Diane of the Green Van

by Leona Dalrymple

  CHAPTER XV

  JOKAI OF VIENNA

  It was insolent music, a taunt in every note. Carl laid aside hisflute and inspected his prisoner with impudent interest.

  "You _are_ the most difficult person to entertain!" he accused softly."Here Hunch has strained a sinuous spine performing our beautifulnative dances, the tango and the hesitation, and I've fluted up all thewind in the room and still you glower."

  "Monsieur," broke forth the prisoner, goaded beyond endurance by thestifling heat and the stench of Hunch's pipe, "is it not enough toimprison me here without reason, that you must taunt and gibe--" hechoked indignantly and stared desperately at the boarded windows.

  "Let your voice out, do!" encouraged Carl. "We dispensed with thecaretaker days ago, fearing you'd feel restricted."

  The other's face was livid.

  "Monsieur!" he cried imperiously, his eyes flashing. "Take care!"

  "I know," said Carl soothingly, "that you have deep, dark, sinisterpossibilities within you--dear, yes! You tried something of the sorton the Ridge Road. That's why your august head's so badly bruised.But why aggravate your blood pressure now when it's so infernally hotand you've work ahead. Hunch," he added carelessly to the admiringhenchman who had once dealt away successive slices of his inheritance,"go get a pitcher of ice water and rustle up another siphon of seltzerand some whiskey. Likely His Nibs and I will play chess againto-night."

  Hunch rose from a chair by the window where he had flattened his singlegood eye against a knot hole, and slouched heavily to the door.

  The face of the prisoner slowly whitened. Every muscle of his bodyquivered suddenly in horrible revulsion. Nights of enforceddrunkenness had left his nerves strained to the breaking point.

  "Monsieur," he panted, greatly agitated, "the whiskey--the thought ofit again to-night--is maddening."

  Carl merely raised ironical eyebrows.

  "You are not a man," choked the other, shaking. "You are a namelessdemon! Such hellish originality in the conception of evil, suchsingular indignities as you have seen fit to inflict, they are thefreaks of a madman!"

  "Thank you," said Carl politely. "One likes to have one's littleingenuities appreciated."

  "I--I am ill--and the room is stifling."

  "If I do not mind it," said Carl in aggrieved surprise, "why shouldyou?"

  "You are a thing of steel and infernal fire. I am but human."

  "There is a way to stop it all," reminded Carl, lazily relighting hiscigar. "Why not give me a logical reason for your presence in America?"

  "I have done so. Have I not said again and again that I am SigimundJokai, of Vienna, touring in America?"

  "You have said so," agreed Carl imperturbably, "but you lie. There wasan empty chamber in your revolver, you were perilously close to mycousin's camp. Why? Is it not better to tell me than foolishly towaste such splendid nerve and grit as you possess?"

  The prisoner moistened his bloodless lips and shrugged.

  "Monsieur," he accused coldly, "you tinge commonplace incidents withmelodrama."

  "Days ago--er--Jokai of Vienna," went on Carl thoughtfully, "Idispatched a formal communication to your country. Why has it beenignored? Why did my first inkling of its effect come in the sight ofyour face in suspicious territory? And why, Monsieur," purred Carlsoftly, "did you seek to kill me by a trick?"

  "Monsieur, you delayed me. I am hot of temper--"

  "And kill whoever angers you? My dear Jokai, that's absurd. As foryour singular indifference to the burning car--that's easy. You'dstolen it. But why?"

  He smiled slightly and picked up his flute. With infinite softness awaltz danced lightly through the quiet room. To such a fanciful, eeriepiping might the ghost of a child have danced. Then without pause orwarning it swung dramatically into a stirring melody of power anddignity.

  The wretched man by the table buried his face in his hands and groaned.

  "Ah!" said Carl softly. "So Monsieur has heard that tune before? Thatin itself is illuminating."

  With a leer Hunch entered and deposited a tray upon the table. Carlpoured himself some whiskey and pushed the decanter toward his guestwith a significant glance. Jokai of Vienna poured and drank with ashudder of nausea.

  "We've a new chessboard," said Carl. "It's most ingenious. Hunchspent a large part of his valuable morning shopping for it. The boardand chessmen are metal and I myself have added one or two uniqueimprovements. Help yourself to some more whiskey--do."

  "Monsieur," faltered Jokai desperately, "I--I can not."

  "Hunch," said Carl softly. "His Nibs won't drink."

