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CHAPTER XXIX.
Tangier, the wildest, quaintest, most savage spot on the face of the globe, was to me the most enchanting.
Our impressions take their colour from the passing mood; we like or loathe a place according to the temper in which we view it.
I was so utterly and foolishly happy in this most Eastern city located in the West that I have loved it deeply ever since.
After the trying and eventful episodes of the past week I had passed into a tranquil haven filled with perfect peace.
The whole tenor of my life had changed, the feverish excitement was gone, no deep anxiety vexed or troubled me, all my cares were transferred to stronger shoulders than mine.
I could calmly await the issue, content to enjoy the moment and forget the past like a bad dream.
It was sufficient to bask in the sunshine, revelling in the free air, rejoicing in the sweetness of my nascent love.
We were much together, Basil and I; we walked together, exploring the recesses of the native town, and the ancient citadel, with its memories of British dominion;
we lingered in the Soko or native market, crowded with wild creatures from the far interior; we rode together, for his first care was to secure horses, and scoured the country as far as the Marshan and Cape Spartel.
I sometimes reproached myself with being so happy, while my darling Henriette still sorrowfully repined at her past, with little hope of better days.
But even she brightened as the days ran on and brought no fresh disquiet, while her boy, sweet little Ralph, developed in health and strength.
A week passed thus, a week of unbroken quiet, flawless as the unchanging blue of a summer sky; not a cloud in sight, not a suspicion of coming disturbance and unrest.
It could not go on like this for ever.
To imagine it was to fall asleep in a fool's paradise, lulled into false serenity by the absence of portents so often shrouded and unseen until they break upon us.
One day a cablegram reached me from Philpotts.
She had arrived at Marseilles on her return voyage from Tripoli, and was anxious that I should know without delay that we had not shaken off Lord Blackadder.
They had recrossed the Mediterranean together in the same ship, the _Oasis_.
"So far all well," she said, "but am watched closely, will certainly follow me--send instructions--better not join you at present."
This message fell on us two poor women like a bolt from the blue.
Basil looked serious for a moment, but then laughed scornfully.
"His lordship can do us no harm.
There is not the slightest fear.
He may bluster and bully as much as he pleases, or rather, as far as he is permitted to go.
We will place ourselves under the protection of the Moorish bashaw.
I always intended that."
"Not seriously?"
"Indeed, yes; I have already consulted our Minister.
Sir Arthur is an old friend of mine, and he has advised me, privately, of course, and unofficially, to be on our guard.
He can do nothing for us, but he will not act against us.
If Lord Blackadder should turn up here, and sooner or later he will, most assuredly he will not assist him.
He promises that.
At the same time he can give you no protection.
We must take care of ourselves."
"You believe that Lord Blackadder will find his way to Tangier?"
"Most certainly.
He has Philpotts under his hand, but he would not trust only to her.
Diligent inquiry at Marseilles would be sure to reveal our departure for Gibraltar.
He will follow with his men, they are well-trained detectives, and it will be mere child's play for them to track us to Tangier.
You may look for them here any day.
We must be ready for them at all points."
"There is no saying what Ralph Blackadder may not attempt."
"Indeed, yes, he is equal to anything, guile of course, treachery, cunning, stratagem, absolute violence if the opportunity offers.
It is of the utmost importance not to play into his hands, not to give him the smallest chance.
The child must be watched continually in the house, awake and asleep, wherever he goes and whatever he does."
"Then I think Henriette must be warned not to wander about the town and on the sands in the way she's been doing with Victorine and the child, all of them on donkey back.
I don't think it's at all safe."
But when I cautioned her she was not particularly pleased.
Was she to have no fresh air, no change of scene?
I grudged her the smallest pleasure, while I was racing up and down flirting and philandering with Basil Annesley all day and every day; she was to sit indoors, bored to extinction and suffering torments in the unbearable heat.
Basil and I agreed that it was cruel to restrict her movements even with such a good excuse, and had she been willing to accept the irksome conditions, which she certainly was not.
We arranged a surveillance, therefore, unknown to her.
