CHAPTER XII.
MARION IS MADE A PRISONER.
As the low door was thrown rudely and violently open the brave girl instantly recognized the intruder. It was Jack Green, the property man from the theatre, inadequately disguised with a wig and a false mustache.
Behind him came another man whom Marion did not know. As soon as they had entered they closed the door behind them.
“Well, Mr. Green, you have laid your plans well,” said Marion, as she fingered the revolver in her pocket. “You have lured me here on an errand of mercy. Now, what, may I ask, is the next act on the programme?”
“So she told you, did she?” sneered the man, with a glance at Miss Lindsay. “The little cry baby turned traitor, did she, and yet only last night she swore that she loved me.”
“Oh, I do! I do, Jack!” sobbed the poor, weak girl, hysterically, “but I could not do it, Jack; it was too awfully wicked! I had to tell her even though you killed me.”
“Well, I’ll deal with you later,” said the fellow, brutally. “A man’s wife is his property and he can do what he likes with her.”
“Is it possible that she is your wife?” cried Marion, in horror: “you wretch! you monster! To have a wife and abuse her!”
“Shut up your pretty mouth, if you please,” said Jack Green, sullenly: “and if you’ll come with us quietly, why well and good; if you won’t, why then, we’ll——”
You’ll what? asked Marion, calmly, as she clenched the pistol tighter.
There was a sudden movement of the burly fellow, then a quick, cat-like spring from his companion.
Marion felt a heavy hand upon her left arm and shoulder.
In a second she wheeled around, her revolver in her hand.
“Stand back!” she said, sternly. “Don’t lay a hand on me, cowards! I’ll shoot you like dogs if you dare touch me or this woman!”
Both men fell back for the space of a second, then together they sprang at her and seized her arms.
Marion snapped the trigger of the pistol in the leader’s face. There was no report; the weapon was broken.
In less than a minute the beautiful, struggling girl was bound and gagged. The last that she remembered was hearing Miss Lindsay cry for mercy.
When she opened her eyes again she was in a closed carriage. There was a handkerchief across her mouth and her wrists were tied together loosely.
Opposite her in the carriage sat Jack Green’s companion. His dark, burning eyes gleamed at her from under a slouch hat and never left her face for a moment.
The air in the carriage was almost stifling, and without thinking of the consequences Marion half rose from her seat and with her manacled hands made a feeble effort to lower the window.
“The window is locked and so are the doors,” said a muffled voice. “You are a prisoner, Miss Marlowe, so you may as well submit gracefully.”
Marion glanced at the speaker as she sank back upon her seat. The voice was almost familiar. She tried to think where she had heard it.
After that not a word was spoken until the carriage stopped. They had been riding for a long time and Marion was almost exhausted.
Some one opened the carriage door from the outside and let in a shaft of light from the side lamps.
The young girl caught one glimpse of a hideous face, and then drew back with a gasp of horror.
It was the Chinaman with the fearfully scarred face who stood by the step. In the glare of the lamp she had recognized him instantly.
“Get out!”
The words were spoken in the same muffled voice by the occupant of the carriage, and as Marion rose to her feet her companion deftly blindfolded her.
She could smell a sickening odor as the hideous Chinaman took her in his arms. It made her ill and faint almost in a second.
The poor girl realized that she was being carried into some sort of a house and almost instinctively she guessed that it was a laundry. Passing through a room that smelled strongly of suds, she could feel that she was being carried down some steps and through a long, narrow passage-way. At last a key clicked in a lock and a door was opened and then closed behind her. She had evidently arrived at the end of her journey.
In an instant the bands were entirely removed, and as she opened her eyes and looked about she almost cried aloud in astonishment.
It was as if she had been suddenly transported to another sphere—there was absolutely nothing familiar in a single detail of her surroundings.
She was in a large, low room, hung with Oriental tapestries and covered with thick, rich rugs. There were multi-colored lanterns hanging from various points of the ceiling, and low couches, small tables and magnificently inlaid stools were scattered profusely about the apartment.
The hideous Chinaman had disappeared completely, but her companion in the carriage was still seated at her side; he seemed to be watching her amazement with a great deal of satisfaction.
As Marion gazed about she soon became sensible of a delicate, all-pervading odor—it greeted her nostrils at every turn and was slowly exerting its influences upon her senses as a powerful soporific.
“Where am I? What is this place?” she demanded of her companion. “How dare you bring me here! Have you no regard for the laws of your country?”
There was a soft, low chuckle from the man at her side. Marion held her breath for a second as she heard it. “Let me out of this place at once!” she said, furiously, “I demand that you set me at liberty, sir! What have I done to you that you should treat me so shamefully?”
