That voice—no other could thrill him as it has done. He hesitates only a few seconds, and she has hardly finished speaking when his mind is quite made up.
To enter the booth it is necessary to drop down and under the counter at one corner. Wycherley makes no effort to follow him, but stands guard just outside, watching the couple for fear lest some evil befall his companion, and casting an occasional glance across the way at the sign of the fortune teller, while he listens for the beginning of the infernal racket that will announce the wedding procession’s start from the lower end of Cairo Street.
When Aleck has entered the booth, he pays no attention to the girl who has charge of it and who has befriended Dorothy. All his doubt is removed, for the latter has raised her veil. He is amazed to see her here, after being assured by Samson Cereal that she would not be notified of the plot.
Her agitation shows that she knows something of the danger. Time presses, and Aleck awakens to the fact that whatever he does must be done with speed.
“Miss Dorothy, how come you to be here?” he asks, pressing the hand held out to him.
“It is too long a story to tell in detail. I heard something last night, when that wild young man, Mr. Phœnix, was present, that not only aroused my curiosity but my anxiety. It came back to me again and again, how my father bade him be silent about the woman in Cairo Street whom he had long believed dead. I could see from his actions that there was a mystery behind it all. This evening when I sat alone after supper I received a note. I don’t know how it came to the house, but someone put it in my hands.
“This note—I can recall every word of it—was written in a hand evidently unused to our language, but I made it out. It ran like this:
“I beg of you, sweet Dorothy, to come with your maid, or your half-brother, to the Street in Cairo to-night at nine. I can no longer remain silent. If I die for it I must see you, talk with you. Ask for Saidee, the fortune teller. Your heart will tell you who it is signs herself.
“One You Have Long Believed Dead.
“Oh, Mr. Craig! I could guess—my heart indeed told me that this was my mother. From my father I have never heard the story of the past, but it would be strange if, living to almost twenty, I were unable to discover something of the truth. I have never known a mother’s love, and though she may have sinned like the other one, yet she is my mother. I would see her, must see her. I knew not what to do at first. John was out, my maid sick. I am not easily balked in anything of this nature. There is too much of Samson Cereal’s blood in my veins for that. We have a faithful coachman. I sent for Pat, and, as well as I could, explained that I wanted his company. He would lay down his life for me, and although dreading my father’s wrath, he consented to come.