After a few minutes’ lapse a key clicked in a lock; a stealthy foot-fall reached her ears, and the next moment a man knelt beside her.
“Ah, sweet one!” he whispered, clasping his arms around her yielding form and covering her face with kisses; “again for a few moments I may enjoy paradise with you by my side! I have been very impatient, my Maie, for this hour.”
“Yet you are late, Allison.” She spoke his name tenderly, and her broken English rendered the sibilant very charming in his ears.
“I may be a trifle late, little one, for I met several groups of men stealthily creeping through the darkness. I cannot understand why every warrior in the town seems abroad at this hour of the night.”
She sat up suddenly, clinging to him.
“Which way did they go?”
“To the westward, all of them,” he replied.
Somehow the words sent a chill to her heart, for she remembered her father’s mission to the west gate. Could their carefully guarded conspiracy have been betrayed? She listened eagerly, but all about them the town lay still as death. It was not yet midnight.
Her lover’s caresses recalled her to the present. Allison had drawn her closer beside him on the bench, and throwing back her mantle was pressing her passionately to his heart. Unresistingly she nestled in his arms, the dainty oriental perfumes that radiated from her body filling his nostrils with their ravishing odors and the soft contact of her cheek against his thrilling him with a joy akin to madness.
Words were barren messengers of love now; only the throbbing of his heart and her gentle sighs betrayed to the caressing breeze the fact that the bench was occupied.
Suddenly she shuddered, clutching at his hand so fiercely that her nails were imbedded in his flesh. A low moan escaped her lips, and then her grasp relaxed and she fell back limp and inert.
Filled with a nameless horror, Allison looked up. The sky had lightened, somewhat, permitting him to discern before them the form of a huge black, who held within his hand a dripping sword. Even as Allison gazed the weapon leaped back and came straight for his heart in a quick thrust. He shrank from the point, springing sideways, but could not wholly escape. A biting pain pierced his side. But now he was upon his feet, one hand pressing the wound and the other holding his revolver.
A shot rang out, followed by a scream. The black swayed and fell, but others rushed with naked cimeters to take his place. Allison leaned against the bench and fired again — and again — and again, a fierce joy filling his breast at the outcries of his victims, even while the blood surged through his brain and he felt the numbness of death creeping over him.
The shots from the revolver were answered by loud cries from the other end of the garden — that nearest the house. Torches flashed, sending gleams of light dancing over the flowers and grasses toward the silent group beside the stone bench. Then came Dirrag, bounding over the sward with a band of chosen warriors in his wake.
At the ghastly tableau which the lights disclosed they paused, looking on one another with horror in their eyes. And now the deep tones of the gong from the west gate smote upon the air, rousing with its brazen warning all the sleeping city. The far-away outlines of the wall sprang into flame, while the hoarse cry of a multitude rolled grimly out upon the midnight zephyrs.
In the garden of Agahr a grizzled war-rior bent over Allison’s unconscious form.
“I think, my captain, the American still lives,” he said.
For a moment Dirrag did not reply. He was gazing sadly upon the lovely face of Maie, whereon still lingered the traces of a happy smile. But the dark eyes, inscrutable as ever, were wide and staring, and the warrior leaned over and gently covered the dainty form with the folds of her mantle.
Then he stood up and coughed, for the night air had gotten into his throat.
“Come along, you dogs!” he growled. “Let us report to the Khan. The conspirator he sent us to arrest has escaped him.”
“And the American?” asked a man.
“Oh, the American?” Dirrag hesitated, wondering how his master would desire him to act. “Well, bring the infidel dog along with you,” he said.
CHAPTER XX.
