by Talbot Mundy
Sherry ran upstairs three steps at a time, and found himself in an ill- lit passage with doors to the right and left. There was no sound, although he held his breath and listened until he had to let his breath out in a sudden gasp. He seized the knob of the nearest door — opened it — drew blank — a dark room — nobody in there. He tried the next one; it was locked on the inside. He struck the panel three or four times with his knuckles, and listened again.
“Is that you, Consuelo?”
He would have known that voice in a thousand! But he did not dare to answer. He rapped with the palm of his hand on the panel and rattled the knob, hoping that was what Consuelo would do in the stress of excitement. He heard the key turn cautiously. That was enough! He burst into the room, shut the door, turned the key behind him, and stood still.
Jacqueline had jumped backward toward the bed, or his violence to the door would have knocked her down. She was still wearing the mask; some instinct of self-preservation had made her retain it, although she usually threw it off the moment she reached her room.
“Sherry!” she exclaimed. Her hands went out toward him; yet she shrank back.
Sherry came on, smiling.
“Sherry! Please!”
She had reached the limit of retreat. Her back was against the dressing- table. Sherry’s right arm closed around her, and she tried, helplessly, to prevent his other hand from unfastening the mask. He took it off quite gently, dropped it on the floor, and looked into her eyes.
“Jacqueline, why did you run away from me?” he asked.
But the moment he said the name he saw fear leap into her eyes, and cursed himself for a clumsy fool. He stooped and picked the mask up — held it out to her.
“You know now,” she said hopelessly. “Sherry, I’ve tried so hard to hide from you.”
He tried to take her into his arms again. “But why?” he asked. “Why hide from me? Didn’t you believe me when I said I love you? Jacqueline, dear — that is yo right name, isn’t it? You are Jacqueline Lanier?”
“Yes, Sherry. I wish I weren’t. I—”
“Hah!” She looked startled as he barked that laugh at her; and he stepped into the full heritage of manhood as compassion for her overcame all other thoughts. His own predicament, his own desire — hope — loneliness was nothing in the overwhelming awfulness of hers. “I’m glad you are!” he went on. “It gives me a chance to prove I love you! Bless your darling heart, did you think it would make any difference who you are, or what they say about you? Jacqueline dear, look at me again! Look up! D’you think I’m not telling you the truth? I’m with you to the end of time — whatever has happened or whatever may happen. Don’t you remember I promised that?”
“But, Sherry, you hadn’t read the papers—”
He dismissed newspapers and all their universe with an impatient jerk of his head. “I had seen you, dear!” he answered. “Did you think I’d believe them after that? Jacqueline! Why — oh, why didn’t you trust me? I could have saved you so much — all this, for instance. I would have stood by you through thick and thin.”
But even then all Jacqueline could shape out of the chaos of thoughts within her was that Sherry knew. He knew — and he still loved her. He didn’t believe! But perhaps that was because he did not really know.
Words came tumbling from her lips, sentences blurted almost incoherently, her eyes still frightened (for she feared the worst — that he would turn when he really did know). She tried to tell him all the truth at once — six aspects of it all at once — and he only caught the general drift of it. He laughed, and stopped her with a kiss, taking her into his arms and holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe.
And in his arms, as he kissed her, all the panic and hopelessness were stilled. There was peace. Her arms crept around him. She clung to him. Tears came in a passion of relief; and through the tears a sob — almost a whisper; “Sherry — oh, Sherry!”
Then memory once more. She drew back startled, thrusting him away from her.
“Sherry, you mustn’t love me! You must never see me again! You must let me go! I can only do harm — I’ll ruin you! I must always hide! I couldn’t stand it, to have everybody know who I am — and have them say such awful things — and if they knew you loved me, they’d drag you in—”
“Listen! Listen!” he said, holding her tightly again.
“Dear, listen to me! They can’t hurt me — and d’you think I’d care if they did? I’m not going to let them hurt you any more, that’s all!”
