The Face of His Dreams

Otago Witness, Issue 3556, 9 May 1922, Page 52

The Face of His Dreams

THE NOVELIST. [Published bi Special Arrangement.]

By

Louis Joseph Vance.

Author of “ Lone Wolf,” “False Faces,” “ The Brass Bowl,V etc., etc.

(Copyright in U.S.A., by Curtis, Brown, Ltd.).

CHAPTER XII. (Continued). Of a sudden the other side in the MacManus case took fright and made overtures for a settlement. At the close of a day-long conference an agreement was reached, and MacManus joyfully departed for his home, promising to return at lour the folllowing afternoon to get the cheque for which Rodney was to exchange certain papers bearing his signature. The cheque was waiting at the hour appointed, but no MacManus came to claim it. Instead, a woman’s voice with a velvety broque informed Rodney by telephone .that Mister MacMaynus had had an accident, sort of, and wouldn’t be able *to lave his bid for siveral days, the docther said; and wouldn’t Mister Manship kindly thry and see if he couldn’t sind thim the money, because there was divvle a dollar in the house, and the dccthox was after wanting his fee and tne landlord his rint. Rodney promised to see to it in person ; but a dinner engagement which he couldn’t break delayed him, so that it was in the dim end of the gloaming that his taxicab put him down in front of an unlovely tenement in the remote Hinterland of the Upper East Side. Abstractedly (for some reason he was mooning about Francesca more persistently than usual that night) he paid off his taxi and turned towards the house. Too late it was borne upon him that he should have kept the conveyance waiting; he would have far to walk before he found another taxicab in that part of town. Rodney took stock of the neighbourhood, and realised with some surprise that his life had been so long restricted to walks and ways of the well-to-do, to Fifthavenue arid Wall Street, that he had almost forgotten New York retained such quarters as this, haunts of poverty, wretchedness, vice and squalor unrelieved. A number of slatternly women, one openly nursing a baby, were huddled in the entrance to the tenement where Rodney’s client lived. They made way grudgingly, and when Rodney asked them where to find MacManus, showed him blank eyes of incomprehension or, shaking their heads, responded -in tongues that meant nothing to him, though he thought he recognised the .sounds- of Yiddish and Italian. Then one called in a man from the sidewalk, a hang dog lout with the face and carriage of a Parisian Apache; and this one found enough strongly accented English to direct Rodney to the fourth floor back. The man MacManus lay abed in a veritable cocoon of bandages which, however, could not altogether hide twinkling Irish eyes and the fetching Irish smile with which he recounted his misadventure of the previous night. It seemed that, coming home elated, he had stepped in at the corner, “a dirty Wop joint,” to celebrate the victory which Rodney -had won for him with the vin du pays, a concoction known by the simple name of “hootch.” In perfectly natural sequence, as MacManus understood it, there had been a bit of a shindy, from which he had emerged not without honour, if in the battered state visible to the caller. “They’re a mane lot, thim Wops,” his wife commented—“and sorra th’ daay we iver was So poor we had to move into this livin’ mist av thim!” But now they were poor no longer, and it was all thanks to Rodney. He left as quickly as he could in decency, to ecsape their overpowering gratitude, and was half way down the last flight of stairs before he fancied something sinister in the changed aspect of the lower hallway. The women who had clustered the entrance were gone. In their stead Rodney saw half a dozen young ruffians of the vicious type of him who had known where MacManus lived, lounging against the walls with cigarettes drooping from their evil, loose-lipped mouths, their faces of unwholesome pallor all blank as silently they watched Rodney come down to them. He knew a little thrill of alarm; but the seizure was only momentary. He shook it off with a shrug of self-contempt. The supposition was too absurd. But the group in the doorway made no offer to let him pass, and when he touched the nearest sleeve and uttered a pleasant “Beg pardon” his voice was drowned out bv a yell from the far side of the knot. “That’s him! Kill him!” A heavy blow on the chest sent him staggering hack beyond the foot of the staircase. He caught at the newel-post to save himself a fall, and in the same breath saw the pack closing in. And then he was fighting for his very life. CHAPTER XITT. Never an instant as Rodney reckoned it, was the issue of that onslaught in question. His assailants had hardly been in character if it had entered their heads to give him a fighting chance. They were six or seven to one, and on their own ground : while (he hack part of the hallway into which Rodney was carried by their first savage rush, the nucleus of a writhing knot of bodies, was terra incognita to him, if apparently a simple, dark cul-de-sac. He could only do his utmost to give as good as he got, and this in full confidence that, the better his success in

