XXIII--THE RENDEZVOUS
It was night again in the underworld.
Billy Kane slipped suddenly into the dark shadows of a doorway. Fiftyyards ahead of him, up the poorly lighted, narrow and miserable street,three men had paused on the sidewalk, and were engaged in what wasapparently an animated discussion. Billy Kane's eyes narrowed in apuzzled, perturbed, and yet grim way, as he watched them. He hadfollowed them for an hour now--from a saloon, where he had found them,to a disreputable pool room, and from there again to a saloon, and nowhere.
He did not understand. It was one of those strange portals, soextraneous to the aim of clearing his name of the murder of DavidEllsworth, and yet, too, so essentially a corollary of the Rat's rolethat he played here in the underworld, at which he was knocking again.His lips curled in a queer smile. How long would it be before the end?And what would that end be? In his possession now, save for a portion ofthe rubies, perhaps half of them, was everything that the murderers ofDavid Ellsworth had stolen from the old philanthropist's vault on thatnight which seemed now to belong to some past age and incarnation. Heknew now that the Man with the Crutch was the actual murderer--but therehe faced a blank wall. He had even fought with the man in the blacknessof old Barloff's room last night, not knowing until too late who hisassailant was, and the man had got away.
His hand at his side clenched. It could not endure very long--thisimpossible situation in which he found himself with that strange,unknown woman, who, believing him to be the Rat, held the threat of SingSing over his head. And there was the Rat himself whose name andpersonality and home, such as it was, he had usurped during the latter'sabsence, an absence that might terminate at any moment. And there werethe police who dragged the city and the country from end to end forBilly Kane. From anyone of these three sources, swift as a lightningstroke, without an instant's warning, the end might come with that goalof life still unreached, and, greater than life, his honor, stillunreclaimed. And it seemed to-night somehow that his chances werebitterly small, that somehow the odds seemed to be growing andaccumulating against him. He was on another errand now, because he couldnot help himself. He was allowing precious moments that should have beendevoted to the one chance he had, that of searching ceaselessly,pitilessly, remorselessly, for the Man with the Crutch, to be directedinto other channels--because he could not help himself.
He stepped out from the shelter of the doorway, and started forwardagain along the street. The three men had turned from the sidewalk, andhad disappeared inside a dingy, black and tumble-down tenement. BillyKane's lips tightened a little. It was a hard neighborhood, nestlingjust off the Bowery--as hard almost as the three characters themselveswho had just vanished from sight. There were a few pedestrians here onthe side street, a few figures that skulked along in the semi-darkness,rather than walked, but not many; and for the most part, though it wasstill early, not more than nine o'clock, the buildings that flanked thestreet were dark and unlighted.
Billy Kane jerked his slouch hat farther down over his eyes as he walkedalong. He did not understand. Two hours ago he had been sitting in theRat's den with Whitie Jack--who had ventured out of hiding again, safenow since the interest of the police in Peters', the butler's, murderhad become definitely centered in the Man with the Crutch--and someonehad knocked at the door. Whitie Jack had answered the knock, and hadbrought back the message that Bundy Morgan was wanted at the telephonein a little shop across the street. He, Billy Kane, in his role of theRat, alias the said Bundy Morgan, had perforce answered, and, as he hadpicked up the receiver, he had instantly recognized the voice of thewoman whom he knew by no other name than the one he himself had givenher--the Woman in Black. He was subconsciously rehearsing the ratherone-sided conversation now, as he moved along.
"Is that you, Bundy?" she had asked. "And do you know who is speaking?"
"Yes," he had answered.
"Listen, then!" Her voice had been quiet, deliberate, and yet pregnantwith a curiously sharp, imperative command. "Find Clarkie Munn and GypsyJoe at once, and shadow them to-night. Do not let them out of yoursight. And see that you do not fail! Do you understand?"
"Yes," he had replied mechanically; "but----"
That was all. She had hung up the receiver at the other end of the line.
He had heard of Clarkie Munn and Gypsy Joe in the days when he hadfrequented the Bad Lands on old David Ellsworth's philanthropicmissions, for the very simple reason that they were notorious andoutstanding criminal characters even in the heart and center of theworst crime and vice in the city. They were both lags, both men withprison records, and marked by the police. Also they were versatile. Theyhad in turn been apaches, gangsters, box-workers, poke-getters andsecond-story sneaks; and they were credited with measuring human lifepurely as a commercial commodity--worth merely what they could get forit.
