The Curved Blades

Pauline was happy. At Carr’s request she had endeavored to put out of her mind the horrors she had been through. Frightened at the suspicions directed toward herself, fearing that she could not successfully combat them, – and, for another reason, – she had fled to Egypt, and her cousin’s protection. This other reason she had almost dismissed from her mind, and she gave herself up to the enjoyment of the novelty and interest of her present situation.

After their sight-seeing each day, they returned for tea on the Terrace at Shepheard’s or went to Ghezireh Palace for it, or to the house of some friend. Dinner was always a pleasant affair, and they had frequent guests and were often invited out.

As Pauline was wearing mourning, no large social affairs were attended, and under Mrs. MacDonald’s guidance the girl pursued her happy way.

Nearly a week after Pauline’s arrival, Loria told her that the next day he must leave her, and go up the Nile to attend to his work there. They were in the sitting room of Pauline’s pleasant suite at the hotel, and Mrs. MacDonald promised to cherish most carefully her charge in Loria’s absence.

“How long shall you be away, Carr?” asked Pauline.

“It’s uncertain, Polly. Perhaps only a few days this time, perhaps a week. I’ll be back and forth, you know, and you’re bound to find enough to interest you. Keep me advised of any news from America. You can always reach me by mail or wire, or telephone if need be. And, here’s another matter, Pauline. You know, this work I’m up against is more or less dangerous.”

“Dangerous, how?”

“Well, there’s blasting and danger of cave-ins and such matters, – but don’t feel alarmed, I’ll probably come through all right. Only, I want to make my will, so if anything should happen, you’ll be my heir without any fuss about it.”

“Oh, don’t talk about such things, Carr. You frighten me.”

“Nonsense, don’t take it like that. Now, see here. You know my way. Touch and go is my motto. So, I’ve asked a lawyer chap to come here to-night and fix up things. Suppose you make your will, too. Then it will seem more like a business matter, and not as if either of us expects to die soon. Who’s your heir to be, Polly?”

“Why, I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it.”

“But you ought to. You see, now you’re some heiress, and it isn’t right not to have a will made, – on general principles. To be sure, you may marry, – ”

“Oh, I don’t think I ever will, Carr!”

“Nonsense, Pollypops, of course you will. But you must take your time and select a good chappie. Now, how does this strike you? Jeffries, my lawyer, is coming here, right away. Suppose we each make a will, leaving all our worldly goods to each other. Then, later, when you decide on your life mate, you can change and rearrange as you like.”

“But I haven’t any fortune yet. Aunt Lucy’s estate isn’t all settled, is it?”

“No matter about that. It will be, in course of time. I have every confidence in Haviland, he’s as honest a chap as ever breathed. He’ll fix up all our interests over there, in apple-pie order and don’t you forget it! Humor me in this thing, Polly, and believe I know more of business affairs than you do, and it’s best to do as I say.”

Pauline was easily persuaded, and as the arrangement was conceded to be merely temporary, she agreed. Jeffries came. The two wills were drawn, signed and witnessed, all in correct form. Loria, in his, bequeathed to Pauline all he might die possessed of, and except for a few charities and minor bequests, Pauline left her fortune to Carr. The business was soon over, and Loria took both documents, saying he would put them in his Safe Deposit box for the present, as Pauline had no place for valuable papers.

The next day, Loria, accompanied by the invaluable Ahri, went away to the site of his projected enterprise. This affair was conducted with such strict secrecy that even the location was not known to many. Actual work had not yet been begun, but negotiations and preparations of vast importance were being made, and secret conclaves were held by those most interested. Pauline had been emphatically adjured to give not the least hint to any one whatever of the project, and she had promised faithfully to obey Carr’s injunctions.

The next afternoon, a telegram from Fleming Stone announced his arrival at Alexandria and his immediate appearance in Cairo.

Addressed to her, in Loria’s care, Pauline received it duly, for her mail was brought to her at Shepheard’s, and Carr’s forwarded to him wherever he might be. She had had a cable from Haviland, but no American letters had yet reached her. Stone, having sailed just a week after Pauline’s departure from New York, was arriving eight days after her own advent at Cairo.

The girl’s first emotion was of joy. The thought of seeing Stone again, eclipsed all other thoughts.

“Oh, Mrs. Mac!” she cried, clasping that somewhat rotund matron round the waist and leading her an enforced dance. “Mr. Stone is coming! Will be here for tea! Oh, I am so glad!”