repaying punishment with punishment, the more sure he might feel that the end would come with the cold kiss of steel between his ribs. The business went forward in a strange sort of silence. For a little there was a murmur that could not have carried to the street, of broken and Hurried breathing, dull mutters of rage, scuffling of mainpairs of feet, with now and again the smart crack of a fist on flesh. Then abruptly weight of numbers carried Rodney off his feet and under those of the thugs. He fell heavily against a door at the end of the hallway, and instantly drew up his knees to protect his abdomen and crossed his forearms to guard his head. For all that, in the next feW* seconds, he suffered enough from vicious kicks and grinding heels to make him sick and faint, so that, realising his plight as hopeless, he grew dimly impatient for the moment that was swiftly on the way, when unconsciousness should intervene to numb his pain. But then his persecution met with a check as unexpected to its authors as to their victim. The door opened against which Rodney lay in a huddle, a sharply imperative voice saluted the pack, and as the assault was suspended, somebody strode across the body of the half-consci-ous man and began a harangue in accents somehow remotely familiar, a voice that one would know if one were not too far gone for the requisite effort of memory. Neitn er was what it said intelligible, for the tongue was not linglish. Ungentle hands seized Rodney’s arms and hoisted him bodily to his feet. Winded, spent, trembling, he rested in half-daze against the open door,- held up on either side by two of his late adversaries—and found himself face to face with Angelo Baroque. Sardonic triumph painted broadly upon his handsome mask of a young faun, Angelo held himself with the jaunty car riage of a conqueror, though he had taken no hand in the attack and, unlike the others, of whom every one showed some sign of damage endured, was immaculate in respect of th© shouting smartness of his attire of a leader among gangmen. Perceiving recognition in Rodney’s dull stare, he spat an Italian epithet into his face, then, with a spirited lift of the head, and a curling lip, glanced round the ring of degraded countenances for sycophantic applause. It came in a break of grim chuckles. With a change of tone to truculent, decision, he addressed his henchmen brusquely, winding up with an order to the men holding Rodney’s arm. They released him, and stepped aside, grinning in anticipation. Angelo stepped close, and with a violent hand thrust him across the threshold, reeling, to trip and go prome to the floor, striking his head against the leg of an iron bedstead. Behind him the door crashed, as it were, consciousness going out in a clap of thunder. He came to himself, with no notion of the lapse of time, staring groggily up at a gas-jet whose fan of bluish flame, edged with yellow, was roaring and whistling directly above his head. His face and hair were dripping wet, coat and waistcoat had been unbuttoned, and collar and necktie were missing. The pillow beneath his head was damp. Re lay upon a bed in a mean room, meanly furnished, its air close and foul with the ghosts of dead cookery. In a wall covered with bilious distemper, a dark oblong of a doorway showed at the foot of the bed. He could see no more without moving his head. When he essayed this, lie groaned aloud and was momentarily blinded by pain that danced wildly; a living flame, within his skull. But presently it subsided, his vision cleared, and he saw that there was a second door in the wall near' the head of the bed, and that Angelo was standing there, in a pose of strained attention, with an ear to the panels. Utterly confounded, Rodney made no stir, but followed in deepening wonder the actions of Angelo as that one, after a long pause in listening, nodded in ap parent satisfaction, swung away to the foot of the bed, and called urgently to somebody in the room beyond. As he darted back to his former stand, turned the key in the lock, and unfastened a chain-bolt, a woman entered from the farther room, a creatuTe of mature figure with a shawl caught so closely over her head that her features were not visible. She went quickly to the side of Angelo, lie spoke to her in a guarded voice, receiving a response in the same tone, then cautiously opened the door and peered out. Evidently reassured by his reconnaissance he let the woman pass through the.hallway, then hastily reclosed, locked and bolted the door. Turning sharply to the bed, with a gesture of impatience he threw off the golf cap which had shadowed his features, sank upon his knees, and caught one of Rodney’s hands tenderly between both his own. “Mr Mansliip! Are you in pain? Wliat can I do for you? Oh, I am so, so sorry!” Hearing that voice of exquisite music, stai’ing up into the face, solicitous and compassionate, that hung above his own, Rodney was able to articulate one word only—— “Francesca!” CHAPTER XIV. “Yes,” the girl breathed—“it is I. But not so loud.” She cast an apprehensive glance toward the hall door and, resting cool .fingers lightly on Rodney’s lips, listened intently for a moment. But apparently she heard nothing alarming. “You are suffering. Oil, tell me what to do!” “It’s nothing,” Rodney grunted —“l mean nothing much. Pretty well beaten up but—l guess —no bones broken. Let’s