He had heard of Clarkie Munn and Gypsy Joe--who hadn't?--but as to theirlair, or where they were to be found, he had not had the slightestinkling. Whitie Jack, however, had solved that problem for him. He hadsent Whitie Jack out to run them down, and Whitie had returned within anhour with the report that they were in a certain far from reputablesaloon, and that they had been joined by the Cherub. He, Billy Kane, hadnever heard of the Cherub, but an adroit leading question or two had setWhitie Jack's glib tongue in motion. The Cherub had proved a topic thathad aroused an unbounded enthusiasm in Whitie Jack.
"Dey ain't got nothin' on de Cherub--none of 'em has," Whitie Jack hadasserted, switching his cigarette butt from one corner of his mouth tothe other in order to permit of an admiring grin. "He's de angel kid--heis! Youse'd think he spent his life handin' around hymn books an'leadin' de singin' down at de mission joints--only he don't! If he gotenough for it he'd pull a gun an' blow yer bean off, an' youse wouldn'tbelieve it was him even while he was doin' it, he'd look dat innocent.Believe me, Bundy! He's got 'em all skinned, an' he ain't got no limitexcept de sky. Mabbe some day de police'll get wise, but dey ain'tfallen to de sweet little face of him wid his baby eyes yet. But, aw,say, wot's de use! Youse know him as well as I do. Youse'd think dey'djust lifted him out of a dinky little cradle an' soused him all over widFlorida water--dat's de Cherub. But de guy dat knows him ducks hisnut--dat's all."
Billy Kane shook his head in a sort of savage perplexity. He haddismissed Whitie Jack then, picked up Clarkie Munn, Gypsy Joe and theCherub, and had followed them here. He had come abreast of the tenementin which they had disappeared now, and he looked quickly around him.There was no one on the street close enough to pay any particularattention to his movements; and there was no doorbell to ring, for inthat locality the formality of entering a tenement, where humans hivedinstead of lived, and where at all hours the occupants came and went asa matter of course, consisted in pushing the door open without furtherceremony. His hand slipped into the side pocket of his coat, and hisfingers closed in a reassuring touch upon his automatic. For whatparticular reason he was to watch Gypsy Joe and Clarkie Munn he was asmuch as ever in the dark; but one thing was clear--there was only oneway to keep in touch with his quarry.
He stepped from the sidewalk, and, with well-simulated unconcern, pushedthe tenement door open, entered, closed the door softly behind him, andstood still, listening intently. The place was gloomy and dark, andheavy with a musty, unsavory odor of garlic and rank, stale tobacco; butahead of him, along what seemed like a narrow passage flanking thestairs, a faint glow of light struggled out into the blackness, asthough from a partially opened door, and from this direction a murmur ofmen's voices reached him.
He moved stealthily forward for a few steps; and then halted abruptly,and pressed back against the wall. Yes, here were the men he sought. Inso far as locating them in the tenement was concerned, he was in luck.The hallway had widened out beyond the staircase, and from where he nowstood, through a half-opened door, a door that was in poverty-strickenand disreputable repair, whose panels, smashed and broken probably insome fracas of former days, were patched with strips of cardboard thatin turn, han
ging by a tack or two, gaped blatantly, he could make outClarkie Munn's dark, scowling, unshaven features, as the man satsprawled out on a chair in the centre of the room; also, Clarkie Munnwas swearing viciously:
"Well, where's Shaky Liz--eh? Where's Shaky Liz? Who's right now aboutcomin' back here? Her tongue's been hangin' out fer a drink now fer twoweeks, an' she's bust loose. Dat's wot she's done--yes, an' probablyqueered de whole lay too! I told youse so! I told youse youse'd have toshow me about Shaky Liz before I'd go de limit. See! I ain't fer anyjuice chair up de river--not yet! Savvy?"
"Aw, shut up!" The words were clipped off; the voice was almost a boyishtreble. "Can yer croakin', Clarkie, youse give me a pain! Youse cameback here because I said so--dat's why! I had to steer clear of ShakyLiz while she put de stunt across, an' we got to know now if de girlfell fer it all right."
"Yes," growled Clarkie Munn, "an' Shaky Liz has gone an' got drunk, an'spilled de beans! I know her!"
