"Dorothy, I am sure!" she thought.

"Well, what do you call the handsome mon?"

"Eesa note-a bees-a da hard. Eesa cheap at-a da twenty thous."

"Twenty thous--what!"

"Bigg-a da round flat dollairs!"

"Twenty thousand dollars!" angrily exclaimed Virginia, for the moment forgetting herself, and then again her voice fell almost to a whisper.

"You dare ask that from me! Knowing that I have but to call and the police would hound you to prison."

Jack swiftly wheeled about and rolled his eyes in alarm. The word police startled him, and for the moment he verily believed they were within call, a circ.u.mstance he at once set down to his lax watchfulness, but he soon felt rea.s.sured, and, turning upon her said, sarcastically:

"Oh, that-a beesa a lettle a da game-a. He, he, he, he," he laughed low and gleefully, in strange contrast to the white of his eyeb.a.l.l.s, which shone with sinister effect as he leered at her.

"Two play-a dees-a da trick, Signora! Wouldn't yous-a look-a da well bees-a compan-e-on ove-a mine, in a da pen, eh, Signora. He, he, he, he," he again laughed.

"Eesa don-a da know some-a da ting about eesa da Duc, eh! Eesa don-a da hear a da game between ee mand a da Signora da Virginia, eh!

Sacremento!" He fairly ground out the last word between his teeth.

Virginia shuddered and then involuntarily exclaimed: "Villain!"

Jack turned upon her swiftly, ceremoniously bowed, and again leered at her. Then, with a most offensive smirk playing about his mouth, said: "Tank-a da Signora, my a da pard."

Her face burned with the red that flushed up. She felt that even the darkness could not conceal her flaming cheeks. She bent her head in humiliation and shame at the all too well merited rebuke.

For a moment there followed intense stillness. She thought of what he had possibly heard at the Harris reception. "His disclosure would incriminate me with Rutley. Still, it matters not. My duty to my G.o.d, my home and Constance is to make reparation for the wrong I have done."

She broke the silence in an a.s.sumed, haughty tone. "Well, as you are poor and in need, I will give you five hundred dollars upon return of the child; but if you do not comply by noon tomorrow I shall inform the police."

"Eesa bett-a note!" he replied, with an unmistakable menace in his voice. "Eef yourse da squeal on a da ma, Signora--look-a da out!" And so saying, he slowly drew his finger across his throat.

The action was most significant. "Eesa bett-a da keep a da mum!

Understand-a! Youse-a geeve a me a da twenty da thouse-a dollair, youse-a take a da kid--but youse-a da squeal!" and he drew close and hissed at her--"Bett-a da look a for her eesa mong a da weeds in a da Willamette."

His att.i.tude was so threatening, and his speech uttered with such savage earnestness, that it drove all courage from her heart. Again she felt, as once before, at the Harris reception, how puny a thing she was in the presence of a strong, masculine rascal.

She, however, quickly mastered the momentary sickening alarm that had seized her, and a.s.suming a bold, threatening manner, in which she astonished herself, for she felt anything but defiant just then, said in a voice low and determined:

"Scoundrel! If you harm that child, I, myself, will weave the rope to hang you!"

Jack leered at her. "So Signora"--laughed, laughed low and derisively.

"Ha, ha, ha, Signora lak-a da job, eh? Eesa mak-a da boss a hang-a man, eh?"

Jack could not repress a smile of admiration at her courage, and his lips quivered to exclaim: "G.o.d, she is game!"

"An-a deesea lettle white-a da hands-a," he sneered. "Stain 'em all a da red, eh?" and he chuckled low, as though amused. "Oh, ha, ha, ha."

Suddenly he changed his tone and again continued threateningly. "Now look-a da ere. Eef-a youse-a da want a kid, gett-a da mon a da quick--twenty da thous, for eesa tink a da move-a da way. May bees gett-a da organ en-a da monk, go down South Amereek. Eef youse-a danna da squeal, da kid bees-a da safe; but effe youse-a da tell a po-lis, eesa mak-a da me a devil," and he again drew close to her and hissed out between his teeth.