The Colonel, his man, or myself invariably accompanied her or followed her within eyeshot; and we hired two or three stalwart Moors, who were always to be near enough to render help if required.
Then came confirmations of our worst fears.
L'Echelle, who had been unaccountably absent one morning, returned about midday with news from the port.
Lord Blackadder and his two henchmen had just landed from the _José Pielago_, the steamer that runs regularly between Cadiz and Algeçiras, Gibraltar, and Tangier.
He had seen them in the custom-house, fighting their way through the crowd of ragged Jew porters, the Moorish egg merchants, and dealers in luscious fruit.
They had mounted donkeys, the only means of conveyance in a town with no wheeled vehicles; and l'Echelle made us laugh at the sorry picture presented by the indignant peer, with his legs dangling down on each side of the red leather saddle.
Their baggage was also piled on donkeys, and the whole procession, familiar enough in the narrow streets of Tangier, climbed the hill to the Soko, and made for the Shereef Hotel, reputed one of the best in Tangier, and lying outside the walls in the immediate neighbourhood of the British Legation.
L'Echelle, who seems an honest, loyal fellow, thought he would serve us best by marking them down, and, if possible, renewing his acquaintance with the detectives, one or both of whom he knew.
After hanging about the outside of the hotel, he entered the garden boldly and went up to the shady trellised verandah where they were seated together, smoking and refreshing themselves after their journey.
L'Echelle was well received.
Falfani, my friend of the Calais train, believed he had suborned him at Aix, and now hailed his appearance with much satisfaction.
L'Echelle might again be most useful; at least, he could lead them to us, and he wisely decided to let Falfani know where we were to be found in Tangier.
The fact would surely be discovered without him.
It was better, he thought, to appear frank, and, by instilling confidence, learn all there was to know of their plans and movements.
My lord had gone to the Legation, Falfani told him at once, bombastically boasting that everything would yield before him.
He had but to express his wishes, and there would be an end of the hunt.
But my lord came back in a furious rage, and, regardless of l'Echelle's--a comparative stranger's--presence, burst forth into passionate complaint against the Minister.
He would teach Sir Arthur to show proper respect to a peer of the realm; he would cable at once to the Foreign Office and insist on this second-rate diplomatist's recall.
The upshot of it all was that his lordship's demand for help had been refused pointblank, and no doubt, after what the Colonel had heard, in rather abrupt, outspoken terms.
All this and more l'Echelle brought back to us at the Atlas Hotel.
He told us at length of the outrageous language Lord Blackadder had used, of his horrible threats, how he would leave no stone unturned to recover his son and heir; how he would bribe the bashaw, buy the Moorish officials, a notoriously venal crew; how he would dog our footsteps everywhere, set traps for us, fall upon us unawares; and in the last extreme he would attack the hotel and forcibly carry off his property.
As the fitting end of his violent declamation, Ralph Blackadder had left the hotel hurriedly, calling upon his creatures to follow him, bent, as it seemed, to perpetrate some mad act.
I confess I shuddered at the thought of this reckless, unprincipled man loose about Tangier, vowing vengeance, and resolved to go to any lengths to secure it.
My dear Basil strove hard to console me with brave words inspired by his sturdy, self-reliant spirit.
But even he quailed at the sudden shock that fell upon us at the very same moment.
Where was Henriette?
After the first excitement, we desired to pass on the news brought by l'Echelle to her, and renew our entreaties for extreme caution in her comings and goings; and with much misgiving we learnt that she was not in the hotel.
She had gone out with Victorine and Ralph as usual, but unattended by any of us.
One Moor, Achmet El Mansur, was with her, we were told, but we did not trust him entirely.
It had been l'Echelle's turn to accompany her, but he had been diverted from his duty by the pressing necessity of following Lord Blackadder.
Basil and I had ridden out quite early on a long expedition, from which we only returned when l'Echelle did.
We dismissed our fears, hoping they were groundless, and looking to be quite reassured presently when she came back at the luncheon hour.
But one o'clock came, and two, and two-thirty, but not a sign of Henriette, nor a word in explanation of her absence.
