CHAPTER VII.
THE BEAUTIFUL TIGRESS.
John Craig dreams. He fancies himself bathing with demon apes in thewilds of Africa, having read an explorer's account of such a scene veryrecently.
They press him hard, and he can see no hope of escaping with his life.
In the midst of his mental torture he opens his eyes, and thedisagreeable features of the case are suddenly swept away.
Where can he be? Soft music throbs upon the scented air, he hears thegentle plash of a fountain in a court near by; a mellow light, anythingbut garish, shows him the most luxurious surroundings, silks andvelvets, brightness in color and gorgeousness in taste, everywhere.
This amazes him; almost takes his breath away; it is so different fromhis dream, which left him in a desperate hole.
His mind seems dull of comprehension, which must be the effect of thedrug, so that for a brief time he is unable to understand the situation,or grasp his condition.
Then it dawns upon him, the mission that took him away from the hotel;and having reached that point, he is wrestling with what must havefollowed when something touches his face, something that is cool andpleasant--the soft, white hand of a woman.
Then Doctor Chicago's eyes flash open again, and he looks up startled;he has just recollected Lady Ruth's story, and a wild hope rushes intoexistence, a hope that could not be put into words, but which takes theform of an idea that she whom the English girl met as Sister Magdalen,his mother, is near.
He looks up; his eyes fall upon a face that boasts of extreme beauty, aface of wondrous black eyes and cheeks aflame, a face that, set in sablecoils of hair, would drive an artist wild with the desire to transferits charms to canvas.
And John Craig, strange man, frowns.
Evidently there is something in his composition that prevents him fromaccepting what the prodigal gods have thrown in his path.
"You?" he says, bluntly, and with disdain.
The woman with the black eyes smiles sweetly as she continues tosoothingly touch his forehead, which throbs and burns as though heendures the keenest pain.
"Did you imagine it could be any other, my dear John? You deserted me,but I believe you failed to know your own mind. At any rate I havedetermined not to desert you."
"Pauline, you do not--it is impossible for you to care for me after whathas happened."
"Impossible! Why should it be? I can't help myself. I have seen othersprofess to love me, have played with them as a queen might with hersubjects who prostrated themselves before her. Yet, John Craig, I neverloved but once. You have stirred my heart to its depths. I am not ableto analyze these feelings. I only know what I know."
She does not feel the modesty of a young girl; much acting before thepublic has made her brazen, this midnight beauty with the glowing eyesblack as sloes, the pouting lips, the figure of a Hebe.
John Craig may have seen adventures before in his life, and probably hasbeen in many a fix, being fond of spending his vacations in ramblingover the wilderness away up in the Michigan peninsula, with a gun on hisshoulder; but plainly he has now met the crisis of his whole career.
"Pauline, I am a frank fellow, as you know. It is not in me to dissemble.I am going to speak plainly with you," he says, rising to a sittingposture, and looking the actress full in the eyes.
She moves uneasily, and her cheeks, which were erstwhile tinted withscarlet, grow pallid. Then she sets her teeth and with a smile continues:
"That is right, I hate a deceiver worse than anything else on earth. Itwas your honest way, John Craig, that first drew me toward you. Yes,speak your mind."
Evidently she is in part prepared for the worst, though she has hopedthat the old witchery might be thrown about the young doctor.
"When you treated me in that merciless way, long ago, the regard I feltfor you died out of my heart--your spell was broken."
"Ah! John, you have thought so, perhaps, just as I did, but I learnedthat these affections of ours are deeper than we suspect. I believed Ihad dropped you forever, but time has taught me what a terrible wrenchit must be that would tear the image of John Craig from my heart."
"I am sorry to hear you say so, Pauline, for on my part I have beeneffectually cured. I even look back and regard our love-making as afoolish, boyish fancy in which neither of us knew our own minds. Whycan't you do the same?" he says, calmly.
"I am not built that way--my nature is of the tropical order, for mymother was born in Corsica, you know. Some of these fair English girlsmay be fickle, but Pauline Potter is the same as when she knew you inChicago. But, John Craig, this same love can change to hate; it is buta step between the two, and no magician's wand is needed to make thetransformation."
Already a change has swept over her face; it does not look so lovelynow, for the arched black brows meet in a frown, while from the midnighteyes the fires of aroused passions begin to scintillate.
Craig knows that when he stirs up the pool he arouses the worst elementsin her nature. Still he will not disguise his feelings and assume anardor he is far from feeling.
Mentally he contrasts this girl with the English maid, and Paulinesuffers by the comparison.
Perhaps a trifle of the scorn he feels shows upon his face. Pauline canno longer call him her slave, and it may be this that arouses the newfeeling in her heart, for a woman will never bear the sneers of one whomshe has madly loved.
"This is worse than foolish, Pauline. You seem to know at least aportion of my mission abroad, and hence must be aware that I am in nohumor for love-making--that my whole soul is bound up in my search."
"Well, I can help you, John," she says, quietly, holding her feelings incheck until she has ventured upon this last resort.
"You can? Then I beg of you, Pauline, to give me assistance. To find mymother is the one thought of my existence, and any one who can shortenmy quest must have my deepest gratitude."
Pauline frowns again.
"I hate that word; it has no place with me, John Craig. Friendship Idespise--it is either love or hate with me. Let me tell you what I am ina position to do--find your mother for you, bring you face to face, or,on the other hand, render it impossible for you to ever set eyes uponher."
Her manner proves it to be no idle boast, but the young man will notdescend to deceit, even when he might accomplish so much.
