CHAPTER II
THE CALL TO ARMS
Not a sound as the key turned in the lock; not a sound as the door swungback on its carefully oiled hinges; not a sound as Larry the Bat slippedlike a shadow into the blackness of the room, closing the door behindhim again. With a tread as noiseless as a cat's, he was across the roomto satisfy himself that the shutters were tightly closed; and then thesingle gas jet flared up, murky, yellow, illuminating the miserable,squalid room--the Sanctuary--the home of Larry the Bat. There was needfor silence, need for caution. In five minutes, ten at the outside, hemust emerge again--as Jimmie Dale.
With a smile on his lips that mingled curiously chagrin andself-commiseration, he took the letter from his pocket and tore it open.It was she, then, who had been following him all evening, and, like ablundering idiot, he had wasted precious, perhaps irreparable, hours!What had she meant by "It's for my sake to-night"? The words had beenringing in his ears since the moment she had whispered them in thatpanic-stricken crowd. Was it not always for her sake that he answeredthese calls to arms? Was it not always for her sake that he, as theGray Seal, was--The mental soliloquy came to an abrupt end. He hadsubconsciously read the first sentence of the letter, and now, withsudden feverish eagerness and excitement, he was reading it to the lastword.
"DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: In an hour after you receive this, if allgoes well, you shall know everything--everything. Who I am--yes, andmy name. It has been more than three years now, hasn't it? It has beenincomprehensible to you, but there has been no other way. I dared nottake the chance of discovery by any one; I dared not expose you tothe risk of being known by me. Your life would not have been wortha moment's purchase. Oh, Jimmie, am I only making the mystery moremystifying? But to-night, I think, I hope, I pray that it is all at anend: though against me, and against you to-night when you go to helpme, is the most powerful and pitiless organisation of criminals that theworld has ever known; and the stake we are playing for is a fortune ofmillions--and my life. And yet somehow I am afraid now, just because theend is so near, and the victory seems so surely won. And so, Jimmie, becareful; use all that wonderful cleverness of yours as you have neverused it before, and--But there should be no need for that, it is sosimple a thing that I am going to ask you to do. Why am I writing soillogically! Nothing, surely, can possibly happen. This is not likeone of my usual letters, is it? I am beside myself to-night with hope,anxiety, fear, and excitement.
"Listen, then, Jimmie: Be at the northeast corner of Sixth Avenue andWaverly Place at exactly half-past ten. A taxicab will drive up, asthough you had signalled it in passing, and the chauffeur will say:'I've another fare, in half an hour, sir, but I can get you mostanywhere in that time.' You will be smoking a cigarette. Toss it outinto the street, make any reply you like, and get into the cab. Give thechauffeur that little ring of mine with the crest of the bell and belfryand the motto, 'Sonnez le Tocsin,' that you found the night old IsaacPelina was murdered, and the chauffeur will give you in exchange asealed packet of papers. He will drive you to your home, and I willtelephone to you there.
"I need not tell you to destroy this. Keep the appointment in yourproper person--as Jimmie Dale. Carry nothing that might identify youas the Gray Seal if any accident should happen. And, lastly, trust thepseudo chauffeur absolutely."
There was no signature. Her letters were never signed. He stood for amoment staring at the closely written sheets in his hand, a heightenedcolour in his cheeks, his lips pressed tightly together--and then hisfingers automatically began to tear the letter into pieces, and thepieces again into little shreds. To-night! It was to be to-night, theend of all this mystery. To-night was to see the end of this dual lifeof his, with its constant peril! To-night the Gray Seal was to exit fromthe stage forever! To-night, a wonderful climax of the years, he was tosee HER!
His blood was quickened now, his heart pounding in a faster beat; a madelation, a fierce uplift was upon him. He thrust the torn bits of paperinto his pocket hurriedly, stepped across the room to the corner, rolledback the oilcloth, and lifted up the loose plank in the flooring, soinnocently dustladen, as, more than once, to have eluded the eyes ofinquisitive visitors in the shape of police and plain clothes men fromheadquarters.
From the space beneath he removed a neatly folded pile of clothes, laidthese on the bed, and began to undress. He was working rapidly now. Tinypieces of wax were removed from his nostrils, from under his lips, frombehind his ears; water from a cracked pitcher poured into a battered tinbasin, and mixed with a few drops of some liquid from a bottle which heprocured from its hiding place under the flooring, banished the make-upstain from his face, his neck, his wrists, and hands as if by magic.It was a strange metamorphosis that had taken place--the coarse,brutal-featured, blear-eyed, leering countenance of Larry the Bat wasgone, and in its place, clean-cut, square-jawed, clear-eyed, was theface of Jimmie Dale. And where before had slouched a slope-shouldered,misshapen, flabby creature, a broad-shouldered form well over six feetin height now stood erect, and under the clean white skin the musclesof an athlete, like knobs of steel played back and forth with everymovement of his body.
