The Lady and the Pirate, Emerson Hough [best time to read books TXT] 📗

Jean Lafitte, but at once he saluted again. “’Tis well, Black Bart,” said he.

“Tell Captain Peterson to let no one come on board this boat under any pretense; nor must any one leave it until I get back. If any one asks for me, say I’m up-town.”

“Isn’t Aunt Lucinda going, too?” demanded Helena.

“She certainly is not!”

“Is it—is it quite correct for me to go alone with you?”

“That is your part of the adventure, Helena,” said I calmly. An instant later I had led her across the dingy warehouse dock, over dusty streets, to a crooked street-car line over which I could hear approaching one of the infrequent cars.

CHAPTER XXV IN WHICH WE MEET THE OTHER MAN, ALSO ANOTHER WOMAN

LUIGI’S place, as all men know, is situated upon a small, crooked and very dirty street, yet none the less, it is an abode of contentment for those who know good living. When Helena and I entered the door I felt as one again at home. Here were the sanded floors, the old water-bottles, the large chandelier with its cut glasses in the middle of the room, the small tables with their coarse clean linen. The same old French waiters stood here and there about, each with impeccable apron and very peccable shoes, as is the wont of all waiters. But the waiters at Luigi’s are more than waiters; they are friends, and they never forget a face. Therefore, as always, I had no occasion for surprise when Jean, my waiter these many years at Luigi’s, stepped forward as though it had been but last week and not three years ago when he had seen me. He called me by name, greeted me again to his city, and gently aided Helena with her wraps and gloves.

“And M’sieu can not long remain away from us, forever?” said he.

“It has been three years, Jean,” said I, “more is the pity. But now, I can remain three hours—will that serve? At the end of that time we must away.”

Jean was human, yet discreet. He knew that when last he saw me I was a single man. Now he had doubts. He stood hovering about, a question on his tongue, smitten of admiration much as had been my dog, Partial, at his first sight of Helena. At last he made excuse to step close behind my chair under pretense of finding my napkin.

“Enfin, M’sieu?” said he, smiling.

“Pas encore, Jean!” I replied.

I saw a slow flush on Helena’s cheek, but she gave no other sign that she had overheard. So I began forthwith making much ado about ordering our supper, which as usual really was much a matter of Jean’s taste.

“We have to-night in the ice-boxes, M’sieu,” said that artist, “some cock oysters which are dreams. Moreover, I have laid aside two canvasbacks, the best I ever saw—it was in the hope that some really good friend of mine would come in. Behold, I am happy—I must have been expecting you. Believe me, we have never had better birds than these. They are excellent.”

“Perhaps the oysters, Jean,” said I, “very small and dark. I presume possibly a very small fillet of trout this evening, and the sauce—you still can make it, Jean? Such entrées as you like, of course. But, since Mademoiselle—” and here I smiled—“and I, also, are very hungry this evening, we wish a woodcock after the canvasback, if you do not mind. Perhaps it is not too much?”

“Mais non!” replied Jean. “You are of those who know well that to eat too much is not to dine well. But I shall bring you two oysters, marinière—a sauce my own wife invented. And yes, some small bird, beccasine, broiled lightly—perhaps you will enjoy it after the canvasback, although I assure you those are excellent indeed. We have few sweets here, as M’sieu knows, but cheese, if you like, and of course coffee; and always we have the red wine which I remember M’sieu liked so much.”

“It is with you, Jean,” said I. And Helena, turning, smiled upon him swiftly, in such fashion that he scarce touched the floor at all as he walked out for his radishes and olives.

“Isn’t it nice?” said Helena. “Isn’t it like the old times? I always loved this old town. It seems so homelike.”

“Please do not use that word, Helena,” said I. “I wish to be entirely happy to-night, in the belief that some time I shall know what home is.”

“Do you think Jean knew me also?” she demanded. “Certainly, I have been here also before.”

“No one who has ever seen you, Helena, ever forgets you. But Jean is, of course, discreet.”

“Suppose he knew that I was here to-night against my free will, and only under parole?”

“Jean is wise; he knows such things ought not to be, even if they are. And he understood me when I said, ‘not yet.’”

“Yes,” said she; “quite right. Pas encore!”

Jean returned, and as a special favor to an old patron asked us politely if we would enjoy a look through the kitchen and the ice-boxes. As usual, we accepted this invitation, and passed back through the green swing doors, following our guide along the row of charcoal fires, through a dingy room decorated with shining coppers and bits of glass and silver. These ice-boxes were such as to offer continual delight to any epicure, what with their rows of fat clean fishes and crabs and oysters, the birds nicely plucked, all the dainties which this rich market of the South could afford, from papabotte to terrapin. Helena herself selected two woodcock and approved the judgment of Jean in canvasback. Presently she turned to me, a flush of embarrassment upon her face.

