CHAPTER XXV
CARDS ON THE TABLE
A rickety table had been drawn against the wall of the teakwood room. On two boxes, facing each other across this table, sat John Donovan and Monsey. A guard stood at the door. Near the stove Edith had seated herself, with Abbas at her side.
"And so you want to know what I am doing with this woman in the castle?" Monsey stroked his mustache complacently and surveyed his visitor. Donovan had hardly looked at Edith. He sat erect, hands clasped over crossed knees. He had been released from the bandage and his tranquil gaze searched the opposite wall, without in the least attempting to watch his enemy.
"Well, I will tell you." Monsey rested solid shoulders against the teakwood, his nervous hand straying about the revolver holster. "It's none of your damn business."
Lower lip thrust out, eyes narrowed, he surveyed Donovan. Monsey, also, had guessed that his enemy came to the Kurgan hoping that he would not be recognized.
"Suppose," ventured Donovan, "I should make it so?"
"Oh, fine words. Tell me who you are and what you want."
He smiled, hoping to hear Donovan lie. It rather grieved the Russian that the other had shown no surprise at seeing him. Monsey had fancied his visitor would be startled, afraid.
"You do well to be civil, Mr. Donovan Khan, sometimes called the Falcon. I'll have you know I'm master here. It's very convenient you walked in just now. Miss Rand has been telling me about you—how you deserted the army to be a renegade chief of the Yakka Arik scum. I've heard you have a father who is a knight and an uncle who is a minister of God. They'll be proud of you"
"I didn't," cried Edith, heedless of Abbas' warning mutter, "say anything of the kind."
"My father is dead." Donovan's words were very cold. His brown, boyish face was quiet except for the eyes that now held Monsey's wavering stare—the Russian had had a sleepless night and his nerves were none of the best.
The self-possession of good breeding was Donovan's; his was the high code of one who has been a law to others for many years; his also was the calmness that comes through long contact with this other world of the Orient.
"Answering the rest of your question, Monsey," he went on, "I have come to ask Miss Rand to marry me."
Sheer surprise made the Russian gape. Edith's glance flew to Donovan's honest eyes, then fell. She had grown quite pale.
"So," Monsey grinned, "you still want her, after she's been in the hands of the natives? Or maybe you have to marry her?"
Donovan took not the slightest notice of the other's insulting remark.
"Will you do me the honor, Edith"—and his voice quivered—"to be my—wife?"
Not Abbas nor all the powers of the Tower could prevent the girl from answering. "Yes." And she was no longer pale.
"You don't happen to know, Donovan," sneered Monsey, "that Rand, her father, has lost his money—is bankrupt?"
Edith was surprised and could not keep from searching Donovan's face. Money was such a slight thing at this moment, and so Donovan plainly considered it. "Really?" His brows went up. "I was not aware—as you seem to be—that Miss Rand possessed wealth.
"You, Monsey, and this man, Abbas Abad," he went on, "are marked down by the Sayaks. You know the belief of the Moslems that each criminal has in Heaven a stone marked with his name that will one day fall upon him no matter where he is. The Sayaks have condemned you to death; there will be fighting before long. You cannot leave the tower. I wish to take Edith Rand away from danger."
Monsey broke into a long laugh. "Oh, you are a fool. Well, Edith Rand won't go away. She will stay, with me. Is that clear?"
A slight shrug answered him. "I wanted to give you the chance, Monsey, to play the gentleman, you know."
The Russian flushed, biting his mustache. He watched his visitor draw an object carefully from his pocket. It was a heavy jade necklace of many folds, set with some inferior turquoise. Donovan laid it on the table, rolled into a ball.
"You remember this?" His words were crisp. "Well, perhaps Abbas does. It belonged to the wife of Iskander ibn Tahir. He bought it back, in the Kashgar bazaar. And he has kept it. You know the fate in store for a man who violates the home of an Arab of high birth?" While he spoke, he put his hand on the necklace. Monsey's eyes widened a little, and he licked his full lips. Then he shook his head.
"Not good enough. You can't bluff me."
"I am not bluffing. Whatever happens to Miss Rand, your life is forfeit. It is beyond my saving."
So calmly he spoke, he seemed to be explaining the inevitable. Edith felt this and Monsey was silent a space. As if finished with the business of the necklace, Donovan tossed it, still rolled tightly, into Edith's lap.
"Presents from such a man as Iskander have a meaning," he said.
Donovan had not looked at her. Monsey took the words to himself, but the girl glanced up with awakened curiosity. Abbas would have picked up the necklace, but the Englishman turned to him sharply.
"Mahmoud is coming for you, Abbas," he said in Turki. "Are you ready?"
The simple speech caused the Alaman to draw a long breath and to step back instinctively. Edith wondered whether it was surprise at being addressed in his own tongue. But she remembered the fear that had flashed into the face of the Sart upon the mountain side. The name of the physician seemed to carry a potent spell.
Edith drew the necklace under her lace shawl. Here her quick fingers explored its folds tentatively and she felt a piece of paper crumpled within the jade ornaments. Eagerly she separated the wad of paper from the necklace and thrust it into the bosom of her dress. When the ornament of the wife of Iskander fell again to her lap it revealed nothing but the stones, strung on a gold chain. Abbas later claimed it, with an eye to spoil.
