SIROCCO.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIV, Issue 13456, 5 June 1907, Page 10

SIROCCO.

,»„«t£i»i*iaHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.],

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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] , , [COPYRIGHT.] . / . . CHAPTER XXV. '■ SHE REGENERATION OF CUNNINGHAM. ; _ The,next morning Duncan awoke early, and dozed ■: luxuriously ;•• in bed, reviewing the events of the previous evening. '*'•'I : worked the flim-flam game on Desevere sure," he cogitated; " and I guess I've"got the Vizier locoed some—got the ..whole bunch.on the run," he ended jubilantly. :', ■•■ : -',;' ■■''.;.:■'.'■' r. ■

Desevere knocked at the door. "Coma in!" Duncan called, instinctively running his hand up under his pillow till " it met the cool handle of his 38 Colt. Desevere held out a letter. "It was brought -by a slave-woman, just after light," he said. Duncan " read the letter as soon as his servant had left the room. It was from „.: ; Dalmera Grahame, there- was no mistake this time, and reading it ' the pride in his heart at his own achievements was dried up, a.nd fierce desire to rescue her on the '*• instant overwhelmed him. It Was a sad little letter, despairing .. almost. She was kept in a; part of the < liaremlik that did not touch the outside i wall. She was never alone. Her health was breaking down. She was hardly per- 1 mitted to go into the garden for a little exercise, Instead, Abraek, dosed her con- ' tinually with medicines and love potions, 1 to bring back her health and make her love 1 the Sultan. ■ Abrack was the only person. from outside that-she ever ' saw,-and he was dumb. No word came to 'her of the world from which she had been torn. She had not even any longer books. She had had the stub of ' a pencil secreted for 1 weeks, and at last had obtained a piece 1 of paper through a slave-woman who ] seemed to be her friendthe same -who * would risk her life in delivering this note. ! The- only ray -of hope-that--had* come to ] her' had ' been 'the ridiculous," the heavenly " Hickory, Diekory Dock" scrap of paper, ' She had guessed whom it was' from, but 1 what did it mean? She had tried to find « some message in it, some hidden meaning; ' >ishe had tried' to 'bring out some invisible ' writing on it in: sympathetic ink, by heat- 1 ing it, but-unsuccessfully. It meant that 1 Duncan was near,., but under what circumstances? Her slave, the one that loved ' her, had said that he was American Con- 1 sul, but how could that be? And even this ( , 'Hickory, Diekory'' had been' days a<*o 1 now. . .. ■ • ° i

_ While Duncan still held the letter in his hand Desevere came in to say that Cunningham-had called to see him. When he was sober the Englishman frequently sought this consolation of a brother Eng-lish-speaking person. " • ' "Tell him to come in here," Duncan told Desevere, and Cunningham, in some surprise, came into .-where Duncan was sitting: in his pyjamas on the side of the bed.- .. t ,. ".-,. ... A glance showed Duncan that his visitor had hot been drinking as vet, and without ;a;word;, he handed him the letter. , As , the Englishman was unfolding it Duncan locked the door, - and took the key from the keyhole. He had been studying Cunningham hard during these weeks, ~ and bad coin© to the conclusion that, drunkard -though he was, he was not rotten timber all the way through. : '' ," " : !v '. .Cunningham "glanced,at' the letter; and a shiver .passed over him. ".His trembling fingers turned to;the end, but there was no signature. . • , . ■-;>," H-haven't, a dud-drop "" of "anything ■i-here?" he' asked 1 shakily. ,; "My nerves ate. bad.. - This hand-writing '. 1-1-looked •Mike that of a f-friend."'. . ; Duncan ; put -his hand over : the' lctter- • which.: Cunningham was about to read. : "Gould you brace up and be a. man, if you .had. sufficient cause!" he ; asked, looking Cunningham "traight in" the.eye. ...' .... *y Wha-what dud-do you m-mean!"*Cun-ningham trembled;•.-,' As he had- said,- his • nerves were not of the. best. ~ : > • \ "Do you know Dalmera Crahame's,handwriting/" Duncan; said evenly. *;.- ~i Cunningham stared at Duncan: '" My G-God; man,, she's d-d-ead!" . t ['-"-. Duncan v did not reply, and > under the fixity ;, of', his " gaze . Cunningham begin' "to tremble violently. He passed his hand across his 'forehead.';- "Am I c-crazy, or are y-you? Is—-" ' . . ''"Pull yourself together," Duncan commanded sternly. "That is her letter. She's not dead. We can save her—but it's a "'.man's.job."'K ■, ;'*;/-'-,;, : > v.; ■-•■ ■: u,-■; The Englishman's face was livid. .-■ His &f, .$*?PP«* sfe '.the letter and devoured, it. He read it once -and seemed to get no idea from it. He read it' again and again, '■ blankly.. Duncan ; was afraid that the shock " had been too much for him, the shock : he had counted on for his regeneration. He brought him a mug of water from the;, wash-stand, .and Cunningham gulped it down. "" ~ - .A. « " But I do not understand," Cunningham said piteously. "I saw her dead body. I saw her coffin carried aboard the admiral's yacht." -He buried his face in his hands. " I c-came out here to show if I was good for anything. I had; been pretty w-wild . till I 'fell in love : with her, arid they w-woulcm/t believe, that everything was changed ; afterwards." (Under the stress j -f his emotion he stammered little.) "And " when I h-ha<i been here a year—as Straight as ."■«' string—she out with the admiral— w-was her guardian; y'know— and— we .w-were to have been m-mar-ried in three months—"

