I haven't anything!"

  "Good Lord, will you listen to that?" cried the pirate, with a touch ofhis old banter. "Nobody and nothing?"

  Neither Jane nor Cleigh apparently heard this interpolation.

  "Why did you maltreat him?"

  "Otherwise he would have thought I was offering my hand, that I hadweakened."

  "And you expected him to fall on your shoulder and ask your pardon afterthat? Mr. Cleigh, for a man of your intellectual attainments, your standis the biggest piece of stupidity I ever heard of! How in the world was heto know what your thoughts were?"

  "I was giving him his chance," declared Cleigh, stubbornly.

  "A yacht? It's a madhouse," gibed Cunningham. "And this is a convention offools!"

  "How do you want me to act?" asked Cleigh, surrendering absolutely.

  "When he comes to, take his hand. You don't have to say anything else."

  "All right."

  From Dennison's lips came a deep, long sigh. Jane leaned over.

  "Denny?" she whispered.

  The lids of Dennison's eyes rolled back heavily.

  "Jane--all right?" he asked, quickly.

  "Yes. How do you feel?"

  He reached out a hand whence her voice came. She met the hand with hers,and that seemed to be all he wanted just then.

  "You'd better get your bathrobe, Mr. Cleigh," she suggested.

  Cleigh became conscious for the first time of the condition of his pyjamajacket. It hung upon his torso in mere ribbons. He became conscious alsoof the fact that his body ached variously and substantially.

  "Thirty-odd years since I was in a racket like this. I'm getting along."

  "And on the way," put in Cunningham, "you might call Cleve. I'd feelbetter--stretched out."

  "Oh, I had forgotten!" cried Jane, reproaching herself. Weakened as hewas, and sitting in a chair!

  "And don't forget, Cleigh, that I'm master of the _Wanderer_ until I leaveit. I sympathize deeply," Cunningham went on, ironically, "but I have someactive troubles of my own."

  "And God send they abide with you always!" was Cleigh's retort.

  "They will--if that will give you any comfort. Do you know what? You willalways have me to thank for this. That will be my comforting thought. Thegod in the car!"

  Later, when Cleve helped Cunningham into his bunk, the latter asked aboutthe crew.

  "Scared stiff. They realize that it was a close shave. I've put the foolsin irons. They're best there until we leave. But we can't do anything butforget the racket when we board the Dutchman. Where's that man Flint? Wecan't find him anywhere. He's at the bottom of it. I knew that sooner orlater there'd be the devil to pay with a woman on board. Probably thefool's hiding in the bunkers. I'll give every rat hole a look-see. Prettynearly got you."

  "Flint was out of luck--and so was I! I thought in pistols, and forgotthat there might be a knife or two. I'll be on my feet in the morning.Little weak, that's all. Nobody and nothing!" said Cunningham, addressingthe remark to the crossbeam above his head.

  "What's that?" asked Cleve.

  "I was thinking out loud. Get back to the chart house. Old Newton may playus some trick if he isn't watched. And don't bother to search for Flint. Iknow where he is."

  Something in Cunningham's tone coldly touched Cleve's spine. He went out,closing the door quietly; and there was reason for the sudden sweat in hispalms.

  Chance! A wry smile stirred one corner of Cunningham's mouth. He hadboasted that he had left nothing to chance, with this result! Burning up!Inward and outward fires! Love beads! Well, what were they if not that?But that she would trust him when everything about him should haverepelled her! Was there a nugget of forgotten gold in his cosmos, and hadshe discovered it? She still trusted him, for he had sensed it in thequick but tender touch of her hands upon his throbbing wounds.

  To learn, after all these years, that he had been a coward! To have runaway from misfortune instead of facing it and beating it down!

  Pearls! All he had left! And when he found them, what then? Turn them intomoney he no longer cared to spend? Or was this an interlude--a mockinginterlude, and would to-morrow see his conscience relegated to the dustbinout of which it had so oddly emerged?

  * * * * *

  When Dennison opened his eyes again Jane was still holding his hand. Uponbeholding his father Dennison held out his free hand.

  "Will you take it, Father? I'm sorry."

  "Of course I'll take it, Denny. I was an old fool."

  "And I was a young one."

  "Would you like a cup of coffee?" Cleigh asked, eagerly.

  "If it won't be too much trouble."

  "No trouble at all."

  A hand pressure, a few inconsequent phrases, that is always enough for twostrong characters in the hour of reconciliation.

  Cleigh out of the way, Jane tried to disengage her hand, but Dennison onlytightened his grip.

  "No"--a pause--"it's different now. The old boy will find some kind of ajob for me. Will you marry me, Jane? I did not speak before, because Ihadn't anything to offer."

  "No?"

  "I couldn't offer marriage until I had a job."

  "But supposing your father doesn't give you one?"

  "Why----"

  "You poor boy! I'm only fishing."

  "For what?"

  "Well, why do you want to marry me?"

  "Hang it, because I love you!"

  "Why didn't you tell me that in the first place? How was I to know unlessyou told me? But oh, Denny, I want to go home!" She laid her cheek againsthis hand. "I want a garden with a picket fence round it and all the simpleflowers. I never want another adventure in all my days!"

  "Same here!"

  A stretch of silence.

  "What happened to me?"

  "Someone hit you with a wine bottle."

  "A vintage--and I never got a swallow!"

  "And then your father went to your defense."

  "The old boy? Honestly?"

  "He stood astride your body until Mr. Cunni
ngham came in and stopped themelee."

  "Cunningham! They quit?"

  "Yes--Flint. I didn't dream it wouldn't be safe to go on deck, and Flintcaught me. He was drunk. But for Cunningham, I don't know what would havehappened. I ran and left them fighting, and Flint wounded Cunningham witha knife. It was for me, Denny. I feel so sorry for him! So alone, hatinghimself and hating the world, tortured with misunderstanding--good in himthat he keeps smothering and trampling down. His unbroken word--to hang tothat!"

  "All right. So far as I'm concerned, that cleans the slate."

  "I loved you, Denny, but I didn't know how much until I saw you on thefloor. Do you know what I was going to demand of your father as areparation for bringing me on board? His hand in yours. That was all Iwanted."

  "Always thinking of someone else!"

  "That's all the happiness I've ever had, Denny--until now!"