“Shall I tell you?” hissed a low voice that she now recognized fully. “Shall I tell you what you have done, Signorita Ila de Parloa?”
“What, you, Carlotta?” cried Marion, aghast. “You, a woman, have stooped to this hideous crime? Yes, tell me at once, if you can, what I have done to deserve it!”
She was facing her companion with absolute fearlessness now, and, as the woman threw off her slouch hat together with a wig and false beard, the two stood glaring fiercely at each other in the strange apartment.
“I’ll tell you what you did, you little country innocent!” cried Carlotta, furiously. “You robbed me of my laurels as prima donna of our company, then you robbed me of the man whose very shadow I adored, and yes, you goaded me on to such jealous rage that I killed my lover! I killed Clayton Graham because you came between us, Marion Marlowe!”
“Oh, no, never!” cried Marion, who was aghast with horror. “You killed him in a fit of ungovernable temper. It was not because of me—I am innocent, Carlotta.”
“I do not choose to think so,” said the woman, scornfully. “I vowed to have revenge and I have won it—to my sorrow!”
The groan of agony that followed these words almost melted Marion’s heart to pity. The woman was vile, she was all that was loathsome and bad, yet God alone knew the depths of her suffering.
In another instant she was shaking with sobs; yet her great dark eyes only burned with the agony of hate: there was no tears of relief for the wretched Carlotta.
“Why have you brought me here?” demanded Marion again, as soon as she could control herself sufficiently to ask the question.
The answer sent a thrill of horror through every fiber of her body, it was so utterly diabolical, so cold, cruel and fiendish.
Carlotta raised her head and fixed her burning eyes upon Marion’s face.
“This is an opium den, the best and the worst in the city,” she said, hoarsely. “Men and women come here to live and die. It is better, they think, than dying in prison. I have come here to smoke the drug and dream. I want to sleep and dream—to dream and sleep. Perhaps I shall find rest for the agony of my soul; perhaps I shall only find torture to the very end; but in either case I want you here to keep me company.”
CHAPTER XIII.
THE DIABOLICAL BARGAIN.
As Carlotta ceased speaking she tapped a curiously shaped bell. In an instant a Chinese servant entered noiselessly.
“I want to smoke, John,” said the woman, with a wave of her hand. Marion’s eyes followed the motion and saw she had pointed toward an “opium layout” on one of the small tables.
The grave girl watched what followed with wide-staring eyes. She had not fully realized yet that she was really a prisoner.
Carlotta, as one who was perfectly familiar with the place, stepped behind a heavy curtain. When she emerged again she had completely discarded her disguise and was dressed in a long, loose Oriental garment.
Without a word to Marion she passed slowly across the room. There was another heavy portiere before her—she disappeared behind it.
In a moment the Chinaman followed, carrying the little table. His movements were so noiseless and cat-like that they were almost uncanny.
Marion walked deliberately toward the curtain and looked behind it, then darted back with an exclamation of horror.
What she saw was another room adjoining the one she was in, but this apartment was fitted with curious berth-like beds, and in three of these she saw women sleeping.
A glance was enough to show her the full horror of the place, for upon one face was stamped the most hideous expression that could be conceived—as if the dreamer was being tormented by unspeakable visions.
Two Chinamen in their native garments, but with queues curled tightly around their heads, were sitting by the sleepers, preparing the opium, and as they rolled the little “pills” in their long yellow fingers, Marion clasped her hands before her eyes—it was too horrible to witness.
“Oh, I am lost, I am lost!” she whispered to herself. “If ever I am forced to touch that stuff I shall die of horror! Oh, this is awful! awful!”
She sprang back into the large room which she now concluded was a sort of parlor, and just at that instant she became aware that some one was watching her.
She turned to find the beady eyes of an Oriental fixed steadily upon her. He was better dressed than the others, and his fingers were covered with jewels.
“Oh, sir!” cried Marion, desperately, “for the love of Heaven, save me! Help me to escape from this place and I will reward you handsomely!”
Much to her delight the fellow understood her, but he shook his head and crept softly nearer, as he answered:
“Chi-Lung-Hing no savee, he keepee, treat allee light. Chinamen muchee love Amelican bleauty,” he murmured, glibly.
Marion shuddered as she caught the full meaning of his words. His eyes were fixed upon her with an expression of gloating that filled her soul with horror.
“But I will not stay! He shall not keep me!” she cried, in desperation. “I will set the house on fire and perish in the flames before you shall keep me prisoner.”
She spoke so firmly and her eyes gleamed with such fury that the Celestial actually looked frightened. He edged a little nearer.
“What, no love Chinaman money, Missee? No workee—no slavee—Chi-Lung-Hing mally Amelican bleauty—Dlive her plenty pletty dresses—makee her happy!”
