Part 31 (1/2)
In a really mellowing friends.h.i.+p,
CELESTINO REY.
TWENTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER
THE ART OF MISS MALLORY
Bedient was not a student of disease. Perhaps he would have granted that destructive principles are pregnant with human interest in the abstract, but his intelligence certainly was not challenged by these dark systems of activity. He saw that even if his mind were not held in anguish, he lacked the equipment to cope with _Pleiad_ affairs. As it was, his attention positively would not concentrate upon the rapid undercurrents, where the real energy of the habitues seemed to operate.
It was all like a game of evil children, or rather of queer unfinished beings, a whirring everywhere of the topsy-turvy and the perverse--sick and insane to his weary brain.
It was clear that the Chinese had not carried the message to Framtree, but had consulted the Spaniard instead. Had Bedient told Rey that he had come to _The Pleiad_ to find Jenkins, or Jones, or Judd, he would doubtless have been permitted to see Framtree at once.
None of the matters made the impression upon his mind as that one glimpse of Jim Framtree at the far-end of the hall. It was not that he was in the building, though this was of course important; but the magnificent figure of the man in evening wear was the formidable impression _The Pleiad_ furnished. This concerned his real life; the rest was without vitality.
By this time, however, Bedient was willing to grant that _The Pleiad_, and even Coral City, formed a nervous system of which Celestino Rey was the brain.... He had given up hope of writing a note to Jim Framtree, realizing it would have no more chance of getting past the Spaniard than a clicking infernal-box.
Framtree was nowhere abroad when Bedient went below. The former moved apparently in a forbidden penetralia of this house of mystery. But surely he could not continue miraculously to disappear.... Bedient strolled down into the city. He sadly faced the fact that the _hacienda_ had no call for him; little more than _The Pleiad._ He turned in _Calle Real_ to look back at the great dome of the Spaniard's establishment. It was a gorgeous attraction of morning light.... A Chinese slipped into a fruit-shop--one of the house-servants. Bedient made his way to the water-front. The _Hatteras_ was out there in the harbor, surrounded by lighters, preparing for the return voyage to New York. This was the lure. It came with a pang that disordered all other mental matters for a s.p.a.ce.
Presently he found himself wandering along the water-front. With an exoteric eye (for the deeps of the man were in communion) he regarded the faces of all nations. Coral City held as complete a record of crime, cruelty, and debauchery as one could find in the human indices of any port. Many were closing their annals of error in decrepitude and beggary; others were well-knit studies of evil, with health still hanging on, more or less, and much deviltry to do. A blue blouse, or a bit of khaki; British puttees and a flare of crimson; Russian boots and a glimpse of sodden gray; or an American campaign-hat crowning a motley of many services,--explained that the soldiers of the world found Equatoria desirable in not a few cases for finis.h.i.+ng enlistments. It was quite as evident, too, that the criminal riff-raff of this world and hour found lodging in the lower city, as did its aristocracy in _The Pleiad_.
”A couple of hundred such as these,” Bedient reflected, ”led by some cool devil of a humorist, could loot the Antilles and get away before the intervention of the States. What an army of incorrigibles--an industrious adventurer could recruit here!”
Then the truth came to his mind. These belonged to Senor Rey's army.
Only the Spaniard could command this part of the city to desperate endeavor. His _pesos_ and influence, like alcohol, penetrated and dominated the ma.s.s.... Signs vehemently proclaimed that American beer was important among the imports of Equatoria; and in a certain street he encountered pitiful smiles and furtive gestures from the upper balconies.
”Strange,” he thought, ”wherever lawless men gather, their mates fly after them from court and slum. It is not men alone who love to venture--and venture to love!”
Bedient was ascending _Calle Real_ once more, when his cheek was flicked by a tiny wad of paper which fell at his feet. A _carometa_ was toiling up the slope from the water-front. He observed Miss Mallory's profile in the seat. She had not deigned to look, but with the dexterity of a school-boy the pellet had been snapped from her direction. He pocketed the message and laughed at her innocent and unconcerned expression. A little later he managed to read at a glance:
Meet the old military man you saw me with last evening. Perhaps he'll introduce us.
How quick she had been to sense the profundities of the Spaniard's establishment! Bedient was glad that she held nothing against him, and a bit surprised again that he had forgotten all about her reversal of form at his approach the night before.... He had little difficulty in making the acquaintance of Colonel Rizzio during the day, and was formally presented to Miss Mallory at dinner that evening.
”I have heard it's quite the mode here to have names as well as costumes for the climate,” she said. ”My wardrobe is limited, and I am Miss Mallory--as in New York.”
It was an hour before they were alone together.
”My friend,” she said, ”you are looking ill--more than ever ill....
Isn't there anything I can do? Isn't there something you might tell _me_?”
Bedient felt her real kindness. ”You are good,” he answered. ”I'm all right, hardly know what it means not to be fit.... And now tell me how you find things.”
They stood in the centre of the coffee-room, so no one could listen without being observed. Yet their voices were inaudible five feet away.
”It was clear to me at once,” she said, ”that I had better not meet you as a friend. They probably knew we both came down on the _Hatteras_, but that's no reason for our being acquainted.”
”And now we must be casual acquaintances--if your work would prosper,”
Bedient said.