CHAPTER IX
BASKINELLI'S QUARRY
A flutter of polite alarm attended Signor Baskinalli's invitation.
From the sheltered glitter of a Fifth avenue drawing room to Chinatownwas a plunge a little too deep.
But Baskinelli was insistent and Pauline was his ardent and efficientrecruiting officer. Quite a troop train of limousines carried theinvaders to the uncelestial haunts of the Celestials.
Baskinelli rode in the car with Pauline and Owen. He had cast off thedignity of the master musician and assumed an air of whimsicalrecklessness. Harry and Lucille were in the following car.
"Oh, please stop fidgeting," exclaimed Lucille.
"I'm as nervous as you are."
"I know," said Harry, "but I hate to have her alone with that littleblack snake for five minutes."
"Owen is with them."
"Owen is worse."
The machines drew up in Chatham Square, and the little procession thatmoved across to Doyers street--dainty slippers on blackenedcobblestones, light laughter tinkling under the thunder of the "L,"human brightness brushing past the human shadows from the midnight dens--made contrasts picturesque as a pageant in a catacomb.
Pauline, on the arm of the chattering Baskinelli, led the way.
"Isn't this splendid?" she exclaimed. "I am sure you won't disappointme, Signor Baskinelli. I hope you aren't going to show us a happyChinese family at supper. Only the most dreadful sights amuse me."
"Ali, but we, must not take risks," replied Baskinelli. "There aresome beings in the world, Miss Marvin, so exquisitely precious that aman would commit sin if he placed them in peril."
"But only the worst and wickedest places," she admonished Baskinelli.
He leaned suddenly very near to her.
"Do you really mean that, Miss Marvin?" he asked.
"Indeed I do," she answered.
"Very well. But first we shall go to the new restaurant. It is yettoo early for the worst and wickedest to be abroad or rather to seektheir lairs."
They climbed a brightly lighted staircase into one of the ordinaryChinese restaurants of the better sort which are conducted almostentirely for Americans, and where Boston baked beans are as likely asnot to nudge almond cakes on the bill of fare and champagne flow ascommonly as tea.
They gathered around one of the larger of the cheaply inlaid tables,and Baskinelli took command of the feast.
Harry sat in grim silence, watching Pauline like a protecting dragon.Lucille was sick at heart and repentant of coming. The others chattedmerrily among themselves. But by common consent Pauline seemed to havebeen surrendered to the attentions of the evening pest, who had becomea midnight host.
He leaned toward her with an ardor that he did not even attempt todisguise. "You are the most wonderful woman in--"
"Please make it the universe," pleaded Pauline. "There are so manymost wonderful women in the world."
"No, let us say chaos," he whispered. "The chaos of a man's heart canbe ruled only by the charming uncertainty of woman."
The intensity of his words brought to Pauline again the twinge ofalarm. Unconsciously she looked around for Harry. It was the lastthing in the world she had meant to do. She was angry at herself in aninstant, for his fixed, guarding gaze was upon her. She met his eyesand turned quickly to Baskinelli.
"Chaos? I've always loved that word," she flashed. "There must be somany lovely adventures where there are no laws."
"I said the chaos in a man's heart could be ruled by a woman," saidBaskinelli.
The impudence of this sudden love making moved her unexpectedly todefiance.
"Please let it be ruled, Signor Baskinelli," she said, turning awayfrom him.
Baskinelli had sense enough to see that he had gone too far. He turnedto the others as the soft-footed Orientals began to spread the mixedand mysterious viands on the table.
He glanced at Owen. By the slightest movement imaginable, by the leastuplift of his black brows, Owen answered. For the first timeBaskinelli knew that the lovely quarry he pursued had a protector--and no mean, no weak protector.
But the arrival of the repast quickly covered the generalembarrassment. Everybody could see that Pauline and Harry had had aquarrel and that Pauline, was flirting outrageously with Baskenellisimply for revenge--that is, every one except Harry could see it.
"Pardon me, but is that what you call a graft investigation that youare making, Miss Hamlin?" inquired Baskinelli.
"No, but the food is so funny. There are so many queer things present,but unidentified," laughed Lucille.
"Like a reception to a foreign artist," interrupted Harry with avindictive glare.
"Or shall we say like the conversation of an unhappy guest," saidBaskinelli, smilingly turning to note the entrance of a little party ofnewcomers at the further end of the restaurant.