In the streaked and broken mirror Jimmie Dale surveyed himselfcritically, methodically, and, with a nod of satisfaction, hastilydonned the fashionably cut suit of tweeds upon the bed. He rummaged thenthrough the ragged garments he had just discarded, transferred tohis pockets a roll of bills and his automatic, and paused hesitantly,staring at the thin metal case, like a cigarette case, that he held inthe palm of his hand. He shrugged his shoulders a little whimsically; itseemed strange indeed that he was through with that! He snapped itopen. Within, between sheets of oil paper, lay the scores of littlediamond-shaped, gray-coloured, adhesive paper seals--the insignia of theGray Seal. Yes, it seemed strange that he was never to use another! Heclosed the case, gathered up the clothes of Larry the Bat, tuckedthe case in among them, and shoved the bundle into the hole under theflooring. All these things would have to be destroyed, but there was nottime to-night; to-morrow, or the next day, would do for that. What wouldit be like to live a normal life again, without the menace of dangerlurking on every hand, without that grim slogan of the underworld,"Death to the Gray Seal!" or that savage fiat of the police, "The GraySeal, dead or alive--but the Gray Seal!" forever ringing in his ears?What would it be like, this new life--with her?
The thought was thrilling him again, bringing again that eager, exultantuplift. In an hour, ONE hour, and the barriers of years would be sweptaway, and she would be in his arms!
"It's for my sake to-night!" His face grew suddenly tense, as the wordscame back to him. That "hour" wasn't over yet! It was no hystericalexaggeration that had prompted her to call her enemies the most powerfuland pitiless organisation of criminals that the world had ever known.It was not the Tocsin's way to exaggerate. The words would be literallytrue. The very life she had led for the three years that had gone stoodout now as a grim proof of her assertion.
Jimmie Dale replaced the flooring, carefully brushed the dust back intothe cracks, spread the oilcloth into place, and stood up. Who and whatwas this organisation? What was between it and the Tocsin? What was thisimmense fortune that was at stake? And what was this priceless packetthat was so crucial, that meant victory now, ay, and her life, too, shehad said?
The questions swept upon him in a sort of breathless succession. Why hadshe not let him play a part in this? True, she had told him why--thatshe dared not expose him to the risk. Risk! Was there any risk that theGray Seal had not taken, and at her instance! He did not understand, hesmiled a little uncertainly, as he reached up to turn out the gas. Therewere a good many things that he did not understand about the Tocsin!
The room was in darkness, and with the darkness Jimmie Dale's mindcentred on the work immediately before him. To enter the tenement wherehe was known and had an acknowledged right as Larry the Bat was onething; for Jimmie Dale to be discovered there was quite another.
He crossed the room, opened the door silently, stoo
d for a momentlistening, then stepped out into the black, musty, ill-smelling hallway,closing the door behind him. He stooped and locked it. The querulous cryof a child reached him from somewhere above--a murmur of voices, muffledby closed doors, from everywhere. How many families were housed beneaththat sordid roof he had never known, only that there was miserablepoverty there as well as vice and crime, only that Larry the Bat, whopossessed a room all to himself, was as some lordly and super-being tothese fellow tenants who shared theirs with so many that there was notair enough for all to breathe.
He had no doors to pass--his was next to the staircase. He began todescend. They could scream and shriek, those stairs, like aged humans,twisted and rheumatic, at the least ungentle touch. But there was nosound from them now. There seemed something almost uncanny in thesilent tread. Stair after stair he descended, his entire weight throwngradually upon one foot before the other was lifted. The strain upon themuscles, trained and hardened as they were, told. As he moved from thebottom step, he wiped little beads of perspiration from his forehead.
The door, now, that gave on the alleyway! He opened it, slipped outside,darted across the narrow lane, stole along where the shadows of thefence were blackest, paused, listening, as he reached the end of thealleyway, to assure himself that there was no near-by pedestrian--andstepped out into the street.
He kept on along the block, turned into the Bowery, and, under the firstlamp, consulted his watch. It was a quarter past ten. He could makeit easily in a leisurely walk. He continued on up the Bowery, finallycrossed to Broadway, and shortly afterward turned into Waverly Place.At the corner of Fifth Avenue he consulted his watch again--and now helighted a cigarette. Sixth Avenue was only a block away. At preciselyhalf-past ten, to the second, he halted on the designated corner,smoking nonchalantly.
A taxicab, coincidentally coming from an uptown direction, swung in tothe curb.
"Taxi, sir? Yes, sir?" Then, with an admirable mingling of eagerness tosecure the fare and a fear that his confession might cause him the lossof it: "I've another fare in half an hour, sir, but I can get you mostanywhere in that time."
Jimmie Dale's cigarette was tossed carelessly into the street.
"St. James Club!" he said curtly, and stepped into the cab.
The cab started forward, turned the corner, and headed along WaverlyPlace toward Broadway. The chauffeur twisted around in his seat in amatter-of-fact way, as though to ask further directions.
"Have you anything for me?" he inquired casually.
