CHAPTER III.
THE PROFESSOR IS PUZZLED.
Professor Scotch gave a shriek of terror, and fell over backward.
“Save me!” he roared. “I’m a dead man! Kill the thing!”
“What’s all this about?” asked Frank, in apparent surprise. “What is the matter with you, professor?”
“Snakes! snakes!”
“Snakes? What are you talking about? Where?”
“There! Why, where is it? It has gone!”
The professor sat up and stared in amazement at the cabinet, which was wide open, but no snake was in sight.
“Too bad!” said Frank, turning to Ephraim. “I did have a faint hope that the professor would leave it off, but it is still plain that he sometimes looks on the wine when it is red.”
“What’s that?” roared the little man, who had a big, hoarse voice. “What do you mean? Do you insinuate that I have been drinking?”
“Of course I do not wish to hurt your feelings, but——”
“I tell you I saw a snake!”
“Too bad!” sobbed Frank, getting out his handkerchief, and pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye.
“But I am positive of it.”
“They always are.”
“It must be right here somewhere. Look around for it.”
“I wouldn’t, professor—you may see something worse.”
The professor was aroused. He had permitted the United States Consul to treat him rather generously with strong drink since coming to Tangier, but he was positive that had nothing to do with the appearance of the snake, and he was angry with Frank for insinuating anything of the sort.
“Look out!” he rumbled, grasping his cane and thrusting it into the cabinet. “I’ll poke the reptile out, or—Whoop! Murder! Take it off!”
With a shrilling squeal, a large rat had jumped out of the cabinet and seemed to run along the cane toward the professor’s hand.
The little man dropped the stick in an instant, and once more fell flat upon the floor, where he made a wild scramble to get away, and stopping only when he had reached a distant corner, where he sat up on the floor, his back against the wall, his eyes popping from his head.
“Where is the beast?” he gurgled, hoarsely.
Frank turned to Ephraim, wringing his hands in apparent distress.
“The professor has gone mad!” he moaned.
“Mad!” roared the little man, gathering courage, as he saw nothing of the rat. “Who wouldn’t be mad to have a slimy serpent strike at him, and then be attacked by a red-eyed rat?”
“Too bad! too bad!” sighed Frank. “I fear he will become violent. We must send for a doctor immediately.”
“Doctor!” howled Scotch. “I don’t want a doctor. I tell you I’m all right! But I know when I see a snake and a rat. The snake hissed at me, and the rat tried to get on my hand.”
“It is a very bad case,” came soberly from Frank, while Ephraim turned his head to hide a broad grin.
Scotch got on his feet, and danced around like a maniac.
“Confound it all!” he shouted. “There’s nothing the matter with me! I am all right! I know what I see!”
Frank followed him up, patted him on the back, caressed his hand, and said, soothingly:
“Of course you know—to be sure you do. There was a whole drove of snakes, and more than a hundred rats.”
“No, there wasn’t!” snarled the little man, grinding his teeth. “Don’t tell me that! Think I’m a fool?”
“Too bad!” sighed Frank, giving Ephraim a lugubrious look that nearly convulsed the lad from Vermont. “This is the way with them every time. Now he is sure he didn’t see any snakes and rats. That is proof positive that he is in a dangerous condition. Wouldn’t it be terrible if we found it necessary to have him taken in charge and cared for constantly?”
Professor Scotch gave an exhibition of a wild and somewhat original war dance. When he was out of breath, he paused in front of Frank, shaking his fist in the boy’s face as he gasped:
“I see through your little game. You want to get rid of me! You want to go as you please! You want to do as you choose! That’s why you ran away to South America. But it won’t work, you young rascal! I’ll stick by you now, though you may bring my gray hairs in sorrow to the grave.”
Then he tramped up and down the room like a caged tiger. Coming near the cabinet, he lifted his foot to give it a kick, but, at that instant, a hollow voice that seemed to come from the cabinet itself, said:
“Beware! Touch me not!”
And then a grinning skull popped into view and nodded familiarly at the little man.
The professor gave a howl, and rushed out of the room, leaving the two boys, who were in paroxysms of laughter.
