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Updated: May 29, 2025
In the dim turns the women drew their skirts about them, a bit wary of the black, short walls. The passage narrowed. They could move now only in single file, and even then their shoulders brushed the walls. Only a far, dull glow from a red lamp over a door at the end of a passage lighted their way. Baskinelli tapped lightly on the door.
"I am trying to do nothing of the kind. I simply reminded you of the little affair. I know as well as you that it was all beautifully cleared up, and a man is still in prison for it. I know you are as safe here as that man is in jail, Signor Baskinelli." "What are you talking about, then?" "The little woman that so charmed you here. I remarked merely that those who are captivated can capture."
She plunged helplessly between invisible, but gripping walls. She reeled and screamed. There was the sound of a struggle behind her. She heard Baskinelli crying for help but, oh, so quietly! She reached the stairs. The stairs were blocked by a closed door. The door was barred. But there was a light left burning by the door. Her weak hands beat upon the panels, helplessly, hopelessly.
Baskinelli began to play again. "Pauline, may I speak to you just a moment?" Harry's vexed voice reached her ear as she stood beside the piano. She turned slowly and looked into his bewildered, angry eyes. "A little later possibly," she answered, and instantly turned back to Baskinelli.
But Baskinelli was insistent and Pauline was his ardent and efficient recruiting officer. Quite a troop train of limousines carried the invaders to the uncelestial haunts of the Celestials. Baskinelli rode in the car with Pauline and Owen. He had cast off the dignity of the master musician and assumed an air of whimsical recklessness. Harry and Lucille were in the following car.
The others watched the argument in silence. Every one but the host, and Owen, and Pauline, seemed a little nervous. Suddenly the lamp on the floor went out. There was another at the farther side of the room, but its dim light made the scene more weird than darkness could have made it. "Well, I thought we were going," snapped Harry's strident voice. "We are," replied Baskinelli.
"Miss Marvin Pauline!" called Baskinelli with sudden passion. "Have you a heart of stone? Can you not see me helpless in your presence? Do you know what love is?" He stepped towards her and tried to take her in his arms. But she was stronger and far braver than he. She thrust him aside and fled through the door. Baskinelli followed, protesting, pleading.
Baskinelli was bustling about, making up an impromptu excursion party. "Ha! You people of New York you do not know what is in New York. All Europe is here and you never cross Fourteenth street I mean to say Fifth avenue." "It is more dangerous to cross Fifth avenue than to cross the ocean that's probably the reason," said Harry. "The traffic cops along the Gulf Stream are so careful."
The glowing piquant beauty of Pauline enthralled Baskinelli. He had never before seen a woman like her innocent but astute, daring but demure, brilliant but opalescent. When at last they strolled away together into the conservatory his drawing room obeisances became direct declarations of love. Pauline began to be frightened. She fluttered to the door of the conservatory. But there she paused.
Again he parleyed for a moment then opened it to the three swarthy foreigners who had been in the restaurant. Baskinelli turned for just in instant to glance at the tall man with the tilted mustache, then resumed immediately his conversation with Pauline. "Why do all the Chinamen run away like that?" she asked. "It is the end of the service; you see the priests are going, too."
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