  Instantly from the wired metal points of Jokai's chair a stingingelectric current swept fiendishly through his body. Last night it hadgoaded him unspeakably. To-night, with every tortured nerve leaping,it was unbearable. Shaking, he poured again and drank--great drops ofsweat starting out upon his forehead. Where the rope bound his anklesthe flesh was aching dully.

  "Mercy!" he choked. "I--I can not bear it."

  "There is a way to stop it!" reminded Carl curtly. "The ivory chessmenfor me, Hunch. And whenever he refuses to drink--start the current."

  With the metal chessboard before him, Carl idly arranged his ivory men.Jokai touched a metal pawn and shuddered violently. The metal boardwas wired. Thenceforth every move in the game he must play with themetal men would complete the circuit and send the biting needlesthrough his frame. It was delicately gauged, a nerve-rackingdiscomfort without definite pain, a thing to snap the dreadful tensionof a man's endurance at the end.

  "Ah! Monsieur!" cried Jokai wildly. "It is inconceivable--"

  "Play!" said Carl briefly. White and grim his guest obeyed.

  In terrible silence they played the game through to the end.

  "Let me pour you some more whiskey," insisted Carl with infernalcourtesy. "Let us understand each other. Whenever I drink, I expectyou to do the same. As for you, Hunch, you'll kindly stay sober!"

  Jokai gulped the nauseating torture to the end. He was faint and sick.By the end of the third game, every move had become convulsive. Theinsidious bite of the current was getting horribly on his nerves.Still with desperate will he played on. Drunk and dizzy--his veins hotand pounding, he stared in fascinated horror at the face of hismerciless opponent. Through the film of smoke it loomed vividly dark,impudent, ironic, the mobile mouth edged satirically with a slightsmile.

  "Are you man or devil?" he whispered.

  Carl laughed. His hand, for all his drinking, was calm and steady, hishandsome eyes clear and cold and resolute.

  "Hunch," he said curtly, "if you touch that bottle again, I'll break itover your head. You're drunk now."

  To Jokai his voice trailed off into curious nothingness. Somewhere heknew in a room stifling hot and hazy with the fumes of vile tobaccothere was a voice, musical, detached and very far away.

  "Monsieur," it was saying, "there are still the questions."

  With shaking hand Jokai touched a metal king and screamed. The heatand the hell-board hard upon his days and nights of enforced drinkingwere too much. With a strangled sob, Jokai of Vienna pitched forwardupon the board unconscious.

  Carl swept the metal men away with a shrug.

  "Poor devil!" he said pityingly. "All this hell sooner than answer aquestion or two. By to-morrow night, with another dose of the samemedicine, he'll feel differently. Likely I'll run up to Connecticutto-night, Hunch, to see my aunt. I'll be back by noon to-morrow. Tearoff the window boards and give him some more air. You can move him toanother room in the morning."

  Hunch obeyed, and presently as the street door slammed behind hischief, Hunch's single eye roved expectantly to the forgotten whiskey onthe table. Jokai lay in a motionless stupor by the window. It wouldbe morning before the hapless drinker would be quite himself again.With brutal, powerful arms, Hunch bore his charge to an adjoining roomand consigned him disrespectfully to a bed. Then with a fresh bottleof whiskey in hi
s hand, he returned to the open window, leeredpleasantly at the dizzy glare of city lights beyond and henceforthdevoted himself to getting very drunk. Having gratified this bibulousambition to the uttermost, he fell asleep. The morning sunlightflaming at last on his coarse, bloated face awoke him to resentfulconsciousness. Glowering at the bright, warm light with his singleeye, Hunch rolled away into the shadow and went to sleep again.

  Below on the porch, with an outraged caretaker's letter in her handbag, Aunt Agatha turned her latchkey resolutely in the lock.

  "I just will not have it!" reflected Aunt Agatha defiantly. "Icertainly will not. And I'd have been here yesterday if Mary hadn'tinsisted upon my spending the night with her. Well do I remember howCarl installed himself here last year with a Japanese servant andinvited that good-looking Wherry boy to come and scratch the furniture.I don't suppose Carl invited him for that purpose," added Aunt Agathafairly, "but he did it, anyway. I can't for the life of me see why itis that young Mr. Wherry is perpetually making scratches where his feetrest. And I'm sure he left his footprint on the piano and thunderedthrough every roll on the player, for they're all out of place, and theWilliston caretaker heard him, though like as not it was Carl for thatmatter. He's a Westfall, and he'd do it if he felt like it, dearknows! Though I must say Carl detests bangy music."