" Now listen to me," Duncan commanded soothingly;' "and I- will tell you ail about it/ I would have told you before,' but you were boozing, most' of the time, and be"rides* I hadn't sized up how much of-a man you were." In. as few - words as possible he told Cunningham the whole story, ending : "It's rather, a big .game to tackle single-handed. I want; a man bo help me, p man who isn't drinking." "Drink Oh, God, if I had only nknown!" "- .

, Duncan needed no further assurance than tlie sincerity of Cunningham's voice. Without" another word the Englishman started away. - Duncan watched him wrenching at the locked' doors for a few seconds. " Better keep your shirt on, my son!" he admon-i ished him. *" ': : >\'" -.-.r-' ' Cunningham turned and glared- at him uncompTehendingly, and then began walking up and down the room in a cold frenzy of rage and self-reproach. The Sultan—! he shivered at the ; thought of' him ; but worse than the Sultan was the thodght of himself in swinish drunkenness letting a stranger rkk his life to rescue Dalmera, while he was reciting besotted poetry to himself.,, -, '. :'■ ■

A red glare came from the eyes of Cunningham. He ..stumbled over "the chairs in his way without'appearing able to see them. Be began muttering to himself, and Duncan feared that he would lose has rea-son.-from the-intensity of his emotions. - "By the way," Duncan said, in a mat-ter-of-fact tone, "from what I • can make - out from the Sultan, she may be his"slave, but she isn't his wife. The Sultan seems to be a kind of a.gentlemanin a way," "he qualified. ; , - Cunningham turned his face towards him as tie : spoke, but did. not seem' to understand the words;' Duncan.went on in the same quiet tone, as if they-were discussing the most ~ commonplace matter in the worlds ".' : - •" • - "I got pretty tired sitting 'here in the ; house and, waiting for the Sultan and his gang to do me up;' so finally I togged up ; ' in a suit of Abrack's, and have been roaming around on his prestige pretty much where ; I liked.'- The Siroccans : are mighty ■*■' polite,.. I ; can tell you, when I have his glad rags on. As for our little 'friend Desevere, he' 'was ; in the pay, of Abrack, . as you thought he would be, but I worked a few three-card ; monte tricks on him* and . he won't.peep now. My plan"—he reached >': overhand; filled himself a pipe ; tobacco— : i "is this— came to" me after I got that letter thi&*';morriihg:"'to, put good'" Doctor Abrack out of the way, and then get Desevere to" conduct me dressed as ; Abrack, into the -harem administer love potion or two Dalmera Grahame, as she said lie,

was always doing." He lighted his pipe and' sucked meditatively at it. "Then we'll cook up some way to get her out." Cunningham had been growing somewhat quieter under the influence of Duncan's manner. J" Can't ;;> I kuck-kill _ '. the Sultan first':" he-', asked.. :'. .-.,.' ; : ■; --e. Duncan shook his head. "No use to fly off the handle that way. We may hit him a sly tap eng passang, as the French say; but the first tiling to do is to get your girl out of her fix. This scheme of mine isn't a sure thing, by any means fact, it's 'a thundering big risk—and I ' can't say I'm hankering after a job of pretending to bo Abrack in the daylight—" / - "L-let mo d-do it!" Cunningham cried eagerly. "It isn't r-right that you shoo-shoo-should ; take all, the r-risk. I'll guggo to-day. Give me his clothes!" Duncan laughed. He soon found that the hardest work immediately before him was restraining Cunningham from immediate action. He wanted to kill the Sultan. He wanted to demolish the palace.: To cable to Malta for the British fleet. To j storm the haremlik. Duncan had to go over all the reasons, which would make these the very worst things for Dalmera Grahame again and again. Gradually Cunningham quieted 'down. He j sat down, after Duncan, was dressed, and watched: him eat his breakfast. He wanted j to try all the food first, so that Duncan I should not by any chance be poisoned. ! The American was touched, but felt that (the precaution was needless. - "/, " Desevero wouldn't poison me now for a thousand dollars a minute," he said. " Anyway, you're the man she will want to <ee, when she comes out." \

..; " But y-you're the man who has duddone everything for her," Cunningham answered • bitterly. • '. Well, it's your cue now to come in and do . something," said Duncan cheerfully. Little by little Cunningham became again the normal, restrained Englishman..: The h'res burned just as hotly within him, but they were banked by the ashes of reserve.