When the boys had ceased to laugh somewhat, Frank approached the cabinet, rolling up a little ball of invisible cord as he did so. Without hesitation, he took hold of the skull and thrust it back into the compartment from which it had popped into view.
“There,” he said, “I rather fancied this cabinet would afford me some amusement when I bought it from that traveling magician. The professor forgot that I sometimes practice ventriloquism, and so he fancied that it was the skull that spoke. If he had continued to monkey around that cabinet I would have shown him some other things of a surprising nature.”
Then he arranged everything in the cabinet, which he closed and returned to his trunk.
Under cover of darkness, guided by the dark-skinned Azza, Frank left the hotel shortly before nine.
Azza avoided the square, and stole along the dark and narrow streets with a swift, cat-like tread.
Frank followed closely, making sure his revolvers were ready for instant use.
Both man and boy were enveloped in the hooded cloak so common in Tangier.
The shoes which Frank wore had cork soles, so his footsteps made very little noise.
At intervals they brushed against persons who were moving in the narrow streets, and Frank seemed to see sharp eyes peering at him from beneath beetling brows.
Tangier was not a pleasant city to roam about in after nightfall.
It seemed to Frank that it was a city well adapted to dark deeds—a place where crime might thrive with little fear of punishment.
As far as possible, Azza avoided the pedestrians who were moving on the streets.
In every nook and angle dark shadows lurked, like crouching assassins, and more than once the boy clutched his revolver, ready to draw and defend himself from attack.
They passed through a maze of winding streets, so that the boy became quite bewildered. He had thought to remember every turn, so he could return to the hotel without a guide, if necessary, but he was soon forced to confess to himself that such a thing would be beyond his ability to accomplish.
All at once, the silence of the night was broken by a distant fusillade of shots, and Azza halted suddenly.
They had reached one of the wider streets, which leads to the gate of Sokko.
Far along the street there was a glare of many torches, swaying, moving, advancing.
Frank wondered what it could mean, and questioned his guide.
“Look, and you shall see,” said Azza, drawing the boy still farther back, so that they might readily step into the shadow of a wall and let the torches pass.
Frank did look, and he saw a surging crowd of human beings, revealed by the flaring torchlight, which flickered over their dusky faces. They were dressed grotesquely in cloaks and robes and winding garments, and all seemed greatly excited. Now and then they fired into the air with muskets and pistols.
Dogs were barking, there were sounds of plaintive music, and the great throng kept up a droning and nasal chant, now and then broken by strident cries.
Near the van of the procession was a coal-black horse, fiery and headstrong, held in check by the powerful Arabs who walked on either side. On the back of the horse was something in the shape of an upright coffin.
Frank gazed at this strange procession with interest and wonder.
“What does it mean?” he asked. “Is it a funeral?”
“No,” replied Azza; “it is the wedding march of a young girl. She is in that casket. These people are her parents and friends, who are accompanying her to the home of her husband.”
“Well, that is certainly very strange and remarkable.”
“To a Christian it may seem strange,” admitted Azza; “but it is the custom here.”
When the procession had passed, they crossed the street and went onward along the dark and winding ways.
At last, with a warning hiss, the Arab halted.
Instinctively, Frank felt for his weapons once more, for, although he could not see his surroundings, he felt that he was in a rather unsavory quarter of the city. The smells which assailed his nostrils seemed to assure him of that.
Azza uttered a soft signal, and then they waited. Twice he repeated the signal. At the third call a muffled figure glided out of the shadows and approached them.
“It is Igela,” whispered the Arab.
Frank’s heart leaped. There no longer seemed a doubt they would meet the mysterious girl who was known as the Pearl of Tangier.
She came toward them in a hesitating, doubtful way, till Azza assured her that all was well. Even then she seemed oppressed by terror and dread. When Frank stepped toward her she shrank away.
“You need have no fear of me,” he said, softly. “I am your friend.”
She did not reply, but she still seemed much alarmed. Frank did his best to reassure her.
“You are in distress,” he said. “Tell me how I may serve you.”
“Not here,” she whispered. “We shall be seen. Come.”