“Never!” cried Marion, who was now thoroughly alarmed. She bounded away from him and began examining the premises.
There was nothing but the four walls and they seemed almost impervious to sound. She began to think that the magnificent room was located in a cellar.
The Celestial watched her with glittering, stealthy eyes as she peered behind each curtain and then in a fit of desperation shook the one door of the apartment.
“I am a prisoner!” she cried, at last. “Oh, Dollie, little sister, will I ever come back to you?”
She sank down on a divan to think a little, then once more she rushed over to the curtain to look for Carlotta.
As she peered behind the heavy drapery she saw that something unusual was evidently happening. The three Chinamen inside were whispering excitedly to each other. Carlotta was lying in one of the bunks, her face strangely blue and distorted, and as Marion stared at her from the entrance, she felt the bejeweled Chinaman slip past her. Something was wrong with Carlotta, she did not know what—she moved forward a step and her foot struck something lying on the carpet.
Marion bent down and picked it up—it was an ordinary key. In an instant she had flown back across the room to the door and had opened it softly.
The next moment she found herself in a heavily draped hall-way. It was so thickly strewn with rugs and mats that no sound from the outer world could possibly penetrate to it.
The young girl darted ahead, peering behind the heavy curtains in hopes of finding an exit, but after a few terrible moments, during each of which she expected that her Chinese jailer would notice her flight and follow her, she suddenly heard muffled voices behind one of the draperies and tried to calm herself enough to listen.
“You promised the woman five hundred dollars,” said Jack Green’s voice on the other side of the thick curtain, “and you promised me three hundred if I would help her. Now the girl is here—we have kept our part of the bargain. If she escapes you now, it is not our fault, is it?”
“She will not escape,” answered a soft, Oriental voice, in the clearest English. “Your American girls like my Chinese harem. She will stay from preference after she becomes acquainted.”
“Or after you have made her your wife, you mean,” said Jack Green, with a laugh. “Well, I’m telling you right now—this girl is a beauty.”
“I must see her before I pay,” said the voice again. “Wait here; I will go in; if I like her, you shall have your money.”
“I agree to that,” was Jack Green’s quick answer, “but don’t expect a tame bird, Chi-Lung, for Marion Marlowe is a wild one!”
“I will find a way to tame her,” said the oily voice. There was silence after that, and Marion clenched her hands in fury.
“Listen!”
Jack Green spoke suddenly and in evident alarm.
There was a commotion of some kind above her head. Marion listened intently as she crouched in the semi-darkness.
“Some trouble in the laundry,” said the musical voice. “A great scheme, that laundry in the front of this building.”
“Nevertheless that noise sounds serious,” said Green, again.
There was the sound of chairs moving as if they had both risen.
Marion listened again. The noise above her head was growing louder. Not only were there sounds of trampling feet, but a great confusion of voices, all talking together.
Suddenly Marion heard a crash and a fearful shriek, then a score of slip-shod feet seemed scampering to shelter.
For an instant the young girl stood almost petrified with fear; then she turned and fled through the narrow hall-way, hardly knowing or caring in which direction.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE END OF THE TRAGEDY.
A sharp turn in the hallway caused Marion to shriek with terror. Two hideous Chinamen had sprung at her, and as they caught her in their arms, one of the beady-eyed wretches forced a saturated cloth over her nostrils.
Marion felt her breath coming in quick, short gasps. She struggled feebly, but her brain seemed reeling.
In a flash she was carried along the hall, down a flight of steep steps, and then, after the click of a key in a lock, she was taken into a room that was as dark as a dungeon. A confused jargon of voices came faintly to her ears and she could feel that the place was fairly swarming with the yellow devils.
The entire roomful of beings seemed to fall back as she was carried along, and at last she was placed on a sort of divan in the very darkest and most heavily-draped corner of what seemed to her to be a subterranean apartment. The cloth on her nostrils was pungent with narcotics, but she managed by a great effort of the will to somewhat resist its influence.
Suddenly the light of a swinging lamp flashed from somewhere above her head, and one glance about her made Marion’s heart grow sick with horror.
A score or more of those gaunt-cheeked fellows were surrounding her, and as the first ray of the lamp fell upon her face, they all pressed forward and peered at her sharply.
In the onslaught which his companions made on him the fellow who was holding the cloth to Marion’s face dropped it from his fingers, and with the first clear breath Marion dashed to her feet and confronted them.
“Stand back! Don’t you dare to touch me!” she cried, springing up on the divan, which stood directly under the hanging lamp.
In a second a dozen pairs of long, skinny hands were reached out for her, and as Marion felt them clutching her arms and body, she gave a shriek that awoke the echoes.