THE GIRL IN THE HAREM
David was in high spirits. True, these absurd Americans had virtually made him a prisoner in their house until his services were required to lead them to the harem of the khan; but he had been clever enough to arrange all his plans beforehand. Now, as he sat in the dim room awaiting the hour of action, he felt he had good reason to congratulate himself. The service of the vizier had been especially remunerative, for in addition to his liberal pay as a spy he had that morning received from Maie a large sum to keep her secret, with a promise of more to follow, and then he had secured an equal sum from Agahr for betraying his daughter’s secret. Was that not clever? Allison, also, who now sat opposite him silently smoking and at times stealthily glancing at his watch, had contributed much money for the preservation of a secret that was a secret no longer. There were three good strings to that bow, thought David, chuckling delightedly. And now the old underground passage into the khan’s harem, which the Jew had discovered long ago and feared he would never have any use for, had paid him richer returns than all else. Mentally he figured up his various accumulations, both in money and jewels, and decided he was too rich to remain longer in Mekran. He would return very soon to Kelat, where there was more room for enterprise; or perhaps he would go on to Quettah, or even so far as — ”
“Come!” said the Colonel’s voice, its stern tones interrupting David’s meditations; “we are ready.”
Allison gave a sigh of relief, looked at his watch for the twentieth time, and knocked the ashes out of his pipe. He might be a trifle late, but Maie would wait.
“We will leave you to look after the women,” the Colonel said to his son. “Both the doctor and I are fully armed and will be equal to any occasion. But if David is right, and the night attack takes place on time, I anticipate no difficulty in getting Janet away from the harem.”
“Good luck to you,” said Allison, standing up to yawn and stretch his limbs.
“Have you a revolver?” asked the doctor, as his eyes wandered toward the rooms where his daughter and his sister slept “Always carry it,” said Allison.
“Then be watchful until we return. No one knows what may happen.”
“I’ll watch out,” said the young man, carelessly. And then, as David led the Colonel and the doctor to the street by one door, Allison slipped out at another and ran as speedily as possible in the direction of the vizier’s gardens.
David was short and fat, but he proved an agile walker, and the darkness of the night was no hindrance to his way. He led his companions through many black alleys, turning first one way and then another, until he finally paused before a small stone house that stood vacant and delapidated. Drawing a key from his pocket he unlocked the door and drew the others into a damp and close-smelling room.
A moment later he struck a match and lighted a candle.
“Now ve can see vhere ve go.” he said, complacently.
The Americans looked around them with some curiosity. Although doubtless of considerable age the house seemed never to have been finished inside, or even occupied as a place of abode. Bits of the building blocks were yet scattered over the earthen floor.
“Vonce, in de time of Keedar Khan,” said David, “a young kaid built dis house ant made a tunnel unner de grount to de khan’s harem, vhere hiss sveetheardt vas lifting. When she vas nod combing de vhiskers of de Khan she vas hugging de young kaid; ant vhen she vas nod hugging him she vas combing de Khan’s vhiskers. Id vas very nice arrangements. Bud von night de Khan called on de female vhen he vas nod expected, ant he cut de young kaid ant de girl both into slices before he enquired how de feller got into de harem.
Id vas all very careless of de Khan; but he had a bad temper. So de tunnel vas neffer used again until I find it oudt a couple year ago. I buy de place cheap because de mans vot owned i
t neffer looked to find a tunnel. Ant now id iss very handy for us, ant very cheap for a t’ousant fillibees. Come — I show you.”
Chuckling softly, the Jew led the way through a narrow passage and down a few steps into a sort of underground cellar at the rear. Here, in one corner, a flagstone stood on edge, disclosing another flight of steps. Down these David proceeded without hesitation, the Americans following closely at his heels. Then came a damp, ill-smelling tunnel, so low that only David could traverse it without bending down. The candle lighted the way only a few steps in advance, and numerous rats scurried from their path as they slowly advanced.
It seemed like a never-ending journey; but, just as the Colonel was about to protest, the passage suddenly widened and grew higher, and the light of the candle fell upon a cedar panel let into the wall before them.
“Have you the key, David?” whispered the doctor.
“Id iss no key; id iss a spring,” replied the Jew. “Vod time iss id now?”
The Colonel looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight.
“Shall we risk entering, doctor?” he asked; “or shall we wait for the alarm?”
