Part 33 (1/2)
Recognizing the writing, Norvin tore open the envelope eagerly, ready to be entertained by some fresh example of the girl's infinite variety. He read with startled eyes:
”I send this by a trusted messenger, hoping that it will reach you in time. I am a prisoner. I am in danger. I fear my beauty is destroyed.
If you love me, come.
”Your wretched
”MYRA NELL.”
The address was that of a house on Esplanade Street.
”How did you get this?” he demanded, harshly, of the pickaninny.
”A lady drap it from a window.”
”Where? Where was she?”
”In a gre't big house on Esplanade Street. She seemed mighty put out about something. Then a man run me away with a club.”
A moment later Blake was on the street and had hailed a carriage. The driver, reading urgency in the set face of his fare, whipped the horses into a gallop and the vehicle tore across town, leaping and rocking violently. The thought that Myra Nell was in danger filled Blake with a physical sickness. Her beauty gone! Could it be that the Mafia had taken this means of attacking him, knowing of his affection for the girl? Of a sudden she became very dear, and he was smothered with fury that any one should cause her suffering.
His heart was pounding madly as the carriage slowed into Esplanade Street, threatening to upset, and he saw ahead of him the house he sought. With a sharp twinge of apprehension he sighted another man approaching the place at a run, and leaping from his conveyance, he raced on with frantic speed.
XV
THE END OF THE QUEST
Evidently the alarm had spread, for there were others ahead of Blake.
Several men were grouped beneath an open window. They were strangely excited; some were panting as if from violent exertion; a young French Creole, Lecompte Rilleau, was sprawled at full length upon the gra.s.sy banquette, either badly injured or entirely out of breath. He raised a listless hand to the newcomer, as if waving him to the attack. Norvin recognized them all as admirers of Myra Nell--cotton brokers, merchants, a bank cas.h.i.+er--a great relief surged over him.
”Thank G.o.d! You're here--in time,” he gasped. ”What's happened to-- her?”
Raymond Cline started to speak, but just then Blake heard the girl herself calling to him, and saw her leaning from a window, her piquant beauty framed with blus.h.i.+ng roses which hung about the sill.
”Myra Nell! You're safe!” he cried, shakingly. ”What have they done to you?”
She smiled piteously and shook her dark head.
”You were good to come. I am a prisoner.”
”A prisoner!” Norvin stared at the young men about him. ”Come on,” he said, ”let's get her out!”
But Murray Logan quieted him. ”It's no use, old man.”
”What d'you mean?”
”You can't go in.”
”Can't--go--in?” As Blake stared uncomprehendingly at the speaker he heard rapid footsteps approaching and saw Achille Marigny coming on the wings of the wind. It was he who appeared in the distance as Norvin rounded the corner, and it was plain now that he was well-nigh spent.