A dashing, well-dressed, fiery-eyed foreigner, the tips of whose waxedmustachios turned up like black stalagmites from the comers of hiscavernous mouth, was accompanied by two nondescript figures, who seemedto be embarrassed more by the fact that they had been recently cleansedand shaved than by their rough red shirts and mismatched coats andtrousers.
The man of the tilted mustachios gave brief, imperative orders to thewaiters, whose languid steps seemed to be quickened by his words as byan electric battery. The other two sat silent, like docile dogs inleash.
Only for an instant Baskinelli's eyes rested upon the group.
"And having tasted the food of the gods, how would you like to visitthe gods themselves?" he asked.
Pauline agreed enthusiastically. "You mean a joss house--a Chinesechurch, don't you."
"Yes."
The joss house that most visitors see in Chinatown is the little one upunder the roof at the meeting of Doyers and Pell streets--at the toeof the twisted horseshoe made by these tiny thoroughfares of blackfame, where, in spite of all the modern magic of "reform," men stilldie silently in the hush of secluded corridors and women vanish intothe darkness that is worse than death.
The little joss house is interesting in the same way that an Indianvillage at a State fair is interesting. Behind its gaudy staginess andcommercial appeal it still holds something of reality from which theimagination can draw a picture of an ancient worship that has held arace of millions in thrall for thousands of years.
But it was not to the little joss house that Signor Baskinelli guidedthe party. In the little joss house the bells are pounded withoutrespite, the visitors come and go at all hours of the day and night--save the few set hours when the joss sacrifices profit to true prayer.
Baskinelli took his guests to the joss house of the Golden Screens.
Save for its greater size and more splendid accoutrement, it was littledifferent from the other. But it was walled, in its back alleyseclusion, deep behind the outer fronts of Mott street, by a secrecyalmost sincerely sacred.
The motor cars remained far behind across the square as Baskinelli ledthe party through the dismal streets and stopped before a darkdoorway.
A dim light flared behind the door and a Chinaman in American dressadmitted them.
"I am beginning to be really bored," said Pauline.
"Wait; give the wicked a chance," said Baskinelli.
They climbed three flights of dingy, narrow stairs, lighted withflaring gas jets.
"Wonderful," jeered Pauline. "Not even a secret passage or asubterranean den!"
The others followed her laughing lead up the stairs.
A Chinaman came out of the door on the second landing, stopped, startedin innocent curiosity at the dazzling visitors and went down thestairs. Everything was as still and commonplace as if they had been inthe hallway of a Harlem flat building.
The silence was not broken or the seeming safety disturbed in theslightest by the soft opening of the first landing door, after they hadpassed--that is, after all but Owen had passed. No one but Owen sawthe piercing black eyes and the tilted mustachios of the fa
ce thatappeared for an instant at the door.
There was a corridor, not so well lighted, at the top of the thirdflight of stairs. In the dim turns the women drew their skirts aboutthem, a bit wary of the black, short walls.
The passage narrowed. They could move now only in single file, andeven then their shoulders brushed the walls.
Only a far, dull glow from a red lamp over a door at the end of apassage lighted their way.
Baskinelli tapped lightly on the door.
It was opened by a venerable Chinaman in the flowing robes of apriest. He looked at them doubtfully. Baskinelli spoke three wordsthat his companions did not hear. The priest vanished. Quickly thedoor was reopened and they stepped into the dim, smoky, stiflingpresence of the joss.
The choking scent of the punk always at the folded feet of the idol wasalmost suffocating. The place had other odors less noxious and lesssweet. Chinamen were lounging in the room as if it had been a place ofrest. Three priests were on their knees before the joss swayingforward till their foreheads almost touched the floor, theiroutstretched arms moving in mystic symmetry with their rocking bodies.
A great brass bell hung low beside the idol. But no priest touched thebell.
The joss itself was almost the least impressive thing in the room. Itstood, or squatted, six feet high, on a block pedestal at the side ofthe room. The simple hideousness of the painted features served noimpressive purpose, but as contrast to the exquisite decorations of theroom.
Screens of carved wood, so delicately wrought that it seemed a touchwould break the graven fibers, were flecked with inlay of pearl andcovering of gold.
One of the peculiar features of the room was a suit of ancient Chinesearmor--a relic that had been rusted and pit-marked by time, but nowstood brightly polished beside the statue of the god. A huge two-edgedsword was held upright in the steel glove.
By the dim light behind the idol the shadow of the sword was castacross the blank face of Baskinelli as he moved forward. He steppedback quickly. The shadow fell between him and Pauline.