"Will you bring about this meeting?" he asks.
"On one condition, John."
"Well"--hesitatingly--"name it."
"That you marry me," is the prompt reply, and even Pauline, actress bynature and vocation as she is, turns a trifle rosy under his gaze,though not abashed.
"That is a sudden ultimatum. Kindly tell me when you would like thislittle affair to come off?" he asks, lightly.
"Now--before I take you to the one you have long sought."
"Pardon me; I can hardly collect my wits. You see I had not dreamed ofmarrying for years. It is very, very sudden."
"Oh! I'll give you time to reflect upon it, John. I wouldn't hurry upsuch grave business."
"I don't believe I need much time. Don't you think it is a rather strangething to demand payment before you deliver the goods?"
"If you gave me your word, John, I would wait until I had carried out myword."
"You think you could trust me?"
"I am willing to accept the chances."
"Indeed!"
"Will you make the promise?"
"Not I."
"Then you were simply gaining time," with a clenching of the small handsand a gathering of the black brows.
"I wanted to uncover your batteries; to learn what you knew; tounderstand your designs. Now that you give me no alternative, I amcompelled to hurt your feelings by declaring myself able to find the oneI seek without the aid of Pauline Potter."
As he speaks the last word he rises to his feet, once more feeling likehimself.
"What would you do now, John Craig?"
"Leave this building, since I was lured here under false pret
enses. Whathave you done with my companion?"
"The funny little man? Oh, he left here long ago when he learned you hadfallen among old friends," she replies, carelessly.
John remembers something now; it is the sight of Philander Sharpe lyingback in his chair drugged, and therefore he does not credit what theactress says.
"Will you show me the way out?" he asks.
"I will do more."
She claps her hands together in the oriental way of summoning a servant.
Instantly the curtains move; three men enter the apartment, and Johnrealizes that Pauline Potter is about to show her teeth.
He draws his figure up, for while not a pugnacious man, he knows how todefend himself. As to his bravery who can question it after his actionof the afternoon?
"Does it take three to show me to the door? With your permission I willdepart."
"Not yet Doctor Chicago--not yet."
"Ha! you would attempt violence. Well, I'm ready to meet these fellows,thanks to the forethought that caused me to arm myself before startingon this quixotic errand to-night."
The young Chicagoan throws a hand back, meaning to draw the littlepocket revolver which has more than once served him well, but, to hisdismay, it is gone.
He sees a derisive smile upon the features of Pauline, and knows she hastaken it while he lay there unconscious on the couch.
"I was afraid you might do yourself damage, John. If you are wise youwill submit tamely," she says, and clapping her hands again sets thethree men upon him.
Craig is no Hercules in build, and besides, his left arm is in rathera poor condition for warfare, being exceedingly sore.
Still he is not the one to submit tamely so long as a single chanceremains, and for the space of a minute there is a lively scene in theoriental apartment, in which divans are overturned, men swingingdesperately around, and even Pauline Potter, accustomed to stage battlesonly, is constrained to utter a few little shrieks of alarm.
Then it is over.
Doctor Chicago, breathing hard and looking his dogged defiance, standsthere in the hands of his captors.
"Do you change your mind, John Craig?" asks the woman, fastening herburning gaze upon his face.
"I have too much Scotch blood in me for that. On the contrary, I ammore than ever determined to pursue my mission without any outsideassistance," he answers.
"Take him away!" she cries, and the look that crosses her face can onlybe likened to the black clouds preceding the hurricane.
John struggles no longer, for he realizes that he is safer out of hersight than in it.
They take him through a door-way and the last he hears from thebeautiful tigress is her taunting cry of:
"We will break this proud spirit of yours, John Craig--what you scornnow you will beg for after awhile, when it is too late!"
He wonders whether this is a prophecy.
The men hurry him along a narrow hall, for many of these Maltese housesare built in a queer way, nor do they treat him with consideration, butrather the contrary.
When he ventures to protest, the man who opened the door orders silenceand enforces it with a cowardly blow from his fist.
John looks him straight in the eye and says:
"You coward! I will remember that," at which the man turns his head awayand swears under his breath.
Presently they halt in front of a door, which the leader unlocks. At aword from him the young American is pushed inside.
John, receiving such an impetus, staggers and throws out his hands forsupport, but failing to find anything of this kind, pitches over, justas the door slams shut.
He recovers himself and sits up, a trifle bruised, but not otherwiseinjured through his rough treatment.
This is a nice predicament, to be shut up in a house of Valetta, while,perhaps, Philander Sharpe returns to the hotel with a story of hissuccumbing to the wiles of a beautiful enchantress.
The steamer will sail without him, and the duse must be to paygenerally.
John begins, like a man, to wonder if he can do anything for himself;that spirit so distinctive, so Chicago like, will not allow him to sitdown and repine.
Surrounded by gloom, how will he find out the nature of his prison?
He endeavors to penetrate the darkness--a trace of light finds anentrance under the door and relieves the somber blank. It does more, forall at once John's eyes discover something that rivets his attention.
There are two of them--eyes that gleam in the darkness like those of agreat cat.
A thrill sweeps over the doctor; can it be possible they have shut himin here with some great fierce animal that will tear him limb from limb?Is this Pauline Potter's dramatic revenge?
Who can blame him for a sudden quaking in the region of his heart--sucha fate is too terrible to calmly contemplate; but this qualm is onlymomentary, and then Doctor Chicago is himself again, brave andself-reliant.