Chapter XXXVIII: A Fight for the Good

Neither of the interested parties--if perchance both were interested--could see Red Mike; neither one had heard the sound of his approach, the opening of the door, or his tread upon the soft and yielding rug.

As a matter of fact he barely trod upon it at all, for he had not taken the second step before he discovered the scene that was being enacted before him, and halted.

It has been said that despite his red hair and an unmistakable air of brutality about him, Red Mike was a handsome man, stalwart, powerful, and sensuous in his appearance.

His face, always of a redder hue than most masculine faces, flushed to a deep crimson when he came upon that scene in the parlor of the house boat, and he halted, and waited, and listened.

If Nick Carter could have looked upon him at that moment, he would have discovered in the aspect of the man, and in the scowl that became deeper with every second, that he had doubtless been correct in his prognostication.

Red Mike was jealous; there could have been no denying that fact.

He stood there near the door by which he had entered, his weight upon the foot that he had put forward in the act of stepping so that his attitude was that of a man about to leap upon another.

His upper lip curled beneath his mustache, showing his teeth, like the snarl of a dog when angered. His fingers twitched, then clenched together in the palms of his hands, and then one of them relaxed as it sought the pocket where he carried his automatic revolver.

But he thought better of that impulse, and dropped the hand at his side again.

“Do you like to have me do this?” he heard Madge say to Lynne; and Lynne replied:

“I have no choice.”

Perhaps it was that answer which made Mike leave the gun inside his pocket.

“Would you like to have me tell you about myself?” was her next question.

“I am here to be entertained,” Lynne answered.

“Do you know--have you been told--that I have been twice married?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know also that I was indicted and tried for complicity in the murder of your cousin Edythe?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe that I could have been guilty of such a hideous thing?”

“It would seem to be unbelievable.”

“That is not an answer.”

“Then I will accept the verdict of the jury, and reply: ‘Not guilty.’”

“Even that does not tell me your impression concerning it, Mr. Lynne.”

“I would much prefer to believe you to be entirely innocent than to think that you had so much as a guilty thought in your mind, madam.”

“Thank you. Don’t call me madam.”

“How shall I address you?”

“By my given name if you will; not by name at all, if it is difficult. The difficulty will be overcome after a little.”

He did not reply. She took her hands away from his head and swung herself around beside him and seated herself upon the arm of the chair. It was a morris chair, and she could sit there comfortably. Still she did not discover the presence of Red Mike, for she did not take her eyes from the face of Lynne, although he was not looking at her.

“This is better,” she said; and she sighed.

“Is it?” he asked; and, before she could reply, he added: “Do you know, madam, I believe you are creating no end of trouble for yourself?”

She misunderstood him, and, because she did so, she laughed softly.

“Do you mean that I am falling in love with you, and that it is hopeless because of the other woman?”

“No; I did not mean that. I had no thought of such a thing. The other woman--the one to whom I referred, has been dead for many years. She was my mother.”

“Oh!”

Startled, chastened for the moment, Madge sat quite still. If he had looked up at her then he would have seen that moisture had gathered suddenly in her eyes; that all that quality of flame had departed out of them, and that they were soft, kindly, and genuine. And she remained so, quite silent and still, until he spoke again.

“She passed away, out of my sight, when I was only a little kiddie,” he said softly, “but in some ways she is just as much alive to me now as then; and sometimes it seems as if I can see her just as plainly as I used to.”

Madge was silent a moment. Then, in a voice so low that it was barely audible, she said:

“You believe me to be a bad woman; how, then, can you talk to me of your mother?”

“I do not believe you to be a bad woman,” he replied calmly.

“You do not? You do not? Oh, say that again!” she cried out to him, and her voice did not sound natural even to herself.

“I do not believe you to be a bad woman,” he repeated. “You have done wrong things; so have I; none of us does right always. That would be impossible. In some of us, the bad elements are dominant; in others it is the good that dominates. We are free agents to select between the good and the bad, and therefore whatever we are, whatever we confess ourselves to be, we have become by choice. Do you prefer the good or the bad, Mrs. Babbington?”

“Oh, the good! The good! Help me to be good, Carleton Lynne. You can, if you will. You can make me good, if you will try, and you may throw your millions away, or give them away, I do not care. I would not care. I hate them. They--not yours, but the mere longing for riches--have made me what I am, a despicable woman. I hate myself, now! I see myself now for the first time as others see me; as you see me. Oh!” She dropped her head upon his shoulder and broke into a passion of sobs, so that any one who had known her in the past would have been amazed.