Could she have fallen a victim to the machinations of Lord Blackadder?
Was the boy captured and she detained while he was spirited away?
CHAPTER XXX.
It was impossible to disassociate Lord Blackadder from Lady Henriette's mysterious disappearance, and yet we could hardly believe that he could have so quickly accomplished his purpose.
We doubted the more when the man turned up in person at the Atlas Hotel and had the effrontery to ask for her.
Basil went out to him in the outer hall, and, as I listened from within, I immediately heard high words.
It was like a spark applied to tinder; a fierce quarrel blazed up instantly between them.
"How dare you show yourself here?"
began Basil Annesley.
"Who are you to prevent me?
I come to demand the restoration of that which belongs to me.
Take my message to those two ladies and say I will have my boy," replied my lord.
"Do not try to impose on me, Lord Blackadder.
It is the most impudent pretence; you know perfectly well he is not here."
"I will not bandy words with you.
Go in, you men, both of you, Tiler and Falfani, and seize the child.
Force your way in, push that blackguard aside!"
he roared in a perfect paroxysm of passion.
I could not possibly hold aloof, but called for help from the hotel people, and, with them at my back, rushed out to add my protest against this intemperate conduct.
A free fight had already begun.
The three assailants, Ralph Blackadder behind egging them on, had thrown themselves upon Basil, who stood sturdily at bay with his back to the wall, daring them to come on, and prepared to strike out at the first man who touched him.
"At him!
Give it him!
Throw him out!"
cried Ralph passionately.
But even as he spoke his voice weakened, he halted abruptly; his hands went up into the air, his body swayed to and fro, his strength left him completely, and he fell to the ground in sudden and complete collapse.
When they picked him up, there was froth mixed with blood upon his lips, he breathed once or twice heavily, stertorously, and then with one long-drawn gasp died in the arms of his two men.
It was an apoplectic seizure, the doctors told us later, brought on by excessive nervous irritation of the brain.
Here was a sudden and unexpected _dénouement_, a terribly dramatic end to our troubles if we could but clear up the horrible uncertainty remaining.
What had become of my sister and little Ralph?
While the servants of the hotel attended to the stricken man, Basil Annesley plied the detectives with eager questions.
He urged them to tell all they knew; it should be made worth their while; they no longer owed allegiance to their late employer.
He entreated them to withhold nothing.
Where and how had Lord Blackadder met Henriette?
What had he done with her?
Where was she now?
We could get nothing out of these men; they refused to answer our questions from sheer mulish obstinacy, as we thought at first, but we saw at length that they did not understand us.
What were we driving at?
They assured us they had seen no lady, nor had the unfortunate peer accosted any one, or interfered with any one on his way between the two hotels.
He had come straight from the Villa Shereef to the Hotel Atlas, racing down at a run, pausing nowhere, addressing no one on the road.
If not Lord Blackadder, what then?
What could have happened to Henriette?
Tangier was a wild place enough, but who would interfere with an English woman in broad daylight accompanied by her servant, by an escort, her attendant Moorish guide?
Full of anxiety, Basil called for a horse, and was about to ride off to institute a hue and cry, when my sister appeared in person upon the scene.
"Getting anxious about me?"
she asked, with careless, almost childish gaiety.
"I am awfully late, but I have had such an extraordinary adventure.
Why, how serious you look!
Not on my account, surely?"
I took her aside, and in a few words told her of the terrible catastrophe that had just occurred, and for a time she was silent and seemed quite overcome.
"It's too shocking, of course, to happen in this awful way.
But really, I cannot be very sorry except for one thing--that now he will never know."
"Know what, Henriette?
Have you taken leave of your senses?"
"Know that I have discovered the whole plot of which I was the victim.
My dear, I have found Susan Bruel, and she has made a full confession.
They were bribed to go away, and they have been here hiding in Tangier."
"Go on, go on.
Tell me, please, all about it."
"You must know we went out, the three of us, on our donkeys, and the fancy seized me to explore some of the dark, narrow streets where the houses all but join overhead.
