by Charles King
CHAPTER XIV.
That night the sentries all over the suburbs of Ermita and Malate werepeering into every dark alleyway and closely scrutinizing every humanbeing nearing their posts. Few and far between were these, for thenatives were encouraged to remain indoors after nine o'clock, and thesoldiers forbidden to be out. The streets were deserted save byoccasional carriage or carromatta bearing army or navy officers, or whatwere termed the foreign residents--English or German as a rule--fromclub or calls to their quarters.
"Lights out" sounded early at the barracks of the soldiery, for theywere up with the dawn for breakfast that they might be through withtheir hardest drills before the heat of the day. The "pool rooms,"as the big _Americanos_ called these "wide open," single-tabledbilliard saloons that flourished in almost every block, were requiredto put up their shutters at nine o'clock, and every discoverableestablishment in which gambling had prevailed in other form had longsince been closed by a stony-hearted chief of police, whose star wasworn on each shoulder rather than the left breast, and who, to theincredulous amaze of Spaniard and Filipino alike, listened unmoved tothe pleas of numerous prominent professors of the gambling industry,even when backed by proffers of a thousand a week in gold. That the"_partida de billar_" had not also been suppressed was due to thefact that, like Old Sledge in the Kentucky Court, its exponentsestablished it to be, not a game of chance, but skill, and such, indeed,it proved to every Yankee who put up his money against the bank. With anapparently congenital gift of sleight of hand, developed by years ofpractice at pitch penny from toddling babyhood to cock-fightingadolescence, the native could so manipulate the tools of his game thatno outsider had the faintest "show for his money," while, as againsteach other, as when Greek met Greek, it became a battle of the giants, atrial of almost superhuman skill. It was the one game left to adultTagalhood in which he might indulge his all-absorbing and unconquerablepassion to play for money. All over town and suburbs wandered countlessnatives with wondering game-cocks under their arms, suffering for achance to spur if not to "scrap," for even the national sport had beenstopped. Never in all the services in all the churches of Luzon had suchvirtue been preached as that practised by these heartless, soullessinvaders from across the wide Pacific--men who stifled gambling andscorned all bribes. "Your chief of police is no gentleman," declaredcertain prominent merchants, arrested for smuggling opium, and naturallyaggrieved and indignant at such unheard-of treatment. "He did not tellus how much he wanted! He did not even ask us to pay!" Retained inresponsible positions in the office of the collector of customs, twoSpanish officers of rank were presently found to have embezzled sometwelve thousand dollars in some six weeks of opportunity. "But this isoutrage! This is scandalous!" quoth they, in righteous wrath on beingbidden to disgorge and ordered before a court-martial. "We have nothingbut the customary perquisite! It is you who would rob us!" From highestto lowest, in church, in state, in school,--in every place,--thereseemed no creed that barred the acquisition of money by any means shortof actual robbery of the person. As for thieving from the premises, theFilipino stood unequalled--the champion sneak-thief of the universe.
And the sentries this night, softly lighted by a waning old moon, wereon the lookout everywhere among the suburbs for two malefactorsdistinctly differing in type, yet equally in demand. One, said thedescriptions, compiled from the original information of Zenobia Perkins,Spinster; residence 259 Calle Real, Ermita; occupation, Vice-Presidentand Accredited Representative for the Philippine Islands of thePatriotic Daughters of America, and the additional particulars laterobtained from Lieutenant Gerard Stuyvesant, aide-de-camp to GeneralVinton, 595 Calle Real, Malate--one, said the descriptions, was a burly,thick-set, somewhat slouching American, in clothing of the sailorslop-shop variety, a man of five feet six and maybe forty years, thoughhe might be much younger; a coarse-featured, heavy-bearded man, withgray eyes, generally bleary, and one front tooth gone, leaving a gap inthe upper jaw next the canine, which was fang-like, yellow, andprominent; a man with harsh voice and surly ways; a man known as Sackettamong seamen and certain civilians who probably had made their way toManila in the hope of picking up an easy living; a man wanted as Murrayamong soldiers for a deserter, jail-bird, and thief.
The other malefactor was less minutely described. A native five feeteight, perhaps. Very tall for a Tagal, slender, sinewy, and with a tuftof wiry hair and sixteen inches of shirt missing. "For furtherparticulars and the missing sixteen inches, as well as the hair, inquireat Colonel Brent's, Number 199 Calle San Luis, Ermita."