Again the ancient priest answered a summons at the door. Again heparleyed for a moment--then opened it to the three swarthy foreignerswho had been in the restaurant.
Baskinelli turned for just in instant to glance at the tall man withthe tilted mustache, then resumed immediately his conversation withPauline.
"Why do all the Chinamen run away like that?" she asked.
"It is the end of the service; you see the priests are going, too."
There was a furtive haste about the departure of the Orientals. Andthere was a quavering in the manner of the oldest priest--the onlyone who remained--that seemed born of a hidden fear.
The old priest lifted one of the lamps from a wall bracket and set iton the floor beside the idol. He knelt near it and began to pray.
The three Italians waited only a moment, then followed the Chinese outof the room.
"It is late--we ought to be going," pleaded Lucille.
Complete silence had fallen on the room and her words, a littletremulous, had instant effect on the other women.
"What about it, Baskinelli? Had we better be going?" asked one of themen.
"Yes--yes, I beg only a moment. I wish to show Miss Pauline the--"
"You mean Miss Marvin, do you not?" blazed Harry, striding toBaskinelli's side and glaring down at him.
"I was interrupted. I had not finished my words. They are, at best,awkward, I beg--"
"You beg nothing," said Harry through clenched teeth. Then slowly,grimly:
"I want to tell you, you little leper, that if anything happens heretonight--it is going to happen to you."
He was so near to the musician that the others did not hear.
Baskinelli backed away. Pauline, with the swift, inexplicable, yetunerring instinct of woman, moved as if to seek the shelter of Harry'stowering frame.
He did not see her. He had whirled at the sound of the opening of adoor--a peculiar door set diagonally across a corner of the roombehind the joss.
Through the yellow silk curtains that hid the entrance came twoChinamen as fantastically hideous as the embroidered dragons on thetapestry.
"Put those men out; they cannot come in here; they are full of opium,"commanded Baskinelli.
"Stop; let them come in; we are going," said the mild voice of Owen.
The understanding look of Baskinelli met his. Baskinelli frowned andOwen smiled. They were playing perfectly their roles.
The two Chinamen shuffled into the room. The priest arose in jabberingprotest. They argued with him acridly. A few feet away one could seethat their cheap linen robes covered the ordinary street garb of theChinamen; that the ugly lines on their faces were painted, as on theface of the Joss.
Baskinelli was laughing. The others watched the argument in silence.Every one but the host, and Owen, and Pauline, seemed a littlenervous.
Suddenly the lamp on the floor went out. There was another at thefarther side of the room, but its dim light made the scene more weirdthan darkness could have made it.
"Well, I thought we were going," snapped Harry's strident voice.
"We are," replied Baskinelli. "Miss--er--I am afraid to speak--Miss Marvin, shall we go?"
Pauline took his arm.
"Ali, but I have forgotten the most precious sight of the evening,"suddenly exclaimed the musician. "Only a moment--look here."
Interested, Pauline did not notice that Owen softly shut the door uponthe receding footsteps of the others. Baskinelli guided her back tothe little door behind the screen--the door from which the Chinamenhad entered.
Baskinelli drew aside the curtain.
"There--that is one form of adventure."
Pauline looked through the curtain. A suffocating, narcotic odor cameto her. What she saw was stifling not only to the senses--but to thesoul. She turned away.
"Polly!"
Harry's voice rang through the little choked room like a thunderblast.
"We are coming--we are quite safe," called Baskinelli, with the sneertinge in his tone.
"Very well, then; hurry."
Harry's manner aroused Pauline's temper again. She purposelylingered.
The two Chinamen were arguing violently now with the priest.
Harry had closed the door and followed the others down the outerpassage.
"Miss Marvin--Pauline!" called Baskinelli with sudden passion. "Haveyou a heart of stone? Can you not see me helpless in your presence?Do you know what love is?"
He stepped towards her and tried to take her in his arms. But she wasstronger and far braver than he. She thrust him aside and fled throughthe door.
Baskinelli followed, protesting, pleading.
Strangely, as she fled through the narrow corridor, the low, flaringgas jets were extinguished one by one.
She groped in darkness.
Baskinelli's pleading voice became almost a consolation, a protection.
Her elbow struck something in the passageway. The something shrank atthe touch. She heard a quick drawn breath that was not Baskinelli's.She tried to run. The tiny passageway chocked her flight. She plungedhelplessly between invisible, but gripping walls. She reeled andscreamed.