He wished he felt as confident of his power to do that as the words sounded; but he could see the effect of the words on her. At least if he could not stop the newspapers he could help her to bear their cruelty.
“You can’t escape from me, you know!” he went on. “You’re not going to run away from me again, because there isn’t a place you can go to where I won’t follow! I love you, and you can’t beat that game! Bless your heart, if my dad can’t or won’t straighten out this newspaper business and put everything right, we’ll go to China or Siam, or some other place where they don’t have newspapers — and live on canned soup if we have to,” he added, laughing. “Say, Jacqueline — I love you. Don’t you love me?”
She could not keep from smiling at him through the tears. Love him? Who wouldn’t?
“But, Sherry—”
“Do you, Jacqueline? You do? Well — what else matters?”
Nothing else did matter when he held her that way in his arms and kissed her. The feeling of peace returned.
“You know,” he said. “I wasn’t joking about canned soup! We’ll be broke to start with! We may have to—”
Her answering laugh was what he had been playing for. It brought her back from the dangerous border of hysteria.
“Sherry, why — why do you believe in me?” she asked him suddenly.
“That’s easy,” he answered. “The question is, do you believe in me yet?”
She nodded — met his lips half-way. “Absolutely, dear?”
“Sherry, how could anybody help believing in you?”
CHAPTER 29.
“Meat and drink for him!”
Cervanez had to leave Dad to lower the curtain; but then Dad had Ramon on his hands as well as her, and Ramon was belligerent. His self-esteem was stirred by having saved the day; he felt like a brave man who has fought in the trenches, and returns to find treason at the rear. His right hand went naturally to the dagger-hilt projecting from the sash at his waist; and as Cervanez poured her tale of woe into his ear he began to stalk Dad Lawrence, working around in a strategic semicircle toward the far side of the door, with the obvious intention of rushing Dad and forcing him away from it toward the stage.
And Dad was no matador — no duelist — not even skillful with his fists. He faced the enemy, but gave ground, retreating step by step, his eyes on Ramon’s. And the farther Dad retreated, the worse Ramon’s eyes glittered, and the more Cervanez egged him on to “teach that thief a lesson!” Cervanez was in a mood to see blood. But Ramon was not quite keyed to the point of taking that tremendous risk; he faced about suddenly, with a movement as graceful as a matador’s avoiding a bull, and disappeared through the door leading upstairs.
Dad would have followed him, but something else — definite and loud — attracted his attention. He and Cervanez both ran to the curtain and peered around it, one on either side. The whole restaurant was in a panic mixed of indignation and assertive innocence. Women were hiding flasks in their stockings and corsets; a dozen officers in uniform were filing down both sides of the room. Dad saw Wahl standing in the entrance beside a prohibition officer, and the expression on Wahl’s mean face would have told the story even if the police were not already in there. Cervanez ran to Dad and clutched him by the arms, screaming at him:
“You! What is this? What it mean? You do this?”
“The place is pulled,” he answered. “Listen!” His brain was working like lightning now. He had to defeat Wahl, and that thought s
purred him as nothing else could. “You stay here — let them search you but refuse to let them pass! Play for delay! You understand? It’s your only chance!”
He was gone before she could ask him another question — upstairs three steps at a time, and hammering at the only locked door. In the passageway was Ramon, sputtering brimstone Portuguese.
Dad thrust Ramon aside and beat on the door with his fist.
“Open, Sherry! D’you hear? Open! It’s me — Dad Lawrence!”
Sherry turned the key and went back to Jacqueline, leaving Dad to open the door for himself. But Dad found himself thrust aside in turn; Ramon seized him by both shoulders and whirled him against the wall — then flung the door wide open and stood for a moment magnificently posing on the threshold. Jacqueline was in Sherry’s arms again, and Ramon’s brows came down over his eyes like a thunder-cloud. He said nothing, but his hand went to his knife. Dad Lawrence sprang too late. Jacqueline smothered a scream. Ramon’s knife went slithering point-first at Sherry’s heart.