"When eesa be lik-a dat, Eesa does a da murda," and so saying, he thrust his hand inside his double-breasted short coat, and partially drew out a glittering knife. "Eesa you da see?"--and he leaned over to her, a sinister glint shooting from the corner of his eye--"Eesa slit more's a da one-a windpipe." As he replaced the knife, a low whistle sounded off toward the right. It startled him, for he muttered as if alarmed. "Ha, some one is watching me." And without another word or moment of delay, glided off southward, and disappeared in the darkness.

Sam having seen the glitter of a knife against the dim city lights, unconsciously gave a low whistle of warning, and sprang to his feet.

He believed Virginia was in imminent peril.

For a moment he stood irresolute, unwilling to uncover his ident.i.ty to her or to in any wise have her think he had been shadowing her. Then feeling satisfied she was not hurt, he sped away on the track of the Italian.

Virginia was alone. She, also, had seen the figure of a man suddenly loom up on the right and then hasten after the supposed Italian.

The terror that now had seized her, the strain that gave artificial courage, so worked upon her nerves as to produce a trembling of her limbs, and to avoid a threatened collapse she sank down on the gra.s.s.

Her strength gradually returned, her agitation quieted and she began to think with lucidity. She had been followed by whom? Most likely a detective in the pay of her brother.

"Thank G.o.d!" His unknown presence at a perilous moment had been sweetly welcome. "Dorothy is not dead," she thought. "Thank Heaven for that, too; but she is in the hands of a murderous scoundrel, who would not hesitate to shed innocent blood were his own safety jeoparded."

An attempt at rescue by the police would, no doubt, result in the death of Dorothy. She must act alone, act at once. Having arrived at that conclusion, she arose to her feet. To get Dorothy home was the first thing to be done--the mother's life depended upon that.

How could she get twenty thousand dollars to pay the ransom? She bent her head in thought. She had been instrumental in the ruin and disgrace of her only brother's happy home. If it was in human power to restore happiness to that home, she would do it. The Italian is in desperate need of money. She could hypothecate her income; sell her jewels.

"I will offer him all I can possibly obtain--then, if he will not release Dorothy," and her voice took on a soft, strange, resolute calmness. "G.o.d helping me, I will take her from him, even though," and she looked at her own little white hands, "these do become stained red in the work."

Then she made her way out of the park, and returned to her home.

CHAPTER VI.

Sam had followed Virginia and stood unseen within ten yards of her when that morning she sat under the maple after she had left Constance. He noted how absorbed she was in thought--noted her grave, white, shocked face, and her bowed head. His sympathy went out to her.

Oh, what wouldn't he then have given to be able to clasp her in his arms, to comfort her--the woman he so madly loved! Though free and impulsive in his manner with other women, to her he was as coy and modest and respectful as a boy of fifteen.

He lingered near the premises for a time, from an impelling sympathy to be near her in her trouble, and hoping she would re-appear, but in that he was disappointed.

He returned again in the evening, resolved to call on her. He ascended the piazza steps and crossed to the door, but somehow at the moment could not muster courage to push the b.u.t.ton. After meditating for a moment, he turned and softly pa.s.sed along the piazza. On reaching the south extension he halted, for the sound of a door softly closing caught his ear, and then he saw Virginia emerging from the side entrance, closely veiled. In a moment Sam was all alertness.

He wondered at her veiled appearance at that hour, about half past ten, and at her avoiding the main front entrance. He followed at a distance and saw her enter a Washington and Twenty-third street car.

He boarded the next one that came along.

Fortunately the interval between the two cars was short, there having been a breakdown on Fifth and Washington streets, resulting in the cars being bunched. Sam stood at the front end of the car beside the motorman, and in the darkness--the front inside blinds being down--was able to keep a sharp lookout at the car just ahead.

At the intersection of Washington and Twenty-third streets, the forward car stopped, and he distinctly saw a woman alight. "Virginia!"

he muttered, and as his car pa.s.sed on, he saw her walking toward the park entrance. One block further along Twenty-third street Sam alighted, and rapidly retraced his steps to Washington street. On rounding the corner, and coming into view of the park entrance, where blazed an arc light, he caught sight of her again, entering the gateway.

Sam briskly covered the distance, keeping well under the line of shadows.

"Did you notice the path a lady took, who entered the park a minute since?" he inquired of a park policeman.