PAGE 7
The Crimson Gardenia
by
“Francois!” he called in a low voice. He slipped the girl’s hand from his arm, thrust her back into the shadows, and stepped out upon the landing.
” Oui! In a moment!” The Spider came stumbling toward him. “She is not here.” Van Dam saw a tall man in a domino like his own. ” Sacre! She has disappeared; and that devil’s spawn is with her. You found no trace in the yard below?”
“Sst! Listen,” breathed Roly. He sank his fingers into his palms and measured the distance carefully. Then, as Francois turned his head attentively, Roly braced himself and swung. It may have been due to the uncertain light, or to the narrow eyelet-holes through which he peered; at any rate, Van Dam’s blow went short.
The Spider uttered a cry of fury and surprise. Roly felt himself hugged by a pair of thin, iron-muscled arms; then his hands felt in beneath the man’s disguise, and the cry changed to a gurgle. They strained and rocked against each other briefly; the floor sagged and creaked; the door behind them flew open. Francois was groping with one free hand at his waist; but his domino was like a shirt, and he could not find that for which his hungry fingers searched. As for Van Dam, a delicious ferocity was flaming through his veins. Here was an enemy bent upon his quick destruction. No game he had ever played was half so exhilarating as this. He could feel the fellow writhe and the breath bursting through beneath his fingers; he could feel the man’s cords harden until they were like wire. Strange to say, with every wrench and every surge his own abysmal fury increased. But the Spider was no weakling; he fought desperately until, in a burst of blind anger that was like some diabolic glee, Van Dam lifted him bodily and hurled him at the opening in the floor. The fellow missed his footing, clawed wildly, then fell backward headlong into the light below. The next instant Van Dam, too, had lost his balance and followed, bumping from step to step until he fetched up at the foot with a jar that drove the breath out of him.
He sat up in a moment, still dazed; then he heard a rustle, and beheld above him a pair of frightened, dark eyes gazing into his. Although he could see nothing of the girl’s face–she had replaced her mask–he knew that she was racked with anxiety.
“Are you killed?” she queried.
“No; just abominably twisted,” he said. Then, with a wry face: “Ouch! That was an awful bump.” As he felt himself over gingerly he stopped short at the sight of his mask lying crumpled beside him. He realized that the jig was up and began to formulate an explanation of his deception, only to hear her exclaim, tremulously:
“God be praised! You are unhurt.”
He sat still, staring at her, amazed that no outburst followed her glimpse of his face.
“How did you dare–?” She turned to the figure of Francois, which Roly discovered motionless an arm’s-length away.
The Spider was sprawled loosely in the litter. His head was twisted upon his shoulders in a peculiar way, and his mask, having slipped to the back, stared upward with a placid, waxlike smile that was horrible under the circumstances.
Still lost in wonderment, Van Dam arose, dusted off his clothing, and picked up his own disguise. Was it possible that she did not know the person she had gone to meet? It seemed so, indeed, for she was hanging upon him anxiously, as if still doubting his safety, while she half sobbed her admiration of his bravery and her gratitude at his escape. Roly began to fear he had been imposed upon, after all, else how could she fail to realize that he was an utter stranger? But the girl’s honesty was compelling; he found that he could not doubt the sincerity of her gaze.