But it was all real. Madge, for once, was very much in earnest. Again Nick Carter’s prophecy had come true.

Lynne took one of her hands between his own and stroked it gently. She recovered herself.

“I am silly to give way so at the first kind word,” she murmured.

“No, you are only natural. You have found yourself. You have found the true, the real woman; you have lost the pretense that has been dominating you. You are very lovely, now; very tender; very lovable. I think you could be very true if you would be so, and could live down all that hideous past that is so hateful. Will you?”

“Yes, if you ask me to do so.”

“Whether I ask you to do it for me or not? If I ask you to do it only for yourself?”

“Yes. I will leave here to-night. We will leave here together. You shall return to your home in the city, and I will go--I will go far away, anywhere, and, and----” She broke down once more, with her head upon his shoulder, weeping softly this time. And he stroked her hand as he had done before, saying nothing. Red Mike still listened, silent, watchful.

It was a long time before she spoke again. Then she asked:

“Tell me what you meant when you said that I was creating trouble for myself.”

“I would rather forget, now, what I had in mind then,” he replied.

“Why?”

“Because it seems a sacrilege even to mention it, now.”

“What was it? What did you mean?”

“I meant Red Mike.” The object of that remark started, and listened the more intently.

“Red Mike?” she exclaimed, amazed. “What of him?”

Instead of replying directly to the question, he asked another. He said:

“What do you suppose Red Mike would do now if he were to enter this room suddenly, and find you with your head upon my shoulder, and discover that I was holding one of your hands and stroking it?”

She shuddered and caught her breath.

“Don’t,” she said; and then again, “don’t. The mere reference to it makes me see myself as I was--and, oh, it seems so long ago. Red Mike is a brute; a creature whom I have made use of to further my selfish ends. I sent him to you when he demanded the two millions, and so nearly murdered you. I took him with me to aid in your capture, making him beieve that I would lead you on to make me your wife, so that I might get your millions, and--oh, there is more!--making him believe that he might--might--if you should die suddenly after that--making him believe that I would not ask questions about it, but that I would--become--his--wife. Oh, God! The horror of it! That I ever consented to such a thought, for I did not mean it, ever. Oh, you will believe me, won’t you? I never once meant such a thing. I hate, I loathe, I despise myself; but I must tell you. You must know all of it; must know that even for a moment I consented to bargain about such a hideous matter, even though I never had the remotest intention to----”

“Hush!” Lynne said to her softly. “You never could do a more courageous thing in your life than to tell me of this. I am no better than you are, Madge. I have harbored such impossible thoughts, too. I know what they are, and what they mean. Come here. Move around so that I can see you; so I can look into your wonderful eyes. I want to kiss them. I want to hear you tell me that you will be a good and true woman, a good and true wife, and that when we leave here to return to the world, you will help me to spend that fortune that has come to me so strangely, for the good of others--for the good of those who suffer. That is what I want to do, Madge; that is what I want you to help me to do, for that is what my mother would have wished.”

She had raised herself from his shoulder and from the arm of the chair upon which she had been seated, and now she moved gently around until she was almost in front of him.

Her whole soul was shining in her eyes when she chanced to raise them, impelled by an impulse she could not have named; and she saw Red Mike standing near that door, with the automatic pistol raised and leveled at her own heart.

Her eyes, which had been looking down tenderly upon Lynne, shone suddenly with horror, and she released Lynne’s hand and backed away from him.

It was an utterance of Red Mike’s that told Lynne what had happened.

“Caught you, didn’t I?” he snarled. Then he laughed brutally. “I heard you, too, my beauty. I heard it all. I have been here since it began. I saw the beginning, and I will see the end. Used me, have you? Lied to me, have you? Played with me, have you? Well, it’s my turn now to play with you--and him; and no Apache Indian ever knew better how to do it than I do.”

Madge crouched partly down. All the tiger in her was aroused now, in defense of the man she had suddenly found that she loved.

Her right hand sought her bosom where, doubtless, she carried a weapon; where Red Mike seemed to understand that she did carry one, for he cried out:

“Drop that, or I’ll kill you where you stand, if you _are_ a woman!”

She paid no heed, and he leaped forward toward her; and then the unexpected happened.

To reach Madge, Red Mike had to pass close to the chair where Lynne was seated; and as he passed, Lynne thrust out one foot in his path. Red Mike tripped upon it. He fell to the floor at Madge’s feet, and the automatic flew from his grasp, almost into hers.

On the instant she seized upon it. She turned it butt end foremost. She raised it and struck with it before he could recover himself, and he made no attempt to rise, for he was stunned and helpless.