There was the sound of a struggle behind her. She heard Baskinellicrying for help--but, oh, so quietly! She reached the stairs. Thestairs were blocked by a closed door. The door was barred. But therewas a light left burning by the door.
Her weak hands beat upon the panels, helplessly, hopelessly. Howshould she know that there were two doors, locked and sealed beyond?
Her wild screams rang through the long passage, through the dark, abovethe shuffle and beat and cursing of the staged fight.
In the dim light she could see the three Italians grappling with theother men. Baskinelli's voice called to her reassuringly. It mightwell. Baskinelli was in no danger.
She placed her softly clothed shoulder to the door and strove to breakit. She screamed again.
"Harry! Harry!"
Dull crashes answered. There was the crack and cleaving of splinteredwood.
"Hold on! I'm here!" she heard.
She fell beside the door. Strong arms seized her. For an instant shefelt that she was saved. But she looked up into the lowering face of aman with tilted mustachios. From the wide thick lips came threats andcurses.
From the outer passageway sounded the crashing of the doors.
She let herself be lifted, then, with sudden exertion of her trainedstrength, she broke the grasp of the man.
The door fell open.
Harry, bloody and tattered, stood there--alone.
"Polly?"
"Oh--yes--where are the others? They'll kill you--run!" shecried.
He ran forward into the black corridor. A knife thrust, sheathed insilence, ripped his shoulder gave him his cue. He had one man down andtrampled. But another was upon him and yet a third.
A sharp pain dulled the pulsing of his throat. He felt a tickle downhis bared and swinging arm.
He fought blindly in the dark.
"Polly!" he panted.
There was no answer.
* * * * *
In the Joss House of the Golden Screens the two Chinamen, dazed withopium, set of purpose, were still arguing with the trembling priest.
The door fell open and a white woman--with bleeding hands--fell attheir feet.
"Ha, she has come back!" cried one of the Chinese in his own tongue.
There was the sound of steps in the outer passage.
"Quick--inside!" breathed the Chinaman, pointing to the den.
They lifted Pauline. The old priest stopped them.
"Not there--not there!" he cried. "Any one would look in there."
They dragged her back. The priest hurried to the outer door and lockedit.
There was the blunt, battering thrust of a body against the door.
"Open, or I'll break it in!" yelled the voice of Harry.
The priest opened the door.
In deferential silence he saluted the battle grimed newcomer.Battered, panting, bleeding, Harry lunged at the man, gripped him.
"Quick--where is she? You'll die like a spiked rat. Where?" heroared.
The two other Chinamen were kneeling before the Joss.
There was a moment's silence, then a strange sound--like a cry heardafar off.
Harry strode to the little pedestal where the suit of armor stood.
"Where is she?--or I'll rip this place to cockles!" he thundered.
"We do not know what you mean," said the priest.
The two Chinamen began to jabber.
Other figures reeled from the room behind the curtains. But over alltheir clamor sounded again the faint cry--distant, but near.
In a flash Harry caught from the mailed glove the haft of the sword.As he rushed across the room the Chinese withered away from him. Therewas a crash as the great sword fell upon one of the windows. Throughthe broken pane Harry shouted for help. His voice was like a clarionin the silent streets.
He turned in time. Three Chinamen, with drawn knives, were upon him.He swung the unwieldy sword above his head. Its sweep saved him. Hedashed at the Joss. Again he lifted the sword. A grasp and then awail of fear sounded through the room.
He struck. The head of the statue thudded to the floor.
The Chinese rushed upon him. They were desperate now in the face ofthe violation of their god. But he was behind their god prying openthe secret door to the hollow within the statue.
"It's all right, Polly," he said as he drew her gently forth.
He stood above her with his back to the wall swinging the sacred swordagainst the onslaught of fanatic men. They fell before him, but morecame on.
His hands could hardly hold the mighty weapon. For more than half anhour he had been fighting. He was weakening but he braced himself andswung for the last time.
There came a hammering at the door. It crashed in. Police clubswhistled right and left. The Chinese fled into their secret lairs.
* * * * *
"And I guess that will be all," panted Harry in the taxi that took themhome. "I don't think you'll ask for any more adventures after thisone."
"Why didn't you pick up the Joss's head?" replied Pauline. "It wouldhave looked so nice and dreadful in the library?"
But the glory of her golden hair nestled upon his torn shoulder and heknew that he would go through all the perils in the world for happinesslike this.