But her second thoughts were more disturbing. Why was he coming? What were his suspicions? Could he be tracking her down? Though Fleming Stone had never said a word of love to her, Pauline knew, by her own heart’s ‘detective instinct,’ that he cared. But, his sense of duty might make it necessary to follow where the trail of suspicion led, even at cost of his own affections. Then, too, could he suspect? – But Pauline’s irrepressible joy at thought of seeing him left her little time or wish to indulge in gloomy forebodings.

Singing, she ran off to dress for Stone’s reception.

“Which is prettier?” she asked of Mrs. Mac, holding up an embroidered white crêpe, of Cairo construction, and a black net gown, brought from New York.

“Wear the white, Miss Stuart. It’s most becoming to you.”

It was, and when arrayed in the lovely, soft, clinging affair, with a cluster of tiny white rose-buds at her belt, Pauline’s unusually pink cheeks and her scarlet flower of a mouth gave all the color necessary.

Her beautiful hair, piled in a crown atop her little head, was held by a carved ivory comb, and beneath their half-drooped lashes her great eyes shone like stars.

For the Terrace, she donned a large white hat, with black ostrich plumes, and flinging a white cape edged with black fur over her arm, she descended to meet her guest.

Though little given to emotional demonstration, Fleming Stone caught his breath with a quick gasp at sight of her, and advanced with outstretched hands and a smile of a sort no one had ever before seen on that always calm face.

“How do you do?” she said, smiling; for, though thrilled herself, she remembered the unfailing curiosity of the Terrace crowds.

But Stone, having taken her two hands in his, stood looking at her as if he intended to pursue that occupation for the rest of his natural life.

“Sit down,” she said, laughing a little nervously under his gaze; “this is our table. Will you have tea?”

“Tea, of course,” and at last Fleming Stone took himself in hand and behaved like a reasonable citizen. “And how are you? And your cousin, where is he?”

“Mr. Loria is out of Cairo just now,” and Pauline turned to give the waiter his order. “But we are three, as I am under most strict surveillance – ” she paused, realizing what that phrase meant to a detective! “Of a perfect dragon of a chaperon,” she continued bravely, trying to control her quivering lip. “Here she comes now.”

The appearance and introduction of Mrs. MacDonald gave Pauline time to regain her poise, and a glance of pathetic appeal to Stone made him take up the burden of conversation for a few moments. And then, with the arrival of the tea, the chat became gayer, and, of course, impersonal.

The Englishman, Pitts, appeared, indeed, he inevitably appeared when Pauline was on the Terrace, and joined the group without invitation.

It was not Fleming Stone’s first visit to Egypt, and he noted with interest the changes, and looked with gladness on things unchanged, as the kaleidoscopic scene whirled about him.

Later, they all went up to Pauline’s sitting room, and viewed the street pageant from second-story windows.

And then, Mrs. MacDonald, after a short and losing battle between her conventions and her kind-heartedness, insisted that Mr. Pitts must take her across the street to buy some imperatively necessary writing-paper.

Outwardly courteous but inwardly of a rampageous unwillingness, Mr. Pitts acquiesced in her scheme, and Fleming Stone politely closed the door behind them.

He turned, to see Pauline looking at him, with a gaze, frightened, but, – yes, surely, – welcoming, and not waiting to analyze the intent of the gaze more deeply, Stone took a chance, and in another instant, held her in his arms so closely that the intent of her glance was of little importance to anybody.

“Pauline!” he breathed, “how I love you! My darling, – mine! No, no, don’t speak – ” and he laid his finger tips on her parted lips, “Just look at me, and so – tell me – ”

The wonderful eyes raised themselves to his, and Stone’s phenomenal insight was not necessary for him to read the message they held.

“You do love me!” he whispered: “oh, my little girl!” and after a long, silent embrace, he cried jubilantly: “Now tell me! Now tell me in words, in words, Pauline, that you do!”

Unhesitatingly, without shyness, Pauline, radiant-faced, whispered, “I love you, dear,” and the vibrant tones filled the simple words to the brim of assurance.

Though it seemed to them but a moment, it was some time later that Mrs. MacDonald’s tap sounded on the door.

“Come,” cried Pauline, springing away from Stone’s side, while he sauntered to the window. “Oh, Mrs. MacDonald, you must know it at once! Mr. Stone is my fiancé!”

Mrs. Mac was duly surprised and delighted, and, after congratulations, sent Stone away to dress for dinner, and endeavored to calm down her emotional charge.

Later that evening, Stone and Pauline sat in the hall watching the people. Almost as much alone as on a desert island, they conversed in low tones, and Stone, between expressions of adoration, told her of his theory of the beauty charm.