  Still rambling, Aunt Agatha, having fussed considerably over theextraction of the key, halted in the hallway, appalled by the utterloneliness of the darkened rooms. Beyond in the library a clock boomedloudly through the quiet. Somewhere upstairs a dull, choking raspbroke the soundless gloom. Aunt Agatha began to flutter nervously upthe stairway.

  "It's Carl of course!" she murmured in a panic. "I just know it is.I've never known him to even gurgle--much less snore in his sleep.Like as not his windows are still boarded up and he's suffocating.Only a Westfall would think of such a thing."

  Puffing, Aunt Agatha halted at her nephew's door. That and the oneadjoining were locked. There was a den beyond. Making her way to adoor of which Hunch was ignorant. Aunt Agatha opened it and gasped.Fully clothed, a man whose feet and hands were securely bound, laymuttering upon the bed, his jargon incomprehensibly foreign.

  "God deliver us from all Westfalls!" wept Aunt Agatha. "Carl'skidnapped an immigrant!"

  With unwavering determination in her round, aggrieved eyes, she sweptmajestically to the bed and shook the sleeper severely.

  "My good man," she demanded, "what do you mean by lying here on a lacespread with your feet tied and your head scarred?"

  Jokai of Vienna stirred and moaned. Aunt Agatha fumbled for hersmelling salts and administered a most heroic draft. Sputtering, Jokaiawoke from his restless stupor and stared.

  From the room adjoining came again the dull, choking rasp of Hunch'sheavy slumber. Fluttering hurriedly to the doorway, Aunt Agatha staredin horror at the littered room and Hunch, the latter no reassuringsight at his best, and thence with fascinated gaze at Jokai of Vienna.With wild imploring eyes Jokai glanced at his hands and feet.Miraculously Aunt Agatha understood. After an interval of petrifiedindecision, during which she trembled violently and made inarticulatenoises in her throat, she fluttered excitedly from the room andreturned with a pair of scissors. Urged to noiseless activity byJokai's fear of the sleeper in the farther room, she cut the ropeswhich bound him and led him stealthily to the hall below.

  "You poor thing!" whispered Aunt Agatha in hysterical sympathy."You're as pale as a ghost. I don't wonder--"

  But Jokai of Vienna was already bolting wildly through the street doorand down the steps. Aunt Agatha burst into aggrieved tears.

  "I don't in the least know what it's all about," she sniffed, greatlyfrightened, "but what with the immigrant bolting out of the house inhis shirt sleeves without so much as a word of thanks--such a nicedistinguished fellow as he was, too, for all he smelt of liquor!--andCarl nowhere in sight--and a fat young man, with a hairy chest exposed,sleeping on a whiskey bottle and snoring like a prisoner file, it doesseem most mysterious--that's a fact! And my knees have folded up and Ican't budge. Mother's knees used to fold up this way, too. God blessmy soul!" wept the unfortunate lady. "I do wish I were dead."

  With a desperate effort Aunt Agatha unfolded her knees sufficiently tobear her weight and turning, screamed wildly. Hunch Dorrigan wasstealing catlike down the stairs, his bloated vicious face leeringthreateningly at her over the railing.

  "You old she-wolf!" roared that elegant young man. "Where's His Nibs?"

  Aunt Agatha moistened her dry lips and, gurgling fearfully, fainted.When at length she became conscious again. Hunch, glowering fiercely,was returning from a futile chase. With a resentful flash of brutalityhe towered suddenly above her and began to curse. Aunt Agatha,bristling, sat up.

  "Don't you dare speak to me like that after breathing vulgar liquorfumes all over my niece's house and tying up that nice foreigngentleman," she quavered weakly. "Don't you dare! I live in thishouse, young man, and Carl will see to it that I'm protected. Healways has. He's very good to me."

  Hunch glowered sullenly at her, fearful, in the face of herrelationship to Carl, of committing still another unforgivable offense.

  "I once knew a stout young man with a glass eye," she gulped withincreasing courage, "and he was hanged by the neck until he wasdead--quite dead--and then they cut his body down and his relativestook it away in a cart and on the way home it came to life--"

  Aunt Agatha halted abruptly, vaguely conscious that this somewhatfelicitous ending to the tragedy, as an object lesson to Hunch, leftmuch to be desired.

  "Leave the house!" she commanded with shrill magnificence, for all herhair and dress were awry, and her round face flushed. "Leave thehouse."

  Hunch shrugged and obeyed. It was nearly noon and there was no singleeast-side acquaintance--no, not even Link Murphy, the terrible--whom hefeared as he feared Carl Granberry.

  Weeping, Aunt Agatha watched him go.