It seems that soon after dark that eventful evening Mrs. Brent and MissPorter had seen Maidie comfortably bestowed in the big, broad,cane-bottomed bed in her airy room, and had left her to all appearancessleeping placidly towards eight o'clock, and then gone out to dinner.Whatever the cause of her agitation on receiving at Brent's hands thelittle card photograph of herself, it had subsided after a brief,low-toned conference with Sandy, who quickly came and speedily hastenedaway, and a later visit from Dr. Frank, whose placid, imperturbable,restful ways were in themselves well-nigh as soothing as theorange-flower water prescribed for her. Even the little night-light,floating in its glass, had been extinguished when the ladies left her.
The room assigned to Marion was at the north-west corner of the house.Its two front windows opened on the wide gallery, that in turn openedout on the Bagumbayan parade. Its west windows, also two in number, wereheavily framed. There were sliding blinds to oppose to the westeringsun, translucent shells in place of brittle glass to temper, yet admit,the daylight, and hanging curtains that slid easily on their supportingrods and rendered the room dark as could be desired for the siesta hoursof the tropic day.
The dinner-table, brightly lighted by lamps hung from hooks securelydriven in the upper beams (lath and plaster are unknown in this seismicland), was set on the rear gallery overlooking the _patio_, and here,soon after eight, Brent, his little household, the doctor, and twomore guests were cosily chatting and dining, while noiseless nativeservants hovered about and Maidie Ray presumably slept.
But Maidie was not sleeping. Full of a new anxiety, if not of dread, andneeding to think calmly and clearly, she had turned away from her almosttoo assiduous attendants and closed her eyes upon the world about her. Aperplexity, a problem such as never occurred to her as a possibility,one that sorely worried Sandy, as she could plainly see, had suddenlybeen thrust upon her. Hitherto she had ever had a most devoted mother asher counsellor and friend, but now a time had come when she must thinkand act for herself.
The little card photograph picked up by the men on the scene of thescuffle at the edge of the Bagumbayan had told its story to her at leastand to Sandy. It could only mean that Foster, he who spent whole daysand weeks at their New Mexican station to the neglect of his cattle-ranch,he who had 'listed in the cavalry and disappeared--deserted, maybe--atCarquinez, had eluded search, pursuit, inquiry of every kind, and, allignorant, probably, of the commission obtained for him, had, stillsecretly, as though realizing his danger, followed her to Manila.
This then must have been the tall stranger who called himself an oldfriend and would give no name, for it was to Foster, in answer to hismost urgent plea,--perhaps touched by his devoted love for her lovelydaughter,--that Mrs. Ray had given that little vignette photograph longmonths before. There, on the back, was the date in her mother's hand,"Fort Averill, New Mexico, February 15, 1898." Well did Marion rememberhow he had begged her to write her name beneath the picture, and how,for some reason she herself could not describe, she had shrunk from sodoing. There had been probably half a dozen pictures of Foster abouttheir quarters at Averill,--photographs in evening dress, in ranch rig,in winter garb, in tennis costume,--but only one had he of Maidie, andthat not of her giving.
Now, what could his coming mean? What madness prompted this stealth andsecrecy? If innocent of wilful desertion, his proper course was to havereported without delay to the military authorities at San Francisco andtold the cause of his disappearance or d
etention. But he had evidentlydone nothing of the kind. They would surely have heard of it, and now hewas here, still virtually in hiding and possibly in disguise, and oneunguarded word of hers might land him a prisoner, a war-time deserter,within the walls of the gloomy carcel in Old Manila.
Sandy she had to tell, and he was overwhelmed with dismay, had gallopedto Paco to see his colonel and get leave for "urgent personal and familyreasons," as he was to say, to spend forty-eight hours in and aboutManila. If a possible thing, Sandy was to trail and find poor Foster,induce him to surrender himself at once, to plead illness,inexperience,--anything,--and throw himself on the mercy of theauthorities. Sandy would be back by nine unless something utterlyunforeseen detained him at East Paco. Meantime what else could shedo?--what could she plan to rescue that reckless, luckless,hare-brained, handsome fellow from the plight into which his misguided,wasted passion had plunged him?
From the veranda the clink of glass and china, the low hum of merrychat, the sound of half-smothered laughter, fell upon the ear and vexedher with its careless jollity. Impatiently she threw herself upon theother--the left--side, and then--sat bolt upright in bed.
