CHAPTER XXIV THE BATTLE IN THE ORANGE GROVE
It was Florence who next saw the mysterious Chinaman, and that not anhour from the time he disappeared from Jeanne's delectable mountain. Herday's work at an end, she had retired to the orange grove on the banks ofthe lagoon for a short period of rest. She had been here often of late.There was something very unusual and charming about this orange grovethriving here in the very front yard of Chicago.
The place was in reality a tropical garden. As she lay there, propped upon an elbow, the fragrance of tropical flowers, the pungent odor of ripetropical fruit suggested that she might be thousands of miles from hernative city, at the edge of some Central American jungle.
And yet, as she opened her eyes to look away across the lagoon, her eyestold her that she was in truth at the very heart of a fantastical worldof play.
"How like a theatre it is!" she exclaimed.
And indeed, as she allowed her eyes to follow the lagoon until it lostitself in the broader waters of the lake, she found them filled with theever-changing lights of a stage on opening night. Gayly decorated bargesdrawn by small power boats drifted past. A bevy of girls, all garbed ingowns of bright red, shot past in a speed boat. They were singing,"Sailing! Sailing!"
From a floating platform came the martial music of a band. Overhead anairplane motor droned. The plane was shooting out a spiral of smoke. Thesmoke formed itself into clouds and on these clouds there played living,moving pictures.
As she lay there on the grass, head propped on elbow, watching, dreaming,like Petite Jeanne, she caught an unusual sound.
"Not far away," she whispered. "Over there among the banana leaves,perhaps." She thought of investigating this. But she was tired, and asshe had promised to wait for Jeanne's preview she wished to rest.
So she dismissed the matter from her mind and once again allowed her mindto drift.
"Wonderful spot, this," she whispered to herself. "Probably never be seenin Chicago again, orange trees loaded with fruits and flowers."
This was true. With endless pains men had grown trees in boxes, then hadshipped them to the Fair. There were lemon trees, and mangoes, and talltrees that grew tropical melons. In one spot there was a perfect tangleof tropical vegetation.
"Yes, and banana trees."
Once again her eyes were upon that cluster of banana trees.
"There _is_ something moving there."
Getting a grip on herself, she kept up the semblance of dreaming. Inreality she was very much alert, quite alive--watching.
Nor did she watch in vain.
As she watched, fascinated, waiting for she knew not what, ready on theinstant to go dashing away, she saw the banana leaves stir, move to oneside, then fall back into their original position.
Every muscle in her splendid body was tense now. Had she caught a glimpseof a face? She believed so.
"And yet, one is so easily deceived."
She should leave the place. This was plain enough; yet stubbornly shestayed.
She watched the darting rocket cars as they flashed across the sky,followed the course of an airplane by its spark of light, allowed hermind to wander for an instant to Jeanne and her problems. But all thetime she was thinking, "I must be on my guard."
With all this, when at last the banana leaves parted and a form creptout, she was surprised beyond measure. She recognized the person on theinstant. The very stealth of his movements gave him away. It was thelong-eared Chinaman.
She gasped. "Has he seen me?
"If he has, he's playing a game." He did not look her way.
Then it was that, as though it were some picture on the clouds, she sawfaces of children, hundreds of faces, cute Chinese children, and abovethem all, resolute, determined, hopeful, the serious face of Erik Nord,the white man from China.
"Ah! Now I have you!" Was it she who thought this? Or was it Erik Nordthinking through her? She did not pause for an answer. Instead, shesprang squarely at the crouching figure.
Her plan, if she might be said to have one, was to snatch the preciousthree-bladed knife from beneath his long coat, then to run for it.
In this she failed. With a panther-like spring, the yellow man eludedher. Then, perceiving perhaps that escape was impossible, he took theoffensive.
He did not draw the knife. There was not time. Then, too, it was fordemons, not for men, nor for girls either. Instead, with a leap and theswing of an arm he encircled her neck in such a vice-like grip that for aspace of ten seconds she was helpless.
"You shall give the bell!" he hissed. "The bell and the banners you shallgive!"
Too close to the point of strangulation to reply or so much as thinkclearly, she placed her hands against his chest, then suddenly threw allher superb strength into one tremendous thrust.
Did she hear a bone crack in his wrist? Was her own neck being broken?
For a space of seconds, with head ready to burst, she could not tell.Then, with a sighing groan the intruder relaxed his hold and all but fellto the ground.
Following up this advantage she fell toward him in such a manner as tostart him rolling down the hill. And then, all in a flash, she caught agleam of white on the grass at her feet.
"The knife! The three-bladed knife! If only--"
With one more tremendous push she set the yellow man into a spin thatlanded him with a splash into the water of the lagoon.
"He swims well enough," she assured herself.
Then, with heart thumping wildly, she snatched up the much coveted knifewith the jeweled hilt and went sprinting away up the slope, away to thesouth and across the bridge over the lagoon, to lose herself at last in athrong that had gathered about a wandering Egyptian street fakir.
"Have I lost him?" she whispered.
The answer, though she could not know it now, was "Yes, but not forlong."