"If she has," purred the other, and there was something of finality madethe more horrible by the boyish tones, "she gets hers--instead of deother, dat's all. An' anyway, youse have no kick comin'! Youse an' Gypsyhere, an' me, an' Shaky Liz has all got a century apiece to start wid.We can't lose, can we?"
"Sure, we can!" complained Clarkie Munn. "We can lose de other twohundred dat's comin' when de job's done, can't we?"
Another voice spoke in a curiously meditative, raucous way:
"I never thought I'd be workin' fer him. He handed me one once dat Iain't fergot. But dere ain't no one dares to touch him now--he's toobig. Youse'd get smeared off de map. He's got de coin, but he's no goodanyway else, except dat he's sharper'n hell. D'ye remember de roll hecoughs up when he peels us dem century notes dat night? Say, I guess hepacks dat along wid him all de time. Say, I wish we had him wid de girlto-night--I guess we'd get our two hundred apiece, all right, allright."
Clarkie Munn sat suddenly bolt upright in his chair, staring across theroom, obviously at the last speaker.
"I'd be wid youse, Gypsy!" he said eagerly. "Him an' me don't belong tode same lodge neither. We're all right, we are, fer dirty work, dat'swhere we stand; but where do we ever get a look-in when dere's anythingjuicy goin'! But youse'd have to know he had de roll on him. Yousewouldn't get anywhere unless youse did. I'd be wid youse, Gypsy. I wishsomething like dat'd break loose." He swung around in his chair. "Eh,Cherub?"
"Youse give me a pain!" murmured the boyish voice.
"When youse gets a chance to get dat guy, youse'll get a chance to hangyer hat in a bathroom suite in de swellest joint in town, an' use alimousine fer a gape wagon, an' wear white spats an' yellow gloves insummer time. Can de wish stuff!"
Billy Kane, hugging close against the wall, moved silently farther ontoward the rear of the hall until he was beyond the radius of light fromthe doorway of the room. The street door had opened, and a footstep,hesitant, scuffling, was out there somewhere behind him. The step camenearer, and now he could make out a woman's form, that, either inreality or as an illusion due to the uncertain light, seemed to sway alittle unsteadily as she walked. Opposite the door she stood still, andnow in the fuller light Billy Kane could see her quite distinctly.Obviously, it was the woman they had referred to as Shaky Liz--an old,unkempt, hag-like creature, who blinked sore, red-rimmed eyes inapparent astonishment and consequent indecision at the partially opendoor and the light from within. And then she stepped forward into theroom, and the next moment the door closed with a slam behind her, andwith the slam her voice rose in a curious, gurgling cry that seemed tomingle terror and an unbridled fury.
In an instant, Billy Kane had retraced his steps, and was crouchingagainst the closed door. He could see now even better than before. Thegaping strip of cardboard that did duty for the smashed panel, dislodgedstill farther by the violent slam of the door, afforded him an almostunrestricted view of the interior. Clarkie Munn had not moved from hischair, and a little away from him, legs swinging from a dilapidated,rickety table, Gypsy Joe, black-visaged and swarthy, suckedindifferently at a cigarette; but over in the far corner of the room bythe bed, the woman, her hat knocked to the floor, her tangled gray hairdraggling about her eyes, was engaged in a violent struggle with a smallboyish figure, who had her by the throat and was shaking her headsavagely back and forth. Billy Kane drew in his breath. He rememberedWhitie Jack's description of the Cherub in action--and it was literallytrue. The blue eyes were bland and round and seemed to smile, the youngface was the face of a guileless youth in repose, and yet the boy--hecouldn't be much more than a boy--was in a passion worthy of anincarnate fiend.
"Youse have been out hittin' de can, have youse?" snarled the Cherub."I'll teach youse! Do youse think I've spent two weeks hangin' arounddis dirty hole of yers, an' standin' fer youse being me sick, disabledgrandmother wid me supposed to be doin' me best to keep bread in yermouth, an' playin' poor, an' having to listen to her tryin' to get mejobs, an' handin' me de soft, goody-goody talk--d'ye think I'm standin'fer dat just to have youse go out an' kick de stuffin' outer de wholelay! I'll teach youse!"
"It's a lie!" screamed Shaky Liz. She shook herself suddenly free, andwith crooked fingers clawed like a wild cat at the Cherub's face. "Ididn't crab no game! It's a lie! I got it all fixed before I went out. Iguess I got a right to a drink now, ain't I?"