“Harry,” she said, “I don’t like to say anything, but you know—you’ve been telling me you were so poor. Now, a girl doesn’t want to make it difficult——”

“Mademoiselle,” said I, bowing, “I am quite able to foot the bill to-night. I had just sold some hay before I started from home.”

“Well, I’m awfully hungry,” she admitted; “besides, it’s such a lark.”

“Yes,” said I; and presently, as we reached our table again, I showed her the afternoon papers, which as yet she had not seen. She read through the account of our escapade, her lips compressed; but presently she folded the paper and laid it down without comment.

“At any minute, you see,” said I, “I may be apprehended and our little supper brought to an end. That is why I hastened with the order. I do not wish to hurry you in any way, however, and we shall use the full three hours. Although, of course, you see that the bird of time indeed is on the wing to-night, as well as those other birds on the broilers.”

She only looked at me steadily and made no comment. “Once suspected here,” said I, “all is over for me, and you are free again. It would be entirely easy for you to make some sign or movement which I, perhaps, could not detect. Perhaps, at any moment, some one may enter who knows you—as I’ve said, no one can look at you and forget you, Helena. But please let none of this affect your appetite. Our little supper is our little adventure. I hope you will enjoy both, my dear.”

“You did take some chance, did you not?” she said slowly.

“It might be a chance.”

“But you will be so nervous you can’t enjoy your spread.”

“Not in the least, Helena. A nervous man has no business in the trade of piracy;—but, ah! the fillet of trout, Helena.”

Jean was proud of his art, the chef proud also, and the chef knew we were here. A general air of comfort seemed to settle down upon our little corner of the restaurant, a quiet contentment. For the most part, folk came here who had no hurry and no anxiety, and it was a sort of club for many persons who knew how to eat and to live and to enjoy life quietly, as life should be enjoyed. None dreamed, of course, that aught but equal leisure existed for our little table, where sat a rather lank and shabby man in flannels, and a very especially beautiful young woman in half evening dress. At Luigi’s, every one is polite to every one else, and the curiosity is but that of fraternity. Perhaps, some eyes were cast our way, I could not tell.

Jean, in slow solemnity and pleasant ease, brought on many things not nominated in the bond. At length he arranged his duck-press on his little table near us, and having squeezed the elixir from the two dissected fowls, began to stir the juices into a sauce of his own, made with sherry wine and a touch of filé, many things which Jean knows best. He was just in the act of pouring this most delectable sauce over the two bits of tender fowl upon our hot plates, when, happening to look up, I saw some one entering the door.

“Jean, if you please,” said I, deliberately pulling the coat-rack in front of our table, “Mademoiselle perhaps feels a slight draft. Would you fetch a screen?”

He turned. “Helena,” said I, after a moment, “now our adventure has come.”

“What do you mean?” said she. “Why do you do that?”—she nodded at the screen. “Why, I say?”

“I have your parole?”

“Yes.”

“I am glad it is yes!” said I. “You could break it now and escape so easily. One little move on your part and my punishment is at hand.”

“Who was it?” she asked, suspecting.

“No one much,” said I, “only our esteemed friend, Mr. Calvin Davidson, whose waistcoat I am now wearing. Some one is with him, I don’t know who it is. A very nice-looking lady, next to the most beautiful woman in this room, I must say.”

“Let me see,” said she; and I allowed her to look through the crack in the screen.

“She certainly is very stunning,” said I, “is she not? Tall, dark, a trifle superb—I wonder—I wonder sometimes, Helena, if Cal Davidson is true to Poll?”

“Nonsense!” was her retort. “But as you say, here is our adventure, or at least yours. How do you propose to get out of it?”

“I don’t know yet,” said I. “Just at present I do not wish this canvasback to get cold. We have remaining before us two hours or more, ample time to make any plan which may be needed. Coffee, I have found, is excellent for plans. Let us make no plans until we have had our coffee, after our little dinner. That will be an hour or so yet. Plenty of time to plan, Helena,” said I. “And please do not slight this bird—it is delicious.”

Her eyes still were sparkling. “I’m rather glad I came,” said she.

“So am I, and I shall be glad when we are back. But meantime I trust you, Helena, absolutely. I will even tell you more. Davidson’s boat, the one which we left him instead of the Belle Helène, is lying in the same slip with ours, rubbing noses with our yacht yonder, as I showed you. Our men have talked with his. They do not yet suspect that we are the vessel which everybody wants to find. I am very thankful their engineer was so sleepy. I learned there at the wharf that Cal Davidson was down-town at his club. He seems to have departed long enough to find excellent company, as usual. I am glad that he has done so, for in all likelihood he will not return to his own boat before to-morrow morning. He will prefer his room at the club to his bunk on the Sea Rover, if I know Cal Davidson. And by