XIX--A HOLE IN THE WALL
Once in the street, Billy Kane started hurriedly in the direction of theBowery. He hastened on, his mind in a state of chaotic turmoil.Presently he turned into the cross street, a block away from the Rat'sden. He had until morning. It was thoughtful of her to have given himthat much time! The Man with the Crutch had the paper, of course. RedVallon and the Pippin had had since noon to find the man. If the manwere not found by morning the role of the Rat would be at an end. Therewas something damnably ironical in that! He had wanted the role of theRat to end. And now he didn't want it to end on account of this Man withthe Crutch, who was disastrously likely to bring that end about! Heneeded the role now more than ever in order to use it against this Manwith the Crutch, because the other held the knowledge that would enablehim, Billy Kane, to cast off the role forever; yet if he didn't find theman, and even before morning, the role, and quite as certainly forever,would be cast off for him!
He swept his hand across his eyes. His brain seemed to be working insome silly, sing-song cycle, and yet it was quite logical. And then hisshoulders squared. For the night at least he was still the Rat, and theunderworld was at the Rat's beck and call. If Red Vallon and the Pippincould not find the Man with the Crutch, he would unleash the underworldto help them pick up the scent. First, however, he must get in touchwith Red Vallon. But that should not be difficult, for Red Vallon,whether he had had any success or not, was certain to make a reportbefore the night was very much older, and--
Billy Kane halted suddenly, and turned around, as a low voice hailedhim. A man was hurrying along behind him. He smiled grimly. A littleluck, at least, seemed to be breaking for him at the start. Here was RedVallon now. Billy Kane, in apparent indifference, started on again inthe direction of the den.
"Hello!" he said gruffly, as the gangster caught up with him and fellinto step alongside.
Red Vallon chuckled low.
"We got him!" he said. There was hoarse elation in the gangster's voice.
A fierce uplift swept in an almost overmastering surge upon Billy Kane.His answer, however, was little more than a grunt of approval.
"You have--eh?" he said.
"You bet your life!" exclaimed the gangster jubilantly. "You knowMarlot's saloon? Well, the guy lives next door in that old motheatenshack. Some place! The police have been leery of it for a long while.There's mostly a bunch of slick-fingers hang out there. Get me? He's gotthe back room--used to be the kitchen, I guess. He's a smooth one, allright! He's got a private entrance of his own when he doesn't want to goin or out by the front; the old back door opens right into his room fromthe yard. Savvy?"
Billy Kane nodded his head shortly in affirmation. He took a cigarettefrom his pocket, and lighted it nonchalantly.
"But, say"--the elation in the gangster's voice was growing still morepronounced--"that ain't all! The Pippin spotted his nibs through thewindow from the yard a few minutes ago. Say, what do you think, Bundy!The cripple hobbles across the room, and pulls the old washstand awayfrom the wall, and lifts up an innocent-looking piece of the wall paperthat you'd think was stuck down for fair. The Pippin had only a rip inthe window shade to see through, and he couldn't see very well, but hecould see a dinky little hole there in the wall, and a satchel inside,and the cripple takes something out of his pocket and slips it into thehole, and smooths the wall paper back again. The Pippin beat it out ofthere then, and found me, and he's just wised me up."
It was quite dark here on the street, but even so Billy Kane kept hisface turned slightly away from the gangster. The blood was racing in onemad, ungovernable flood of feverish excitement through his veins. Itseemed somehow as though a weight that had been unendurable, an actualphysical burden beyond his strength to bear, had suddenly been liftedfrom his shoulders. The Man with the Crutch! From the prior events ofthe evening, from what Red Vallon had just said, there was nopossibility that the Pippin had stumbled upon _another_ man with acrutch. This was the one, without question, without room for a singleshadow of a doubt. And he as good as had the man now! He flicked the ashfrom his cigarette with his forefinger, and nodded curtly again.
"Figure it out for yourself," said Red Vallon, a sort of eagerself-complacency in his voice. "Of course, the man had nothing to dowith that murder last night, but the police know he was around therelugging a satchel, and you add to that the crook dump where he lives,and a guy that has a nifty little hiding place in the wall with asatchel in it--and where does he get off? I ain't throwing any bouquetsat myself, Bundy, but I told you I'd pull something good this trip, andI guess you got to hand it to me for delivering the goods. Pipe this,Bundy! The police think the Pippin's a stool-pigeon anyhow. Well, fiveminutes ago I sent the Pippin to tip off the police, while I beat it uphere to put you wise. Get me? With all that stuff against the guy, heain't got a hope. He goes up for that murder, and that lets you out,Bundy."
