The Pagan Madonna. MacGrath Harold

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      Cleigh never looked upon this man’s face without recalling del Sarto’s John the Baptist – supposing John had reached forty by the way of reckless passions. The extraordinary beauty was still there, but as though behind a blurred pane of glass.

      “Well?” said Cleigh, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

      “There’s the devil to pay – all in a half hour.”

      “You haven’t got it?” Cleigh blazed out.

      “Morrissy – one of the squarest chaps in the world – ran amuck the last minute. Tried to double-cross me, and in the rough-and-tumble that followed he was more or less banged up. We hurried him to a hospital, where he lies unconscious.”

      “But the beads!”

      “Either he dropped them in the gutter, or they repose on the floor of a Chinese shop in Woosung Road. I’ll be there bright and early – never you fear. Don’t know what got into Morrissy. Of course I’ll look him up in the morning.”

      “Thousands of miles – to hear a yarn like this!”

      “Cleigh, we’ve done business for nearly twenty years. You can’t point out an instance where I ever broke my word.”

      “I know,” grumbled Cleigh. “But I’ve gone to all this trouble, getting a crew and all that. And now you tell me you’ve let the beads slip through your fingers!”

      “Pshaw! You’d have put the yacht into commission if you’d never heard from me. You were crazy to get to sea again. Any trouble picking up the crew?”

      “No. But only four of the old crew – Captain Newton, of course, and Chief Engineer Svenson, Donaldson, and Morley. Still, it’s the best crew I ever had: young fellows off warships and transports, looking for comfortable berths and a little adventure that won’t entail hunting periscopes.”

      “Plenty of coal?”

      “Trust me for that. Four hundred tons in Manila, and I shan’t need more than a bucketful.”

      “Who drew the plans for this yacht?” asked Cunningham, with a roving glance.

      “I did.”

      “Humph! Why didn’t you leave the job to someone who knew how? It’s a series of labyrinths on this deck.”

      “I wanted a big main salon, even if I had to sacrifice some of the rest of the space. Besides, it keeps the crew out of sight.”

      “And I should say out of touch, too.”

      “I’m quite satisfied,” replied Cleigh, grumpily.

      “Cleigh, I’m through.” Cunningham spread his hands.

      “What are you through with?”

      “Through with this game. I’m going in for a little sport. This string of beads was the wind-up. But don’t worry. They’ll be on board here to-morrow. You brought the gold?”

      “Yes.”

      The visitor paused in front of the rug. He sighed audibly.

      “Scheherazade’s twinkling little feet! Lord, but that rug is a wonder! Cleigh, I’ve been offered eighty thousand for it.”

      “What’s that?” Cleigh barked, half out of his chair.

      “Eighty thousand by Eisenfeldt. I don’t know what crazy fool he’s dealing for, but he offers me eighty thousand.”

      Cleigh got up and pressed a wall button. Presently a man stepped into the salon from the starboard passage. He was lank, with a lean, wind-bitten face and a hard blue eye.

      “Dodge,” announced Cleigh, smiling, “this is Mr. Cunningham. I want you to remember him.”

      Dodge agreed with a curt nod.

      “If ever you see him in this cabin when I’m absent, you know what to do.”

      “Yes, sir,” replied Dodge, with a wintry smile.

      Cunningham laughed.

      “So you carry a Texas gunman round with you now? After all, why not? You never can tell. But don’t worry, Cleigh. If ever I make up my mind to accept Eisenfeldt’s offer, I’ll lift the yacht first.”

      Cleigh laughed amusedly.

      “How would you go about to steal a yacht like this?”

      “That’s telling. Now I’ve got to get back to town. My advice for you is to come in to-morrow and put up at the Astor, where I can get in touch with you easily.”

      “Agreed. That’s all, Dodge.”

      The Texan departed, and Cunningham burst into laughter again.

      “You’re an interesting man, Cleigh. On my word, you do need a guardian – gallivanting round the world with all these treasures. Queer what things we do when we try to forget. Is there any desperate plunge we wouldn’t take if we thought we could leave the Old Man of the Sea behind? You think you’re forgetting when you fly across half the world for a string of glass beads. I think I’m forgetting when I risk my neck getting hold of some half-forgotten Rembrandt. But there it is, always at our shoulder when we turn. One of the richest men in the world! Doesn’t that tingle you when you hear people whisper it as you pass? Just as I tingle when some woman gasps, ‘What a beautiful face!’ We both have our withered leg – only yours is invisible.”

      The mockery on the face and the irony on the tongue of the man disturbed Cleigh. Supposing the rogue had his eye on that rug? To what lengths might he not go to possess it? And he had the infernal ingenuity of his master, Beelzebub. Or was he just trying Anthony Cleigh’s nerves to see whether they were sound or raw?

      “But the beads!” he said.

      “I’m sorry. Simply Morrissy ran amuck.”

      “I am willing to pay half as much again.”

      “You leave that to me – at the original price. No hold-up. Prices fixed, as the French say. Those beads will be on board here to-morrow. But why the devil do you carry that rug abroad?”

      “To look at.”

      “Mad as a hatter!” Cunningham picked up his oilskin and sou’wester. “Hang it, Cleigh, I’ve a notion to have a try at that rug just for the sport of it!”

      “If you want to bump into Dodge,” replied the millionaire, dryly, “try it.”

      “Oh, it will be the whole thing – the yacht – when I start action! Devil take the weather!”

      “How the deuce did the beads happen to turn up here in Shanghai?”

      “Morrissy brought them east from Naples. That’s why his work to-night puzzles me. All those weeks to play the crook in, and then to make a play for it when he knew he could not put it over! Brain storm – and when he comes to he’ll probably be sorry. Well, keep your eye on the yacht.” Cunningham shouldered into his oilskin. “To-morrow СКАЧАТЬ