“I doubt if we could hear an alarm where we are,” was the answer. “Let us go in.”
David’s self-possession seemed suddenly to desert him.
“I iss no Moslem,” said he, beginning to tremble; “but I respect de harem. Id iss to die if one iss caught. Davit vill stay here ant vait for you.”
The doctor locked his fingers fast in the Jew’s collar.
“You’ll come with us,” he declared. “Open the door, David!”
Perhaps David did not intend to obey so readily. He had scarcely touched his quivering forefinger to the dull metal of the spring when a sharp click was heard and the door moved and swung outward.
A gleam of light saluted them, half dazzling their eyes, and the group remained motionless, staring wonderingly at the scene the open panel disclosed. Perhaps the Colonel had expected to see in the khan’s harem a mass of silken draperies, luxurious couches and priceless rugs, while scowling black eunuchs guarded with their naked swords a group of henna-dyed, bepainted and bespangled, girls. Instead, he looked upon a scene that somehow reminded him of home. The furnishings were of an oriental character, it is true, but they were simple and in good taste, and an undefinable air of refinement pervaded the room.
Beside a table on which stood a bronze lamp sat a middle-aged lady with a beautiful face and sweet gray eyes. She was robed in a conventional European gown and seemed to be engaged, when so suddenly interrupted, in reading a well worn copy of the New York Herald. At her feet, upon a low stool, sat Janet, listlessly sewing upon some trifle that rested in her lap. On the other side of the table, his dark eyes fixed upon his work, sat the man we as yet know only as Merad, the Persian physician, busily engaged in writing.
At the abrupt opening of the panel, the existence of which was evidently unknown to them, the startled group turned wondering eyes upon the intruders, who seemed fully as astonished as themselves.
“God bless me!” cried the Colonel, partly recovering himself and stepping within the room. “Can it be you, Mrs. Osborne, in this impossible place? — And you, too, doctor!”
“Why, father! How did you ever get here?” exclaimed Janet, springing up to give him a warm embrace and a kiss.
And then the Colonel remembered, and a frown came over his face, succeeded by a puzzled expression.
“Isn’t this the khan’s harem?” he asked.
“I believe so,” returned Janet, laughing. And then Mrs. Osborne, with old-fashioned courtesy, came forward and offered the Colonel her hand, smiling pleasantly into his staring eyes. The man, also, rose from his seat to shake hands with both the Colonel and the doctor, the latter gentleman seeming to be more amused than surprised at the encounter.
“You have taken us somewhat by surprise, but you are welcome,” said Merad, in his deep, dignified tones, but speaking perfectly the English language. “I can appreciate your amazement at finding us in this place, for while we knew of your presence in Mekran, you were doubtless unaware that Mrs. Osborne and I are guests at the khan’s palace.”
“I — I can’t understand it!” gasped the Colonel.
“Janet, my dear,” said Mrs. Osborne, “will you try to find chairs for our friends?”
“Dear me!” exclaimed the doctor, looking around him rather nervously, “we came here to rescue Janet from the toils of an Eastern harem, and this is the most civilized looking place I’ve found in all Baluchistan. What does it all mean?”
“Permit me,” said Janet, saucily, “to in-troduce you to the mysterious veiled lady who was reputed to be the most beautiful woman in the world,” and she waved a hand toward Mrs. Osborne. “I will acknowledge that she is the most beautiful, but, daddy dear, I am myself the queen of the harem, and His Highness the Khan’s favorite wife — being at present the only one!”
The Colonel’s face expressed horror and grief.
“I — I don’t understand,” he muttered, vacantly.
“The explanation is very simple,” replied Dr. Osborne. “My son Howard, who was at one time your private secretary, is at present Khan of Mekran.”
A sudden stillness succeeded this announcement, and then a look of comprehension stole over the Colonel’s face. He rose from his chair and drew himself up with cold dignity.
“Then, sir, I demand to know what my daughter is doing in the house of the scoundrel who swindled me seven years ago? As for her statement that she is his wife, that is, of course, a lie!”