There was no thought — no time for it. Impulse — instinct — mother — readiness to die for what she loved moved Jacqueline. She pushed at Sherry suddenly — thrust him out of the knife’s path, and herself into it. The knife went point-first into her sleeve, and the white stuff grew crimson. Sherry sprang for Ramon, and Dad cut off his retreat.
“No!” Jacqueline cried out. “No, Sherry! No! Look, I’m not hurt! It’s only a scratch!”
Dad saw at a glance she was telling the truth and sprang between Sherry and Ramon — turned his back to Sherry.
“Look after her!” he shouted over his shoulder. Then to Ramon: “Now, you dam fool! Get downstairs! Stop the police from coming up here! If you don’t I’ll have you pinched for attempted murder! Have you another knife? There’s a man named Wahl down there — stick it into him!”
Ramon’s fight had all oozed out of him. He obeyed Dad meekly, trying to pause on the stairs to explain that he had meant to protect the senorita — that he had mistaken the gentleman for a burglar — that he was sorry — anything, in fact, but guilty of jealousy. But Dad threatened to kick him if he did not hurry downstairs, and Dad’s mood was a Viking’s in that minute. He would have carried out his threat. His frenzy would have prevailed over Ramon’s strength, and Ramon knew it — ran. Dad rushed back into the bedroom.
“Out of this, Sherry! The place is raided!”
“What do I care?” Sherry answered. He was trying to bandage Jacqueline’s arm with his handkerchief.
Dad took hardly even time to nod to Jacqueline.
“Get a move on, you young ass! Get out of here! Wahl staged a raid, and he’s here with the bulls! If you’re found here, they’ll pinch the two of you. You know what that means! The son of Mansfield of the Tribune caught in a room with the notorious—”
“Shut up!” growled Sherry.
“Damn it, man, I mean it!” Dad exclaimed, shaking his arm. “There isn’t a paper in San Francisco that won’t play that up till they’re blue in the face! They’ll ribbon head-line it! It’ll be the end of her — and you too! For your dad’s sake, run! Leave me to look out for her — I’ll stay with her whatever happens. Sure — I promise. No, you’ve no time for kissing — get a move on — scoot! Climb down the fire-escape at the end of the passage.”
Sherry saw the point, and having seen it did not hesitate.
“I’ll be out in the street in front,” he said.
“Dad — for God’s sake—”
“Sure!” Dad answered. “Beat it!”
There came a hammering on the door. Sherry opened it and cannoned into Consuelo. Dad pulled her in, pushed Sherry out, and locked the door again. Consuelo was in utter panic, too terrified to speak, gasping at Dad like a choking fish and moving her hands up and down spasmodically. It was no use talking to her; Dad turned to Jacqueline.
“Listen, little woman,” he said as calmly as he could make himself speak. “We’re in a tight fix. This raid has been staged by Wahl in order to catch you. He wants to identify you, that’s all. He’s got his story all written, and it’s sure to be worse than anything he’s done yet; the minute he’s identified you he’ll phone the Tribune to put the story on the press. He’ll have you arrested if he can. You’ve got to get out of here before he finds you — see? There’s only one place I can think of for you to go. Take this key. I’ll find a car, and tell the driver where to take you. Cover up with shawls — veils — anything. Don’t be recognized. We’ve got to kill that story — see? Be ready now, when I come back.”
Dad let himself out, and stood listening outside the door. He could hear a noise coming up from the stage — voices, and heavy footsteps — Cervanez shrilling, reinforced by Ramon — both trying to guard the stairway. Suddenly he felt his leg seized and something jumped on his shoulder from behind, making his blood run cold. A monkey caught hold of his chin and peered into his face! He looked down at a curly-headed child in a night-dress, who clung to his leg and stared up at him.
“Who are you?” he asked, trying with one hand to keep the monkey from climbing up on his head.
“Pepita. I want Conchita! I want Conchita! She said she will come. I want her!”
“You can’t see her now,” Dad answered.
“Why? I want her! Conchita!”