The Cherub warded off her attack with a vicious sweep of his fist.
"Yes!" he snarled again. "An' suppose she'd seen youse! Or suppose she'dcome back here by any chance an' found de poor bedridden grandma goneout fer a drink--eh! Blast youse, couldn't youse wait a few hours more?De whole outfit 'ud be glad if youse had drunk yerself to death den!"
Shaky Liz dashed the hair out of her eyes, and swept her hands in a halfangry, half expostulating gesture toward the others.
"I didn't queer no game!" she insisted truculently. "I guess I know wotI'm doin'; an' youse ain't comin' in here to pull no rough-housebusiness neither!"
"Aw, let her alone, an' give her a chance to tell her story," drawledGypsy Joe from the table. "We ain't got all night to stay here."
"Sure!" said the Cherub softly, and smiled beneficently, as he sat downon the edge of the bed and calmly lighted a cigarette. "Go on, Liz,spill it!"
The old hag stared at him for a moment in silence, as she dug again ather dishevelled locks.
"Youse dirty little runt!" She found her voice at last, and in spite ofher scowl there was a grudging note of admiration in her tones. "Youseare pretty slick, ain't youse?"
"Sure!" admitted the Cherub imperturbably. "If I wasn't, youse wouldn'thave a hundred dollars in yer kick now, an' two hundred more comin'to-morrow--if youse ain't queered it fer yerself. Go on, give us dedope!"
Shaky Liz preened herself. She adjusted the threadbare bodice of herdress that seemed to bulge and sag uncomfortably, picked up her hat, andsmirked at her audience.
"It's all right!" She wagged her head secretively. "Youse don't any ofyouse need to worry. When de Cherub pipes me off this afternoon dat destunt is to be pulled to-night, I sends fer her as soon as he gets outof de way, an' she comes on de run. She don't suspect nothing, 'causewid two weeks' acquaintance she----"
"Can dat!" interrupted the Cherub politely. "We all knows dat fer twoweeks youse an' me has been gettin' acquainted wid her, an' feedin' onher jellies, an' dat I'm de errin' child dat's taken a shine to her an'dat mabbe can be influenced fer good--if she tried hard enough. Wot didshe say when she comes here dis evening?"
"Wot did she say?" repeated Shaky Liz, with a sudden and malicious grin."Why, she falls fer it, of course! Wot d'ye expect? Me, I was lyin' dereon de bed when she blows in. She asks me how I was, an' I says I ain'tno worse dan usual, but dat it's me young grandson dat's troublin' me,an' how I ain't got no one to tell it to except her, an' how I dunno asI durst tell even her. An' den she says I oughter know well enough dat Ican trust her, an' dat she won't say nothin', an' den I gives her despiel. I says I ain't slept all de last night thinkin' about it. I tellsher it wouldn't do no g
ood me talkin' to youse, 'cause I ain't got anyinfluence wid youse an' she has, an' besides dat I was afraid of Gypsyan' Clarkie if dey got wise to me. An' I tells her wot a good boy youseare, too, Cherub, an' how though mabbe youse might be better it ain'tall yer fault 'cause youse're easily led by bad company, but dat yousehave stood by yer old grandmother. Savvy?"
"De one bright spot in me life," said the Cherub sweetly, "is dat me owngrandmother is dead, an' don't know de raw deal I'm handin' her. Shelooked just like youse, too--not!"
Shaky Liz scowled.
"Youse close yer face!" she flung out. "I tells her dat me grandson hasgot pulled in by two of de toughest crooks in New York." Shaky Liz'sscowl became a grin. "Dat's youse, Clarkie, an' youse, Gypsy. I tellsher who youse are, an' dat last night youse three was here, an' datyouse all thought I was asleep, but dat I heard youse whisperin'together, an' dat Clarkie an' Gypsy was persuadin' me little boy to pulla trick down to Kegler's dock on de East River, 'cause dey didn't daredo it demselves on account of de police bein' leery about dem ever sincedey comes down from Sing Sing de last time. I tells her how I hearsyouse two crooks explainin' dat Kegler's got a bunch of coin in his safeto pay off some sand barges dat he had expected yesterday, but dat hadgot held up down de Sound, an' dat instead of takin' de money back to debank he was lettin' it rust in his box, knowin' dat de barges'd be alongde day after to-morrow, an' dat youse had de combination of de safe, an'de key to de front door, an' dat dere wouldn't be nobody around dere,an' dat, anyway, nobody'd suspect me little lad, an' dat he was to godown dere alone at ten o'clock to-night an' make de haul, an' den meetClarkie an' Gypsy uptown somewhere fer de split."