I got quite frightened at last.
I was nearly suffocated for want of air.
I could not even see the sky, and at last desired Achmet to get me out into the open, anywhere.
After one or two sharp turns, we emerged upon a sort of plateau or terrace high above the sea, and in full view of it.
"There was a small hotel in front of it, and above the door was the name of the proprietor, would you believe it, Domenico Bruel!
"It was the name of Susan's husband, and no doubt Susan was there.
I
could not quite make up my mind how I should act.
I thought of sending Achmet back for you or the Colonel, but I could not bear parting with him.
Then, while I was still hesitating, Susan herself came out and rushed across to where I was, with her hands outstretched and fairly beside herself, laughing and crying by turns.
"'Oh, my lady!
It _is_ you, then?
What shall I say to you?
How can I tell you?'
she began, quite hysterically.
'We behaved most disgracefully, most wickedly, but indeed it was Domenico's doing.
He insisted they offered us such a large sum, enough to make us rich for life, and so we consented to come away here.
I have never had one happy moment since.
Can you forgive me?'
"All this she poured forth, and much more of the same sort.
I could see she was truly sorry, and that it had not been entirely her fault.
Besides, I began to hope already that, how we had found her, we might get the case reopened, and that wicked order reversed.
It will be put right now, now that Ralph can no longer oppose it."
I bowed my head silently, thankful and deeply impressed with the strange turn taken by events and the sudden light let in upon the darkness that had surrounded us.
The rest of the adventures that began in the sleeping-car between Calais and Basle, and came abruptly to an end on the North African shore, may soon be told.
Our first act was to return to England at the very earliest opportunity, and we embarked that evening on a Forwood steamer direct for London, which port we reached in less than five days.
Town was empty, and we did not linger there.
Nothing could be done in the Courts, as it was the legal vacation, but Henriette's solicitors arranged to send out a commission to take the Bruels' evidence at Tangier, and to bring the matter before The President at the earliest opportunity.
As for ourselves, I persuaded Henriette to take a cottage at Marlow on the Upper Thames, where Colonel Annesley was a constant guest, and Charlie Forrester.
We four passed many idle halcyon days on the quiet river, far from the noise of trains, and content to leave Bradshaw in the bottom of the travelling-bag, where it had been thrown at the end of our feverish wanderings.
Once again we had recourse to it, however, when we started on our honeymoon, Basil and I. Once more we found ourselves at Calais with Philpotts, but no encumbrances, bound on a second, a far happier, and much less eventful journey by the Engadine express.
THE END.
L. C.
Page & Company's Announcement List of New Fiction Haunters of the Silences, BY CHARLES G. D.
ROBERTS, author of "Red Fox," "The Watchers of the Trails," etc. Cloth, one volume, with many drawings by Charles Livingston Bull, four of which are in full color . 00 The stories in Mr. Roberts's new collection are the strongest and best he has ever written.
He has largely taken for his subjects those animals rarely met with in books, whose lives are spent "In the Silences," where they are the supreme rulers.
Mr. Roberts has written of them sympathetically, as always, but with fine regard for the scientific truth.
"As a writer about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an enviable place.
He is the most literary, as well as the most imaginative and vivid of all the nature writers."
--_Brooklyn Eagle.
_ "His animal stories are marvels of sympathetic science and literary exactness."
--_New York World.
_ The Lady of the Blue Motor.
By G. SIDNEY PATERNOSTER,
author of "The Cruise of the Motor-Boat Conqueror," "The Motor Pirate," etc. Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by John C. Frohn . 50 The Lady of the Blue Motor is an audacious heroine who drove her mysterious car at breakneck speed.
Her plea for assistance in an adventure promising more than a spice of danger could not of course be disregarded by any gallant fellow motorist.
Mr. Paternoster's hero rose promptly to the occasion.
Across France they tore and across the English Channel.
There, the escapade past, he lost her.
Mr. Paternoster, however, is generous, and allows the reader to follow their separate adventures until the Lady of the Blue Motor is found again and properly vindicated of all save womanly courage and affection.