The next instant she reached up quickly and, with one blow of her white hand, shivered the glass of the lamp; then, with the flame blowing wildly in the draughts of the room, she broke it from its fastenings and began swinging it like a censer.
“Stand back!” she shouted again. “Don’t you dare to come nearer! I will burn your house down about your heads if you lay a finger upon me!”
As she spoke she waved the lamp closer to the draperies, and the Chinamen fell back and began chattering excitedly.
For just a second she held them at bay, while the glare from the lamp illumined her glorious features. Then, from directly over her head, there came a sharp, shrill whistle. As the Chinamen heard it they seemed to lose their wits entirely, and in an instant their beautiful prisoner was forgotten.
With shrieks and yells of rage they scrambled over each other, and then slunk like rats into the darkest corners.
Once more the young girl’s voice rang out like a bugle blast, and then, to her unbounded delight, it was answered from somewhere.
Cry after cry issued rapidly from her lips. They were coming to save her. She could hear footsteps and voices.
As the door was burst in a gust of wind extinguished her lamp, and Marion sank down upon the divan in utter helplessness.
“Miss Marlowe! Is it possible! Thank Heaven, I am in time!”
It was Howard Everett who spoke, and with a cry of joy Marion answered him.
A score of burly policemen seemed to fill the place, and Everett drew her closely to his side as they darted about after the Celestials.
“They are raiding the place,” he whispered in her ear. “How fortunate that the attempt was so opportune! For once in my life my good angel must have guided me! Come, let us get out of this,” he added, leading Marion to the door and half lifting her up the steps to the narrow hallway.
“But Carlotta! Have they found her?” asked Marion, in a whisper.
“The woman is dead! I did not mean she should escape me,” was her companion’s answer. “It seems she had heart disease, and the opium killed her. Well, at last my friend Graham’s death has been avenged, but your presence here, Miss Marlowe! I cannot understand it!”
Marion held out her hand to him as she was being hurried along.
“You followed her here because you think she was his murderer?” she whispered, softly.
“I had no doubt of it,” was Everett’s reply. “Detectives have been watching the woman ever since. They tracked her here, and then I asked the captain to raid the place.”
They were passing through the pseudo laundry now, but there was not a Chinaman in sight. The room was absolutely deserted.
“And you heard my voice?” asked the young girl, as Mr. Everett supported her tenderly.
“Yes, but did not recognize it, of course,” said Mr. Everett quickly. “I thought it was the voice of one of their white slaves. But do hurry, Miss Marlowe, and tell me how you came here.”
With a tremendous stamping of feet the policemen came into the laundry.
“Nine chinks, one white man and four women, one dead,” said the captain, in reply to a question from Everett.
The critic whispered a few words in his ear relating to Marion, and, with a sharp glance at her face, the captain nodded.
“We’ve taken them all out through a side door to this establishment that we found, and three of my men have taken them away in the patrol wagon. Come, boys, let’s get out of this dope hole as soon as possible! Whew! The aroma is something awful! I’ll be asleep in another minute!”
“I thought I should faint when I first encountered it,” said Marion to Everett. “Oh, how thankful I am to you, Mr. Everett!”
There was a carriage at the curb, and the critic helped her into it.
“What a narrow escape I have had!” cried the girl, as Everett got in beside her. “An hour longer in that place and I should have been dead—like Carlotta!”
Then she hastened to tell her friend the whole story of her adventure.
The papers were full of it the next day, and, thanks to Howard Everett, every detail was given accurately.
Beautiful Marion’s escape from the lair of the Celestials formed the talk of the town for days. She was perhaps the first white girl to leave that place untainted.
Both she and Mr. Everett appeared before the authorities the next day, and it was not long before Chi-Lung-Hing, his subjects, and Jack Green were all safely in prison.
The three white girls were restored to their homes and parents, and the numerous expensive opium “layouts” were confiscated and destroyed by the police.
The wicked Carlotta left money enough to afford her a decent burial, but there was not a mourner at her dreary funeral.
The Temple Opera Company was obliged to disband; but now that Miss Lindsay was freed from her brutal husband, she was able to take a position in another organization and live very comfortably on her modest salary.
At Miss Allyn’s urgent request, Marion went to live with her until she could secure another position, and besides Dr. Brookes and Mr. Ray, Howard Everett, the critic, was soon a frequent caller at the little flat.
But Marion was as loyal to her associates as ever, and she was so pure, so true and so noble in character that no thought of jealousy ever annoyed for a long time any of her friends who loved her.
THE END.
The next number will contain “Marion Marlowe’s Peril; or, A Mystery Unveiled.”