He set his teeth and with determination roused on an elbow. And though he' was successful in keeping back the groan, the girl saw his eyes grow narrow and the muscles of his jaw tense; and she gave a low cry of sympathy. But Manship waved aside the hands with which she offered to let him back again upon the pillow, and swung his ieet down to the floor. After which he found it necessary to hold his head with both hands for a while, lest it split asunder. I’he girl left him to fetch water from a sink in the adjoining room. When she came back, Rodney was sitting up and gingerly experimenting with his anatomy. “Arms and legs a bit bruised,” he reported with a bleak smile— “but apparently intact—likewise ribs. Guess that crack on the head was the worst after all.” And my fault. I’m so sorry, but I had to—because they thought I was Angelo.” ‘Couldn’t know I’d take a tumble and hit my foolish head on that blessed bed,” Rodney defended her. "Besides—-I’d ’ve been disappointed too—if you hadn't played up just then,” He gulped from the glass which she held to his lips, and felt better. “Sure you’re not Angelo?” he demanded, looking up. “If you’re Francesca, then I must be in Italy. How come?” “I can’t tell you now, there isn’t time. I’ve been back almost a week. As soon as you feel strong enough, we must be going. Every minute here is dangerpus. Angelo is sure to learn. . . . Do you feel able?” “Do my best.” Rodney caught hold of the foot of the bed and pulled himself up to a standing position. For a moment he swayed with eyes shut, then steadied. “That’s better,” he announced, blinking “Good old constitution—tough and rugged—stands a lot. Where do We go from here?” “Wait—l’ll have to show you. We daren’t leave by the street.” With a quick gesture, Francesca extinguished the gas. Her hand found Rodney’s, and drew him through the darkness into the other room. Here the shape of a window was visible, a dim rectangle in the mirk. The girl ran the shade up, and they looked out into a glimmering well of night, spangled with lighted windows, laced with clothes lines. Then she quietly raised the lower sash, letting in air that might by courtesy be termed fresh, with sounds of nocturnal revelry, squalling of infants, harmony of an accordion and guitar, cacophony of a domestic free-for-all in one of the neighbouring flats. The iron platform of a fire-escape ran level with the window-sill. “We can drop from this to the backyard,” said the girl’s whisper, “then I know a way. Think you can manage—?” “Anything to get you out of this hole. I’m all right. Lead on.” The lithe body in man's clothing slipped out upon the grating and vanished to one side. Rodnev followed less nimbly, breathing hard. There was one spot in his ribs where a particularly brutal kick had got home, the hurt of which, magnified by every movement, was purely hellish. Otherwise he felt somewhat better, more clear of head—though mystified no end. By means of a permanent iron ladder running through a break in the platform, they were able to let themselves down tillj hanging by their hands from the lower-most rung, their feet were not far above the ground. But it was quite dark, and Rodney, who had no means of knowing how great the drop would be, was agreeably disappointed in the outcome, if more shaken up, even so, than he liked. The tenement yard was a simple black bole but Francesca seemed to be sure of her ground, and Rodney, clinging blindly to her hand, was led -through a door in a fence into another back-yard, and then into another, and yet others, so that he had lost count and sense of direction entirely when at length they dived through a dark malodorous basement and emerged—like swimmers coming up for a j r —to the lights and comparative fragrance of an open street. Now the girl caught Rodnev’s arm and hustled him relentlessly. Though she knew every uncalculated movement meant pain to him. there was no help for it. Her guarded murmur warned him that they must not think themselves safe anywhere in that nuarter ; every moment they were in danger of running into Angelo or some one of his fellows. Rodney protested feebly, asking what of the police. To this. Francesca replied with a short laugh; luck alone could save them, she asserted, a fair turn of luck that would enable them to make good their rendezvous with Marcella. That name Rodney repeated stupidly. With a hint of impatience Francesca replied that Marcella was the woman who had left the room shortly after he had regained consciousness : “I sent her to find a taxicab and have it waiting at a safe distance.” It was proved presently that Marcella bad not failed them. In • the shadow of the Third-avenue Elevated they came upon the vehicle, Marcella, who had been •loitering in conversation with the driver, moved aside as Francesca, conducted Rodney to the door, stopped, and held out her hand with an admirably masculine • gesture. “Well,” she said cheerfully, in the very voice of Angelo-—“glad to ’ve seen you and good-night.” Rodney eyed her in completest perplexity. ; “Wliat .?” In a lowered voice 4he girl added almost angrily: “Don’t you see that lot watching us across the street? I don't know who they are. Please go !” A glance confirmed the fact that they were being favoured with the inquisitive interest of a group of loafers in tlie doorway of a saloon on the opposite corner — one of those mysterious survivals of our time, a common groggery, which persists in flaunting an apparently not unprosperous existence in the face of a community pledged to absolute prohibition.

