The Crimson Gardenia and Other Tales of Adventure
"You are indeed insane to jest at such a time," she breathed. "I would
never have known you without the flower. But come--we are in danger
here. Some one--is waiting. Will you follow me?"
"To the ends of the earth," he replied, gallantly.
Again she gave him a startled glance, half of pleasure, half of
deprecation; then, as he made a movement to accompany her, she checked
him.
"No, no! You must let me go ahead. They are everywhere. They may suspect
even my disguise. I--I am dreadfully afraid."
Van Dam scarcely knew how to answer this. So, like a wise man, he held
his tongue.
"Listen!" she continued. "I will walk slowly, and do you remain far
enough behind for your own safety--"
"My safety is as nothing to yours," he told her, but she shook her head
impatiently.
"Please! Please! They will never select you out of a thousand dominos,
and I am not sure they suspect me. But should they try to lift my mask,
you must escape at once."
"Would they dare?" Mr. Van Dam inquired, shocked at such a breach of
carnival etiquette.
"They would dare anything."
"But I couldn't allow it, really," he persisted. "If any hand is to lift
your mask, I insist that mine be the favored one."
She darted a doubtful look at him, being plainly perturbed at his tone,
then shook her head. "She told me you were reckless, but you are
quite--insane."
For a second time he discovered that delicious color tingeing her neck
and laughed, which disconcerted her even more. She hesitated, then
turned away and he fell in behind her.
But distance served only to enhance the girl's charms. Roly saw how
beautifully proportioned she was, how regally she carried herself, how
light and springy was her step. Although he had not seen her face, he
somehow felt agreeably certain that she possessed a witching beauty.
The circumspection with which she avoided the densest crowds made him
wonder anew at the character of the danger that could overhang a masked
maiden at mid-afternoon on a carnival day, for by this time he had
forgotten his first suspicion. He thought not at all that the peril
could be serious, or in any way involve him, for the magic of the Van
Dam name protected its owner like invisible mail. The effect of that
patronymic was really quite wonderful; policemen bowed to it, irate
strangers allowed their anger to ooze away before it. It smoothed the
owner's way through difficulties and brought him favors when least
expected; rage changed to servility; indignation, opposition, even
jealousy altered color in the shadow of the Van Dam millions. Nothing
really unpleasant ever happened to Roly, and so it was that he had
become _blasé_ and tired at twenty-six.
He followed his masked guide across Canal Street and into the foreign
quarter of the city, where the surroundings were unfamiliar to him. He
gazed with mild repugnance at the squalid old houses, moldering behind
their rusted iron balconies. Dim, flag-paved hallways allowed him a
glimpse of flowered courtyards at the rear; cool passages went twisting
in between the buildings. Over hard-baked, glaring walls there drooped
branches laden with bloom and fruit. The streets were narrow, the houses
leaned intimately toward one another, as if exchanging gossip; little
cafés with sanded floors opened upon the sidewalks. Here the carnival
crowd was more foreign in character; people were dancing to orchestras
of guitar and mandolin; youths turned somersaults for pennies; ragged
negroes jigged and shuffled with outstretched hats.
Through this confusion the Norman girl took her way, now seeking some
deep doorway to allow a particularly boisterous group to pass, now
flitting through the open spaces with the swift irregularity of a
butterfly winging its course through sunlit stretches. But her caution,
her birdlike, backward glances, told Van Dam that she was in constant
dread of discovery, and involuntarily he lessened the distance between
them.
It was well, perhaps, that he did so, for just then a man in a domino
like his own accosted the girl. Roly saw his guide shrink away, saw her
turn and signal him with a swift, imperious gesture of warning. Instead
of heeding it, he moved forward in time to intercept the stranger. The
fellow was laughing loudly; he assumed a tipsy air and lurched against
the girl; then, with a quickness that belied his pose, he snatched at
her mask and bared her features. She cried out in terror, and with the
sound of her voice Mr. Van Dam flew to action. He knew that until six
o'clock disguises were inviolate, and that it was against the strictest
of police regulations to unmask a reveler; therefore he yielded to a
righteous impulse and struck the man in the domino squarely upon the
jaw. Beneath Roly's rounded proportions was a deceptive machinery of
bone and muscle that had been schooled by the most expensive instructors
of boxing. He had known how to hit cleanly since he was twelve years
old, and although he had never struck a man in anger until this moment,
his fist went true. The fellow rocked stiffly back upon his heels and
fell like a wooden figure, his head thumping dully on the pavement, and
Roly gave vent to a most ungentlemanly snort of surprise and
satisfaction. It had been much easier than he had expected, and feeling
that the man should have every opportunity for fair play Roly began
promptly to count, "One, two, three--" Then he felt the girl's hand upon
his arm, and turned in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of a dimpled
chin as she drew her mask down. "Rotten trick, that!"
"Heaven above!" she gasped. "You must flee--quickly!"
People were crossing the street toward them, drawn by the sight of the
fallen man.
"Run away and leave you?" queried Roly. "Hardly!"
"Then"--the breath caught in the girl's throat--"come!"
She clutched his hand and they fled, side by side, pursued by half a
score of shouting merrymakers. Around the first corner they scurried,
into a crowd, then out of it and into the next thoroughfare, doubling
and turning until the girl's breath was gone.