A unique romance, one continuous exciting series of adventure.
Clementina's Highwayman.
ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS, author of "The Flight of Georgiana," "An Enemy to the King," etc. Cloth decorative, illustrated . 50 Mr. Stephens has put into his new book, "Clementina's Highwayman," the finest qualities of plot, construction, and literary finish.
The story is laid in the mid-Georgian period.
It is a dashing, sparkling, vivacious comedy, with a heroine as lovely and changeable as an April day, and a hero all ardor and daring.
The exquisite quality of Mr. Stephens's literary style clothes the story in a rich but delicate word-fabric; and never before have his setting and atmosphere been so perfect.
The Sorceress of Rome.
By NATHAN GALLIZIER, author of "Castel del Monte," etc. Cloth decorative, illustrated . 50 The love-story of Otto III.
, the boy emperor, and Stephania, wife of the Senator Crescentius of Rome, has already been made the basis of various German poems and plays.
Mr. Gallizier has used it for the main theme of "The Sorceress of Rome," the second book of his trilogy of romances on the mediæval life of Italy.
In detail and finish the book is a brilliant piece of work, describing clearly an exciting and strenuous period.
It possesses the same qualities as "Castel del Monte," of which the _Chicago Record Herald_ said: "There is color, there is sumptuous word-painting in these pages; the action is terrific at times; vividness and life are in every part; brilliant descriptions entertain the reader; mystic scenes and prophecies give a singular fascination to the tale, which is strong and forceful in its portrayal."
Hester of the Hills.
By GROVER CLAY.
Cloth decorative, illustrated . 50 "Hester of the Hills" has a motif unusual in life, and new in fiction.
Its hero, who has only acquired his own strength and resourcefulness by a lifelong struggle against constitutional frailty, has come to make the question of bodily soundness his dominant thought.
He resolves to ensure strong constitutions to his children by marrying a physically perfect woman.
After long search, he finds this ideal in Hester, the daughter of a "cracker squatter," of the Ozark Mountains of Missouri.
But,--he forgot to take into consideration that very vital emotion, love, which played havoc with his well-laid plans.
It is an ingenious combination of practical realism and imaginative fiction worked out to a thoroughly delightful and satisfying climax.
Prisoners of Fortune.
A TALE OF THE MASSACHUSETTS BAY
COLONY.
BY RUEL PERLEY SMITH, author of "The Rival Campers," etc. Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill . 50 The period of Mr. Smith's story is the beginning of the eighteenth century, when the shores of the American colonies were harassed and the seas patrolled by pirates and buccaneers.
These robbed and spoiled, and often seized and put to death, the sailors and fishers and other humbler folk, while their leaders claimed friendship alike with Southern planters and New England merchants,--with whom it is said they frequently divided their spoils.
The times were stern and the colonists were hardy, but they loved as truly and tenderly as in more peaceful days.
Thus, while the hero's adventures with pirates and his search for their hidden treasure is a record of desperate encounters and daring deeds, his love-story and his winning of sweet Mary Vane is in delightful contrast.
The Rome Express.
BY MAJOR ARTHUR GRIFFITHS, author of "The Passenger from Calais," etc. Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by A. O.
Scott . 25 A mysterious murder on a flying express train, a wily Italian, a charming woman caught in the meshes of circumstantial evidence, a chivalrous Englishman, and a police force with a keen nose for the wrong clue, are the ingredients from which Major Griffiths has concocted a clever, up-to-date detective story.
The book is bright and spirited, with rapid action, and consistent development which brings the story to a logical and dramatic ending.
The Morning Glory Club.
BY GEORGE A.
KYLE.
Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by A. O.
Scott . 25 The doings of the Morning Glory Club will furnish genuine amusement to the reader.
Originally formed to "elevate" the village, it quickly develops into an exchange for town gossip.
It has a saving grace, however, in the person of motherly Mrs. Stout, the uncultured but sweet-natured and pure-minded village philosopher, who pours the oil of her saneness and charity on the troubled waters of discussion and condemnation.
It is a series of clear and interesting pictures of the humor of village life.