Gypsy Joe, on the table, circled his lips approvingly with the tip ofhis tongue.
"Dat's de stuff, Shaky!" he commended. "Don't youse mind dese guys, deyain't neither of dem got anything on youse. I'm fer youse, old gal!"
Shaky Liz grinned complacently.
"Me, I was cryin' good an' hard by dis time," she said, and grinnedagain, "an' she had a face dat white youse'd think she was goin' to pullde faint act. I says I ain't slept all de last night tryin' to think wotto do, an' dat's why I sent fer her. An' she asks me if I'm sure de boywas goin' to do it. An' I says I am. An' she asks me where he is, an' Isays I don't know, an' dat I don't know where to find him; dat he wentout just before I sent fer her, an' dat he says he won't be back tilllate to-night, an' dat's wot makes me sure he's goin' to do it. Sure, Iwas cryin' good an' hard den--savvy?
"An' I says he's a good boy, an' if I tells de police dat'll finish him;an' I says I'm sick an' can't walk, an' can't go down dere myself, an'dat she's de only one I dares trust, an' besides dat she's got a lot ofinfluence wid de boy, an' dat I knows she can persuade him not to fallfer it, an' den nobody'll know anything about it. An' she says: 'Yes, ofcourse--I'll do anything. But where is he? Where can I find him?' An' Isays dere ain't only one place I knows, an' dat's down to Kegler's, an'dat he'll be all alone dere, an' dat if she gets dere before ten o'clockshe'll be in time to try an' stop him. An' she bends over me, an' patsme hands, she does, an' she says: 'Don't youse worry, Mrs. Cox,' shesays. 'I'll go.' An' I says: 'An' youse won't tell nobody, nor takenobody down dere, so's anybody'd know about me little lad's disgrace?'An' she says: 'No, I'll go alone; an' I'm sure I can promise youse it'llbe all right.' An' den she goes away. Dat's all!" Shaky Liz was fumblingwith the bodice of her dress again, and suddenly pulled out a black,square-faced bottle. "Dat's all!" she announced with a cackle. "An' Iguess I gotta right to dis if I wants it--ain't I?"
"Youse can bet yer life youse have!" agreed Gypsy Joe with ferventheartiness--and reached for the bottle.
In a flash the Cherub was up from the bed, and between them.
"Nix on dat, Gypsy!" he said sharply. "Shaky's end is all right, Iguess; but _we_ ain't through yet. Nix on dat--get me!" He steppedcloser to both Clarkie Munn and Gypsy Joe. "Now, den," he said briskly,"since we're satisfied wid Shaky, we'll get down to tacks--eh? Everybodymakes sure dey knows dere own play, an' we don't make no renigs. I goesdown dere, an' youse two are trailin' out of sight behind, an' shebuttonholes me, an' I gets her inside widout youse if I can, but anywaywe gets her inside widout any noise, an' de trap-door where dey shootsde sweepings from de warehouse into de water under de dock does detrick. If dere's enough weight on her she'll be dere forever. An' dere'sone thing more. Nix on de easy-fingered stuff wid any safe business, oranything loose lying around dat looks like meat! Savvy? To-morrowmorning de place looks like it did when dey left it to-night. De girl'sdisappeared, dat's all--an' dere's nothing to show dat Kegler's dock hadanything to do wid it. Get me? Dey'll never find her, an' dat's wot'swanted, an' why we're gettin' two hundred apiece more."
Gypsy Joe removed the cigarette from his mouth, watched the blue spiralof smoke from its tip curl upward for a moment, and pursed his lips in aruminative pucker.
"I wonder wot de Rat had it in fer her fer as hard as dat?" he said,with a shrug of his shoulders. "She must have----"
The--_Rat!_ She--the _girl_ they were talking about! The room seemedsuddenly to swirl before Billy Kane's eyes, the figures inside to becomebut blurred, jerky objects--and then it was black around him.Automatically he was stepping backward with a catlike tread;automatically he was feeling his way along the black hallway. And thenthe cool evening air fanned his face, and he was in the street.