But to Rodney it didn’t matter that they were observed; nothing mattered but the fact that the woman he loved, the woman whom he had believed to be many thousands of miles away, had strangely come back into his life, in the guise and garb of a handsome if dangerous young blackguard, and—having saved him from being beaten to death—was now coolly proposing to dismiss him with a handshake of everyday and to return, alone, to that deadly slum. “Are you mad?” lie muttered, audibly to her alone. “I think you are,” she retorted in the same manner. “Haven’t you realised yet what danger——?” “And you imagine I will leave you in it!” “If vou don't ” “Not a step without you,” he interrupted firmly. “If you must go back to — that—l go with you.” “How dare you interfere!” she blazed. “How dared you a while ago? Now, I owe my very life to you. Don’t think you can easily evade that obligation.” For a moment, braving the tempest of her eyes, he wondered if this might not be Angelo, after all. “It’s no go,” he persisted doggedly. “I don't leave you here.” “Oh, well!”—the change of tone and manner was instantaneous and bewildering ; and now again it was the voice of Angelo that carried clearly to the group across the way—“don’t mind if I do. Sure! I’ll ride with you a way.” And. with no more ado the girl swung open the door of the cab and climbed in. Rodney, delaying only to give the chauffeur the address of one of his clubs, followed, incidentally remarking that the woman, Marcella, had discreetly vanished. CHAPTER XY. But the appearance of cheerful acquiesence with which in the end FYancesca had given in to his insistence, lasted no longer than was needed to let Rodney shut the cab door and drop into the seat by her side. Then in the broken and fugitive illumination of the street lights he saw that her face was averted, revealing only the sweet round of her nearer cheek. She had drawn baefi into her corner, too, as if to get as far away from him as possible, and a hand resting upon one trousered knee was clenched into a tight fist. “Francesca!” he uttered; but she paid no heed. He bent a little forward to see her face. The mouth was sullen, the brows were level above eyes like sultry pools. “Francesca!” Ot a sudden she turned on him. “Oh, be still! You have done your best to spoil everything. Now, for pity’s sake, let me be—let me think out, if I can, some way to make good the damage you’ve done.” “I! What have I done that any man in my position wouldn’t have? Could 1 sneak off home and save my own skin and leave you to blunder madly back into that danger?” “There was no danger,” the girl snapped, “not for me. If you had gone when I begged you, nothing could have happened to me.” “But not five minutes ago you were telling me to expect a clash with Angelo at any minute ” “Warning you —yes, not myself. What have I to fear from that one?” “You know him better than I; but you can’t expect me to count on his never forgetting you’re his twin sister when you hound him tlie way you do ” “Hound him?” “With your vows of vengeance upon the heads’of those who were responsible for your father’s death. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve come back to America without letting anybody know, and buried yourself in that unholy tenement district, isn’t it? What other reason ?” f> “You seem to believe it was Angelo. “I’ve, nothing to go on but the suspicions you yourself put into ray head.” “I’m not sure. I don’t know. I caifit believe mv own brother, my father’s son ” “Still, if it should turn out that it w:ft Angelo ” After a moment she said shortly: “Please, don’t ask me. ’ f “Yery well ; but in that case, don t ask me' to believe you’d show' him any mercy, or that he’d expect any at your hands.” _ The girl maintained an obdurate “Francesca give up this mad adventure. Come to your senses” —she laughed scornfully at this—“don’t go risking your life for a wild dream of revenge.” “It’s mv life ” . “Not altogether; it’s mine as w'ell: You’re life to me—and everything else—because I love yon.” She turned her face fully to him. In a voice of reproach she cried : “Oh, why did vou say that?” “Forgive me. You’ve known it for a lon<r time —that I loved you—and so have I ever since. I fisst saw you. That’s the reason why I can’t help but worry and pray for you—why I must- reason with you, though it makes you angry- ” “I am not angry,” she said, and put forth a hand to rest upon the back of bis. “I was vexed, a little, because I saw mv plans going wrong : though all along I knew it wasn’t your fault, and that you couldn’t be reasonable, let me have my own way without dispute —you being you and as you say in love with me. Forgive me mv ill temper—Rodnev —and don’t think for a moment I don’t know', wliat honour you have done me.” “But it is you who do me an honour when you let me love you.” “Why, I’m afraid I can’t stop you—can I? At least, I shouldn’t encourage you.” .“Meaning,” he said brokenly, “there’s no hope for me?” “Meaning I have no right to encourage any man to care for me, so long as my mind is an avenging Nemesis.”