Billy Kane stood still. They had reached the cellarlike entrance to theRat's den, but he made no move to descend the short, cavernous stairway.A little way up the block the street lamp seemed suddenly to be swirlingaround and around in swift, lightning-like irregular flashes. The bloodthat had rushed hotly, madly through his veins but an instant before wascold and sluggish now, as though some icy tourniquet were at work uponhis heart, stilling its action.
"That lets you out, Bundy." The words mocked and jeered at him. Let himout! It was ruin, disaster, death--unless in some way he could forestallthis move of Red Vallon. He fought desperately for control of himself.That envelope, her threat, his own desire to get at the man, were likeissues fading into the background. He knew that the man _was_ themurderer of Peters, and if the police, whether they caught the man ornot, found what he believed they would find in that satchel--some atleast of those rubies from the Ellsworth vault--then Red Vallon, thisman standing here, who with horrible callousness, but equally with thegenuine motive of protecting the Rat, was ironically planning, whilebelieving him innocent, to send the guilty man to his death, would knowabsolutely beyond question that the Rat had _not_ killed Peters lastnight, that last night's alibi was a lie, and that he, Billy Kane, wasthe man in the mask, at whose throat Red Vallon and his gang askednothing better than to hurl themselves like a pack of starving wolves!
To get rid of Red Vallon! Any excuse--anything! To get rid of theman--without an instant's delay!
He shoved out his hand to the gangster.
"I won't forget this, Red!" he said earnestly. "Take it from me, I won'tforget it! But you beat it now, Red. That Dayler game went wrongto-night--the Cadger'll tell you about it, if you see him--and I haven'tgot a minute. See--Red?"
"Sure! All right!" agreed the gangster heartily. "Well, so long, Bundy!"
Billy Kane shook hands again--with a grip that was hard and eloquent.
"So long, Red!" he said.
The gangster turned away. Billy Kane dove down the stairs, opened thedoor of the den, locked it behind him, darted across the room in thedarkness, and in another minute, crawling through the tunnel from thesecret door, gained the shed and the street at the rear. He ranbreathlessly now. What did it matter if any one saw him! Time alone wasall that counted! If he could not beat the police in the race to thatroom he was as good as dead already!
His mind worked swiftly, incisively, as he ran. The Pippin had had, say,ten minutes' start, but it was only a few blocks to that house next doorto Marlot's saloon, and it would take a little while at least for thepolice to make their preparations before acting on the Pippin'sinformation. The chances lay with him, Billy Kane. The man might, ormight not, be there. It did not matter in so far as the main issue wasconcerned. It was that handbag and its contents that were the vitalfactor now--and, yes, if he got that, the envelope too--they would bothalmost certainly be in the same hiding place--inasmuch as that hidingplace was a crafty one. If the man _were_ there, then it seemed asthough irony would have piled itself on irony to-night, for he wouldautomatically for the time being become the _ally_ of the man with whomhe aske
d only a deadly reckoning! He did not want the police to get theMan with the Crutch. Whatever the story the man might tell to accountfor his connection with Peters, it was certain that he would not be foolenough to tell the truth about the murder of David Ellsworth! And if thepolice had the Man with the Crutch in custody, then he, Billy Kane, wasirrevocably barred from that reckoning which he meant to have.
He had been perhaps five minutes. He was trying the door now of awretched, two-story frame building, that hugged, as its right-handneighbor, a saloon that was almost as disreputable in appearance asitself. The door was unlocked. He stepped inside, and, feeling his wayin the darkness, but still moving rapidly, passed down a narrow hall. Bythe sense of touch he was aware that there were rooms on only one side,the left-hand side, and that there were two of them. He brought upabruptly against a door now that made the end of the passage; the doorof the rear room of the house obviously, and obviously, therefore, the"home" of the Man with the Crutch. It was silent everywhere in thehouse. He smiled a little grimly. He knew the place well enough byreputation to account for that silence. It was a crooks' nest, a crooks'lodging house, and, being night, the tenants had gone to work!
He slipped his mask over his face, and rapped on the door. There was noanswer. He rapped again; and then his skeleton keys came into play. Theman had obviously returned here from Dayler's to get rid of thatenvelope, though probably not at once, for it must have been then thatthe Pippin had seen him; but now apparently he had gone out again.
The door yielded upon the trial of the third key. Billy Kane flung itopen, stepped inside, and his flashlight played through the blackness.As he had expected, the room was empty. He locked the door again, andcrossed quickly to the rear door. This he found opened inward. He lookedout. This took a few seconds, but an accurate knowledge of hissurroundings was worth even more than that should he be caught here. Thedoor opened on practically a level with the ground; and it had anold-fashioned latch, with heavy iron handles, loop-shaped, below thethumb-pieces. He closed the door, and bolted it, smiling appreciativelyas he noted that the bolt moved both readily and silently, as though incarefully oiled grooves.