The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt, Detective.
NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION.
BY ARTHUR MORRISON, author of "The Green Diamond," "The Red Triangle," etc. Cloth decorative, with six full-page drawings by W. Kirkpatrick . 50 The success of Mr. Morrison's recent books, "The Green Diamond" and "The Red Triangle," has led to an imperative demand for the reissue of "The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt," which has been out of print for a number of years.
It will be remembered that Martin Hewitt is the detective in "The Red Triangle," of whom the _New York Tribune_ said: "Better than Sherlock Holmes."
His adventures in the London slums were of such a nature that the _Philadelphia North American_ said: "The reader who has a grain of fancy or imagination may be defied to lay this book down once he has begun it until the last word is reached."
Mystery Island.
By EDWARD H. HURST.
Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece . 50 A hunting camp on a swampy island in the Florida Everglades furnishes the background for this present-day tale.
By the murder of one of their number, the secret of egress from the island is lost, and the campers find themselves marooned.
Cut off from civilization, conventional veneer soon wears away.
Love, hate, and revenge spring up, and after the sterner passions have had their sway the man and the woman are left alone to fulfil their own destiny.
While there is much that is unusual in the plot and its development, Mr. Hurst has handled his subject with fine delicacy, and the tale of their love on the beautiful little island is told with deep sympathy and feeling.
The Flying Cloud.
By MORLEY ROBERTS, author of "The Promotion of the Admiral," "Rachel Marr," "The Idlers," etc. Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece . 50 Mr. Roberts's new book is much more than a ripping good sea story such as might be expected from the author of "The Promotion of the Admiral."
In "The Flying Cloud" the waters and the winds are gods personified.
Their every mood and phase are described in words of telling force.
There is no world but the waste of waters.
Mr. Roberts glories and exults in the mystery, the passion, the strength of the elements, as did the Viking chroniclers of old.
He understands them and loves them and interprets them as no other writer has heretofore done.
The book is too big for conventional phrases.
It needs Mr. Roberts's own richness of imagery and masterly expression to describe adequately the word-pictures in this epic of wind and waves.
Selections from L. C.
Page and Company's List of Fiction WORKS OF
ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS
_Each one vol. , library 12mo, cloth decorative . 50_ The Flight of Georgiana A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF THE YOUNG PRETENDER.
Illustrated by H.
C.
Edwards.
"A love-story in the highest degree, a dashing story, and a remarkably well finished piece of work."
--_Chicago Record-Herald.
_ The Bright Face of Danger Being an account of some adventures of Henri de Launay, son of the Sieur de la Tournoire.
Illustrated by H. C.
Edwards.
"Mr. Stephens has fairly outdone himself.
We thank him heartily.
The story is nothing if not spirited and entertaining, rational and convincing."
--_Boston Transcript.
_ The Mystery of Murray Davenport (40th thousand.
) "This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done.
Those familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of this praise, which is generous."
--_Buffalo News.
_ Captain Ravenshaw OR, THE MAID OF CHEAPSIDE.
(52d thousand.
) A romance of Elizabethan London.
Illustrations by Howard Pyle and other artists.
Not since the absorbing adventures of D'Artagnan have we had anything so good in the blended vein of romance and comedy.
The Continental Dragoon A ROMANCE OF PHILIPSE MANOR HOUSE IN 1778.
(53d thousand.
) Illustrated by H. C.
Edwards.
A stirring romance of the Revolution, with its scene laid on neutral territory.
Philip Winwood (70th thousand.
) A Sketch of the Domestic History of an American Captain in the War of Independence, embracing events that occurred between and during the years 1763 and 1785 in New York and London.
Illustrated by E.
W.
D.
Hamilton.
An Enemy to the King (70th thousand.
) From the "Recently Discovered Memoirs of the Sieur de la Tournoire."
Illustrated by H. De M. Young.
An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describing the adventures of a young French nobleman at the court of Henry III.
, and on the field with Henry IV.
The Road to Paris A STORY OF ADVENTURE.
(35th thousand.
) Illustrated by H. C.
Edwards.
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