“I love you,” he groaned, ‘‘and you laugh at me!” ‘‘No, Rodney; I’m not laughing, just trying to smile a little, to wink back the tears. You see, you—you’ve made me so happy I rather want to cry.” Rodney sat up suddenly. ‘‘You care—whether 1 love you or not?” he cried inereduously. She nodded with starry eyes. It s very sweet to be loved by a man one can like and respect,” she said. ‘‘Yes, my dear, I care —too much, perhaps for my own peace of mind—not enough, perhaps, to make you as happy as you deserve - but enough, at least, to beg a great favour of you, and to make you a promise in return.” , ' “Tell me . . “Promise not to make love to me again till I give you leave.” “How can you ask that? How can I promise ” “PAhaps it won’t be long, Rodney; only until I’m free to answer you. ihat s what I promise you in return —not to keep you waiting. ’ ’ “Free? How are you bound?” “By my vow to my dead father. When I promised to find his murderers, I promised not to love till I had done so.” Rodney uttered an inarticulate sound of expostulation. “No,” she insisted, but I had to. Even now 1 am forgetting.’ She leaned forward to peer out of the window. Some time since the cab had turned down town on Fifth Avenue. The dark bulk of the Metropolitan Museum by night was now some distance ahead on their right. The girl nodded thoughtfully at sight of it. “And now I want you to be generous to me again, Rodney. I want you to drop me in front of the Metropolitan. I can get another taxi there.” “But why?” “Two reasons ! I don’t trust this driver —I don’t know anything about him. It was a risk I had to run, to let Marcella pick up the first she could find. You told him to drive to your club. You can discharge him there and go on to your rooms. But I don’t want him to know where I go.” “Or me, either, I infer.” “Or you, either—in this instance.” “You’re going back there?” “Be kind and don’t insist on my answering that question. Wherever I’m going, it isn’t into danger?” “How can I be sure?” “Because I’ll make you another promise : I shan’t be much more than an hour Then I will meet you, wherever you say, and tell you everything—all that has seemed so mystifying to you. Isn’t that more than a fair bargain?” “If I could trust you to take care of yourself!” “Why, don’t you think I’ve proved I can? Besides, in the end, you’ll have to, you know'.” She laughed a little, not defiantly, but with a note of fondness. “You can’t kidnap me. It isn’t being done this season.” “I don’t know —I’ve got a mind to try.” “You’d find it dreadfully embarrassing, don’t you think?'Where could you take me? Not to your club, because I’m not what I seem. Not to a hotel —no safe and sane hotel will take in a young woman disguised as a man. Not to the police station —because I just won’t go !” She met his gloomy and distrustful stare with a twinkle of light malice. “But don’t be downcast, Mr Manship: you shall surely see me again tonight. You have my word.” She tapped sharply on the glass behind the silhouetted head and shoulders of the driver. The taxi swerved immediately towards the curb. “Where will you meet me, then?” Rodney demanded, outwitted and grasping at straws. “You’ll be home in the" course of an hour?” It was the voice of Angelo again, as the cab stopped and she jumped out. “I’ll give you a ring and make a date.” (To be Continued.)