His flashlight played around the room again now. The window shade wasdrawn. He located the washstand--and frowned suddenly in perplexity. Acrutch leaned against the washstand. His face cleared the next instant.Why shouldn't the man have an extra one? Perhaps he had to buy them inpairs, though he used only one at a time.
Billy Kane stepped swiftly to the washstand, and, preparatory to pullingit away from the wall, lifted up the crutch--and the next instant wasexamining the latter critically. It was extremely heavy. He whistled lowunder his breath. It was not only a crutch, it was a murderous weapon!The shaft of the thing, though painted a wood color, was solid iron! Heset it down and pulled out the washstand; then, picking up the crutchagain, he slashed it along the line of the wall where the washstand hadbeen. A large piece of the wall paper came away, disclosing a neatlyconstructed little hiding place, some two feet long by a foot in depth.A queer, twisted smile was on Billy Kane's lips. In there lay only twoarticles--but they were a manila envelope, and a small handbag.
He snatched up the envelope, and tore it open. A glance at the fadedwriting was enough; it was Joe Laynton's letter of twenty years ago. Hestuffed it into his pocket; and, almost more eagerly than before,reached into the aperture again, and took out the handbag. But now hisfingers seemed to have gone clumsy with excitement as he fumbled withthe catches. No, it was locked. Well, his steel jimmy would soon settlethat! He pried the bag open, and stood staring at its contents. And thecontents were not rubies! And then he laughed a little, as he lifted outand examined a package of banknotes. It did not matter, did it--therubies or the money! It linked the Man with the Crutch with theEllsworth murder just the same. This was the money, and apparentlyintact, that had been in the Ellsworth vault; the paper bands pinnedaround the packages, and marked in red ink with the amount in eachpackage, had been pinned there and marked by himself!
It was strange, very strange! He restored the steel jimmy to his pocket,and attempted to fasten the bag with its end catches, but the frame hadbeen bent in prying the bag open, and the catches would not work easily.It was very strange! How had this Man with the Crutch, so intimatelyconnected with Peters' and David Ellsworth's murders, come also to be sointimately conversant with the Crime Trust's game with Dayler?
His mind kept striking off at tangents, as he struggled with the bag. Hecould not carry a bag that would gape open! Once he got it to the den,that hole in the flooring, that he had thought so futile a reward forhis search, would not be so futile after all. The bag would fit verynicely, and very securely, in there! Iron crutches weren't usually madein _pairs_. That was queer, too! Was it an iron crutch that was theblunt instrument that had caused Peters' death--and David Ellsworth's?Why had the man used that dummy envelope to-night, and--
His flashlight was out. Footsteps were creeping cautiously along thehall outside. The police! The bag would have to do as it was now; but atleast one catch was partially fastened. He tucked it under his arm, andfor the fraction of a second, while he thrust the flashlight back intohis pocket, he stood still; and then, a sudden, curious smile on hislips, he reached out and picked up the crutch again, and stole silentlyover to the rear door. The smile was lost as his lips thinned into astraight line. Yes, they were already here too! Well, the crutch mightperhaps still serve the same purpose!
His ear to the panel, a whisper reached him:
"Put your shoulder to it, Jerry, and push with me, when I get the bar inthe crack of the door."
"All right," another voice whispered. "The others will have been aroundat the front long ago. Are you ready?"
The door creaked under a sudden pressure; and as suddenly from the wallat the edge of the door, Billy Kane reached out and released the bolt.The door swung violently open, and two figures, their balance lost,sprawled and staggered into the room. And in a flash Billy Kane, as heleaped through the doorway, snatched at the door, slammed it shut,jabbed the crutch, as a lock-bar, through the iron loop of the doorhandle, its end extending well over the frame of the doorway--andsprinted across the yard.
There was a yell, and a battering thud on the door behind him, as hereached a fence at the end of the yard, swung himself to the top anddropped to the lane beyond. And then, as he ran, there came a crash ofbroken glass. They had evidently forsaken the door for the window!
For a hundred yards Billy Kane ran at top speed along the lane; andthen, removing his mask, the bag concealed under his coat, he emergedinto the intersecting street, and dropped into a casual and quietstride.
He smiled queerly.
They would be looking for a cripple who, having sacrificed his crutch tosave his life, could at best but limp and hobble painfully along!