The child began to cry, screwing fists into her eyes and opening her mouth to yell. That was altogether too much for Dad’s equanimity. He could not hear a dog yelp without wanting to run to the rescue. He dug into his pocket, found a coin, and doubled down beside the child to bring his face on a level with hers.
“Hey-hey-hey! Don’t cry. Look here — take this.” Her fingers closed on half a dollar. “And look, your monkey’s pulling my hair! Won’t you take him off!”
“I want Conchita!”
There was a footstep on the stair now. The situation seemed desperate, but Dad did his best to keep calm.
“She’s going away for a few days — just a few days,” he answered.
“You shall see her when she comes back.”
“Where?” the child demanded. “I want to go too!”
“You can’t go to the mountains,” he answered, and realized too late that that was a bad mistake. The child began to cry again.
“See here,” he said, “if you’ll take your monkey, and be a good girl, and run upstairs to bed, and keep quiet I’ll take you to see Conchita in the mountains.”
“When?”
“Soon. Only you must go now! Run! Be off with you!”
Pepita took him at his word, and went, holding the monkey upside-down and stumbling on the end of her night-dress as she climbed the stairs. She had hardly gone when the feet of half a dozen heavy men began tramping upstairs from the stage, and he heard Wahl’s voice.
“Kick open any door you find locked, you men! You’ll find something worth while, I promise you!”
Dad strode to the head of the stair. He reached it, under the dim gas- jet, just as the leading policeman set his foot on the top step. He could see Wahl’s face in shadow behind the second man.
“Have you a search warrant?” Dad asked.
The front man hesitated, glancing back at the man behind him.
“Go on, men,” said Wahl. “Don’t mind him!”
“If you have a search warrant,” said Dad, “of course, I’ve nothing to say. But if you haven’t, you’d better go get one before you take chances. You know me, I think. If you overstep the law, the mayor and the district attorney are going to have the facts before the night’s out!”
Wahl came striding up past the policemen, pushing them aside.
“Say, here, what’s this?” he demanded.
“Didn’t you hear?” Dad answered.
“You killing a story?”
“I’m reporting this raid!” said Dad. “You men are simply being made catspaws!” he called down over Wahl’s shoulder to the policemen. “You’ll be the goats if you act illegally. Take my tip and confine yourselves to the job downstair
s — or go get a proper warrant. Some of you have known me twenty years. How long have you known Wahl?”
“You’ll know me before I’m through with you!” Wahl growled savagely. He showed his teeth like a wolf. “You’ll know what hunting a job means, too, Dad Lawrence! Take my word for it!”
But Dad was sure enough already on that score. He knew what Mansfield senior’s instant verdict would be. He was as good as fired already. Wahl’s bolt was shot — held no more terrors.
“You fellows take the advice of an old friend, and be sensible!” he called down to the policemen; and some one near the foot of the stairs said gruffly:
“‘Bout face! Downstairs — march!”
The men tramped down again, but Wahl stood leering savagely with his face thrust close to Dad’s.
“I’ll give you one chance!” he sneered.
“Stand by while I force that door in, or I’ll break you forever, as far as any newspaper’s concerned!”
“Get to hell out o’ here!” Dad answered calmly. “You’re a skunk! Go and make your smell!”
Wahl’s laugh, as he turned and followed the police downstairs, was merciless. It rang like steel struck against stone, sending a cold chill down Dad’s spine. He wondered what the devil would do next, yet did not dare to wait and see. He knew what he himself had done, and Wahl had twice his brains; the odds were a thousand to one that Wahl would try the fire-escape; but there was just an even chance that if he hurried —
He led the way to the room at the end of the passage, threw the window up, and helped Jacqueline out on the fire-escape. Then he climbed out himself, and fairly hauled Consuelo through after him. Consuelo wanted to feel her way down carefully, but Dad put one arm around her and hurried her down as if flames were curling all about them.
“Never mind if you break your leg! It’ll mend!” he protested. “It’s your one chance! Hurry!”