Donovan turned to Monsey earnestly.
"I do not need to conceal my cards, Monsey. Believe it or not, the Sayaks hold you fast. Your men have heard of them, and they are afraid. You know the fear that centers about Yakka Arik."
Sure of himself again, Monsey laughed. He rose, motioning the other to come to the door. There he pointed through the outer entrance that gave on the courtyard.
"Oh, I know the legends. Maybe if I had only a handful of men"—he shrugged—"but look out there!"
He watched, pleased, as Donovan stiffened at sight of the numbers in the Kurgan and their weapons.
"You see. Likewise, the old moat on the side away from the cliff is dug out into a mantrap. Also, I have had great pine flares made ready to light in case of a night attack. Vous voyez que je suis en garde. Naturally, I don't intend to let you leave with this valuable information."
"In spite of your assurance, given me outside the castle?"
"Oh, that. Well, I wanted to let your men who were watching from the wood think you and I were on friendly terms." Monsey's lips writhed and his hand darted to his weapon as Donovan made a quick move toward him. "Stay where you are, my fine gentleman. Now, have you any more cards to show?"
Donovan stared quizzically at the vista of the Kurgan. His lips closed firmly under the light mustache. Edith, watching him prayerfully, felt her heart sink. He was her champion, and fighting against great odds.
"I think—not."
"Ah. That is too bad. You have given me a good trump." He grinned, once more enjoying himself. "You are worth more to me alive than dead. And so is Miss Rand. Do you think your assassin friends will attack the tower with the two of you helpless in my hands?"
The lines in Donovan's lean face deepened. "I don't think—I know it."
"Even if they are led to believe I will kill the woman when they attack?"
"It would not change their purpose." Donovan flung out an eloquent hand. "Don't you see, man! Those Sayaks will come, in spite of everything. The Kurgan will be a shambles. That is why I came here On the chance that you, who were once a Russian nobleman, would have enough vestige of honor to spare her that. It doesn't matter, you know, what you do with me if you will release her."
Monsey relished his distress. He stepped back, still fingering his heavy revolver.
"Oh, I don't intend to play the saint—now." He hesitated, as if wishing to say more. Then his eyes gleamed and he smiled. "Besides, I can't afford to."
Edith glanced at him inquiringly. She had been aroused by the scene at the table, where Monsey's character was laid bare brutally. Even now, she could not believe that Donovan was powerless against the men of the Kurgan.
"Mr. Rand and Major Fraser-Carnie are approaching these hills," said Monsey agreeably. "They have an escort of a half-troop of one of the native English cavalry. It seems the gentlemen, after comparing notes, did not trust me."
He paused, enjoying the effect of his words. "Unfortunately," continued the Russian, "they will arrive too late."
Edith clenched her hands. Her father was near Yakka Arik! She had felt that he would come if he was able. It was not in the nature of Arthur Rand to leave his daughter's fate in other hands. She knew now that Monsey had not been sent by Rand.
"English troopers in foreign territory." Monsey shook his head. "A grave offense, if any serious fighting results. The—ah—irregulars here might resent it."
"It's a habit," observed Donovan mildly, "of the English border forces to wander to the scene of a—crime, for example."
"Once you paid high for that—habit. And you will pay more."
"Oh, it's in the game. We always blunder in, you know." Donovan smiled a little. "So the major and his Garhwalis are in the hills! As a matter of curiosity, do you intend to face him with your—irregulars?"
Monsey tugged at his mustache, and glanced at Abbas.
"No need, my fine gentleman. As you are a former officer and a scion of a noble house"—he tried to mimic the Englishman's irony—"you will appreciate the strength of my position. I don't think the Rand-Fraser-Carnie forces will arrive before a day or two. Meanwhile, the lawless Sayaks will assault a Russian traveler and a peaceful merchant in their camp—to the great loss of the Sayaks. Then, of course, there will be some justifiable reprisals by my men."
"Entirely to be expected."
"You take the point. Merely one of the mountain feuds, if the worthy drill-book major tries to ask questions. The mosque may suffer, likewise the lawless residents of Yakka Arik. But I will not be here nor will Miss Rand."
"And my father?" Edith voiced her anxiety.
"If he is curious, he will be told by some of these natives"—Monsey nodded at the door—"that a certain renegade Britisher named Donovan Khan alias the Falcon has disappeared with her. Of course Captain Donovan will not be here to cause further trouble. The ravine, to the river, is very deep."
"Five hundred feet, I think," nodded Donovan.
"Exactly. I see you are not altogether a fool. Presently you will be able to judge for yourself."
"I regret that I could not climb the cliff."
"Oh, yes. I believe you. I took pains to investigate that. No, I think you are better apart—so!" Edith had crept to Donovan's side and taken his hand in hers. She was very near to tears. Brusquely, Monsey thrust her aside, while Abbas grinned. "That is well. Now, Donovan Khan, I will ask you to let your hands be bound behind your back and submit to an armed guard, in a corner of this outer room."
"Let me stay with him," Edith pleaded. She felt very weak, very helpless. She wondered why Donovan was so quiet.
"The air in the tower will benefit you. In case you should want to converse, my lady, I will provide you with another of my men. He will have orders."