Her hand touched his, and she led him toward the wall, where a small door opened.
“Now I will see the adventure through to the end,” he thought, and he followed her recklessly.
Azza followed, closing the door noiselessly. Frank could feel the fellow close behind him.
The boy seemed to know it was a rash adventure, but, with a reckless abandon that sometimes assailed him, he went on, eager to know what would follow.
The girl led him through a narrow passage and into a room where a lamp dimly burned. From this room they passed across an open court, entering by another small door, and traversing another long passage.
From this they entered a room that was lighted by a swinging lamp of fantastic pattern. On the floor was a thick carpet of Rabat, while the walls were hung with yellow and red tapestries. Mattresses and cushions were piled everywhere, and the colors of the rainbow met the eye on every hand.
Frank looked around with interest. The room seemed to be unoccupied when they entered.
Having made a hasty survey of the apartment, Frank turned toward the girl; but at that moment there was a noise behind him, and he wheeled to see two fierce-looking, bewhiskered, turbaned Moors rush into the room.
They were Ben Ahmet and Ali Mustaf!
“Dog of a Christian!” snarled Ali Mustaf. “You have walked into the trap, and now, by my beard, you shall die!”
Ben Ahmet cried out something in his own language, flourishing a scimiter as if he longed to strike the boy’s head from his body.
Instead of being overcome with terror, Frank was astonishingly cool. He surveyed the two Moors complacently.
“So it was a trap,” he quietly said. “Well, I should have known it, but I did trust this old wretch.”
And then, with remarkable swiftness, he made a spring and let one hard fist shoot out from the shoulder.
Frank’s knuckles caught Azza on the chin, and the scoundrel was lifted off his feet and hurled with a dull thud against the wall, from which he dropped in a limp heap to the floor.
“That was easy,” laughed the reckless youth, as if he really enjoyed the situation. “Now, Ben, it is your turn.”
Ben Ahmet flourished his scimiter, and Ali Mustaf lifted a long-bladed knife, crying:
“Back, dog of a Christian, or, by Allah! this shall pierce your heart!”
“Oh-ho! So that’s the trick. Well, if I stand back, what do you propose to do? Tell me that.”
“You are trapped, knave.”
“Are you sure? I will acknowledge that I allowed yonder base slave to deceive me; but it is a strong trap that can hold me.”
“By the beard of the Prophet, you speak boldly, boy.”
“I speak the truth. What do you intend to do with me?”
“You shall never pass from beneath this roof alive.”
Frank whistled softly.
“That is agreeable information! So you mean to murder me?”
“You would have lured away the Pearl of Tangier.”
“And you would force her to marry you against her wishes, you old reprobate! And you are old enough to be her father—yes, her grandfather! You ought to be tarred and feathered!”
Ali Mustaf looked as if he longed to sink his glittering dagger in the heart of the dauntless youth.
“Your tongue shall be torn out by the roots!” he grated, furiously. “Your body shall be cast to the swine, Christian dog!”
“You continue to make pleasant promises; but you may discover it is not possible to make them all good. I expect to be frisking around on terra firma long years after you are sleeping sweetly under the daisies.”
Having walked into the trap, Frank was determined not to show a tremor, knowing it would be the worse for him if these men saw that he entertained the least fear.
Azza had crawled to his feet, and he was keeping his beady eyes on the boy, a savage expression on his crafty face. Plainly he longed to have revenge for the blow that had driven him like a bag of sawdust against the wall.
The girl had remained speechless since entering the room, much to Frank’s surprise. He had thought she would be much wrought up over the appearance of her uncle and Ali Mustaf, but she betrayed no emotion.
Sudden suspicion assailed the boy. Could it be possible that she had conspired to lead him into this trap?
“Igela,” he cried, “did you know these men were lying in wait for me? It is not possible that you betrayed me.”
“She did,” declared Ali Mustaf, with fierce satisfaction. “She brought you here that we might finish you this time.”
“I will not believe it! It is not possible she could be capable of such treachery! Tell me it is not true, Igela! Speak! Say this old wretch lies!”
“It is true!” said the girl. “I aided them in trapping you.”