"Why--did--you do--it? Ah!--why?" she gasped, still hurrying him along.
"Drunken loafer!" Van Dam said, vindictively.
"He was not drunk! Don't you understand? Didn't you guess? It was the
Black Wolf!"
Roly did not understand, and he had no opportunity to guess who or what
the Black Wolf might be, for his companion paused, crying:
"God help us! They are coming."
From the street behind rose a babble of angry voices.
"He saw me! He knows!"
She cast a despairing glance about, and, spying a narrow alley close at
hand, darted toward it, dragging Van Dam with her.
Retreat carries with it a peculiar panic, and the young man felt the
stirring of an utterly new sensation within him. He was running away!
What was more, he wanted to keep running, even though he had not the
faintest idea of what menaced him. It was quite remarkable. He seemed to
feel, for some unknown reason, that this sprightly young person beside
him was indeed risking her safety for him. Therefore, he began to share
her apprehensions, but as to what it meant or whither the adventure was
leading he had not a suspicion. He did wonder, however, where the Black
Wolf got his name.
The alley was damp and slippery, being no more than a tunnel-like
passage between two buildings, and it led into a large courtyard full of
carts and wagons. A low shed ran along one side of the inclosure; at the
rear was a two-story structure used as a stable.
"There! I guess we've given them the slip," Van Dam sighed, with relief.
But his companion shook her head. "No, no! We must hide. The Black Wolf
has the cunning of Satan, and now that he knows--" She sped through the
confusion of vehicles to the stable door, with Roly following. An
instant more and they were in an odorful, dim-lit place divided into
stalls out of which the heads of several horses were thrust in friendly
greeting. The girl closed the door and leaned panting against it, one
hand to her heaving bosom. Her head was bowed and her ears were strained
for sounds of pursuit. In the silence Van Dam heard his own heavy
breathing, the swish of the horses' tails, an impatient stirring of
hoofs, and a gentle whinny. He discovered that his pulse was hammering
in a very unusual manner and that he was agreeably excited.
The girl uttered an exclamation. "I feared so! Hurry!" She slipped past
him to a rickety stairway that led upward. "Ah--h--! this mask is
smothering me!" She disengaged it hastily, and he saw it dangling in her
hand as he mounted the steep stairs behind her. He saw also a pair of
dainty silken ankles, swelling into delicious curves that were hidden in
the foamy whiteness of lingerie. Being an extremely respectful
gentleman, Mr. Van Dam lowered his eyes, anticipating with curious
eagerness the pleasure of beholding her countenance, once they had
gained the loft. The desire to see behind her mask became really acute.
He had missed one opportunity by so narrow a margin as to quicken his
desires.
They came out upon a rough landing, and Van Dam caught the whisk of her
skirts disappearing through a door that led into the haymow. As he
followed, the door closed and he found himself in utter darkness. He
heard her fumbling with the lock. Their hands came together as he turned
a rusty key and he felt her figure close against his; her fragrant
breath fanned his cheek.
"Make no sound, as you value our lives."
As she whispered this, Van Dam swore mildly at the luck that prevented
him from appraising his companion's good looks, now that her mask was
off. From the courtyard below sounded voices. The girl clutched him
nervously; her hand was shaking. He could feel her shiver, so he slipped
an arm about her waist. He did this merely to steady her, he told
himself. He reasoned further that such a familiarity could scarcely be
offensive in the dark. As she yielded gratefully to his embrace, her
soft body palpitating against his own, he ceased reasoning and drew her
closer. It was very agreeable to discover that she made no resistance;
he could not recollect any sensation quite like this! As yet he had done
nothing improper, in view of the fact that it was every gentleman's
bounden duty to succor beauty in distress. He wondered if his friends at
the Grunewald had missed him, then realized with relief that Miss
Banniman never allowed his presence or his absence to interfere in the
slightest with her arrangements. They were probably finishing their
drinks by now. This would make an entertaining story, later in the
evening; they would never guess what he was doing.
"Who is that speaking?" he inquired.
"François, the Spider," whispered the girl. "Eh, God! How they all have
come to hate you!"
Roly reasoned from these words that his enemies numbered more than one
or two, and involuntarily he asked: "Hate me? What for?"
The girl trembled. "As if you did not know."
"And what would happen if they found me--us?" he persisted, feeling
vaguely for some hint.
"Ah!" Her breath caught. "Hush!" She laid her fingers over the lips of
his mask.
Van Dam yielded to an ungovernable impulse and kissed them through the
stiff, harsh cloth, whereat she said in wonderment:
"Heaven guard us! You are actually laughing. That you are wild, I knew;
but--you are--you act very strangely, m'sieu."
"Perhaps I'm intoxicated," he murmured, and pressed her slender waist
meaningly; whereupon she seemed to feel his arm for the first time. She
drew away, but as she disengaged his embrace her hand encountered his.
"It is wet--bloody--where you struck the Black Wolf."
"That was a good wallop, wasn't it?" Van Dam chuckled, with
satisfaction, while she felt for her handkerchief and dabbled at his
bruised knuckles. "I wondered if I could put him out."