Part 50 (2/2)

I drew from the poacher that Tric-Trac had named Mornac as head of the communistic plot in Brittany; that Mornac was coming to Paradise very soon, and that then something gay might be looked for.

And that night I took Speed into my confidence and finally Kelly Eyre, our balloonist.

And we talked the matter over until long after midnight.

XV

FOREWARNED

The lions had now begun to give me a great deal of trouble. Timour Melek, the old villain, sat on his chair, snarling and striking at me, but still going through his paces; Empress Khatoun was a perfect devil of viciousness, and refused to jump her hoops; even poor little Acha, my pet, fed by me soon after her foster-mother, a big Newfoundland, had weaned her, turned sullen in the pyramid scene. I roped her and trimmed her claws; it was high time.

Oh, they knew, and I knew, that matters had gone wrong with me; that I had, for a time, at least, lost the intangible something which I once possessed--that occult right to dominate.

It worried me; it angered me. Anger in authority, which is a weakness, is quickly discovered by beasts.

Speed's absurd superst.i.tion continued to recur to me at inopportune moments; in my brain his voice was ceaselessly sounding--”A man in love, a man in love, a man in love”--until a flash of temper sent my lions scurrying and snarling into a pack, where they huddled and growled, staring at me with yellow, mutinous eyes.

Yet, strangely, the greater the risk, and the plainer to me that my lions were slipping out of my control, the more my apathy increased, until even Byram began to warn me.

Still I never felt the slightest physical fear; on the contrary, as my irritation increased my disdain grew. It seemed a monstrous bit of insolence on the part of these overgrown cats to meditate an attack on me. Even though I began to feel that it was only a question of time when the moment must arrive, even though I gradually became certain that the first false move on my part would precipitate an attack, the knowledge left me almost indifferent.

That morning, as I left the training-cage--where, among others, Kelly Eyre stood looking on--I suddenly remembered Sylvia Elven and her message to Eyre, which I had never delivered.

We strolled towards the stables together; he was a pleasant, clean-cut, fresh-faced young fellow, a man I had never known very well, but one whom I was inclined to respect and trust.

”My son,” said I, politely, ”do you think you have arrived at an age sufficiently mature to warrant my delivering to you a message from a pretty girl?”

”There's no harm in attempting it, my venerable friend,” he replied, laughing.

”This is the message,” I said: ”_On Sunday the book-stores are closed in Paris._”

”Who gave you that message, Scarlett?” he stammered.

I looked at him curiously, brutally; a red, hot blush had covered his face from neck to hair.

”In case you asked, I was to inform you,” said I, ”that a Bretonne at Point Paradise sent the message.”

”A Bretonne!” he repeated, as though scared.

”A Bretonne!”

”But I don't know any!”

I shrugged my shoulders discreetly.

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