The Persian confronted him with folded arms, looking down upon the Colonel from his superior height with the same intent and compelling force in the dark eyes that had awed the native assemblage at the deathbed of Burah Khan.
“Howard Osborne is not a scoundrel!” he said.
“He is worse than that!” roared the choleric colonel, now beside himself with anger; “he is a thief, a forger and a coward. He signed my name for twenty thousand dollars, and ran away with the money. I have never seen his face from that day to this.”
“It is true that my son left New York with this stigma attached to his name,” said the other, calmly. “But he did it to save you, Piedmont Moore, from a still greater humiliation, although I vainly pleaded with him to consider his own family before yours.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the Colonel, plainly staggered at this statement.
Merad, hesitating for the first time, glanced at his wife, who shook her head pleadingly for him to hold his peace. But Janet sprang forward and stood erect beside him.
“Tell him!” she cried, defiantly. “The infamous secret has been kept too long.”
Then Merad spoke in a low, clear voice.
“Your own son was the forger,” he said.
“It’s a lie!” shouted the Colonel, shrinking back, nevertheless, from the Persian’s calm gaze.
“It is true. The money saved Allison from shame and exposure; so Howard dared not force him to return it. But the bank, being the direct victim of the forgery, placed the matter in the hands of the detective police. The toils were closing slowly but surely around your son when Howard, seeing no other way to save you, and tenderly loving the sister of the real criminal, whose heart he feared would be broken at the disclosure of her brother’s infamy, decided to save you all by acknowledging himself the forger. It was a rash idea, hastily conceived and executed in a panic of fear, for the detectives were close upon the trail. He left me a note, telling me the whole truth and begging me not to betray Allison, for he had fled the country and would never return. Well knowing that he did not realize the consequences of his generous act, his mother and I set out to follow him, and for seven long years we have striven in vain to regain our lost son. I will not bore you, Colonel Moore, with a recital of our anxieties and sufferings — borne on your account; but I think it ill becomes you to revile the name of Howard Osborne. Rather should you fall at his feet in gratitude for one of the mos
t noble and unselfish acts any man has ever performed.”
The impressive and convincing tones carried with them the warrant of truth. The Colonel fell back upon his chair, covering his face with his hands, and Janet knelt beside him, her arms around his neck and her cheek to his, striving silently to comfort him. And while they remained thus, with little David gaping in the frame of the panel and still holding the flickering candle above his head, the door of the apart-ment suddenly opened and Ahmed Khan strode in.
One look into the grave faces of the group before him warned the ruler of Mekran that a crisis had arisen. Janet arose and stole swiftly to his side, and he placed an arm around her with a reassuring smile. The Colonel looked up, and meeting the calm grey eyes of Howard Osborne he seemed shaken with a fury of doubt and rage.
“It is all false!” he cried, springing to his feet. “I am being tricked and deceived — even by my own daughter. This fellow is no Khan of Mekran, but a fugitive from American justice, masquerading as a native of Baluchistan. The forger of seven years ago is the impostor of today! Come to me, Janet. That man is not worthy to touch you.”
“Worthy or unworthy,” said the girl, clinging yet closer to the Khan, “my place is by his side. We were married seven years ago, before he left America. I am his wife, father!”
CHAPTER XXI.
THE CHAMBER OF DEATH
The silence that followed Janet’s declaration was broken by the tramp of feet along the connecting passage, followed by an abrupt knock upon the door.
The Persian opened it, glanced without, and then stood aside.
“Bring him in, Dirrag,” he said.
Slowly the little band of warriors entered, bearing between them a limp form which they laid gently upon a couch.
The Colonel’s face, as his staring eyes fell upon his son, was gray and haggard, but the old gentleman seemed to have exhausted his capacity for being surprised. Mrs. Osborne, with a shudder and a sympathetic moan, turned away weeping, but Janet crept close to the couch and gazed in mingled fright and horror upon her brother’s motionless form.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 757