Not a breath of air was stirring. The night was so still she could hearthe soft tinkle of the ships' bells off the Luneta,--could almost hearthe soothing plash of the wavelets on the beach. There was nothingwhatever to cause that huge mahogany door to swing upon its well-oiledhinges. She heard them close it when they went out; she saw that it wasclosed when they were gone, yet, as she turned on her pillow and towardsthe faint light through the northwest windows, that door was slowly,stealthily turning, until at last, wide open, it interposed between herand the outward light at the front.
Many an evening lately she had lain with hands clasped under the back ofher bonny head looking dreamily out through that big open window, acrossthe gallery beyond and the open casements in front, watching the twinkleof the electric lights above the distant ramparts of the old city andthe nearer gleam of the brilliant globes that hung aloft along the westedge of the Bagumbayan.
Now one-half of that vista was shut off by the massive door, the otherwas unobscured, but even as with beating heart, still as a tremblingmouse, she sat and gazed, something glided slowly, stealthily,noiselessly between her and those betraying lights, something dark, dim,and human, for the shape was that of a man, a native, as she knew by thestiffly brushed-up hair above the forehead, the loosely falling shirt--anative taller than any of their household servants--a native whosemovements were so utterly without sound that Maidie realized on theinstant that here was one of Manila's famous veranda-climbinghouse-thieves, and her first thought was for her revolver. She had leftit, totally forgotten, on the little table on the outer gallery.
Even though still weak from her long and serious illness, the brave,army-bred girl was conscious of no sentiment of fear. To cry out wassure to bring about the instant escape of the intruder, whereas tocapture him and prevent his getting away with such valuables as he hadprobably already laid hands on became instantly her whole ambition. Theside windows were closed by the sliding blinds. Even if he leaped fromthem it would be into a narrow court shut in by a ten-foot, spike-toppedstone wall. He had chosen the veranda climber's favorite hour, thatwhich found the family at dinner on the back gallery, and the quietstreets well-nigh deserted save by his own skilled and trusted "pals,"from whose shoulders he had easily swung himself to the overhangingstructure at the front. He would doubtless retire that way the moment hehad stowed beneath his loose, flapping _ropas_ such items as he deemedof marketable value.
He was even now stealthily moving across the floor to where herdressing-table stood between the westward windows. The man must have theeyes of a cat to see in the dark, or else personal and previousknowledge of the premises. If she could only slip as noiselessly out bythe foot of the bed, interpose between him and the door and that onewide-open window, then scream for help and grab him as he sprang, shemight hope to hold him a second or two, and then Brent and Dr. Frankwould be upon him.
All her trembling was from excitement: she knew no thought of fear. Butstrong and steady hands were needed, not the fever-shattered membersonly just beginning to regain their normal tone. She slid fromunderneath the soft, light coverlet without a sound. The sturdy yetelastic bottom of platted cane never creaked or complained. She softlypushed outward the fine mosquito netting, gathered her dainty night-robeclosely about her slender form, and the next minute her little bare feetwere on the polished, hard-wood floor, the massive door barely fiveshort steps away. She cautiously lifted the netting till it cleared herhead, and then, crouching low, moved warily towards the dim, verticalslit that told of subdued light in the salon.
There was no creak to those thick, black-wood planks with which Manilamansions are floored. Her outstretched hand had almost reached the knobwhen her knee collided with a light bamboo bedroom chair. There wasinstant bamboo rasp and protest, followed by instant vigorous springacross the room, and instant piercing scream from Maidie's lips.
Something dusky white shot before her eyes, something inky black anddusky white was snatched at and seized by those nervous, slender, butdetermined little hands. Something dropped with clash and clatter on theresounding floor. Something ripped and tore as an agile, slippery,squirming form bounded from her grasp over the casement to the veranda,over the sill into the street, and when Brent and the doctor and thewomen-folk came rushing in and lamps were brought and Brent wentshouting to sentries up and down the San Luis and shots were heardaround the nearest corner, Maid Marion, Second, was found crouching uponthe cane-bottomed chair that had baffled her plans, half-laughing,half-crying with vexation, but firmly grasping in one hand a tuft ofcoarse, straight black hair, and in the other a section of Filipinoshirt the size of a lady's kerchief--all she had to show of herpredatory visitor and to account for the unseemly disturbance they hadmade.
"Just to think--just to think!" exclaimed Mrs. Brent, with claspinghands, "that this time, when you might most have needed it, Mr.Stuyvesant should have gone off with your pistol!"
