Motion Picture Classic (May 1921 - Dec 1927)

MOTION PICTURE CLASSIC costume and Kent proffered his, pretending not to see her tears. He had always thought that it was a bad business having women in the Service?. They were so likely to fall in love with a criminal before they could arrest him. But now, remembering the brown-haired girl with whom he had ridden on the Mall that afternoon, he felt the ancient foundations of his judgment shaken. If it were Major Burnham, after all, would he be anxious to arrest Doris’s father? Would he be brave enough to do it? “Tomorrow afternoon,” Ruth said, determinedly businesslike once more. “Sarissa dances at the palace of the Maharaja, Be there if you can ! And one thing more. Tomorrow morning tell Colonel Wentworth that you either suspect Captain Graves or Major Burnham and propose this test. Two code messages shall be sent ; the one to the Captain reading ‘two per cent, tax imposed on hemp’, the one to the Major reading ‘two per cent, tax imposed on jute’ — then whichever news leaks out among the natives will show you the guilty one.” Kent poured himself an imaginary glass of wine and drank a toast to her in pantomime. “If they X-rayed your .head, Ruth,” he said admiringly, “I suspect they’d find a brain there. Till tomorrow, then.” The following afternoon the guardian of the gate at the Maharaja, Jehan’s palace was scandalized out of the few wits he possessed to br confronted by a white woman with shameless unveiled face and blazing eyes who demanded entrance to his master’s presence. Her manner was that of one possessed of a hundred devils that foamed and writhed behind her star ing eyes. To his protests she refused to listen, and when he sought to bar the way she thrust him contemptuo usly aside and rushed into the palace, shrieking out the sacred name of the Maharaja, which should only be spoken reverently and with profound salaams ! In very truth it was a devil that possessed Norma Graves, the black devil of jealousy. A few moments ago she had heard from her native maid of the infatuation of the Hindu prince for the new dancing girl, Sarissa, who — so all the Bazaar whis-’ pered, was to dance for him in private this afternoon, which, all Delhi knew, meant that she was to be chosen as the next recipient of the Eye of the East, that famous necklace which the Maharaja solemnly presented to those who held for the moment his fickle favor, and as solemnly took away when that favor was removed. “Jehan,” panted Norma, “does he suppose I’ll stand for being made the rival of a naked dancing girl.” She passed along the court, and up a stairway built against the side of the wall with the sure footsteps of one to whom the way is familiar, and swept aside the silken hangings before an archway at the top. Then her rage was chilled with the drench of cold fear. For the Maharaja was not alone with his new flame, as she had thought to find him. Instead, she saw the faces of Colonel Wentworth, Major Burnham and her husband turned toward her with surprise, disgust and sick shame. And a little at one side the visiting Rajah Rhonda watched her imperturbably with a suave, insinuating smile. The Maharaja’s eyes were venomous, but his voice was honey and milk as he greeted her. “Our poor palace is hon ored with the light of the Mem-sahib’s presence.” Norma was thinking swiftly. She was not a clever woman but the instinct of self-preservation gave her inspiratipn. She managed a rather breathless smile. “You will think me so silly. But you see my husband had a terrible headache when he started out, and I couldn’t be easy till I knew how ‘he was.” She crossed to the side of the wretched man and clasped his arm affectionately while the other men considerately turned their eyes away from Graves's crimson misery. The Maharaja smiled softly. “The devotion of the English ladies to their husbands is well-known,” he said without a trace of inflection to the words. “Now that Mem-sahib Graves is here, perhaps she will delight us with her presence while I show these gentle( Continued on page 84) . . . went joyfully away to find a slip of a girl with straight smiling brown eyes and cheeks like the little wild roses that grow in quiet English lanes (Fifty-eight )