It lay where it always lay, that ring, between the folds of that littlewhite glove in his pocketbook. Jimmie Dale took it out now, and handedit silently to the chauffeur.
The other's face changed instantly--composure was gone, and a quick,strained look was in its place.
"I'm afraid I've been watched," he said tersely. "Look behind you, willyou, and tell me if you see anything?"
Jimmie Dale glanced backward through the little window in the hood.
"There's another taxi just turned in from Sixth Avenue," he reported thenext instant.
"Keep your eye on it!" instructed the chauffeur shortly.
The speed of the cab increased sensibly.
With a curious tightening of his lips, Jimmie Dale settled himselfin his seat so that he could watch the cab behind. There was troublecoming, intuitively he sensed that; and, he reflected bitterly, he mighthave known! It was too marvellous, too wonderful ever to come to passthat this one hour, the thought of which had fired his blood and madehim glad beyond any gladness life had ever held for him before, shouldbring its promised happiness.
"Where's the cab now?" the chauffeur flung back over his shoulder.
They had passed Fifth Avenue, and were nearing Broadway.
"About the same distance behind," Jimmie Dale answered.
"That looks bad!" the chauffeur gritted between his teeth. "We'll haveto make sure. I'll run down Lower Broadway."
"If you think we're followed," suggested Jimmie Dale quietly, "why notrun uptown and give them the slip somewhere where the traffic is thick?Lower Broadway at this time of night is as empty and deserted as acountry road."
The chauffeur's sudden laugh was mirthless.
"My God, you don't know what you are talking about!" he burst out. "Ifthey're following, all hell couldn't throw them off the track. And I'vegot to know, I've got to be SURE before I dare make a move to-night. Icouldn't tell up in the crowded districts if I was followed, could I?They won't come out into the open until their hands are forced."
The car swerved sharply, rounded the corner, and, speeding up faster andfaster, began to tear down Lower Broadway.
"Watch! WATCH!" cried the chauffeur.
There was no word between them for a moment; then Jimmie Dale spokecrisply:
"It's turned the corner! It's coming this way!"
The taxicab was rocking violently with the speed; silent, empty, LowerBroadway stretched away ahead. Apart from an occasional street car,probably there would be nothing between them and the Battery. JimmieDale glanced at his companion's face as a light, flashing by, threwit into relief. It was set and stern, even a little haggard; but, too,there was something else there, something that appealed instantly toJimmie Dale--a sort of bulldog grit that dominated it.
"If he holds our speed, we'll know!" the chauffeur was shouting now tomake himself heard over the roar of the car. "Look again! Where is itnow?"
Once more Jimmie Dale looked through the little rear window. The cab hadbeen a block behind them when it had turned the corner, and he watchedit now in a sort of grim fascination. There was no possible doubt of it!The two bobbing, bouncing headlights were creeping steadily nearer. Andthen a sort of unnatural calm settled upon Jimmie Dale, and his handwent mechanically to his pocket to feel his automatic there, as heturned again to the chauffeur.
"If you've got any more speed, you'd better use it!" he saidsignificantly.
The man shot a quick look at him.
"They are following us? You are SURE?"
"Yes," said Jimmie Dale.
The chauffeur laughed again in that mirthless, savage way.
"Lean over here, where I can talk to you!" he rasped out. "The game'sup, as far as I am concerned, I guess! But there's a chance for you.They don't know you in this."
"Give her more speed--or dodge into a cross street!" suggested JimmieDale coolly. "They haven't got us yet, by a long way!"
The other shook his head.
"It's not only that cab behind," he answered, through set lips. "Youdon't know what we're up against. If they're really after us, there'sa trap laid in every section of this city--the devils! It's the packagethey want. Thank God for the presentiment that made me leave it behind!I was going back for it, you understand, if I was satisfied that weweren't followed. Listen! There's a chance for you--there's none for me.That package--remember this!--no one else knows where it is, and it'slife and death to the one who sent you here. It's in Box 428 at--My God,LOOK! Look there!" he yelled, and, with a wrench at the wheel, sent thetaxi lurching and staggering for the car tracks in the centre of thestreet.
The scene, fast as thought itself, was photographing itself in everydetail upon Jimmie Dale's brain. From the cross street ahead, one fromeach corner, two motor cars had nosed out into Broadway, blocking theroad on both sides. And now the car on the left-hand side wasmoving forward across the tracks to counteract the chauffeur's move,deliberately insuring a collision. There was no chance, no furtherroom to turn, no time to stop--the man driving the other car jumped forsafety--they would be into it in an instant.
"Box 428!" Jimmie pleaded fiercely. "Go on, man! Go on! FINISH!"
"Yes!" cried the chauffeur. "John Johansson, at--"
But Jimmie Dale heard no more. There was the crash of impact as thetaxicab plowed into the car that had been so craftily manoeuvered infront of it, and Jimmie Dale, lifted from his feet, was hurled violentlyforward with the shock, and all went black before his eyes.