CHAPTER XXVI.;

1 . • • ABBACK ABSIT. ..: vj Cunningham gave his earnest endorser merit tc the plan of putting Abrack out » the way. " L-let me kuck-kill him!" he > pleaded. "I wasn't a half-bad cricketer )at Eton. I'd bub-better" s-s-s—, I'd better s-s-s, I'd better s-s-strangle him, hadn't ■ IT , ■ .;"--. , r Cunningham's sibilant desire to strangle someone connected with the Sultan, was , ludicrous in its simple "•.tensity ; he spokei [ as if cricket at Eton peculiarly fitted a man for assassination. Duncan, however, ] ( had not sufficient faith in the Englishman's . prudence, and reserved' for himself the un- , pleasant duty of killing Abrack. . , That, same night was the time set for the' i making away with Abrack. ; As the day , wore on Duncan found himself-possessed •of a peculiar feeling. It was the first time , he had ever deliberately set out to murder a man, without giving him a chance for defence. He had killed men in life and , death straggles, with no more compunction than if they had been noxious insects ; but the present case affected him differently. A curious feeling of nausea came over him, so that he ate little dinner, and no supper. He tried to reason himself out of it. Abrack probably deserved death as : much, us anyone in whose demise he had > been ' concerned, and'was' certainly trying to kill him; Duncan. But even looking at,, it as a' measure of self-preservation could not make the American feel any , better; -He smoked many pipes of tobacco, Until even tobacco lost its savour.. Thus young reporters assigned to''cover" a hang- . ing are affected, although: Duncan did not know it. • • His only consolatory • thought was that it would be over by midnight, and the hoped he might sleep in peace. After nightfall ■•: Cunningham arrived at Duncan's rooms, with brown-stained face, and dressed as a low-class Siroccan, and silently -let himself in, without being perceived by the servant. Duncan put on his , usual disguise, and then : called in Desevere^ ;■• The Siroccan had- never, seen his ; master :in the . dress of Ins other master before—the American had taken great pains about that—and when he now beheld him, • he fell shrieking on the floor. ::•■■■ ' '" Kill me, kill me, unworthy that I am!" he screamed. "He seemed so powerful, or I would not have betrayed you— much more - powerful than? you. ■■■ He ; ate poison and.waxed fat;"the bullet broke like a bubble against his chest! ".'-■• But I did wrong, fear-impelled, and now I shall suffer as I deserve. Ah-h!" he- moaned, : and for a second time? Duncan began to fear that the Siroccan was going to die of superstitious fright before his ■; eyes. ; He spoke to Desevere, arid at the sound of his voice the native ' raised his head an instant, then dropped it back on the floor, and lay a livid, inert mass, from whioh human life end reason seemed to have fled. Duncan had given him a draught of mixed fears too ( strong for an ordinary man. . The American took off his headgear,, and knelt down "by his 'servant,' with a flask of . whisky. - A couple of swallows of this brought' ; back consciousness to. the , good t Mussulman, so . that he - scrambled weakly to- his feet, and thereafter it would have . taken miracle on miracle to shake his faith in Duncan's supernatural powers. In ignorance of what .errand the two foreigners were bent upon, yet trembling fearfully, Desevere, led them through the ' streets of Sirocco, and pointed out the windows and the door of Abrack's rooms. ' Then he vanished into the night, nor did ■ his curiosity make him give a single back- ; ward glance after he had received permis-j sion. to go.'' . - . . ! ' Duncan never quite got over the feeling of disgust and horror that came over him when, Abrack's body grown limp in death beneath his grasp on his throat, he saw the bared head of his victim. He understood now why no lesser force than death , had ever made, Abrack disclose his face, for it was the face of a leper, and l a leper's throat on which his : own fingers had been clamped till the leper had ceased the strug- '■ gle. The" room swam around him, and he ; staggered to -the door, and called for Cun- • ningham in the shadow across the street, oblivious to whether anyone heard him or , not.' For a few minutes thereafter he was • desperately, physically sick. Then leaning ' weaklv against the wall .of the house he • told the Englishman of his discovery. " R-rummy go Cunningham commented. " B-but you've dud-done your share. I'll ■ d-do the rest." He took out his handker- i chief and wrapped it carefully around his < hand, then with the stout bag he had ; brought with him went into the noxious i room, which at the moment it seemed to . Duncan he could not have entered again for • all the forlorn maidens in the world. With shudders creeping up his spine and through : the roots of his hair, Duncan listened to the ' sounds, that came' from within; the tear-; ing .'of cloth and soft thumps against the ! floor. 'Presently Cunningham reappeared' with the bag, " heavily weight- ' ed, , across his shoulder. ; They walk-J Ed to the nearest city gate, where the sentries respectfully saluted; through it ' and out into the open desert. After a ' while Duncan mastered himself sufficiently '• to offer to carry the" bag'with its dreadful : contents, awhile. ; ' { : - ]

" Y-y-you've dud-done enough," the Eng lishman grittily. responded, though panting beneath his load. '

Duncan did not press the matter. He felt that Cunningham spoke the truth. They tumbled ' Abrack's naked body into a gully a mile from town, and threw the bag into another. No question would ever arise about the finding of a dead leper in the desert, and Abrack's face was known to none. In Sirocco lepers are driven from the cities to die of starvation, or to quarrel with their fellow outcasts, the hyenas, for their share of carrion. ~.-... (To be continued daily.) j